Mama Said There'll Be Days Like This

"Our thought now being no-thought, even our singing and dancing are the voice of the Dharma." Hakuin-zenji, Song of Zazen

 "Mama said there'll be days like this

There'll be days like this mama said."

-- The Shirelles

For decades now, Simply Sitting Still has been at the heart of my daily Practice.  Although, I may take a few conscious breaths and focus on the sensations of my posture for a few moments, I then settle into the Shikantaza of Soto Zen I was introduced to decades ago.  I simply rest in the bright, alert, spacious awareness that presents itself.  

 

Combined with certain other meditative techniques, and "off the zafu" mindfulness practices, prayers, castings, and study, I am often able to access the vast, spacious, and mysterious Presence of the Real Deal -- at least for a few precious moments -- most days.

 

Yet, me being me, the spirit of curiosity has continued to draw me to explore the understandings and practices of the world's saints, sages, seekers, philosophers, poets, and scientists from traditions within -- and beyond -- Buddhism.

 

For the past decade, feeling drawn to my family roots, I have connected more deeply with the mystical traditions of Judaism and Christianity.  Drawn further into the understandings and practices of the "people of the Book," I've now done a deep dive into the teachings and practices of Sufi teacher Neil Douglas-Klotz, and I can wholeheartedly embrace that form of Islam as well.

 

The Truth, as it has touched my life directly, appears to glow brightly at the heart of each.  

 

This on-going exploration has brought many wonderful teachers into my life.  Some of these have been formally authorized to teach in a specific lineage.  Some of them have been family members.  Some of them longtime dharmabuddhys.  Some of them are my current cohorts in the MMM Circles.  Some have been trees, grasses, rocks, clouds, snakes, turtles, frogs, cats, mice, squirrels, eagles -- or pigeons.  A few of them have been inebriated strangers on the street.   

 

The Sometimes Soundless Sound of Music 

In the early 70's,  I was introduced to the Chant of Chenrezig by a friend of mine.  Back in those days, I didn't have to pay a lot of money for a mantra or to belong to a community to explore the "unseen" world of spirituality.  The Spirit was on the land.  Even a working class kid like me had a number of mind boggling episodes of the "supernatural."  I had out of body experiences and compelling visions.  I encountered beings in different dimensions.  I saw auras.  Each experience convinced me, in my bones, that there is a sacred dimension to life.  

 

Of course,  as a member of the Woodstock generation, a few of those Peeks at the Sacred did involve marijuana, mushrooms or some synthetic concoction.  Most of the time, though, there were no psychoactive chemicals in my bloodstream.  In the high times of the 60's and 70's, it felt like the Collective Consciousness itself was laced with psychedelics.

 

To be sure, some of these experiences emerged in the stillness of silent meditation.  Yet, others arose as I wandered or sat alone in the vast, yet comforting, embrace of Mother Nature.  Others materialized as I communed heart to heart with dear friends in conversation or lovemaking.  

 

One such "awakening" even occurred while in the midst of the mundane.  I was shopping at the supermarket.  In those moments, I was swept up in a Boundless Love that connected me at the heart with every person I encountered.  It felt as if we were all part of an angelic choir soundlessly singing and dancing in harmony. The aisles were alive with the sound of music. 

The Chant of Chenrizig

 

The Tibetan chant, Om Mani Padme Hum, wasn't transmitted to me by a qualified Buddhist teacher.  There was no formal initiation, transmission, or ceremony.  My old high school buddhy hadn't received it from an authorized teacher either.  He had been introduced to this Tibetan Buddhist invocation of Avoloketishvara, the Bodhisattva of Infinite Compassion, as he pushed a huge prayer wheel with a group of Tibetan Buddhist practitioners in Northern India.  He had come across this gathering during a solo motorcycle journey from Singapore to France months before.  

 

Looking into his eyes, standing about three feet away I got totally stoned as he chanted "Om mani padme hum.  Om mani padme hum.  Om mani padme hum. " In those few moments in time, I was swept up in the Timeless.  I felt an intense, "untamed" boundless, energy course through me.  Then, as if it were "no big deal," he continued on with the tale of his amazing journey. 

 

Although I didn't speak of it at the time, I knew Something Special had happened.  So, when I came across this chant in Ram Dass's classic tome, Be Here Now, a month later, I filed it away for future reference -- and waited for the chance to practice it more intensely.  Later that year, I had the means and opportunity to Practice just that.  

 

Unlike my friend's experience in India, my prayer wheel was the steering wheel of a canary yellow VW camper.  I practiced it silently to myself.  Something Special occurred. 

 

I was cruising southward along the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado on Interstate 25 headed for New Mexico at the time.  The journey was going to take several hours.  My partner seemed content listening to the cassette player and silently taking in the scenery.   It seemed like a perfect time.  Being the practical multi-tasker, I used the mile markers to remind me to re-focus my attention if I'd wandered of into thought or day-dreaming.  I chanted for well over an hour.

 

At a certain point, I experienced a Shift in consciousness.   

 

Image generated by AI, edited by Lance Smith

The experience was as tangible as shifting the gears of the van.  It was as palpable as hum of the engine, the vibration of the tires along the road, and the whistling crosswind that was both heard and felt in my body.  

 

In a flash, the chant was no longer just the sound of my own voice in my head.   In the cathedral like reverb chamber of this mode of consciousness,  a vast chorus of innumerable voices emerged.  I was swept up into an expansive experience of boundless energy and wonder.  The entire Universe seemed to hum along in harmony with the mantra as I drove down the road.

