soaring above
lush green hills
empty of agenda
full of possibility
Butterfly
flapping its wings
grasses ripple out
movement felt
beyond the hills
awareness is that vast
Two Wings
soaring above lush green hills empty of agenda full of possibility Butterfly flapping its wings grasses ripple out movement felt beyond the hills awareness is that vast
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emptying the space of preconception new ways of looking are possible When things change, I get scared. Expending more energy on what class I can attend, what book I should read, or who I should talk to, I forget the invitation to just rest in uncertainty. There is also tremendous compassion for how hard it is to feel windy thoughts jarring the mind, waves of painful emotions crashing against the shores of a tender heart. A few days ago I was driving home from work. Heavy winds howled like banshees shaking the small electric car to the core of vulnerability. I thought I was going to die. Arriving home in one physical piece, but many psycho-spiritual pieces, I tried releasing the visceral threat through words and tears in the arms of my loving, attentive partner. I still felt broken. I had no control over so many things: the body changing in perimenopause, friends and colleagues having meaningful plans that did not include me, miscommunication with my mom and teenager, patients and families who were not heeding my recommendations. Yet, the following images arising in different meditations have offered some comfort and clues along the way. 1.) An image of mysterious eyes crying colorful streaks of tears that veil the face. Allowing rivulets of difficult emotions to flow through the heart space can be beautiful and meaningful. 2.) An image of a woman placing hands on belly and heart, as if the body were a stringed instrument. Her hands feel the vibrations of sacred music from within, her fingers strumming along to create/discover more. 3.) An image of wind and waves threatening to break a protective structure shaped like a rib cage encasing a multifaceted jeweled heart. Sensations of fear and doubt arising as the jeweled heart smashes against its protective walls. As I grant autonomy to the heart, reverence and trust arise in the process, as well as wisdom and courage to love and be loved. 4.) An image of a mind cluttered with preconceived ideas of past experience. I wonder what it might be like to perceive experience with humility, soft and elastic edges, with the enthusiasm and wonder of a child trusting in benevolence. New ways of looking are possible. **** When things change, I get scared. Sometimes I even want to hold onto this writing, these images…as if they are a talisman to protect me from uncertainty. Then I remember the true nature of trust. As self, other, and world change, so will words and images. The deepest letting go is letting go of it all, trusting the next words, the next image, the next stepping stone to appear when it feels impossible to cross the floods. Stepping Stones in Water by Peter Cade Crossing Over I’ve crossed over to the other side without a bridge, without a map. I wish I could tell you how, leave a detailed set of instructions so it would be easier for you and you wouldn’t have to suffer. She asked me to let go, leave everything behind. To walk on water you must take one step at a time, trusting that the next stepping stone will appear. She was right. Desire is not just about reaching the other side. It’s about resting between movement, exhaling to inhale, trusting the next breath, the next step towards something that is already here when the perception of distance and depth is challenged. "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 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. (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? |
AuthorKaveri Patel, a woman who is always searching for the wisdom in waves. Categories
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