It is a practice seeing.

Two brass candle tops and one glass cap three candles in chapel/zendo cabin. Glass atop single candle lighting MoGLIAD, (Mother and Child icon with words "Mother of God, Light In All Darkness.") Brass on two candles inserted in wrought iron wall mount retrieved from pile for dump across from my sister's house during vigil her final days.

The mute glow!

Following sitting at Sunday Evening Practice we chant Vespers/Evening Prayer. More than the words of psalms, more than the descending chant tones, is the fact of it. Stepping into the stream, becoming prayer tumbling innumerable furrows of faith, we join voices from our solitude longing to praise and ponder the Sacred One welling up from each and all.

Waking me up
To the spring that's come
Water trickles down
The valley, and long crag-bound ice
Now cracks open, slides free.
- Saigyo (1118-1190)

Two of us -- 40 minutes sitting, 7 minutes mindfully walking the small space, then chanting Vespers (a change in routine from Heart Sutra or Compline -- it's only us.) Extinguishing candles following bell-toll at end -- we bow, close door, don shoes, walk path to barn, retrieve lanterns en route, pass through mud room with its faint smell of last week's skunk, and are greeted by two dogs and cat in kitchen where soup simmers.

Holy is his name, and much to be feared.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
To those who fear him comes true understanding,
and his praise endures for ever and ever.
(-- from Vespers, Psalm 110 (111), Universalis.com)

At 4am I step over Cesco and accompany Mu-ge to kitchen. I thought it was 5. Now blue-gray light widens over dusting of snow fallen through night.

Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, to follow in his path.

He committed no sin, in his speech there was no deceit;
when they cursed him, he did not curse them;
when he suffered, he did not threaten retribution, but committed them to the one just judge.

He endured our sins in the sufferings of his body on the tree,
so that we would die to our sins and live for righteousness --
and by his bruises you have been healed.
(Sunday Vespers, Canticle 1 Peter 2)

We must allow all things to speak for themselves -- each thing to speak itself.

God is Itself speaking. We sound what is sounding through.

Breath, instrument and sound are not three things.

Comes dawn -- morning prayer from within everything raises seeing God.

Love is itself as no-other is itself.

Awareness makes this so.

When water is pure and sparkling clear
You see straight to the bottom
When your mind holds no concern
No circumstance can turn you
And once your mind doesn't stray
A kalpa has no changes
From such awareness nothing hides.
- Cold Mountain

The notion that "nothing hides" leads me to ask -- "Where does nothing hide?"

Nothing hides at the center of each place we look, each time we look for something. So many times we say when asked what we are looking for, --"Nothing."

Nothing is not something. Nothing is where something leaves off and we are left with merely what is there, with what is itself.

God is what is itself, no other. Love is awareness. Love is itself.

A sleepy-eyed grandam
Encounters herself in an old mirror.
Clearly she sees a face
But it doesn't resemble hers at all.
Too bad, with a muddled head,
She tries to recognize her reflection.
( -- Tozan Ryokai, 807-869)

The implication of Tozan's verse is that the grandlady does see her "self" in God, but the "self" she sees is not the true "Self." And the reason she does not see the true "Self" is that her head (or her mind) is "muddled," that is to say, too preoccupied with many things.
(p. 70, in The Contemplative Experience, erotic love and spiritual union, by Joseph Chu-Cong O.C.S.O.)

What then are we to do? What then are we to be?

In a time when institutions, both church and state, experience fore-shocks of deconstruction, nothing might help. If nations and churches are shaken and collapse, there will be nothing left to ponder.

What is nothing?

We like the word 'spirit.' We're uncomfortable with the word 'nothing.'

If we try not to be attached to words, the underlying reality they only point to remains as it is, not reliant on what it has been called. These words (forms) are also emptiness (no-thing). And emptiness is form. This underpinning experience of 'here/gone' or 'seen/unseen' is common to us.

Do we genuinely love life?

Is each one of us (herself, himself) itself?

Love is itself as no-other is itself.

I'll have to ponder this.

Thomas Merton -- undetected.

If John didn't say it, he sparked it.

John said that if we really understood the terms 'eternal life' and 'the kingdom of heaven' we'd come to understand we were talking about the everlasting present moment wherein we dwell within the undifferentiated now.

When John pulls on his black watch-cap and readies to leave, he resembles pictures of Thomas Merton. John and Tommy sat by fire last evening. We talked about what each really believed -- belief, we sensed, that resided just on the edge of belief. We spoke about what we didn't know. Delia, Emanuel, and Lea wandered in and steeped the conversation.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.
- Ryokan Taigu (1758-1831)

Earlier Alena and Garrett talked about energy of another person interfusing with our own so as to be indistinguisable and no longer 'other' energy. Alena missed her mentor. He disappeared within her. We only miss what we cannot feel as other, what we think is gone. Garrett suspected this is what was meant by Dogen's 'dropping off mind and body.'

Ann Marie stopped by. She will continue doing sails with people with cancer. She received a grant. The ragged small lamb from back shelf was in her hand. It looked like it wanted to leave with her. I told them to go off and visit with each other for as long as they wished. She thought that was sweet. Besides, who really owns a three inch white stuffed lamb? It goes its own way.

Jim Knight writes about Ed Rice, Robert Lax and himself and their time with Thomas Merton:
The Merton we knew, who is still in the lives of both of us, was a different man, and monk, from the saintly person of pre-fabricated purity that has become his image these days. He was a real person, not a saint; he was a mystic searching for God, but a God that crossed the boundaries of all religions; his was not a purely Christian soul. He developed closer spiritual ties than Church authorities will ever admit to the Eastern religions, Hinduism as well as Buddhism. In fact just before his appalling accidental death in December 1968, he was saying openly that Christianity could be greatly improved by a strong dose of Buddhism and Hinduism into its faith. These are things the record needs.

For us Merton was one of the seminal figures of our time. He was deeply curious about all religions, all areas of thought and philosophy. Rice says: "The Church has not done right by him. In fact, the Church has wronged him, and continues to wrong him, by glossing over, by evading the universality of his thought. The Church wants to obscure his basic human nature, his reaching out to other people in a desire to create a common bond, not necessarily based on religion."

"Sometimes I think there are two Churches," Rice says, "one run by the Vatican and the other by Merton. The one run by the Vatican is exclusionary and cold and based on dogma. The one run by Merton reaches out to the whole world and is based on faith."
(-- from The Thomas Merton We Knew by William James Knight ©TXu838-314-2-2-98)

Saskia returns tired from day's travel and work in Bangor. Sando barks. Cesco lays back by bookshelves. Emanual is saying we should get someone to fundraise for us to keep us open. But it is late.

Just so, this morning it is early. Light wanders in as Mu-ge wanders in this room. I'm trying to find something for Charlie at the prison on the psychological impact of environment on individuals -- but I'm easily distracted.

Rice, who sponsored Merton in his conversion to Catholicism, is at odds with many aspects of today's Thomas Merton cult. "It presents Merton as a plastic saint," Rice says, "a contemporary Little Flower, a sweet, sinless individual who has a direct line to God. But the God some people see Merton communicating with is not the God that I think Merton would have been praying to. I am not comfortable with the plastic saint image of Merton; he was no such thing. I see Merton as an individual in the grand scheme, and it makes no difference whether he is approached as a Roman Catholic monk or a Buddhist lama. He was Merton, and he has his influence as Merton."

In Paradise with Merton, Rice says, are Lao Tse, Isaac the Blind, Ibn el Araby, Confucius, Thomas Aquinas, Dorothy Day, Martin Luther King, Charles de Foucaud the Keeper of the Pass, Teilhard de Chardin, Rabia al Alawiya, the Original Sai Baba, Susanna Flying Feather (his own Susanna), Ahmad al Alawi --"an endless number, hundreds, thousands of saints of all faiths, some with no faith at all."

Such are the people Merton is associating with," Rice says. "He's a world figure. He's a man who fits into the scheme of the universal holy man with an appeal to everybody. His most important characteristic is that he is universal; anybody can approach him, pray with him, denounce him, love him; he is there. He's part of the grand scheme, helping us on the way to that mysterious summit we are all searching for."

So here we are, the two of us at at the age of 82, with nearly all our lives behind us; Rice, with his religion unique but still intact, and I, an active Protestant at a young age, having a long time ago stripped away those beliefs. Thinking of Merton. Hoping Merton doesn't forget, pretty sure he won't.
When the lights go out and the spirit streaks off into the dizzying and frightening darkness, Merton will be there. I'm counting on him to reach out for me; then I'll leave the rest entirely up to him; he'll know where to go and what to do.

I hope you have quick hands, Tom.

And strong wrists.
(-- from Knight's 'Merton') (Note: Robert Lax, poet, died on September 26, 2000. Edward Rice, editor, reporter, photographer, biographer, painter, and friend, died just short of a year later, on August 18, 2001. Jim Knight was raised in Atlanta, Georgia, and completed his formal education at Columbia College in New York. He was part of the writer's group at "Jester", Columbia's humor magazine, that included Thomas Merton, Edward Rice, Robert Lax and Robert Gerdy.)http://www.therealmerton.com/bio.html

Ryokan, as stream, turns clear and transparent. He is water. As Merton is water.

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
-- ee cummings

Water catches us up with soft sweet continuance -- decidedly undetected and delightfully playful -- throughout.

Snow melts. Water trickles. Returns to source.

