A Peaceable Kingdom

It must be a raccoon that has recently started visiting Jack's outside water bowl. For the past few mornings, there is dirt in the bowl. Jack does not particularly appreciate that. I pour that water in the garden and I give Jack fresh water, and I thank him for sharing.   I think we are all benefiting, altlhough in that moment Jack is usually far more interested in breakfast than learning to share resources with a fellow creature. 

  

I am reminded of my visit in January of this year when I went to northern Arizona to spend some time with a friend.  One afternoon we went to visit the Garchen Buddhist Institute, outside of Prescott Valley.  A kind young monk gave us a tour.  He is from Tibet, and he said that once he left Tibet, he knew the government would never let him return.  I asked him what was that like for him. He smiled and shrugged. A member of the temple later told us that this young monk had received his driver's license, and has been studying English at the local college.  I pray for him and the temple, that their presence in the community can continue well.  

As we walked the grounds, we saw signs advising of a mountain lion sighting and a caution about rattlesnakes.  My friend and I kept to the path as neither one of us was in the mood for bushwhacking. We did see the temple water area where wild animals can come to drink.  We learned that yes, the mountain lion had been seen several times, including taking a rest in the shade of the breezeway.  Sometimes in my meditation I see the distant view of the snow covered San Francisco Peaks, the direction the temple faces. Sometimes I see that mountain lion resting in the shade, and my own wildness pauses.   

 

When our walking was over, we were invited to sit at a table on the balcony outside the dining room and have a cup of tea. That view overlooked to the expansive Prescott Valley area.  The moment seemed so sacred because it was all a gift that guided us, carried us, and gave us some uninterrupted time together.   

For years Jack and I have spent the first hour or so of every morning here on the couch.  He is actually a sweet meditation partner.  I am so grateful to be reading the story of Gandhi, a man deeply committed to the Gita, and to non-violence.  I don't think the man ever ate very much, but he was committed to a vegetarian diet, and was always experimenting with herbs, etc. in the quest for a healthy diet.  The results were often quite bitter. Gandhi never seemed to pay attention to the bitterness, but even the highly evolved Yogananda struggled with the taste.  

    

Gandhi was assassinated, as often happens to those who are trying bring peace to a nation.  His last words were Rama, Rama, Rama, which Eknath Easwaran translates as  "I forgive you; I love you; I bless you."    

  

May we all go forth in such radical love for this is how God loves us.       

 

Love, 

Sue Ann      

   

photograph:  San Francisco Peaks, January 2020

Stability

I woke this morning thinking of stability, and how easy it might be to lose one's sense of it as this pandemic disease moves through.  Things have dramatically changed for most of us.  These thoughts again bring me back to the Rule of St. Benedict.  Benedictines take a vow of stability - that they will remain in community.  Esther de Waal in Seeking God, The Way of St. Benedict writes of this vow:  "Stability, from the Latin word meaning to stand, means staying still, remaining firm, not necessarily in a geographic sense, but in the fundamental sense of the interior holding firm, refusing to run away, recognizing that we are in the for the long haul and that we will stick it out to the end."   The fascinating, and yes, frustrating element of Covid 19 is that is pretty much leaves us no where to go.  We must be where we are.   

As I continue to practice yoga, I am still having difficulty balancing on one leg.  One evening in class, a fellow student, a former judo instructor, mentioned that she found that most people over-correct when they find they cannot maintain balance. She contends that over-correction contributes to an even greater imbalance. Her suggestion is to just to make a subtle shift in the standling ankle. I believe that to be true, and even though I am still having trouble maintaining the pose, I am wobbling less. 

I think this is a good suggestion for all of us to keep in mind.  If we find ourselves losing our sense of balance and composure, let us not pancic, but first try making some simple changes and shifts.  Stay in relationship with yourself and those you love.  Practice trust.  A friend and I have decided to meet for tea when people can gather once again.  I suggested that we placed that image "on our horizon".  That image, while still distant, helps me to trust that my waiting is indeed holy for it is waiting in God.  I am grateful.  

   

Wait for God, 

Be strong and take heart 

and wait for God.  

Psalm 27:14   

Landmarks

We woke this morning to learn that the refrigerator that we bought a year ago year had stopped working.  It is under warranty, and the warranty company, who seems to take pride in their "24/7 service", has been responsive.  But today is Saturday and the repair company is off for the weekend.   Fortunately, we have a second refrigerator in the garage.  It is much older and probably not particularly energy efficient, but we have had to completely rely on it more than once.  I will say that to lose your refrigerator just as a pandemic takes hold can be disconcerting.  However, we got most of our food shifted with the exception of a nice homemade chicken stock that I just completed yesterday. There were also some pot stickers in the freezer that were still cold but almost thawed.  After boiling the stock for several minutes, as a "just in case"  measure, I  added soy sauce, fish sauce, some lemon grass, and some vinegar (Unfortunately, we had no ginger.) to the stock and then added the pot stickers.  Quite a tasty breakfast, especially when paired with the thawing "potato puffs" that also needed to be roasted immediately.    

