The Guest Room

It’s hard to see the chips and stains on walls
where visitors are supposed to feel welcome,
at home in aesthetically pleasing surroundings.
Each time I walk in, the furniture is rearranged
into a configuration that tells me my in-laws
are staying longer than I anticipated.
The scratches, the dents, the torn bedsheet corner
is so unpleasant, just like the hard wooden slats
you are placing over the mattress so your father
feels more comfortable sleeping on the bed
than on the floor. Why does this bother me so much?
Is it because my in-laws are making their mark
in our home, or because they are burrowing into the room,
into my being in ways I do not yet understand?
What if the chips and stains, scratches and dents,
the torn bedsheet corner are all signs of life,
not a sterile room staged for a home
I was not meant to live in?
Maybe the guest room is their room,
the heart space their space to teach me
about inviting more vulnerability in.

​*****

exhale completely
blow out the candle
before the next wish
the next year

this poem
still conceptual
let it go
let it go
 
Exhaling, blowing out a metaphoric candle after a recent birthday, I’m already thinking of the next email, the next thing on the to do list, the next wish, the next year.

It’s EXHAUSTING!

It’s why I love meditation so much, the free gift that no one else can give me, sacred time I give back to myself for all the ways I’ve missed out on my own life.

Exhaling completely, I’m surprised by how much space there is internally, the capacity to hold whatever is next without betraying this moment. For 20-30 minutes a day, I don’t need to be anyone, do anything, go anywhere. It’s a conscious letting go, dying with each outbreath to be reborn again and again with a little less dust in the eyes and a stronger capacity to love.
I still hold on to many things, including these words, still conceptual, like directions to a place I already am.
​
What would it mean to let go, to let life come to me rather than chasing it?

The Earth holds me. When I felt disconnected, the Earth spiritually re-parented me into a profound sense of belonging. Her trees taught me how to silently release and receive through Tonglen practice. Her oceans accepted each and every saltwater river of tears. Her creatures cautiously eyed me with curiosity, wondering if I would threaten their existence, or bow in reverence.

Today, I had the privilege of witnessing a ceremony welcoming a beloved and respected Dhamma teacher to a retreat center’s counsel. She eloquently expressed the connection between slavery, colonialism, and the exploitation of land, how this same land can heal us, invite us into  belonging and connection  beyond personal wealth, status, and ignorance.

As photographs were shared of the land around the retreat center, one picture spoke louder than the rest.
​

The cozy configuration of our family nest during the pandemic is about to change. The news of my in laws coming soon to stay with us for a significant length of time rattles the bones, leaves the nervous system unsettled.
 
It’s tempting to spiritually bypass what’s here, to suppress thoughts, feelings and sensations that aren’t congruent with my partner or rebel against cultural tradition. It’s also easy to blame others for misunderstanding my need for space and silence.
 
The Practice is asking for ease, curiosity, patient benevolence, a reliance on certain support systems, and remembrance of beauty, joy, hidden gifts.
 
Ease
 
Sitting in meditation each day is like relaxing back into my favorite chair or cushion, leaning the weight of my body and worries against a giant redwood tree that knows how to root and endure. The breath makes its loyal sweep from head thoughts to heart feelings to gut sensations, gathering them all in its tender embrace, unifying the pieces into one collective, sacred experience.
 
Curiosity
 
From this grounded place, questions about perception are asked without expectation of an exact or perfect answer. What’s happening now? Who am I taking myself to be? How am I relating to others? To space? To time?
 
Patient Benevolence 
 
Once I have attended to my own authentic inner experience in an honest, compassionate way, I can begin to let others in, to get curious and ask about their experience, to sense the multidimensional aspect of relationships and vast space of the Brahmaviharas. Love is not a limited resource trapped inside my own heart. It can flow both ways...towards myself and others. 
 
May I be happy, as well and safe as I can be, peaceful and at ease.
I care about my suffering.
May I know joy.
May I trust in the mysterious unfolding of my life.
 
May you be happy, as well and safe as you can be, peaceful and at ease.
May you care about your suffering.
May you know joy.
May you trust in the mysterious unfolding of your life.
 
 
May we be happy, as well and safe as we can be, peaceful and at ease.
May we care about our suffering.
May we know joy.
May we trust in the mysterious unfolding of our lives.
 
The term ‘patient’ benevolence helps to remind me that there is no fixed timeline for this process, no need to get anywhere, become anyone too quickly if it doesn’t feel like an embodied experience. Rushing the process can cause more harm.
 
Reliance on Certain Support Systems
 
It’s so easy for me to let anxiety and aversion eclipse the whole truth of any given moment. Sometimes I miss sweet family connections, opportunities for beauty and joy.
 