What holds us together? This question began Wednesday Evening Laura Conversation.
.
How wonderful to go beyond wanting and fearing in your relationships. Love does not want or fear anything.
If her past were your past, her pain your pain, her level of consciousness your level of consciousness, you would think and act exactly as she does. With this realization comes forgiveness, compassion, peace.
The ego doesn't like to hear this, because if it cannot be reactive and righteous anymore, it will lose strength.
(pp.91-92, in Stillness Speaks, by Eckhart Tolle, c.2003)

'Forgiveness' was talked about. Some disliked the memory of judgment associated with forgiveness. Dirk brought up Jesus' saying, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Susan said Jesus asked for forgiveness for their not knowing, their unawareness; he didn't focus on what they were doing to him.

What sages learn
Is to return their nature
To the beginning
And let their minds
Travel freely in
Openness.
What developed people
Learn is to link their nature
To vast emptiness and
Become aware of the
Silent infinite.
- Huai-nan-tzu

They didn't know that killing a man or a woman, (in this case Jesus), they are killing themselves. This is what is sad -- that we do not yet understand who and what we are. Yet, in this case, Jesus finds forgiveness the longed-for response, not anger, not revenge. It's hard not to equate revenge with justice when wrong is done to us. But then, it's rare to access Christ-consciousness.

For me, the response to the question "What holds us together?" is "Nothing!"
Nothing holds us together because we are not parts of a whole, we are the whole itself. There is no 'holding together,' in that, what is whole is of a piece. A different question is required, namely: 'What can tear us apart?' The response to that question might be disturbing.

It is possible that often what we call 'love' might be 'attachment?' Someone recently said she struggled with the confusion she hears between love and attachment.

The mind, as it usually does, classifies and categorizes what it analyzes into cut pieces resembling puzzle pieces. From there the machine-like process figures what belongs where, what doesn't fit, and whether the picture emerging from the contact is worth our time and energy. We become attached to what belongs, dismiss until again expedient what does not fit, and judge accordingly whether what is emerging will benefit us in the short or long run.

'Attachment' implies something separate there to which one might attach oneself. This is our common understanding. What if there were nothing there to attach -- or, if what is there is not other than the one seeing what is there? (While some contend this is a matter of semantics, and therefore, by implication, false -- it is worthwhile to look at the way we speak and think with some benign skepticism.)

Love is aware of itself as no other is aware of itself.

A woman writes: I think it is called love. It is the only commandment Jesus gave to us. I am a simple and unsophisticated person. I do not know anything about Buddhism and am not inclined to study it. I grow by depth and not by expansion. It is just the way I am. Relationship to the person of Jesus has simply been God's way of approaching me and more and more I have only Him and the depths just keep opening out to me in silence

A young man comes in and tells about a recent drug experience. He says it made him dumb, broke down things into simple pieces he was able to deal with -- a cleansing out of his head, he says. He tells of a bus station in Florida, a Jamaican man who burst into a sermon St. Paul would be proud of, his eyes full of communication he was a believer, not like the Amish man who, when asked if he was a Christian, harrumphed, grumbled, and went to buy a Pepsi from a machine. The young man concludes he must have been CIA in deep coveralls. He leaves, both of us laughing.

Laurie brings in her ink and palette paintings on Haiti, it's hell and hope. The first ones are dark. The middle ones questioning shapes. The last set done while listening to "Orenda" CD (Joanne Shenandoah, Lawrence Laughing) and a CD by Carlos Nakai -- lighter, more expansive.

Religion and relationship have to do with tying together and giving wide expression. [Latin: fero ferre tuli latum = to bear along , move forward, put in motion; latus -a -um = broad, wide, extensive]. Given -- that our mind has difficulty seeing things whole, we create religion to tie together what is already whole, we cultivate relationships to ease the fear of loneliness from a felt separation that is not there at all. So many meetings!

Ultimately, of course, there is no other, and you are always meeting yourself. (p.100, Tolle)

"Dark matter," says Susan looking at ice in harbor, "holds everything together; it's God."

Traveling freely in openness, nature the vast emptiness, becoming aware within the silent infinite!

This invitation of wholeness.

Jory wondered how it is we receive obvious sustenance from Christian contemplative practice.

If you can get through
The world by following
The Way and embracing
Virtue to the end of your years,
It can be said that you are able
To embody the Tao.
- Huai-nan-tzu

Christianity is not the religion we think it is. Not dogma, not creed, not history, not authority, and not static scripture. These things might have come to surround, and even contain, Christianity -- but they are not the soul of the Way.

The Way is person. Throughout time, as demarked by BC/AD or BCE/CE, an experience of remarkable interest has intersected time and history. Time past rolls back from it; time future ascends from it.

The Way is presence. "Present!" -- we say when our name is called. "Here," when asked our location. "I am with you," when someone in darkening uncertainty or failing health imprecates us. We are asked to be what we are when nothing else dares distract or divert us from our true nature.

And he told them this parable: "There once was a person who had a fig tree
planted in his orchard, and when he came in search of fruit on it but
found none, he said to the gardener, 'For three years now I have come in
search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. So cut it down.
Why should it exhaust the soil?' He said to him in reply, 'Sir, leave it
for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and
fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it
down.'"
(-- from Luke 13:1-9)

We exhaust the soil of Being itself when we do not cultivate or allow the fruit of our being to show and present itself.

Itself presented -- this is the fruit of human, earthly life. The 'Itself,' or, the very being of What-Is-Called-God, is both source and fruit of all life.

The Way is prayer. Prayer is longing for revelation and realization of what we call 'real,' 'truth,' and 'love.' Prayer is the abandonment of seeming separate self. It is intentional letting go of diversion, distraction, and dispersion. It is surrender into the ever-present origin, which is What-Is.

Person, presence, prayer -- this is a trinity of interwoven movement intertwining each and every moment of this existence.

This is what sustains our Christian practice -- this flowing of one into and through the other, the grace of participating in the mystical wonder, word, and water -- life now, and now, and now!

What some call God, what others call Sacred Feminine, and what a few call Way -- this is our interest.
This is our body and blood, soul and divinity, humus (earth, humility) and humanity.

Francis called each and every thing 'brother,' 'sister,' 'mother,' 'father.'
Dogen said when we forget our 'self' we are enlightened by the 'ten thousand things' -- by everything that is.

Christianity is about Christ. And Christ is about you, and me, and every person, presence, prayer in existence.
Buddhism is about Buddha. And Buddha is about you and me and everything awakening with awareness to who and what each is.

The form of religion is empty. The emptiness of religion is form. And what are we?

We are asked to contemplate what is 'going beyond.' We are invited to dwell inseparate from what and who we are. Any form that helps this contemplation and dwelling is welcome. Any emptiness that drops us into reality-itself is welcome.

We are interested, [L. 'inter' = between, among; 'esse' = to be]. That is to say, we are willing to present ourselves, or, in Thich Nhat Hanh's word, to live "Inter-Being" -- in such a contemplation and dwelling.

In the Christian metaphor -- we are willing to be the person we are, we are interested in dwelling in the ground of presence, and, we long for the illusion of separateness to dissolve so that all life and being might find happiness, safety, and home.

If we bear no fruit, we will be cut down -- that is, we will display no life, no flowering, and therefore nothing to carry on.

And yet, as practitioners of Zen, that too is just fine.

Where does a cut-down tree go?

No--
W--
Here!

Note: The bookshop/bakery is closed until evening conversation today. We hope to be back by 5pm. We're on the road Downeast for our other work.

.....................

A new day.

In the dialogue between Judas and Jesus something like the following is said:
Judas: "I thought I was special to you."
Jesus: Everyone is special to me."
Judas: "That would mean we're all the same."
Jesus: [Emphatically] "Yes, that's it, exactly."(-- from film "Judas"...with apologies for anything inexact.)

Zen takes the more direct affirmation -- "You're nothing special to me." It is, in Zen parlance, a statement of great intimacy and appreciation. (Perhaps it should wear the warning: 'Don't try this at home. Use with caution. Know location of nearest emergency room.')

Through green fog, red clouds,
Miles of bamboo,
To a hut where quiet lasts
Just let go and worries end
Stop to think and they're back
An unpolished mirror holds millions of shapes
A bell doesn't ring until it's rung
Your basic nature is the real Buddha
Not form or space; nothing old or new.
- Stonehouse

Visiting a hermit in central Maine yesterday we perform a ritual so profound we have yet to comprehend its depth of meaning.

Which ritual?

This one: We say hello; we say goodbye; and we touch each other in passing.

It is an open ritual, available to everyone, and not the exclusive property of anyone. It celebrates the mystery of the Christ. It celebrates the mystery of the Bodhisattva. And it celebrates the open-circle mystery of every one of us, all sentient beings, everything in creation and beyond creation.

Christians immersed in the Season of Lent are re-considering whether the sacrifice, suffering, and death of Jesus are central to, or solely, the mystery of Christ.

Christ is no mystery -- a Zen view might say -- Christ is the very breath we breathe, sounds we hear, love we long for and enact.

The unpolished mirror has our shape in it; the unrung bell is sounding our names.

In passing, our prayer rises...

To new life!

Fog over everything. Harbor wrapped in it.

Jeanne talks about her older dog: "There's nothing left but the love." Therese brings donuts from Willow Street Bakery as donation. We set them out as donation to donut lovers. Here, bringing coals to Newcastle works.

The fog makes nothing clear.

I must strain to see
The few buds this old tree
Labored to open;
In pathos we're one, and I wonder
How many more springs we'll meet here.
- Saigyo (1118-1190)

Dirk brings in material for Festival of the Spirit. Sam, Hillary, and Susan catch up. Moose, the Black Lab, stops by and nuzzles head into biscuit basket before Therese calls him out.

Fog lowers into soul. Rain comes, fog lifts. Rain ceases, fog suffuses. Snow melts, mist rises.

Full moon tonight. A languid distance opens and closes as mud season runs ahead of itself. 'Raw,' Laurie said, 'damp and raw.'

