Born into this moment,
each breath is a wave
erasing past selves carved in sand.
Still, I try to build
a grand sandcastle of ego
further inland for protection,
till the sea swallows it whole
into a belly of no becoming.
Birthed again from the womb
of wholesome intentions,
returning as a song that leaves its shell
to join the collective chorus for peace.
 
Each moment I am born into a new molecular configuration, erasing past selves carved in sand. This is a blessing and a curse. A blessing in that the slate of deficiencies can easily be erased. A curse in that even a grand sandcastle of ego built further inland for protection is defenseless against the sea.

Who am I trying to be? An acclaimed poet/writer? A popular family physician with good reviews? A mindful, compassionate mother? A wise meditator? A sacred feminine conduit with direct access to the Great Mother? An expert on diversity and inclusivity?

Who am I trying to run away from? The ideal housewife and daughter? The productive physician? The body that can be in better shape as evidence by certain chronic conditions? The anxious one? The mother who failed? The callous one?

Just typing all these selves makes my head spin. It’s like strolling through an open bazaar with a new outfit in mind. The vendors come at me from all directions displaying their colorful wares. “This is an exclusive dress. Hand stitched. Best price in town. You won’t find it anywhere else.”

​Who ever said I was for sale??

I’m tired of trying to be someone. Trying to impress. Trying to build a sandcastle of ego that will last.

Let the sea swallow me whole into a belly of no becoming. Birthed again from the womb of wholesome intentions, may i connect, create, have compassion for a larger sphere than this small sense of self.

May i return as a song that leaves its shell to join the collective chorus for peace. This eternal song of generosity, wisdom, kindness, patience, determination, joy, compassion, mindfulness, and faith has no name. It doesn’t belong to anyone.
​
And it can still be shared.

This is a verbal garbage dump without
a forethought of what will harm the heart-
speeches, judgements all aimed at
protecting one’s own view while
the unreal other is suffering, too.
 
This could be a love letter, a truce
one brave act of forgiveness,
the walls of division crumbling
because one side is tired of living
inside a limited potential for peace.
 
Shedding tears of individual and collective harm this morning in meditation. So mentally and physically tired by this country’s political climate. Reflecting on dependent origination, karma, and not-self, I realize how important my spoken and written words are.  Do I want to contribute to what this is, or what this could be?

Marriage Mandala

I’ve waited my whole life for you
to say the right words,
to woo me with poetry
and an instrument to play
the song in my heart
that I sing to myself
when the world misunderstands.

How could I have missed
the gentle intimacy,
the drunken look in your eyes,
palms pressed in Namaste
to the sacred feminine flame,
the humble bow to your consort
in all her many moods?

Let’s circle the fire like we did long ago-
no one leading, no one following,
the earth bearing witness,
the air surrounding us offering
space to move as we must,
tears of frustration and joy marking
each brave step into the unknown.
 
Just when you think your partner isn’t looking, listening, or understanding, look again. Listen. Patiently wait for understanding based on cellular memories of gratitude. Memories of disappointment and deficiency will just weigh you down and induce amnesia for the sacred.

There is no such thing as a fairytale relationship, romantic or not. The grass is always greener in a movie, a book, or someone else’s story. For me, the magic occurs inside the heart mandala when all the moving parts invite me to look, to listen, and be patient for understanding.

I don’t always like the entangled pattern I see. The elements of earth, air, fire and water ask me to wait, to feel their presence internally and externally till the pattern alchemically transforms into something I recognize but didn’t trust before due to past conditioning.

The emerging pattern cuts through greed, hatred, and delusion with fierce compassion, gentle wisdom. All moving parts begin to settle.

The elements of wind and fire are strong in me. How do I not blow past and burn everything in the way? How do I allow the neurotic wind in this breath to be carried to the place it needs to be, rather than striving to get there? How can this passionate fire for practice burn with wise discernment?
​
Intuition, lead the way…

What she said, what she did really pissed me off. The precept, ‘knowing that our lives intertwine, I vow to speak only what it true, useful and kind‘ felt like a distant memory. Years of painful conditioning begged for release. I wanted to hurt her.

