The Falling Rain

I feel the anger rise up- and I breathe.

I sense my busy head at work, slamming one thought into another, spinning, spinning, spinning- and I breathe.

Hard things, tough, gut-wrenching things rise into my consciousness- and I breathe.

If we use our practice only to evade the fear, to dance away, to push down the thoughts, we gain nothing spiritually, only perhaps a temporary physical reprieve from the symptoms of our fear.  This is a false and brittle sense of peace, the illusion of peace.

To be truly at peace is to be beyond the reach of anger, anxiety, or fear.  It is to be at the center.  Strong, open, and ready.

Right now, as I look out my window, I see the cold rain falling.   I want to step out into that rain.  I don’t want to stay inside or wear a raincoat.  I don’t want to avoid or pretend to manage the rain.

I want the rain to fall upon me.

I want to exist in this way.

The First Stone

The Master sees things as they are,

without trying to control them.

She lets them go their own way,

and resides at the center of the circle.

Tao te Ching

I spent much of my life in rage at the unredeemed world.  And I tried in countless ways to control those around me, to shape their lives and choices.  I could not simply accept things as they were.  I could not accept that others needed to choose for themselves.

But the world spun on. And those I cared about made choices that sometimes came crashing in on them.  I failed, I thought.  Failed to bring forth meaningful change.  Failed to protect my family and those I loved.

To accept things as they are sounds weak and passive.  Giving up without a fight.

But acceptance is the simple recognition that you cannot control others and you cannot control what will come.  This recognition frees us to focus all our will and all our energy, all of our being, on the one thing that truly belongs to us.  Ourselves.

And with that focus you become strength embodied.  You exist and move through the world with the boundless power of presence.  You reside at the center of the circle.

Acceptance is the first stone on our path.

Breaking the Trance

If you want to become whole,

let yourself be partial.

If you want to become straight,

let yourself be crooked.

Tao te Ching

 

I have spent myself in the pursuit of perfection.   Trying to think my way to the perfect choice, trying to maneuver myself to the perfect outcome.  And beating myself up when I inevitably fall short.

And so because I cannot find the perfect words, I disappear from my writing.  Because I cannot construct the perfect relationship, I disappear from those around me- until all that’s left is my solitary sense of inadequacy.

I say, “I’ve been away.”  But I’m not away, literally.  I’m here- and not here.  Like so many people, I often exist in a trance- speaking, acting, doing and yet absent.

Right now, I feel myself drawing strength from the certain knowledge that my life begins again in each moment.   Each moment I can choose.  I can return to myself.  Be present and strong.

Moment by moment.  Again and again.

When the Storms Come

The storms have come.

The waters rise in the wetlands surrounding my home here- dark pools amidst the tall pines.  The drenching rain, cascading off the metal roof, creates waterfalls just outside the windows.   You can feel in your bones the resonance of the rumbling thunder.

When that echoing thunder subsides, I go to the sea.  Beneath the angry sky, the ocean is a roiling and foamy cauldron.

Some of these dark and stormy days I stand on the beach and scan the long arc of shoreline in each direction.  Not another soul, for miles and miles.

I love the sun, the feel of it on my skin, the magic it creates shimmering across the water.  But this gray and forbidding time, I love this as well.

Perhaps I sense that nature is showing me her turbulence and disorder, screaming her existence, and in that way, mirroring my own inner turmoil, offering her stormy kinship.

Or perhaps it is just the feel of that cold, sharp wind on my face and the freight train roar of the sea when it’s up and charging.  I think, who could stand on this beach right now and not feel alive?

The sun will return, the sea will fall back into its rhythm.   She will whisper again the message that helps me keep my footing.  I will feel her strong but gentle pull, righting me to my center.

But when the storms come again, when her voice rises in that insistent roar, I will also feel nature’s message.  Live, she demands.  Live right here, right now.  Live this one life you have been given.

Feel inside the scream of existence that I model for you.

When the storms come again.

Flesh and Bones

Strength feeds strength, as weakness feeds weakness.

Weeks of drifting.  A ghost of myself, neither truly alive nor fully present.

A malaise to match the gray, damp, chill that has hovered over my city.  Shuffling through the grimy streets with my devoted companions- doubt, fear, and evasion.

Even as I got things done, I performed rather than existed.  Not committed.  Not engaged.  Thinking, thinking, thinking.  Busy, busy, busy.

This morning different.  Meditation.  A walk in the woods.  Being present with those I love.  Strength.  The flesh and bones of true being shattering that pale, ghostly shell.

And then the sun came out.  I bathed in its warmth, adored the way it lit up the snow and ice, lost myself in the blue sky.

But those were just extra things.

The light of my true self had already broken through.  All I needed.

The Wind

Be like the forces of nature:

When it blows, there is only wind.

Tao te Ching, Chap. 23

It’s early evening.  The cold air moves in.  Storms approaching.  Staring into the woods, feeling the wind as it dances across my body.  Surprising in its shifts and gusts.  Speaking to me, a portent of the storm.

The wind comes in infinite variety.  I have tasted the salty wind coming off the ocean, stood against its force as it swept up and over a snowy mountain ridge, felt its faintest breeze across my moist skin on a steamy summer day.

God’s breath, Buddha’s touch.