By all calculations, spring nears. With Saigyo, in surround of fog we wonder, how many more springs we'll meet here.

Sam plays harmonica. A soulful solo. Afternoon drifts with outgoing tide. He plays "Going Home." Joanie reads Vegetarian Times.

Earlier this morning at "The Many Faces of Death" conversation, we read the words:
Our task is to find that pure love, and curiously it is death, or rather impermanence, that can help us. The reason we become so fiercely attached to things -- from our emotions, ideas, and opinions to our possessions and other people -- is that we have not taken impermanence to heart. Once we can accept that impermanence is the very nature of life, and that everyone suffers, including ourselves, at the hands of change and death, then letting go becomes quite natural.

With impermanence securely in our hearts, we'll see that if everyone were to realize its truth, then even in the thick of change and death and bereavement, we would not feel any great sense of loss. Our tears then would not be because death and impermanence are facts of life, but because of something much deeper: we would weep with compassion, because we'd know that all the pain and suffering we go through do not need to be there. They are only there in fact because we fail to understand that everything, absolutely everything, is transient.(p. x, in Facing Death and Finding Hope, A Guide to the Emotional and Spiritual Care of the Dying, by Christine Longaker, c.1997)

Jonathan writes that his grandmother died this week: "Grandmother passed away last night at 7:00 PM. Apparently in the last week she'd started to not recognize Martha and to slip away from whatever moorings were holding her in the present." There'll be cremation, a Mass, and in summer, burial in Arlington.

Peter and his companions had been overcome by
sleep, but becoming fully awake, they saw his glory and the two men
standing with him. As they were about to part from him, Peter said to
Jesus, "Master, it is good that we are here; let us make three tents, one
for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." But he did not know what he
was saying. While he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow
over them, and they became frightened when they entered the cloud.
( from Luke 9:28b-36)

Fog lifts above islands out in the bay and lowers over Battie above town.

We enter the cloud.

For Peter, James, and John -- a voice was heard there. "After the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone." (Luke)

In our cloud, nothing clear is discerned.

Marty and Michael stand in front of counter. Marty says he's a closet optimist. He drops off bookmarks. They contain the image he photographed of cloud and stone in Ireland, entitled "Pholl Na Bron Portal Tomb," (The Burren, Co. Clare).

The news from Iraq and Haiti is unpromising. What can we make of it? What do we make of ourselves?

Written at the dwelling of a recluse

Even though you have a brushwood door,
It hasn't been shut for a long time;
A few clouds, a few trees
Have been your only companions.
Still I suspect if you stay longer,
People will learn of this spot;
We'll see you moving
Higher on the mountain.
- Chia Tao (779-843)

Meetingbrook's laura tucks deeper into solitude. It is a laura peripheral to a center no one can see. It can be said with paradox and contradiction -- as we look there is no one there. No...one is here. Earth, water, air, and -- along with toasted English muffin, afternoon fire in hearth. Folks gather for 5:30 Wednesday Evening Laura Conversation.

Two words, idiorhythmic and laura, are found in a writing about Athanasius the Athonite, Abbot (AC):
Born at Trebizond c. 920; died c. 1003.

When he reached Mount Athos in 958, an old friend from Constantinople, Nicephorus Phocas, asked his help in preparing an expedition against the Saracens in 961. Phocas insisted on appointing him almoner of his fleet.

On its successful completion, Athanasius returned to Mount Athos and with money given him by a grateful Phocas began the first monastery on Athos in 961. Athanasius wanted to found a new kind of monastery, the so-called idiorhythmic monastery, where each inmate could follow his own rhythm and tempo. His hope was that anchorites, hermits, wandering monks, and cenobites could all live together in his laura.

When Nicephorus Phocas became emperor in 963, the year the monastery was dedicated, Athanasius fled to Cyprus to avoid being called to court, but the emperor found him, reassured him, and gave him money to continue his work on Athos.

It might perhaps sound as if they are indulgent to themselves and giving themselves too much personal freedom. But, in fact, the system confers heightened value on their virtuous acts, because they are done freely, and not out of constraint of obedience.

The idiorhythmic rule that Athanasius established was far in advance of his times--a radical departure from the customs of other monasteries. He made his monastery as little like a barracks as possible. He did, however, force his monks to read and study the Bible and one of his first concerns was to open a school next to the monastery.
(http://www.saintpatrickdc.org/ss/0705.htm)

School is leisure of conversation. Monastery is aloneness with the Alone. Laura is footpath connecting many points of view as they each look into what is core and central.

At laura conversation we read of Ryokan's tears -- his embodying of the felt reality of what surrounded him. Su.Sane, Robert, Jim, Suzanne, Sandra, Susan, Sylvia, Will, Joanie, and I looked at how we navigate the correction shaking the world -- turmoil and uncertainty -- while practicing core and central. "Love," said Su.Sane, "is the shaking chair." As in the film "Contact" the chair must shake loose and free before entering the dimension beyond surface, scientific, and calculable experience.

We begin to learn the prayer, "I'm good to go; I'm good to go!"

To let go, to surrender, to move beyond time -- into now.

"Froat flee," -- a new and wonderful slip of the tongue -- as we slip into maturity.

Bantu tribesmen, it is said, sneak into the rooms of their children as they sleep and whisper into their ears, "Become what you are!" (p.2, in Taking Our Places, The Buddhist Path to Truly Growing Up, by Norman Fischer, c.2003)

Martin Buber said, "All real living is meeting."

Meet well!

What is contemplative prayer?

Silence is a matter of no-sound. Just so, stillness is a slow showing of movement within itself.

Fragrance of late winter snow at melt-point under overcast midcoast Maine in early morning.

As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and return no more thither, but soak the earth, and water it, and make it to spring, and give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:
So shall my word be, which shall go forth from my mouth: it shall not return to me void, but it shall do whatsoever I please, and shall prosper in the things for which I sent it.
Isaiah 55:10 - 11

Sitting in rear pew after morning liturgy in Rockland church I realize I no longer know how to pray. So I say a prayer through found ignorance asking how to pray and for what. In the silence of abandoning solitude my eyes look toward altar and see glinting item on floor: Silver hand bell on top step behind altar -- teaching: remain silent and still, until invited to sound.

The pine tree's voice is always
Whispering,
Yet, how many pause to listen?
For when the churning mind is still,
the Diamond-Heart within
Reflects even the falling dusk that
shrouds every eye and branch,
And hears, but listens not.

Walking, then, with Courage
and Kindness,
never ceasing to walk in Wonder,
we follow our ancient path.
For the Way of the sword is
folded two;
Like the rose we have thorns,
and like the rose, we unfold.
- Ji Aoi Isshi (dailyzen)

The sword and thorns in morning news are showing themselves in Haiti and Iraq. It is no easy awareness trying to see the loveliness in bombs and bullets -- the veil of deceptive secrecy covering last year's invasion of Iraq with its ongoing chaotic manipulation, and the overthrowing of the elected government of Haiti with its current chaos and bloodshed. If this behavior is democracy's best foot forward off our shores, we must change our footwear.

Those of us sleeping through a revolution are troubled by the dreams terrifying those not in bed with us. It is noteworthy that there is the smell of duck, the walk of duck, the sound of duck -- indeed, a duck-revolution overthrowing this side of the pond and slowly imposing an ideology at odds with the founding philosophy of the land -- but very few dare call what they smell, see, and hear a duck. Quacking ducks are merely quacking ducks. The danger is when we refuse to call a duck a duck, instead -- we name what is happening a lie we can live with.

No wonder prayer disappears. Prayer is longing for truth, love, and the way of simple neighborliness. If that longing has been kidnapped and abused by polished smiling conditioning that encourages blind and rote acquiescence, then, truth, love, and the way of simple neighborliness has been stolen and we are destitute.

My prayer is to re-enter prayer. Prayer listens. What prayer hears...(and this is the difficult part)...belongs to the one praying to discern what is to become of prayer's grace.

Haiku on Prayer

Remain
Still &
Silent --

When called to
Sound,

Be what is
Being said...
(wfh)

No sound; movement within itself: the silence and stillness of contemplative prayer.

Surrender to this...prayer? Or, breakthrough this...prayer?

Outside kitchen window, small melted circles at intersecting ground where tree trunks on hill pass through snow!

Quiet residing in one's place.

Leap day.

Music people fold up their books. Len and Virginia talk about being former liberals. Joanie adds her point of view about feminism. Jim adds stick to fire.

On road to Rockland, outside sign on bank, temperature registered 44 degrees. Snow melts. Ice softens. Light and life begins to lengthen.

How can we ever lose interest in life?
Spring has come again
And cherry trees bloom in the mountains.
- Ryokan

No blooming yet in Maine. Only slight ice gathers and remains downbreeze in shade of northwest side of harbor.

Sylvia reads Deepak Chopra. Some words about Proust and nostalgia (Gk. nostos=home, algia=pain) echo from Eva's comments Saturday..

Chris and Kristin talk about stories -- all there is, is story. When we don't listen to another's story, we're not interested in our life. Their story is about our life, no matter the absence of reference to what we consider 'my' life.

What if there were no separate selves, no isolated, disconnected, un-united self?

If there is pain remembering home, the past, or how we think about the way things were, perhaps it is because we've so seldom really arrived home

Listen. The restless stories of seeds turning under ground are sounding themselves from hidden depths toward surface. There they breakthrough. What seemed like a boundary or border is transparency already shone through -- ready for our appreciatory realization. When we actually see, we are embodied appreciation.

We think we suffer for our beliefs; perhaps what we really suffer from is the belief that suffering is discrete, personal, and centered in our self. There is suffering in life -- this we observe. What if the suffering we experience -- the particular, personal story infected with sorrow and pain -- is not restricted to the boundaries of personal identity?

