This picture is based on Verse 18 from “A Hundred Verses of Self-Instruction” by the South Indian master of mindfulness meditation, Narayana Guru:

 

The “I” is not dark; if it were dark we would be in a state of blindness,

unable to know even “I,I”;

as we do know, the “I” is not darkness;

thus, for making this known, this should be told to anyone.

 

The author is inviting us once again to recognize a simple truth: there is a continuous background awareness operating in us that watches our actions, the arising of our mental states, our dreaming and even our breathing in a timeless unbroken flow of attention. It simply exists, prior to any more definite notions we could have about our personal identity, our names, our age, our sex and so on.

 

This pure awareness can’t see itself directly, but that doesn’t mean it’s dark or absent. We know it’s there, because it illuminates the objects of our inner and outer experience.

 

Because it’s absolutely featureless, and because we all share it, we could say, in a sense, that we are one Being. And although everyone calls their inner awareness “I”, this is an “I” that is actually shared by all.

 

Our mental states are cycling in constant flux, sometimes light and sometimes very dark indeed. So here the author is offering a kindly reminder: our moments of deepest confusion can be known, as such, only by virtue of that light in us that watches.

 

–Andy Larkin

 

Open Road Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue

 

 May 15, 2021

 

Katie Radditz is editing this month’s Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue, while Nancy and I are in Mexico. (JS)

 

Hello dear friends,

 

 Last week, I went to Walla Walla to help take care of my grand kids while their parents worked there for a few days. It was joyful and freeing to be out after covid vaccines, no masks necessary in the outdoors. The bare hills and the towering rock walls with giant wind mills are a huge contrast to our home landscape in Portland in the cedar trees and lush spring greens and reds of rhododendrons, yellow tulips, orange poppies.  I hadn’t been on I-84 going East for more than a year.  The last time was visiting at Two Rivers. On our return we came past the prison.  And I was filled with the feeling of being home and homesick at the same time. It was hard not to be able to come inside.  So we stopped, went down to the river and I meditated with you, just breathing the same air. Being at ease.  And I pictured the banner that hangs in the trees at Plum Village when one arrives on retreat.  It blows gently in the breeze with Thay’s calligraphy that says, “You have arrived. You are home.”  It was a wonderful moment of being home.  We are always arriving, right here, right now.  This was most refreshing, and I felt grateful for having been welcomed there always, in that magical, loving dialogue group.  

 

—  Katie R

 

Here is a poem by Deb that reminds us of all the life going on beneath our feet while above our minds can be spinning  – 

 

White Orchid

 

Waxy petals unfurl slowly against the tropical earth pale insects burrow in drawn by fragrance escaping molecule by molecule through soft loam surrounding the tendril of whitened stem piercing soil branching off a flower then another creeping underground this life unseen unheeded above ground our life drawing sustenance from the dark explosion  

 

—   Deborah Buchanan

 

First Light Meditation this morning May 16 – 

 

You pedal furiously

into a future you’re trying

hard to prolong

by this exercise,

though the landscape

that rolls by here is time

passing, with its lists

of things undone

or not done properly,

and all this effort,

the fierce monotony

of this ride feels

much like life itself —

going nowhere

strenuously… your legs

beginning to throb, as if

the body communicates

in a code of pain, saying

never mind the future,

you’re here

right now, alive.

 

–Linda Pastan

 

Two entries from Michel’s journal:

 

April 29, 2021 #111 Taking Care of the Future

 

The Future is being made out of the present, so the best way to take care of the future is to take care of the present moment. This is logical and clear. Spending a lot of time speculating and worrying about the future is totally useless. We can only take care of our future by taking care of the present moment, because the future is made out of only one substance: the present. Only if you are anchored in the present can you prepare well for the future.  (Thich Nhat Hanh, from Your True Home)

 

Michel writes about how to deal with his father’s coming death – 

 

It becomes a matter of focus:  Do I dwell on the inevitable loss? Or, do I focus my attention and energy on the now, striving to be fully present to any of life’s moments, making the most out of each one? The result of the second has some happiness for now and later; the former is only anguish and suffering. 