 

As I sit here at the screen with that memory now, I can see wisps of doubt emerge.  I'm so grateful that, at this stage of the journey, I can recognize and relate constructively to this state of mind.  Seen as one of the Five Hindrances in Buddhism, doubt is a form of thought and feeling that is widespread in a materialistic culture that promotes skepticism and privileges thinking over other, more comprehensive, modes of knowing.  Like the other hindrances, these passing mindstates, can be seen, and released, as an impediment to the evolution of the awakened mind.  

 

Sitting at the keyboard here now,  I can stop typing and pause to connect more deeply with the sensations of my breath and body, then allow my mind's gaze to expand to include my breath, bodily sensations, and visual and auditory fields.  As I did,  a gracious spaciousness re-emerged.  Opening my heart to the Eternal Nowness, doubt dissolved.  Now, it's clear that "this" moment includes that moment.  There is no separation.  Time and the Timeless embrace and dance as One.   

Om Mani Padme Hum

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'Tis the Season

  "Commitment is at the very heart of freeing ourselves 

of old habits and old fears."

― Pema Chodron

 “I think what everyone should be doing, before it's too late, is committing themselves to what they really want to do with their lives.”
― Thich Nhat Hạnh

Whispering through the trees in small patches of red, orange, and yellow, the first hints of autumn have appeared here in Western Massachusetts.  

Here it comes, ready or not.   

To Every Thing There is a Season

As they often do as autumn announces its presence, my thoughts have turned to those times in my life that I have committed to Intensive Practice in the fall.  In Buddhism, like many of the world's religions (Ramadan in Islam.  The High Holy Days in Judaism.  Lent in Christianity,  etc.), there are extended periods of time each year that some folks move beyond "business as usual" to make a special commitment to their spiritual practice.    

In Buddhism, the tradition of the Rain's Retreat (Vassa or Ango) goes back to the time of the Buddha.  Traditionally beginning the first day of the waning moon of the eighth lunar month (June/July), it lasted about three months, the period of time that the monsoon season in India made travel difficult.  During that time the monks, who were homeless wanderers most of the year, would gather in one place to hear the Buddha's teachings and engage in intensive meditation practice.  

To this day, an extended period of meditative retreat is widespread in Theravadan Buddhism.  It is observed in various forms in Tibetan Buddhism and Zen as well.  Here in the US, where hot summer weather is more problematic than monsoons, the rain's retreat seems to have evolved into periods of intensive practice that occur in the Fall and/or the Spring. 

At Insight Meditation Society (IMS) in Barre, MA, the Rain's Retreat has become The Three Month Course, a meditation intensive that begins in September each year.  In 1991, I joined that retreat for the entire month of October.  
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Me and my Shadow

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, 

but by making the darkness conscious...
Knowing your own darkness is the best method
for dealing with the darknesses of other people."

-- C.G. Jung

 

“…feelings like disappointment, embarrassment, irritation, resentment, anger, jealousy, and fear, instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments 

that teach us where it is that we’re holding back...
They’re like messengers that show us,
with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck."

 --  Pema Chödrön

Many folks experiencing a lot of stress in their lives are drawn to meditation.  It's only natural.  There appears to be a deep human yearning to just chill out.  

 

And, to be sure, Mindfulness Meditation Practice can provide many moments of calm and clarity.

Yet -- and this is generally not proclaimed in the slick internet ads  -- it is also true that a regular meditation practice can bring to the surface a lot of feelings that we have assiduously managed to repress, deny, or otherwise avoid, as we scurry along in our lives.

Conditioned to operate in the fast-paced materialistic society of our post-modern capitalist society, one that keeps us focused outwardly for fulfillment, we are programmed to keep moving.  Even our "downtime" is often stimulus rich entertainment or "recreation" in busy, noisy environments.  Day in, day out, we just bop until we drop.  

 

Yet, for many of us, a sense of deep disquiet continues to emerge.  There appears to us a deep yearning for something more.  Propelled by this yearning, and drawn to the peace and tranquility offered by mindfulness meditation, some of us chose meditate.  And, to be sure, once we slow down and begin to practice, most of us access a bit more calmness.  Yet, it is not uncommon to encounter "darker," more distressing energies as well.  

Contrary to what we might think, this is a Good Thing.  It's a sign that the Practice is working! Mindfulness meditation gives us the opportunity to bring our subconscious conditioning into mindful awareness.  The energetic patterns of thought and emotion that have subconsciously operated to create the way we see and react to the events of our lives are brought into the realm of our conscious awareness.  Ultimately, this will give us more freedom and agency in our lives.  (How often have you winced and thought "Damn.  Why did I say/do that!?  Wouldn't you like to know?)

 
Truth in Advertising

Adrift in momentary delusions of grandeur, I sometimes envision beginning a high profile advertising campaign for Monday Morning Mindfulness.  Full page bold print ads, billboards, and television commercials would proclaim something like:
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High Times and the Timeless

With A Bow to Stephen Gaskin

 

"There is a plane of experience, other than the three dimensional plane, which can be felt by a human being...If people never get above the merely signal level of communication, and don't become telepathic, they haven't explored their full human birthright."

-- Stephen Gaskin

"We are all parts of God.  Each one of us has an electrical body field that surrounds us, and a mind field that goes on to infinity."

--Stephen Gaskin

Stephen Gaskin (February 16, 1935 - July 1, 2014) and his wife, Ina May

In meditation, the subjective nature of Time passing becomes obvious. 

Sometimes, an hour zips by.  At other times, I've felt like a dazed prizefighter hanging onto the ropes of a painful existence waiting forever for the bell to ring.