What if the suffering we experience is shared suffering -- emanating from distances and comprehension far beyond the definitions we impose? Anywhere someone is hungry, anywhere someone is mistreated, anywhere someone grieves loss or destruction -- if there is suffering anywhere, and we are alive, that suffering passes through us.

Is this the passion of Jesus -- writ large these days in film, meditated this Lent?

It is still light along the harbor.

From this day leaps everything!

Someone understands.

Passion speaks itself through us on its own terms.

Is it our failure to communicate? Or is it that we do not yet realize what is being communicated when 'we,' 'I,' try to manipulate and appropriate what is being said with personal ego and vanity?

One glance at the morning star,
And the snow got even whiter.
The look in his eye
Chills hair and bones.
If earth itself hadn't
Experienced this instant,
Old Shakyamuni never would have happened.
- Daito (1282-1334)

Earth itself!

It is in this stage of the journey that it is essential to acquire as soon and as sincerely as possible a stable and disciplined spiritual practice of prayer meditation, and contemplation: if this is not acquired, the awakening into divine origin will fade, the soul will not grow in adoration and self-knowledge, and the saddening revelations of the extent of greed and selfishness in the ego and psyche -- revelations which are "designed" to annihilate all pride and vanity -- will be unendurable.
(pp.107-108, in Son of Man, by Andrew Harvey)

Five of us talked in prison today about communication. Actually we spoke about understanding. What we were really speaking about was conversation.

Intimacy is an experience of non-separation, of being at one with whatever is happening. We tend to think that we are not all right now -- we're too fearful, too greedy, angry, whatever --- but that if we take up some spiritual practice we can improve ourselves. We will be all right at some moment in the future.
We have "in order to" mind; we are always doing this in order to get that, or in order to be that. Yet that very tendency -- to strive, be ambitious, be preoccupied with a goal, get ahead of ourselves -- takes us out of the present moment, away from how we are now. It can actually prevent intimacy. Then we complain that we don't have it. Our wish for intimacy can prevent us from being intimate.
(Larry Rosenberg, quoted in Josh Baran's 365 nirvana here and now, living every moment in enlightenment)

It was decided after direct and honest speaking that 'understanding' is the issue, not the personal ego of the one speaking. It was clear in the prison conversation on this day that there would be no brooking of perceived bullshit. Maybe it is prison, or maybe the particular gathering today, but there is a sensitivity at the drop of a dime to any disingenuous posturing and pontificating, over-explaining or excuse-making. (Someone in the circle dropped a dime this morning -- so to speak.) Their point (and one I respect) is that to pretend things aren't the way they actually are, more or less than they are, is to dismiss yourself and whomever you are with from actual here and now -- the ground point of the beginning, as well as the passing-through point of what will be. Three guys were startlingly direct, and remarkably kind, with their observations toward the dime-dropper.

The antiphon for the Canticle of Zechariah today is:
When you meet those who are in need of clothing, do not turn away from them, for they are your brothers. Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your good deeds shall go before you.

It is interesting to consider that light shines out from within to light the way, shining on good deeds that lead you.

When Ryan said, "The communication -- it's simply going on in the passion of anybody who's speaking right now..." -- he was speaking of the 'understanding' down deep that Charlie was urging. Ryan felt it was the very conversation that carries us forward and through.

Chris showed us the 15 minute film "WorldSong" -- with its colorful dance through birth resonating wordlessly in varied cultures.

Understanding moves itself through conversation.

(Bell sounds!)

Thich Nhat Hanh is saying on tape that if pride holds us back from saying, "Darling, I am suffering," we go hide ourselves in our room and cry silently, pretending "I am not suffering, I don't need her, I don't need him." (in "Teachings on Love" How Mindfulness Can Enhance Your Intimate Relationships, by Thich Nhat Hanh, c.1996)

Is something missing, some comprehension lacking, in the way we live?.

"If pride is there it means that your love is not true love yet. If you really love him or her then when you suffer you have to go to him or to her and ask for help because a lover is for that." (Hanh, Teachings)

In the silence of the empty space following Eucharist this morning, the antiphon for Canticle of Zechariah: "If anyone wishes to be my disciple, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me, says the Lord." (from Thursday after Ash Wednesday)

If we translated this saying into another idiom, might it read: "No-self enters the ordinary, and follows where it leads -- this is where Christ resides."

Is Christ's lead Christ's reality?

Everything asks for translation. Everything is a two-way mirror -- one looking through while the other sees only their own image reflected back.

Sylvia brought a reading from Taoist tradition for Wednesday Evening Conversation. There was a sentence that caught the attention of a few -- about no longer knowing how to live one's life, nor needing to 'know' how to. It jumped out at me.

The Taoist point of view celebrates this non-knowing immersion as spiritual and artistic self-expression of what is called God. These days it feels less grand -- more like a stark not knowing how to live my life.

Some days there's a different take that goes: Don't go looking for your life, you have no life -- (no separated, disconnected, isolated life) -- that's the gift. Rather, look through the life being lived all about -- what is looking in is what is looking out, is what is looking through.

To translate, (i.e. L.'trans' = beyond, or through; L. 'latus' = carry, bear, or change from one place, state, form, or appearance to another)

There is much to be angry about, Joanie and John agree, reading the report on sudden climate change -- attitudes that violate earth and environment, denial which comes in all shapes and sizes. Being angry, or suffering, is not the problem. What seems like a problem is not simply acknowledging we are angry or suffering; instead, blaming and faulting someone else for what has happened in our life. However accurate and right the assessment assigning responsibility to another or even to ourselves -- something is missing, some comprehension lacking. What is that?

Does it have to do with "Deny your self," or, in translation, "No self?"

When Jesus is asked in the Gnostic Dialogue of the Savior, "How does the small join itself to the big?" he replies, "When you abandon the works which will not be able to follow you, then you will rest." Knowing which works can "follow" you -- which works, in other words, can be taken into the new realm of love and charity which the soul recognizes as its divine truth -- demands a total restructuring of the whole of one's life and aims. As Jesus says later in the same Dialogue, "Strive to see that which can follow you, and to seek it out, and to speak from within it, so that as you seek it, it can be in harmony with you."

This "saving of that which can follow you" demands total commitment to the new life that awakening has revealed and to a steady reordering of all the senses and energies of the old self to reflect the nature of God.(p.109, in The Son of Man, by Andrew Harvey, c.1998)

Jesus sorrowed and endured. He went through. He wants us to follow him through.

Buddha said there is suffering in life. The eightfold path will help us through the suffering even if it cannot be eliminated.

What does Christianity mean by "Deny yourself?"
What does Zen mean by "No mind" or "No self?"

These 40 days are just beginning, and already we are entering the invitation of Lent -- the word which derives from the Anglo-Saxon word 'lencten,' meaning 'spring,' suggesting 'lengthen.'

The invitation: contemplation -- a long loving look.

What is in the mirror? What is in harmony with us?

(Bell sounds! Now -- to follow this sound)

Remember. It is time to turn again.

Remember we're dust. Ok. We're earth. More, says Gale, we're star-dust. It's Ash Wednesday -- it's anybody's guess what we are. I give up. Su Sane says she's given up Ash Wednesday for Lent. Michelle says, as a mom of 2.5 children, she's glad just to have adult conversation.

I won't let even the
Buddha and Patriarchs
Through my gate,
So I never thought
To welcome some guests
And roll my eyes at others.
I open the gate a little
To thank you for your visit,
And at once the mountains
And the rivers stand up
And start the famous dance.
- Muso Soseki (1275-1351)

After Mass at St. Bernard's this morning I sat in solitary silence before getting up to go. I circle the chapel looking at stations of the cross along the walls. After the 14th, Jesus laid in the tomb, there's no 15th. They end with tomb. I glance at the tabernacle just off to the left of the 14th station. The tomb and the tabernacle.

Tabernacles celebrate the dwelling of real presence of sacramental species -- in short, a temporary repose, a reposition of the Blessed Sacrament, a presence (among others) of Christ. There is no 15th station -- no empty tomb, no resurrection -- no additional metaphor of the transcending transformation following Jesus' death and burial. Still, to the left, the tabernacle.

12 "Even now," declares the LORD ,
"return to me with all your heart,
with fasting and weeping and mourning."

13 Rend your heart
and not your garments.
Return to the LORD your God,
for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
and he relents from sending calamity.
14 Who knows? He may turn and have pity
and leave behind a blessing-
grain offerings and drink offerings
for the LORD your God.

15 Blow the trumpet in Zion,
declare a holy fast,
call a sacred assembly.
16 Gather the people,
consecrate the assembly;
bring together the elders,
gather the children,
those nursing at the breast.
Let the bridegroom leave his room
and the bride her chamber.
17 Let the priests, who minister before the LORD ,
weep between the temple porch and the altar.
Let them say, "Spare your people, O LORD .
Do not make your inheritance an object of scorn,
a byword among the nations.
Why should they say among the peoples,
'Where is their God?' "

18 Then the LORD will be jealous for his land
and take pity on his people.
(Joel 2:12-18: New International Version (NIV))

Eucharist, thankfulness and shared gratitude, follows the closing of the story depicted in the stations -- the 'via dolorosa' (the sorrowful way). What is this relation between sorrow and gratefulness in our lives?

From the tomb in this story the eye moves to the dwelling which builds shared gratefulness -- that which feeds one another with strength to continue on the way. The way where? Where, indeed, are we going?

I go with Cesco to Rockland Harbour for Lauds -- the psalms of morning prayer. Snow piled high. Fishing boats and working schooners under wraps on the hard. At this beginning of the season of Lent, many ask -- (some even aware they are asking) -- 'Where is God?'

