Two Thoughts

       In my sense of the universe, each of us is a word in the vocabulary of God.  If so, how can we think that one expression of God is better than another?  I'm invited to let go of judgment and striving.  As Richard Moss says:  "We are, already, that which we seek."

       As we allow our hearts to expand to true spaciousness, we find that we are bigger than any problem we can have – and, perhaps, bigger than any problem the world can have.  LOVE is the solution.

Communication

       If writing is like giving birth, the process with this piece has been a protracted labor.  I'd push to get it out, and something else would push back – "not yet".  One week stretched into two, then almost three.

       Occasionally in this space, I allude to my belief that we are connected to, inseparable from, and continually in dialog with a wise and loving universe.  I locate that universe within us, between us and all around us.  Sometimes its dialog with us takes the form of outer experiences mirroring inner realities.

       Here's a story exploring, once again, those themes.

       One afternoon a month or so ago, frazzled at the office, meditation practice temporarily in tatters, attempting to multitask, just ending a call from Marisa (my daughter), I slapped my flip phone shut and shoved it hurriedly toward its holster on my hip.  The phone missed the opening and crashed to the floor.  A four-letter word burst from my lips.

       Bending down to pick up the phone, I saw that it was busted, really busted this time.  One of the flip's hinges was disconnected from the body of the phone and resisted every effort I made to reconnect it.  At the time, I thought of Humpty Dumpty, the fairy tale egg who had a great fall.  As I reflect now, I see a mirroring message: the phone's unhinging mirrored my own.

       With one hinge still in place, I could still make calls, but my trusty phone was clearly on its last legs.  And, just as clearly, I was disconnected from center.  Fortunately, a vacation was on the horizon – five days in Death Valley with Joanie and dear friends, Kirk and Dee.  I definitely needed a change of scenery.  Sometimes an outer change facilitates an inner shift.

       Death Valley is an eerily beautiful place – canyons, colors, magnificent rock uplifts and formations under blue, almost violet, cloudless sky.  Hiking through a particularly spectacular, narrow, winding, marble gorge, I wondered aloud about the origin of the word gorgeous:  "I bet it has something to do with gorges." 

       At 282 feet below sea level, Death Valley contains the lowest piece of real estate in the western hemisphere.   Some might say it's as close to hell as you can get.  I prefer to think that it's as close as we can get to the center.

       Anyway, there are salt flats in that deepest part of the valley – miles of salt-covered ground interrupted by fields of crystalline salt structures left behind after centuries of evaporating brine.  No two alike, the structures have an other-worldly quality about them.  If you're careful, you can walk out among the structures without disturbing them.  That's just what I did.

       Standing there, under fierce sunshine and surrounded by ancient crystals, a powerful healing energy washed over and through me, bringing release and relief – a softening, a centering, a letting go.  Easy breathing.  No hurry, no worry.  Everything's fine.

       Some time later that day, I noticed my inner jukebox.  It was playing a line from an old Donovan song:  "They call me mellow yellow".  And, sure enough, the rest of the trip was a gentle flow, definitely mellow.  Even now, Donovan's tune and lyric still visit me.

        Next day, we learned there was a short stretch of road in the park where cell service was available.  We stopped there to check messages, and I decided to call my good friend and spiritual companion, Rich, whose birthday was the previous day.  After a lovely conversation, affirming once again the beauty of all, I re-entered the Jeep.  With cell phone held loosely in my left hand, I eased into the driver's seat and, just as I reached with that same hand to close the door, the phone slipped from my grasp and landed on the hard-packed desert gravel.

       Not the least bit dismayed, I released all attachment to the phone.  I assumed it was finished.  I felt at peace.  Bending down to pick it up, I was surprised to see that it wasn't in pieces.  In fact, it was completely healed.  The separated hinge was re-connected to the body of the phone, with no trace of its former injury.  Stunned, I stared for a bit, tested the mechanism a couple times, then laughed in amazement.

       The scientist in me says: "What a lucky accident."  The mystic, whom I tend to trust more in these matters, says: "What a lovely communication."

       Nice mirror.  Nice healings.  Nice sense of humor.

Storied Life

Journey's backpack

Is loaded with stories.

Some are painful,

Tormenting tales –

Stories that shake us.

