Nearing dusk

Walking woods on Ragged Mtn with white Border Collie black saddle-spot on back. Solitary tumbling brook sliding around snowy stones. Trees still and quiet as winds suddenly gust animating conversation.

A heart free of desire is true emptiness:
No holding back,
Just drift with the untied clouds,
Existence and non-existence are one
And the same:
Embrace the void.
To the seeker, emptiness is All.
- Loy Ching-Yuen (1873-1960)

Woman leaves for family visit. The mountain sent a pine needle spray for octogenarian mourning her dog's death. House gathers itself for dusk. Fire in wood stove glows red.

Your eternal word leaped down from heaven
in the silent watches of the night,
and now your Church is filled with wonder
at the nearness of her God.
(-- Alternative Prayer, Christmas Morning Hour)

Black and white cat on his back on Wohnkuche rug in front of fire. Newly placed colored lights on yew bush bird house, white lights on potted indoor tree by wall of glass doors.

Gusting whoosh sounds through window.

This is the day.

The Lord has made.

Out of nothing other than nearness.

Dawn

And so...

It is!

...Christmas.

Night wind blows away darkness.

Whisper light breaks over tree.

Recapitulation. (Anakephalaiosis.)

"Start again" -- silence says.

Bayview street is quiet. Shops close early for Christmas Eve. Passing wharf where last night's fire, doused, gone inside itself again, officially inspected, sends charred memory smells across evening.

Saskia shops for family in her own shop. Rokie snoozes as gentle music sits quietly in vacant chairs.

Roof rake from Rankins on top of Element is ready for ride to hermitage and thinks of stretching and pulling in the morning. Black Oil bird seed hunches in rear of car for morning's Eucharist with Blue Jay, Chickadee, Nut Hatch, Junco, Cardinal, Titmouse, White Throated Sparrow and assorted passersby.

Most people can read a book with words, but not one without words, and they can play a lyre with strings but not one without strings. How can they derive tranquil pleasure from a book or lyre, when they exercise their intelligence only on the material, but not on the spiritual, aspect of things?
- Hung Ying-ming 1596

Walking town I nod and smile to those I meet. Each one of us the material/spiritual, each this Eve the expectancy of something conceived without interference or separation. We greet one another on slushy sidewalk.

The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and they will call him Emmanuel, a name which means ‘God-is-with-us.’
(--from Matthew 1:18-25)

It's a lovely thought. A kindly consideration.

Is.

God-with.

Us.

What is born?

On this frosty day, clouds and mist congeal,
On the mountain moon, the icy chill grows.
At night I receive a letter from my home,
At dawn I leave without anyone knowing.
- Fahai

The fire down the waterfront from the balcony was spectacular. http://knox.villagesoup.com/Government/story.cfm?storyID=139836

What comes to be, falls away.

Only aseity perdures.

Beginningless.

Endless.

Now.

If I don't know, is there anything or anyone other? Is it possible that the great revelation in Christian metaphor and lore is the emptiness and transparency of truth and love in our middle in the midst of mere existence?

Not to know, to have don't-know mind, is ground for awakening into this and this and this. If we enter and receive this -- this body, this mind, this heart -- are we in the midst of the innocent unknowing loving presence at once called 'Christ', 'Shunyata', 'Kenosis' ?

'Christ'-- cf. (http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christ)
'Shunyata' -- cf. (http://www.kheper.net/topics/Buddhism/sunyata.htm)
'Kenosis' -- cf. (http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenosis)

Here's what I like about Advent and Christmas: If there is no other, who knows?

