​Caste in bronze resin sitting on top of a ferocious lion, she commands attention at center stage. Endowed with power from multiple male deities to defeat the demon Mahishasura, she wields the weapons of a chakra, conch, bow, arrow, sword, javelin, trishula, shield, and a noose to clear all obstacles. Bejeweled in crimson and green ornaments adorning her crown, ears, neck, and waist, she embodies the cycle of death and rebirth, endings and beginnings necessary for all human experience.
 
My mothers never prayed to her. I wonder if paying attention to her now will strengthen and heal the maternal line.
 
To her right sits a smaller being caste is the same bronze resin. He was known to wear simple saffron robes and walk barefoot for miles in search of suitable space for long periods of meditation. 
 
I still don’t understand how he abandoned his wife, Yasodhara or his son, Rahula in search of enlightenment. Can enlightenment still be found as a householder? As I try to reconcile this paradox in heart and mind, I am still grateful for the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, the numerous lists as treasure maps to freedom. Maybe he didn’t abandon his family, but sacrificed the comforts of a safe, opulent life for something far more valuable.
 
To his and her left is another small being cast in the same bronze resin. She hears the cries of the world and stays till there is ease. Her demeanor is relaxed, yet ready to spring into action and alleviate suffering at a moment’s notice. She is the embodiment of the most caring 911 system I have ever seen. I’m still exploring hidden caves of compassion inside her world.
 
Above them all hovers a spirit in flight wearing colorful feathers in solidarity with the winged friends surrounding her. Trapped in 2D and a mahogany frame, she yearns to gather momentum and fly on wings of creative intuition, to leave the limitations of 8.5. X 11“ flat space in favor of more dimensionality without rules. She embodies the wisdom of stillness and movement, the space needed for meaningful transformation to occur in divine time. She understands that the wonders of the world were not created overnight.
 
Each day I light a candle, bowing in humble reverence to each of these beings, to their symbolism and the qualities they inspire in me.
 
I still feel this heart encased in layers of misunderstanding, a hidden gem polished by years of devotion.
 
One day there will be a dissolving of all separation. One day, I will be free to love as I was meant to.
 
There is no doubt.

During spring break, I had the opportunity to visit a butterfly sanctuary in Maui. The fact that it is called The Maui Butterfly Farm (not caterpillar or chrysalis farm) speaks volumes about the value given to the butterfly in its life cycle.

The butterfly is beautiful, light, and free – an exquisite symbol of pleasurable moments or stages of life. In contrast, the caterpillar is ugly, heavy, sluggish, always hungry for more. It represents challenges along the way, the wish to transform and be transported elsewhere. For me, the hardest stage to be in sometimes is the chrysalis, the neutral moments of perceived inactivity when questions are marinating in dark space. If I force answers prematurely, wings are torn before possibilities can even take flight.

What does it mean to honor each stage, to understand that I am moving through symbolic caterpillar-chrysalis-butterfly stages multiple times, not just once in a lifetime? How would my life change if I wasn’t just chasing butterflies, but embodying the whole picture?

*****

In Matty Weingast’s, The First Free Women, original poems inspired by the early Buddhist nuns, Theri Punna (Full)  writes:

 
Fill yourself
with
the Dharma.
 
When you
are as
full
as the
full
moon--
burst open.
 
Make
the dark night
shine.
 
 
Hearing Punna’s whispers inside this body-heart-mind, I wrote the following:
 
All this time--
waiting
for the big moment,
the Earth to quake
like His awakening.
 
All this time--
the heart knew
that reflecting
wholeness
in all beings,
 
like a still lake
mirrors
the full moon,
 
was Her awakening.


For years, I’ve been waiting for my life to begin. Chasing butterflies, waiting for the Earth to quake, to awake with ultimate understanding, I missed the smaller moments of stress and struggle, of forgiveness and redemption, of joy and fullness all around me.

In medicine, meditation, and other aspects of life experience, there is deeper presence, less restlessness, more contentment in the simplicity (and profound healing) of reflecting wholeness in others by sensing the fullness within.

*****

In Yasodhara* and the Buddha, Vanessa Sasson does a fine job of setting a vivid stage for their story. She honors ancient Indian culture with humor and reverence. Because of her background in Asian studies and notes at the end of the book referencing other Buddhist and Hindu texts, I trust the story. I also respect her creative additions.

There are so many themes to contemplate in the book: opulence vs. simplicity, loving a precious few vs. all beings equally, the life of a monastic vs. the life of a householder, confusion vs. clarity. They remind me of the three poisons in Buddhism – greed, hatred, and delusion, and the healing power of generosity, metta, and clear-seeing.

Though the Buddha’s story gets all the attention, Yasodhara’s story is equally important. As a householder myself, I feel her loss when she agrees to marry and is confined to the palace walls and Siddhatta’s heart. She renounces her previous life and the freedom it offered. I feel her labor pains, her devotion to Rahula*, her grief and the doubt it conjures when Siddhatta leaves and again when the Buddha takes Rahula for training. I resonate with the need to embody Durga Mata*-like fierce presence, the need for strong maternal guidance and support from someone like Mahapajapati* to face sexual assault.