Although modern science creates a "benchmark" for one second of objective time tied to the decay of a cesium atom, Einstein's theory of relativity already pointed out that it "ain't that simple."  

No shit, Sherlock. 

As I get older, it becomes increasingly impossible to grasp the nature of concepts like a second, a day, a decade.  In fact, at this stage of the journey, it's easier, at times, to directly sense the mysterious nature of the Timeless glowing in the boundless expanse of each moment.  I blame that on jumping heart first into Bodhisattva Practice years ago.  

I first came across the Bodhisattva Vow as it was expressed by Stephen Gaskin in Hey Beatnik!  The words resonated with something in my heart of hearts.  I was hooked. At that moment the vow took me. 

So, did Stephen Gaskin and the Farm.

Although I only had three conversations with him -- spread over a dozen years -- Stephen was a major influence in my life.  I'm not surprised that he came to mind for the first time in a long time during a conversation with an old friend a couple of days ago.  It was that time of year.  Gaskin passed away twelve years ago on July 1. 

In some traditions, the anniversary of a guru's passing is a high holy day.  I don't usually put a lot of weight on the "spooky" stuff.  Yet, Gaskin's "Mahasamadhi" brought about his mysterious "appearance" in my life twelve years ago -- a few days after he died.

As was my practice in those days, I would compose a blog post each week and send out an email "tickler" announcement.  (I'll do that for this post as well.)   As I sat at my laptop, struggling to write a commemorative post for a man that I revered, the iPhone dinged. 

When I opened the phone, I was amazed to find an announcement for Your MMM Courtesy Call: "Lighten Up!" -- with a quote from Stephen Gaskin staring me in the face! For some inexplicable reason, Google re-delivered the email announcement I'd sent six months before! (I'd only quoted Gaskin twice before in the epigram of a Your MMM Courtesy Wake Up Call post in hundreds of posts to that point.)  Google had never re-delivered an old email I sent before.  It hasn't done so since.

Wierd!?  Synchronicity? Coincidence?  All I know is that I lightened up.  I  found myself grinning from ear to ear.  I just wrote a brief intro about the experience -- and re-posted "Lighten Up."

Stephen Gaskin and the Farm

Stephen Gaskin always maintained he was more of a beatnik than a hippie.  Yet, wearing tie-dyes til the end, Gaskin was at the epicenter of the burst of spiritual energy that encircled the globe during the 1960's and 70's. A Marine Corp veteran of the Korean War, he was teaching in the English department at San Francisco State College when the hippies of Haight-Ashbury mushroomed into a worldwide counter-cultural phenomenon.  

What Gaskin started as an experimental evening discussion class with six students in 1968 grew into Monday Night Class which drew as many as 1500 people each week at a local rock venue.  They meditated together in silence.  Then Gaskin would deliver and extemporaneous talk on psychedelic spirituality before answering questions.  Within three years, Gaskin and those who considered him to be their spiritual teacher had established an intentional community called the Farm in rural Tennessee.  Their cottage industries included a midwifery clinic, soy diary, publishing company, trucking company, and construction firm.  At it's peak it had about 1600 residents and had generated several satellite communities spread across the country.  On the Farm, continuing in the tradition of Monday Night Class, the community met together for meditation and a talk by Stephen weekly at Sunday Morning Service.

This all, of course, gathered a lot of public attention.   It sure caught mine.  I devoured the books the Farm's publishing company distributed.  I visited it three times during its first 5 years, staying a month at a time twice. (When push came to shove though, I couldn't make the choice to live 700 miles away from my ex's and children.)

High Times -- With or Without Drugs

If the truth be told, I was a lightweight when it came to psychedelics.  Introduced to marijuana in the Spring of 1968, I went on to experience a number of trips on mushrooms, and on what was presented at the time as  "synthetic mescaline." (who knows what it was...)   Yet, as I began to explore Yoga and Meditation, I soon sensed that the drugs weren't the only means to accessing extraordinary qualities of consciousness.  Intrigued by these experiences, I read extensively about spirituality, religion, and mysticism.  I also met regularly with a small group of friends who were actively exploring spirituality in their lives.  (Two of them were being trained as peer support facilitators at a cutting edge psychiatric hospital.) 

Although I continued to pass a joint around once in awhile during those years, I actually avoided LSD out of concern that I wasn't "ready."

It didn't matter!!  

The Collective Consciousness was so energized as the 60's became the 70's, that I was swept up in a set of "paranormal" experiences.  I had a number of compelling out-of-body experiences, saw aura's, encountered ghosts and other "astral beings." I also experienced moments of synchronicity and telepathy that were absolutely mind-boggling -- without drugs in my system at the time!   

Then, in the spring of 1972, I had a direct experience of Perfect Oneness that fulfilled my deepest aspirations for Spiritual Connection at the time -- and dispelled a fear of death.  In those moments, I tasted the Real Deal.  The elements of the Perennial Philosophy were no longer merely conceptual.  I knew, in my bones: There is Sacred Oneness.  We are, individually and collectively, emanations of infinitude.  And as Saint John of Liverpool (and mystics through the ages) proclaimed, we all shine on!
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In It for the Long Haul

"As the mind becomes a little more quiet the sacredness of everything 

within and without becomes clear to us.”

-- Zen Teacher Norman Fischer

 

 “Be still.  Stillness reveals the secrets of eternity.
When there is silence one finds the anchor of the universe within oneself.”
― Lao Tzu

In the midst of the scurry of the past couple of weeks, I was especially aware of how precious each morning's meditation was to me.  

