It is wearying to live.

Now whether withdrawn on a mountain,
or retired in a city, the essential
thing is the long maturation.
For this, it is good to keep
the examples of the old masters in mind,
or we will be pulled back into
the dust and delusion of the world.
- Torei (1721-1792)

It is time to rub eyes and wonder how it was these last eight years that fear paralyzed nearly all of us.

It was not about 9/11. It was about men with no conscience. It was about people believing the lie.

About something lost.

Fishing
by Kate Scott

Sam was a galunky kind of guy,
my cousin says. He walked like this.
He takes on a bow-legged swagger
that makes us laugh. And boy,
could he drink beer. He lifts his hand,
tipping imaginary cans in quick succession.
He talked real fast too. Back then we laughed,
asked what was the rush? Never slowed him any.
Girls loved him. He was such a big guy,
think they figured he must have a big heart.

My cousin slows a little in his walk,
tugs on his ear to remember more.

We hung out a lot and unless he was excited,
talking fast, he was real quiet, would just sit,
stare out to space like he was someplace else.
Maybe he was thinking about the girl he loved
who died one winter, fell through the ice
as she was skating towards him.
She was only twenty feet away, her arms out wide.
They say he was there all night,
smashed the ice in a hundred places to find her.
They pulled her out in the Spring.
I think when he talked so fast
he was trying to forget,
like the words would fill up the space she left.

My cousin stops in the road,
brushes imaginary hair from his eyes.

I lost touch for some time, years went by.
I didn't hear from Sam, neither of us
were much use at letter writing.
Then one summer I came home to visit,
bumped right into him in a store downtown.
He talked real slow, like he was a clock
that had wound down. He said he'd taken up fishing.
He said he didn't much care for fish
but when he flung the line out hard,
heard the whir as it spun out over the water,
saw the river winking and glinting at him,
he felt he could catch anything.
("Fishing" by Kate Scott, from Stitches. Peterloo Poets, 2003)

We can hardly speak of that time. The lost 8 years.

Not looking back, afraid what we might find.

To know the mind of God is to see the entire picture. We don't; therefore, we don't.

The little retreat is to hide
Among wooded hills;
The great retreat is to vanish
In the capital.
- Kanzan

There's a boat in Izola, Slovenia, named 'Tai Pan.' Were meetingbrook to purchase it, it's name would expand two letters both before the first word and after the second.

It would be called 'Jitai Panis.' ('Jitai' is Japanese for 'Itself.' 'Panis' is Latin for 'Bread.')

The name 'Jitai Panis' means 'Bread Itself,' or, 'Itself Bread.'

Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Itself.

The bread of life is God itself.

Lesson 025

I do not know what anything is for.
Purpose is meaning. Today's idea explains why nothing you see means anything. You do not know what it is for. Therefore, it is meaningless to you. Everything is for your own best interests. That is what it is for; that is its purpose; that is what it means. It is in recognizing this that your goals become unified. It is in recognizing this that what you see is given meaning.

You perceive the world and everything in it as meaningful in terms of ego goals. These goals have nothing to do with your own best interests, because the ego is not you. This false identification makes you incapable of understanding what anything is for. As a result, you are bound to misuse it. When you believe this, you will try to withdraw the goals you have assigned to the world, instead of attempting to reinforce them.

Another way of describing the goals you now perceive is to say that they are all concerned with "personal" interests. Since you have no personal interests, your goals are really concerned with nothing. In cherishing them, therefore, you have no goals at all. And thus you do not know what anything is for.

Before you can make any sense out of the exercises for today, one more thought is necessary. At the most superficial levels, you do recognize purpose. Yet purpose cannot be understood at these levels. For example, you do understand that a telephone is for the purpose of talking to someone who is not physically in your immediate vicinity. What you do not understand is what you want to reach him for. And it is this that makes your contact with him meaningful or not.

It is crucial to your learning to be willing to give up the goals you have established for everything. The recognition that they are meaningless, rather than "good" or "bad," is the only way to accomplish this. The idea for today is a step in this direction.
(from Lesson 25, The Course in Miracles)

I don't know what the boat is for. God knows. Nor do we have the money to purchase it. Someone does. Not only that, how could we expect anyone to assist in the purchase of the boat intended for service to God and the mysterious family of brothers and sisters everywhere?

