Category: Impermanence

Snapshots of Unconditional Love

8/27/2018

I couldn’t love her the way she needed to be loved. I couldn’t support the last three months of her life as the cancer was slowly invading her digestive tract, pancreas, and lungs the way a bad nightmare does, except she never got to wake up.

I was too busy being angry and hurt over sibling dynamics, feeling invisible, outfitting her with a traditional standard I had come to despise. It was easy to conveniently forget her safe escort on three different buses we needed to take to and from the orthodontics office, the way she would tear her old Indian saris and sew them into long skirts because she knew I loved them, the house filled with the scent of masala 24/7 so we would never starve while growing up.

Why was I still hungry?

*****

We honored the 5-year anniversary of her death through puja. I was drawn to the diya like a moth to a flame, singing with a fervency during the arti that felt misplaced. Who was this 45-year-old woman child hearing her mother singing, seeing her soul, her name in the sacred fire?

Who was the sister blaming her brother for distance and insensitivity, blaming herself for deficiency and vulnerability?

*****

A few days later in yoga practice, I felt intuitively called to listen to one of my favorite bhajans. A torrential downpour of emotion flooded the mat. I was grieving all the things I expected of Mummy, all the blocks to loving her just as she was. There was no dam to hold anything back, nothing between me and this moment.

Forgiveness was palpable both ways.

*****

She’s lacing up her black Converse, noticing a brown mark on one side of a shoe. She stands to retrieve a wet washcloth to wipe the shoes she is so proud of.

I comment on the mark. Maybe it’s a scuff from my sandal the other day as we were walking to the library. She glares at me with that entitled teenage look, punishing with silence and a hug withheld before biking off to school.

“I let you go with love”, I call out cheerfully. “You know where to find me!”

*****

We think we have forever with loved ones, a lifetime to heal a suffocating heart that can barely breathe.

Can we compassionately bow to each thought, feeling and sensation sculpted from the cycle of dependent origination into a solid self? Can we be patient with practice, trust wise teachers, good friends, and tenderness to slowly crack the plaster open?

Opening to vulnerability is not natural. It takes so much courage and support. I carry these verbal snapshots of unconditional love like passages from the holy books, knowing things will change.

The plaster will harden with conditional love and soften with practice again.

Note:

puja: a prayer ritual performed by Hindus of devotional worship to one or more deities, or to host and honor a guest, or one to spiritually celebrate an event

diya: an oil lamp used in the Indian subcontinent, notably India and Nepal, usually made from clay, with a cotton wick dipped in ghee or vegetable oils

arti: a Hindu religious ritual of worship, a part of puja, in which light from wicks soaked in ghee (purified butter) or camphor is offered to one or more deities

bhajan: any song with religious theme or spiritual ideas, in a regional South Asian language

Cycle of Dependent Origination: A chain of causes which result in rebirth and dukkha (suffering). By breaking the chain, liberation from suffering can be attained.

0 Comments

A Conversation with Silence

7/19/2018

2 Comments

My dear,

You are safe now. There is nothing to fear. No one to blame. You know what is coming. There are no surprises. Sickness, aging, death. Compassion, beauty, joy.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the story line. Who are the characters? Where does it happen? How and why? Do the details matter that much?

What do you want to remember most? Is it worth the energy to even hold on to these words? Can you let them go, trusting they will return to you in some form: a conversation, a feeling, an image you can’t explain right now but intuitively sense has great meaning?

I have never hidden any part of this Great Mystery from you. You see what you need to see, hear what you need to hear. You aren’t missing out on anything. You are who you are, where you are because it’s where you need to be. There are no accidents.

Trust me on this one. Have I ever disappointed you? Lean into the moment. What would it mean to surrender to the waves?

Would you drown?

Or could you float?

*****

I see you, Mara as doubt in her dreams, as dukkha during the day. She doesn’t need to stay small, sad, scared. She is free, for now. When enough nows add up to eternity, she will be free forever.

2 Comments

When I Let Go

2/7/2018

0 Comments

When I let go of the need to fit a poem
On the page of public opinion
The words come
When I let go of the need
To know tomorrow
Today gives me the biggest hug
And asks me to stay
When I let go of the need
For you to be my perfect mirror
You reflect my scars
The secret skin therapy to repair
When I let go of the need
To make you understand
You’ll ask me to explain
A conch-shelled heart will answer

It’s easier to control my daughter’s sweet cravings, my partner’s dissenting opinions, my Mother’s attitude, patients’ diagnoses, future events, public opinions of me than to feel the fear inside. Fear is messy, uncontrollable, a ticking time bomb about to explode, obliterating all traces and notions of Me.

If you could feel fear and deeply listen, what would it say? What does it need? Does it need safety, kindness, understanding, love, acceptance, forgiveness? Who or what would you find standing behind fear?

