Color bursting on retina,
grass and trees washed clean.
Entrancing eyes, ears, nose, mind. . .
California spring bursting toward summer;
this Valley vibrating towards its own creation.
This silence so keenly decreed-
Only this wind blowing...
can actually speak in this inhabited valley
speaking only the language of leaves/ branches rubbing.
We came to this enchanted Valley.
so this human silence
could tear bitterly at these closed places. . .
you know, the betrayals, pains, regrets
moments of all sorts; lost forever. . .
good and bad- drowned in all of time.
Slowly; to regain this fundamental clarity.
these afternoon winds blowing new thoughts down,
down to the great highway.
remembering–holding to anything–is not the point.
Could it be? like waking from a dream;
a clear buoyant mind.
wide like the sky;
has no need of an object.
Finding some balance
these factors- awakening themselves
this crucible of a teeter totter
balanced on the head of a pin.
Everything comes to this center point.
The known world vanishes;
Mind in its dualism,
has lost its home.
All seperateness
Untrue.
Life Happening Too Fast
Clouds covering the open sky,
blueness gone, gray holding the heavens
this first day, wobbling is like this.
Shades of sleepiness. . .
mind spinning,
holding court with memories,
body–resisting, creaking or was it just hollering
why did I come?
Some small gesture. . .
this sitting up straight,
remembering the sadness,
no one can be saved-
time takes its toll.
Heart sinks with truth.
How to begin again?
Knowing all about endings.
Could it be so simple?
Letting go of everything.
Starting to practice again, breath appears–
where no breath was noticed before
life is holding itself.
These magical displays. . .
breath enters– this subtle relationship.
Giving and taking.
A wilderness of unforeseen chaos,
reorganizing itself.
Inhale–exhale - in out. . .
Could there be a place to rest
in this ferocity of change?
These elements dancing
earth, air, fire , water.
Oh yes–this knowing
it has its place to rest–readily available
mind dancing in body.
Looking carefully–close in
body and mind befriended
a sense of ease.
I knew you came to awaken.
Relaxing in the center
of this pleasant, unpleasant dance.
Oh my! Bell rings
leaving the whole valley waiting.
All disappearing–reappearing
disappearing -reappearing.
Heart quivers.
Even Mindedness (Full Moon) - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
Returning from so many journeys.
Stories piled on top of stories.
Closing chapter after chapter.
In some small cave...
Hidden away, some text-
Forgotten for centuries.
Held tightly in the silence.
This river of our own mythology.
You! who have abandoning yourself, one too many times.
Having finally sat down -
knowing nothing is forgotten in this place,
only amplified.
This meditation hall filled to the brim.
Stepping back–moving out of this house of dreams.
Into your own center.
Holding this lacquered begging bowl.
holding last year’s dreams over it,
knowing this simple gesture;
hands open…
dropping it leaf by leaf,
into this bottomless bowl.
I was here to celebrate-
After all this living, ---bargaining over.
A place where the hummingbirds come:
To taste the sweetness of your own openness.
The insecurity slips at last-
The rains washes it down
the green hillside
Into the creek, undistinguished
From tears or just the toxins of growing up .
Sitting, like a stone Buddha
Unmoved by the longings and the dislikes .
Now, no need to move away from the Great Suffering,
Or even be enchanted by the Great Joy.
One sits– in even mindedness; with a boundless heart.
Earth, water, fire, air- find no footing here.
One rests, the exile is over.
To praise- form and the formless
A world were Emptiness, just the word.
Brings your hands together.
Gives way to a bow –
In the great understanding.
You know now when they use the words,
Luminous or boundless
It is no stranger,
You know you can sit in the Unknowing.
Blessed by a taste of grace.
Exploring Faith - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
In a world of shifting sands
One sees the Hawk
Perched in our Valley
Calm -devoted to all movement,
In the green sparkling grasses.
The crow dive bomb him
This is my roof, my territory, my meditation all,
My stories, my thoughts.
How dare you intrude.
Standing on this edge,
The merciless, sweet, sound of your own voice.
Never convincing you to jump.
The taste of salt and dry mouth
And the blood from your own bitten lip.
Who told you,? You could out-think this life.
Weighing all things with your golden intelligence.
That jumping into complete silence
the sheer darkness …
wouldn’t have consequences?
No matter how courageously you struggled.
Yet, your own redemption.
This simple gesture
A Buddha touching the earth.
Dissolving the madness of centuries.
A Hawk poised on the edge of roof
About to drop off into
Darkness of the unknown.
Only two possibilities
Finding something solid to stand on;
Or
You will be taught how to fly.
Faith comes in confirmation
Like electricity–unseen
Yet it lights your path.
Bones in the River - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
Rain cascading down, the heavens have opened.
Bundled up inside my own memories.
Water rushing, moving through me swiftly.
Tip towing across the surface of breathing.
Pointing towards our own hospitality.
Destined to reach my own underground.
A place where I could let the rain
Soak through my clothes;
Skin; flesh, to these very bones.
Dharma not different than the rain.
Truth soaking through the layers of my own being.
Celebrating its silence and strength
Reaching the marrow of our bones.