   

In times of confusion, I find comfort, as I have since I was in seminary, in a small book entitled Always We Begin Again,The Benedictine Way of Living by John McQuiston II.  It is based on the author's understanding of The Rule of St. Benedict. I have always appreciated McQuiston's straight forwardness, and I find strength in the knowledge that St. Benedict created his monastic rule in a tumultuous time.  Rome fell in A.D. 410, just forty years before St. Benedict's birth. Esther de Waal describes the time as "a world without landmarks" (Seeking God, the Way of St. Benedict, 2001, page 15).  I share the following with you today in case you, too, need a dose of practical reinforcement in our own tumultuous times.  I would suggest keeping ginger root on hand.  You just never know, and it does make a wonderful tea.  

The First Rule   

Attend to these instructions, 

Listen with the heart and the mind; 

They are provided in a spirit of goodwill. 

These words are addressed to anyone 

who is willing to renounce the delusion 

that the meaning of life can be learned;

whoever is ready 

to take up the greater weapon of fidelity 

to a way of living that transcends understanding. 

  

The first rule is simply this:  

 live this life 

and do whatever is done, 

in a spirit of Thanksgiving. 

Abandon attempts to achieve security, 

they are futile.  

  

Give up the search for wealth, 

it is demeaning, 

quit the search for salvation, 

it is selfish, 

   

and come to comfortable rest  

in the certainty that those who 

participate in this life 

with an attitude of Thanksgiving 

will receive its full promise.

      

Photograph was taken in San Leandro today, March 28, as  I paused in front of a house that I have walked by for over two decades.  I have never once seen anyone go in or come out of it.  It appears to be moderately well kept, and this is the rare weed that has shown up in the yard that knows no fence. There are still mysteries.   

   

   

Refiner's Fire

In my dream early this morning, I am walking along a dirt road.  It is twilight. The land is flat.  On the right hand side of the road is a ditch and an old wire fence.  I do not think it was barbed wire, but I am not certain. A fast travelling car comes up from behind me. At first I think the driver wants to run me over, but instead the car stops alongside me.  The car is dark grey, as if it had been another color at one time, but has been spray painted over. The car has no lights and appears to be stripped of just about everything. A figure steps out.  For some reason I think it is a man, but he is a swirling mass of fire - every shade of red, gold, and orange.  It is not that he is on fire, but rather that he is fire itself.  In the dream I do not feel pain, but I think I am turning to ash.  I sense my mother's worry and I believe I sense her telling me to get away.  I run, not along the road, but across the land to my left. There is no fence on that side of the road.  It is still twilight; the light has not changed. There are structures in the distance. I see lights. The terrain is flat, and at least some of the land is green.  As I run, I do not feel the ground, nor do I  feel tired.  There is a wonderful sense of space. I feel I am travelling effortlessly and quickly, but I find myself back on the road with the one I now think of as Fire Man. 

 

The light still has not changed. The flames I saw earlier have just about died down.  The male figure now is about the same color as the car.  In the middle of the road, in the space between us, I see an object.  I pick it up. It is a beautiful small bowl, looking to be made of many fired, wispy feathers. They are thin, but the fire has strengthened them. The effect is like raku, and the colors: golds, reds, oranges, and even some blues, are burnished and stunning. The bowl glimmers in the twilight.  I do not remember it having any weight.  It is not hot to the touch.  This morning I think it is like a bird's nest.   

I look inside the bowl, and I see a small gold cross.  I look up at Fire Man, and he quietly says, "That is mine."  There is some subtle emotion when he says this that I simply cannot describe.  There is a sense of quiet revelation, but he does not try to take the bowl. I realize I have ash all over me, but I feel no pain, so I do not think I was ever burned.  I am now about the same color as Fire Man.  I have a sense that my mother's anxiety (which was very prevalent in her physical life, and therefore mine) is no longer present.     

    

My friend and colleague, Rev. Jonathan Leavy posted some of his new art work on Facebook yesterday.  I think his work inspired this dream.  Yet, it is my dream, and I have dreamed of fire in the past.  Years ago, I had a reoccurring dream where I am being burned at the stake.  In these dreams there is always a woman's voice telling me that if I am still, I will feel no pain.  In these dreams I am never afraid for I love her voice, and I still listen for her wisdom today.  

 I think this time we are in now is of great importance.  It is not a time to simply get through, but to allow ourselves to be transformed.  It is time to listen to our hopes and dreams.  I sense the beginnings of great change.  Let us pay attention to the synchronicity that surrounds and guide us. We do not travel alone.    

    

Love, Blessings, and Courage, 

Sue Ann