Where?

We back out from end of wharf where gate to Coast Guard station is rolling closed.

At this beginning is the meditation for these next 40 days.

We're dust. We're the earth itself. Whence we come, thence we go. The earth from star somewhere beyond calibration -- a piece of the universe turned into light and life. And even though, with T.S. Eliot, we do not hope to turn again -- we turn anyway, this way and that, looking behind us and ahead of us -- wondering what was before womb and what is beyond tomb.

Jesus the Christ took his turn. Where do we turn?

Thank you for your visit.

Stand up and start the famous dance.

Knocking at shop door today were spontaneous quarrels. What was each looking at?

Today the talk, by nearly anybody who came in, is about 'anybody but Bush.' We get back after a week of door's being closed and find things humming.

It started early. It continues even now, six hours later. Unlikely people with strong opinions are concerned this administration's policy is dangerous and the men that run it intent on single-mindedly reforming the world in their image.

The voice of success and profit
May stir the vault of heaven,
But not this place.
In the rounds of the day,
You wear threadbare clothing
And eat simple fare.
When the mountain snow deepens,
Your thoughts
Are far from those of men.
Occasionally,
Immortals pass your door
And knock.
- Kuan-hsiu (832-912)

Richard and Tommy, were they not in their 70s and 60s, might have erupted into a fistfight. Joanie interrupts for clarification of something to do with Korean or Vietnam war. Charlotte has just walked a labyrinth in Lincolnville and emits Quakerly disinterest. John returns for Buddhist conversation and jostles the edge of a disagreement. Jim is hoping the Amnesty International potluck goes well tonight. Karl writes in his palm pilot and is heading home to attend to caring for his cold.

Earlier Leonard and another man with his small daughter had the same intensity standing in front of the counter about the neocons and hardliners whose brazen certitude, they feel, threatens to further harm the principles of democracy and self-determination with which the United States birthed itself.

All day the level of discourse is charged with dissatisfaction. Even the documentary filmmaker talking with Sam and Susan and ready to set off to get footage of them rowing their dory stops to write down three websites dealing with issues (surprise) that seem controversial and worry of conspiracy. The conversation up to that point was about Cape Breton boatbuilding and he'd never been in before. Is it the icon of Christ or the photograph of Palden Gyatso that reminds him of the need for passionate but loyal dissidence?

Mel Gibson's film "The Passion of the Christ" and Dan Brown's novel "The Da Vinci Code" were interspersed into the conversation mix of politics and religious thought.

(I, at this point, imagine myself looking out a hermitage window in Cape Breton as the light of dawn sweeps snow from windowsill.)

...we are told things about the world [today] by people whom we do not know, working in places we have not been. Trust is no longer bestowed on familiar individuals; it is accorded to institutions and abstract capacities thought to reside in certain institutions.... We trust the truth of specialized and esoteric scientific knowledge without knowing the scientists who are the authors of its claims.... The gentleman has been replaced by the scientific expert, personal virtue by the possession of specialized knowledge, a calling by a job, a nexus of face-to-face intervention by faceless institutions, individual free action by institutional surveillance. (Steven Shapin, quoted in article "The Dawn of McScience," by Richard Horton, in The New York Review of Books, March 11, 2004)

A former president of Harvard, Derek Bok, says Horton, argues:
The concerns of research...have become skewed toward answering questions that are concerns of industry, not of the public. Secrecy disrupts a productive collegiality among scientists, leading to waste and inefficiency as investigators are forced to duplicate the hidden work of others. Opinions are rented out to the highest bidder. A nefarious web of incentives is introduced into research. And most worrying of all, public confidence in medicine, science, and the academy is undermined. Knowledge is just one more commodity to be traded. (Horton, p.9, NYRB)

Shunryu Suzuki's writings on Zen end the day with quiet reflection:
So the important point is to practice without any idea of a hasty gain, without any idea of fame or profit. We do not practice zazen for the sake of others or for the sake of ourselves. Just practice zazen for the sake of zazen. Just sit.
Thank you very much.
(p.32, in not always so, practicing the true spirit of zen, by Shunryu Suzuki, c.2002)

Suzuki said: I used to think that after attaining enlightenment, I would know who was in the backyard talking, but there is no special person hidden within who is explaining a special teaching. All the things we see, all that we hear, is an expression of Buddha nature. When we say Buddha nature, Buddha nature is everything. Buddha nature is our innate true nature, which is universal to every one of us, to all beings. (p.31)

The backyard was abuzz today.

Nothing special was said.

Only what we see.

As we are.

Joy and sorrow dwell together. Suffering and awareness resound love.

Looking for Immortals

At the stream's source,
The path leads on
To gray cliffs.
Everywhere,
Among blossoming apricot trees,
Dwell immortals.
A hermit says,
"More can be found
on West Peak,
and two or three
have their home
in the clouds."
- Chang chi (776-829)

It is the price paid for remaining engaged with the world and one another. A Bodhisattva continuance. A Christ emergence.

We each stay with one another to see one another through.

No love without suffering; no joy without sorrow.

This -- this is the dwelling place of the immortals. This is where love lives.

As it is.

Chains cannot hold breath.

Chains can only restrict bodies and restrain movement toward or away.

There are Zen students who are in chains
When they go to a teacher,
And the teacher adds another chain.
The students are delighted,
Unable to discern one thing from another.
This is called a guest looking at a guest.
- Linji (d. 867)

A foot of snow overnight. Jim comes by with plow. Sando groans on daybed. Ralph Nader announces his candidacy for president as an Independent. He joins Bush, Kerry, and Edwards as the men most talked about as winter saunters toward March.

In this country we so much want to believe that one man will lead us fairly and wisely. It is a curious belief. Forces of market money, corporate power, cultural and religious passion have overtaken that belief and tossed it to the sideline. The world has raced ahead of any system that claims to bridle and brake it. The term 'war' is applied to almost every aspect of the effort to contain runaway forces governing peoples everywhere.

There are 'wars' on poverty, on drugs, on terrorism. There are culture wars, religious wars, ideological wars, and sexual wars. And of course there are military wars -- the ones using guns, bombs, and fighting troops splattering human blood and remains -- splintering what remains of the human -- across streets and fields and into newsprint and videotape for our eyes to view.

We used to speak of peace. Peace sounds like a quaint word these days.

What would 'peace' even look like if we were able to imagine all these 'wars' being transformed into a different metaphor? It seems that the metaphor of 'fighting' prevails. We fight bad breath, fight aging, fight illness, fight for our rightful places, and we fight death.

In proposing a framework of moral principles to serve a strategy for peace, this book rejects the many calls for a "new ethics" or for some worldwide religious or psychological or political conversion after which peace will arrive, as it were, by itself. We cannot count on such a transformation of society to wipe out the threat of war. Conversions, moreover, can go astray and new ideologies disappoint. When mass transformations bypass reflection, they open the way to uncritical acceptance of beliefs; they can then find unanticipated and brutal outlets, as we have surely witnessed in our own century. The verdict attributed to Voltaire still holds: "Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities." (pp.xvii-xviii, in A Strategy For Peace, Human Values and the Threat of War, by Sissela Bok, c.1989)

Believe absurdities, commit atrocities -- a scary formula that seems as solid as two plus two equals four.

In beginning to work for piecemeal rather than global change as part of a strategy for peace, we can learn from a suggestion of Gandhi's that we carve out spaces or territories in personal relations where violence, say, or deceit will not be used: territories in the family, in the community, with friends and even opponents, where we have more control and also greater responsibility. Such an effort requires that we reconsider the role of violence or deceit in our work -- as news reporters or police officers, as public servants or industrial workers, as scientists or executives -- and at home, with family and friends, in community service, recreation, and entertainment. If one begins thus, with the personal and the piecemeal, one can then try to expand the reach of these spaces or territories of peace. This is the path already chosen by many individuals, community groups, professional organizations, and religious bodies in searching for ways to establish nonviolence.
I see all those who strive to reduce distrust as working for peace, even if they produce no immediate and direct effect on the nuclear balance of terror. (pp.151-152, Bok)

Maybe two plus two equals what goes into the formula, not an end product.

We are encouraged to trust only what is trustworthy. If trust begets trust, and fear begets fear -- a formula confirming what we most long for needs be created.

Perhaps one plus one equals each one.

Breathing centers one entering and leaving. Learning liberates one wondering and watching. Loving releases one trusting and asking.

Breathing learning loving -- we confirm one and one and one again -- a worthy trust.

Unchaining.

Note: Meetingbrook will re-open Tuesday, Feb. 24th.
.....

It's nice to know there's nothing(ness) to worry about.

The news headline read -- "The universe has at least 30 billion years left."

It's also nice to know there's enough time to shingle the barn roof.

A detailed analysis of light from ancient exploding stars has yielded powerful support for the idea that recently discovered "dark energy" that pervades the universe might be what Einstein originally dubbed the "cosmological constant." If confirmed, the findings support theories that the cosmos will continue its slow expansion toward nothingness instead of violently ripping apart or collapsing, astronomers said.

The results were hailed as pivotal new data that will help answer the most pressing and profound questions about the universe, such as what makes up most of the void and what eventually will happen to it.

..."The simplest assumption is that the universe will become ever darker, and ever emptier, as the galaxies recede from us," Rees said. "And in the very far future, there will be nothing in evidence. Everything will have disappeared beyond the horizon."
(from "'Dark Energy' Backs Idea Einstein Junked," by Rob Stein, Washington Post Staff Writer, Saturday, February 21, 2004; Page A02)

In cabin this evening, glancing out over Sando's stretching body, through windows to old apple tree, Sally's land disappears into the horizon. Snow and sleet hit against north windows; an 'Open' banner creaks in wind at southwest corner of porch.

