Post-Retreat Reflections

I spent the weekend with a group of people who focus a lot of time and energy on cultivating compassion, trying to shed their egos, and thinking about how to benefit other people. I witnessed many, many quiet acts of selflessness, both there with them, and when I returned home.

My wife (who thinks I'm a bit daft for some of the actvities I engage in), after having a superbly yucky week, STILL took the time from her weekend of handling EVERYTHING (all 5 dogs and people stopping by who are used to me being 'there' when they want/need) to go through the mound (ok, MOUNTAIN) of mail and paperwork on the counter, organize it, clean the garage, and the laundry closet. This was after taking one pup to the vet on Saturday, walking all 5 dogs each day (which takes 2+ hours, because she has to walk them in 2 groups), grocery shopping for the week, etc, etc - most of which she never even mentioned. She did all of this so that I could go work on cultivating more compassion, shedding my ego, and cultivating the desire to ease suffering in others. Heh heh... lesson #1...

Lesson #2 came along about the middle of the second day when my throat started getting dry, and then later again the following morning. We were reciting some texts (it takes a while), and I'm not used to talking a lot because I work at home. We hadn't had any water, and I was parched...it was going to be a long day. By the following morning, I was literally fantasizing about ice water: like how beautiful it was and how nice it would be to gulp it down...from a clear, tall glass. I showed up this morning, and then I looked up at my teacher. And realized. He had been reciting the whole weekend. For HOURS and HOURS every day. While we could drop out and concentrate in certain parts, he was leading, and so could not. And, he had to speak loudly and clearly...in a language that is not his native tongue. Never complaining, he even answered our questions at lunch the first day - his food still on his plate for most of the time because we had so many, while we shoveled into our mouths, trying to eat well before fasting.

This morning when we broke our fast, we ate breakfast together. Again, our patient teacher sat with his meal in front of him, not even able to take a bite for the first 15 minutes because of the volley of "who, what, why, and how" we were firing at him. All the while, he smiled, answered, encouraged more questions - never even looking at his food. He could have previously eaten a huge breakfast for all of the interest he showed in what was in front of him. But he hadn't - he hadn't eaten for about 43 hours. Again, while we were shoveling fruit and oatmeal like it was the meal of "the gods" (and it sure tasted good...), he was more interested in if we "got it". When I left, about 45 minutes later, most of the food was still on his plate, and he was answering questions and engaging in discussion with great enthusiasm. Lesson #3.

On my way home, I stopped to buy a "treat" for lunch later. As I was leaving, a man walked toward my car. He was talking to himself about something that was beyond my ability to understand - most likely because it was in his own private language. He was filthy - and I mean down to the bone filthy. He was wearing probably at least 3 layers of clothes - long johns (I think), then jeans, then baggy shorts over the jeans, with the same pattern repeated up top. He was so thin, I think he might have weighed 110lbs soaking wet (with all those clothes on). I prepared myself for the inevitable..."ma'am, can you...?". It never came. He instead headed straight for the trash can, and with a skill that comes from years of such practice, pulled out the only clean piece of paper in the entire thing. With the receipt in-hand, he then walked over to where a tire had mashed something that was barely food before it was discarded and flattened, and scraped the remains onto the receipt with all the reverence of a priest who had spilled the communion offering. I just KNEW what he was going to do next. Yep - he wrapped up and popped into his pocket for a later culinary delight. He went back to said garbage can to see if he could rustle up some liquid to wash it down, found a good bit, and then walked on his merry way. I stopped him and got a closer view, shared a few words, etc, and then we parted ways.

Lesson #4 - This ghost of a man... hollow eyes, the most base life one can experience, no hope of anything beyond the pain and suffering of day-to-day - he was an outward manifestation of how most of us live our lives on the inside. And, the majority of us turn our eyes away when we see this outward appearance with the same vigor with which we nurture it internally. We think nothing of eating the spoiled crap off the streets that has who knows what kind of bacteria, germs, waste, etc - but in the form of what we consume and foster with, and in, our minds. We are all, in some way, hungry ghosts, mentally drifting through this existence, trying to gulp down salt water in the form of so many distractions, thinking it will quench our thirst.

I learned so many things this weekend... most are intensely personal and not shared here, but I wanted to at least share these few.

Your kindness is a treasure. I am so grateful...it is beyond my ability to express.

Awakening

Lifetimes spent
Lamenting -
“I never had”,
Possibilities never realized.
Caught up in desires,
Driven by ego’s imaginings.
All the while,
In front of me
Mothers, fathers,
Sisters, brothers,
Friends, enemies, strangers -
All my children.
And my fathers, mothers,
My friends, my brothers.
Billions, generations -
All my relations.
Under delusion,
I lost time,
Wasted, wanting,
Missing the connection
Amaranthine thread
Blind, I was -
Not just to the thread,
But the tapestry.
Wholly beautiful.


(copyright 2011)

Peace

Peace

The seed sown
in arid soil,
which sprouts and grows.
Roots spread,
Releasing fertility
Into the earth.
The seedling grows,
And little tended,
Bears ripened fruit.
The fruit falls and,
Finding now fertile soil
Grows tall and strong -
A shelter for all who pass.
And in finding shelter,
They are inspired
To sow the seed
In their own arid ground.

