A quick aside...

I just re-read the post below after my loving mother sent a very comforting and thoughtful message to me after she read it to reassure me how much people love me. During the whole time I wrote, read, and edited that last post it did not appear to me as sad or desperate as it does now after some reflective space away from it.

I am an honest person, and that works really well for me here, at Green Gulch. Every contemplation is taken at face value in my interactions here, which is fantastic. I have been steadily shifting towards this blog becoming, in actuality, a diary, because throughout my time here I have only increasingly explored what it means for me to be emotional, vulnerable, and above all contemplative and mindful about what my emotions and vulnerability mean. Again, this works well for me in conversations here, but I have seemed to have lost my context for what interactions here look like versus my interactions with people outside.

Anyways, yes, I am exploring some insecurities, some deep ones. However, the previous post I fear presented it as though right now I am living once more shrouded in these insecurities, which is not the case. The principal of impermanence is tangible and pervading when living in a space of continued practice of mindfulness...so yes, these insecurities arise. But then they also cease quickly, only to arise again at some other point. I am not living my days full of angst. Overall I am still overwhelmingly content most of the time.

I think that a large part of me wanted to post all of those insecurities right on out in the open, nice and raw, because I was hoping to connect to people with similar insecurities. I feel like there are people who read this who share some of these insecurities and can relate to me better through them. Hopefully then they can also realize that there are other people who share their insecurities, and thus everybody can all feel connected and there will be world peace. All because of my little ole blog. You're welcome.

I guess I'm posting this disclaimer because 1) I don't want anybody to worry about me not being happy and feeling fulfilled, because I am both of those things, 2) I would like to continue to use this space as a release and a way to process all that I'm learning and uncovering, but I need to remind myself to be mindful of who is reading this nonetheless, and 3) I suppose I'm a little embarrassed by how exposed I now am. Nothing is permanent, so while that post seemed like a thoughtful and balanced one yesterday, it now seems more like TMI for the general Internet world. It's probably both.

Anyways, I guess none of this matters very much anyways. I was just called on to comment on myself here...maybe try to save face a little? Maybe just try to be honest to who I am in this moment as opposed to who I was yesterday and all the days before? It's probably both. Non-dualism.

Also...I just cut my own hair for the first time a week ago and it is looking not super great right now, which is probably inspiring all of these insecurity-related thoughts more than I'd like to admit.

I look like a 12-old-boy with hips. It doesn't help that I wear Star Wars t-shirts most of the time, I know, but there it is.

Shosaimyo Kichijo Darani & Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo

"Because of your smile, you make life more beautiful."--Thich Naht Hanh

Flower of the Week:

The lovely, sunny Gaillardia, or Blanket Flower

Buddhist Lesson of the Week:

Shosaimyo Kichijo Darani & Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo

After we chant the Heart Sutra and Homage to the Perfection of Wisdom, we always sing either the Shosaimyo Kichijo Darani or the Enmei Kannon Gyo. The Shosaimyo Kichijo Darani we repeat three times, and the Enmei Kannon Gyo we repeat 7 times, with every repeat of the verses steadily picking up momentum until it feels like we're chanting not in a zendo, but in a sports stadium.

Looking at kitchen garden and up tot he hills around
Green Gulch

Shosaimyo Kichijo Darani

No mo san man da
moto nan
oha ra chi koto sha
sono nan to ji to en
gya gya
gya ki gya ki
un nun
shifu ra shifu ra
hara shifu ra hara shifu ra
chisu sha chisu sha
chishu ri chishu ri
soha ja soha ja
sen chi gya
shiri ei so mo ko

English Translation:

Veneration to all Buddhas!
The incomparable Buddha-power that banishes suffering.
Om! The Buddha of reality, wisdom, Nirvana!
Light! Light! Great light! Great light!
With no categories, this mysterious power
Saves all beings; suffering goes, happiness comes!

Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo

Kanzeon

The children's garden, where the kids from our Sunday programs
garden

namu butsu
yo butsu u in
yo butsu u en
en buppo so en
jo raku ga jo
cho nen kanzeon
bo nen kanzeon
nen nen ju shin ki
nen nen fu ri shin

English Translation:

Kanzeon!
At one with Buddha
Directly Buddha
Also indirectly Buddha
And indirectly Buddha, Dharma, Sangha
Joyful, pure eternal being!
Morning mind is Kanzeon
Evening mind is Kanzeon
Nen, nen arises from mind
Nen, nen is not separate from mind.

**Kanzeon is the Japanese form of Kuan Yin, who is the Chinese form of the Bodhisattva of Compassion Avalokiteshvara, in female form. Nen is the word used in Zen Buddhism for "thought impulses," or the initial, unconscious, raw impressions you get of your environment. Such as identifying in your mind that a chair is a chair, that your friend Bob is your friend Bob, etc.

First Dahlias of the season!

Life at the Center:

Our lovely hydrangeas

I have still been exploring and struggling with the re-discovered deep chasm of insecurities that consistently abides in my subconscious, as brought to light a few weeks ago after a wonderfully divine evening in the city attending "Mortified." The show inspired me to look through my diary at the entries I made when I was a teenager, only to remember the disheartening truth that these fears and worries about myself and my relationships with people that have been swirling the periphery of my mind-space lately have always been there, in some shape or form.

I keep trying to connect these insecurities to the teachings I have been slowly and steadily garnering during my two months thus far here. It's…difficult. I know that I should talk to a practice leader about it, and see what sort of wisdom I can glean from them, but I keep being put-off by the thought of going to an abbess or dharma teacher with my teenage insecurities. Ultimately, I know this is silly, and that they have probably heard it all…not only that, but that they probably would not judge any insecurity as inane.

I am trying to accept, deeply, that these insecurities are not me. I recognized during a zazen a while ago that there is some part of me that identifies these insecurities as "me," and thus there is some part of me that protects them as me. This, of course, seems ridiculous, when laid out like that. They are not me. They are something that, for whatever reason, I choose to hold on to as part of my identity. I should be able to just release them, upon this realization--to just loosen my grip and let them slip back into the ether from which they came.

Anise Hyssop, used to make tea. Tastes kind of
like licorice

Ultimately, this would be the case. Practically, they did not just evolve from nothingness. They came from a series of events that left me heartbroken as I developed, and have continued to happen, in some shape or form, throughout my life, till this day. My brain takes these unhappy instances and builds them up, piles them, amasses them, aggregates them, building a wall, a fortress, with them to protect myself. Unfortunately, the wall does not serve to protect me most of the time--it just makes me hyper-sensitive to situations that bode close resemblance to my past, and then serves to differentiate me from everything and everyone else around me. This does not help anything. It makes me lonely, desperate.

