Coming to: ad venire; 1

Done.

There's nothing to be none.

Enter Vladimir.
ESTRAGON:
(giving up again). Nothing to be done.
VLADIMIR:
(advancing with short, stiff strides, legs wide apart). I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All my life I've tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven't yet tried everything. And I resumed the struggle. (He broods, musing on the struggle. Turning to Estragon.) So there you are again.
ESTRAGON:
Am I?
VLADIMIR:
I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were gone forever.
ESTRAGON:
Me too.
VLADIMIR:
Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? (He reflects.) Get up till I embrace you.
ESTRAGON:
(irritably). Not now, not now.
VLADIMIR:
(hurt, coldly). May one inquire where His Highness spent the night?
ESTRAGON:
In a ditch.
VLADIMIR:
(admiringly). A ditch! Where?
ESTRAGON:
(without gesture). Over there.
VLADIMIR:
And they didn't beat you?
ESTRAGON:
Beat me? Certainly they beat me.
VLADIMIR:
The same lot as usual?
ESTRAGON:
The same? I don't know.
VLADIMIR:
When I think of it . . . all these years . . . but for me . . . where would you be . . . (Decisively.) You'd be nothing more than a little heap of bones at the present minute, no doubt about it.
ESTRAGON:
And what of it?
VLADIMIR:
(gloomily). It's too much for one man. (Pause. Cheerfully.) On the other hand what's the good of losing heart now, that's what I say. We should have thought of it a million years ago, in the nineties.
(from Waiting for Godot, by Samuel Beckett, Act 1, opening lines)

What is? What is the good? What is the good of losing heart?

Now?

You, Lord, yourself are our Father,
‘Our Redeemer’ is your ancient name.
Why, Lord, leave us to stray from your ways
and harden our hearts against fearing you?
Return, for the sake of your servants,
the tribes of your inheritance.

Oh, that you would tear the heavens open and come down!
– at your Presence the mountains would melt.

No ear has heard,
no eye has seen
any god but you act like this
for those who trust him.
You guide those who act with integrity
and keep your ways in mind.
(First reading, 1st Advent, Isaiah 63:16-17,64:1,3-8)

Has the Lord strayed from his ways? Or have we strayed? From our ways? From his ways?

Are these 'ways' one or two?

When you are free and independent, you are not bound by anything, so you do not seek liberation. Consummating the process of Zen, you become unified. Then there are no mundane things outside of Buddhism, and there is no Buddhism outside of mundane things.
- Yuan wu (1063-1135)

We think, or want to think Act 2 will be better, will resolve absence and expectation, will reveal all that will be revealed. We are, not mistaken, rather, expect-taken. 'Expect-taken' is 1st cousin once-removed of expectation.

Expectations of well-being

Richard Lazarus asserts that people become accustomed to positive or negative life experiences which lead to favorable or unfavorable expectations of their present and near-future circumstances. Lazarus notes the widely accepted philosophical principle that "happiness depends on the background psychological status of the person...and cannot be well predicted without reference to" one's expectations.[1]
With regard to happiness or unhappiness, Lazarus notes that "people whose objective conditions of life are those of hardship and deprivation often make a positive assessment of their well-being," while "people who are objectively well off...often make a negative assessment of their well-being." Lazarus argues that "the most sensible explanation of this apparent paradox is that people...develop favorable or unfavorable expectations" that guide such assessments.[1]

Expectations Impact on Beliefs

The famous sociologist, Robert K. Merton, wrote that a person's expectation is directly linked to the Self-fulfilling Prophecy. Whether or not such an expectation was truthful or not has little or no effect on the outcome. If a person believes what they are told or convinces himself/herself of the fact, chances are this person will see the expectation to its' inevitable conclusion. There is an inherent danger in this kind of labeling especially for the educator. Since children are easily convinced of certain tenants [sic;cf. tenets] especially when told to them by an authority figure like a parent or teacher, they may believe whatever is taught to them even if what is taught has no factual basis. If the student or child were to act on false information, certain positive or negative unintended consequences could result. If overly positive or elevated expectations were used to describe or manipulate a person's self-image and execution falls short, the results could be a total reversal of that person's self-confidence. If thought of in terms of causality or cause and effect, the higher a person's expectation and the lower the execution, the higher the frustration level may become. This in turn could cause a total cessation of effort and motivate the person to quit.
(--Expectation (epistemic), From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

I have the near-cousin companioning this new liturgical season.

Expect-taken.

Rorate caeli desuper, et nubes pluant iustum.
Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the Just One.
http://www.chantcd.com/lyrics/rorate_caeli_desuper.htm

Just One.

No Act 2.

Just one.

One.

Of two dropped down.

There's nothing to be none.

Empty waiting presence.

The surprise is the ferocity men in power show when nobodies threaten their power and control.