When this happens, the skillful, compassionate, and wise move is to lovingly separate from others so I can connect back with myself to remember. (Sati, the Pali word for mindfulness means ‘to remember’). Through meditation, mindful movement, time in nature, reflection and writing, listening to music and singing, I hear that one clear voice calling out for me to listen. I can also reach out to wise ones who offer safe shelter for the nervous system to settle, the bones to rattle less.
 
I need to take things one breath, one step at a time, slowing down so the contraction of time does not scatter my attention in multiple directions to dissipate and waste energy.
 
Remembrance of Beauty, Joy, Hidden Gifts
 
When there is resistance to unpleasant perception, animal instincts of survival kick in. Can I fight? Can I run away? Can I play dead, sleep, and wake up when it’s safe, when it’s all over? 
 
Is it ever truly all over???
 
 Zen Master Setcho Juken said, “Here in the dragon’s jaws: many exquisite jewels.”
 
For me, the jewels of practice have shined in so many ways—the width of loving-kindness, the depth of compassion, the length of joy unmeasured by circumstance, the groundless ground of equanimity that does not crack in any mind-heart-body quake, seeing all parts of myself reflected in other beings, other animals, the Earth, and vice versa, everything mentioned and not mentioned in these words, the unborn, the unheard, the unseen.
 
*****
 
I am ready to welcome my in-laws, welcome all that arises internally and externally with this shift. I am not the same person I was before. My partner, daughter, mother, and in laws are also not the same. I know it will not be perfect, that I may forget what I have learned, written, practiced and embodied over time.
 
When this happens, how blessed I feel to return to these words, this heart-mind, these intentions to embody The Practice as best as I can like Kali, Durga, Lakshmi, Kwan Yin, Tara, a Dakini, a redwood, willow, oak tree, all phases of the moon, a lotus (including muddy, tangled rhizome roots, long stem, and budding blossom), the uterine journey from menarche to menopause, the elemental forces of Nature...the Divine Feminine in all her many moods and manifestations!

Each day as I leave for work,
Mummy imparts the ancestral
blessing of Jai Shri Krishna
punctuated by Have a nice day.
A nice day is when each patient
is on time, no dirty laundry
hanging outside their neatly packed
suitcase of symptoms I hope will
disappear after the appointment is done.
 
Today, I challenged the notion
of a nice day, invited a few patients
with heavier suitcases to stay awhile,
to unpack their symptoms and the
stories underneath them. I learned
that I don’t have magic medicine
to soothe every ailment or a perfect 
plan to permanently cure disease.
 
What I can offer is a loving look 
that says I see you as more 
than a problem list of diagnoses,
supportive listening presence
that hears the wish for wellbeing,
compassionate hands holding
all the places that feel broken
inside patients, inside myself
trusting something larger than
us both to guide the way.
 
*****
 
What does it mean to wish someone a nice day, a nice weekend, a nice vacation? For me, there is often a mental labeling that is associated with nice. It could mean good, smooth, easy, joyful, happy, no drama, etc.
 
And I know that this perpetual notion of nice goes against the natural rhythms of life. Things are often far from perfect. The seventy something year old patient with a long list of complaints who can’t come in at a later appointment and is trying to fit into a 20-minute slot, now 10 minutes after rooming and me running behind schedule. The driver who weaves in and out of two lanes on community roads as if it were a racetrack. This body that misbehaves physically, emotionally, and spiritually despite my best efforts to heal it (more like control it). A virus that continues to mutate despite advances in science, technology, public health, and so much more.
 
When I challenge the notion of a nice day, perfect life, or anyone, anything that catches me off guard, the attention widens, deepens to notice what else in present. What have I missed? What can I remember? What wholesome heart-mind states will help to hold what is happening with humor, compassion, care, wisdom, patience, trust, beauty, courage, among other things?
 
It takes energy to widen and deepen the attention. I’m not always in the right heart-mind state to do so. It helps to remember that I am not a limitless source of energy, that sometimes it’s best not to confront uncomfortable situations when tired, hungry, sleep deprived, reactive, or any other indication that I am likely to cause more damage than repair. I also need to wisely discern what is in my control, and when I’m trying to drive a car without the right keys.
 
Expending too much energy in multiple directions against the flow of life is useless. I can tell when the body is physically exhausted, the mind agitated and still trying to formulate an alternative plan, the heart whispering to just stop and remember a different way. When I heed the heart’s advice, body and mind slow down. Full exhalations occur before the next inhalation, so there is more space for wholesome qualities to enter.
 