Furthermore, there's a voice in my head, some awareness, that is continuously displeased with myself for feeling insecure, anxious, depressed, sad, frustrated, or any negative emotion at all. Not displeased because these are obviously unpleasant states to exist in, but because I do not really feel any real right to feel negative. I am so advantaged. I can't even believe how fortunate I am. My suffering stems from the visceral confusions of my mind. I have never suffered any real tragedy. But all that this keen awareness does is make me more miserable, more guilty, more isolated, more alone.

What needs to be done is that I need to treat all of my insecurities with love and compassion. I had a friend here remind me that everything is relative--scientifically, physically, as well as philosophically. This is something that I hold to be true but that nonetheless does not serve me a well as I would hope in my moments of sadness, frustration, or worry. In reality, I have every right to feel suffering as anybody else--it is one of the biggest understandings in Buddhism that to be alive is to suffer. I am alive, ergo, I suffer. When Miro, the three-year old who lives here, can't roll his red wagon over a rock and therefore melts into hysterics, that is real suffering. Looking at and experiencing the world through the lenses of delusion crafted from deep insecurities is real suffering. Feeling lonely is suffering. Feeling guilt for feeling suffering from loneliness, despite my plentitude of friends and loving family, is real suffering. Feeling ashamed because I complain when I have a wonderful job, live in a beautiful place, eat amazing food, am young and healthy, that is real suffering.

Our bed of Cosmos

I think about the families and friends of those who lost someone they loved in the Orlando shootings. I think of those who love victims of suicide, homicide, rape, natural disaster, war, genocide, starvation, and disease, and I am humbled. I feel like nothing…but still a nothing just as worthy of love as anything or anybody else. Everybody in the world just wants to feel loved and worthy. So much disaster and pain would be avoided if we treated everybody like they are wonderful and important.

Anyways, this past week here was busy and full and lovely and mundane. It was Work Week, in which Green Gulch offers free shelter in our guest housing and free meals to people in exchange for them working on projects here. There were about 25 people participating in Work Week, which was quite the influx of bodies and minds into our little community. It was interesting having their energy around here for a little bit. They worked mostly with the Maintenance department, and their primary projects included clearing out a playground (I could barely even tell there was a playground, it was lost in a thick jungle of weeds…now it looks delightful! Fit for children to play in, even!) and building a new fence around the garden. We've had a temporary fence for as long as I've lived here, and the new fence will encompass more area, so soon the garden will feel far more spacious, which I'm looking forward to.

Dahlia

We did not have our typical dharma talk on Wednesday night, instead being treated to a Congalese dance class. It was fun. Our baker, Mik, has been a part of this Congalese drumming group for quite some time, and he brought them to Green Gulch to add a bit of silliness to the middle of the week. It was lovely seeing people dance who I had seldom seen outside of their official roles here (there were a few priests dancing, and dancing well!)

Yesterday (Saturday) there was another all-day sit, but I was not scheduled to partake in the sitting. Usually, if you're not sitting during an all-day sit, you work in the kitchen, but I guess the kitchen felt that they had enough help, and so a fair amount of us just had the day off. It was quite wonderful being outside and having the day-off with so many people in the zendo. It felt like I had the place mostly to myself, and it was sunny, hot, and enlivening weather out. I could have sat, if I wanted, but I did not particularly want to (of course, it probably would have been beneficial, considering all of the stuff that's been coming up for me, but I also just really wanted to relax in the sun for a little bit.)

Today, Reb Anderson, our senior dharma teacher, gave the public dharma talk, which usually I quite enjoy. Today, however, I found his talk to be rather esoteric. Although I greatly wanted to understand the lessons he was giving to all of us, it was really hard to follow his line of thought, he was already so many cognitive steps above where I am right now.

Zinnias!

Just in case you were wondering, I still definitely identify as an Atheist. I keep meaning to write out something to explain how I feel I can identify as an Atheist Buddhist (but maybe I'm more a Buddhist Atheist?) but I keep not feeling particularly inspired to do so. I want to do it well. Just today Doris, a priest here, proclaimed to me that for an Atheist I sure seem engaged in Buddhism. That is definitely a true observation. I just find that so many of the ideas (and even dogmas) of Buddhism can be easily applied to my understanding of the world, even as a non-religious person. It's all psychology; It's all biology and physics, even if a lot of Buddhists don't necessarily recognize it as such.

I also definitely internally freak out pretty consistently here. I have a lot of moments where I look around at where I am and what I'm doing and I'm struck with this hyper feel of being in a cult. Which, I mean, it is. Most people here would admit that, I think. I've heard several people say that, yes, it's a cult, but it's a good cult. But I think that everybody who's in a cult would believe that it's a good cult...

But a cult is just a highly centralized, condensed, saturated culture. The ideas that this particular cult supplies are ones of interdependence and the inherent subjectivity of the universe; ones of compassion and awareness; ones of respect and virtue. Those all seem like pretty good things to me, and ones that I'm happy to absorb into my own understanding of life and the universe, as well as ones I'm happy to live out in the hopes of bringing more love to the world during my one short life.

Also all of the bowing to things I don't particularly believe in is humbling. It's good for me to pay respects to anything and everything. It's good for most everyone to do that.

An acre of food growing on our farm

Some thoughts from this past week:

Pink Snapdragon

I so often think that a thought I have is brilliant, only to then quickly feel oddly ashamed; but every thought I have is brilliant. To think is brilliance, in that it takes the dusty tunnels of my mind, and, as though through a prism, transforms them into light--a light that enlivens my eyes and gives perceptibility of my existence to other people as a being just as complex as they are.

People commend me for my honesty, but really all that that is is the culmination of inspiration from all who I've known to be honest.

I'm afraid that people don't love me as much as I love them. I don't think it's a silly fear.

I can't tell if it's a relief or not for me to have grown into a realization that the universe does not pay heed to my silent pleadings…unless you count the effect that my thoughts on such matters influence my actions.

Intimacy grows in space…but so does fear. A fear that nobody else yearns for closeness in that space with me as much as I do for them.

Sunflower

Giving people the opportunity to predictably disappoint me so that it's not unexpected and wrenching, squeezing my heart to splintered ash.
Fractal splinters of self-fulfilling disappointment.
…Better than a bottomless chasm of imploded hope.
I'd rather just have the liberated lightness of being.

It's hard to explain the fullness that comes from living in a community that encourages equilibrium, however possible and impossible that is.

Suffering from attachment to delusion.
Not accepting what is, what's lovely as is.
Desire. More. But is there enough?
Knowing that one scrap of attention will only satiate momentarily before stoking this fire.

Would have I otherwise noticed this hummingbird?

Pink Jupiter's Beard 

Some crazy thistle flower that Claudia claims
gets even cooler looking somehow

Zinnias!

Zinnias!

Book of the Week:

I just finished reading Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes. I love Bradbury. He is my favorite author, second only to the great, bright Kurt Vonnegut.

