Resting in the Immortal

 In last night's yoga class, our teacher re-introduced a posture that I am definitely not adept with. As she began to lay down on her mat to get into position, she mentioned that the posture is called the immortal one, and added that she did not know why. However, as soon as she laid on her side, and rested her head in the hand of her bent arm, I knew I was seeing the Reclining Buddha. I have not thought of this image of the resting Buddha in quite a while. I thought the statue I was seeing in my mind was probably Thai. An internet search this morning confirmed that, although statues appear in other countries as well. Some statues are quite elaborate, others profoundly simple. I am not going to try to include a photograph as I pirate too much as it is, but I do recommend wandering through the many images of the Reclining Buddha that are on the internet. 

This morning I learned that the statue portrays Buddha just before his physical death. He appears, of course, quite composed and relaxed. I confess I lack such composure when attempting this yoga position that includes laying on one side, resting the head in the palm of the hand, stretching out both legs, elevating one's top leg, and maybe gracefully reaching up and taking hold of one's big toe. I think I have returned to yoga much too late to master this move. However, such composure is worth pondering.

 

The Reclining Buddha also makes me think of Jesus sleeping in what was probably a pretty rickety first century Galillean fishing boat in the midst of a storm with panicking disciples hovering over him. I think of my own mind, so full of whirling concerns, memories, fantasies, and other bits of souvenirs that I have collected and stashed there during this lifetime. It is amazing that there is any room at all for Jesus and Buddha. However, they take up far less room than I do because they mainly reside in the vastness of the heart. Too often I forget to journey there.

 

 While I was walking back to the car last night after class, I realized that the daylight hours have grown shorter, and this morning does have a touch of coolness that reminds me of autumn. Also this morning I came across again the following quote that Diana Butler Bass recently included in her June 22nd post. I am grateful because her post also led me to a wonderful book entitled Awe, The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Change Your Life by UC Berkeley psychologist, Dacher Keltner.  The research is fascinating and encouraging. It seems we have been made for awe. It also seems that awe helps us clean up our psychic debris so we can once again gaze in wonder, delight, and gratitude. I think that maybe we really can return to the garden because in truth, we never really left it. We just forgot to look.        

 

Given all of life’s ambiguities and the reality of impermanence and suffering,
our existence is remarkable, wondrous.
It evokes awe and amazement.
We need to pay attention. Really pay attention.
Lest we become blind to the awe and wonder that fills our days.
 Marcus J. Borg  

      

        

 

image: San Leandro, from a few years ago,  

Settling In

Those of you who are on Diana Butler Bass' email list have probably seen this, but it is such a rich offering that I felt I really needed to share.  The photograph, from a couple of days ago, was taken through our dining room window. I did not want to open it, or walk outside because I knew any movement would disturb the doves. Sometimes lesser quality just might be the better way. In the past few days we have had quite a few birds in our backyard, and I am sorry I have not yet put up a birdfeeder. That will be my project for next month.  Fortunately, a neighbor has one a few yards over, and another neighbor has left persimmons on their tree. 

The attached photograph is not a black and white photograph. Although many of my photographs over the years have been in vivid color, this time of year my eyes and heart yearn to rest easy among darker shades. Our souls need the rhythm of light and dark: spring's tender new shades of just being born growth, summer's vibrant hues in full array, autumn's oranges, yellows, and golds, and winter's greys that call us to silence.  The winter solstice will be at 7:27 p.m.Pacific Time on Thursday. If you can, take a moment and give thanks for the good order of heaven and earth. Yes, even in these times. Maybe especially in these times.  

Blessings this winter solstice and always.   

Light cannot see inside things.
That is what the dark is for:
Minding the interior,
Nurturing the draw of growth
Through places where death
In its own way turns into life.

In the glare of neon times,
Let our eyes not be worn
By surfaces that shine
With hunger made attractive.

That our thoughts may be true light,
Finding their way into words
Which have the weight of shadow
To hold the layers of truth.

That we never place our trust
In minds claimed by empty light,
Where one-sided certainties
Are driven by false desire.

When we look into the heart,
May our eyes have the kindness
And reverence of candlelight.

That the searching of our minds
Be equal to the oblique
Crevices and corners where
The mystery continues to dwell,
Glimmering in fugitive light.

When we are confined inside
The dark house of suffering
That moonlight might find a window.

When we become false and lost
That the severe noon-light
Would cast our shadow clear.

When we love, that dawn-light
Would lighten our feet
Upon the waters.

As we grow old, that twilight
Would illuminate treasure
In the fields of memory.

And when we come to search for God,
Let us first be robed in night,
Put on the mind of morning
To feel the rush of light
Spread slowly inside
The color and stillness
Of a found word.

— John O’Donohue, “For Light”
as posted by Diana Butler Bass

   

image: San Leandro, December 2023. 

-- 

Not a Word

 Yesterday I drove Tyler to Kaiser for his follow-up appointment after his cataract surgery. When we arrived, I dropped him off so he could check in. I parked the car and found a chair in the front entryway of the building. I knew Tyler could easily find me there when his appointment was over. I soon settled in, and I appreciated the natural lighting that shone through the glass doors. I had a book with me, but I often set it down to simply watch the people move in and out of the building. Some appeared to be in poor health, and leaned on a companion or a walker for assistance. Others looked to be confused about where they should be. They looked anxiously about seeking direction from somewhere or someone. Fortunately, an information board was close by to help them get their bearings. Those who were coming in to do their morning work were easy to recognize. They wore prominent badges and moved with a sense of assurance of knowing where they were expected to be. Alameda county has a diverse population, so I was not surprised to see a few women wearing beautiful hijabs. Other women had hair that was either in disarray or tucked under a baseball cap. However, one woman, who walked slowly with a walker, had her hair pulled up and back, secured with a beautiful silver clip. Not a hair was out of place. Another older woman had tucked a plastic plumeria blossom in her hair. I remembered the scent of that beautiful flower and I silently thanked her. There were men as well. Some wore clothes that were very tidy. Others, well, not so much. Everyone wore masks. Everyone appeared to have some place to go, even if it was only to return to their car. 

I found it interesting that in the midst of those comings and goings, I was one of the few who was not expected anywhere except right where I was (Really, that is true for all of us.) I was grateful for the reprieve. I was also grateful that author Diana Butler Bass had given me something to think about. In her book, Freeing Jesus, she comments that the English translation of logos in John 1:1, as Word ( "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God")  was actually a poor translation. She writes, "Logos means "ground or speech or expectation... the very ground of divine being, the breath of God, the presence of the holy in and through all things." Having never felt particularly inspired by John 1:1, I was grateful for the reminder that I was sitting in sacredness. I became aware that I was breathing not just my own breath, but the breath of the movement all around me, and of life even beyond the building. In that moment I heard not a word. I knew only life sustaining breath. I also knew that in that breath healing and wholeness could be found.  

  

  

image: plumeria, San Leandro, 2014.