Ajahn Chah says, “If you let go a little you a will have a little peace; if you let go a lot you will have a lot of peace; if you let go completely you will have complete peace.”

When I let go a little, I hear what fear needs. When I let go a lot, I see compassion and faith standing behind fear. When I let go completely, a conch-shelled heart whispers secrets of the sea.

No wave of experience defines a whole ocean of loving presence.

0 Comments

Swimming Lessons

1/25/2018

0 Comments

Born of the Light by Meganne Forbes

Biology tells me that skin is porous, but not a completely permeable membrane. Meditation and reflective journaling ask me to make space for everything: thoughts, feelings, sounds, sensations. “Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. No feeling is final.” (Rilke) Is it possible to be a spiritually permeable membrane, defying skin and the rules of biology through metaphor?

In a guided meditation, I saw a girl shackled to ball and chain throw herself into the ocean. I felt the weight of her body, the heaviness inside her heart. She was responsible for all painful misunderstandings in relationships. Drowning felt like the only option, the only redemption.

Invoking the loving presence of DoriMa, beloved teacher and mentor, I saw DoriMa’s glowing image in the sunrise above the water. She reminded the girl that the ball and chain were remnants from childhood experiences, representations of comparing mind and thoughts of deficiency. She reminded the girl that Kwan Yin’s spirit was always accessible, could permeate skin and pass through water all the way down to the abyss, the darkest places of consciousness.

Who is this woman now? What is the wisdom in waves? She is learning to swim, to make space for each rise and fall of experience. She is learning to let each thought, feeling, sound, and sensation pass through her without making a solid mold of the self.

She is learning that skin can completely be permeable with pure presence, that foreign, unpleasant substances don’t need to be attacked by the immune system once they are recognized and rendered as safe. Safe spaces can only be created when she lets everything pass through her. Beauty and terror.

No feeling is final.

0 Comments

Winter Solstice Greetings - Returning

12/20/2017

0 Comments

Returning

(reflecting on the first foundation of mindfulness)

How many moments have I missed chasing
thoughts like the last train to happiness?
O Mother Earth, make me porous to your elements.
This wind urgency feels so real,
wanting to peek into the future,
wanting to know.
But the leaves have fallen,
nothing left but skeleton--
trunk, bare branches, a few leaves holding on.
Give me courage to peel back
skin, fascia, fat and muscle
all the way down to blood and bone.
Here, there is no self
only the weight of gravity,
dry leaves decomposing in dirt,
waiting for rain to add substance...
The fire for practice is still burning.

(inspired by Bonnie Duran, DoriMa aka Dori Langevin, and the SF/Peninsula Sangha)

0 Comments

Questioning the Gift of Presents (Presence)

12/17/2017

0 Comments

With Christmas just around the corner, a question I’m often asked is, “Are you ready for the holidays?". Listening to others’ plans, I hear the following questions beneath this question. “Are the Christmas lights and stockings up? Is the tree dressed in its finest, proud of the presents below it? Will there be gingerbread baking in the oven, along with a perfectly planned holiday meal? Does the family look happy in the Christmas card photos? If not, should you take another picture?”

Though I appreciate the genuine warmth and curiosity behind this question, I can’t help but wonder. How long did you stand in line at the mall, how much did you spend online to get the last version of the latest (fill in the blank) so he or she can unwrap happiness? The tree sure looks pretty, but did you ever stop to appreciate its natural beauty out in the wild? Does it bother you that it’s dying, that it cannot live off artificial lights, that it might miss the exchange of carbon dioxide for oxygen? Will you taste and enjoy the food you are about to prepare? Or is it all for show? What if someone isn’t smiling in the picture, the lighting is off, or you look older than you should? Is it still ok to send the cards out?

Reflecting on generosity, the question for me isn’t how much, but why. It’s not how much money I spend, the time it takes to cook, bake, or make something, but why I am giving it. What is my intention? Can the one receiving the gift feel my care? How well do I know them? What do I want them to know about me?

Tomorrow may never come. One day you and I will both die. This is for certain. It is only a matter of when. We don’t need a terminal diagnosis to wake up to this truth.

I want to know how it is for you. I want you to know how it is for me. This presence is the greatest present I could ever give or receive.

(This post may impact you negatively. Please know that I am not against holiday traditions, but questioning their authenticity. The invitation is to look beneath the surface of appearances and connect from the heart.

May you and yours celebrate Christmas joyfully. May you be happy, warm, and safe. May you experience a deep and profound sense of peace.)

0 Comments

Relational Awareness: A Journey into the Wilderness, the Satipatthana Refrain, and the Heart

10/29/2017

0 Comments

Is it possible to notice the arising and passing of mood states, to notice the scene change with a push of some internal remote-control button? It’s why I like to unplug every so often from the Matrix of Busyness to watch the mind, to find answers.