He writes just so, so beautifully. You can tell that he wrote during a time when writing was an art, something that people were both innately skilled at and that had to take time to perfect. Something in that was inspired but then thought about carefully before being put down on the page.

The Martian Chronicles by Bradbury is definitely one of my all-time favorite books. He also has
many splendid short stories.

Anyways, this one was about a twisted carnival that floats into a small town in Illinois and disrupts the lives of its inhabitants in a very particular manner of sordid affair. The story follows two 13-year-old boys in their attempt to fathom the events they witness and partake in, as well as what it means to grow up. The whole story is about what it means to grow up, to grow old. One of the young protagonists, Will, has a library janitor for a father, who ends up involved in the boys' shenanigans, and who offers Bradbury's philosophical musings to the story in the form of monologues directed at the boys. I found two of these to be rather poignant and rather Zen (although there are so, so many poignant and Zen sentences, paragraphs, scenes, and ideas in this book. There were many times while I was reading this that I was struck by the beauty of the thought just related to me from the page.) The passages are below, and I believe, entirely relevant to life right now as I'm experiencing it:

"What could he say that might make sense to them (about love)? Could he say love was, above all, common cause, shared experience? That was the vital cement, wasn't it? Could he say how he felt about their all being here tonight on this wild world running around a big sun which fell through a bigger space falling through yet vaster immensities of space, maybe toward and maybe away from Something? Could he say: we share this billion-mile-an-hour ride. We have common cause against the night. You start with little common causes. Why love the boy in a March field with his kite braving the sky? Because our fingers burn with the hot string singeing our hands. Why love some girl viewed from a train, bent to a country well? The tongue remembers iron water cool on some long lost noon. Why weep at strangers dead by the road? They resemble friends unseen in forty years. Why laugh when clowns are hit by pies? We taste custard, we taste life. Why love the woman who is your wife? He nose breaths in the air of a world that I know; therefore I love that nose. Her ears hear music I might sing half the night through; therefore I love her ears. Her eyes delight in seasons of the land; and so I love those eyes. Her tongue knows quince, peach, chokeberry, mint and lime; I love to hear it speaking. Because her flesh knows heat, cold, affliction, I know fire, snow, and pain. Shared and once again shared experience. Billions of prickling textures. Cut one sense away, cut part of life away. Cut two senses; life halves itself on the instant. We love what we know, we love what we are. Common cause, common cause, common cause of mouth, eye, ear, tongue, hand, nose, flesh, hear, and soul.

But…how to say it?"

"Somehow, irresistibly, the prime thing was: nothing mattered. Life in the end seems a prank of such size you could only stand off at this end of the corridor to note its meaningless length and its quite unnecessary height, a mountain built to such ridiculous immensities you were dwarfed in its shadow and mocking of its pomp. So with death this near he thought numbly but purely upon a billion vanities, arrivals, departures, idiot excursions of boy, boy-man, man and old-man goat. He had gathered and stacked all manner of foibles, devices, playthings of his egotism and now, between all the silly corridors of books, the toys of his life swayed."

Song of the Week:

Another one of my favorite songs. Also decently Zen...or maybe Atheist. Maybe just whole. 

Everything that keeps me together is falling apart

I've got this thing that I consider my only art of fucking people over.

My boss just quit the job

Says he's goin out to find blind spots and he'll do it.

The 3rd planet is sure that they're being watched

By an eye in the sky that can't be stopped.

When you get to the promise land

Your gonna shake that eyes hand.

Your heart felt good

It was drippin' pitch and made of wood.

And your hands and knees

Felt cold and wet on the grass to me.

Well, outside naked, shiverin' looking blue, from the cold

Sunlight that's reflected off the moon.

Baby cum angels fly around you

Reminding you we used to be three and not just two.

And that's how the world began.

And that's how the world will end.

Well, a 3rd had just been made and we were swimming in the water

Didn't know then was it a son was it a daughter.

When it occurred to me that the animals are swimming

Around in the water in the oceans in our bodies

And another had been found another ocean on the planet

Given that our blood is just like the Atlantic.

And how.

Repose

"We actually do belong."--Fu, our abbess

I have definite interest in writing a blog for this past week, but I have absolutely no interest in this present moment in doing it in the regular fashion that I conscribed two months ago. Right now, in this moment, I am feeling so entirely contemplative and sensational.

I hope you forgive the absence of pictures this week, it is just not what I am inspired to do right now.

Today, I began to wonder in a more concentrated manner what exactly it is that drives me to write this blog. I know that I enjoy writing in general, quite a lot. Often my days off here are entirely devoted to writing in some fashion, either in the form of this blog, letters, or recently, fiction. It helps me process my thoughts, to have to organize them in a matter that is coherent enough to be understood by someone else. I think that even when I do not intend to write down my thoughts, I form my comprehensions as though they are to be written, especially when they topics are of a rather profound nature. But, why do I feel the compulsion to share my writing, share my life, with whoever? Why should I presume that anybody wants to read what I think and feel about a rather soft existence at a zen center, working in a garden?

Apparently, people do like reading my thoughts, as I can see that the blog gets a fair amount of traffic. This is very humbling. Thank you to all who read this for allowing me a sense of legitimacy.

I think a primary reason for me wanting to share my thoughts with people stems from a rather innately human place; we are a gregarious species, and we connect to each other through speech, most especially speech that is vulnerable and genuine. I so inherently have this desire to connect to people, to feel accepted and loved, for exactly who I am. This is entirely natural. Although it might be easy to look at it as an insecurity, which I don't think is inaccurate, it is such a true and expected insecurity, I am not ashamed of it.

I also think that being so entirely open and honest on such a public platform (this blog) allows me to feel more comfortable with doing it in person, with humans, face-to-face. A lot of my insecurities and subsequent anxiety stem from a belief that people do not actually care to know what I think or feel, especially if it's negative. This, of course, is not true; people who truly care for me truly wish to know how I am, even if they can't relate or help. My time here has especially helped me see this. I am inspired by those who are open and vulnerable with me, and I admire their attempt at connection through such rawness. I attempt to do the same now, and hopefully always. It helps with the insecurities and the anxiety, helps with my self-confidence and self-acceptance.

It is a striking realization that there are people who want to know who I am, truly, just as much as I want to know who they are, truly.

Life at the Center:

This will only be a quick synopsis of important events from this past week, lest I forget about them (should I really want to remember everything, though? My own mortality is perhaps a sufficient enough filter for deeming the important aspects of my life as I approach non-existence.)

On Sunday we started a new class, this time taught by the priest Shokuchi, who is also head of the Guest Program. This class is an examination of the five skandhas, or aggregates. They are what is principally deemed to be false, or empty, in the realization of the Heart Sutra. They are what comprise existence as a human.The skandhas are: Form, Sensation, Perception, Formation, and Consciousness.

