This wildly free composting world
Dear Friends,
I have been thoroughly enjoying the fall colors here in Washington DC. It’s amazing to me how the seasons remind us of the impermanence and continual composting of life. Didn’t new leaves just appear after a barren and lonely COVID winter? Was that really six months ago? And even as we savor the orange, red, burgundy, and yellow, the leaves don’t stop changing– getting browner and beginning to pile up on the streets and sidewalks.
It seems that only this one breath, this one moment, is where we can briefly find rest and stability, and where we have the capacity to notice beauty and joy.
“Your body is like a dew-drop on the morning grass, your life is as brief as a flash of lightning.” – Eihei Dogen, 13th century Japanese Zen master
I have been practicing mindfulness in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh for some 25 years, and my practice, like the leaves, is constantly changing. When I first started to grasp the practice, I was only able to remember to breathe consciously once a day or once every few days. I could more easily explain the mindfulness techniques and the teachings of the Buddha that I had learned. It’s been a surprise to discover that over the years, while I may experience more moments of awareness and more often recognize the preciousness and fleetingness of my life, it has become more difficult to put any of it into words.
Because of my practice, the teachers I’ve met along the way, and the community of fellow practitioners, my reactions to the ups and downs of life have aligned more and more with my deepest intentions to cause less harm to myself and others. This gives me more faith in the practice and teachings. And yet, knowing what to say about the practice to others is harder now. Maybe it’s because I’ve spent too much time alone during COVID (lol) but I think it’s also because the understanding that the Buddha pointed toward is beyond words. How do we describe something like knowing in your bones that you are part of the wholeness of the universe and that birth and death are simply part of that wholeness?
The poem I shared at my lamp transmission was an attempt to describe this insight:
Seeing the skull with teeth in these foggy rainy woods,
I know this wildly free, composting world is mine, is me.
All of us will arrive home together chanting Namo ‘Valo,
Leaving nothing but our love and a few muddy footprints behind.
A poem I like to share when I teach is Here, by Dana Faulds (full text below). She ends with a line which comes close to what I’m trying to convey here. She says, “ I could shout it from the rooftops, but it’s true no matter what I say, and I know you’ll find it in your own time, your own way, that precious moment when you choose to meet life exactly as it is.”
The Buddha may have struggled with finding the right words at moments, too. In the Flower Sermon, the Buddha simply holds up a single beautiful flower and says nothing. One of his students, Mahākāśyapa, smiles, thus revealing that he has understood the Buddha’s teaching.
Looking with the eyes of mindfulness, can you see the flower being held up before you right now?
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Here
It’s always here, the silent
underpinning, the foundation
beneath the foundation. When
I reach deep enough into darkness,
inside fear, self-doubt, aversion or
despair, there is something so intact
I almost miss it in my focus on
brokenness. It’s always here, this
ground of being. Like the water in
which fish swim, it’s easy to overlook
the eloquence of truth. It’s here, this
guiding presence, this calm, abiding
stillness. It’s here when I don’t try
to make life any more or less than
what it is, when I stop trying to be
right. It’s here when I unclench my
fists and breathe, when I let go of the
demand to make life smooth or easy.
It’s here, the oneness underlying
multiplicity, the exquisite “is-ness”
of everything. I could shout it from
the rooftops, but it’s true no matter
what I say, and I know you’ll find
it in your own time, your own way,
that precious moment when you
choose to meet life exactly as it is.