This matter (Zen) is like a great mass of fire: when you approach it your face is sure to be scorched. It is again like a sword about to be drawn; when it is once out of the scabbard, someone is sure to lose his life. The precious vajra sword is right here and its purpose is to cut off the head.
- Tai-hui (1089-1163)

There is now no doubt that the powerful and ferocious are failing to keep the earth under their feet.

Some again keep watch for the Christ. Will he come again into the narrative world of liturgical repetition? Can the theatre of creche and Christmas lore lure us into a soporific hope in the afterlife rewards of faithful observance?

Or is the Earth about to come into its own unstoried phenomenology where what is appearing is doing so always for this moment only?

Christ is this moment taking place.

See it, or don't.

But no pretending or pretence substitutes.

Just itself is all there is.

Birth it, or resurrect it, but don't bullshit. There's no bullshit possible. Not any longer.

This moment is taking place.

It's never enough.

Unless you say it is.

Then it is.

Enough.

The True Wisdom.* 6 Yet we do speak a wisdom to those who are mature, but not a wisdom of this age, nor of the rulers of this age who are passing away. 7 Rather, we speak God’s wisdom,* mysterious, hidden, which God predetermined before the ages for our glory, 8 and which none of the rulers of this age* knew; for if they had known it, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. 9 But as it is written:

“What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard,

and what has not entered the human heart,

what God has prepared for those who love him,”

this God has revealed to us through the Spirit.

10 For the Spirit scrutinizes everything, even the depths of God. 11 Among human beings, who knows what pertains to a person except the spirit of the person that is within? Similarly, no one knows what pertains to God except the Spirit of God. 12 We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit that is from God, so that we may understand the things freely given us by God. 13 And we speak about them not with words taught by human wisdom, but with words taught by the Spirit, describing spiritual realities in spiritual terms.* (1Cor2:6-10)

Breathe in.

There is no channeling.

Only this thought. This moment. This insight.

Is.

Enough.

We tell stories, act through narratives, remember times, laugh, feast, and fade off.

Thanksgiving.

On the bay, rowing alone, a nickel on red nun #4 for passage fee, then back to harbor solitude extended.

Thanksgiving.

If there was anything I wanted, I cannot recall what it might be.

Thanks.

Giving.

Silence of snow. Tarps on woodpiles. Dawn turns in eastern horizon. Eve of Thanksgiving.

Stillness.

Meditation Hall

Clear the land, thatch the rush for roof,
All around cherish the empty, the pure.
Mountain blossoms fall by a secluded door,
Within, one who has forgotten the world's schemings.
Concern with existence needs no possession,
Comprehending the void does not wait upon reason.
All things are of conditions born,
Profound is the silence in the midst of clamor.
A person's mind is very much the same;
A bird in flight, leaving no tracks behind.
- Liu Tsung-yuan (773-819)

What does it mean to be a monastic of no other?

Gospel, Luke 21:12-19
Jesus said: Men will seize you and persecute you; they will hand you over to the synagogues and to imprisonment, and bring you before kings and governors because of my name – and that will be your opportunity to bear witness. Keep this carefully in mind: you are not to prepare your defence, because I myself shall give you an eloquence and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to resist or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, relations and friends; and some of you will be put to death. You will be hated by all men on account of my name, but not a hair of your head will be lost. Your endurance will win you your lives.’

What is my life? If I am to win it, it seems important to know what it is.

Here is my life.

Now is my life.

What is here?

What is now?

This!

No defense. No loss. No gain. Just this as it is every single awareness every single time.

There is no other. There is one thing. We are this one thing.

How can we possible grasp what it means to be this one thing?

Snow continues to fall. Muted tires roll on Barnestown Road. Every slumbering awareness is slowing waking from sleep.

'Win,' from Sanskrit, vanas, means 'desire,' 'struggle,' -- at the same time embraces its extension -- 'desireless' 'effortless' so as to complete its surround.

We are the surround of being-here.

God-love being-here, as each and all is!

Pepper spray is the new language of the police.

JFK's assassination is in an off year at 48, thus is kept quietly.

The liturgical year is in limbo. Between Christ the King and 1st Advent.

Cecilia inspires masses written in her musical honor.

Clouds enter Bangor in advance of tomorrow's storm.

We walk 5.80km through City Forest, delighted at the find.

Afternoon reading (None) 1 Corinthians 12:24,25-26 ©
God has arranged the body and that there may not be disagreements inside the body, but that each part may be equally concerned for all the others. If one part is hurt, all parts are hurt with it. If one part is given special honour, all parts enjoy it.

Trees are bare; they've entered the bed of November.

Some look at us and wonder if there'll ever be a tipping number of those who see the embodying connectivity of divinity that ligatures our seeming decatenation.

Loving God, I think, means serving the whole body.

Each.