Hiking today, the mood began with sadness after seeing how much this tree had changed. A few weeks ago, it was lush with green foliage illuminated by warmth. Now it’s branches were heavy under thick, gray fog, its leaves destined for decomposition.

There was no place to hide from the truth. Just as this tree would shed all its leaves, I would lose everyone and everything I loved, before or after they lost me. My heart was as heavy as the tree branches.

Sadness soon dissipated like some of the thick fog and gave way to aversion. I made sure not to step on the poopy pellets from turkeys or dogs marking various points along the trail.

Soon, a young couple and I exchanged smiles and nods. Joy was present as I listened to some of their conversational exchange, and remembered what it was like to lift the heart’s veil slowly with a friend who might become a lover.

Joy’s companionship continued with a forest symphony of creature sounds punctuated by moments of silence. I noticed joy walk away as soon as the I heard cacophonous coughing and sneezing. Dammit! I’m not alone. So much for the forest symphony.

Joy was trying to make its way back when I reached a meadow. The forest symphony resumed after the rude interruption. The stillness was so palpable. I could hear my breath, feel my pores opening to exchange elemental awareness with Mother Earth. I was plugging into Her beauty, Her wisdom.

“Aaaachhooo! Cough, cough!”

There was an internal tug of war between joy and aversion. Who would win? Did I need to pick sides? Another sound joined the forest symphony and the other hiker’s respiratory vibrations, the Satipatthana refrain. Like a chorus to one of the Buddha’s most famous songs, I heard the words whispered from some unknown place.

The invitation was clear. I didn’t have to pick joy or aversion. I didn’t need to pick sides. Noticing, making space, and understanding my internal mood, I could sense what the external mood for the hiker must be like (based on prior experiences of body misalignment).

I could communicate a mutual love of hiking, compassion for her illness, and a willingness to share sacred space on Earth with her through the light shining from these eyes, the warmth from this smile, the exchange of breath with trees and each other. I could contemplate that both of our moods and mind states were conditional, would arise and pass like everything does.

Could I earnestly bring this contemplation to all relationships: at home, at work, in social circles, with strangers? Can I sense where my moods and mind states begin, where yours ends? Is it possible for possessive pronouns to disappear because there is no longer any ownership? (This does not imply an avoidance of responsibility for any harm inflicted upon others. It’s an invitation to acknowledge, to accept responsibility, to begin reparations, to forgive and heal both sides.)

The implications for relational peace are not impossible, but infinite. May I remember this as I prepare for the second Dedicated Practitioner’s retreat at Spirit Rock, where dynamic beings of varying color, class, and creed will come together for the benefit of all beings everywhere without exception.

The sun may be hiding this season, but love is never lost. It’s just a little harder to find.

(For further contemplation on the Satipatthana refrain, please visit Joseph Goldstein's insightful talk.)

0 Comments

Ardency in the Face of Impermanence

10/16/2017

0 Comments

After receiving a poetic contemplation between a mountain dweller and flower on ardency in the face of impermanence by Shabkar from beloved spiritual teacher and friend, Dori Langevin, I decided to go hiking.

I asked Mother Earth what dedication to Dharma practice might mean for me when change is inevitable. This is what she said:

Lazy summer days have ended.
The nights and mornings grow cold.
Like mood rings, leaves are changing
colors on fingered branches
waving before the final farewell.
Dry leaves and dirt echo each footfall,
footfalls of ancestors and generations to come.
What you hold can shatter and cut
like glass if grasped too tightly,
can tickle and tease like feathers floating
away before the distracted self can notice.
Soon rains will fall, winds will howl
announcing your place in the season.
Will you yearn for the summer sun
or gather around the heart’s hearth,
warmed by stories of resilience, sustenance,
and how to survive the long winter.

I’m committed to paying attention and offering what’s needed, not because I have to, but because I want to. The difference between 'have to' and 'want to' is the difference in perception between a finite or infinite supply of joy. What am I guarding? What do I have enough of?

At 44, roughly half of this landscape life had already been cultivated. Which seeds need to be nurtured? Which weeds need to be pulled and discarded as compost for new growth?

I’m content without having answers. With ardency, I only need to know what's needed now.

Like sculptures, our bodies are molded around the hourglass of time. We’re stuck in our ceramic selves, eyes fixated on grains of sand falling, and wonder why we can’t move, can’t get to where we want to be.

When we yearn for the summer sun, may we gather around the heart’s hearth, warmed by stories of resilience, sustenance, and how to survive the long winter.

0 Comments

Snapshots of Unconditional Love

A Conversation with Silence

When I Let Go

Swimming Lessons

Winter Solstice Greetings - Returning

Questioning the Gift of Presents (Presence)

Relational Awareness: A Journey into the Wilderness, the Satipatthana Refrain, and the Heart

Ardency in the Face of Impermanence

Author

Archives

Categories