Dramas of danger

Unworthiness, too,

Old, told, re-told:

Familiar sequence,

Familiar finale.

Into the drama

We invite our pals,

Assigning roles

We wish

Weren't played.

Can we attend to story?

Claim authorship

And authority?

Can we let it be ours

And not about them?

Can we honor the wound

That sources sad story,

Treating it tenderly

With mercy and care,

Bathing in light?

We're all story tellers,

Writing in pencil.

Let's observe.

Let's edit.

It's our nature to heal.

Inner Life

       Lately, I've been living outside of my insides.  Soon, hopefully, I'll return to the interior and bring back something to share.  Meanwhile, here's another short poem from Lao Tzu.

Knowing others is intelligence;

knowing the self is enlightenment.

Conquering others is power;

conquering the self is strength.

Know what is enough, and you'll be rich.

Persevere, and you'll develop a will.

Remain in the center, and you'll always

be at home.

Die without dying, and you'll endure forever.

       This short poem was inspired by recent events in Tucson and a famous quote from the writings of Rumi:  "Beyond ideas of right and wrong, there is a field.  I will meet you there."

Rumi-Nation

Making you wrong

Doesn't make me right.

Can we opt now for peace?

And let go of the fight?

Do we want to be happy

Or prefer to be right?

Insisting truth is all ours

Makes sphincters too tight.

Once we leave the arena

Of who's wrong and who's right,

We can meet in the meadow

And play in soft light.

Embracing Emptiness

       At the suggestion of a good friend, I have selected Lao Tzu's Tao Te Ching, translated by Brian Browne Walker, as the text for spring semester's Thursday night growth group.  It's an ancient Chinese book that packs amazing wisdom in 81 short poems. 

       Apropos, perhaps, to 2011, here's the 11^th poem.  Enjoy!

Thirty spokes meet at a hollowed-out hub;

         the wheel won't work without its hole.

 A vessel is moulded from solid clay;

        Its inner emptiness makes it useful.

To make a room, you have to cut doors and windows;

        without openings, a place isn't livable.

To make use of what is here,

        you must make use of what is not.

Magic

       About 9pm on the night after Christmas, Joanie and I bundled up for a ski at a nearby county park.  With several inches of new snow, trails not yet groomed, overcast skies, a misty glow from the lights along the trail and no one around, there was a sense of wildness to the evening.  We decided to ski both loops, maybe 4 or 5 miles altogether.

       After a mile or so, we came to a stand of young adult red pines that's always been a special place for me, a place where the energy is palpable.  On this night I could feel the energy 30 feet away, and when we stopped in the midst of the stand, it was really powerful.  I experienced a kind of melting into oneness that usually only happens in deep meditation.  Joanie could feel it too.  We stood there 5 or 10 minutes basking in the presence, savoring the sense of connection.  As we moved on, something felt a little different from before.

       After another mile or so, Joanie spotted a doe off the trail to our left.  We glided by her, stopped and watched her watch us.  I could feel my heartbeat, pounding partly from exertion and mostly, I think, from the energy of that moment.  After a while, she walked toward us and stood on the trial just behind us.  She was joined then by a stag, who sauntered over from the other side of the trail.  A foursome, we faced each other, quietly present, for what seemed like a long time, before they moseyed on.  As we skied, they stayed parallel off to our right, a bit ahead of us, for a hundred yards or so, before the trail took us to the left and we parted ways.

       Awed by that experience, we skied on, not saying much.  After another mile or so, a red fox up appeared up ahead, traveling the trail in the same direction we were.  He stopped.  We stopped.  He stared for a bit; then trotted toward us – and kept trotting toward us, closer and closer, till he was about 15 feet away.  A tinge of nervousness crept into the amazement I was feeling.  He stopped, paused for one last look and then, like he had not a care in the world, turned off into the woods, making a trail in the snow that was so thin and delicate, I wouldn't have believed it was made by a four-footer, if I hadn't seen it.

       Magic was afoot.  Except for once on a solo trip to the boundary waters when a bear cub came running up to me, I've never known animals in the wild to approach.  As Joanie and I shared the wonder of this, I imagined that we had somehow become part of the forest, not separate from it the way we humans are most of the time.  Whatever the explanation, clearly, we had been gifted.

       The next night, we went skiing again.  Truth be told, I wanted more magic. 

