There is only one interior design that is you.
Don’t let anyone decorate your inner life
without your explicit permission.
How would they know if you want
a firm or soft couch, the space
between each piece of furniture,
what type of knickknacks you’d place
on the end tables? Let the wall art
reflect what you care about most.
Even if they are not direct windows
into your soul, they could be snapshots
to deeper desires yet to be recognized.
Whether the space is cluttered, bare,
or something in between,
make room for yourself
to be, to breathe,
to fill the unique design
of your inner sanctuary.
Only then will the rest of the landscape make sense.

Don’t lose yourself.
Don’t assume you know 
what I need either.
Create what you need 
out of this image for healing,
and discover that I am more
than your limiting ideas 
of what others need.

All being suffer, have this volcanic
eruption of dukkha from within-
undigested material that 
attacks only in darkness 
when one is most vulnerable.
What is the remedy, the tincture 
of trust that will cure?
Grant me autonomy
and I will show you…

*****

There is humility in this image, the image that I thought was me and is now more than mine. “The Medicine” for my suffering changes moment to moment, day to day. “The Medicine” for the suffering of others also changes moment to moment, day to day.

What a gift to be able to stay close to myself, to fill out and resonate with the energetic and emotional body, to cultivate space and ease in this vihara, to impact space and ease in others.

*****

Benevolent breath
Fill me with purpose
Receive my inadequacy
As a distant memory
You are the baseline beat
To every song I sing
My entry into this world
My exit off this stage
​
Stay with me
Remain with me
Watch and pray
That I fill this body
Completely 
To honor you
To know myself
To sense the song in others
And begin the improvised duet 

What is this color of healing,
this drop of kindness introduced
at the crown of the head,
diffusing through the whole body
with shimmering beauty
in the midst of breakdown?
I know I’m going to die,
that we all will perish
with dread or delight
depending on inner
and outer conditions.
 
Why not write a poem,
listen to music that lifts me
up from despair on wings
of hopeful possibilities?
I refuse to ignore this tincture
of love flowing through me--
a river of meaning mixing
with other tributaries on the way
to Right Understanding.
May i be a refuge for many.
May we be a refuge for all.

Essence of Sun and Earth by Vijali Hamilton

​The solidity of earth supporting practice
Breath filling energy/emotional body space
The flow of Metta to all phenomena
Eros lit for meaningful image to arise

​Wisdom, art, and balance are essential
For an erotic Middle Way
To know you and not lose myself
The duet becomes divine

​Climbing up the steep hill at Foothills Park,
I reflect on this faint sensation
pushing from the back, pulling forward
without regard for the body’s buy in,
the heart’s sensitivities, the mind
taking over the whole endeavor
as if speed and production are key.
How often do I push patients, pull
at the loose ends of family and friends
to get somewhere, get something done,
the checklist seemingly complete
so I can finally stop and breathe?

I’m so tired of this conditioning,
this need to move at the pace
of a ticking time bomb ready to explode.
What would it mean to find my own rhythm,
heed the call of heart time not measured
in seconds, minutes, hours, even days
but in compassion, curiosity, creativity-
slowing down to create/discover
what it means to move at own pace?

The following poetic reflections were written before and and during this retreat. May they be for the benefit of all. 

​Shaping Love
 
Deep within the black inky womb of desire
you hide in a coiled heap of tangled tentacles,
waiting to be discovered, understood, 
free to swim in a sea of sensitivities
warm enough to display your meaningful symbols.
 
As I settle in samadhi, 
curious about what you are,
what you are capable of,
energy and emotional bodies
become the dark waters 
to make space
for the graceful ways you move-
 
an iconic vision 
of loving and being loved 
that has potential to bleed 
into the beyonds 
of other murky relationships.
 
12/29/24
​

​Sangha
 
There is a breath of benevolence 
that at sweeps through the temple
despite stormy thoughts, gales of feeling,
unstable sensations that threaten 
the very foundation of trust.
Can you settle in samadhi,
sense a tincture of glittering metta
seeding the space with image?
When the season seems bleak and barren,
impregnate it with Eros,
tend to your tender heart.
May the community garden flourish
to echo and mirror the temple within.
 
