As I sit in meditation, there is eagerness to interpret the dream, to make meaning of it.

SMD whispers, “Not yet my love. Stay close to yourself. Do you have your energy body? Emotional body?”

Trusting this voice, I become meek, cultivating patience and reverence for the process by systematically sensing earth, space, the flow of metta, fire for image.

The dream is strange. I see many fish enclosed in a large space by a fence or cage. At first they are all still, but then they are flapping around. One by one they pop out of the cage and become young children dancing a melancholy dance.

“May I be free,” one child sings.

I feel the child within inspired to voice her own desires.
“May I be seen and heard.”
“May I love and be loved.”

I think of all the undocumented immigrants, the students protesting in the US who are being deported.

The heart center becomes a gray, swirling storm, aching for the light of the Brahmaviharas to shine through.

*****

Hiking in the rain, I imagine the rain as Kwan Yin’s tears. The pitter-pattering sound against my raincoat becomes the sound of thousands of hearts beating fervently in prayer.

“May there be more sanctuaries of love than sanctuaries of hate.”

*****

“And what would that give you?” the voice asks. Is it the voice of SMD, Kwan Yin, Mother Earth? Does it matter?

Then I would trust in a universal benevolence, more powerful than greed, hatred, and delusion. I would trust citta as a meaningful extension of it.

*****

Down by the lake, its surface generously receives the raindrops, the tears, the prayers, swallows them whole into its murky beyonds.

The eye of a weak sun peaks through the gray above. Someone is watching, eternally watching.

And my bones know, there is more than this.

Essence of Sun and Earth by Vijali Hamilton

​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.

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

​On a walk at Calaveras Big Trees National Park, the park ranger paused to pay homage to two giant sequoias that shared the same trunk. The trunks were originally separate, and fused together after a fire for mutual benefit and survival.

I thought of my mother and daughter, how the umbilical connection was severed between us at birth, how the sacral, sacred burning in my body was a sign.

I reflected on all the beings I have pushed away on this camping trip and beyond, the yearning to share the same base, something tender beyond ideas of a separate self.

In meditation, the image of the conjoined sequoias arose, inspiring metta for my teachers, for me, for my mother and daughter, for all the beings at camp, and beyond. It wasn’t my body-heart-mind responsible for such vivid and vast imagination, but tapping into a larger, loving life force inherent in all things.

Listening to the bell resound at the end of the sit, I was clinging- to the bell, the sequoias, the feeling, fearful that I would walk back into a black and white world where beings scurried frantically around like mice to make meaning.

I will continue to disagree with others and feel the pain of separation. I will also persevere in tenderness, beauty, and Soulmaking.

It’s what I was born to ‘do’, and who i already am.

​Mother Moment

she understands you worry about the future
keep visiting the past as if rereading
the chapters will help you to understand
she invites you to be here
sitting and walking, just breathing
as if there’s no place else to be
as if this is the missing link
the sanctuary you always sought
​

​The Last 15 Minutes of a 45 Minute Sit

leaning into what’s next
the body screams to get up
as the mind conspires to leave
not yet, the heart whispers
just one more minute
as body and mind agree
to settle, to relax
then the sound of the bell
an invitation to enter life
one minute, one breath
one day at a time
​

​Anjali Mudra

bowing to everyone you meet
reflecting True Nature
when it’s hard to see
because there is clarity in you

Gone
 
 Gone, the sweet tartness of plump blueberries,
the crunch of cinnamon peppered almonds
in a sea of steaming oatmeal,
now a gurgling afterthought in the belly.
Gone, the tender tones of his teaching instructions
after the birth of an 8:45am sit,
umbilical cut to silence, to sadness
not knowing if I’ll ever see or hear him again.
Gone, the scene of a Saturday morning
girls’ soccer game at the local middle school,
the house with the rose stems
beheaded by the fall season,
white petals decaying between wood chips and soil,
the bright yellow diamond 15 mile per hour
speed bump sign as I turn the corner
of walking meditation towards home--
images encased in the album
of memory that will fade.
I’m chasing after the high school bus,
first kiss, first lover, first child, first job
the way I looked in that residency picture at 31,
abundant glossy black hair and clear complexion
though nothing was ever really clear.
Gone, the thought of what’s next on the schedule
as my invincible partner collapses
on our bed from excruciating back pain,
his body subject to breakdown
like everyone else I know.
Gone, the belief that this retreat will last forever--
a perpetual bomb shelter of safety
against the war with life
when the vihara was always within.
Gone. Gone. Gone.
A birthday candle wish that was never promised,
and a blessing of breath while it lasted.