Our first class was primarily just a long, but very interesting, introduction to the skandhas. There are a couple of things that we learned in that class that I found to be particularly interesting that I would like to share.

The first is the Buddha's theory on time, which is essentially that every moment is comprised of a momentary appearance and disappearance of the universe, held within itself, unconnected from all that it came from and all that is yet to come (except for, perhaps, what happens to be congruous with what had happened previously and what will happen.) It is also called a "Theory of instantaneousness." This does not mean that, according to the Buddha, every moment can be separated from karma. It just means that every moment should be evaluated for what it is, can only be evaluated and accepted for what it is. It is like a snapshot of existence in everything, and life is the film that is comprised when all of those snapshots are run alongside each other. That is how there is no continuous self, because, just like everything else, it only exists as it does moment to moment. It is a part of Buddhist practice to watch and get in touch with the story we create.

The other thing I want to share is the "Four Inverted Views," which are the basis for not realizing thusness and actuality. I just found them to be wonderful things to consider "inverted," or "backwards," "illogical". These are:

1. Understanding the repulsive as attractive

2. Understanding suffering as ease

3. Understanding the impermanent as permanent

4. Understanding the no-self as self

I'm looking forward to exploring the skandhas more.

On Tuesday we were treated to a field trip to Sonoma County, near the town of Sebastopol. In the morning it was just the garden crew, Reed (the maintenance apprentice,) and Clark (the grounds apprentice.) We went on a small tour of the California School of Herbal Studies, where Juniper took classes for 8 months a few years ago. She served as our tour guide and showed us their wonderful garden that was absolutely full of medicinal plants. We walked around for an hour or so, with Juniper teaching us all about the plants and their uses, as well as the history of medicinal herbalism (from the Western standpoint.)

In the afternoon the farm crew was able to join us in a tour of Singing Frog Farms, which is a super neat farm that is causing quite a stir in the agricultural community right now. They have a lot of interesting alternative approaches to organic farming, the most evident one being that they're a no-till farm. They also continuously grow crops in their beds (no need for cover crops,) don't really weed, and only use drip irrigation, among other interesting innovations. I suggest checking out their website, if you're interested in knowing more: http://www.singingfrogsfarm.com/about-us.html

On Wednesday we were treated to a dharma talk by our abbess Fu. I've taken to just writing down quotes of things she says during talks, because she is so wise and profound in her understanding and teaching. Her talk was ostensibly about interconnectedness, and how suffering is caused by the misunderstanding (inverted view?) that we are alone. I just want to share some of those quotes now.

"We are created by all the things that we aren't."

"Truth of the cessation of all life--(that) all things must end--that's us. What's sadder than that?"

"The other side of cessation is amazement."

"(We are) not turning towards the darkness, not yet. It will come (in death)."

"The ultimate reality is that there is nothing happening right now, despite all evidence to the contrary."

"Happiness is not the goal (of Buddhism), heaven's not the goal...we are trying to understand the reality of existence."

"Go ahead and fly, you're going to crash. Go ahead and live, you're going to die."

Last night (Friday) I went to the city with a group from Green Gulch, consisting of Juniper, Claudia, Jenny, and Travis. We went to a show called "Mortified" in which five people read excerpts from their teenage journals. It was awesome. In between every act there was a short musical act performed by the band The Freeze, in which they improvised a song about what was just read, which was also wonderful. It was so heartening to realize that everybody was awfully awkward and confused as teenagers. It's a series that's been going on for a while, and they have rotating people who perform. Everything in the show last night was so wonderfully raw and graphic. My favorite one was a romance novel that a woman shared that she wrote when she was 17, which was wonderfully awkward. 

This guy (in clip below) presented this story last night, and let me just tell you, there is many more graphic scenes from his diary than what is shown here. It ended with an entry in which he admitted he was "bisexual" (although adult Leonard told us that he is, in fact, gay.)

It inspired me to look through my diary from when I was a teenager, which I have here at Green Gulch. The entries weren't really funny, which was disappointing. They were definitely awfully anguished in parts, and in other parts surprisingly poignant. I found myself touching on the idea that nothing is permanent and everything is empty before I had ever studied Buddhism, which is probably why I had such a proclivity to it when I was finally introduced to it.

Anyways, the parts that stood out to me the most were the poems I wrote. I don't write poetry anymore--I don't feel and experience life in quite the same way as I did when I felt compelled to organize my feelings into abstract verbal expression. I wish I could still feel that inspiration.

I was inspired by "Mortified" to share these poems. A disclaimer (especially to my parents), a lot of these poems touch on my feelings of loneliness, confusion, and depression. Being a teenager was not easy for me (of course, is it really easy for anyone?) I want it to be clear that I am much less lonely now. If I could ensure my teenager self that maturing (even just for another 5 or 10 years) allows more awareness and self-confidence, I would. Although, everything happened as it did. I think that my feelings of loneliness as a teenager have helped shape me into the person I am today, the person who seeks to be unflinchingly compassionate and who loves people openly and deeply. There's a quote that circulates the internet every once in a while in an attempt to cheer up the lonely masses of people who accumulate there for scraps of human connection (of which I have participated regularly and willingly.) Anyways, the quote is lovely if not cheesy:

"The loneliest people are the kindest.

The saddest people smile the brightest.

The most damaged people are the wisest.

All because they do not wish to see anyone else suffer the way they do."

So, here is the poetry, presented chronologically in the order I wrote them in. It is angsty, ignorant, emotional, visceral, honest, poignant. I hope a future version of myself is not too embarrassed by my decision to share all of this now (also, I do not blame anyone for choosing to not read the poetic ramblings of a hormone-riddled teenager.) These are all written, I'm guessing, around the ages of 16 and 17. 

I am also struck by how many of the ideas presented in these poems are resonant with struggles I am having now (but the struggles now are often far more multi-faceted than they were in high school...or maybe that is a delusion. It probably is. That's just how I want it to be.) They are struggles I have always had and always will have, but I continuously forget about until I am confronted with them once more, believing them to be unique manifestations, unaware of the patterns. It is so human to look for patterns. 

They're also full of Zen and Socratic questionings and reasonings, which are apparently my natural proclivity. 

Reading these inspires a certain amount of compassion for myself, back then and now. 

I think teenage me would have wanted these to be read by someone, at some point.

There are love poems in here too, so be warned. I will not disclose who they were written about :)

There are a lot, 18 to be exact. How did I feel this much?

Anyways...

Poems:

1. 

What do I do? I try to stay true.

But it's so hard.

I don't know. Don't throw the old me back

I like the new me better.

She's stronger.

Then why aren't I strong?

I am strong. I just want to fall back.

Why? Don't ask me.

You know better than I do.

Failing cannot equal my standing

So don't let it.

I'm talking to both you and you (me).

Don't let it.

