Within them, vessels of sacred oils broke, spilled, spread deep and down. Opening their eyes, they saw the world born in living flesh, felt the urgent pull of the untamed Spirit. In that moment they dropped - everything. What I might have seen, bursts of light, or felt, urgent tugs on my sleeve, have left me with fitful thoughts of life I might have missed along the way, lost, when once I had found broken bits of it. I turned them round and round in my hands, thought them lovely and then they were gone. __________________________________________________________ Portland, Oregon - January 31, 2022 Writing this, I had three of the Sacred Vessels in mind. They are the Buddha, Jesus, and Dorothy Day of New York.
Month: January 2022
Flowers in the Sky
I would so hold on to this day sunshine bright in the cool of winter. The air alive, the green of evergreens sparkling new as if in spring. Did I imagine them, conjure them out of nothing, the brilliant born moments walking the winding garden paths touching the bare budded branches? Perhaps I spoke and bequeathed stars formed with my hands mountains and streams; with my breath breathed air itself into being and with my beating heart created worlds. _________________________________________________________________________ Portland, Oregon - January 20, 2022 "Whatever thoughts or things we are now grasping and clinging to as ‘real’ are not supported by our practice of letting go, and yet they are our dreams and illusions, our ‘flowers in the sky." (Dogen: Shobogenzo: On the Everyday Behavior of a Buddha Doing His Practice)
Songs of Winter
Now into the cold rain-laced wind letting fall on my ragged coat what comes - rain, snow, needles of pine, rare sun splash. Barely do I feel these gifts swathed am I in layers of wool and down. In the still shadowy silver days a gloaming presence unfurls, held in the thin veil of drizzle and chill fog - ghostly luminous, humming wind songs. I think to myself, "The Spirit?" An electric and vinyl turn playing tunes and lyrics from other worlds on my own worn and plastic hide? I, inside of my usual and ordinary life, hear, within the swirls of the winter-swept leaf-laden lonely and lovely air songs I do not know but wish to learn. _________________________________________________________ Portland, Oregon - January 11, 2022
In Cascadia 