There are other things inviting our attention:
Proverbs 30

2 "I am the most ignorant of men;
I do not have a man's understanding.
3 I have not learned wisdom,
nor have I knowledge of the Holy One.
4 Who has gone up to heaven and come down?
Who has gathered up the wind in the hollow of his hands?
Who has wrapped up the waters in his cloak?
Who has established all the ends of the earth?
What is his name, and the name of his son?
Tell me if you know!

5 "Every word of God is flawless;
he is a shield to those who take refuge in him.
6 Do not add to his words,
or he will rebuke you and prove you a liar.

7 "Two things I ask of you, O LORD ;
do not refuse me before I die:
8 Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
give me neither poverty nor riches,
but give me only my daily bread.
9 Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
and say, 'Who is the LORD ?'
Or I may become poor and steal,
and so dishonor the name of my God.

15 "The leech has two daughters.
'Give! Give!' they cry.

"There are three things that are never satisfied,
four that never say, 'Enough!':
16 the grave, the barren womb,
land, which is never satisfied with water,
and fire, which never says, 'Enough!'

18 "There are three things that are too amazing for me,
four that I do not understand:
19 the way of an eagle in the sky,
the way of a snake on a rock,
the way of a ship on the high seas,
and the way of a man with a maiden.

29 "There are three things that are stately in their stride,
four that move with stately bearing:
30 a lion, mighty among beasts,
who retreats before nothing;
31 a strutting rooster, a he-goat,
and a king with his army around him.

32 "If you have played the fool and exalted yourself,
or if you have planned evil,
clap your hand over your mouth!
33 For as churning the milk produces butter,
and as twisting the nose produces blood,
so stirring up anger produces strife.
(New International Version (NIV) © Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society)

So much of this part of the universe cries out 'Give me, give me,' and, 'It's mine, it's mine,' and, 'It's not enough, it's not enough.'

With 30 billion years left, perhaps we'll forget the impertinence of small mean men -- the individual...
who retreats before nothing;
a strutting rooster, a he-goat,
and a king with his army around him.

Let's not retreat before nothing, let's stop strutting, and let's graze the pastures of kingless, armyless wisdom.

Nothingness, like Godliness, is next. Cleansed minds and refreshed hearts have no need of worry.

Gratefulness and nothingness are friends.

All is as it is.

Friendly.

Note: Meetingbrook will be closed for the remainder of the week. We will re-open Tuesday, Feb. 24th.
.............

The rolling hills and snowy roadside drifts are lovely.

We travel the length of Maine this week doing the part-time work that actually contributes to making payments for rent, oil for shop, propane gas for house, wood for stove, and those nice people who really hate the thought of charging late payment fee at credit card companies.

Sages since time immemorial have only explained the problems of pollution. If one does not have all that false consciousness, emotional and intellectual opinionatedness, and conceptual habituation, one is clear as autumn water, pure and uncontrived, placid and uninhibited. Such people are called Wayfarers, or free people.
- Kuei-Shan (771-854)

On the road 1000 miles so far this week: six bottles of water; three salami sandwiches; one pizza; some Chinese food; three coffees; five cadbury fruit and chocolate bars; trudges through snow; walks on rural roads and sidetrip stroll on Canadian beach.

The dogs think we've moved into the car. A little small, they think, but ok. Time for another walk? -- cool!

Nomadic conversations.

Where is home?

Vagrant. Vagabond. Wayfarer.

Take this turn.

Note: Meetingbrook will be closed Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday this week. We're on the road doing other work.
....................

"Phenomenology is a means of being led by the phenomenon through a way of access genuinely belonging to it." (Richard Palmer, in Hermaneutics: Interpretation Theory in Schleiermacher, Dilthy, Heidegger, and Gadamer, p.128, c.1962)

Each thing, each person, belongs to itself. When we allow that understanding to become a way of being-in-the-world, we participate in the liberation of each to dwell in their true home.

Comprehending the fundamental,
Embracing the spirit,
Roam the root of heaven and earth,
Wander beyond the dust and dirt,
Travel to work with noninvolvement.
Take care not to let mechanical
Intelligence burden your mind;
Watch what is not temporal
And remain unmoved by things.
- Lao tzu

What does 'unmoved by things' here mean?

If each thing is what it is, and there is no gap between ourselves and each thing, therefore when each thing moves we move, being what we are.

Each thing, each person, is not an object for us to move, or to be moved by. If each-is-each, when one moves -- all moves. I am not separate. "That is what 'I' means. 'I' means everyone." (Maezumi Roshi)

So when you practice shikantaza, just sit. This is the condition of openness. Then being totally open, you are nothing other than all space and time. Dogen Zenji says, "On this body, put the Buddha seal." The Buddha seal is this openness, where there is no conditioning, no division between yourself and the object, no division between yourself and your life. (from article "Appreciate Your Life," by Maezumi Roshi, in Shambhala Sun Magazine, May 2001)

Just like that -- morning comes. And we drive to Fort Kent, Presque Isle, Lincoln, and Millinocket.

No gap. Just miles.

Embracing spirit!

If we become what we love, and we see what we are, then, will we be able to say what we love?

This middle February seems laden with odd truths. And odder loves.

"It is true, that which I have revealed to you; there is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a dream -- a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought -- a vagrant thought, a useless thought, a homeless thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities!"
He vanished, and left me appalled; for I knew, and realized, that all he had said was true.
(-- final lines, "The Mysterious Stranger," in Mark Twain's Best, Eight Short Stories by America's Master Humorist, c.1962)

Ask someone what they love -- if you dare. You are asking them to face a truth that is fraught with questions. And those questions, if also faced, are fraught with further questions. Further and deeper, deeper and further fraught-filled questions follow each enquiry.

Paco wondered yesterday in prison if the questions were worth asking. Ryan, Diane, Mike, Saskia, and I were also taken up into the question of grace at the Thin Place where one thing shines through another -- where revelation takes place in and through the most peculiar and often terrible metaphors found in prison.

How retain one's feeling humanity in the face of hateful, harmful experiences? How retrieve trust in an atmosphere of deceit? How believe in the integrity of the relationally-felt when so much fragmentation occurs in the numbing-distortions?

And there we sat.

With one another in the questions.

Don't be surprised,
Don't be startled;
All things will arrange
Themselves.
Don't cause a disturbance,
Don't exert pressure;
All things will clarify
Themselves.
- Huai-nan-tzu

If we become what we love, and we see what we are, then, will we be able to say what we love?

For a period of time -- in prison and in middle February oddities of love -- we sift through our dreams and questions.

Arrange.

Clarify.

See.

Say.

Are we the story we tell about ourselves?

Vast and far-reaching
without boundary,
secluded and pure,
manifesting light,
this spirit is without
obstruction.
Its brightness does not
shine out but can be
called empty and
inherently radiant.
- Hongzhi Zhengjue (1091-1157)

The thought comes, following Thursday Evening Conversation, that everything really is relational -- felt relational -- or we are adrift in a numbing sea of abstract ideas and calculated complaints (consciously, or more likely, unconsciously formulated) that separate us from each other; a separation, only seemingly real, made rigid by unfeeling judgmental mind.

Depression is not about pain. Depression is about the absence of pain, the absence of feeling.

Depression covers anxiety and fear like a fog. Once depressed, I was no longer anxious about my children. If I drank a cup of coffee, my mood was not enhanced; if I went to a party, I didn't feel better.

If I read poetry, my soul no longer blossomed as it had in the past. No feeling is what depression is about, and the condition created a barrier between me and my children, my husband, my friends.

Depression is not about pain: it's about everything gone away. ...

Women in each generation of my family endured lives of poverty; they passively suffered the births of many children, yet they knew there were other lives they could have lived. They were afraid to look. ....

At an early age I learned that things stand for other things. ...

I have had to look at my life. And I have escaped from madness by understanding transformation, how each thing transcends its own reality. I either go mad or I learn about metaphor.

(from "Thorazine Shuffle" by filmmaker Allie Light, in the book Out of Her Mind: Women Writing on Madness, ed. by Rebecca Shannonhouse)

Light's final three sentences are the map to relational feeling; to what is relationally felt.

Is 'what is' relationally felt?
Is 'God' what is touching and holding us together, each to each?

What story are we telling today?

Are we listening?

Suicide bombing in Iraq; 20 Iraqis killed. Next day, another suicide bombing in Iraq; 50 Iraqis killed. Calculations take place. On one side: can we start a civil war? On other side: how do we get out of this country.

Evening meditation,
Enfolded in mountains,
All thoughts of the
World of men dissolve.
Quietly sitting on my cattail cushion
Alone, I face the empty window.
Incense burns away
As the dark night deepens,
And my robe is a single fold
As white dew thickens.
Rising from deep meditation,
I stroll in the garden,
And the moon is already above the highest peak.
( - Ryokan)

Zen poet monk Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) (nicknamed Great Fool) wrote of his life simply, wisely, and directly. He was no politician. He didn't have to explain his whereabouts during an awful war. He didn't have to justify every word and act over the past 30 years. Nor did he have to accumulate a hundred million dollars in order to get the one job that could distribute hundreds of billions of dollars around the world and at home to loyal friends.

I've made my choice for the upcoming presidential election. I want to come out early, once, and finally and be done with it.

I support no one for president. I recommend a council of the wise -- elderly and young -- to take on the conversation daily about how to live in this world with others toward mutual support, respect, and well-being. This council of the wise will know what to do -- they're wise. Whether they model after Native American Circles, or Canadian/British Parliamentary representation, I'm confident they'll find a system that is fair, representative of all Americans, and responsive to the needs of the whole globe.