 

May 2, 2021  Michel sends this Buddhist story to ponder and respond to from your own life experience  –  

 

It is from a Zen teacher who begins,   “We might say that Zen practice is about directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. The path of practice is about how we may go about realizing this possibility in our everyday lives, regardless of the circumstances, whether they’re comfortable or whether they’re challenging circumstances.” 

 

There’s a story about a fisherman in a remote village in ancient China. As was the custom with people in the village, each day they would go to the mountain stream that ran through the main part of the village and they would fish for their dinner. One day this fisherman showed up using a straight hook, rather than using a curved hook with a barb. He began fishing next to his neighbors, and they all started to make fun of him. They said, “What are you going to do with that? Why are you trying to fish with a straight hook?” And he said, “You may catch an ordinary fish with your curved hook with a barb on it. But one day I may catch an extraordinary fish with my straight hook.” And it’s said that he continued to fish in this way for 40 years. News of this unusual fisherman and his way of fishing spread throughout all of China, even to the Imperial Court. The Emperor was very interested to see, “What is this all about? What is this person doing? What’s this straight-hook fishing?” So he gathered together an entourage. They traveled up to the remote mountain village. Of course, he arrived to see this now old man with his line fishing with a straight hook, and he said, “Old Man, whatever were you hoping to catch with this straight hook?” And he replied, “I was hoping to catch you, dear Emperor.” 

 

The teacher comments  –   So, here we are together, separated by time and distance but engaged as a learning community. Sitting quietly, each of us on our own and all of us together, putting our hook in this water. What are we hoping to catch? Maybe some piece of understanding, clarity or insight. Maybe relief from some difficulty or challenge we’re facing. Maybe some way that we can help somebody who we care about deeply; who’s having some difficulty. We don’t know what to do. Maybe we’ll find some way we can really be of help and support. Maybe we don’t know why we’re casting our line into this water of meditation. Maybe it doesn’t matter to us at all. And we can’t know. I mean, this is a story, so we can’t know what the intention really of this old man fishing in this unusual way was. Could he ever have imagined that he’d catch an emperor at the end of his straight hook? But there’s the possibility in this slippery kind of situation, where we’re numbed leading into the moment with what we know, with what we understand, with what we think works, with what makes sense to us. We’re entering a moment in a wider way, wider margins on how we’re approaching this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift. It’s a shift from relying on our habits, on our past, or thinking what we know; our associations. Enter in the present situation in our experiencing of it, not just for ideas about it. So the possibility of practice is not just to know ourselves as the idea we have of ourselves, but to know ourselves directly, which is much wider than those ideas. . . We could be open to possibilities much wider than what we can imagine. The possibility of fishing without a specific sense of what it is that we’re going to gain, what the outcome is going to be. 

 

–Paul Rosenblum Roshi 

 

A few excerpts from Michel’s comments – 

 

I’ll allow everyone to develop each one’s meaning to this story, so you can catch your own fish.  I just found the idea interesting as a launching point for his talk, “this feeling of directly experiencing the most satisfying kind of aliveness. And it marks a shift from relying on our habits, on our past or thinking what we know, our associations.”  

 

(Michel continues): How do I fish with a straight hook, unconcerned/unattached to a specific outcome to my actions? 

 

The Roshi went on to share about Suzuki Roshi and how he would interact with the world: receiving, using both hands, drawing the “gift” into himself–and giving, in the same way from his center with both hands. Suzuki’s whole being was involved. This reminds me of how Johnny sees us (or how his perspective was first described to me) as our 3-5 year old selves – innocent, vulnerable, etc.  Think back, before you learned to be selfish, to protect a separate “self,” to a time when we engaged in each moment with both hands and total focus on that moment. Think of receiving a full glass of milk to carry to the table, how we might use both hands to not drop, and totally focus to not spill, as we walked to our destination. 