What I really wanted was for her to be conscious, for intimacy in this relationship to be built on something stronger than the ego.

*****

In The Yoga of Relationship, Phillip Moffitt describes three types of relationships: ego at the center, love and ego at the center, and love at the center. Though the model describes romantic relationships, I see how it applies to all relationships – family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, challenging folks, EVERYONE.

I immediately recognize the first type of relationship with this being. For years, the heart has diligently practiced metta for her. I know she is overwhelmed by insecurity, her actions inspired by the promise of ego belonging. It’s why we collide like asteroids so many times, instead of orbiting each other’s celestial being in awe.

May you feel a sense of belonging without the need to criticize others.

I yearn for the second type of relationship where love is also brought into the center with ego. For years, the heart has also practiced metta for this writer. I want to move beyond sense doors that trigger past hurt – sights and sounds that constrict the heart to hurt more and love less.

May I speak my truth with kindness.

“When love and ego are at the center, you are not abandoning or martyring yourself. Instead, you are giving up certain expectations, which means that your relationship to the energy of love is not dependent on your partner (or other being).”

Can I appreciate this being’s cycle of dependent origination causing her to connect mainly through comparison over compassion? Can I renounce certain expectations, so that my relationship to love is not dependent on her? Can this relationship be built on Metta (lovingkindness), Karuna (compassion), Mudita (joy), Upekkha (equanimity), where the heart is not just a welcome doormat easily stepped on, but a heavenly abode that opens to love’s possibility when feeling resourced and safe?

*****

What she said, what she did still pisses me off. The hurt is less. Wanting her to be more conscious, I turn inward, asking citta (heart-mind) for intimacy in this relationship to be built on something stronger than the ego, for the Brahmaviharas to hold us both.
​
(May the benefits of this practice be shared by all beings who struggle in relationship, all beings yearning for conscious connection.)

(inspired by DoriMa and DPP6 Sangha)

Sometimes i’m in the center
not as royalty, dictator, enlightened
but a resourced being offering
what she can to satellites orbiting
her sphere of influence.

Sometimes i’m at the periphery
lost in space, floating along
longing for the gravitational pull
of a generous planet guiding me back
to a system that feels like home.

We take turns giving and receiving
moving in, reaching out
circling the space to experience
the full spectrum of darkness, light
and some place in between.

the key of love by Korinna

“The point is to belong to each other, not to be the most right.”
-Thanissara
 
This month I’m asked to contemplate generosity, and how it shows up in everyday life. When I’m paying attention, there is never a dull moment to practice, to sense where the heart can stretch a little bit more to include another being.

*****

It’s bed time. We ask her to put her phone away. The texts between these girls are never ending. Over one hundred in a short span of thirty minutes or so.

Her eyes are sharp, covering a subtle, dark disappointment underneath. I feel the heaviness in her heart, the sense of disconnection from an important social thread happening while she sleeps, while she dreams.

The next day, I gently approach her wounding, inviting her feelings into a conversation, listening. I don’t hide my care and concern for her sleep to freshly face the next day. I also don’t expect her to understand. It isn’t about who gets the final word, but holding us both in a circle of lovingkindness.

*****

It’s 11:28pm. Still no sign of the patient. I can feel forearms and belly tense, mind spinning into the future. There goes lunch, fuel and rest before facing the second half of the day, beings needing someone to listen, someone to understand.

After the medical assistant (MA) finally rooms the patient, checks her vitals, and elicits the reasons for her visit, the MA walks out of the exam room with a raised eyebrow. She tells me the patient has been crying. More tightening in the forearms and belly, the heart door closing. “There goes lunch!” echoing through the mind. Help, where is the key of compassion???

As I walk into the exam room, every square inch of the body is yelling, “Quick! Speed read this chapter of the patient’s story and then get the hell out of there.” But heart-mind has a different plan. “Don’t bookmark the page just yet, Dr. Patel. You’ll like this story. It’s one where generosity plays a vital role.”

Taking a breath for myself and all caregivers who feel as if they are racing against time to be present to patients’ autobiographies, I relax a little more into the moment. Heart-mind helps to ask the right questions, knowing when to listen, move in a little closer to the patient, and when to bookmark the page so we can revisit her story at another time.

