Saturday, July 06, 2002

Yearning is the only trail between what we’re not and what is really there -- what we really are.

If you meet a fencing master on the road,
show him your sword,
If you meet a poet,
offer her your poem.
When you meet others,
say only a part of what you intend.
Never give the whole thing at once.

- Mu-mon (1228)

Do we hold back our gifts because experience indicates many people will glance at them, shrug, and turn away to something else?

Everyone is poet. The ability to see what is really there -- the dance of energy passing through myriad forms – belongs to anyone willing to pause, look, and listen.

Everyone wields a sword forged in fires of their own perceptions. We fence with real and imaginary opponents, ones we perceive encroaching beyond boundaries considered sacrosanct. The sword we use – taken from the scabbard of self-image – should only be carefully shown, if at all.

At Lectio this morning Matthew’s words about Jesus’ yoke being easy, his burden light. This union (yoke, yoga) is easy. The task (burden, focus) is light. Ease and light – (letting go, passing on) – governs the simplicity of response impermanence evokes.

Yearning is the trail we travel between arrival and departure. This footpath connects us to all that is. It is not acquisitive. It is releasement.

Gifts imply what is given and what is giving. To hold back a gift is to have only shattered promise in one’s hand. To refuse a gift is to fist approaching kindness.

When we yearn for and show carefully what we are, we create a trail for others to explore. Processing along the trail will be discovery for creator and pilgrim -- holy communion with each we meet, poetic realization with all we see.

Yearn deeply. Learn phenomenally. Cut illusion with the sword of awareness. Enjoy the hike.