*****
​
As a healer, family and community member, the burden of guilt sometimes outweighs the freedom to travel the path of least resistance. I’m learning that it’s not all up to me or in my hands, AND I still care. In certain situations where I don’t have magic medicine to soothe every ailment or a perfect plan to permanently cure disease, the gift of steady, loving presence is profound. When I trust in the mysterious unfolding of each being’s life (including my own) and apply energy in a manner that supports healing and freedom, there is less ego attachment and more connection to the moment. There is also recognition that things will change, that what’s useful now may need adjustment in a different scenario, trusting something larger ​than the ego self to lead the way.

Timeless

Sit still. Isn’t it exhausting
to be someone else,
to visit places in your head
that promise happiness but can’t
convince your heart to stay?

Peace doesn’t arrive
when you’re on vacation.
Sometimes it’s during a pandemic
when you’re stuck at home,
closing your eyes and waiting--
​
suspended in the darkness
of not knowing
between sunset and moonrise,
a horizon of questions
loving presence will answer.
​

Denying Death

We attend my grandmother’s funeral virtually,
watch the priest and my uncle
perform the last rites and rituals
purifying her body with ghee and rice
for a peaceful soul release.
The screen ceremony feels surreal.

Children and grandchildren speak of Ba’s cooking,
her generosity, her home, her heart
that always flowed in the direction of love
as great grandchildren lay rose petals
over her body, palms pressed in
Jai Sri Krishna they are learning.

I keep thinking that Ba is just sleeping.
At any moment she will wake up and ask,
Tamē manē kēma rāndhatā chō?
Jō tamanē bhūkha lāgī hōya
tō manē tamārā māṭē rasō'i karavā dō.**

Beside me grief flows in violent waves
through my mother, tears unable to relieve
the pressure that such loss builds inside.
As we watch the coffin pushed into the furnace,
a whimpering sound escapes from somewhere
I don’t recognize, an ancient, primal call.

I see the faces, feel the bodies
of everyone I love, including myself
burning back to bones, to dust,
leaving this world with nothing
except the lives we touch,
and the peace we can leave behind.

**Why are you cooking me?
   If you are hungry,
   then let me cook for you.

The Deepest Peace
(inspired by The Deepest Peace by Zenju Earthlyn Manuel)

Drawn to the fuchsia tinged light
reflected in Dumbarton Bay,
I’m moved by the stillness of shorebirds
wading in shallow waters,
waiting for the day to begin.

All meaningful action is born
from this womb of silence.
​
I must also pause, feel
this earth-driven calm within,
before speaking and acting,
before spreading my wings,
checking in with the wind
when it’s best to take flight.

2020 has been a year of many things. I won’t pretend to know what it has been like for you. I have heard from many that they wish to have a different 2021. But what does this mean exactly? Less suffering with no COVID, police brutality, political division, physical, emotional, social, and economic stress? More joy in gathering with others to commemorate the beginning and ending of life (and everything in between), travel, return to school and work, seeing the smiles of others?

I also wish for a different 2021. And I’m paying attention to where I plant seeds of loving intentions- where I’m forcing something to grow/change, where I’m slowly letting go, patiently waiting for something to take root.

On December 24, I received my first COVID vaccine with a mixture of dread and hope. Dread that I’d be one of the few cases who developed a serious adverse reaction.  Hope that this would be a positive step in the fight against COVID. I’m relieved that the only nuisance was a sore arm for a few days, and I’m still diligently tracking symptoms through Vsafe.

I realize that there is still so much uncertainty. Will I build immunity to COVID? How long will the antibodies last? Am I safe to be around patients? Are they safe with me? What does this vaccine mean for us all heading into 2021?

Recognizing the fear and doubt in these questions, I’m aware that these thoughts, emotions and the physical manifestations of uncertainty within are not alone. There is also awe at the timeline and sound scientific data supporting the vaccine’s efficacy, gratitude for meaningful work, incredible colleagues, loving family, health, abundant food, shelter, and so much more.

Most of all, there is a deep bow of reverence to the practices of mindfulness, lovingkindness, compassion, joy, and equanimity with meditation and writing carrying me through some of the darkest times of post-partum depression and anxiety, losing my aunt-mom to cancer, chronic sacro-iliac, gluteal muscle pain, and COVID-19. Though Western medicine and other modalities have been supportive, it is these practices that saved me from sacrificing this heart-mind-body to fear and doubt.

To this end, I’d like to support others in planting loving intentions for 2021. Will you join me here? However you choose to heal and support yourself in 2021, may you remember that love and wisdom are so much larger than fear and doubt. What you plant now affects everyone and everything around you for days, weeks, months, and years to come.

Nisargadatta Maharaj  said, “Wisdom tells me I am nothing. Love tells me I am everything. And between the two my life flows.”