No more fund-raising. No more advertisements as though candidates were underwear being sold. No more buying and selling of votes and influence so as to benefit and profit a few at the expense of and exclusion of others.

I have fallen to less useful diffidence.

Too confused to ever earn a living
I've learned to let things have their way.
With only three handfuls of rice in my bag
and a few branches by my fireside
I pursue neither right or wrong
and forget worldly fortune and fame.
This damp night under a grassy roof
I stretch out my legs without regrets.
(- Ryokan)

Tuesday Evening Conversation followed reading on 'Changing Karma' by Shunryu Suzuki.
In conversing it seems it is not a matter of right or wrong -- as though dualistic list-making and side-taking could remedy complex human difficulties. It is more the willingness to look hard and long at the difficulties and let arise from the core of the difficulty itself information necessary to move to the next step in the right direction. "Enjoy your life," Suzuki said, "and do not be fooled by things."

All karma is present at each moment. We might not even know what good or bad effects of good or bad causes are there in the moment, in the very next action we are about to perform. It is not necessary to know, to be able to predict or analyze outcome or payoff. What is necessary is to engage what is there and next there with attention and clear mind -- to do what is requested by the situation to be done -- without concern for the fruits of the action, without calculation of benefit or deficit following. A clear and selfless act records no karma.

The flame of attention both lights up and dissolves karma. Loving attention needs nothing other than itself.

REPLY TO A FRIEND
In stubborn stupidity, I live on alone
befriended by trees and herbs.
Too lazy to learn right from wrong,
I laugh at myself, ignoring others.
Lifting my bony shanks, I cross the stream,
a sack in my hand, blessed by spring weather.
Living thus, I want for nothing,
at peace with all the world.
(- Ryokan)

There are many worlds, worlds beyond description. 'Universe' and even 'Multiverses' probably do not begin to reveal the worlds-within-worlds and the worlds-beyond-worlds gracing what we call existence or being. Each human being, each animal, each insect, each life-cell -- each a world unto itself that we find convenient to categorize into species and bio-animate clusters. Billions and trillions of worlds to the nth power reside side by side near and far. What would it mean for us to be "at peace with all the world"?

Your finger points to the moon,
but the finger is blind until the moon appears.
What connection has moon and finger?
Are they separate objects or bound?
This is a question for beginners
wrapped in seas of ignorance.
Yet one who looks beyond metaphor
knows there is no finger; there is no moon.
(- Ryokan)

Richard's contribution ended the final circle comments. In them, in that way he has, he called the other four of us 'novices' in our understanding. This I took as a great compliment. To be a beginner is just about where I suspect I am, we are, he she or it is -- if we are in the process of approaching and stepping into right understanding of life. Lloyd laughed. Saskia laughed. John laughed. I laughed. And Richard? -- he too laughed.

Winter dinghy, overturned with crusty snow atop blue covering tarp below birdfeeders and tucked underside Loon IV, bobs in sea of ignorance riding swelling stillness and solitude.

Ryokan has it: there is no ocean, there is no land.

There is just question -- and metaphor.

Ask, or don't ask -- still, one speaks through another.

Only listen.

Tommy sits by fire. He tells of Sunday caucus. Maine turned out.

Flat Lake cold penetrates
Water-lily clothes
The mountain by the lake
Is neither right nor wrong
Dusty tracks all end
The world is far away.
White clouds and gulls
Have no hidden plans.
- Han-shan Te-ch'ing (1546-1623)

Tommy tells me to go back into solitude when I say I'd begun to feel sorry for Bush Sunday morning as he tried to present himself as a war president with war before his eyes everyday. A conservative columnist for the New York Times suggests Bush is living each day as though it were September 12, 2001. The nation has gone forward 880 days.

Tommy's for Kucinich. He'll be a state delegate.

Joanie comes in. She and Tommy debate whether he really was able to tell she wasn't wearing her leg brace anymore. She claims he couldn't tell. He said he could. It's like listening to the argument before the invasion into Iraq whether it was possible to prove there weren't any WMD. It's always hard to prove a negative. Tommy and Joanie go to opposite corners of the shop for a spell, then reach a truce. She asks him for a ride home when he leaves. He wonders if the step on his pickup is too high for her. If only Saddam had asked the same of Bush -- just give me a ride out of Iraq when it's time for me to go.

Richard comes in and Joanie tells the story of her fall, hit head, and broken elbow to him. He and Tommy talk football. They're still rolling about the Patriots win in the Super Bowl.

It's a hard emergence from solitude. Were I more gracious I'd emerge more easily.

On way to cabin this morning, crunching frozen snow. Dogs arrive. Saskia arrives.

No hidden plans.

Three days solitude.

Snow fell wet and slippery. Crusted with cold. Now softens with warmer light.

Cranes in the wilderness,
Lonely clouds,
Their destination is uncertain;
Where in this world
Am I to address my deepest thoughts?
Forest trees in serried ranks
Ascend the cliff walls.
Like a series of brush strokes,
Hills and peaks arrayed
Out to the horizon;
My mind brims with
Zen clear as water,
Old bones jut angularly
Thin as kindling;
Fame is nothing one can keep for long;
A hundred years of light and dark
Before we reach our end.
- Betsugen Enshi (1296 - 1364)

If I never again left this hermitage I'm not sure I'd miss anything beyond the gate.

"Since I have embarked on the wide ocean, and given full sails to the wind, I say there is nothing in the whole universe that persists. Everything flows, and is formed as a fleeting image. Time itself, also, glides, in its continual motion, no differently than a river. For neither the river, nor the swift hour can stop: but as wave impels wave, and as the prior wave is chased by the coming wave, and chases the one before, so time flees equally, and, equally, follows, and is always new. For what was before is left behind: and what was not comes to be: and each moment is renewed.
(--from Ovid, Bk XV:176-198 Pythagoras's Teachings: The Eternal Flux)

It is narrow corridor passing between simple accepting appreciation of everything, and indifferent allowing of everything to be what it is. While the former seems the more attractive attitude, given our penchant for positive engagement -- the latter seems to be a step back non-engaging mere viewing of what is there. They might not be any further apart than the middle lines running through their midst -- both horizontally and vertically.

"Son, thy sins are forgiven thee..." Jesus says to the paralytic lowered thru the roof in Mark 2:1-10. Some thought he blasphemed. Jesus told him to "...arise, take up thy pallet, and go to thy house." Jesus often was quoted using the words, "Go thy way."

What we call sin is personal. We feel its effects. We feel outside. We're unsure why. We don't know. We can't see clearly. Our movements are constrained. We feel there's no place to go. Life is suffering.

Sin, from another view, is the fact of existence not a thing in existence escapes. Whatever 'is' finds itself deeply rooted in the fact of existence -- suffering uncertainty.

If sin is taken away, do we then no longer suffer? Are we no longer uncertain? Is the central fact of existence dissolved? Are we indeed free? Are we no longer a felt fact suffering unknowing existence?

I don't know. I am a fact of unknowing existence. I am what some call sinner.

If Jesus takes away, or forgives, sin in individuals, or even the world -- what is taking place? Is there no longer sin? So far, even with the life of Jesus celebrated as the life of the Messiah, the one who takes away the sins of the world -- sin seems secure and well situated in the world. What, if anything, has changed?

Nothing.

Nothing has changed. But -- something has been added. That which has been added is awareness. Awareness has been introduced to complement ignorance. Unknowing existence is no longer simply blind, no longer simply paralyzed. It no longer simply follows the dictates of mind and emotions, rote and mechanical.

Awareness is the crossing line in existence.

Rather than increasing suffering, awareness sees suffering as it is. Rather than numbing us to the consequences of our actions and choices, awareness places us within the very fact of action and choice. Awareness takes away nothing -- awareness is not a thing. Rather, awareness shines light through nothingness, right through the center nothingness.

This is how awareness and sin coexist today -- one shines through the other -- and in that passage through, we are able to see, affirm, and release what light has illumined. Some might want more: the elimination of the experience of separation, or eradication of remorseful residue caused by hurtful acts or attitudes. It's something else I look to.

I want no amputation of human existence. I'd rather the light shining through human existence -- with its cruciform intersection illuminating and liberating -- pointing out from within the way before us.

Sins are for giving each one of us light to show us through this existence.

O happy fault! Light's Christing passage!

Light, like time, "... flees equally, and, equally, follows, and is always new. For what was before is left behind: and what was not comes to be: and each moment is renewed." (Ovid)

"Go thy way," Jesus tells them.

We assume they do.

Note: The bookshop/bakery is closed today, Sunday, and there will be no formal Sunday Evening Practice at the Hermitage.

..........

Solitude with cat.

Mu-ge stretches on black daybed cover in kitchen. There's no more cut wood. There is Irish music on "Thistle and Shamrock."

I cannot get used to war.

THE MIRROR

Seeing is believing.
Whatever was thought or said,

these persistent, inexorable deaths
make faith as such absent,

our humanness a question,
a disgust for what we are.

Whatever the hope,
here it is lost.

Because we coveted our difference,
here is the cost.
(Poem by Robert Creeley, in Life and Death, c.1998)

Same and different, the Zen Master said, exist only in the mind. The mind with fondness for war is not easy to understand. The mind making excuses for war is hard to listen to. Those who say, "We're all the same!" are as difficult to listen to as those saying, "We're all different."

DIVINE CONTEMPLATION
Who in this mortal life would see
The Light that is beyond all light,
Beholds it best by faring forth
Into the darkness of the Night.
(from "The Cherubinic Wanderer," by Angelus Silesius, 1624-1677)

It is quite a dance twirling between birth and death, light and dark, something and nothing. I cannot help wondering what it is I do not yet comprehend about myself and fellow humankind that we so easily put to death and cause to be annihilated those animals and humans getting in the way of our craving minds.