I used to think it was absurd to want to serve.

I no longer think that.

I am absurd. Trying to serve.

Without thought.

Itself Bread. Bread Itself.

Either way, the word we hear is Servus!

Servus (Czech: Servus, Hungarian: Szervusz, Polish: Serwus, German: Servus, Romanian: Servus, Ukrainian: Cepeyc) is a salutation used in many parts of Central and Eastern Europe.

These words originates from the Latin word for servant or slave, servus. The phrase is an ellipsis of a Latin expression meaning, "I am your servant" or "at your service". (from Wikipedia)

We don't know the mind of God --

We are merely trying to be.

At your service.

Note: A lovely sunny day. Shop is open, 

However, there will not be a Sunday Evening Practice at the hermitage. Deadlines demand! 

Most think it's an opportunity. That we'll be vacating this location in April. A change.

I like bamboo as the symbol
of constancy and simplicity.
I built my house deep within a grove.
Strike the bamboo
with a piece of brick.
Perhaps the sound could
awaken a passing Zen monk.
(--Jakushitsu)

Some think it's the times. That it's time. For something big. Involving consciousness. Or the disaster before a shift.

I, for my part, feel it's January during a financial crisis, a cold night, a new administration following a criminal administration, and the collapse of false optimism lipsticked with bravado, bank accounts filled with deception.

I'm not sure consciousness is changing. I've a head cold. Everything is a twist top and chewable or fits into a teaspoon or is taken 4 times a day.

And, we're one day closer to closing these doors. With itchy eyes.

What if God is the Open?

– it is the Lord who speaks.
I will put my laws into their minds
and write them on their hearts.
Then I will be their God
and they shall be my people.
There will be no further need for neighbour to try to teach neighbour,
or brother to say to brother,
‘Learn to know the Lord.’
No, they will all know me,
the least no less than the greatest,
since I will forgive their iniquities
and never call their sins to mind.
(from Jeremiah 31: 33)

Would we continue to prefer the closed?

No.

As hermits in the open (hito) we prefer the open origin itself.

It's official. The certified letter stated that a man named Fred (one of the current owner/partners) is buying for himself the cape at the harbor we lease, wants to live upstairs, wants the downstairs too, and will convert the bookshop/bakery space into something yet to be determined. And so, at the end of April, when our lease expires, we will have to relinquish the premises after 13 lovely years.

Rain clears from the distant peaks
Dew glistens frostily.
Moonlight glazes the front of
My ivied hut among the pines.
How can I tell you how I am,
Right now?
A swollen brook gushes in the valley
Darkened by clouds.
- Daito (1282-1334)

Clearly something different will be emerging with meetingbrook.

Our original vision, boat and barn, might just find itself retrieved.

Anyone wish to buy us, or help us buy, the 44' Nauticat Schooner currently for sale in Slovenia?
It would be a dockside resource replacing the shop for hospitality, conversations, overnights, and retreat sails.

Tired.

Not-Self

Central to the Buddha's teaching is the doctrine of anatman: "not-self." This does not deny that the notion of an "I" works in the everyday world. In fact, we need a solid, stable ego to function in society. However, "I" is not real in an ultimate sense. It is a "name": a fictional construct that bears no correspondence to what is really the case. Because of this disjunction all kinds of problems ensue.

Once our minds have constructed the notion of "I," it becomes our central reference point. We attach to it and identify with it totally. We attempt to advance what appears to be its interests, to defend it against real or apparent threats and menaces. And we look for ego-affirmation at every turn: confirmation that we exist and are valued. The Gordian Knot of preoccupations arising from all this absorbs us exclusively, at times to the point of obsession. This is, however, a narrow and constricted way of being. Though we cannot see it when caught in the convolutions of ego, there is something in us that is larger and deeper: a wholly other way of being.
(--John Snelling, Elements of Buddhism)

Cold.

Note: 

The bookshop/bakery will be closed today, Wednesday. There will be no Evening Conversation.  We're off doing other work. We'll be back tomorrow, Thursday. 

We go back to our lives.

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
(--from "Anthem" by Leonard Cohen)

Quiet re-emerges from its inner dwelling.