Would this be easier to do without resilience?

Probably.

Just allow whatever happens to happen.

Don't form attachment.

But don't not try either.

Just be strong. Confident.

Then it will come to you,

Even if not in the form you originally expected.

It's true in all cases.

Be true, that's what to do.

Don't fall back, stand.

Tree, wind, rock

Not sand.

2.

Risk the cold to

Have the view

Softly padding

An airy you

Light is dimming

Stars lip snow

Blanket my back

Cup my toe

Skin on moon

Rug on green

Hair is naked

Hug my spleen

Wish for yellow

To have sips

Wave my hand

In elegant rips

Lightning soft

Envelope space

Cushion time

Ripen my face

Shadows remain

Sun beams go

Linen and leaves

Tangle slow

Risk the dark to

Have the heart

Softly pulling

This empty cart.

3.

Dry land is thrust

Upon a sea--

Although empty,

Content to be.

Dust darkens air

Hiding the sky

We cannot know

If the moon cries.

Land and sea can

Love each other

If only the green

Wasn't smothered.

Forget colors

Remember fog

Resting our head

On floating logs.

Raise my body

Above my soul

Soon inspire

It's heathen toll.

Do not surprise

The sleeping heart

Swimming alone

Throughout the dark.

4.

My ribs collapse around the hole,

The sand disguises broken parts.

Pushing against the empty folds,

The old waits for new life to start.

The sun tries to shine on shadows,

Skin waits on soft, missing the mold.

Hide me until the ashes heal,

The warm wind invites the scarred cold.

Flurries trapped inside the stiff fog,

Someone's layers must surely peel.

Red turns to dust, yellow to grey,

Broken, frayed splinters break the seal.

No voices crack the river's way,

The shade waits during the day.

Hide the moon, she should not see.

Who says flowers grow during May?

Rains come, wash the pain from the bed.

Something's lost, I can't find the key.

The hurt cannot share lies aloud,

Glass reflects what you want to see.

Strength holds up dusty fortresses

The sky cannot be seen in clouds.

Life turns to memories in gauze

And nothing is seen by the crowd.

What compels the crickets to sing?

Do they wish to hear some applause?

Lovely Spring nights live in the grass,

You were barefoot on the see-saw.

5.

The green wall invites me

To places I cannot go.

The sun loves the tall tree

And then hides in its shadow.

The breeze softly lips my face

The road winds towards the bottom.

The stars are waiting in space

Afraid of being forgotten.

Why must all things yearn to heal?

Pain is beauty in the black.

The clouds dance with the gray and teal,

The mist fights the swirling, bringing it back.

I leave a trail of quiet joy

Followed like a shooting star

Happily wishing that a boy

Would feather dust my scars.

6.

Love abruptly shoots the sky

The white fog turns to yellow, to black

And back

Ghosts cannot tell if it's a lie

The tightened string sings for slack.

Life swirls and runs right by

The quiet afternoons tease my skin

The sun finds its way in

Clouds try to comfort, but instead cry

Feeling airy, feeling thin.

Love abruptly shoots the sky,

Whispering, what to do?

The pink is tempting after so much blue.

The clouds sing my, oh my

While the rain cleans an abandoned shoe.

Life swirls and runs right by

It yearns to live on in history

With glorious skin of ivory

Quenching the perpetually dry

This is no one's story.

7. 

(This one was also featured in my blog "Go Big (Island)")

Waves upon waves

Of mahogany tide

Floating suspended

Shifting inside

My thoughts scatter

The fish that hide

Gazing outward,

Along for the ride.

Limitless moon

Match sighing stars

Dripping with salt

That stings my scars

Messages elapse

Stuffed inside drawers

Memories survive

Traveling afar.

Afraid to begin

Afraid of fear

Boats soar by

Unaware I'm near

Contemplating life

Lying with tears

The water reflects

My heart as a mirror.

Complete in myself,

A hole without you,

The ocean carries me

Right on cue

Towards a harmony

Way overdue

A land full of sand

With nothing to do.

8.

Courage evades those who think,

Worldliness evades those who remain ignorant.

Heat seeks equilibrium

Cold seeks impassivity.

Who knows my ways?

Who wishes to?

Loneliness is a human creation

We share with other organisms.

Patience evades those who live,

Love evades those who hide.

Darkness seeks light,

Black seeks color.

Who knows my ways?

Who wishes to?

Knowledge is a human creation 

Brought forth from rebellion.

Triumph evades the timid,

Egotism evades the modest.

Pain seeks redemption,

Hurt seeks healing.

Who knows my ways?

Who wishes to?

9.

Love and compassion are not a sin,

So why does my heart freeze from within?

Loneliness is gray and triumphs time,

My punishment for my unrequited crime.

I see him move, I hear him talk,

But time means nothing to a persistent clock.

Surely I am wonderful, I feel it like the sun,

But how can I be loved if I haven't begun?

Is it bravery or cleverness that evades life

When opportunities and shadows wound like a knife?

Love and compassion are not a sin,

Although in this hole I cannot win.

I wish for yellow and warmth to fill,

But instead find emptiness that slowly kills.

Where can I find continuous strength?

Somewhere that provides instead of pains?

I live with his life, I crumple when he cries,

Can he not feel my heart when he has my eyes?

I pull away from myself, unsure of what to do,

When all I want is simply you.

10.

The sunlight and brown leaves

Suspend the warmth throughout the trees

Down they fall, hand in hand

Crunching toes around the sand

Peaceful afternoons rest in ice

Packed up tight and taped up twice

Thoughts of them surround my hair

In frantic flurries, attracting stares

I long for the sun and grass,

The taste of rain, the smells of past,

Wood, and glow that left

So long ago

Return happy creatures, Asleep

In the anticlines of cliffs so steep

Surrounded by water not cool

But sad and empty of renewals.

Hello little friend, gone away

Tucked in thoughts of happy days.

11.

Patterns are all that remain

After I board this train

Wishes and dreams so close

At once, no longer enter my doze

Cities bright as stars

Are no longer quite as far

Opportunities flash as signs

Replacing once bitter sighs.

Places to be, things to see,

I am off to create a better me

One who can love again,

One who knows when is when,

One who can feel the sand,

And does not follow demands.

I am ready to start life anew

Once so empty without you.

12.

I wish for some turbulence.

The water remains too still,

No matter how far I swim.

Too much calm can slowly kill

As I sit and watch, always,

The waterfall roar and swirl

Unaware of empty days.

The lucid spray sings and twirls,

Caught up in its own beauty

And docile imperfections.

It all simply eludes me,

Floating in no direction.

Currents carry me away!

Away from this nothingness

Save me from what makes me stay,

Trapped behind debris and mess.

Tide, sweep me from this cold pool

Here, I have nothing to do.

I need my spirit to rule

Somewhere far and fresh and new.