1/1/24

Veiling and Unveiling
 
How can I hate you
when you are like a bird’s nest,
empty of a single cause or condition 
built with a fullness of intention
for something meaningful 
to grow within you.
 
How can I misunderstand you
when you are of the same substance 
as other great minds and loving hearts,
of spacious awareness itself
not seeking to judge but discover
your fullness of intention.
 
May I learn to love
the shapeshifter with a name
that limits your dimensionality,
see you through a silk screen 
that outlines your divinity 
but fails to define its shape.
 
1/2/24

​Sea Glass

glistening tears
your aquamarine eyes
shaped by grief

1/10/25

Devotion
 
bodies burning, yearning
to touch, to be consumed
to find the missing half
the consort for completion
 
why not be the fire
burning endlessly 
for the divine 
without knowing
 
who or what 
the divine 
really is

​
Shine a Light…”It’s You!”
 
Shine a light through your stained-glass heart.
Even the brokenness, the shards, the stone
cast through your sensitivities is repairable.
Your story is rich, meaningful,
a cathedral in time, a gathering
of all your particularities in service
of healing the hole in the window
to love the world beyond it.

 1/11/25

Seeing Through Saffron Eyes
 
I am in love with all of your particularities,
the ballad you long to hear your partner 
sing when the world misunderstands,
making love to all of your most intimate 
places till you writhe in ecstasy
longing to please me, in total 
devotion to my most worthy cause-
to mirror particularities
of the divine in others,
and heal the separation.

​
Humility
 
I am not the only one
with a song in my heart,
a poem to describe 
how I metabolize this world,
a prayer for ease
and soulful connections.
 
Let me make space 
for you, dear Sangha,
swirling dervishes on the dance floor 
in praise of what you love-
fellow poets, seekers, healers
embodying your own unique stories.
 
Not better, not worse
not even equal to,
and so much more
than you ever imagined,
kneeling humbly at the altar
of all you are called to serve.
 
Waiting, eternally waiting
for a candle to be lit
by the One who knows
your temperamental heart
and still trusts you
to carry the flame.

 1/12/25
​

Drawn to the Rhythm 
 
outlined in souls
the stones carry their names
the heart too vast
for one beach to carry
 
as each stone blows
away from the collective
by ignorance, by isolation,
by death
 
the small heart aches
as the larger one sighs
at the human predicament 
of arrogance and disconnection 
 
the rhythm of the sea
the beat of each heart
how can one not love
the imperfect design


​Walk, Dance Gently
 
It feels like a pebble in the forefoot,
dense, hot, throbbing, unwelcome.
Even the medical term to define it,
metatarsalgia sounds like a weapon,
an arrogant scientific explanation,
a piece of the puzzle given more significance 
than the rest of the temple’s wonder.
What if I renamed you to something 
softer than the impact of heavy
footsteps that gave you your name?
Metta-toe-savoring. Please forgive me
for the ways I have misnamed,
misinterpreted, misunderstood you.
You are the small, intricate bases
that support the columns 
of this sacred temple, the conduit
to fertile ground that cannot 
be trampled upon.
​

Gestation 
 
first full moon 
swollen 
with our loving desires
when will she give birth?

1/13/25

Invoking Image
 
undress my heart
pull me apart
take me under your skin
into worlds you have been 
 
stay close to me
for all of eternity
and if you must leave
enter me to conceive
 
soulful visions
metta missions
flexible convictions
being forgiven 
 
for my ignorance 
 
1/14/25

Winter’s Breath
 
so many branches
raised in prayer
teach me 
how to humbly 
surrender
breathing in
breathing out
in your love


I’ve Been Given to Know
 
I’ve been given to know
A sleek black panther 
With bright yellow eyes
I’ve been given to know
A sleek black panther 
With bright yellow eyes
 
What strikes me about him
Is the way he claws at the flesh
Tearing muscles and tendons
Breaking bone
 
When I am in his presence
I am reduced to a bloody heart
That is somehow still beating
Tenderly held
And no longer mine
 
I’ve been given to know
A sleek black panther 
With bright yellow eyes

 1/16/25

Practicing with the Five S’s

Space/Splendor - Zoming out of the difficulty to notice space around it and anything pleasant to help balance the difficulty and not go into all-or-none, catastrophic thinking.