At clear dawn entering the ancient temple,
First sunlight shines high in the forest.
A bamboo path leads to a hidden spot,
A meditation chamber deep in the flowering trees.
The mountain light cheers the natures of the bird,
Reflections in pool void the hearts of men.
All nature’s sounds here grow silent,
All that remains are the notes of temple bells.
- Ch’ang Chien

Dog goes out. Pees. Comes in. Eats biscuit. Settles in under eave.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
(--refrain, Anthem)

The work, and art, are at origin.

Note: The bookshop/bakery will be opening at 4:00pm today, and will have Tuesday Evening Conversation.

.....

As the festivities of Inauguration Day move toward noon swearing-in ceremony, there are a few thoughts that want to step out then get themselves out of the way.

Walking the golf course in Rockport this morning with Rokpa, sun glistening innumerable sparkling gems of snow-light nestled in fresh snowfall suggesting the incomprehensible vastness of space beyond galaxy, infinity beyond incalculable dizzying expanse, while earphones play Maine Public Broadcasting morning classical pieces -- "America the Beautiful" -- the following occurred to me.

Today is a beautiful day! America is a beautiful country. As the transition from one administration to another takes place the joy is palpable.

And yet, something must be acknowledged. The beauty of America is like the particular beauty of each person dwelling both herein and elsewhere. For the past 8 years the beautiful America feels like it has been in an abusive marriage, a domestic violent relationship, one where beatings, lies, infidelities to constituting promises, and turning out under constraining obedience to prostitute itself for the odd sense of revenge and ideological arrogance of fear-addicted powerful men.

That relationship comes to an end. The scars, tears, and ugly concessions that took place are about to be comforted, consoled, and mended. It is a time gone by that cannot be allowed to happen again. The beauty of individuals, like the beauty of a country -- whatever abuse they've suffered -- is not diminished by those who arrive seeing with wisdom and compassion.

This is a time for wisdom and compassion.

There. It has been said. And, for now, put on a back burner. But never to be forgotten, no matter how sincere the forgiveness -- it is not to be forgotten.

What joy there is in this day must be used to heal the individuals, herein and worldwide; heal this great land and country wherein we dwell.

Procedamus in pace! Let's go forward in peace!

Barack Obama becomes the 44th president of this country, Tuesday, 20Jan.2009. 

John O'Donohue's words prepare for it: 

For a Leader

May you have the grace and wisdom
To act kindly, learning
To distinguish between what is
Personal and what is not.

May you be hospitable to criticism.

May you never put yourself at the center of things.

May you act not from arrogance but out of service.

May you work on yourself,
Building up and refining the ways of your mind.

May those who work for you know
You see and respect them.

May you learn to cultivate the art of presence
In order to engage with those who meet you.

When someone fails or disappoints you
May the graciousness with which you engage
be their stairway to renewal and refinement.

May you treasure the gifts of the mind
Through reading and creative thinking
So that you continue as a servant of the frontier
Where the new will draw its enrichment from the old,
And you never become a functionary.

May you know the wisdom of deep listening,
The healing of wholesome words,
The encouragement of the appreciative gaze,
The decorum of held dignity,
The springtime edge of the bleak question.

May you have a mind that loves frontiers
So that you can evoke the bright fields
That lie beyond the view of the regular eye.

May you have good friends
to mirror your blind spots.

May leadership be for you
A true adventure of growth.
(--pp.151-152, Blessing, "For a Leader," by John O'Donohue, from To Bless The Space Between Us, c.2008)

It is a day for delight and gratitude.

And so it is and will be!

Please, God!

I asked God for nothing. I received nothing. I am grateful.

Some speak of ancestral emptiness
A nothing that is yet an infinity
Smallest hint of a germ of a blossom
Yet, the whole world subject to its call

Fish swim and animals leap with it
Men and women are fed and clothed by it
Strange, indeed, its transmutations
One breath swallowing up five colors
- Shih-shu (17th century)

We think we want something. We don't. What we really want is God. Nothing extraordinary.

You Must Be Present to Win --
There is a sign outside a casino in Las Vegas that says, "You must be present to win." The same is true in meditation. If we want to see the nature of our lives, we must actually be present, aware, awake. Developing samadhi [concentration] is much like polishing a lens. If we are looking to see the cells and workings of the body with a lens that has not been ground sufficiently, we will not see clearly. In order to penetrate the nature of the mind and body, we must collect and concentrate our resources and observe with a steady, silent mind. This is exactly what the Buddha did: he sat, concentrated his mind, and looked within. To become a yogi, an explorer of the heart and mind, we must develop this capacity as well.
(--Jack Kornfield, Seeking the Heart of Wisdom)

God was nothing I expected.