 

What might life be like if/when we re-discover this engagement, attention and focus? How would we treat others as well as ourself? Would it be engaged, attentive, focused? Would others feel loved, or our compassion as we offer a hand up from a fall?  What would the world look like when we all learn to enter now with no thought of past or not holding anything back for any possible future but putting all of “self” into now,  fishing with a straight hook?

 

How often and how easy it is to get caught up in a narrative where I only use a part of my self (one-handed, not two) and look more toward what I can get instead of giving and extending my whole self.  It’s that fishing hook story again. Is my hook for just an ordinary, everday fish? Or am I fishing for an Emperor, something unique and unexpected?

 

–Michel Deforge

 

# 241 What are you Doing?   

 

One day as I walked through the kitchen, I saw someone cleaning vegetables and I asked, ‘What are you doing?’  I was playing the role of a spiritual friend.  Even though it was obvious that they were washing vegetables, I asked the question to wake the person up to how happy they could be, just washing the vegetables.  If we aren’t doing something with joy, that moment is wasted.  (Thich Nhat Hanh, from Your True Home)

 

I haven’t an inkling of a clue, if honesty permits me to be so brazen. Though I have pondered this question many times. 

 

Elusive conclusions leave me in a turnstile, spinning in circles, never out, never in. 

 

…I was chasing down the past and looking for the future, but crystal balls cast upside down reflections.

 

I think the question shouldn’t be what am I doing but rather, what will I be doing in the now? A question for every passing second, before it passes.  

      

Parting Glass

 

My life is a glass

That’s been filled many times

It’s been put through the wash

Dropped on the floor

And is now a chipped trinket

On a shelf by the door

But soon, very soon, the glass will not matter

For its structure will weaken and eventually shatter

Then it will sparkle bright in the Sun

Then, only then, my life will be done.

 

–Joshua Barnes, 2021

 

What are you doing?  It makes me think of my friend Ron raking leaves.  Every year he would complain in the Fall when the thousands of leaves fell from his giant maple tree.  The time he needed to spend raking them up and putting into compost bags. I started to find one red and gold leaf with a tinge of green left at the center and put it on his windshield or into his book for a book mark.  One day, he woke up and realized how easy and happy he could feel if he just enjoyed the fleeting moments of getting to rake these individually unique and beautiful leaves that had given him shade all summer.  He started working with gratitude and joy, paying attention, and it became a meditation he almost looked forward to.   (kr)

 

Here are two poems that reflect on some of the submissions above. (kr)

 

Three Times My Life has Opened

 

Three times my life has opened.
Once, into darkness and rain.
Once, into what the body carries at all times within it and starts
          to remember each time it enters the act of love.
Once, to the fire that holds all.
These three were not different.
You will recognize what I am saying or you will not.
But outside my window all day a maple has stepped from her
          leaves like a woman in love with winter, dropping the
          colored silks.
Neither are we different in what we know.
There is a door. It opens. Then it is closed. But a slip of light stays,
          like a scrap of unreadable paper left on the floor, or the one
          red leaf the snow releases in March.

 

– Jane Hirshfield, from The Lives of the Heart: Poems

 

 

The Song of Wandering Aengus

 

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

 

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

 

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

 

–William Butler Yeats

 

A note of gratitude from Abe Green,

 

Friends, 

 

Thank you so much for having me on your mailing list. I am honored.

 

Each week, no matter my emotional or spiritual condition, I am inspired by the wisdom and love enclosed.  I somehow become fuller with each reading . . . a miracle! 

 

Peace and Love,

Abe

                    

 

 Treadmill

(written this morning for you by Kim Stafford)

 

Do you ever have the feeling you’re plodding 

in place, trying to climb the down escalator,

treading water as time’s river slides away?

 

Day after day you faithfully attend to life’s 

administration, to mere maintenance, as your

butterflies of aspiration flit from sight.

 

Your old dream is real— your shoes are made 

of stone, each step a struggle as you stagger across 

level ground, too young to be a codger, and yet….

 

What if you look up when wind shakes the trees,

the pine sheds a pollen cloud, the maple shakes 

her skirt inviting you to dance?