May the idea of a separate self dissolve with the wisdom of shared journeys. May love connect you to all.

Dear One, I never promised you
a pain or worry free life.
I did promise to always receive your
questions with curiosity and interest--
watching them grow like saplings
from mother to grandmother answers
just as the oaks in this preserve do.

Roots grow deep in underground
wisdom that is not always apparent.
Branches stretch far and wide 
towards a loving sun,
towards other tree beings
living in darkness and light.

Keep visiting this place,
even in the middle of winter 
when all looks lifeless 
and feels hopeless--
when a dormant heart seed
inside its protective shell 
is whispered to life
with breath and faith
in these words.

Suffering does not occur in a vacuum. It always occurs in relation. The patient who comes in with chest pain and high blood pressure because a beloved relative died of COVID complications in India and they cannot grieve or participate in last ritual rites with family. The patient who expresses grave concern for their son’s safety in returning to work during a pandemic, policing, and protests. The friend who practices medicine in a part of the United States where political division is threatening peace. The Earth still offering oxygen and sustenance despite continued abuse and neglect.

Healing also occurs in relation. It’s hard to heal if there is a sense of disconnection from ancestors, biological and spiritual family/teachers, the land, each other, and ourselves. How do we re-connect, re-awaken, re-member? While healing is a journey and there is no perfect answer, the following practices are offered as possible places to begin the contemplation.

Embodying Kuan Yin

Kuan Yin is the bodhisattva of compassion, the One who listens to the cries of the world. Embodying her feels like a tall order sometimes. How can I listen to others if I can’t hear what’s happening within? Life is overwhelming and overscheduled. How can I unplug from the endless to do and to be list?

I’m learning that Kuan Yin is not only the One who listens to the cries of the world, but also the One who stays till there is ease. There’s a sincere commitment to listening, to staying with the experience for the purpose of understanding. This does not mean that pain disappears, what’s broken is easily fixed, or questions have clear answers. The ease feels like a deep stillness beneath surface waves of experience, a stillness that patiently waits for the waves to dissipate for clarity. As I learn to stay with personally challenging experiences, there is more capacity to be with the suffering in others.

Connecting with the Natural World

1. Find something from the natural world inside or outside of your home. This might be a leaf, a rock, a seashell, a piece of fruit, a grain or rice, a feather, etc.
2. Practice internal mindfulness by noticing what’s present in breath and body with eyes closed for a few minutes. Then slowly open your eyes and practice external mindfulness in relational with this object. How are you different than the object, how are you the same?
3. Then with reverence and humility, listen to what the object has to tell you. What does it have to teach you?

 
Here is poem written on retreat in relation with a seashell:
 
Listening
 
she picked you up from the wet sand
because you looked pretty,
her keepsake from the RV camping
trip off the Mendocino Coast
 
forgetting
you were once the home
of a precious sea-being
just as her body is her home,
 
how she wouldn’t want
to be taken without consent,
how next time she can ask the water
or lift you up to her ear--
 
your mollusk spirit whispering
home is always sacred
no matter how small
or large you are
 
The Five Earth Touchings

Touching the Earth is a practice developed by Thich Nhat Hahn to fill your heart with remembrance of family, spiritual, and land lineage, so blessings of abundance can be offered to those you love, and the process of forgiving those who have hurt you may begin. It is practiced ‘to celebrate the positive and transform what needs to be transformed’.
​
This practice may precipitate unwelcome, unpleasant feelings, especially if you have experienced trauma or other feelings of disconnection. It is offered here as a healing modality to practice in a safe space with others, a trusted teacher or therapist. It is not meant to spiritually bypass what is true for you. Please honor your direct experience.
 
Questions for Inquiry

The following questions can be used for reflective journaling:

1. Think of your country(ies) of origin (ethnic roots). Now think of the country where you reside. Is there anything about the history of the country where you reside that needs to be narrated differently or questioned?
2. How can you be in reciprocal relation with life? What does it mean to set an intention of minimizing harm to other beings, the Earth, yourself?

 
****

Deeply nourished by recent retreats, water is humbly offered to trees in the backyard. It’s a small gesture of gratitude compared to their teachings on grounding, rooting regardless of external or internal climate, on letting go with trust that what’s needed will grow in season.

(Deep bows to Erin Treat, Brian Lesage, Amma Thanasanti and Kaira Jewel Lingo for sharing these teachings, and to their teachers and respective lineages. Suffering does not occur in a vacuum. It always occurs in relation. Healing also occurs in relation.)

​cobalt violet sunrise
over the bay
infusing the heart
with a quiet joy
priming it to meet
the day’s suffering
with peaceful presence
reflecting back hope
when sunrises
are forgotten