 

Sitting here at this aging MacBook Pro,  I take a long, deep conscious breath.  Feet firmly on the floor, sitting relatively erect, I take a full conscious breath.  My belly expands, then my rib cage.  Then, as I continue to inhale, my attention rises to my heart center -- and my awareness expands beyond the sensations in my body into the gracious spaciousness of Open Awareness.  

 

Here, I rest in the still, silent, expansive presence of the present moment.

 

Breath continues to breathe. Bodily sensations arise.  Eyes see.  Ears hear.  Thoughts emerge.  My fingers tap dance on the keyboard.   Letters appear on the screen.  I return to my breath, the sensations of my body and senses.  The spacious silence that exists within each moment reappears.

 

In my mind's eye, an image emerges.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  At age 80, I have now entered my ninth decade of life on this planet.  (Yikes.  I feel even older conceptualizing it like that.  I best just settle in with saying that I'm 80 years old. LOL)  

 

However I choose to hold it in my mind, it's clear that in the long haul of human life, I'm somewhere in the final lap.  I've got more many more yesterdays in my pockets than tomorrows.   I know that I'm not getting out of here alive.  

 

Taking another full, conscious breath, continuing to relax into an open-hearted presence, the tunnel and the light dissolve into the clear, expansive, luminous brilliance that is beyond endings and beginnings.  I'm at peace.

 

Once again, I know.  Home is where the Heart is.

 

Touching this silent stillness, even for a few brief moments, is like feeling the warm glow of a fireplace, snuggling at home on a snowy evening peering through the window at the moon.  Paradoxically, touching this silent stillness is also like sipping clear, crisp spring water on a steamy summer day.  In Stillness, a Presence emerges.  In a silent whisper, it sings of the Ineffable, an infinite space where the fundamentally mysterious and completely ordinary meet to form the fabric of Life itself.  

Simply Sitting Still

 

Although I use a variety of meditation techniques, have an active prayer life, and practice a set of daily spiritual rituals, the foundation of my personal practice for decades has been shikantaza.  I simply sit still with what Zen teacher Norman Fischer calls "the basic feeling of being alive."   (An article on Shikantaza by Suzuki Roshi)

 

Sometimes, it may take awhile for the dust to settle.  Yet, often enough, I can Simply Sit Still and allow the restless energy embedded in my body and mind to dissipate.  I can relax into the embrace of the expansive spaciousness of what contemporary spiritual teacher Eckhart Tolle calls the Eternal Now.  Resting in the spaciousness of open awareness, a subtle, yet very real, healing emerges.

 

Of course, this is often easier said than done.

Conditioned as we are in this society, our attention is usually drawn into the thoughts, images, memories, and daydreams cascading through our mind.  Rather than sitting still, observing the experience of the present moment with a relaxed open gaze, we find ourselves lost in thoughts and images of the future or the past.  

Yet, the moment I simply notice this, a moment of Practice emerges.  If that noticing is precise, clear, open, calm, and non-judgmental, I have engaged Mindfulness.  It is a qualitatively different mode of consciousness.  There I approach the Gateless Gate to our True Nature.

At times, it is just that simple.  Yet, simple doesn't necessarily mean easy.   

 

Why?

Without Practice, moment to moment, how we experience our lives, is mostly just a bad habit.  The way we see and react to our experience, is primarily a result of our conditioning.  Thoughts and feelings arise, unbidden, to dominate our attention.  Most the time, we don't choose to think what we are thinking or to feel what we are feeling.  It just bubbles up from our subconscious.  

 

Without a conscious commitment to put in the time and effort to discover what so often remains beneath the threshold of our awareness, we are held in bondage by our past.   Creatures of habit, we are likely to create a future that contains the same old, same old.  We continue to experience the suffering that characterizes much of the human condition.   

 

Thankfully, there is Practice.

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Body of Wisdom

 “Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. 
Dwelling in the present moment, I know this is the only moment.”

― Thích Nhat Hạnh, Being Peace

"When you listen to your body in this way, you can also feel that it’s the Earth’s body. Its bones are made of Earth minerals, calcium and magnesium, and there is seawater in your blood. Your body is everything you eat. It’s not just your body but part of something bigger: you are the Earth come alive."

-- Jack Kornfield

Reverend Gyomay Kubose (1905 - 2000)

When I observed my first Zen teacher dry mopping the wooden floor of the Zendo at the Buddhist Temple of Chicago years ago, I was awestruck.  

 

I hadn't seen anything like it before. 

There was a simple grace in his bearing, a Presence in his slow mindful steps that was astonishing. 

It was obvious to me that Reverend Gyomay Kubose, in his 70's at the time, was connected to his body, to the smooth wooden floors of the Buddhist Temple of Chicago -- and to Life itself -- in an entirely different way. 

 

Embodied Practice

The first of the Four Foundations of Mindfulness, Mindfulness of Body, is a concept that stretches back to the earliest texts of Buddhism.  The Anapanasati and Maha Satipathana Suttas spell out the details of meditative techniques which have been widely taught for about 2,500 years.  In these teachings, the development of a fuller awareness of our bodies is seen as a means of cultivating a calmer and clearer sense of the entire realm of our own experience.  

Beginning with focusing our attention on the process of breathing, attention can be directed in a number of ways to more fully experience our embodied existence.  As Mindfulness Practice deepens and we become more fully present to what we are experiencing on deeper and subtler levels, Reality asserts itself.

At a certain point, the Real Deal becomes self-evident.  
 

Getting From There to Here

Conditioned as we are, most of us are "in our heads" most of the time.  Although we are always breathing, and our bodies and our sensory apparatus are operating to generate a whole realm of experiences, most of this occurs without our conscious awareness.  Generally, conditioned as we are, the focus of our attention is primarily captured by the thoughts running through our head.