In the end, I understand that awakening is possible for a householder as much as it is for a renunciate, not because she left, but because she stayed. She stayed with the whirlwind of emotions, changes in her body, changes in her identity.  She saw Kisa Gotami* holding on to a dead child in a deliriously painful way, and began to contemplate the power of letting go.

May all women sense their full moon potential, and reflect this in others.

Notes:  
*Yasodhara is Siddhatta’s wife. Siddhatta later becomes the Buddha.
*Rahula is the son of Yasodhara and Siddhatta.
*Durga Mata is the Hindu goddess of protection, strength, motherhood, destruction and wars.
*Mahapajapati is Siddhata’s maternal aunt who raises him when his own mother, Maya dies after childbirth.
*Kisa Gotami is so stricken by the death of her child that she loses her mind. She is freed by a wise teaching from the Buddha.

*****
​
Butterflies, full moons, epic stories inspire this journey of late. I’m so grateful for some time to slow down and reflect on them. May something offered here be of use, of inspiration.

be gentle, be loving
patient and proud
of the wind and tears
that carved a goddess
from suffering

Kwan Yin’s kindred spirit
is learning to listen
to the cries of the world
and stay till there is ease
as she listens to her own body

the dance of sensations
ok as she is
a caged heart
trusting her wingspan
to fly beyond the bounds
of fear and unmet expectations

she is still exploring
she is still unfinished

“The path unfolds in two dimensions: horizontal and vertical. The horizontal path spreads forward and back across chronos, tic-toc, sequential time: minutes that flow like sand through our fingers. Here and then gone. The vertical path extends as kairos, deep time. The fullness of ripening moments swell and then narrow, like heartbeats, thumping out their fleshy rhythm. Horizontal time propels us. Deep time nourishes and sustains us.”

After reading these words by Pamela Weiss, something shifts inside me. It feels like the missing link, the connection I’ve been looking for to understand the relationship between fear and faith. Fear is a contracted state, a constant push-pull dynamic between what’s here, what’s missing from the past, and what’s needed for the future. Fear is judgmental, blaming anyone who cannot guarantee its safety. And, it is just one breath, one heartbeat away from faith waiting to surround it, to hold it in a steady, tender embrace.

One week ago, I had the joyful privilege of joining Jackie Long and circles of women for yoga on the beach in Half Moon Bay to raise funds in memory of loved ones who passed from cancer. Moving through sun salutations in praise of our star humbly hiding behind clouds, surrendering to sandy earth in child’s pose as vibrations of pounding surf were felt beneath us, it was an exhilarating experience.

Though I was aware of the sacroiliac joints and gluteal muscles previously re-injured by certain yoga poses, I believed it could be different this time. Sacred cause, sacred place, sacred instructor, sacred people, sacred body…there was no need to be scared. It would be different this time.

As the week and my body unfolded from the yoga experience, I began to feel twinges of discomfort. Prior experience, body wisdom, patience, compassion, and determination helped me tend to the pain lovingly with modalities that would promote healing.

Fear has not vanished. There are still whispers of judgment from time to time— the horizontal path conjuring flashbacks of past painful outcomes, predicting future catastrophes, each choice I make flowing like sand through my fingers. Where can I find true refuge? Where can I feel safe?

Today, the sensations are the loudest they have been throughout this week. What does it mean to lovingly embrace fear, to surround it with faith? Faith is expansive. It does not judge, but speaks with wisdom, sensitivity, patience, curiosity. I don’t know what will happen, and I’m with you every step of the way. Loving attention heals no matter what. Like a mighty grandmother oak, faith roots in vertical time, each moment while simultaneously reaching up and out for connection.

rooted in this moment
branches reaching out
cultivating a deeper faith
to surround fear and doubt

​As I learn to take refuge in this abiding faith, may it serve as refuge for others. May I trust what I cannot see, yet feel growing deep within, reaching up and out for connection.

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!

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.

What a joy to be on this retreat with Anne Cushman. Thank you for helping me process the perimenopausal transition!

****

A Woman’s Worth

Perimenopause mother tree,
rooted in old beliefs
of a woman’s worth.
Don’t let the foliage,
the fertility fade away
as green leaves still cling
to memories of summer.

Let one brave leaf bleed
from bright yellow
to burnt crimson,
inspiring others to fall
so barren branches
can practice the art
of letting go.

A woman’s worth
is not in the promise
of spring blossoms,
but a willingness to ground
in the truth of her season,
to nurture what is
still growing within.

****

Menses

Menses, I’ll miss you, the way you are a slow trickle in a creek or a rushing river of sloughed off endometrial lining. I’ll miss the pelvic cramping that starts as mild movement on the PMS Richter scale, then slowly crescendos into larger seismic waves.

Do I take an Advil, silencing the uterus, or do I breathe through wave after wave of sensations ripping through the lower belly, allowing the uterus to speak? It doesn’t have to be a boxing match between Western medicine and Eastern philosophy, does it?

I’ll miss the tampons, the Always pads ranging from regular, long, and extra-long/overnight so you don’t stain underwear, pajama pants, or bed sheets. Why was I so ashamed of you?

Though this womb well is almost dry, I will think of you every time I sustain a cut, or care for a bleeding patient. It doesn’t matter where the blood comes from; it’s a sign of life, a heme-rich stain of your wisdom tattooed everywhere I used to look away.