13.

Muscle on bone

Heart in a home

Soft breath on skin

My life begins

Side by my side

Happy torn sighs

Direct the night

And block the light.

Dreams in full bloom

Shadow the moon

Heads tend to touch

Want you so much

Sidle closer

I need you, sir

A sad yearning

Breaks the morning

14.

Bravery is evaded, pulled back to bed

As you pull yourself forwards, always ahead.

Sitting and dreaming of you far away

While my loneliness forces me to stay.

Your smile shines through your dusty clothes

I can feel your strong touch as I doze.

Your eyes are bright from your new start

Miles gone I think of your heart.

I think of your eyes, so warm

I think of your mind, so torn

I miss your awkward stance

I miss your silly dance

You are in my thoughts

Even though I am caught

Between yearning

And the burning

Of every thought I know you didn't have.

15.

The night's rustling heat

Pushes away the edge of sleep

Limbs ensnared in sheets

Run with empty thoughts the mind keeps

The soft smell of rain

Packages the heart's achings

Dreams clung to in vain

Wash away with the storm's takings

Years of nothing sit stale

While the body itches to change

Its patterns so pale

But still held far back by loose chains

The sun adds the sky

Tired baby plants add the mist

I watch trails go by

Content in the warmth's loving kiss

16.

When the only person who's ever

Loved you is yourself

When the only power you can

Master is the sun

When the only place you've felt

Comfortable is so alone

The only way to grow is

To scratch the dry dirt

And watch the rain sweep by

And hope for new life

At last.

**Disclaimer: No, I don't think I ever believed the only person who loved me was solely myself. I imagine I did this for dramatic effect. I know now, and have always known, that people love me.

17.

Surrounded by people like a shadow

With so many trails but nowhere to go

Frozen in dreams of capturing sunlight

Admiring the moon alone at night

One can never realize all that one now has

But it's easier to forget when sad.

There's so much beauty alive in the world

Wondering in amazement as life unfurls

But also pain and struggle all around

Yet still more true by our own minds we're bound

Sometimes it's hard to remember others

When you're trapped crying under your covers.

18.

The night moves with heavy, broken sighs

Cloaking my tired naïveté

Burning with thoughts of your warm, kind eyes

Wishing there was something I could say

To make you look past my years and skin--

My inexperience and closed heart

If only you were allowed within

To know how my past pulls me apart.

If only I could believe that you

Loving me was even possible.

Song(s) of the Week:

Just because I think they're beautiful.

"Clair de Lune"--Flight Facilities

If I would know you, would you know me?

Don't go, tell me that the lights won't change,

Tell me that you'll feel the same, and we'll stay here forever

Don't go, tell me that the lights won't change,

Tell me that it'll stay the same,

Where we go

If I would know you, would you know me?

Don't go, tell me that the lights won't change,

Tell me that we'll stay the same,

Where we go

"Wait"--M83

Send your dreams

Where nobody hides

Give your tears

To the tide

No time

No time

There's no end

There is no goodbye

Disappear

With the night

No time

No time

Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra and Homage to the Prajna Paramita

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other
people won't feel insecure around you.
We were born to make manifest the glory of
God that is within us.
It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others."--Marianne Williamson

Flower of the Week:

Kangaroo Paw--a weird, quirky, hidden guy that I adore

Buddhist Lesson of the Week:

Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra and Homage to the Prajna Paramita

Some cool variety of Calla Lily in the garden

I'm going to talk more about the chants that we perform every day in the zendo after our two periods of morning zazen. To pick up from last week, after we do the nine prostrations to the Manjushri figure seated at the back of the zendo, we rearrange and sit seiza (on our knees) and pass out chant books. The next chant we do is always the Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra, in either English or Japanese (in Japanese it's called the "Makka Hannya Haramita Shin Gyo"). After that we chant a homage to the Perfection of Wisdom (also known as the Prajna Paramita.)

The Heart Sutra is known as the "second-turning" of the wheel of dharma. The first turning was Buddha's teaching of the Four Noble Truths, and it is enacted through Theravada Buddhism. The Prajna Paramita is thought to be another important revelation of the Dharma, and it is what provides the basis for Mahayana Buddhists to practice (Zen is a Mahayana tradition.) Mahayana Buddhists also place the utmost importance on the "first-turning" (or the Four Noble Truths,) but just add the teachings from the Heart Sutra, and all of the teachings that branch off of it, or that were inspired by it, as well.

It's sort of a matter of pride and accomplishment here when you're able to recite the Heart Sutra (in English) and the Homage to the Prajna Paramita from memory, without need of the chant book. Of course, that's only the beginning...the longer you're here, you're able to recite more and more of the chants from memory. I am able to recite both the Heart Sutra and Homage from memory, of course :)

Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra:

Sea Lavender Statice

Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when deeply practicing prajña paramita, clearly saw that all five aggregates are empty and thus relieved all suffering. Shariputra, form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form. Form itself is emptiness, emptiness itself form. Sensations, perceptions, formations, and consciousness are also like this. Shariputra, all dharmas are marked by emptiness; they neither arise nor cease, are neither defiled nor pure, neither increase nor decrease. Therefore, given emptiness, there is no form, no sensation, no perception, no formation, no consciousness; no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind; no sight, no sound, no smell, no taste, no touch, no object of mind; no realm of sight ... no realm of mind consciousness. There is neither ignorance nor extinction of ignorance... neither old age and death, nor extinction of old age and death; no suffering, no cause, no cessation, no path; no knowledge and no attainment. With nothing to attain, a bodhisattva relies on prajña paramita, and thus the mind is without hindrance. Without hindrance, there is no fear. Far beyond all inverted views, one realizes nirvana. All buddhas of past, present, and future rely on prajña paramita and thereby attain unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment. Therefore, know the prajña paramita as the great miraculous mantra, the great bright mantra, the supreme mantra, the incomparable mantra, which removes all suffering and is true, not false. Therefore we proclaim the prajña paramita mantra, the mantra that says: "Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha."

**What this is relating is essentially the story of Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion, realizing The Heart Sutra and relating it to his dear follower Shariputra. There is a lot within this, and it can be (and is) analyzed and comprehended deeply and often by those who study Zen Buddhism seriously. Essentially, I believe it to be the teaching of emptiness, impermanence, and interconnectedness.

I suggest reading it slowly to yourself a few times to fully understand it.

The mantra "Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha" translates roughly to "Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone altogether beyond, O what an awakening, all-hail!"

A beautiful pink rose hanging from a trellis at the entrance to the herb circle in the garden

Homage to the Prajna Paramita:

Homage to the Perfection of Wisdom, the lovely, the holy. The Perfection of Wisdom gives light. Unstained, the entire world cannot stain her. She is a source of light and from everyone in the triple world she removes darkness. Most excellent are her works. She brings light so that all fear and distress may be forsaken, and disperses the gloom and darkness of delusion. She herself is an organ of vision. She has a clear knowledge of the own-being of all dharmas, for she does not stray away from it. The Perfection of Wisdom of the buddhas sets in motion the wheel of dharma.