Fueled by emotional energies, subconscious beliefs, and conditioned filters, these thoughts dominate our attention in a way that sweeps us along the stream of our own conditioned ego patterns more often than not.  Mindfulness Practice, both on and off the meditation cushion, offers us a means to  expand our range of awareness to include a universe of experience that we generally aren't aware of.  Without Practice we are liable to "sleepwalk,"only half-awake,  throughout our lives. 

Reverend Kubose, most definitely, was not sleepwalking that day.  He was awake to the present moment, to the Oneness of Life Itself. 
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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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Just Thinking...

"One can appreciate and celebrate each moment -- there is nothing more sacred. There is nothing more vast and absolute.  

In fact, there is nothing more. "

-- Pema Chödron, 

Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living

“Breathing in, I calm body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. 

Dwelling in the present moment I know this is the only moment.” 

-- Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace

A Friend's Window, Rowe, MA

Mother Nature teased us this week.  

 

First, She whispered "springtime" in our ears for a couple of days. After weeks of weather that oscillated between sub-zero windchills and blizzards, the world warmed under a brilliant sun and blue skies, and our spirits soared with the temperatures into the low 70's.  This winter's thick blanket of snow began to melt.

 

Then, today, she blew it all away on the wings of a stiff west wind.  Outside the window, thick gray clouds promise another round of wintry precipitation.  Looking at my phone, I see that plummeting temperatures are forecast to hold sway again.  

 
Sitting here at the keyboard, my thinking mind, conditioned as it is, spins on.  It judges. It compares. It exaggerates.  It speculates.  The cascading storylines mostly emerge as some form of grieving the loss, bemoaning my fate, and ruing the future.   

 

Yet, within a few moments, I pause.  I remember that all this fretting and complaining is just another snow job.  Like a good con man, these thoughts create their own reality -- and steal from me the richness of the present moment.

Here and Now

When I stop typing, sit up a bit straighter, breathe fully, and come to my senses in the present moment everything shifts.  More fully Present, the world expands beyond the tunnel vision of my thoughts.  My heart opens to a clearer, calmer, more expansive quality of consciousness.  I feel the Presence of something vast, mysterious, meaningful.

 

Life now feels just fine.

 

Outside the window, the joyful melody of a cardinal's morning song rides along the surface of the silence. The wind howls and tree limbs dance.  There is even a luminescence to the grayness in the skies that is mirrored in the puddles than yesterday's sun had created.  

As I sit here typing, this seems to happen whenever I pause.   I'm wondering what would happen if you (yes, you!) would pause, right here and now, and bring some of your attention to the sensations sparking through your body, take a few full, deep breaths , then turn your attention to the sights and sounds around you before moving on to click: (READ MORE.)

Mindfulness, Meditation, and Mission

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love

will have the final word in reality... Man must evolve for all conflict 

a method that rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation.  

The foundation of such a method is love.” 

-- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“When we are mindful, deeply in touch with the present moment,
our understanding of what is going on deepens, and we begin to be
filled with acceptance, joy, peace and love.”
― Thích Nhất Hạnh

(I began working on this post last week, and life being life, it took me until now to get back to it. )

 

I awoke this morning stiff and sore, a bit out of sorts.  Even though Springtime is whispering in our ears, Mother Nature continues to hold on tight.  Here in Western Massachusetts, the world emerged from single digit temperatures overnight to pummel us with sleet and snow this afternoon.

Although, I seem to have recovered from a respiratory bug that slammed me last week, my nearly 80 year old body, with its failing eyesight, bevy of inflammations, dental difficulties, and achy joints still needs a lot of rest, maintenance time, and careful attention.  

As I plodded slowly toward the bathroom,  the whole world -- inner and outer -- seemed shrouded in gray tones of doom and gloom. 

 

Images of my inevitable, if not imminent, demise floated through my mind as I limped along.  Through the wonders of modern medical science, I've already beat the genetic odds of my lineage. My dad was dead at 61.  His dad was gone at 57.  Although I no longer fear death, the thought of leaving this plane of existence still mostly sucks. 

 

There were times in my life that beginning the day in this frame of mind on a frigid late winter morning would have thrown me for a loop.  A dark mood and dark thoughts would have wrapped themselves around one another and held onto one another tightly -- sometimes for hours, sometimes for days.  Sometimes for weeks at a time.  

In fact, there were times in my life that I spiraled down into deep depression, seemingly unbearable anxiety, and total burn-out.

That was then.  This is now.

This morning, as I have done most mornings for decades,  I brushed my teeth, washed my face. took a deep breath, and felt my heart open and expand. Then, with compassion and curiosity, I looked my mirror image straight in the eye for a moment or two.  Then, I wobbled to the altar.  There, I spent a few moments in a sequence of ritual prayers and bows.  Then, as I've done for decades, I lowered myself to the zafu and Simply Sat Still. 

Within moments, it was different.

There in my little corner of the world, with my body comfortable and upright on the meditation cushion, with eyes open and unfocused, I floated on the breath of Practice.  In the expansive gaze of open awareness, I relaxed and watched as ripples of thought, images, feelings, and bodily sensations emerged and dissipated along the surface of a clear, calm, vast pool of bright spacious awareness.  Simply Sitting Still, no longer grasping or pushing away what I was experiencing, I breathed, relaxed, softened, and opened.  

Soon, I was aware that a lot of old coots were feeling the aches and pains and sadness of aging, as well.  I knew that these types of bodily pain, these emotional clouds of doom and gloom are being experienced by countless other human beings -- at that very moment.  Breathing in,  I relaxed and opened to the pain. 

