So many orange and tan leaves,
some still minty with orange veins
that that aren’t ready for the season.

Walking this path, it’s different 
from red carpet fame and glory,
guiding these feet through change-

through a grove of tree spirits
sacrificing foliage in autumn shades 
of corn, pumpkin, holly, and cinnamon-

for all the humble humans willing
to pause and pay attention,
willing to let go again and again,

and again.

​The trees stand tall.
Some are not afraid to shed 
the leaves that no longer
serve a meaningful purpose-
though there may be red anger,
orange caution, yellow cowardice,
brown defeat before the fall.
 
These core beliefs were not
meant to be carried forever.
 
Sometimes it’s worthwhile 
to risk exposure, risk change, 
patiently waiting for the next season,
nourished by supportive roots 
of a neighboring network 
who understand, a weather system
that welcomes change as the most 
natural thing without villainizing.
 
Stand tall then, like wise woman tree.
Sense how the new skin might serve you.

​Is it a pine needle or a twig that pierces this heart with such pain -the pain of miscommunication and feeling misunderstood? It is definitely a vulnerability, this sensitive capacity of her heart to feel everything, to resonate with the 10,000 joys and sorrows. 

Especially the 10,000 sorrows.

What if she allowed herself to feel the pain, unapologetically, let a lone drop of blood fall to the floor, diluted, more tolerable and less shocking when mixed with tears?  

Is a single drop of karuna, compassion enough?

Breathing with the thorn, pain, blood and tears, sensing the quivering heart beat inside the temple of the rib cage, she places a hand where it hurts most, where she longs to be seen and understood.

She pledges allegiance to this tender heart, the one that notifies her instantly, faster than a text message or news report of the emotional weather internally and externally. 

Yes, it is vulnerable.

It is also resilient, the first pine needle or twig laid down as the foundation for a nest, a sanctuary where other birds with broken wings can land. 

​Wing repair is not just about technical knowledge. It’s also about rest and endless nourishment from self-love.

Kill the pain of what no longer serves you.
Crush it into blood and bones.
Eat it, drink it,
the suffering of the world.
Recognize all the tools you have to do so.
Don’t be afraid, my love
to kill the snakes, the tension
in the paraspinal muscles 
with Durga Ma’s powerful weapons.
Feast on them, devour them
to taste what else is there.

​*Inspired by Eye of the Heart retreat.

When wearing a wide-brimmed sun, hat, and polarized glasses, beware of obstacles at an outdoor rockery.

Treat every part of the body with reverence and respect. Though it is hurting, it serves a valuable function for the journey.

Let healing time replace clock time. Moving any faster will delay the healing process. 

Comparing your body to others is like comparing the wood of an oak to a cedar tree. They serve different purposes. 

Cuts, scrapes, bruises, even broken bones don’t break you. It is your unwillingness to tenderize the wound with patience, self-compassion,  gratitude and trust that breaks you.

​
I’m fascinated by the intersection of emptiness and metta.

This month I received a birthday gift that I did not want - a flare up of chronic SI joint and gluteal muscle pain. Still there was significant appreciation for emptiness teachings.

I wasn’t a victim of a single cause or condition. Nor was I an expert on perfect management in extinguishing the burning sensations of pain. Perceptions of pain were determined by my relationship to it. When it took center stage, the attention shrunk, and there wasn’t much space for anything else.

Seeing and sensing through the eyes of the Brahmaviharas, the areas of pain transformed into an island of discomfort in a sea of healing modalities and support. The attention stretched to include ice, Advil, supportive family members, joy for my partner getting back in shape, a compassionate physical therapist, concerned patients expressing empathy, an image in supine meditation posture of the heart space pumping a champagne like bubbly substance to the rest of the body that softened, soothed, and allowed experience to be as it was, even held in celebration.

What if time is empty - past, present future - all empty of a single cause or condition that made me? What if this pain is not mine, and belongs to a divine intelligence?

The universal song is composed of both high and low notes. When dukkha arises, may I remember that others experience this, too. When sukkha arises, may others experience this, too.

“When self, time, separation, and even suffering are seen as empty, a devotion to the endless commitment of love is felt without burden.” (Seeing that Frees, Pg 327)

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