A Poem from Life Vows Sesshin

"Not Two"

Possibilities for a life fill the open sky
like a flock of swifts.
Each bird with a wing of wisdom, and a wing of compassion.
Now moving as one body, they vow,
concentrating themselves down
towards one point,
like a cyclone touching ground.

So, too, the geese
decisive in their direction,
forming the 'v' of vow.
Sticking their necks out
together they point the Way.
Chanting dharanis as they move their wings,
wisdom and compassion are not two things.

This Year's Death Poem

Dreams form and dissolve,
Sandcastles of home and work.
This too is practice.

In reflecting upon the year of practice, the Inner Critic has a lot to say.  I'm minding my business on a gorgeous tropical island beach, when she marches up and rather arbitrarily draws a line in the sand in front of me, declaring I have not measured up.  I should be on the other side.  

Where I Am / Where I Should Be:

Complacent / Determined

Hitting the Snooze / Waking Up

Shallow / Deep

Work:  Year Two of private practice now feels comfortable and easy.  Nothing compared to drinking out of the fire hose that was community mental health.  Home:  A sweet, happy, and healthy marriage continues.  Adding a golden retriever puppy to the mix the end of last year has been a delight, and a bit of a wild card in our predictable DINK (dual income no kids) life, challenging our home practice for a time.  The pull of the Relative world has been strong.  Not to mention the Acedia in the early part of this year.  This year of practice has felt like an exhale.  A dissolving.  Diastole.  I have nothing to show for it.  

Inner Critic is going on about how this is a complete failure, a shameful tragedy.  She is squawking and flapping her arms.  She is saying something about what a Zen Student is supposed to look like; some vision of a pale figure in a dark Zendo with blisters on their butt having Deep Realizations.  Usually I hang on her every word, and would be pierced to the core, but here I am in my chaise and floppy hat, noticing how her face is turning red, how faraway her voice sounds, and wanting to offer her a frozen margarita.    

With gratitude, I reflect on the Teachers and Sangha that I have been so open with all this time, who have been observing my practice this year too, and who reassure me not to worry.  I lean into that.  Watching the waves.   

It Happens All the Time in Heaven

It happens all the time in heaven,
And some day
It will begin to happen
Again on earth -
That men and women who are married,
And men and men who are
Lovers,
And women and women
Who give each other
Light,
Often will get down on their knees
And while so tenderly
Holding their lover's hand,
With tears in their eyes,
Will sincerely speak, saying,
"My dear,
How can I be more loving to you;
How can I be more
Kind?"
--Hafiz

Not Dead Yet!

One of my pointedly few vows for blogging was never to apologize for periods of time without writing.  Nothing to Attain continues to attain nothing, and all is well.  


Pari-Nirvana Sesshin happened in February.  Not surprisingly, my mind really does not want to meditate on death.  It writhes around in a weird mix of humor and anxiety, making for a bit of a turbulent week.  Interestingly, one meditation that did settle my mind was the closest I could get to meditating in the charnel ground:  Imagining my own body decomposing, in as much detail as possible.  Except that I have very little training in biology of any sort, and I avoid zombie movies, so there are lots of blanks to fill regarding this process.  


But I got curious about it.  So I got home, googled around and found a couple books to help me.  You've probably already read it, but Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach!  How did I miss this?  Why didn't you tell me?  


The third chapter is about the University of Tennessee's Anthropological Research Facility, aka the "body farm".  It is as close to a charnel ground as we might get in our culture, and provided exactly the kind of detail about what actually happens to bodies when they are left to decompose on their own schedule.  Mary Roach:

Do you recall the Margaret Hamilton death scene in The Wizard of Oz?  ("I'm melting!")  Putrefecation is more or less a slowed down version of this.  

Beetles, maggots, and bacteria, oh my!  Such a powerful antidote to body obsession and stuff obsession.  It occurred to me that all the calcium supplements I take will just end up in the ground someday, one way or another.  Impermanence.    


I learned that the creator of the body farm also wrote a book called Death's Acre: Inside the Legendary Forensic Lab the Body Farm Where the Dead Do Tell Tales.  It's on my list.  I think these windows into forensics are way better than those CSI shows, which I also avoid.    


Our Sangha has a yearly poetry gathering online every March.  One of the week's themes was on death.  Here is a poem I wrote for that the other day: 


Meditation on Death and Life
Everything falls apart.
Starting with our jaws, as we meet death
with open-mouthed amazement.
The bacteria in our bellies loosed like a tsunami
liquefying and changing the landscape.
Not to mention to the janitorial crew; millions strong and teeming.
Indeed affirming the lives of flies,
thanks to whom, the traveling swallows,
snapping their beaks audibly in the fields,
feed baby birds with hungry open mouths.

For Hannah, On Her Birthday

This is a poem my dear friend Kayci just sent to me today. She has been gestating this expression for the past week, since the day we put Hannah to sleep, which did happen to be the Summer Solstice.

"For Hannah, On Her Birthday"

Today is the day the sun stands still,

The real meaning of solstice

This longest day

Is really the end of light’s reign

A last hurrah

Before darkness makes its comeback

While on the other side of this world

Night is loosening its grip

Hannah knows it, by name

This life’s orbit, too, is palindromic

The beginning and end meet in the middle with a stutter-step

Zenith or nadir, you choose

Or see if you can hold both to your chest at once,

Folding eternity down the middle

The astronomer peers through her instrument

To a remote universe

And what she sees, now,

Is really an event of the distant past

As for the solstice, well

Every day, the sun is standing still

Dear Hannah

Let darkness come; there is nothing to fear

Perception is illusion

Truth is not a single star, but a constellation

We come from celestial zest

And we shall return to it

Day of Mindfulness

I got to lead a Day of Mindfulness today. I was inspired to write something poem-like. Enjoy!

"Day of Mindfulness"

I got to see the sunlight fall just right

along the corkscrew filbert

I got to feel the gentle attention

of the breeze and

watch the pansies

nodding and shaking their heads,

“Yes! No!”

I got to lift my nose to the smell of blooming and

with a glance, by chance

I got to catch the moment the spider’s web

caught the air and with

complete faith in the wind and

complete confidence in herself

up up up

she flew with no discernible way to steer

Apparently the pear leaves became

three inches long in the night, and

today I got to see them. Each one.

I got to hear the neighbors fire up their lawn mowers and

I got to watch judgment and irritation

streak across like comets.

I got to feel tiredness behind my eyes

and I got to

get chilly as the sun went down.

I got to sit quietly and see clearly and melt,

grateful into this world.

This Year's Death Poem

This life, this body

In service to this moment

Already so vast.

Worldly Matters

Spring morning on the lake:
the wind merges with the rain,
Worldly matters are like flowers that fall
only to bloom again.
I retire to contemplate behind closed doors,
a place of true joy,
While the floating clouds come and go
the whole day long.

~Zhengjue
12th Century Chinese Buddhist Nun

from the book, Daughters of Emptiness: Poems of Chinese Buddhist Nuns, by Beata Grant

What do you want to do, look like a Fool?

To not know exactly what you are doing
at all times?
To be a windbag with no credentials
full of paradox and synchronicity?
To abandon your incessant concern for reputation?
To stop worrying about being taken seriously?
To start over again?
To be audacious and colorful,
effortlessly stepping off into the unknown?