Versions of Isaiah 45:5

New American Standard Bible (©1995)
"I am the LORD, and there is no other; Besides Me there is no God. I will gird you, though you have not known Me;

King James Bible
I am the LORD, and there is none else, there is no God beside me: I girded thee, though thou hast not known me:

American King James Version
I am the LORD, and there is none else, there is no God beside me: I girded you, though you have not known me:

American Standard Version
I am Jehovah, and there is none else; besides me there is no God. I will gird thee, though thou hast not known me;

Douay-Rheims Bible
I am the Lord, and there is none else: there is no God, besides me: I girded thee, and thou hast not known me:

Darby Bible Translation
I am Jehovah, and there is none else; there is no God beside me: I girded thee, and thou hast not known me;

English Revised Version
I am the LORD, and there is none else; beside me there is no God: I will gird thee, though thou hast not known me:

Webster's Bible Translation
I am the LORD, and there is none else, there is no God besides me: I girded thee, though thou hast not known me:

World English Bible
I am Yahweh, and there is none else. Besides me, there is no God. I will strengthen you, though you have not known me;

Young's Literal Translation
I am Jehovah, and there is none else, Except Me there is no God, I gird thee, and thou hast not known Me.

Apocalypsis 22:21 Latin: Biblia Sacra Vulgata
ego Dominus et non est amplius extra me non est deus accinxi te et non cognovisti me

Isaías 45:5 Spanish: La Biblia de las Américas (©1997)
Yo soy el SEÑOR, y no hay ningún otro; fuera de mí no hay Dios. Yo te ceñiré, aunque no me has conocido,

Isaías 45:5 Spanish: La Nueva Biblia de los Hispanos (©2005)
Yo soy el SEÑOR, y no hay ningún otro; Fuera de Mí no hay Dios. Yo te fortaleceré, aunque no Me has conocido,

Isaías 45:5 Spanish: Reina Valera (1909)
Yo Jehová, y ninguno más hay: no hay Dios fuera de mí. Yo te ceñiré, aunque tú no me conociste;

Isaías 45:5 Spanish: Sagradas Escrituras (1569)
Yo soy el SEÑOR, y ninguno más hay ; no hay Dios fuera de mí. Yo te ceñiré, aunque tú no me conociste;

Isaías 45:5 Spanish: Modern
Yo soy Jehovah, y no hay otro. Aparte de mí no hay Dios. Yo te ciño, aunque tú no me conoces,

Ésaïe 45:5 French: Louis Segond (1910)
Je suis l'Eternel, et il n'y en a point d'autre, Hors moi il n'y a point de Dieu; Je t'ai ceint, avant que tu me connusses.

Ésaïe 45:5 French: Darby
Moi, je suis l'Éternel, et il n'y en a point d'autre; il n'y a point de Dieu si ce n'est moi. Je t'ai ceint, et tu ne me connaissais pas;...

Ésaïe 45:5 French: Martin (1744)
Je suis l'Eternel, et il n'y en a point d'autre; il n'y a point de Dieu que moi. Je t'ai ceint, quoique tu ne me connusses point.

Ésaïe 45:5 French: Ostervald (1744)
Je suis l'Éternel, et il n'y en a point d'autre; il n'y a pas d'autre Dieu que moi. Je t'ai ceint, quand tu ne me connaissais pas;

Jesaja 45:5 German: Luther (1912)
Ich bin der HERR, und sonst keiner mehr; kein Gott ist außer mir. Ich habe dich gerüstet, da du mich noch nicht kanntest,

Jesaja 45:5 German: Luther (1545)
Ich bin der HERR und sonst keiner mehr; kein Gott ist ohne ich. Ich habe dich gerüstet, da du mich noch nicht kanntest,

Jesaja 45:5 German: Elberfelder (1871)
Ich bin Jehova, und sonst ist keiner, außer mir ist kein Gott; ich gürtete dich, und du kanntest mich nicht: -
(--Isaiah 45:5) http://scripturetext.com/isaiah/45-5.htm

Not me.

I don't know.

But that's the miracle.

That's the gift.

Every blowing grain snowy swirls by barn door this Sunday storm.

Vespers read. Sauerkraut soup. Finish Hawk's Cross, a novel by Mark Varnum. Enjoyed it.

