 "The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali Time is melting, distorted Not as solid as you think Running out, slipping away What time is it? Do you want digital or analogue? So much distress from the horizontal- Running away from the past Running towards future redemption What’s here right now? The trees are standing still Understanding the meaning Of growth in the vertical Amor fati The only time is now
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Eyes glued to the ornaments on other trees,
heart bleeding at the base, I’ve yearned for the traditions of others, abandoning my own in mistrust. Where is the base of this tree? Is it rooted in connection or uprooted, killed to die for some indoor tradition that does not feel genuine? Angel at the top, are you watching over us? Presents at the base, will you fulfill our needs? Seeing all the firs, pines, and spruce in high demand this time of year, I envision this body as a tree-- sits bones rooted in earth, crown sunkissed, starstruck, moonswept. Ornaments etched with glittering words adorn these branches, these limbs, words that have more dimensionality than the ornaments themselves. Generosity. Patience. Reverence. How I decorate my inner life determines how I see others, and sense relationships with soul.
Holding on, letting go The beauty of this tree Is not in its fullness But its duty to the season Infinite echoing and mirroring Of this body, these tissues Holding on, letting go  "Heart Nebula" by G. Parker Twoness with Awareness There is a darkness within that seeks light from the outside, an eternal love that will not shrink in response to dukkha of the ages. What is this duty to Soulmaking I feel called to entertain? An image of a heart nebula arises in meditation, the divinity of loving and being loved shining from above, shining from within- trusting the meaning of this awareness to unfathomable beyonds.  Photo by Diana Polekhina Dear One, You wake up each morning and fill the blank page with characters and a plot supporting ideas of permanence and becoming. How’s that working out for you? It must be disappointing, even exhausting when things don’t turn out the way you imagined. What if you crumpled up the page, shredded it, recycled it, gently let it go to begin again? Inscriptions on the heart are not so easily forgotten. You will forget, fill the blank page again with fixed views, and wonder how you keep picking up the same pen. Look around you. Others experience this, too. Marinate in the warmth of self-compassion, and then remember those inscriptions on the heart of ease, beauty, loving connection, sacred freedom. As you meditate, feel the support of the Earth, breath and silence giving space to all stories of suffering. Listen to the heart’s whispers and sense the flame of divinity within. You are more capable than you know. This is how you can mirror the divinity in all beings, and remind them of their birthright to begin again. With Tenderness, Open Trust (inspired by Sapphire Rose and this course)
She let go of the reigns, released the wild stallions locked in her stable of expectations. She let go of the judgments, militant commanders whipping the heart-mind into shape as if nibbana could be reached this way. She let go of equanimity as an ideal, small and large waves crashing against the shores of her heart to navigate wider seas of experience. She understood that true magic is loving someone into a black box, grieving their disappearance and searching for secret doors, then laying down the wishing wand for what is here, what is real.  Milky Way by Felix Mittermeier Tired of blaming myself Or others I lay down the weapons The lancinating judgments The crooked perceptions The claw-like control Of the way things should be Breathing in meditation I feel this body As a clump of matter More porous than expected A sky full of stars Open to any and all Possibilities Sometimes I believe I have more agency over others or myself than I actually do. This leads to subtle aggression. What the f@c! is wrong with you? What’s wrong with me? The energy spent to shape and manipulate things to my satisfaction is EXHAUSTING! Many of us want more peace in our lives. What do we say or do to align our lives with this intentional and heartfelt purpose? I’m beginning to understand that equanimity is not just some fancy practice you read about, some place you hope to get to if you close your eyes tight enough and practice diligently for hours on end. For me, it begins with the breath like a surveillance camera, sweeping through all parts of the body that feel tight and congested. It’s the wisdom of a benevolent ancestor (Yasodhara Ma) whispering words of forgiveness, “It’s not your fault. You are doing the best that you can.” It’s sensing how each moment forms from a painful and precious past, and dissolves into a sky full of stars, open to any and all possibilities. Peace is possible when there is a gentle letting go of what was, a tender curiosity for what is, and trusting the unfolding mystery.  breathing into the heart a door opens like a gentle breeze Love enters whispering while the mind is silent this is who you are beyond boundaries beyond words remember this thread of divinity in all  (Inspired by William Stafford’s “The Way It Is”) There is a breath that you follow. Sometimes the breath is heavy, oppressed by circumstance. Sometimes you sing, inspired by a courage beyond words and music. People die. You grow old. You never stop breathing till it’s time for your last one. ***** Disheveled and depressed, his spirit is struggling to stay embodied. After 11 days in the hospital, the white stubble and glazed look in his eyes make me yearn for the man who introduced me to elements of the natural world as if they were my relatives, who sheltered me as his own daughter. He’s still in there somewhere… Sensing that he may respond to touch beyond the squeeze of a blood pressure cuff, the prick of needles drawing blood, even a cold stethoscope meant to hear the breath and beating of life, I ask the nurse for assistance in bathing him. Our hands work gently, methodically, dipping white washcloths into warm soapy water, stroking dry wrinkled skin tenderly, as if we are bathing someone sacred. I hear whispers of encouragement. He is still here. Find him! As if on cue, Papa responds. “Pass me a washcloth to help.” Once the bathing ritual is finished, the nurse proceeds to dress this skeleton of a man in a new patient gown. I reach for the Eucerin cream and began to moisturize dry skin thirsty for better days. A single tear trickles down his cheek. It’s all that he can contribute despite the heavy diuretics he is on. We make eye contact. Something is different. The clouds still linger. There is also a clearing. Today, I am not here as a doctor, Papa. The cardiologist and medicine team have that covered. Today, I am here as your daughter, someone who wants to bathe you in love. What good is modern medicine if loving connection is lost?  My father is in the hospital. So many old demons are resurfacing. I feel weighed down by the pandemic and perimenopause. Still, there is something more… Faith is the full moon on a dark night laughing and crying with wonder, the circle of experience held in a tender glow of miracles and mystery- no parts left out. (Inspired by Izumi Shikibu) |
AuthorKaveri Patel, a woman who is always searching for the wisdom in waves. Categories
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