When It Rains

"The way to dissolve our resistance to life is to meet it face to face...When we want to complain about the rain, we could feel it's wetness instead."

-- Pema Chodron

“The best thing one can do when it is raining is to let it rain. ” 

-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When it rains, it pours...

It seems that Mother Nature saved our April showers for the second week of May this year.  Helping to alleviate the Northeast's drought conditions, Her showers reigned for days and days. 

We got Drizzled upon. Misted. Doused. Drenched.  

The flowers loved it.  So did I.

This wasn't always the case.  

There was a time that "rainy days and Monday's would always get me down."  Prone to bouts of depression, primarily propelled by the unexplored grief of a traumatic childhood, I'd invariably cloud up on gray days, and rain on my own parade. 

Nowadays, I find gray days and stormy weather both comforting and energizing.  It is always a chance to get real.

Whether it's an overcast sky, a soft foggy drizzle, a thunder-booming rip-snorting whizzbanger -- or anything in-between --  once I remember to just be present for the actual experience, there is something immensely alive and vibrant about rainy days.  Dancing beyond our ability to control it, Mother Nature just is.  She will just do what she will do -- no matter how we think or feel about it.  

So, why not relax and dig it!? 

At this very moment

I feel a lot of gratitude for Mindfulness Practice.

As I sit here with fingers dancing across the keyboard, I see the sun finally emerging to play hide and seek with the storm clouds. Through the open window, I hear the wind singing in the trees, a collection of birds twittering, the pulsating surf of tires hissing along the rain-slickened asphalt of High Street here in Greenfield, MA.

Pausing, letting go for a moment of "thinking mind," I'm aware of my breath and the sensations of my body sitting here.  I feel the wind dancing across my skin through that same open window.  The sounds ebb and flow.  The sensations ebb and flow. 

Life is like that, too.  
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Sad But True

This world - 
absolutely pure
As is. 
Behind the fear,

Vulnerability. 
Behind that,
Sadness, 
then compassion
And behind that the vast sky.

 --Rick Fields

 “When you begin to touch your heart or let your heart be touched, you begin to discover that it's bottomless, that it doesn't have any resolution, that this heart is huge, vast, and limitless. You begin to discover how much warmth and gentleness is there, as well as how much space.”
― Pema Chödrön

Sometimes, insight and healing emerge slowly during the course of our lives. 

Like spring unfolding across the palette of April and May, our Practice deepens.  Green shoots appear.  Buds open.  What was tan, stark, and frigid, gradually brightens, softens, and warms. 

Then, at a certain point, we notice.  It's different now than it was before.  Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. 

At other times, Zap! Insight and Healing emerge like a bolt of lightning.

Sometimes, this Peak Experience bursts forth with a torrential downpour of tears. Sometimes not. Yet, in that moment, we experience a Grand Gestalt.  There is Crystalline Clarity.  We really get It!  Or perhaps -- more accurately-- It gets us! 

In a flash, everything has changed, but nothing has changed.  Yet, it is different now than it was before.

The Genuine Heart of Sadness

Years ago, I had the good fortunate to stop by Himalayan Views, a nearby spiritual bookstore and gift store, to hear a woman describe one of those moments.  She was sitting in the back reading area of the store, and as is often the case, I made the effort to smile and say hello.  (A childhood rebel, I never agreed with "don't talk to strangers.")  Soon, I found myself chatting with her about the book she was reading.  Soon, she and I were comparing notes on our lives and spiritual practice.  

Her eyes were clear and kind.  Her voice was gentle, yet powerful, as she shared her story.  

She was in her mid-thirties at the time of her Awakening.   Suffering from what had been diagnosed as "clinical depression," medicated since early adolescence, she had come across a book of Pema Chodron's teachings.  Page by page, she was drawn  into an deepening awareness of a truth she felt she had always known.  It was a truth she had never had from the people around her.

 

Then, when she read of what Pema's teacher, Chogyam Trungpa had called "the genuine heart of sadness," in a flash, Reality asserted itself.

Zap!

At that very moment, She knew. 
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Once Upon a Time

“The Buddha’s principal message that day was
that holding on to anything blocks wisdom.
Any conclusion that we draw must be let go." 

---Pema Chodron

"Attachment to views is the greatest impediment to the spiritual path. "

-- Thich Nhat Hahn 

The irony is exquisite.  

I'm sitting here at the laptop poised to sprinkle some thoughts across the screen in an effort to capture the essence of the thought that thoughts can't really capture the Essence. 

