Medicine King Burns
I cannot escape myself.
I spent a lot of time with myself this past week, being very still and very quiet. If I were making a log of the amount of time I spent on the meditation cushion, it was well over 40 hours, but since the rest of the day was silent and without eye contact, the stillness enveloped the entire experience.
Up before four, welcoming the dawn, feeling the changing of the guard between the crickets and the birds. The April rain falls, unaware of its virtue, the sun shines without discrimination. The world rises and falls, as do my thoughts. Everything ripples throughout space and time.
It’s all around, all the time, but when I am very still, I can get out of the way enough to touch it. Not grasping or running, not closed, but open. Open to everything, the miracle of my breath, the agony of my knees, joy and lust and fear and pure love springing up and drifting away. There is nothing permanent but the permanence of the Continual Now.
The practice of stillness is a life’s work; the occluding waves are always present. But when I am near Stillness, I can respond to life, to see and recognize and know what needs to be done Right Now, and do it wholeheartedly. I dip my toes in the pool, I create ripples that transform.
This probably doesn’t make a lot of sense, but there’s no way I can describe anything fully. The whole is much different than the sum of its parts. But if you sit down and pay attention for long enough, then you will hopefully understand. If not, then you will maybe understand that Zen is both incredibly profound and remarkably difficult to communicate.
Hello everyone, I’m back from sesshin.