What storm gives, beside storm soup, is quiet punctuated by flashing lights of plows climbing hill to the Bok place, edging Hope

Subject and object from the start
Are no different,
The myriad things nothing
But images in the mirror.
Bright and resplendent,
Transcending both guest and host,
Complete and realized,
All is permeated by the absolute.
A single form encompasses
The multitude of dharmas,
All of which are interconnected
Within the net of Indra.
Layer after layer there is no
Point at which it all ends,
Whether in motion or still,
All is fully interpenetrating.
- Zhitong (d.1124)

History.com archives "The Universe" for our viewing tonight. Things are very big out there. A woman on eve of follow-up visit to medical center tomorrow thinks about how much it matters to live longer. In light of millions of years between celestial bodies, what's 50 or 60 years?

Time goes.

Bye.

It's winter!

Compline completes.

If you care, do something. If you care and don't do something, care is uncaring. If you don't care, and do something, care insinuates beyond intention. But if you don't care, and don't do something, you are no longer alive.

One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.
--Carl Jung

Practice and care are two made one.

With red leaves left after frost
That you gathered under the trees
You brew tea, call me in
A most generous thought!
We sit here not speaking;
The mountain window is still,
But pine winds from ten thousand peaks
Stir in the kettle.
- Gensei (1623-1668)

When someone dies the spirit, they say, leaves. The body is experienced as vacated. I think differently.

With death the spirit goes still and silent. It does not vacate. It doesn't move or activate or sound through. Instead, it rests. In peace. Unmoving.

Stillness is life at peace.

No wonder stillness is unrecognized.

As is God.

Tea, anyone?

Britta, Erika's devoted shepherd dog, went still today.

I'm not fond of the idea God is outside of creation. A very pleasant young man doing theological studies chatted about this notion earlier.

I'm not fond of professional sports either. There might be a connection.

It’s over, the “buddhas and patriarchs” disease
That once gripped my chest.
Now I’m just an ordinary man
With a clean slate.
- Daito (1282-1334)

I like cherry pie in the evening.

A wood stove finally hot.

And being nobody.

Finally no one.

Maybe we're looking for God in all the wrong places.

That's where God is.

I want you to be happy, always happy in the Lord; I repeat, what I want is your happiness. Let your tolerance be evident to everyone: the Lord is very near.
(--Philippians 4:4-5)

Forget being right. It's irrelevant. What's wrong is where we live. It's what Advent tries to point out. To see what's wrong is to stand alone. To act with what's compassionate and forgiving in the face of what's wrong is to sit together.

Soaring birds disappear over the distant mountains,
Leaves fall continually in the quiet garden.
Lonely autumn breezes.
An old monk in his black robe, I stand alone.
- Ryokan (1758-1831)

The old monk falls continually.

We're not dead yet. We're not born yet.

What are we?

Be evident.

Be happy.

Don't know.

Stay near.

There's no teaching, only learning.

A few fluttering green leaves and fallen red flowers on the doorstep, if they are gathered together, become the subject matter of poetry. A mass of floating cloud and a sweep of glimmering mist before the window, if their meaning is apprehended, suggest a clue to the wisdom of Ch’an.
- Hung Ying-ming 1596

All knowledge is self-knowledge.

The Torture Report

Most Americans have long known that the horrors of Abu Ghraib were not the work of a few low-ranking sociopaths. All but President Bush’s most unquestioning supporters recognized the chain of unprincipled decisions that led to the abuse, torture and death in prisons run by the American military and intelligence services.

Now, a bipartisan report by the Senate Armed Services Committee has made what amounts to a strong case for bringing criminal charges against former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld; his legal counsel, William J. Haynes; and potentially other top officials, including the former White House counsel Alberto Gonzales and David Addington, Vice President Dick Cheney’s former chief of staff.

The report shows how actions by these men “led directly” to what happened at Abu Ghraib, in Afghanistan, in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, and in secret C.I.A. prisons.
(--from Editorial The New York Times, Published: December 17, 2008)

The ethical life has nothing to do with knowledge, but with presencing awareness of interrconnectivity.