Glorious baby yellow plums growing on a tree right in front of the yurt

Life at the Center:

Wild cucumber

I have been feeling pretty open, raw, emotional, and philosophical this past week. There has been a low-hanging, dense fog sitting in the valley for most of this past week, and I think this might have something to do with it. I also had a familiar visit from my anxiety this past week, and it stuck around for a couple of days. My anxiety here is definitely different than it has ever been...whereas usually it's a slow, painful march into anxiousness and then a struggling climb back out of it again, here it's been more like a roller coaster--one moment I'm completely fine, even joyous; the next moment I'll be deeply shrouded in the familiar fog of anxiety, only to be totally fine again the next moment after that. I guess that "totally fine" is relative; I still had an edge of anxiety, it was there, lurking, even if not immediately present. However, I was able to work, engage in conversation, think, and even laugh openly and genuinely. Also, experiencing my anxiety through the lens of my increased awareness meant that I could actually catch on to the usually fleeting thoughts that are indicative of what's making me anxious. It was interesting, because usually I can't clearly see what it is that induces the anxiety, and here I could spot them and hold on to them, and learn from them.

English Lavender

At first, I was obviously unhappy with the anxiety returning. It was...disappointing to see it manifest here, in a space where I am so obviously healthy and happy and safe. On the other hand, I never really thought that it would just go away, just like that. My time here has largely been about practicing acceptance of what is happening in every moment as it is; of course, I thought that practicing this acceptance would mean that I would no longer be anxious--how could I be anxious about anything when I am inherently accepting? But of course, I'm not inherently accepting, not at all, not yet...and so for now, I am accepting the fact that my anxiety is here. It is a part of me. A very integral, defining part of who I am as a person. Instead of pushing it away, hating it, abusing it, punishing it, I am now working on accepting it, and giving it compassion...thus accepting myself, and giving myself compassion. Already I feel so much better about it! It's so much easier to love than hate, even when it comes to aspects of myself, and realizing this has really made me more peaceful, at least for now (I am sure to forget this lesson from time to time.)

As far as exterior events in the center are related, this has been another fairly laid-back week. I had Monday off for Memorial Day, as did most of the residents here, except for the farm and half of the garden. This meant that the kitchen had the day off, and so in order to feed ourselves we had "open kitchen," or that we had to cook for ourselves. I was overwhelmed by the thought of having to cook for myself in such an expansive kitchen, but luckily I didn't have to worry about it too much. In the morning I took a long, lovely, striking hike in the hills around the gulch and then came back to attempt lunch, only to have it made for me or donated to me by three lovely, lovely, people. Travis, a wonderful human and a fellow D&Der made me a quesadilla; Rebecca, a beautiful human and a fellow gardener made a lot of veggie pizza with a beet-based sauce that she shared; and Dina, a stunning individual who works in the guest program made some lovely mini-quiche-type things that she shared. Everyone was sharing and cooking for everyone, and it was so, so beautiful and complete. It was a simple and quietly wonderful example of the kind of happiness and connection that comes from community living.

Grosso Lavender

On Monday we also had our last writing class with Catherine. I'm definitely going to miss that class. There are a few others from the class that have also expressed that they're going to miss it, and Catherine said she could email us her prompts, so that maybe we can do them on our own, in an informal manner. I'd be interested to see if we can find time to do that; I think I definitely benefited a lot from this class, and would like to try to keep with the work it provided. The assignment this week was to write an 11-line narrative. When we were done, we were told to write an additional 10 sentences, with the goal of making the story somewhat of a palindrome. So, the 12th sentence had to somewhat reflect the 10th sentence, the 13th reflected the 9th, and so on. It was interesting, because originally I had the story end at a high-point, and this exercise enabled me to bring it back down again. I'll post mine below, along with some lines from another exercise we did at the beginning of a few of the classes: we started out every class with a short period of sitting, and the exercise was to write down one or two sentences describing what we noticed during the sit. 

On Wednesday we received a wonderful dharma talk from Juryu, the priest who led the one-day sit that I partook in a few weeks ago. I really enjoy Juryu's dharma talks--he's quiet, thoughtful, and particular with his words. He's also very honest and open with what he's discussing, without any unnecessary flair or pushed agenda of any kind. When listening to his talks I feel like I'm remembering something I know but didn't yet before know that I knew. His talk had a lot of different ideas, all of them intriguing. I feel like one of the essential messages of the talk was that we should not pay much credence to feelings, because they are fleeting and internal. Instead, we should focus on our actions. Sometimes, we need to focus on our feelings in order to better guide our actions, but in the grand scheme of things, it is not what we feel that matters as much as what we do. 

Pink rose

He talked about how people who practice Zen often try to obtain some sort of "zen" feeling, especially when we sit. Sometimes, we obtain such a feeling--usually characterized by some sort of radical openness, acceptance, understanding, or calm. We then try to hold on to that feeling as we go about our days. He argued that this is not zen; when we are in the zendo, we are in the zendo...as soon as we leave the zendo, we are doing something else, and we need to experience that fully without holding on to feelings we had moments before. If we work in the garden, we should not be zen and working in the garden; we should just be working in the garden. We need to be able to experience every moment as the result of everything that is a part of that moment, in whatever shape and form it has. Holding on to notions or feelings limits our ability to fully live presently, even if they are calm and accepting feelings. It's a lot to think about, and I think probably pretty hard to actually enact--but, as with everything here, it can only come with practice...or only comes in the practice.

Something else that he talked about that was especially intriguing to me is that people sometimes feel like they need to "fake it till they make it," or pretend that they feel love or passion or interest in something they're doing until they actually do feel love, passion, or interest in it. Juryu said that this isn't how it works. The doing of the activity itself is the love, passion, and interest. He talked about how he loves his kids, but that in every moment he doesn't necessarily have a loving feeling towards them--sometimes he's frustrated, upset, tired, etc. Nonetheless, he cares for them, nurtures them, and parents them. Even if he doesn't always feel in every moment an aware love for his children, that doesn't matter--the care, nurturing, and parenting he does for them is love.

There is no point in feeling love for something, for someone, if you do not act on it, act like it. Acting out the love is how we live in enlightenment. Not acting out the love does not benefit any being. This felt like a sort of affirmation in my recent ambition to let everybody know how much they are loved. If I love someone and do not let them know, what is the point to loving them?

Some cool variety of rose, I don't know what it's called

There were also two birthdays this past week: Reed, a thoroughly pleasant and intriguing apprentice in the Maintenance department with soft, wondrous eyes had his birthday on Thursday; Juniper, a delightful friend with an easy-going, open, soft personality and an impressive knowledge of plants had her birthday on Friday.