Our existence is also infinitely varied.  Sometimes in solitude, sometimes in the multitude.  In motion or at rest.  Speaking or silent.  In one place or another.

But in all things, and in each moment, we should be like the wind.  Present, always.  Swirling around what stands in our way.  Occupying our space in a strong and natural way.

And letting everything else simply fall into place.

Not Stepping Away

Away, away, away.

When I felt the closeness growing, I pulled away from her.

When the big book opportunity came, I slowly drifted off.

When this work- right here- began to feel big and meaningful, I retreated into my busy schedule- stopped writing.  Not enough time, I said.  I’ll get back to it- later- when I have the time.

What is this?  Why do I step away from what feels good and right?

I know the pattern.  Always asking myself- what’s the point?  Be with her, write the book, stay with this blog- or not- what’s the difference?  Nothing will really change.

But I never ask this of the less important pieces of my life.  Only when I’m standing at the threshold of something real and authentic and true, do I trigger this cascading, self-crushing analysis.  And the answer is always the same.  No point.  No difference.

What lies beneath this terrible and self-destructive way of living?  I sense fear and doubt, feel the weariness.  But when I really sit with this, I know the source- my oldest and most constant demon.  He whispers- who are you to aspire to an authentic life?  You lack the heart for it.  You’ll always back away because you know it’s not for you.  Not you.  Unworthy.

But no more.

This is my life.  Each moment a chance to live- truly and forcibly.  With great heart and presence.

So I’m throwing myself into what I know is good and right for me.  Embracing what comes.  And saying this here and now- to myself and to you- this is who I am.

Not stepping away.  Not ever again.

Not Done

I have been away.  Not in the ordinary sense.  Away as in disconnected from my sense of self.  Lost.

Last night was the worst.  I awoke in the dark with a rock sure sense of my unworthiness.  This blog, this book idea, this whole thing- all a big hoax.  I had nothing to say, really.  What was the point of it all? I composed in my head the final post, called it “Done.”   Thinking the pain would subside once I embraced my unworthiness.

Somehow I returned to sleep and awoke this morning feeling different.  Like a fever had broken.  The doubt and fear weren’t washed away but I thought- when the darkness has run its course, it will go.  You will find the strength again and carry on.

Struggle, I now understand, comes to me in two ways.  When great loss comes, or when my busy lethal mind beckons, I feel the battle rise.  But I am aware and ready.  I know that I will falter.  But I also know who I am.  This is good struggle.

But when I lose my sense of self, it’s different.  Nothing but the demons of anxiety and self-loathing battling against my blunt desire to be free of those horrors, a desire for relief in any form, at any cost.  In this battle, no peace can exist for me- only numbness.

Before the fever broke this morning, I was in the pit of bad struggle.  Fighting a battle that I could never win as I wasn’t really there.

Good struggle, even in its most daunting moments, is a great blessing.  A reminder that we are here- fully conscious of our self- seeking that way of being that is the great treasure.  A struggle that never ends and never should.

The Icy Bridge

He only earns his freedom and existence

Who daily conquers them anew.

Goethe

I am staring at a narrow log bridge spanning a raging mountain stream.  Covered in ice and snow.  Three hours from the trailhead.  The wind howls.  I think, if I slip and fall, I probably won’t make it back- hypothermia.

I step on the bridge.

I am staring at my beloved.  The room is warm and safe.  I have something important to say.  Something hard.

I ask about something else- anything else.

Physical fear is powerful but it is linear, simple- if I fall, I die.

The fear that inhabits our relations with others is different- messy, not simple.  It percolates up from a cauldron of guilt, anxiety, and self-loathing.  Fearful, we endure relationships that make us feel small and lost.  Or we let those we love drift away.  This fear separates us from our sense of self.

That day in the mountains, I was seeking something on the other side of the bridge.  Something important.  The spiritual experience that day brought me.  And so I stepped out- with care and with commitment- focused and fully present.

Each moment is like that icy bridge.  Calling us to find the strength to step out in this strong and present way.  Calling us to overcome the fear.

It is difficult, often we falter.  But what awaits us on the other side is something with value beyond measure.  A life that is authentic, true to our sense of self.  Without separation from those we love.  The place where we become who we are, truly.

 

A Hard Peace

I often refer to “peace.”  I say that peace is “always there.”

Sounds good and works so seamlessly when life’s ordinary ups and downs knock you sideways.  Stuck in traffic and late for an appointment?  No problem.  Just take a breath and feel the peace of acceptance.

But when you confront real loss, the kind that takes your breath away- a child dies, a parent disappears into dementia, a marriage unravels- what does it mean to say that you should seek the “peace that is always there”?  How exactly does that work?  What possible consolation could exist for such loss?

I don’t know the answer.  But this I believe.

If I can spread my arms wide and hold that terrible loss in my embrace, if I can stop all the avoiding, all the thinking, and just let that howling grief come in, I will feel for a moment nearly undone.  Standing on the edge of a terrible precipice.

But it will be there- in that horrific and unfiltered embrace of loss- that acceptance will come.  Not made up acceptance.  Not “all things work out for the best” kind of acceptance.  Not happiness, not even contentment.  And certainly not free of the loss and pain.  But free of all the resistance and all the pretend consolations.  Free to find and hold my strength again.   Free to go on.

It’s a hard kind of peace.  But when unspeakable loss comes crashing in, it’s the only kind I know.