As I have learned to do in Tonglen Practice, I allowed the painful bodily sensations and emotional energies to emerge and breathed them directly into my heart chakra.  There, in my heart of hearts, the gracious spaciousness of Open Awareness welcomed this sea of sensations.  There, the One Love that exists within and beyond all that is embraced, and was embraced, merging with my sincere aspiration for our collective healing.  Breath by breath, the dark ripples of painful energy began to dissipate and dissolve.  I stayed with it, simply breathing through the sensations.  

Soon, with each out breath, I was able to radiate my heartfelt aspirations for peace, liberation, and healing.  At times, images of individuals would arise in my mind's eye and variations of the traditional metta meditations emerged as thoughts (May we (he, she, they, etc.) be free from suffering, May we be at peace, etc.)  At times, I visualized this energy as light radiating in all directions.  

After awhile, I returned to Simply Sitting Still.  Present to each moment's experience, an open, loving Presence emerged.

If At First You Don't Succeed

Tonglen Practice has been part of my meditation toolkit since 2006.  After two decades it continues to evolve.  Since the thrust of individual and collective conditioning in this hyper capitalist age propels most of us to reflexively reject painful experiences, the habit to do so is strong.  Creating new neural pathways through Tonglen has taken, commitment, effort, time -- and patience.  Lots of patience.    

Sometimes tears will emerge as I practice Tonglen.  This, I've found, is actually a good thing.  I've come to trust those tears.  They are the body's natural response to the grief that is inherent in the human condition.  Released, the tears wash away the hardness of heart that I'd been taught to wear as a shield against the painful aspects of life.  As tears flow, the armoring around the heart melts.  

As this happens, there are times that a deep sense of gratitude and wonder emerges within the tears. There, a boundless and mysterious One Love emerges to embrace both grief and gratitude.  In those moments, there is nothing left to do.  Simply being present is enough.

Yet, the impact of our conditioning, individual and collective, is formidable.  Over the years, I've found that, at times, life will serve up situations that produce emotional energies that are quite overwhelming.   Having been deeply touched by the teachings of Pema Chodron (through her writings and on-line presence), I've come to see that being gentle with myself is crucial. There are times that the most skillful approach is to drop Tonglen and focus my attention elsewhere.  

Sometimes, I will zero in on the sights and sounds of the space around me. Sometimes, I will tighten my focus by returning to counting my breaths, a mantra, or metta recitations.  Sometimes, I need to get off my tail and go outside for a good walk.

And yes, there are those times. Sometimes it is best to just drop the whole project and cue up a movie or a sitcom and sit down with a bowl of popcorn!    

Yet, this morning, I persisted.  Strong emotions, emerged.  Then, without a clear decision, Tonglen Practice emerged.  Then, after a time, it receded.  I Simply Sat Still in the heart of open awareness again.  There, the sights and sounds of traffic outside the window moved within a still pool of silence so deep that the bottom disappeared from view.  

Breathing in.  Breathing out.  I floated on effortlessly. The hour flew by.  The closing bells on my iPhone rang.  I recited the Four Bodhisattva Vows as I have done for decades -- and rose to face the day.

But, that was then, this is now.  

In Real Time 

Here I am, sitting at this old Mac Laptop watching letters and words tap dance across the screen.  Remembering, I take a couple of deep conscious breaths. I sit up a bit straighter, relax my shoulders, feel my feel on the floor.  The center of my attention returns to my heart.  I come to my senses.  Settling into a fuller awareness of the sights and sounds and sensations and gracious spaciousness of Life as it emerges moment to moment, I relax and open.  

At this point, words seem to just appear and find their way through my fingers into the screen.  It's quite mysterious really. Being present, I feel a Presence. It glows with crystalline clarity.  Here, the Sacred and the Ordinary dance hand in hand. 

So, now what?

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Tonglen Practice: Taking It to Heart

 

“You take it all in. You let the pain of the world touch your heart 

and you turn it into compassion. It is said that 

in difficult times, it is only bodhichitta that heals.” 

-- The Sixteenth Gyalwa Karmapa quoted by Pema Chodron, 

When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times 

 

"So, when we are willing, intentionally, with this kind of attitude, 

this vision, to breathe in the suffering, we are able to transform it 

easily and naturally; it doesn't take a major effort on our part, 

other than allow it."

-- Norman Fischer, Training in Compassion: 

Zen Teachings on the Practice of Lojong

A grin comes to my face as I remember her voice on the telephone.

"That's backwards isn't it? You meant breathe in the good and send out the bad, right?" she said, not unkindly. Being gracious, she was making a space for me to realize that my aging brain cells had gone dyslexic.

I had been chatting with an old friend for first time in quite awhile, talking about my continued wonder at the Lojong Teachings of Tibetan Buddhism in general, and Tonglen Practice in particular.  

After a moment's pause, to relax and reconnect with the basic openness of mind -- and to make sure that I really hadn't verbally zigged when I had intended to zag -- I continued.

"No, I actually did mean that I shift my attention from the thoughts running through my head to the feelings coursing through my body.  Then I breathe into my heart the difficult and challenging darker emotions that had emerged.  There in my heart of hearts I get in touch with the reality that countless people are feeling this same form of energy.  My heart naturally responds with the heartfelt aspiration that we all be free of such suffering.  Then I send out a sense of relief and healing with each exhalation.  It's in with the "bad." Out with "good.".

She paused for awhile (perhaps, to relax and reconnect with a basic openness herself? LOL)  Then she simply replied, "Oh?" 

