This past summer my hydrangea, just outside the door of my house, did not have one blossom. Not one.
In the 9 years I have lived in my home, this beautiful bush has created the most gorgeous blue flowers every other year. Not this year though.
Why was this I wondered?
I did nothing different in the way I cared for it. I was exactly the same.
Which left me questioning if other conditions, conditions in my environment outside of my control, did change. Or maybe, a condition had been accumulating over the past few growing seasons that I was not aware of- or perhaps, ignoring.
A fan of Oprah Winfrey's television show Super Soul Sunday, I have often heard Ms. Winfrey ask the prominent spiritual and religious thinkers she is lucky enough to interview: What spiritual lesson did it take you the longest to learn?
Such a great question.
For me, right now anyway, it is this: I can do everything "right," and still lose big.
Yeah, still working on that one...
I think though, like my hydrangea, it may have something to do with some of those mysterious concepts that Vietnamese Buddhist teacher and author Thich Nhat Hanh speaks and writes about that intrigue me so- like: Interbeing and Interconnection.
I'm also wondering about some of those other Buddhists concepts that I don't pretend to understand, but rather bat around in my tiny brain, like individual Karma and community Karma that speak to the power and influence of causes and conditions- even when we may not have entirely discovered what those causes and conditions are.
As always, these days especially in the post-election United States, there is much to contemplate and many opportunities to practice from the moment you walk out your front door.
Blessings to you in your own contemplation and practice today.
Contemplative musings by a modern working mother who is waking up in the middle of her life.
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Wednesday, November 16, 2016
Monday, November 14, 2016
Poetry 107: Merging Landscapes
Merging Landscapes
I no longer know where I begin
and where I end.
Am I the sky,
the wind,
the ground upon which I stand?
When sadness and joy
stand beside each other
under a cloudy sky,
where is the luminous sun?
The reflective moon?
As always,
I seem to have more questions
than answers.
Yet when the cold air enters my skin
as I move through the mundane,
or the hot air forces sweat down my brow
as I write these very words,
I feel the unmistakable
merging of landscapes
that makes the pain
of the world bearable
for just
one
more
day.
Because I know,
the manufactured borderland
of internal and external
disappears into only
sensation
in the end;
when all that remains
is infinity.
In these transcendent moments,
I am no longer me,
And you are no longer you.
When creation is creator,
And creator is creation.
When we are all finally free.
-Me
-Me
Friday, November 4, 2016
Kindred Spirits: David Whyte
No One Told Me
By David Whyte
No one told me
it would lead to this.
No one said
there would be secrets
I would not want to know.
No one told me about seeing.
seeing brought me loss and a darkness I could not hold.
No one told me about writing
or speaking.
Speaking and writing poetry
I unsheathed the sharp edge
of experience that led me here.
No one told me
it could not be put away.
I was told once, only
in a whisper,
‘The blade is so sharp-
It cuts together
-not apart’
This is no comfort.
My future is full of blood
from being blindfolded
hands outstretched,
feeling a way along its firm edge.
This poem, "No One Told Me" by David Whyte, that I read for the first time the other day, felt like looking in a mirror. It reminded me of what I had wanted, had tried, to convey in July of this year when I posted a poem under the title "Bittersweet Awakening."
I'm loving the mystery of this crazy perfect universe.
By David Whyte
No one told me
it would lead to this.
No one said
there would be secrets
I would not want to know.
No one told me about seeing.
seeing brought me loss and a darkness I could not hold.
No one told me about writing
or speaking.
Speaking and writing poetry
I unsheathed the sharp edge
of experience that led me here.
No one told me
it could not be put away.
I was told once, only
in a whisper,
‘The blade is so sharp-
It cuts together
-not apart’
This is no comfort.
My future is full of blood
from being blindfolded
hands outstretched,
feeling a way along its firm edge.
This poem, "No One Told Me" by David Whyte, that I read for the first time the other day, felt like looking in a mirror. It reminded me of what I had wanted, had tried, to convey in July of this year when I posted a poem under the title "Bittersweet Awakening."
I'm loving the mystery of this crazy perfect universe.
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Poetry 106: Just As I Am
Just as I am
Maybe I am more like,
just like,
the blade of grass.
The crow.
The cloud in the sky.
Maybe, just maybe,
god wanted me
just
like
this.
Just as I am.
Could that possibly be possible?
I can't even fathom,
and yet, I now wonder.
Often.
Because if that's true,
as things like god and theology can be,
then, what?
Do I sit?
Take a breath?
Maybe two.
Do I let go?
Do I step outside
to sing, celebrate and breakdance in the street?
What if I am already the person I am supposed to be?
What if my mind is the mind it is supposed to be?
And my body is the body it is supposed to be?
What would I do then?
How would I proceed?
To realize, at age 39,
that me
and the black bear outside my door
are exactly as we should be,
seems like the worst April fools joke
that could simultaneously mean my freedom.
If I embody myself,
just as I am,
what would happen next?
-Me
-Me
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