Finding My Guides

North American Desert

I have chosen to practice stillness. I do it for the simple purpose of creating a clear space to make skillful choices, those based on wisdom.

Please do not think this is an easy or simplistic road, and I promise that I do not tell you this because I wish to appear any better than I am.

I tell you because I wish to speak and move from a place of kindness, place that I hope will reflect the basic goodness that I believe, or perhaps only hope, we are all born with.  If I can settle down enough to let heart guide me, rather than fear, the dominoes may fall that way.

Big Island East SIde

No, let me draw another image, take a fractal. It starts small in nature and mathematically repeats making designs of beauty. Tree limbs and snow flakes, broccoli and sea anemones are all examples of fractal design. Let me start small with one beautiful concept and move forward.

Let me be still.

Earlier this week I had a relapse of sorts. I fell into a vat of sorrow, distrust, fear, anger and hopelessness. Buddhists and Hindus call this by the Sanskrit word ‘samsara’. Guerlain, the Parisian Parfumerie, mistakenly named a perfume ‘Samsara’ and charged about $75 an ounce. Very chic. I am certain I have paid much more dearly in this life, and it is even sweet at times. They discontinued the scent, by the way. People were beginning to know the word in common parlance.

My vat of sorrow was the snake I had forgotten to look for.

Big Island West Side

Samsara is a word for the suffering that comes with not understanding my true nature, that is my relationship to ‘what is’. Samsara is simply the way things normally are, the human situation of wanting and not wanting things to be like this, right now. Not allowing for the fact that limitless prior events through time have converged upon this moment in the process of cause and effect.

I am only a tiny piece of this. One little short lived ‘cause’ whose effect is minute and probably ill chosen at that. Even when things go my way, and I am briefly happy, the fact that things will always change leaves me ultimately dissatisfied.

Change. The only thing I can really count on in the world of form, the world I live in.

Stillness is one way to step away from this deeply engrained and quintessentially human function of Want/Not want. It is not the answer, not the antidote, but it is a perspective from which I can possibly see more clearly.

Volcanoes National Park

What shoved me into that vat of slimy darkness was a random rabbit hole on the internet. No. It was less than that, it was a mouse hole. I looked up a definition and found myself reading history.
The history that tried to envelope my soul was a list of 5 steps of Totalitarianism take over and how they were historically used in France, Russia, and Germany to destroy the existing governments. They sounded familiar and I grew ill.

Luckily I told a friend who guided me to look at a balancing note in history:

The Resistance Movement of WWII, The Civil Rights Movement, Women’s Suffrage (which my GGG Grandmother was part of), The Singing Revolution in the Baltic States, and work by Gene Sharp on Nonviolent resistance.

She reminded me to hold dear a true community and friendships. It saved me from my own small hell. I am grateful.

The Trees

Wanting things to be my way is not an option, neither is being separate from any of it. I often turn to the words of Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj for a sense of wise balance:

“I look within and see that I am nothing, and this is wisdom,

I look without and see that I am everything, and this is love.

Between these two, my world turns.” SNM

Hopefully, it will be this wisdom that ultimately guides me, not the fear.

Pacific Evening

Let me be still.

Information for the heart.

This gift is from a known and moving poet. Worth sharing.

(slices of sorrow beneath the moon)

How to Apologize

By Ellen Bass

Cook a large fish—choose one with many bones, a skeleton
you will need skill to expose, maybe the flying
silver carp that’s invaded the Great Lakes, tumbling
the others into oblivion. If you don’t live
near a lake, you’ll have to travel.
Walking is best and shows you mean it,
but you could take a train and let yourself
be soothed by the rocking
on the rails. It’s permitted
to receive solace for whatever you did
or didn’t do, pitiful, beautiful
human. When my mother was in the hospital,
my daughter and I had to clear out the home
she wouldn’t return to. Then she recovered
and asked, incredulous,
How could you have thrown out all my shoes?
So you’ll need a boat. You could rent or buy,
but, for the sake of repairing the world,
build your own. Thin strips
of Western red cedar are perfect,
but don’t cut a tree. There’ll be
a demolished barn or downed trunk
if you venture further.
And someone will have a mill.
And someone will loan you tools.
The perfume of sawdust and the curls
that fall from your plane
will sweeten the hours. Each night
we dream thirty-six billion dreams. In one night
we could dream back everything lost.
So grill the pale flesh.
Unharness yourself from your weary stories.
Then carry the oily, succulent fish to the one you hurt.
There is much to fear as a creature
caught in time, but this
is safe. You need no defense. This
is just another way to know
you are alive.

“How to Apologize” originally appeared in The New Yorker (March 15, 2021). 

Deep Green

Walking in a small protected forest, I constantly plunge into the dizzying effects of a landscape given freedom. There is so much to see on a small scale and so much to see looking up. So much to hear in the silence.

In reality there are probably no truly ‘old growth’ habitats left, between man and the alien creatures who follow, the balance is constantly changing. None the less I am grateful to be here now, breathing the air with them.

Braided Beauty
Native Hawaiian Raspberry (‘akala)
Lovely Leaf Litter
Guava (introduced 200 years ago)
Up
Over

Stillness

The heart is a camera of sorts, freezing images in its lens to look at again and again; a reminder of why we keep on going, why we are moved, why we turn again to what is.

In the Sufi tradition, the dervishes spin a meditation.

Rumi writes:

A secret turning in us

makes the universe turn.

Head unaware of feet,

and feet head. Neither cares.

They keep turning.

The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
Watching

The Step Back

Step One

The Small Backward Step

Stepping back, I see the body in all its animal certainty, it’s imperative command. Biological, dirty, gorgeous. Fears and longing surging, coursing through electrons.

Stepping back, there is the mind in fluid rush, cutting new banks, plummeting from heights, leaping to conclusions. Prodding the body through survival.

Stepping back, consciousness rests, seeing all. Unjudging, edgeless, aware.

Stepping back, 

Only stillness.

Breaking on the shore