Just This
(aka Thank You Letter to Garrison and the Meditation Retreat Teachers; aka A Love Letter to Now)
The low clouds moving across the Hudson Valley hills.
The ancient North American river lazily flowing south.
The West Point helicopters and gunshots in the distance.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The sound of the impossibly long train rolling by.
The Seeker who is waking up right beside me.
The aspiration for freedom.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The social mask.
The noble silence.
The guilty feeling for having left my husband and children behind for 5 whole days.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The granite steps.
The ceramic tile.
The wooden door knob that does not allow me to do what I know how to do best:
lock people out.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The castle-like monastery that housed our Brothers and Sisters for the better part of a century.
The aching of my heart.
The awareness that this retreat will come to an end.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The unanticipated benches found throughout the 93 acres of land that come upon you as grace.
The wet dewy grass that cleanses my feet each morning as I move in walking meditation.
The discreet stone Buddha who sits just quietly right outside the main entrance.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The sweet fragrance of honeysuckle on this mid-summer morning.
The steal-cut oats topped with blueberries that fill my belly.
The smile on my lips each time I glimpse another audacious rabbit that lives and roams amongst us.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The slender Pacific sage who drinks her water and folds her shawl as graciously as Thich Nhat Hanh sips his 3 hour tea.
The irreverent, neurotic, tattooed New Yorker who walks quickly into the hall heel-toe, rather than toe-heel.
The mother of all "managers" who oh-so-gently wakes my sleepy body for morning sit before 7 a.m.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The dense humidity of the air that makes every breath a miracle.
The swarms of hungry mosquitos that find my blood most nourishing.
The unrelenting headache and middle-of-the-night insomnia that is more than I can take.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The rain, turned mist, turned rain that makes our earth greener by the minute.
The moss and raspberries that line the railroad track.
The inch worm sliding across my left hand.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The divine words of David Whyte, Danna Faulds, Alice Miller, & Antonio Damasio.
The respected reverence for the Sutta explained through the modern-day east coast-west coast dynamic duo's universal translator.
The deep desire for my own internal "fire fighter" to not let go a little, but a lot.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The 3rd floor lounge at dawn with its instant Folders coffee and library of books to help us to understand our deepest nature.
The mysterious roommate-stranger who is walking her own spiritual path in silence.
The knowing half-smile of the Dalai Lama who keeps me company as I engage in how-slow-can-you-go.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The salty taste of the cheddar fennel scone.
The echo of the gong at 5:30 to remind us that The Fresh Company has provided yet another nourishing meal.
The understanding that this experience is pure and true while remembering my own dear far-off space and time as well.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The immense golden Buddha with her red lips shining.
The stained glass windows that encircle our sacred space.
The sunlight finally breaking through.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The completely unexpected beauty of bamboo on the northern Atlantic coast.
The butterflies and dragonflies that weave in and out of each mindful step I take.
The siren call of the forest that draws me in every single afternoon and out each evening to watch the fireflies light up my own darkness.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The wild turkey who herds her 8 downy babies away from danger.
The deer who carefully watches our every move from the shadows and safety of the wood.
The frogs who converse in the trees under the night sky.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The day and schedule neatly laid out before me.
The 2 o'clock movement, awareness and energy in and through our bodies.
The respectful nod to the Zen tradition in our procession of steps that keeps our sangha in geese formation.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The ritual of heart practice to endure self-blessing.
The Brahma-Viharas set to rhythmic chant.
The intuition that the path of Metta is calling me.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The left hemisphere.
The right hemisphere.
And the mystical synthesis that manifests as kindness.
This is enough.
I am enough.
Nothing extra.
The moment I press my palms together in front of my heart space to bow in deep gratitude.
The sensation of my forehead kissing the floor in sincere devotion.
The posture. The breath. The radiant stillness of my truest nature.
This is more than enough.
I am more than enough.
Nothing extra.
Just this.
No comments:
Post a Comment