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,  

Not Lost

 I am a woman in search of a poem. Yes, that thought got me out of bed at 4:30 this morning.  I had just awakened from a happy dream. In my waking life, I take yoga at our local community center. It is an austere environment. However, the teacher of Iyengar yoga is methodical and caring, and some of my fellow students and I enjoy taking classes together. Across the street from the center is a busy park where students play baseball and other sports. Dog walking is also practiced there. In the dream, I cross the street, and walk through the park. In a back corner I discover a Japanese garden in need of attention.  

In the dream I am standing in front of a chain link fence with tall plants growing alongside it.  However, the plants had not been pruned well or regularly, and I could see a tennis court through the plants. I thought it was sad that the plants did not fully cover the fence. 

As I continued to stand there, a male employee walked up to me. We talked about how the garden needed attention. In just moments, I was given a green button down short-sleeved shirt, a badge declaring me a volunteer for the garden, and a key - to what I do not know. What I did know was that I was happy. I drove home in our truck and delightedly showed Tyler what I had been given.  

When I woke, I thought of a poem that had sustained me in my early days of seminary. I could remember only the first line: "Cut brambles long enough". I was concerned that I might have lost the poem. Fortunately, I could sort of remember part of the poet's name. That was enough, and I found the poem in a book, The Flowering of the Soul, edited by Lucinda Vardey. The book is a collection of poems and prayers written by women through the ages. This particular poem has no title, but it was written by Sun Bu-er, a female Taoist sage who was born in 1124. The date of her passing is not known. My New Testament professor, who also had a fondness for poetry, told me that there are those who believe that she did not actually die, but rather ascended. 

I am grateful for the reminder to return to the practice of tending to brambles. That is what writing does for me. It seems that is where my happiness resides. Perhaps that is both the key and the door.  

    

"Cut brambles long enough, 

Sprout after sprout, 

And the lotus will bloom 

Of its own accord:

Already waiting in the clearing, 

The single image of light. 

The day you see this, 

That day you will become it."   

 

Sun Bu-er  

    

When I pulled the book off the bookshelf, I was transported to the bookstore on the SFTS campus, where I purchased it. Both that bookstore and the one on the GTU campus were closed decades ago. I am grateful I was able to peruse both bookstores many times. Among their shelves I often found solace and inspiration to continue my studies all those years ago. This morning I sip oolong tea in celebration of it all. 

 

The image was taken a few years ago on a happy day with friends at Butchart Gardens in Victoria B.C.  

--

The Sound of Yoga

"You are moving more smoothly," 

said my yoga teacher after  

I have been in her class for close 

to a year.  I no longer believe that  

smoothly will readily return to me. 

  

Yet, lately, when I stand in 

the parking lot under the moon, 

I hear a choir of frogs by a creek 

that I did not know was there.  

Sometimes geese fly over, 

loudly sounding to one another 

as they navigate the night.  

  

None are calling to me, of course.  

I am not that needed, 

but I pray anyway, 

amazed 

that such bodies can be.   

  

   

say 

March, 2019  

One has to actually see a frog before 

taking its picture.