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#3601 - Wednesday,
July 22, 2009 - Editor: Gloria Lee
Nonduality Highlights http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NDhighlights
Do not struggle. Go with
the flow of things, and you will find yourself at one with the
mysterious unity of the Universe.
By Chuang Tzu
So Far, So Good
We often react as if
life is attacking us. “I’m not going to be able to
stand this,” we fret as life pushes us beyond our snug
little ego comfort zone.
But we have no evidence of not being able to handle anything life
brings us.
How do we know that? We’ve handled everything so far.
–Cheri Huber,
from When You’re Falling, Dive (Keep It Simple Books)
I
Loved What I Could Love
I had a
natural passion for fine clothes, excellent food, and
lively conversation about all matters that concern
the heart still alive. And even a passion
about my own
looks.
Vanities: they do not exist.
Have you
ever walked across a stream stepping on
rocks so not to spoil a pair of shoes?
All we can
touch, swallow, or say
aids in our crossing to God
and helps unveil the
soul.
Life
smooths us, rounds, perfects, as does the river the stone,
and there is no place our Beloved is not flowing
though the current’s force you
may not always
like.
Our passions help to lift us.
I loved
what I could love until I held God,
for then—all things—every world
disappeared.
St. Teresa of Avila
* From Daniel Ladinsky’s Love Poems from God: Twelve Sacred Voices from the East and West
posted to Daily Dharma by Amrita Nadi
Buddha's Dogs
I'm at a
day-long meditation retreat, eight hours of watching
my mind with my mind,
and I already fell asleep twice and nearly fell out of my chair,
and it's not even noon yet.
In the
morning session, I learned to count my thoughts, ten in
one minute, and the longest
was to leave and go to San Anselmo and shop, then find an outdoor
cafe and order a glass
of
Sancerre, smoked trout with roasted potatoes and baby
carrots and a bowl of gazpacho.
But I stayed and learned to name my thoughts, so far they are:
wanting, wanting, wanting,
wanting,
wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, judgment,
sadness. Don't identify with your
thoughts, the teacher says, you are not your
personality, not your
ego-identification,
then he
bangs the gong for lunch. Whoever, whatever I am is
given instruction
in the walking meditation and the eating meditation and walks
outside with the other
meditators,
and we wobble across the lake like The Night of the Living
Dead.
I meditate slowly, falling over a few times because I kept my
foot in the air too long,
towards a
bench, sit slowly down, and slowly eat my sandwich,
noticing the bread,
(sourdough), noticing the taste, (tuna, sourdough), noticing
the smell, (sourdough, tuna),
thanking
the sourdough, the tuna, the ocean, the boat, the
fisherman, the field, the grain,
the farmer, the Saran Wrap that kept this food fresh for this
body made of food and desire
and the
hope of getting through the rest of this day without
dying of boredom.
Sun then cloud then sun. I notice a maple leaf on my
sandwich.
It seems awfully large.
Slowly
brushing it away, I feel so sad I can hardly stand it, so I
name my thoughts; they are:
sadness about my mother, judgment about my father, wanting
the child I never had.
I notice
I've been chasing the same thoughts like dogs around
the same park most of my life,
notice the leaf tumbling gold to the grass.
The gong
sounds,
and back in the hall.
I decide to
try lying down meditation, and let myself sleep. The
Buddha in my dream is me,
surrounded by dogs wagging their tails, licking my hands.
I wake up
for the
forgiveness meditation, the teacher saying, never put
anyone out of your heart,
and the heart opens and knows it won't last and will have to
open again and again,
chasing
those dogs around and around in the sun then cloud
then sun.
~ Susan Browne ~
(Buddha's
Dogs)
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