She didn't sound convinced.

Hers was not an uncommon response.  Raised in a highly individualistic and materialistic society, the basic premise of this ancient Tibetan Buddhist system of mind training seems counterintuitive.  Instead of always grasping at the "good" and pushing away the "bad," with Tonglen Practice we choose to open our hearts to the entire gamut of human emotions.   Seems a bit crazy, right? It most certainly is. 

Crazy like a fox.

Transforming ALL Experience into the Path of Awakening

Lojong is an intricate system of training the heart and mind that emerged in Tibetan Buddhism in the 11th and 12 centuries. Grounded in the Mahayana doctrine of Two Truths, it's goal is to cultivate the wisdom and compassion needed to embrace both the conventional truth of appearances and absolute truth of Reality in our own lives.  In Lojong, all experiences in our lives are seen as an opportunity to Practice.

Lojong's framework of 59 training aphorisms are supported by two meditation practices: basic sitting meditation (Shamatha-Vippasyana) and Tonglen.  I've seen that, over time, these three tools have changed my day to day life dramatically. With Practice, I've been able to navigate the inevitable ups and downs of life with increasing ease, kindness, clarity and compassion.  With time, energy, effort and patience, I've been able to be Present more wholeheartedly, moment by moment, to Life.

To wit:

As I sit here and pay attention, I become aware of a clear, bright, vast, and open sense of spaciousness beyond the tunnel vision of my thoughts.  

As I pause and expand my attention to become aware of my body, my breath, and the sights and sounds of the room that I am sitting in, and to the world outside the window, there a palpable shift in my consciousness.  As I come into the present moment more fully,  I can feel an expansiveness throughout my body. I can relax and rest in its embrace. 

Sitting here, breathing in, breathing out,  I'm aware of the dance of my fingers along the surface of this keyboard.  I see that milliseconds before the fingers move, thoughts emerge instantaneously, seemingly from nowhere in particular.  Although, these thoughts are most certainly prompted by my intention to write this blog post, they appear to be emerging by themselves, quite mysteriously.  

Western science claims that these thoughts are epiphenoma, merely brain secretions of some sort, Yet, at this moment.  I experience a connection to something much grander than that.  My heart feels that connection.  I have come to trust that feeling.  A sense of wonder and joy emerges from a vast, luminous Presence that embraces me as I embrace it.   Aware of my feet on the floor, the clicking contact of my fingers on the keyboard, the soft humming of the computer, the wind outside the window, the vast, open spaciousness of a clear and boundless awareness, I feel the Presence of the Sacred.

But, I digress -- sort of.
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#@&*%!!?

"I vow to understand living beings and their suffering, 

to cultivate compassion and loving kindness,
and to practice joy and equanimity."

Thich Nhat Hanh, from "Refuge Poem"

"Give me an F.....

Give me a U.............."

Country Joe McDonald, Introduction to "I Feel Like I'm Fixin' To Die Rag"

Country Joe McDonald

I swear.  Sometimes a lot.  It can be embarrassing. 

These days, I usually (not always) refrain from allowing four letter words to roll out of my mouth when I'm upset.  

 

Yet, the closer I get to a spontaneous expression of awe and joy and gratitude for the Absolute Wonder of Life, the more likely am I to launch forth an "F bomb" -- usually in its forms as an adjective or adverb.   (For example: How F***ing cool is that?)

I guess, more than anything, this tendency to be somewhat foul-mouthed shows my true colors.  I am the prototypical product of the 1960's.  I entered high school in 1960 and graduated from college in 1969.

To be sure, the language that I used freely on the streets on the south side of Chicago as a child was certainly ladden with a few expletives that couldn't be used at home or in school.  Yet, it was fairly tame stuff.   The F word was beyond the pale. Even in high school the word stung my ears.  Yet, by the late sixties, a whole bunch of us were using it quite freely.  Depending on the context, it functioned as a noun, a verb, an adjective, or an adverb.  

Although I began practicing yoga and meditation during my senior year of college in 1969, becoming "spiritual" didn't seem to effect the language that had become part of my normal vocabulary.  Moments of joy and exhilaration  could and would still elicit an exuberant "Far F***ing Out!"

Telling It Like It Is

In the "youth culture" of that era, a whole bunch of us came to see what Jesus and Martin Luther King, Jr. and countless others had seen: War is blasphemous.  Using napalm is obscene.  Launching F bombs?  Not so much.  

In fact, "colorful" language, like colorful clothing, long hair,  and psychotropic drugs, was an integral part of the youth culture.  We were intent on breaking the monochromatic norms of a mainstream society that worshiped the false gods of white supremacy, materialism, competition, environmental degradation and warfare.  We rejected the norms of a "polite society" that was praising Jesus in one breath and supporting the extermination of people halfway around the planet with the other.  

Killing innocent children to "preserve our way of life?"  I mean, like WTF!?

We chose, instead,  to try to pursue a life based on the values of freedom, peace and love.  "Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven" wasn't just something that folks were supposed to recite in church on Sunday.  We believed we were supposed to be living the life of love and compassion that Jesus lived.

And sometimes that just didn't look or sound like we had learned in "polite society." Like the medieval Zen monk Guishan, we knew that kicking over the water jug and stomping out of the temple was sometimes the appropriate move. Rather than live a life of hypocritical piety, we were intent on having some serious fun.   