I looked around.

Emptiness.

Steady.

Silent.

No.

Mind.

Note: This lovely snow! Shop is open. But no practice at hermitage tonight. Stay home and snug!

Mr Bush goes to Camp David for his final weekend as president. Mr. Obama rides the train to Washington DC for his inauguration in three days. Change, as always, takes place, no matter what.

The joy of living in seclusion deepens as I grow older,
For a new poem is born wherever I turn my eyes.
Flowers that withstood the wind
Fall of their own accord;
Thin rain left by clouds has not yet cleared.
The frail butterfly over the fence
Has left the twig where it sat,
And the silken dove has flown
From the eave to sing in the woods.
To attain a vision transcending the here and now
Is not my concern:
What I see is much too clear,
As in a mirror
- Yi Saek (1328-1396)

Snow on the way. Harbor frozen across. The United States poises. A great uncertainty is moderated by a quiet joy.

There's an old Zen story: a student said to Master Ichu, "Please write for me something of great wisdom." Master Ichu picked up his brush and wrote one word: "Attention." The student said, "Is that all?" The master wrote, "Attention Attention."...

For "attention" we could substitute the word "awareness." Attention or awareness is the secret of life and the heart of practice....[E]very moment in life is absolute itself. That's all there is. There is nothing other than this present moment; there is no past, there is no future; there is nothing but this. So when we don't pay attention to every little this, we miss the whole thing. And the contents of this can be anything. This can be straightening our sitting mats, chopping an onion, visiting one we don't want to visit. It doesn't matter what the contents of the moment are; each moment is absolute. That's all there is, and all there ever will be. If we could totally pay attention, we would never be upset. If we're upset, it's axiomatic that we're not paying attention.If we miss not just one moment, but one moment after another, we're in trouble.
(--Charlotte Joko Beck, Nothing Special: Living Zen)

I bet on an open consciousness. That's what counts. Open consciousness suggests the cult of frivolity is preparing to change. However uncertain we are, the profundity of hope overrides addictive fear. Those who supply fear are vanishing from the street corners of delusion and arrogance. A broom sweeps.

The Gospels are full of wise sayings of Jesus that seem to be ignored, and one of the most poignant of these was in his meeting with that young man who asked over and over again, insistently, “What must I do to have eternal life?.” When, in the end, Jesus told him that if he wanted to be perfect he would have to sell all that he had and give the money to the poor, the young man went away, sorrowing; because he was very rich. What could be more of a waste than that? You tell someone what he has to do, and he is afraid to do it. And yet... 250 years later, St Antony hears the story, and does give away all that he has, and becomes the founder of monasticism. And then again, over 1,000 years later, St Francis of Assisi hears the story, and gives away his possessions (and some of his father’s) and revolutionises Christianity again.
Not all the words that we speak are forgotten, even though we cannot see their effects ourselves. Let us pray that those unknown effects may always be good ones.
(Universalis.com, on Feast of St Antony, Abbot, 251 - 356)

For a penny you can purchase The Catholic Worker paper.

For a song you can see into the heart of wisdom and compassion.

For a change we can see our way clear to trust someone who asks for it.

For now, I can say "I'm glad to be here."

Good.

Night.

After a few dozen tosses of chuck-it ball across enormous parking lot in Bangor following long hike through woods with white dog in 7 degree temperature, I enter 67 degree room to record numbers. Icicles on moustache and ruddy face behind white beard.

If you do decide to start meditating, there's no need to tell other people about it, or talk about why you are doing it or what it's doing for you. In fact, there is no better way to waste your nascent energy and enthusiasm for practice and thwart your efforts so they will be unable to gather momentum. Best to meditate without advertising it.

Every time you get a strong impulse to talk about meditation and how wonderful it is, or how hard it is, or what it's doing for you these days, or what it's not, or you want to convince someone else how wonderful it would be for them, just look at it as more thinking and go meditate some more. The impulse will pass and everybody will be better off--especially you.
(--Jon Kabat-Zinn, Wherever You Go, There You Are)

Harbor is frozen.