Ornamental Poppy in garden

Today (Saturday) there's a big wedding happening here at Green Gulch. The bride is the daughter of our Central Abbess Linda Ruth Cutts. The ceremony took place in the zendo and the reception is in the garden. We had to prep and prim the garden this past week to get it all prepared for this grand event, which meant a whole lot of weeding and mowing. We also are going to market at Ferry Plaza for the first time this season today. Rebecca, the aforementioned pizza cook and lovely human being, is going to market for the garden. We had to collect herbs to sell and Rebecca and I made 10 bouquets to sell as well. In addition to those bouquets we were asked to make arrangements for the tables at the wedding or the rehearsal dinner (or something.) Anyways, making bouquets is different from making formal arrangements for the altars, and so it's fun and challenging in a different way. It's been a rewarding past few days in the garden.

Living in increased awareness also leads to an elevated, more pervasive and persistent understanding of my own mortality. It is somewhat intimidating. No, it is very intimidating. Especially because I do not believe in any sort of afterlife at all, I'm keenly aware that this is it. When I die, I will absolve into nothing. If anything remains of me, it will not matter to me anymore. Anyways, it just makes me pay attention to what makes me happy, which has increasingly been the splendor of other beings. It's also made me feel more concern for making sure I feel fulfilled in this one life, to burn brightly and fully, with nothing to remain. 

Some rabbits hanging out behind the herb circle at the back of the garden

Song(s) of the Week:

First off, I'm sorry for not having a book for this week. I just finished The Language of Flowers a few days ago, and I haven't started a new one yet. To make up for it, I'm going to post three songs this week, all by Asaf Avidan, who is wonderful. These songs all really characterize for me my experience in Hawaii, because we listened to them all of the time, but I thought I'd share them here for now, because they're all so, so beautiful...and I feel like the lyrics are pertinent to what I've been feeling lately, in all of the myriad forms. He sings a lot about heartbreak, and loving desperately and fully. Although I feel the importance of loving fully, right now I don't feel any desperate need to do so, so that's something.

Asaf Avidan & The Mojos, "One Day/Reckoning Song"
(This is the Wankelmut Remix)

No more tears, my heart is dry

I don't laugh and I don't cry

I don't think about you all the time

But when I do –I wonder why

You have to go out of my door

And leave just like you did before

I know I said that I was sure

But rich men can't imagine poor.

One day baby, we'll be old

Oh baby, we'll be old

And think of all the stories that we could have told

Little me and little you

Kept doing all the things they do

They never really think it through

Like I can never think you're true

Here I go again– the blame

The guilt, the pain, the hurt, the shame

The founding fathers of our plane

That's stuck in heavy clouds of rain.

One day baby, we'll be old

Oh baby, we'll be old

And think of all the stories that we could have told.

Asaf Avidan & The Mojos, "Turn of the Tides Under the Northern Lights"

The sun, it rises and sets

My homeward path is the place where it rests

Oh, where the sun goes, that'll be my home

From there I come, to there I go

Love is all I need to take

My heart is strong though my body'll break

My lungs will fill with the ocean's salt

My love will keep my heart afloat

The waves will tear my battered arms

But in my heart the water is calm

The winds will strip my bones from flesh

My love is strong, my heart is fresh

My eyes and ears will feed the sea

My heart will keep on guiding me...

Back home...

Guide me back home...

Back home.

Asaf Avidan, "Different Pulses" **definitely one of my favorite songs

My life is like a wound I scratch so I can bleed

Regurgitate my words, I write so I can feed

And Death grows like a tree that's planted in my chest

Its roots are at my feet, I walk so it won't rest

Oh, Baby I am Lost...

I try to push the colors through a prism back to white

To sync our different pulses into a blinding light

And if love is not the key, if love is not a key,

I hope that I can find a place where it could be

I know that in your heart there is an answer to a question 

That I'm not as yet aware that I have asked

And if that tree had not drunk my tears

I would have bled and cried for all the years 

That I alone have let them pass

Oh, Baby I am yours...

Palindrome Story:

The main throughway is dusty and dense with sweating adults and laughing children. I look between the shoulders of two women wearing complimentary polka-dot dresses and notice an old and aching ride, echoing its forgotten years throughout the carnival grounds. I slowly navigate my way towards the ride, a grandfather of machinery that was long ago built to distract and mollify. The attendant stares at me warily as I place my hand onto the crooked railing separating the empty ride from the noise and busyness surrounding it. I slowly guide my palm along the railing as I approach the attendant, letting the dark-green splintering paint chips fall to the ground in my wake. The attendant stands stiffly, seeming almost unsure of what to do as I hand him my ticket and float through the turnstile. I sit down in the bucket seat and absorb the dark coolness and isolation of the memories that characterize the loneliness of this ride. Slowly, the machine creaks forward and steadily gains momentum while the wind and motion push me into my seat. I whirl past the lights and cacophony below, flying from smells of funnel cake and cotton candy to odors of decay and tainted loneliness in a matter of moments. People do not look up at me, swinging above them in the moonlight, a phantom of the fair, and appeaser of ghosts.

I slip away into the night, sighing with the clouds in relief at my ascension.

People do not look up at me, as they rush around below, content with distraction and consumption. The ground below me becomes a blur, a flash of yellow bulbs and purple signs and the red wigs worn by clowns. The giant, old, tired ride begins to complain of the burden of my weight and expectations. It begins to sing to me about its memories of fulfillment and joy as it begins to slow down, readying for another long slumber. I can feel the attendant's eyes on my backside as I coast closer and closer to him, until finally I am settled back onto the hard ground. The ground beneath me is dirty and unkempt, and the tracks my feet left as I ascended and then returned can be clearly seen in the dust. The attendant comes and helps me unbuckle and then rise from my seat, clearly uncomfortable with begin so close to another human being. I pat his hand as I walk away, and watch goosebumps rise on his arms. I look around and see the two polka-dot dresses consuming candied apples in constructed satisfaction, and I turn to catch one last glimpse at my momentary mechanical companion. I return to stroll once more down the throughway, content to be different from the rest of the shambling masses collected here, content to be forgotten.

A Few Words About Sitting:

A sweeping feeling of relief at existing in this moment as opposed to the ones before, with the fire crackling in the corner.

Preoccupation with the fact that my mind is preoccupied.

The building creaking and settling, belaboring its burden of remaining upright.

My teeth pushing into my lower lip, gently sinking and sliding into the skin.

Writing that previous sentence in my head in anticipation for this exercise.

Amusement at the direction my thoughts seem to consistently follow in every recent zazen.

Feeling adrift and askew and misplaced from time.

Thinking about someone I wish I couldn't think about.

Noticing a familiar shortness of breath.