Love Letter

Dear Beloved,

I know you have been tired lately. Getting up to meditate every morning takes both patience and courage. I know you expect to never suffer again, but that is not the way life works. I know that you are questioning whether the whole effort is even worth it.

Yesterday you felt the whole spectrum of the human experience: anger, insecurity, disappointment, love, courage, blame, fatigue. You even got angry with your daughter and yelled a few times. Can you hold yourself the way you held her after you realized she was scared and sad? Can you see that I love you, regardless of what you say or do?

You see things others may not. Your practice is showing you everything without exception. You sometimes turn away from the painful things, and even this is OK. You are learning to be with all of it, to accept it, and to cultivate a vast ocean of compassion inside your heart.

This takes time.

Have faith. Be patient. Love yourself as I do: passionately, unconditionally, and effortlessly. You will not be disappointed.

Love,

Me

Wide Awake

I gave up the comfort of ignorance a month ago. I returned from a silent meditation retreat, and vowed to meditate daily. I have.

There are days when I am so sleepy, that I question whether daily meditation is really worth it. I can certainly see all the places I am holding on to something that is spiritually detrimental, and all the aversions to unpleasant experiences.

Today, I understand that my drowsiness is my ego’s final attempts to convince me that Ostrich Nature has its benefits. The ego can thrive on this unconscious state, awakening only for events that honor it.

Thoughts, emotions, unpleasant body pains, I will try to make space for all of you. Know this. At Spirit Rock, I took a vow to honor The Truth, above all else. I wear a red string on my left hand with three knots tied into it, representing the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. I am cultivating love in my heart.

I am sleepy, but not for sleep. Perhaps it is a nostalgic yearning for the old life. I will remember you fondly, for it was you who brought me here. What I need now is the present moment, my breath, and my heart to see The Truth clearly.

I am wide awake.

Am I love?

Am I love?

In my practice, this question is coming up more and more. On any given day, I can beat myself up for the silliest things. I have tried my hand at metta, or loving kindness practice, and initially felt like a fake. Who am I to deserve this?

I was listening to a talk by a beloved teacher yesterday. She was on retreat in Carson National Park in New Mexico. She was going through a difficult time herself. As she was hiking to the top of a hill, she came across a frieze of Icarus.

Icarus was the son of Daedalus, who built the Labyrinth for the King Minos of Crete. One day the King decided to imprison both Daedalus and Icarus on the island. Daedalus fashioned a pair of wings made out of feathers and wax for both himself and his son. As they both took flight, Icarus flew too close to the sun, and the wax on his wings melted. He fell to the sea and drowned.

Now the strange thing about this particular frieze of Icarus was that he was not drowning in the ocean’s waves, but held in the arms of a beautiful mother, a woman who likely represented Mother Earth. Even though I was not there with this teacher, I could feel pure love emanating from her description of this frieze.

Some of us have had wonderful supportive childhoods. Some of us have not. The notion of the mother or father being inside us, being us is a leap of faith. We are held in the arms of our own forgiveness, our own love, no matter who we are or what we have ever done. This image is so powerful for me, because I don’t need to rely on anyone or anything else to see the multifaceted prism inside my heart that can bring light and love to anyone and anything at any time, especially me.

The question is not whether you or I am love.

The questions is, do you believe it?

A Bodhisattva's Prayer

to be water, naïve
designed by the moment
feeling the edge of everything
to be patient when i am hard
softened by other moments to practice
to be silent, to hear
the ocean’s song in my breath
reminding me to come home

Delusions

When I believe my delusions, I can feel myself contracting against what is. My breathing is shallow and constricted, and my midback is tight.

Yesterday, I believed these delusions.

If my mother truly loved me, then she would put away the dishes. What I was really hiding was my unfounded fear that I would need to take care of everything in the house.

If my daughter would just eat regularly, I could be happy. I was hiding my fear of being late to our yoga class, and maybe even that she would eat this slowly forever.

If I could just cut through all my delusions, then I would never suffer again. I would never feel another physical ache again.

I’m smiling as I type this, especially at that last delusion. My mother is incredibly industrious; my daughter is such an easy going child; I am so healthy.

Now I feel myself accepting what is. My breathing is deep and free flowing, and my heart is open.

We are not our thoughts.

Change is inevitable.

I am beginning to understand more with my heart than my head, and I love life.

Trucks and Buses

This morning as I was following trucks onto and off of the freeway, I noticed how safely and slowly each driver maneuvered their large vehicle on winding on and off ramps.

I thought of all the things trucks carry: food, furniture, office supplies, and several other products our families depend on each day. I also thought of all the times I’ve tailgated a truck or cut them off in order to ‘get somewhere’. Today, the trucks and their drivers were calling to me.

They were voicing their untold stories of long back-breaking trips into remote areas, of lonely nights in strange places away from their loved ones, of smaller vehicles’ disrespect. And suddenly, I could feel my whole body fill with gratitude for their sacrifice, their patience, their generosity.

My daughter has been asking me to take her on the bus, so the other day I decided to take her for a ride. The bus driver was so kind. Instead of taking my fare for the return trip back home, she just let us ride for free. She told us the story of her life, and how she enjoyed meeting so many different people who shared their own stories with her.