All.

Stacking wood. One stick on another. I have nothing else to do.

Dark and dim, the Bamboo Grove Monastery,
Faint and faraway, the sound of bells at dusk.
Your bamboo hat carrying home the evening sun,
Alone you return to the distant green hills.
- Tu Fu (712-770)

Green wood from Belfast. Some very seasoned from Southwick. One stick atop another. Back and forth. Back and forth.

There is no controlling life.

There is only temporary balance.

Each stick of wood another breath.

Trip someone up, you are, perhaps, a "satan." That's what the word means way back down deep -- someone or something that trips up, like a root branch on a worn trail. Something that inhibits or opposes moving through or moving on.

There is no better somewhere else, smarter, more effective we can control.

One instant is eternity;
When you see through this one instant,
You see through the one who sees.
- Wu-men (1183-1260)

There is only this path which is the path you are on, upon which, if travelled, would reveal to you everything needed.

Walk that path.

Don't let anyone tell you not to.

If you trip, catch balance again. If fall, rise again.

Trust, radically!

Dark early. Cold from hard row on Bay chills bones. Bed early.

The Way is arrived at by enlightenment. The first priority is to establish resolve -- it is no small matter to step directly from the bondage of the ordinary person into transcendent experience of the realm of sages. It requires that your mind be firm as steel to cut off the flow of birth and death, accept your original real nature, not see anything at all as existing inside or outside yourself, so all actions and endeavors emerge from the fundamental.
- Yuan wu (1063-1135)

There is no knowing.

Not anything.

So, we practice.

Not knowing.

Here.

In the morning, when Earth feels light lift night from surface, prayer wanders from sleep into open recollection, and we are once again the still and vibrant sound of cosmotheandric spirituality, the surround of wholeness stretching embrace of harmlessness throughout all in this glorious reality called by us dawn, twilight, gazing God.

17 Domine labia mea aperies et os meum adnuntiabit laudem tuam
17 O Lord, thou wilt open my lips: and my mouth shall declare thy praise.
(from Paalm 51)

It's a lot of money. Let's say it has been a necessary expenditure. I'm uncertain it is, but let's say so. It's a lot of money for war and death.

If Congress also approves the FY2012 war funding request of $132 billion, cumulative war funding would then reach $1.415 trillion total including:
• $823 billion for Iraq (63%);
• $557 billion for Afghanistan (35%);
• $29 billion for enhanced security (2%); and
• $6 billion unallocated DOD costs (1/2%) (see Table 1)

(from, The Cost of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Other Global War on Terror Operations Since 9/11
Amy Belasco
Specialist in U.S. Defense Policy and Budget March 29, 2011)
In, Congressional Research Service Report for Congress
Prepared for Members and Committees of Congress

I'd prefer a different expenditure of so much money, such as health care, housing, jobs, or education grants to every student young or old.

It says a lot about us, our war fondness. I wonder about our sanity and souls. Surely it is insane to want to destroy and kill, over and over, even in the name of God, freedom, and security?

It's a lot to consider.

No one wants sin. It is gone.

So, let it go.

And it is.

Tired, there is no other place than sleep.

The sound of bell!

The following day we walk the river, we walk the beach by the ocean.

We walk the wind and rest in the company of family, eating, sleeping, laughing, some tears and of course the stories.

HISTORY

There is no great and no small
To the Soul that maketh all:
And where it cometh, all things are
And it cometh everywhere.

I am owner of the sphere,
Of the seven stars and the solar year,
Of Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain,
Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakspeare's strain.
(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

We are what we tell ourselves we are.

Today we are family

The opening paragraph of To Bless the Space Between Us, A Book of Blessings, by Irish poet and spiritual philosopher John O'Donohue goes as follows:



"There is a quiet light that shines in every heart. It draws no attention to itself, though it is always secretly there. It is what illuminates our minds to see beauty, our desire to seek possibility, and our hearts to love life. Without this subtle quickening our days would be empty and wearisome, and no horizon would ever awaken our longing. Our passion for life is quietly sustained from somewhere in us that is welded to the energy and excitement of life. This shy inner light is what enables us to recognize and receive our very presence here as blessing. We enter the world as strangers who all at once become heirs to a harvest of memory, spirit, and dream that has long preceded us and will now enfold, nourish, and sustain us. The gift of the world is our first blessing."

We blessed Erika, and we were blessed by Erika, today as we placed her in the earth in New Bedford.

She tricked us into coming together as a body of beings longing for blessing. We thought we'd gathered to bury her. Rather we were there to receive her blessing.

As we do whenever someone understands what is taking place between us and invites us into this middle presence, a heaven by no other name.

Festivities continue upstairs.

Solitude becomes me.