I will speak,
I will sow,
I will nourish,
It will grow,
It will spread,
We will know.

(copyright 2007)

Little Bean

And here's a poem i wrote last month for a friend who found out last week she and her partner are pregnant after trying for quite a while:

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Little Bean (copyright 2010)

Little bean,

i wonder what awaits you.

There in love's embrace,

You grow.

And with you, the future-

Spiraling out,

Changing lives,

Like ripples on water.

Hope lies in your heartbeat,

Joy lies in your awakening.

Your mothers' eyes are shining

With visions of what may come.

In this life,

May compassion guide your path.

May love cushion your steps.

May wisdom be your constant companion.

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Mother's Day

In honor of Mother's Day coming up here in the US, i wanted to share some things i've written lately about motherhood, children, babies, etc.

In my neighborhood - it seems as if all one must do to become pregnant around here is drink the water. Seriously - i think there are maybe 20 babies who have been born within four blocks of my home over the past 18 months, and i can think of at least seven more due this year.

Talking with one neighbor recently who was faced with having to enter an establishment where the servers were very scantily clad, while she was at her eighth month of pregnancy, i shared this:

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In my spiritual practice, part of the meditation we do is cultivating gratitude for our mother.

i've thought a lot about ALL of what a mother does - especially when they really love their child - to care for a child throughout their lifetime (but especially at the beginning). And, as much as i can think, i still don't know the half of it. It is one of the most unselfish, compassionate, loving things you can do in this world, and a truly special role.
In some traditions, they say that when you mother one being, it is as if you are mothering the whole universe - as if you are carrying every being in the universe inside you, nurturing every being in the universe. By nurturing your child, the path they tread, which is interconnected with every other being in the universe in some way, will be kinder, fuller, more compassionate. In that way, you are literally sending love and compassion out into the world that may last, be passed on, and amplify for generations.

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Thank You, Squirrel

Dharma lessons come from many unexpected places, people, and things in life. Many of mine frequently are sourced from my dogs (of which there are five, which means their teachings are frequent and plentiful). Today started with one from them about impermanence, with the help of a tiny friend.

It was a quiet morning for me. I was sitting peacefully, listening to a Dharma talk online (LamRim Radio channel on iTunes), and working on my computer when I heard my dogs scurrying around on the patio. One of their favorite past times is tormenting squirrels travelling across the top of my privacy fence from the front yard to the back yard. Normally, the sequence goes as so:

• Squirrel looks around thoroughly for dogs from behind the driveway gate.
• Squirrel cautiously steps out past the driveway gate onto the fence along the side of my patio.
• Squirrel and dogs spot each other at the same time.
• Dogs leap up from the deck and run headlong down the stairs, and at the fence.
• Squirrel realizes the peril and runs like hell for the tree at the back of the fence.
• Dogs leap and "just" miss the squirrel's tail as it safely vaults into the comforting branches of the tree.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

This is frequently accompanied by the chorus of me saying:

"go squirrel. go squirrel! GO SQUIRREL!! GO SQUIRREL!!!!"

with increasing frequency and volume until the little critter makes it to safety. I am positive that my neighbors figured out long ago that I have lost at least one of my marbles.

This morning, as I ran out to see if the squirrel made it, I found the dogs running from the corner, across the patio, and under the deck. The furry creature had fallen, and was desperately trying to escape the elated pups as they were equally desperately trying to catch her.

The dogs won. As I made it through the deck, stairs, and patio in record time (might as well have flown - I seriously have no recollection of it), my largest furchild got ahold of the squirrel's tail and grabbed the little gal by the middle. I got him to drop her just in time for one of the smaller ones to jump in and deliver what was surely the deadly blow. Scooping the squirrel up (still breathing and obviously dying), I wrapped her in a towel and assessed the damage. It was too late. I held her until she died.

Her eyes glazed to the sound of chanted mantras. Her her breathing slowed, then stopped. Blood leaked from her mouth, and I knew she was gone. I held her for a little longer, still chanting, and then headed out back to bury her.

I chanted as I dug, crying for the little squirrel. I thought about her life and her death, and the point where the two met.

Then it hit me.

Karma is surely an amazing thing. Here this squirrel was, at this time and place, dying not under the wheels of a car, nor in torment by a feline counterpart, but cradled in the hands of a fumbling, fledgling, but committed, Buddhist. Her last breaths, her last moments, were allowed to pass peacefully to the chanting of mantras. I finished the hole, chanting "Om Mani Padme Hum", and held her tiny body in my hands (ok, in a towel in my hands). I lit incense and prayed for her to be reborn in the human realm, and placed her in the hole. I asked her to please find her way to a human rebirth as I chanted, and if she wanted, one where we would meet again. I think maybe we will.

I looked at the shadow of a butterfly behind me as I finished, and thought about how truly ephemeral everything is. In the blink of an eye, it all changes. Nothing is constant, solid, what it seems to be. The squirrel's life ended. The butterfly's life will end. As, someday, will mine.