There is suffering
in life, hurt, disappointment —
How we think of God
Is how we think each other
So ask yourself, who is God
*Priest of nothingness, monk of emptiness.
This komusō within which and wherein I stand and walk and sip my coffee.
Practicing suizen, blowing air through this physical shakuhachi of lungs and nose, throat and hara.
Jewelweed crop is plentiful. Bees attend their morning liturgy. Sacred buzz-chant ripples out from their offices. An undulating eucharist, as if open field hesychasm in mid-august creating new welcome to all who've abandoned their formal churches for deeper elevations of dirt and soil and earthen resurrection.
Topsoil gives grass, wildflowers, worms, ants, small frogs and crawling caterpillars.
"God is a dirt farmer, not a garden cultivator." (David Roberts, Patheos)
There are days when all man-made creations feel shallow and fallow. Machines, banking systems, automatic weapons, fighter jets, bombers, lawn mowers, cars and trucks, stock markets, public relations firms, cable news outlets, glocks, clocks, and conference rooms.
Then there are days when being a komusō with repetitive om mani padme hum on fingered beads as sole companion feels good enough for now.
Monastic of no other.
Priest of nothingness.
Monk of emptiness.
Hanger of laundry on sunporch.
Feeder of cats in their separate quarters.
Washer of dishes.
Thought is, as yet, elusive.
They’re alone at the fountain, in a dark well.
They’ve been exiled by the world of hope,
which is the world of action,
but the world of thought hasn’t as yet opened to them.
When it does, everything will change.
(—Excerpt from: "A Village Life: Poems" by Louise Glück. Scribd)
For us, to think, is to become an uncaptured eventuality lingering just outside the circumference of campfire light in a dark unseeing that nears and enthralls.
The astrophysicist gives the example of an ant watching a sheet of paper disappear.
It had been on a two dimension surface of desk when a human lifted it up to be placed into a third dimension paper holder extending upward from the desk. To the ant it simply disappears, having no reference to a height in its length and width world.
Today is the feast of the Assumption of Mary into “heaven.”
Not even time, the fourth dimension, comes close to explaining her disappearance into some heavenly dimension we have no capacity to detect or understand.
Neil deGrasse Tyson, like some modern day evangelist for planetary scientific description, tells us about the universe with grace, wit, and clear examples, enjoying the story-telling and narrative excitement of emerging human knowledge and discovery.
Today we say Hello Mary in a new way.
The world has not yet yielded, with grace and wit, all its theoretical manifestations and dimensional mysteries.
And yet, here we remain, regaled and astonished by the possible in our surround and imagination.