No one stands alone in this.

We hold it all together.

Let's put it down!

Winter zendo in front room.

A space defined by silence, sitting, scripture, and sutra.

If this life buffeted by the wind
Of a thousand sorrows
Is even more precarious than a bubble on water,
It is a miracle, after sleeping,
Breathing in, breathing out, to wake up refreshed!
(- Nagarjuna (1st c) in DailyZen)

The whole house is monastery of momentary awareness.

Until forgetting.

Which is often.

Everything fails.

It's what makes life bearable.

A Hundred Bolts of Satin
by Kay Ryan

All you
have to lose
is one
connection
and the mind
uncouples
all the way back.
It seems
to have been
a train.
There seems
to have been
a track.
The things
that you
unpack
from the
abandoned cars
cannot sustain
life: a crate of
tractor axles,
for example,
a dozen dozen
clasp knives,
a hundred
bolts of satin—
perhaps you
specialized
more than
you imagined.
(--Poem, “A Hundred Bolts of Satin” by Kay Ryan, from Say Uncle. Copyright 2000)

To fail is to not forget human existence.

As a failure, my memory is just fine.

I hone it daily.

If it is the case that man is emptied of all things, creatures, himself and god, and if god could still find a place in him to act . . . this man is not poor with the most intimate poverty. For God does not intend that should have a place for him to work in since true poverty of spirit requires that man shall be emptied of god and all his works so that if God wants to act in the soul he himself must be the place in which he acts . . . [God takes then] responsibility for his own action and [is] himself the scene of the action, for God is one who acts within himself.
(-- Meister Eckhart in Thomas Merton On Mysticism, by Raymond Bailey, pp.169-170; from his sermon "Blessed are the Poor")

An old Christmas card, undated, with your and your son's name, suddenly appeared today. Two snowmen, a young boy between them, your name and his. You were not in the picture. It was before you died. This much, at least, I know successfully.

Still.

I remember fondly failure.

Note: The shop is closed today. We're working at hermitage.
Yes, there will be Sunday Evening Practice tonight at 6pm at the hermitage.

Be what God is; be grateful.

Be happy at all times; pray constantly; and for all things give thanks to God, because this is what God expects you to do in Christ Jesus.
(1 Thessalonians 5:16)

Advent invites gratitude.

Because God is.

What?

You.

Become.

With gratefulness.

News: American cars are dead and their auto workers are making too much (say some Senators) at 71 dollars an hour. Ok. Elsewhere a professional baseball pitcher's 16.5 million a year for 9 months work, or 1.8 million a month or 7 starts a month at 262,000 for every 3 hours on the mound. Another fellow gets 23 million a year for 9 months work. These kings of baseball are good to go. One guy's $425,000 dollars for three hours work every 5 days has become an obscenity that can be justified only by truly disconnected minds. (If my math is off, it's not by much. If my mind is off, it's off by a mile.)

The Yankees and Burnett agreed to terms on a five-year, $82.5 million contract, the team’s second major strike on the free agent pitching market this week. After reaching a seven-year, $161 million agreement with C.C Sabathia on Wednesday, the Yankees bolstered their rotation again. (--Burnett and Yankees Reach 5-Year Deal TYLER KEPNER, NYTimes, Published: December 12, 2008)

A connected mind is no-mind. It arrives. It attends. It abrogates itself.

When the wind blows through the scattered bamboos, they do not hold its sound after it has gone. When the wild geese fly over a cold lake, it does not retain their shadows after they have passed. So the mind of the superior person begins to work only when an event occurs; and it becomes a void again when the matter ends.
- Hung Ying-ming 1596

Sports and politics are no longer interesting. Their time is up. The throne is abandoned. An earth too soon forgotten is rising from obscurity to place itself before our numbed mind.