How many times have I also tailgated or cut off a bus and its driver?

Today, I resolve to acknowledge each truck, each bus and its respective driver with a newfound awareness, a space where they may travel at their pace in peace. They carry goods and people to their destinations, despite the curses and aggressive maneuvers around them. I send a prayer of gratitude and protection for all the truck and bus drivers everywhere:

May you be happy.
May you be well.
May you be safe.
May you be peaceful and at ease.

Hair

This morning I combed her hair gently, meeting each tangled and confused strand with patience and awareness. Whenever I am in a hurry, she is like an anticlock slowing time, reminding me to pay attention.

Soft black waves, now combed, untangled.

Maybe I am the one who is tangled and confused.

The Open Sky

Clouds move. Why then should thoughts be fixed, limited to the space of our minds?

Karuna (Compassion)

I spent three days and nights in silence, where only nature was allowed to speak.

I could tell you a thousand things, but would like to say this.

We are waves. Some rise, while others fall. It is an inevitable cycle. Standing at the water’s edge, I see that we all rise from and return to the same source.

Sometimes we join hands, and sometimes we travel alone.

Sometimes we achieve a moment of insight when we can see beyond the turbulence, the surface of ourselves.

My heart was a stone of sadness. I followed it down to the ocean floor. I saw the depth of my tranquility. I saw my true nature.

I can open to the storms up above. They are all beautiful. We are all beautiful.

My heart is an ocean.

The Stories We Tell

For R

I was talking to a friend yesterday. She was psychologically and financially abused by her husband, and is currently separated. For a long time she suffered from depression.

“He abused me, attacked me, defeated me, robbed me. For those carrying on like this, hatred does not end. She abused me, attacked me, defeated me, robbed me. For those not carrying on like this, hatred ends. Hatred never ends through hatred. By non-hate alone does it end. This is an ancient truth.”
(The Dhammapada)

She used to tell herself stories where she was a victim. She used to live in hell, until she began to see her obstacles as a path to freedom.

I tell myself similar stories. She left me. He hasn’t forgiven me. They don’t understand me. I’m not good enough. I’ve suffered several spiritual heart attacks. I’ve locked myself up and refused to acknowledge that the key was never held by anyone else.

One of my patients is in her 70’s, but you would never know this by her appearance and demeanor. I asked her, “What’s your secret?” She looked at me with a vision unclouded by delusion and smiled. “Honey, I’ve made space for everyone, including myself.”

In that moment, I understood the meaning of heaven.

Heaven is not just a sunny day, a cherished gift received from a friend or relative, an orgasm. It is the distance we stretch our hearts to include everyone and everything in our daily experience. It is a river opening her arms to hug a boulder, thanking him for his teachings, and flowing on. It is the stories of our healing, where love is not something we buy from others, but learn to grow ourselves.

A Letter to Truth

Dear Truth,

You have unveiled me. I see that fear and trust are two sides of the same coin. In a world of daggers, petals are also possible. I cannot contain my bliss any longer.

Let me open to the world. Let my own suffering be a story, an ear to receive their stories, a space for their emotions and thoughts to travel far and wide as they must to find you.

Let me love them as you have loved me.

Buddha Nature

In nature, there is no heaven or hell.

The tree does not complain about losing her leaves in order to carry snow in her bare arms. The flower does not bend toward the lake to reflect on her beauty, or stand taller than the other flowers to be noticed by the sun.

In nature, there is simple understanding.

Blossom

Learning to bloom again. Is it spring or my heart that is opening?

Life just seems to continue revealing such wondrous gifts when I am open to all possibilities. I am currently in the process of starting a mindfulness support group at my workplace for mothers who struggle postpartum. This group is born out of my own womb, my own experience with my beautiful daughter. I did not always see her this way, but this babe is truly sacred. She swam in the Amniotic Sea of my womb for 9 plus months, and was first a shark who threatened to devour me whole. Now, after 2 and 1/2 years of being with her, she is a little mermaid with her own ocean of secrets and hidden wisdom she slowly reveals through laughter and tears.

I may also be part of a small meditational writing group, which I know will ultimately help me dive into those dark places I have previously been too terrified to explore. I feel extremely blessed to be able to give and receive in this world.

Learning to bloom again. Is it spring or my heart that is opening?

Someone is Dying

Someone is dying.

That someone is me.

Not a 6 month to one year prognosis from a terminal illness, but a letting go of all I have ever known.

I used to believe that fear would save me. Worry just enough, and maybe even sprinkle just a little extra anxiety to convince myself I can control future events.

I know nothing. Except for this moment. Beginner’s Mind, my mind is like an empty page. The words cannot be written, the colors cannot be painted until the moment arrives.

And when it does, I will know who to be, what to say, what to do. I am on the right path. I wish to let go of all my preconceived notions of what will happen. The only thing I wish to hold onto is trust in this practice.

Good bye old mind. I do not hate you. I do not wish for you to die sooner than you must. You brought me here. I will collect ashes from your pyre, let them scatter with the wind and float on the river.

You will join the earth, as I am born again.