Nothing moves.

Tiredness.

Falls.

Well below zero.

Brrrr.

Note: Shop closed for most of day. Doing other work in Bangor. 

President Bush says goodbye on TV. Plane ditches in Hudson River and 155 people walk off the sinking plane. Something unusual is taking place.

Shunryu Suzuki on Zazen

When we practice zazen [Zen Meditation] our mind always follows our breathing. When we inhale, the air comes into the inner world. When we exhale, the air goes to the outer world. The inner world is limitless, and the outer world is also limitless. We say "inner world" or "outer world," but actually there is just one whole world. In this limitless world, our throat is like a swinging door. The air comes in and goes out like someone passing through a swinging door. If you think, "I breathe," the "I" is extra. There is no you to say "I." What we call "I" is just a swinging door which moves when we inhale and when we exhale. It just moves; that is all. When your mind is pure and calm enough to follow this movement, there is nothing: no "I," no world, no mind nor body; just a swinging door.

--Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind

The door swings. Somehow a plane crash does not kill anyone.

The door swings. An anti-intellectual man and a second secretive manipulating man leave war, cynicism, and destruction behind them.

The door swings. Two bright, competent men will come to office in five days to re-establish the rule of law, constitution, and civility to the Executive Branch of this land.

Having Confessed
by Patrick Kavanagh

Having confessed he feels
That he should go down on his knees and pray
For forgiveness for his pride, for having
Dared to view his soul from the outside.
Lie at the heart of the emotion, time
Has its own work to do. We must not anticipate
Or awaken for a moment. God cannot catch us
Unless we stay in the unconscious room
Of our hearts. We must be nothing,
Nothing that God may make us something.
We must not touch the immortal material
We must not daydream to-morrow's judgment—
God must be allowed to surprise us.
We have sinned, sinned like Lucifer
By this anticipation. Let us lie down again
Deep in anonymous humility and God
May find us worthy material for His hand.
(Poem, "Having Confessed" by Patrick Kavanagh, from Collected Poems. W.W. Norton & Company, 2004.)

While I accept the possibility that our perception might be limited, not seeing the enormity of what-is-whole, thereby not comprehending the divine mystery suffusing what we call 'reality' -- I am consoled by the opinion that something very wrong has been at work in this country the past six, twelve, eighteen, twenty four, heck, twenty nine years.

Some worry (and some glee) that nothing will change.

I'm willing to be surprised.

Very cold night.

When I find you again,
It will be in mountains;
This morning I lose you
Once more to farewell.
Free of attachment
In heart and mind
Is that why you can go
Ten thousand li alone?
Traveling without disciples,
You have only
A white dog
For company.
- Chia Tao (779-843)

-19 to -29 below in St John Valley.

White dog sleeps.

For two days straight, care of dog, closed shop, and creation of two courses of study -- aesthetics, and mythology.

The joy of being open to the moment is an equal realization that the moment, not yet arrived, is unopen.

A mind full of light is like a blue sky found in a somber room.
- Hung Ying-ming 1596

Walkng Bayview street at night with reflector vest, snow in park soft and unfrozen -- the desolate streets of January, a man, woman, and dog.

“Man believes the world itself to be overloaded with beauty--and he forgets himself as the cause of this. He alone has presented the world with beauty--alas! only with a very human, all-too-human beauty. At bottom, man mirrors himself in things; he considers everything beautiful that reflects his own image: the judgment "beautiful" is the vanity of his species. For a little suspicion may whisper this question into the skeptic's ear: Is the world really beautified by the fact that man thinks it beautiful? He has humanized it, that is all. But nothing, absolutely nothing, guarantees that man should be the model of beauty. Who knows what he looks like in the eyes of a higher judge of beauty? Daring perhaps? Perhaps even amusing? Perhaps a little arbitrary?
(--from #19, Skirmishes of an Untimely Man, in TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS, -- Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844 - 1900)

Like some ghost mountain illumined by faint glow of snow seen from Dellingham Point, Mt Battie wafts behind winter lights of Camden.

Beauty is neither in nor out.

The eye.

Seeing.

It.

Is.

Note: It's a week of other work -- thus the bookshop/bakery is closed Tuesday and Wednesday. Check back for Thursday.