Returning to Earth

I'm getting very old. If I were a mutt
in dog years I'd be seven, not stray so far.
I am large. Tarpon my age are often large
but they are inescapably fish. A porpoise
my age was the King of New Guinea in 1343.
Perhaps I am the king of my dogs, cats, horses
but I have dropped any notion of explaining
to them why I read so much. To be mysterious
is a prerogative of kingship. I discovered
lately that my subjects do not live a life,
but are life itself. They do not recognize
the pain of the schizophrenia of kingship.
To them I am pretty much a fellow creature.
(--Poem, "Returning To Earth" by Jim Harrison.)

The time for silly games is past.

Let's drop the bat and the battering.

We are one another. Will we share what we know to be necessary for one and all? We are one another.

Everybody knows that.

And knowing this truth through and through -- sooner or later.

We acquiesce.

Ice storm thickens all surfaces. Feet slide along sidewalk. Staying put for night.

Thomas Merton died 40 years ago today. In his honor we pronounce for the 11th time our monastic promises.

Looking for Buddha
Trying to find a Buddha or enlightenment is like trying to grab space. Space has a name but no form. It's not something you can pick up or put down. And you certainly can't grab it. Beyond this mind you'll never see a Buddha. The Buddha is a product of your mind. Why look for a Buddha beyond this mind?
(-- The Zen teachings of Bodhidharma)

As monastics we promise contemplation, conversation, and correspondence. We say them in public.

I live on Earth at present, and I don't know what I am. I know that I am not a category. I am not a thing -- a noun. I seem to be a verb, an evolutionary process -- an integral function of the universe.
(--Buckminster Fuller, from his book, Seem To Be a Verb)

We word our unknowing.

Happy to be so doing.

Integrally functioning.

Finally coming to a place where one is at home.

Where belonging has been difficult to grasp.

I have lived for more than fifty years,
Floating in the sea of birth and death
There is nothing to grasp.
- Shin’etsu (1639-1696)

Saint Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin (1474 - 1548) met the Aztec Mother who wanted a church built on the spot she appeared. With persuasion of cloak and flowers the Bishop relented. Juan "left everything and devoted himself to the care of the sanctuary and the reception of pilgrims until his death in 1548." (--Universalis.com)

If I were a saint I would do the same.

McClures Beach

Here at the end of the world,
or so it seems to a traveller
in this country,

where the sun buffs the sea silver
in the late afternoon,
and water drips from the high clay banks,

having come as far as it can
from the upland meadows
where tule elk graze,

even here at this end of the world
where two turkey vultures in the sand
empty the white rib cage of a dead seal,

even here where the water is dripping
into the sand, poppies blossom,
yellow and orange,

and the land is bright with wildflowers,
as if to surprise each new visitor
who comes to the end of the world.
(--Poem, McClures Beach, by Sidney Hall Jr.)

I feel I've come to the end of the world. I don't want to build a church -- at least, no one has asked me to. I want to step into the sanctuary of the monastery of the world without distinctions about what is church and what is world. I wish to bow to Mother and thank her for the rain, the snow, the flowers, and the mountain.

To smile to each new visitor. As Juan must have.

Silently, in his eyes, saying: This is where we belong!

What is within is what is withing. What is withing is what is within.

Night spends itself. We are beneficiaries. Behind the hills across the road last dreams begin to turn to dawn.

Seeing the Buddha

At the time of the Buddha there was a monk who was so infatuated with the Buddha that he followed him around like a puppy dog. Wherever the Buddha went, this monk went too. One day the monk became very ill and had to stay in bed. As he was lying in bed he started crying. When the other monks came to see him . . . he said, "I am crying because, being ill, I can't see the Buddha."

Upon learning this, the Buddha immediately came to visit the sick monk, who brightened up and looked happy again. Then the Buddha said to him, "Whoever sees me, sees the dhamma; whoever sees the dhamma, sees me."