 

–Kim Stafford

 

#357: The Simple Act of Walking

 

Walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other. But we often find it difficult or tedious. We drive a few blocks rather than walk in order to “save time.” When we understand the interconnectedness of our body and our mind, the simple act of walking like the Buddha can feel supremely easy and pleasurable.  (Thich Nhat Hanh, from Your True Home)

 

Let’s start with that first sentence: “Walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other.” I said I was not going to dwell on my foot surgery any longer, but this short passage just spoke to me with force.

 

This ‘recovery’ from a supposedly minor operation is taking much longer, with a few more uncertain results possible, than I was led to expect. Complications, infection, antibiotics, more doctor appointments and different approaches have been accompanied by a range of emotions on my part. Eager anticipation, determination, trust, puzzlement, frustration, doubt, fear, elation, discouragement, encouragement—you name it, I’ve felt it. Acceptance hasn’t yet set in…

 

So since February 25, “walking is as simple as putting one foot in front of the other” has been a dream—and a mockery. I dream of the moment I can get my swollen foot into a shoe and then put one foot in front of the other, but the result is that I treasure the thought of that simple act. Is that what it takes to treasure life? Why is it that we have such difficulty appreciating these present moments, these simple acts, and just hurry through them to get to the ‘next thing?’

 

The gift in all of this is that I have slowed down, learned deep appreciation for the simple act of walking (and plenty of other things), learned thoughtfulness, awareness and appreciation, and come to cherish the interconnectedness of my mind and body, which this situation has certainly amplified.

 

Thay likes to invite people to smile and appreciate a non-toothache. A simple practice.  Thank you for reminding us.

 

–Jude Russell

 

I want to include something from Alex Tretbar that I meant to include in an earlier issue, but lost track of. Here it is!: (JS)

 

…I thought I’d pick your brain on the thorny subject of “desire.” I just finished Balzac’s The Wild Ass’s Skin—(La Peau de chagrin” is the original title, “chagrin” being both “sorrow” and “a kind of grained leather, ordinarily made of the skin of a mule or an ass”)—in which, (pardon the summary, if you’ve read it before), a man, fallen on hard times, finds in a novelty shop a piece of “chagrin” that will grant him any wish, but each wish causes the skin to shrink. Once it shrinks to a certain small size, the owner dies. He eventually discovers that unspoken wishes, desires merely thought of, also shrink the skin, so he’s driven into solitude & reclusion to avoid shrinking it further by accident. At one point, he tries to enlist a scientist’s help in stretching the skin to prolong his life, (this fails), but the scientist says this: “Everything is motion. Thought is motion. Nature is based upon motion. Death is a form of motion whose end is imperfectly understood.”

 

Thinking on it, it does seem that any desire, at its core, is aimed at a particular arrangement of time & space. You want things to change in just such a way, and then you want them to stay that way. This flies in the face of the never-ending motion that is nature & the universe. Resistance to change is a root of much suffering. So, where & how does “desire” figure in Buddhist (or just “mindful”) thought? Can desire ever be healthy?

 

Or is it, by nature, essentially like trying to sweep back the tide with a broom?

 

Looking forward to reading your thoughts on this!

 

—Alex Tretbar

 

Rather than sharing in this Meditation & Mindfulness Dialogue what I wrote to Alex, I’d like to invite all of you readers to engage his insights and questions for yourselves. There are some great writing prompts! You could also start a conversation with a friend by reading what he wrote and using it as a jumping-off place for dialogue. I’ve kept a journal for fifty years. In it, I like to explore these kinds of ideas and questions. If you don’t keep a journal, you might try doing it as a way to inquire into questions like these, to better understand yourself and the world.

 

My contribution for the Merry Month of May is the quote from e. e. cummings:

 

I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing

than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance

 

—Johnny Stallings

 

Metta Meditation  –   

 

May I be healed.  May I be a source of healing for all beings.

May you be healed. May you be a source of healing for all beings.

May we be healed. May we be a source of healing for all beings. 

 

Farewell. Walk in peace, be in love, 

 

–Katie

 

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