At a Course in Miracles gathering Thursday evening as Erika lay in repose in "The Mutti Room" in Camden, Maine, dressed in her Thanksgiving attire, surrounded by the handiwork reds of her stitchery threads, receiving visitors touched by loving presence, a woman named Rosie from another room in final circle spoke the phrase -- "Erika's passing."

It' a wonderful phrase describing what has happened this week, these eight weeks following diagnosis, and the 89 years following her birth -- Erika's passing!

She is now and has always been passing through.

As are we all -- passing through.

We sometimes think that we're here to stay, that we own the place, that change and transition are unfortunate occurrences we have to tolerate and endure.

I think there's another way to look at it.

Erika, Mutti, Omi, Urgroßmutter, has shown us and is showing us how it is, how to live on this earth, even now, as she takes whatever steps there are to take beyond the last step of Thursday morning around 2am when she passed through her body for the last time in this realm exiting what we call the limitations of 'time' and 'space' and gliding with gracious love into the mysterious openness of timeless presence where the One we call Love Itself celebrates wholeness with this ever-new creation of loving light we have known by the names "Erika," "Mrs. Huising," "Mutti," "Omi," and "Dear Treasure."

Some would say: "She's gone," and they'd be right -- she is. Some would say, "She's gone beyond," and they'd be right -- she has. And still others would say, "She's still with us, and will never leave us." And these, too, are right -- feel her in your heart and mind, see her in your cups of tea, hear her in clinking glasses raised with endearing joy and laughter whenever family gather anywhere.

She knows now and shows here. She knows now and shows here that each one is right, that each one is an appreciated contribution to the extraordinary embrace of smiling welcome this good woman practiced as her daily yoga.

Erika would want us, I believe, to know that she's all right, that we're all right, that it's all right -- that at the deepest, truest, lightest level it's all love, and light, and bliss, and kindness, and hospitality, and family, and the community of everyone who lives and dies, suffers and rejoices, eats and drinks, weeps and laughs.

Wir loben Gott und sagen Dank,
Fur alles, auch für Speis und Trank
In Jesus Namen, Amen!

Today I take liberties to translate this prayer as:

"We happily speak our praise with God --
For everything and everyone --

for this woman, this family member, this friend, this sister of God-With-Us (also named Emmanuel, Jesus, Mary's child, the Christ),

for the food and drink

Of love, and love, and, yes, love!"

And so, and so, and so -- In the name of all that is holy, we thank you, dear woman, for bringing us here today.

Here, with one another, being-with everything, passing through!

The words heard from her so often are the words that apply so intimately to her: Schatzilein, Liebchen, Hertzilein

Treasured one! Loved-one! Heart-felt one!

Danke sehr!

Bitte schon!

We are passing through this experience with Erika's love.

May this experience be of benefit to each of us as well as all people everywhere longing for such an experience with generous love and gracious presence!

Prosit! Let it be!

Then, nearing 2am, after a passion of final breaths, there were no more. Struggle of transition coming to quiet completion, Erika returns to origin. We sit in silent vigil for a while. Tears in her presence. The women prepare to wash and ready her body for journey.

Harp music graced the room.

Kindness and compassion were the notes.

These will be known as her last days. In front room, hospital bed, she breathes asleep the rhythmic cadences of prolonging reverie.

Hospice officially began today.

This house becomes a holy place.

As life continues through it all. Hers and ours.

Don't fear the facts. That's what the reading from tonight's practice included. We have nothing to fear with the truth. It's only the truth.

Far, faraway, steep mountain paths,
Treacherous and narrow, ten thousand feet up;
Over boulders and bridges, lichens of green,
White clouds are often seen soaring.
A cascade suspends in mid-air like a bolt of silk;
The moon's reflection falls on a deep pool, glittering.
I'll climb up the magnificent mountain peak,
To await the arrival of a solitary crane.
- Meng Hao-jan (689-740)

So, we vigil with Erika.

Saskia naps on pull-out chair. I sit in corner chair. The monk and the Sushi folks didn't make it to Camden. There were only a handful of us at the Mahabharata discussion at the library. And now it is night. What can go wrong has. No, that's not it. What can go on will.

WILD PEACE

Not the peace of a cease-fire,
not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb,
but rather
as in the heart when the excitement is over
and you can talk only about a great weariness.
I know that I know how to kill,
that makes me an adult.
And my son plays with a toy gun that knows
how to open and close its eyes and say Mama.
A peace
without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares,
without words, without
the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be
light, floating, like lazy white foam.
A little rest for the wounds—
who speaks of healing?
(And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation
to the next, as in a relay race:
the baton never falls.)

Let it come
like wildflowers,
suddenly, because the field
must have it: wildpeace.

(Yehuda Amichai, “Wildpeace” from Selected Poetry. University of California Press.)

Mother and daughter sleep in hot room at midnight.

Wildflowers in autumn chill.

A new day