God made everything out of nothing, but the nothingness shows through. (- Paul Valery)

Mu-ge is on watch. The sounds in the walls will soon begin.

Solitude is like that.

Charlotte and John play guitar earlier and sing. One goes; one stays sitting in silence.

Looking out at harbor, a glaze of white falling snow. In right hand pane of lower window, reflection of fire back across the room.

This message is not just
For the rich and noble
The thousand flowers
And the hundred grasses
All have spring within them
Profound people in later days
Who read the sutras
Do not ask the way to the
Great road of enlightenment.
Stop! Stop!
Why do you have to wander the south?
The site of enlightenment is right
Under your feet.
- T'aego (1301-1382)

News brought through shop is of a man who summers across harbor, he has a type of cancer; will we keep him in prayer? Another man from nearby is separated from wife and child; he's been seen and doesn't look good, (says the bearer of news), thinks he is hiding -- maybe drinking?

An emigre says this country is beginning to unravel the lies and distortions surrounding the war against Iraq, bad economic policy, and perhaps the deeply disturbing atmosphere of intimidation and fear will begin to lift -- won't it? Commissions are being formed, special investigations begin, newspapers and magazines are emboldened raising questions and expressing opinions -- truth will out?

Open your ears, O God, to my prayer,
and do not hide when I call on you:
turn to me and answer me.
My thoughts are distracted and I am disturbed
by the voice of my enemy and the oppression of the wicked.

They let loose their wickedness on me,
they persecute me in their anger.
My heart is tied in a knot
and the terrors of death lie upon me;
fear and trembling cover me;
terror holds me tight.

I said, "Will no-one give me wings like a dove?
I shall fly away and rest.
I shall flee far away
and remain all alone.
I shall wait for him who will save me
from the stormy wind and the tempest?"
-- Psalm 54 (55)

Snow blows dusk into harbor. Tide rises, lowers, ebbs, turns again. Turning hidden beyond storm clouds, full moon is somewhere else seen.

If enlightenment were to be of anyone's concern, it could be looked for embedded in each person's life and situation.
If we were to wish to fly away and rest we could turn around right where we are -- far away and absolutely near where our thinking thought we were -- recognizing the place as origin -- remaining, all, alone.

Psalmist words for us: O God -- Turn to me as we to thee.

In turning is the return -- whether turning toward or away -- it is in the return to origin we find what we are looking for.

Loss only prepares in us what we are reluctant to acknowledge.

What is that?

If we look under our feet, what is seen...?

A locked church sent him into the shop.

His brother dies and is not found for over two weeks. He takes a friend into his house the night before he learns of his brother. The needy friend reminds him of his brother. Why do we pray?

A single moon
Bright and clear
In an unclouded sky;
Yet still we stumble
In the world’s darkness.
- Ikkyu (1394-1481)

We stumble into one another's presence.

We pray to recognize each in each.

Power is passing.

When the fury of emotion appears before us or within us -- bow head, be submissive, surrender to the passing enormity that cannot be controlled -- only let go,

Creaking to the post office
on my rusty bike
I saw one purple iris
wild in the wet green
of the rice field.
I wanted to send it to you.
I can only tell you
it was there.
(-- Maura O'Halloran, in Pure Heart, Enlightened Mind, The Zen Journal and Letters of Maura "Soshin" O'Halloran)

At Wednesday Evening Laura Conversation we pronounced questions that accompany us on spiritual path. Eight silences speak the same number of questions.

Encircling the middle, interest ("inter"= between; "esse"= to be) in what is asked.

What is asking is what is answering.

In silence, listening with one another, and speaking.

It was there.

In Boothbay the man about to turn 80 said over soup and sandwich, "You know what it's like to experience the futility of life?" With his eyes he anticipated a yes. I said yes.

When silent illumination is complete,
The lotus will blossom,
The dreamer will awaken.
The hundred rivers flow to the ocean,
The thousand mountains
Face the loftiest peak.
Like the goose preferring milk to water,
Like a busy bee gathering pollen,
When Silent Illumination
Reaches the ultimate,
I carry on the original tradition.
This practice is called Silent Illumination.
It penetrates from the deepest to the highest.
- Hung Chih Cheng Chueh (1092-1157)

Lighting fire this morning I thought about the realities of solitary life. It's not so much being alone that characterizes a solitary life. It's more a willingness to be irrelevant.

The supreme support for a person who has just died is the depth of our own practice and the strength of our positive, compassionate intention. If through our practice we are familiar with the nature of mind and can rest undistracted in that state, then meditating on behalf of our deceased friend will "show" him the truth of his own nature. As Padmasambhava said:
"As soon as our body has separated into mind and matter, in the gap before it has been encased once again in the net of a future body, the mind along with its magical display has no concrete material support. For as long as it lacks such a material basis we are independent and we can recognize. This power to attain stability by just recognizing the nature of mind is like a torch which in one instant can clear away the darkness of eons."
(p.189, in Facing Death and Finding Hope, A Guide to the Emotional and Spiritual Care of the Dying, by Christine Longaker)

Irrelevant, I light fire in the morning; and in the afternoon break ice by dock in harbor alongside Sam and Susan's dory.

To be irrelevant is to love to be unknown.

Just recognizing.

Enough for now.

Fire sparks at end of day in shop fireplace. At Hermitage, woodstove in cabin easily warms interior now that temperature has neared +20. Kitchen woodstove cheers the house.

Silvery moon hangs high in the sky.
I ride a tiny boat in the vast and misty sea.
Moon and sea forgotten;
I forget that I have forgotten.
And before the window
I sit quietly in meditation until midnight.
- Jakushitsu (1290 - 1368)

Maybe for only Sunday Evening Practice tonight.

Chris read from William James at Saturday's Poetry, Tea, and Literature. I find this today:
Summing up in the broadest possible way the characteristics of the religious life, as we have found them, it includes the following beliefs: --

1. That the visible world is part of a more spiritual universe from which it draws its chief significance;

2. That union or harmonious relation with that higher universe is our true end;

3. That prayer or inner communion with the spirit thereof -- be that spirit "God" or "law" -- is a process wherein work is really done, and spiritual energy flows in and produces effects, psychological or material, within the phenomenal world.

Religion includes also the following psychological characteristics: --

4. A new zest which adds itself like a gift to life, and takes the form either of lyrical enchantment or of appeal to earnestness and heroism.

5. An assurance of safety and a temper of peace, and, in relation to others, a preponderance of loving affections.
(p.475, Lecture XX Conclusions, THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE, A Study in Human Nature Being the Gifford Lectures on Natural Religion Delivered at Edinburgh in 1901-1902)

It occurs to me writing someone in the Midwest that all we can do is try to see what is being seen:
As a practitioner of Buddhism I subscribe to the middle way. As a Christian I've always believed Christ was the center, at center, of everything in creation -- literally in the middle of everything. So, the middle is a good place to be aware of -- but it takes practice for me.
If I were looking with an open heart, I'd be looking through that middle reality existing at core and between you and me. If I were aware of what I was looking at and through, I'd be ok.

Darkness is ending. It is February. The sun warms.

Hugh C. writes, "Hello Liam O' hAlpin," and sends the following:
IMBOLG or BRIDGID'S DAY
Imbolg (Feb 1) is "a solemn and joyful time: the ending of darkness after
the 'seed of light' which began at the Solstice [which] gradually pushes
its way into the air." It is also the time when first-born lambs emerge and
the hours of daylight increase. Imbolg is called St. Bridget's Day and she
is still known as Mary of the Gael. She is invoked with Mary (spelled Muire
in Gaelic) in birthing or in lighting the fires or in the evening by
"smooring" or putting ashes on, the fire. She is petitioned with prayers to
protect the house and the household throughout the night. According to
legend she was the midwife and wet-nurse to Jesus and as such was invoked
during childbirth. Above all doorways it used to be the custom to place a
Brigid's Cross (the off-centered cross symbolizing also the wheel of life).
It was traditionally woven with rushes (reeds) on the eve of Imbolg. In
times gone by the response to a greeting such as "Dia agat" was "Brid agus
Muire agat" (breejus mwirragut).

Women in the Highlands of Scotland invoked St. Brigid with the prayer
Come, thou Brigid, handmaid calm
Hasten the butter on the cream
See impatient Peter
waiting the buttered bannock
Come Mary Mother mild
Hasten the butter on the cream
See Paul and John and Jesus
Waiting the gracious butter.

Brigid was Abbess of Kildare and is the patron saint, not only of birth and
milking and churning, but also of poets, smiths and healers. In these forms
she is the continuation of the "tripartite goddess: the young girl, the muse
of the poets; the matron, whose skill...also shapes the material world; and
the crone, the old woman, whose wisdom enables her to heal those who ask her
for help." Cormac's Glossary (10th century) says that Brighid [was] a
poetess, daughter of the Dagda. She is the female sage, woman of wisdom, or
Brighid the Goddess, whom poets venerated because [she was] very great and
famous for her protecting care. She was therefore called "Goddess of Poets".
Her sisters were Brighid the female physician, and Brighid the female smith;
among all Irishmen, a goddess was called "Brighid." According to Eric
Partridge, the etymologist, her name is akin to the Sanskrit "brhati",
meaning lofty and hence powerful.
(Quotes are from "The Celtic Year" by Shirley Toulson and "The Encyclopedia
of Celtic Wisdom" by Caitlin Matthews.)

It cheers there are such women and men about who are willing to look and to see.

For each and all of us this day: Assurance of safety, a temper of peace, and, in relation to others, a preponderance of loving affections!

And may we see and find ourselves a middle way.