Sensations- Rather than trying to doctor the pain into a diagnosis (hard to abstain since it’s my profession), noting the sensations as ‘throbbing’ or ‘burning’ rather than ‘pain’.  It makes it less personal.

Self-compassion - Placing a hand on the hurt place and recognizing that others experience this, too. If I cannot feel the self-compassion, then inviting a figure of love to inspire it.

Not-self - Reflecting  on past inner and outer causes and conditions, present inner and outer causes and conditions contributing to the pain. Empty of a single cause or condition, and full of love.


There is a benevolence 
That softens a tangled mind
Agitated heart and tense body
Till they are all aligned 
To inhabit the moment 
With such intimacy and tenderness 
That a bright yellow center
Attracts bees to make honey
Make sweetness, make love
With all the hurt places-
Blood orange petals radiating
Metta in all directions
​Wishing for all to be free

For the first few days, samadhi is strong. It nurtures contentment on and off the cushion.

Then I wake up one morning with severe foot pain, unable to bear weight on the right foot. The perfect bubble bursts. Papanca proliferates in the mind. The heart is burdened by fear as the body tenses against unwelcome change.

It takes another few days to recognize etch a sketch potential in the breath, erasing tangles in the mind, sensing throbbing, aching in the foot and spaces in the body that are neutral, even pleasant. What is drawn on the mind screen, felt in the body and heart, all depend on my ways of looking.

I am not a ‘good’ practitioner when things go well, or a ‘bad’ one when things are difficult. 

Empty of a single cause or condition, and full of love.

The mantra continues to offer humility, softening blame and deepening compassion.

May these insights be shared with my patients and all beings, who are also subject to sickness, aging, and death.

Samadhi is not a perfect state, but mind, body and heart in alignment, receptive, sensitive, honest, always in communication with what’s needed now. If what’s needed is not apparent, then samadhi is waiting patiently and trusting if will come.

Kisagotami Bikkhuni and Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, I am listening…


****


KISAGOTAMI ~ SKINNY GOTAMI


A child dead.
And a mad search for a magic seed.


It's a story as old as dust.


Brave up, my sisters.


The day will come
when you run
from house 
to house.


People will meet you at the door, 
look you in the eye, 
and they won't let you in.


I'm sorry, they'll say.
But we can't help you.


Listen.


When everyone you love is gone, 
when everything you have 
has been taken away, 
you'll find the Path
waiting 
underneath 
every rock 
on the 
road.


These are the words of Kisagotami.




*****


Toward Peace  ~  Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer


Perhaps some part of me still believes
peace is a destination,
a place we arrive, ideally together.


I notice how shiny it is, this belief,
like a flower made of crystal,
beautiful, but lifeless,


devoid of the dust and scuff
that come from living a real day.
Meanwhile, there is this invitation


to grow into peace the way real flowers grow--
in the dirt. With blight and drought,
beetles and hail.


Meanwhile this invitation
to live in the tangle of fear and failure,
to be humbled by my own inner wars


and wonder how to find a living peace
right here, the peace that arrives
when we take just one step through the mess


toward compassion and notice
as our foot rises our heart also rises
and in that lifted moment


still scraping along in the dirt,
there is a peace so real we become light,
become the momentum that is the change.

(This poem was first written after receiving a steroid injection for frozen shoulder in April 2023. It's humbling to a be patient on the receiving end of a doctor's advice...)

Four minutes discussing the risks
and benefits of the procedure,
the doctor’s confidence and my worry
sparring in the silence that follows.
 
Four inches of thin stainless-steel injecting
steroids into my shoulder joint,
thoughts of relief and regaining range
of motion subdued by lancinating pain.
 
A fast baseball pitch and loud pop.
A gunshot wound to the right shoulder.
A bomb detonated close to the upper arm.
Four lives embodied in my own.
 
Four drops slide down my cheeks,
the waterfall of reserves drying out.
What will replenish trust as
therapeutic possibilities dwindle?
 
Four steps into another exam room,
I greet a patient in pain.
Before assessing and assuming,
asking about the story…