Country Joe McDonald's infamous call and response introduction to "I Feel Like I'm Fixin' to Die Rag" (Give me an F -- Give me a U..., etc.) exhibited the spirit of the times.  His"foul mouth" not only spiced things up, it got to the heart of the matter.  The iconoclastic spirit of Zen was in the air.  As one of my guiding lights, the late Hippy Guru, Stephen Gaskin, put it at the time: "We're out to raise hell -- in the Bodhisattvic sense." 
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For Unto Us a Child is Born

 

Twelve years ago last Tuesday, Keaton Izzy was born.  It seems like her Incarnation into this dimension was only yesterday -- AND that she has been here forever.  As miraculous today as she was then, she is a on-going reminder of the sacred nature of life on earth.  As Christmas Day 2025 approaches, I thought that I would again share the post I wrote the week of her birth. 
One Love,
Lance 

December 19, 2013

"Each human being is a multiplicity of miracles.  Eyes that see thousands of colors, shapes, and forms; ears that hear a bee flying or a thunderclap; a brain that ponders a speck of dust as easily as the entire cosmos; a heart that beats in rhythm with the heartbeat of all beings."

-- Thich Nhat Hanh 

"Every child born is a living Buddha.  Some of them only get to be a living Buddha for a moment, because nobody believes it."

 -- Stephan Gaskin 

Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin

Originally scheduled for a Christmas Day arrival, Keaton Izzy made her debut appearance on planet Earth in the wee hours of Monday morning.  Nine days "early," she arrived in plenty of time to avoid a head to head competition with Baby Jesus.  

 
Sporting all ten fingers and toes, sparkling with Buddhanature, her birth -- like all births -- is another obvious affirmation of the Miraculous.  As she peered from one face to another, following the sound of our voices, I could feel her Presence as pure, unadulterated Life Force.  She was Love Incarnate. 

Enraptured, my heart opened to the Sacred Mystery as I held her in my arms.  Then, at a certain point, a profound sadness emerged.  

As a child, the Christmas season always brought with it a certain sadness.  Something seemed more than slightly askew.  The idea that the holidays were a special time of mirth and merriment didn't jive with the reality of my life.  Often separated from one -- or both -- of my parents, living in poverty, all those tidings of comfort and joy didn't land well for me.  As the years rolled by, I imagined it was just the chaos and uncertainty of my own childhood that left me feeling sad.  I thought I was just "out of the loop."  

As the years have rolled by,  I have thought that less and less.  Even when the conditions of my life had improved, what I saw in the world around me, the scurry and stress of Christmas shopping, the drunken revelers, the television news full of the violence and warfare, made "peace on earth" and "goodwill toward men"seem like ancient and empty promises. 

Yet, in my heart of hearts, something still whispers to me.   

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Visible to the Naked Eye

“If the doors of perception were cleansed 

every thing would appear to man as it is, Infinite. 

For man has closed himself up, 

till he sees all things thro' narrow chinks of his cavern.”
― William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 

“Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don't even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child 

 -- our own two eyes. All is a miracle.”

 
― Thich Nhat Hanh

 

If the truth be told, I guess I've always been a freakin' Geek.  As a youngster, I was curious about everything!  

 

I spent hours and hours observing the weather, stars, clouds, rocks, fossils, trees, bumblebees, ants, frogs, birds, squirrels, whatever.

It all fascinated me.
 

In school, when I wasn't parked in the corner (or the hallway) for not being able to sit still and keep my mouth shut, I loved learning just for the sake of learning.  Although this meant that I had my nose in a book a lot of the time, I also was quite "hands on."  I loved to do natural science.  I explored. I collected. I identified. I classified.  

 

I also loved to explore man-made things.  After a few missteps, I quickly learned to choose my battles wisely.  I promised I would only take apart certain "approved" items to see what made them tick.  Sometimes, I was even able to "fix them" and/or successfully put them back together. 

 

One morning, I found a broken box camera in the alley.  I immediately took it home and disassembled it.  I soon noticed that everything appeared to be upside down when I peered through one of the lenses.   

 

WTF?  

 

Moments later, I discovered the world righted itself and things were bigger when I lined up two of the lenses I had removed. Within a half an hour, I had made a simple telescope. That night, I charted the position of the bright star that appeared outside my bedroom window.  The next day my teacher told me that this particular orb was actually the planet Jupiter! He then showed me a drawing of the entire solar system! I went home, an aspiring astronomer.  I gazed at the moon through my telescope, and kept track of Jupiter's change in position each night in my notebook-- until a new project appeared to capture my attention.  

 

Yet, although I was rewarded with acknowledgment and a few gold stars for such things, I soon learned that another arena of curiosity and exploration wasn't going to be welcomed at all.  I had many experiences that brimmed with a sense of mystery and magic.  Yet, these early perceptions of the spiritual dimension of life were consistently ignored, avoided, -- or squashed.  The adults in my life didn't seem to have a clue.

That should come as no surprise.  

 

Like most of you who may be reading this, I grew up in a culture immersed for centuries in a civilization steeped in scientific materialism.  In a society supercharged by a capitalist economy laced with white supremacy, and a distorted and limited form of Christianity, the spiritual dimension of life is generally distrusted, feared, or dismissed as superstition.  It was presented as either a scary movie realm of ghosts and demons -- or a "heavenly realm" that can only be experienced after death.  To make matters worse, this heaven was said to be an exclusive, "members only" destination.  It was only available to those who believe in a set of certain specific things about the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth.  

 

If, like the vast majority of human beings throughout the history of our species, a person believed differently, they were promised an eternity of extreme, torturous, cruelty and suffering.  As a young child, this version of a God who Jesus called a loving father, and the Bible proclaimed was Love itself, made no sense to me.  

 

I'd already glimpsed something much more amazing and affirming.

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