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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