The visit ends with a sincere hug between two women, holding each other in a circle of compassion. I wonder if the patient will ever realize the significance of her story.

*****
​
This month I’m asked to contemplate generosity, and how it shows up in everyday life. I’m learning that generosity is not a cultural ‘should’ or obligation to offer time, talents, or resources, but including myself in the circle of lovingkindness and compassion every day. When I can pause, breathe, and check in with heart-mind, an intuitive knowing flows to nourish and sustain the wellbeing of all life, no parts, no hearts left out.
​
As generosity (dana) becomes second nature, it turns into virtue (sila), not a one-time act of kindness, but a continuous way of life. May we hold each other in a circle of kindness and compassion. May we unlock hearts with the generosity key.

At SFO, prior to boarding the plane for Japan, I heard a strange voice. “Don’t believe anything you see or hear. Look and listen for connection. That is all.” 

The voice sounded wise, profound. I’ve learned by now not to question its authenticity or figure out where it came from. In time, I would understand.

*****
​
In Japan, I experienced an explosion of sense pleasures. The rainbow colors and taste offerings at breakfast: wakame seaweed salad with lotus root and sesame dressing, alternating miso, corn, or pumpkin soup, scrambled eggs, choice of croissant, pecan, or cinnamon danish, veggies, and a several tea options. Lunch and dinner would involve savory ramen or udon noodles, crisp, tasty tempura, or a choice of yummy Italian, Mexican, Thai, or Indian cuisines. A few nights I simply had to turn the family down for dinner because my pants grew too tight and my stomach felt like a bowling ball!

After reading the first chapter in Ajahn Sucitto's "Paramis, Ways To Cross Life's Floods" on the four types of floods, I reflected and reframed my experience in Japan. What part of the trip was I not swept away in the flood of sensual pleasures, the flood of becoming (personal identity and time), the flood of views (I’m right, you’re wrong), or the flood of ignorance (not seeing things as they are)?

A few memorable experiences stood out. Standing at a train station in Tokyo waiting for a train bound for Kyoto, I noticed a man with a towel over his head crouching on the ground near his briefcase, eyelids closed with the weight of possible illness or job stress. This heart-mind began to practice on the spot Tonglen for him.

At Entokuin temple in Kyoto, I experienced the division of self and other melting into the green tea, the tea room structure, and the gardens around us. I didn’t even know the woman performing the tea ceremony, but in that moment, she was mother, daughter, sister, partner, friend, the soil underneath us, the breath between us.
​

*****
​
“Don’t believe anything you see or hear. Look and listen for connection. That is all.” 

Their is nothing wrong with enjoying sense pleasures, wanting to be someone, or having a certain view. Suffering arises when these floods lead to unwholesome disconnection instead of wholesome connection. 
​
I may forget the smell and taste of certain foods, how certain sights looked or felt, but the man at the station, the woman performing the tea ceremony, the victims of the A-bomb at Hiroshima, will stay in this heart-mind long after the body is gone.

Go ahead. Fall into that hole. We all do, sometimes repeatedly. Walk the path, right over the leaves and sticks that hide the ditch, false ground made of desire, aversion, delusion.

It’s cold down there, darkness all around you, walls closing in. There’s no room to move, to breathe. How did you get here?

Suddenly, that shiny object of desire, this other place that promised paradise when you were averse to Here, the delusion of something better, feels isolating. It’s not so special anymore.

What if cittabhavana is possible, the luminous nature of mindheart unclouded by mental defilements? Is it worth climbing out of the ditch to walk with awareness, to celebrate the transition from ignorance to freedom?

I don’t care if you fell. I’ve fallen, too. I’m so done with hiding in that pit. I want to feel sunlight on my face, rain washing away old perceptions of self.

Reflecting on the trench’s discomfort and what supported the way out, let’s catch glimpses of cittabhavana, our capacity for clear seeing, beauty, and joy. Let’s walk together.
​
We’ll fall again. Faith is trusting that one of us will discover the hole is a trap, a false refuge, holding a hand out to the other so we both take one step closer to Home.