All judgments left on the surface.
The outward bathed in calmness.
Inward resting in original nature
The eyes smiling at all things.
The no name teacher comes,
Teaching us to hold nothing.
“Flow is possible” finally in gentle voice.
Yet–resistance, uncertainty – maybe the old small panic.
“I can’t swim, can’t breathe”
Abandoning the possibilities of freedom.
Totally forgetting that the river can’t be stopped.
Just molecules dancing towards infinity.
Deep down, being earnest and loyal,
Opening to this cascade of remembering.
Dharma has touched these bones. . .
Knowing separateness to be untrue.
The gift from these practices; simple trust.
This surrendering and stillness.
Determining its possible to just float;
In the aloneness of one’s own River.
Having been touched by all the small loves.
Knowing you belong to this place.
You open both arms.
Knowing; the smallest entry;
Could give rise to this Great Love,
You know the one that holds everything
And no-thing. . .
Winter Solstice - Water Rainy Season - Water Rainy Season
From this silence so well constructed
I wonder off, into tomorrow.
bending like a willow
trying to touch a world unhatched,
this impossible, of my imagination.
i am the intimacy of faith
I am the grandeur of loneliness.
I am the worthiness;
-that which is kept buried beneath the wounds of my stories.
Sometimes everything has to be studied
knowing somehow this sitting here
not enough.
this knowing the fierce walking
like pilgrims through the darkness.
Knowing we've traveled inside everyone.
Feeling the grief; the joys.
I want to know
no more traveling on the wings of fear and hope.
but sit by the fire of living
no longer dying to what could have been
or even what will be.
But finding my place in the things that are;
some mystery presented
some grace
some bit of mercy
miraculously lived.
So let this listening
Somewhere beneath the granite shelves of the earth
where the sweet waters, lie in wait.
To be tapped to give life back to itself.
This basic goodness
this first step home
gives you back to yourself
the heart flowing with each encounter
a mind pliable; moving like the sweet stream
from that deep down listening .
I am awake
as the world calls in its pungent need to change me.
I move into it -- with it.
Endings - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
Did you say it was over.
You mean I'm kicked out
back to the world I so carefully crafted?
How could this be?
I just got here.
You must have a plan.
all this work
just to get so sensitive?
It was raining and dark
both inside and outside.
When I arrived.
Sitting quietly,
again and again
and so
the clouds on the inside
began to thin-
day by day.
You knew you came
to give up some of the old,
and frightened parts.
Remembering some faith---
the Sun having been there all along.
waiting,
waiting patiently.,
day after day....
For you to breathe into your heart once again
standing firm
-- knowing for sure that the winds of change;
demanding everything.
only to pull you back into the complex- of your life.
maybe this time.
Pausing a little longer.
Listening
listening to something below the chatter.
Heart little more at ease.
One sings one song.
Mercy Mercy --
The White Heron - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.
Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.
Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.
There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.
one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.
And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on.
Clear Path - Month Long Spirit Rock Meditation
the white heron
standing so still, dignity of posture-
so like the yogis in our hall
knowing somehow
To draw ourselves back-back into a center of safety-
consumed solely by the center of our own flames.
Burning of the old -- the old stories
wishes, fears, desires;
your own voice calling to yourself,
only heard by yourself
back, back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands.
Breath- breathing you.
Untouched, by a shredded past,
an uncomprehensible future;
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculties of our senses
knowing somehow there is no other world,
than this, simply this.
There is this small point, infinite point
where the world divides.
one road --
leading back, back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly --
desperately searching through the crowded years
where life's hopes - fears;
can be played
in this game of winning and probably losing
grasping tightly , capturing, imprisoning,
keeping it for all of... time.
And then there's this other path---old path
caught in the miracle of ordinariness,
bewilderment ---
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers..
knowing somehow that you have to surrender-
leaving behind the hopes and fears in the grasping,
resting nowhere -- falling on your knees;
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here- on.
Pilgrimage - Towards Awakening - Month Long at Spirit Rock Meditation Center
So why would I want to climb this mountain?
Maybe it was yesterday, last week, last month, last year, sometime long ago,
long before now.
A lightning bolt cut through the darkness of minds eternal chatter.
Revealing a majestic snow -- covered peak.
Somehow not knowing if it was real or a dream?
Some impulse deep down,
knowing no time to waste...
The heart frozen
the mind emeshed in fog
body not found.
Knowing the harsh need to changes us, was at hand.
Sitting down in remedial silence
watching everything like the sages, seers, seekers,
listening, listening breathing, fidgeting,
thoughts like streams of every color
darting off, landing nowhere.
Was it five days; nine days,
waiting for that inner compass
that trusted voiceless instinct
like a sleepwalker
surrendering the mind to the heart.
Humbly walking without seeing
zero visibility
heart knowing its way;
nervously letting ourselves down
on this old path
trodden by so many courageous;
seekers -- wanderers -- pilgrims.
letting go of the ground we stand on
nervously clinging to every day,
so for one moment --
the breath -- breathe all beings.
Yes! You were always whole...
The mountain was you.