— Chögyam Trungpa, The Myth of Freedom
"Please understand, you have inherent in your very Mind a huge potential, an incalculable brilliance, an ability to see the reality of this moment clearly."
-- Harada Roshi, opening talk,
Rohatsu Sesshin, Sogenji Monastery, 2011
|My Little Corner of the World
Generally, at least once a night, I have to roll out of bed and walk a few steps into the adjoining room. There, I participate in one aspect of this Grand Recyling Project known in some circles as Samsara.
Then, depending on a multitude of factors ranging from things like the phases of the moon, to what happens to be on my mind that night, I usually plop right back into bed and meditate back to sleep, often catching a few dream bubbles along the way.
Sometimes, something else happens.
Last night, as I crawled into bed, I heard the winds howling outside the window. I then felt a bit of coolness on my skin as a draft found its way under the blanket that hangs over the window alongside my bed for nights like these.
Curious, I pulled a corner of the blanket up to take a peek.
I was awestruck.
Outside the windows, the wind howled eerily as the stark silhouettes of winter's barren trees danced wildly in the moonlight. Not to be outdone, their shadows played across the blue-white snow of the yard beyond the gardens. Under the influence of a brilliant moon that was only a sliver past full, the entire world outside the window was luminous. It seemed to glow from within.
Thoughts, being incapable of grasping the majesty of the moment, became irrelevant. They just went on their merry way unattended -- leaving wonder and sheer delight in their wake.
I was all eyes and ears. Mindful Awareness did it's thing.
Transfixed, I don't know how long I was Present for that particular miracle. It seems that Time had called "time out," and was huddling with the Timeless. At some point though, the buzzer sounded, and samsara resumed play. Tired, I let the blanket fall back across the window and rolled over.
Grinning ear to ear, I stretched out, relaxed, and returned to sleep.
As beautiful as the scene outside my window was last night, I also knew its stark reality.
According to the National Weather Service, the raw temperature at 4 a.m at a small airport near here was -13°F. The windchill was -22°. Given different circumstances, that scene I gazed at outside the window wouldn't have been delightful. It would been deadly. Unprotected, I could have died out there -- and the trees and wind and moon would've just danced on.
In the grand scope of things, that's the deal: Life itself is always a deadly proposition. It's a terminal condition. Nobody gets outta here alive.
The Facts of the Matter
We are each born. We each die.
Most of us have grown up in a society that tries to assiduously avoid those facts. As a result, an incredible amount of psychic energy is bottled up in repressed fear and grief, or dissipated in vicarious "entertainment" and adrenaline rush "recreation".
The denial of death creates an incredible lack of perspective -- and focus. If we are willing, instead, to fast-forward ahead to see that the screen inevitably reads THE END, we can then decide whether we are playing the current scene in a way that makes any sense at all. IMHO, a lot of mindless activity, pettiness, and unnecessary foofaraw would dissolve immediately if the Big Picture were brought into view.
In the Buddhist tradition, the inevitability of Death is seen as a fundamental truth that, once faced, enlarges and deepens our motivation and capacity to realize our True Nature. Reminders are widespread among the chants and teachings of the various schools.
When I was in residence at Zen Mountain Monastery years ago, the Eno (chant leader) would recite the Evening Gatha at the end of each day's final meditation service. With dark eyes flashing, she ardently delivered the traditional exhortation:
Life and Death are of supreme importance.
Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost.
Each of us should strive to awaken!
Awaken! Take heed.
Do not squander your life.
|The Zendo at Zen Mountain Monastery
I Practice because it's a matter of Life and Death.
Rather than freak me out, this realization enables me to connect often with a larger perspective, and it elicits a commitment and discipline that flows from something so deep in my heart that it is beyond me. A Boundless Truth beyond words seems to buoy me. I call it the One Love these days.
Others, like Uchiyama Roshi, simply call it Life.
In its embrace, I'm blessed with Great Delight and Clarity at times -- and plenty of opportunity to explore my own ignorance, angst, and confusion at other times. More and more, although different, those moments are experienced as the warp and woof of the same Grand Tapestry. At this stage of journey, I realize that all I can do is weave together the various strands with as much diligence and kindness as I can muster each moment.
It's all Practice.
I can live -- and die -- with that.
Originally Posted, January 2015. Revised.