       This night had none of the last night's wildness.  It was earlier in the evening, sky was clear, trails were groomed and the parking lot was crowded.  Hoping still for some duplication of last night, I suggested that we ski the same route as before.  With a much faster pace, it didn't take long to reach the red pine grove.  This time, the energy was gentle, more subtle, not like the power of last night.  I must confess, I was a tad disappointed.

       The skiing, however, was great.  We zipped along; encountered several humans, but no wild life.  Approaching the area where we had seen the fox, I complained to Joanie about the lack of animal sightings.  Not 30 seconds later, we spotted a bushy-tailed animal on the trail ahead.  It didn't stop to look at us.  It didn't move toward us.  It slinked off the trail and disappeared into the woods – a skunk.  I nearly laughed out loud.

       The universe certainly has a sense of humor – a nice way of teaching and a gentle way of reminding.

       After work, a couple nights later, with a light mist falling and rain forecasted for the next day, I was back at the park – skiing the same route, alone this time, in a humbler frame of mind.  Entering the pine grove, not knowing what to expect, I felt once again a powerful envelopment of Love.  Standing there, knees relaxed, spirit joyful, bursting with gratitude, I asked for a healing.  And just then, a breeze moved through the trees, dumping a big plop of snow right next to me.  I was startled but, fortunately, didn't need the plop to land on my head to get the message.

       These experiences teach me, for the umpteenth time, that I am not in charge of magic.  It's a gift.  I can't make it happen.  Lord knows, I've certainly tried over the years to create magic moments in relationship and in other areas of life.  Magic doesn't come from effort.  In fact, the harder I try, the more elusive it becomes.  It arrives unpredictably when we open ourselves, without expectation, to what is – when we bring a beginner's mind, perhaps a childlike innocence, to life.

       Maybe it's no surprise that New Year's is often depicted as an infant or toddler.  The season invites us to begin anew – to welcome life with an open heart and a willingness to be surprised and a softening to enchantment.

        So, please have a wonderful and delightful new year!  Relax, enjoy, connect, stay present.  Let yourself be surprised by the magic of 2011.

Mary Christmas

       I love Christmas.  I love the lights, the decorations, the holiday cheerfulness – strangers greeting each other with smiles and good wishes.  I especially enjoy the anticipation and experience of gift giving, that tangible expression of love – even when it goes overboard a bit.  There's a generosity here that reminds me of something larger.

       For me, Christmas celebrates the birth of Love, the first word in the vocabulary of God.  Christmas translates Love into human terms.  The life and teaching of Jesus brought to us the revolutionary truth that we are not separate – not separate from God, not separate from each other, not separate from anything in the universe.  All is one in the extravagant energy of Love. 

       Each year, Christmas reminds us to bring forth into everyday life the spirit of Jesus, a spirit of generosity and consciousness of oneness.  Christmas invites us to give birth to Love – as Mary did. 

       Yes, we're invited to be merry.   We're also invited to be Mary.

       I wish you joy, love and every blessing!

Bask and Blaze

       A ribbon of orange along the southeast horizon peeks through the trees and into the bedroom window signaling sunrise soon.  After yesterday's blizzard, the sky looks clear and the Fahrenheit gauge on the deck reads 10 below.  A good time, I think, to practice bask and blaze, a meditation technique we played with last Thursday night in group. 

       We start by receiving – softening and opening to the sunshine of the universe.  Focusing on the in-breath, we draw the radiant energy of Love into every cell, gently stretching our capacity for fullness, letting our hearts smile as we bask in radiance.

       After a while – no hurry – we invite our attention to the divine spark at the center of the heart.  Nurturing that spark with the in-breath, we notice how it grows naturally – from spark, to flame, to blaze, to roaring blaze.

       Quietly sitting, attending now to the out-breath, we blaze extravagantly, joyfully radiating warmth and light.

       By basking and blazing, we enter the flow of radiance that is the universe.  Loved and Love, we practice our true nature:

       Suns of God.

Dance

From ego's perspective,

Relationship is risk.

Make friends with fear.

Relate anyway.

From soul's vantage,

Relationship just is.

Enjoy who you are.

Relate any way.

Ego and soul dance

Awkwardly – so what.

Dance anyway.

Dance any way.

Awkward, too,

You and I,

Awkward two

Dancing our way.