Whoever sees a Buddha, sees nothing but enlightenment, which is the essence of the dhamma. Whoever can see the dhamma within, sees the Buddha, equaling enlightenment. The greatest jewel is recognizing the dhamma in oneself and not being attached to any one person, even the Buddha, who only wants to be our guide. When true confidence arises in the dhamma, it gives great impetus to the practice.
(---Ayya Khema, When the Iron Eagle Flies)

With dawn, perhaps, we'll see what is within dawn.

V. Tota pulchra es, Maria. V. Thou art all fair, O Mary.
R. Tota pulchra es, Maria. R. Thou art all fair, O Mary.
V. Et macula originalis non est in te. V. And the original stain is not in thee.
R. Et macula originalis non est in te. R. And the original stain is not in thee.
V. Tu gloria Ierusalem. V. Thou art the glory of Jerusalem.
R. Tu laetitia Israel. R. Thou, the joy of Israel.
V. Tu honorificentia populi nostri. V. Thou art the honor of our people.
R. Tu advocata peccatorum. R. Thou art the advocate of sinners.
V. O Maria. V. O Mary.
R. O Maria. R. O Mary.
V. Virgo prudentissima. V. Virgin most prudent.
R. Mater clementissima. R. Mother most tender.
V. Ora pro nobis. V. Pray for us,
R. Intercede pro nobis ad Dominum Iesum Christum. R. Intercede for us with Jesus Christ our Lord .
V. In conceptione tua, Immaculata fuisti. V. In thy conception, Holy Virgin, thou wast immaculate.
R. Ora pro nobis Patrem cuius Filium peperisti. R. Pray for us to the Father, Whose Son thou didst bring forth.
V. Domina, protege orationem meam. V. O Lady! aid my prayer,
R. Et clamor meus ad te veniat. R. And let my cry come unto thee.
Oremus Let us pray
(--From "My Prayer Book", Fr. Lasance, 1908, pp 554-556. http://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/BVM/TotaPulchra.html)

Within ourselves, perhaps, we'll hear what is within ourselves.

So may it be with us; so may it be within us.

Withing within.
Within withing.

Machias today.

History is written with facts that have changed names and bear no resemblance to what used to be called truth or reality.

Today, delusion masquerades as historical record.

At one point, Mr. Bush was asked if he wanted any do-overs. “The biggest regret of the presidency has to have been the intelligence failure in Iraq,” he said. “A lot of people put their reputations on the line and said the weapons of mass destruction” were cause for war.
(Editorial, The Deluder in Chief, Published: December 7, 2008, NYTimes)

It is impressive that Mr. Bush will rewrite history without anyone blinking. He's that good.

Buddha as Physician

Buddhism is neither pessimistic nor optimistic. If anything at all, it is realistic, for it takes a realistic view of life and of the world. It looks at things objectively. It does not falsely lull you into living in a fool's paradise, nor does it frighten and agonize you with all kinds of imaginary fears and sins. It tells you exactly and objectively what you are and what the world around you is, and shows you the way to perfect freedom, peace, tranquility and happiness.

One physician may gravely exaggerate an illness and give up hope altogether. Another may ignorantly declare that there is no illness and that no treatment is necessary, thus deceiving the patient with false consolation. You may call the first one pessimistic and the second optimistic. Both are equally dangerous. But a third physician diagnoses the symptoms correctly, understands the cause and the nature of the illness, sees clearly that it can be cured and courageously administers a course of treatment, thus saving his patient. The Buddha is like the last physician. He is the wise and scientific doctor for the ills of the world.
(--Walpola Rahula, What the Buddha Taught, from Everyday Mind, edited by Jean Smith, a Tricycle book)

It's been a difficult 8 years. The illness is deep.

Time to stop and think. How did we allow such disease? Such suffering?

On eve of Buddha's Enlightenment Day and Mary's Barrierless Coming-To-Existence, I can only be grateful for the invitation to see clearly through the deceit of delusion.

Happy to be invited.