Acknowledging

 "No matter how we get trapped, our usual reaction is not to become curious about what’s happening. We do not naturally investigate the strategies of ego. Most of us just blindly reach for something familiar that we associate with relief and then wonder why we stay dissatisfied. The radical approach of ... practice is to pay attention to what we do. Without judging it we train in kindly acknowledging whatever is going on. Eventually we might decide to stop hurting ourselves in the same old ways."

Pema Chodron,The Places That Scare You

I love the phrase, "kindly acknowledging". It has stayed with me for close to a week. I recently viewed a newsclip where people were doing everything but kindly acknowledging one another. It saddened me that in that time when the community was called together, there was no real meeting. People were too entrenched and barricaded in their own ideas, beliefs, and fears to even begin listening to one another.

The Places That Scare You was first published in 2001, and she has published several books since then. I find I am drawing strength from her presence in this world. She is in her late 80s and she is still teaching and writing. As I continue to sort and clear out some of my books, I think I need to make some room for Pema Chodron.

As I sort, I have been reunited with some beautiful books. One of them is Gratitude by the neurologist and author Oliver Sacks, published two weeks before his death in 2015. As he wrote his last book, he knew he was dying. The final chapter of the book is entitled "Sabbath". He was raised in a Jewish family, but he was not a practicing Jew. This chapter is a touching memoir of being reunited with his extended family, and learning to understand the deep meaning of Sabbath. In the last paragraph of the book which he wrote when he was very ill, he concluded "I find my thoughts drifting to the Sabbath, the day of rest, the seventh day of the week, and perhaps the seventh day of one's life as well, when one can feel that one's work is done, and one may, in good conscience, rest."

Today, I find myself living somewhere between these two thoughtful authors. I do not sense my work is complete, and therefore the time of experiencing life, its challenges and its encouragement, continues. I shall keep this lovely book. I have learned that at any stage of life, gratitude is a trustworthy guide. Yet, sometimes I do need to be reminded. I am grateful for that kind attention.

image: When the storms subsided this week, I checked on a neighborhood peony. It weathered the wild wind and rain quite well!

Of Moon and Ministry

 I am not one who takes pictures of the moon. There is just no way I can properly photograph the moon with my little eye phone. Yet, last week I felt I really needed to take a photograph to help me remember my gratitude for December's full moon. Every morning I was able to watch it descend in the dark western sky, a view I can see from our kitchen and dining room windows.

This was the week when I realized that I needed to learn to take a walk without Jack. Those of you who have or have had a canine walking companion understand how much company they can be. Jack was a quiet dog, and was generally pretty patient when I stopped to take a photograph. I, in turn, tried to be patient when he wanted to stop and investigate something his nose found of interest. Yes, I miss his gentle presence very much.

We all have our strategies for coping with the aftermath of loss. One woman I know said she found she had to give up walking for a bit. Another said that she had to drive to another neighborhood for her walks. A friend of mine actually adopted a four month old puppy within days of her dog's unexpected passing. None of those options (especially the puppy) seemed right for me, so I opted to walk in the neighborhood, but I chose to not walk down the street that I live on. I felt I was not ready to explain why I was walking without Jack.

Yet, life seldom conforms to our plans. I was almost home when I heard a woman's voice coming from behind me. I turned and recognized the woman coming towards me. I usually see her sitting by her window with her Bible in her lap. We have often waved to one another, and we once talked on the phone about a community issue. She and her husband have lived in the church that they have led for many years. She asked me if I was all right. I told her about Jack, and she nodded her head and said, "That is what I thought. I have never seen you without your dog," and she expressed her condolences.

Through this exchange, we now know each other's first names and we know a little more about one another. I learned that they have retired from most of their ministry, but they are still delivering food to some of the elders in their community. She asked if I needed some vegetables. I thanked her and while I truthfully answered that I had plenty, I wondered if I was beginning to look decrepit. And, maybe more importantly, if I were in need, would I have the courage to simply answer yes?

Despite my inner monologue, it was a cordial meeting that helped me realize that I can now talk about Jack so I can stop avoiding neighbors. It also reminded me that grief can connect us to others. We all know grief, and as painful as it is, it is part of our common language. It is not so much that we heal from grief, but rather grief can heal us if, even briefly, we follow its lead and allow others into our lives.

Sister Moon has now journeyed on, and I have not seen Sister Rita since then. Yet, I am grateful for their appearances that reminded me that the earth and moon are still dancing in their orbits, and I am still walking in mine. Others are with me, so I need not worry about being alone.

Training in equanimity is learning to open the door to all, welcoming all beings, inviting life to come visit. Of course, as certain guests arrive, we’ll feel fear and aversion. We allow ourselves to open the door just a crack if that’s all that we can presently do, and we allow ourselves to shut the door when necessary. Cultivating equanimity is a work in progress. We aspire to spend our lives training in the loving-kindness and courage that it takes to receive whatever appears—sickness, health, poverty, wealth, sorrow, and joy. We welcome and get to know them all.

Pema Chodron

as quoted in today's First Sip

image: December's Guidance, 2022 San Leandro

Encouragement

 Pema Chodron is an 86 year old American Tibetan Buddhist. I find strength in her age and her wisdom. I have been pulled in several directions this week, so I needed to read this this morning. I have done so several times. At the invitation of his pastor, I will speak briefly tonight at a candlelight vigil of a young Samoan seminary student who was murdered.  He was a vibrant part of the Samoan congregation that meets in our church building. If they were not connected to us, I might have simply read the news, shaken my head, and continued on. But this evening, I will enter the grief of others. I wish that the one who had the gun would have had Pema Chodron's words instead.

 

"The source of our unease is the unfulfillable longing for a lasting certainty and security, for something solid to hold on to. Unconsciously we expect that if we could just get the right job, the right partner, the right something, our lives would run smoothly. When anything unexpected or not to our liking happens, we think something has gone wrong.

I believe this is not an exaggeration of where we find ourselves. Even at the most mundane level, we get so easily triggered - someone cuts in front of us, we get seasonal allergies, our favorite restaurant is closed when we arrive for dinner. We are never encouraged to experience the ebb and flow of our moods, of our health, of the weather, of outer events - pleasant and unpleasant - in their fullness. Instead we stay caught in a fearful, narrow holding pattern of avoiding any pain and continually seeking comfort. This is the universal dilemma.

When we pause, allow a gap, and breathe deeply, we can experience instant refreshment. Suddenly we slow down, look out, and there’s the world. It can feel like briefly standing in the eye of the tornado or the still point of a turning wheel. Our mood may be agitated or cheerful. What we see and hear may be chaos or it may be the ocean, the mountains, or birds flying across a clear blue sky. Either way, momentarily our mind is still and we are not pulled in or pushed away by what we are experiencing."

~ Pema Chodron

source: First Sip

image: San Damiano, October, 2022

Touching

"There is a teaching that says that behind all hardening and tightening and rigidity of the heart, there’s always fear. But if you touch fear, behind fear there is a soft spot. And if you touch that soft spot, you find the vast blue sky. You find that which is ineffable, ungraspable, and unbiased, that which can support and awaken us at any time."*

~ Pema Chodron   

 

 This tree lives close  to a trail at Del Valle Regional Park.  I look at this photograph and I see dance and I sense prayer.  Ah, to be so rooted and to know such freedom. Yes, I yearn.  Yet, today I think  the unlimited sky is so very close, even when I fall.      

 

* First Sip, June11, 2020. www.claudiacummins.com