To be honest, after choosing the two quotes for this post, my next thought was, "Ah, I'll just leave it at that, choose a graphic, and hit "send." 

 

But, that seemed a bit too cutesy.   It smacked of what Roshi Daido Loori called the "stink of Zen" when I was exploring Zen monasticism as a possible path a couple of decades ago. 
 

Although that didn't stick, I am still making an attempt to live what Roshi Kosho Uchiyama characterized as "a life of vow."  As well as the Bodhisattva Vow and a number of other personal commitments that frame my life, I've been trying to find the time and energy to create a weekly post here.  (At one point, I did that for several years running.)  At this stage, rather than "begin anew," I've been pouring through several hundred previously written posts and trying to polish them up a bit in light of another decade of Practice.  

 

Yet, as it is, I've worked on this one (on and off) for almost two weeks! So much for that plan, sigh. 

Yet, when I pause to think about it, it seems to me that a set of commitments is all that I really have to bring to the plate.  The rest is in the hands of the Cosmic Pitcher.   All I can really do is pledge, again, to show up, step up to the plate, and take my best swing -- if the pitch appears to be in the strike zone.  Gratefully, at age 80, I'm a bit more discerning in letting the ball go by if it isn't.  (Egads, I'm thinking in baseball metaphors. It must be Spring!)

Okay, the rain delay is over.  The tarp's off.  I'm warmed up. Here's the Pitch.....

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A Moment's Peace

"What you need, what we all need, is silence. Stop the noise in your mind in order for the wondrous sounds of life to be heard. Then you can begin to live your life authentically and deeply.” 

-- Thich Nhat Hahn

 

 "The quieter you become the more you can hear."

-- Ram Dass

I remember my dad yelling, angrily, demanding that we kids shut up so he could get some "peace and quiet!"  
"Damn it!" he screamed, "Just give me a moment's peace!" 

The threatening tone of his voice and likelihood of imminent violence usually did shut us up--at least for a few moments.    

Of course, kids will be kids.  There were times, that I just couldn't keep my mouth shut -- and the threat became a reality.

I ache now with the memory of his anguish and his anger -- and my own fear and pain.  I wish I knew then what I know now.  Having practiced meditation for decades, if I could pilot a time machine back through the decades, I'd gladly give him that moment's peace.  This time it would be done out of compassion not fear.  I could have sat in silence with him for a long, long time.  

Gone Fishing...

Dad loved to fish.  

I remember the day I looked out the front window of our apartment and saw him silhouetted against a glittering field of sun sparkles on the small lake we lived on at the time.  Dad sat there, motionless, fishing pole in hand, in his beloved rowboat, a couple of hundred feet offshore.  Like any good sportsman, he had learned to sit still-- and wait. 

Dad had "found his spot." The red and white bobber became his visual meditation object.  He didn't seem in a hurry to move elsewhere.  He had found his moment's peace.   He'd often return to shore afterwards in a good mood.  He was calmer, quieter, more content. 

Fifty years after his death, this is one of my strongest visual memories of him.

Unfortunately those moments were not all that common.  My dad worked hard at the factory all day, and then, a single parent, he would prepare dinner before we kids would take over to do the dishes.  Beyond that, he was often in motion.  He kept himself busy.  As well as time and energy devoted to full time job and parenting the three (sometimes four) of us, he was a union activist and officer, an avid ham radio operator,  an active member of the Loyal Order of Moose, and a boy scout council commissioner.

Dad suffered from hypertension, atherosclerosis, and cardiac disease.  Longevity wasn't his genetic strong suit.  His mother, Vera, had died at age 42.  His father, Harold, had died of heart disease at age 57.  To make matters worse, Dad was also a longtime smoker.  Driven by his own demons, he worked hard, played hard, and -- all too often he was uptight, often upset.  Like others of his generation he took "spare the rod and spoil the child" as a gospel truth.  If, he saw "defiance" in our actions -- his violent temper would erupt into words -- and actions.  

Predictably, Dad's health began to degrade in his 50's.  Finally, after a heart attack, two strokes, and increasingly uncontrollable high blood pressure, our family doctor advised dad to finally retire and "just go fishing."  At age 59, he did just that.  He bought himself a camper and a trailer, and for much of final year and a half of his life, he traveled and fished from coast to coast.   

My heart glows with images of the moments of peace he may have experienced as he approached journey's end.
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