"unbeknownst to me, while i was waiting for sudden change, i was changing slowly."

- gil fronsdal

"the small man
builds cages
for everyone he knows
while the sage
who has to duck his head
when the moon is full
keeps dropping keys
all night long
for the beautiful
rowdy prisoners"

-hafiz

clear path

sunday...early afternoon...a pot of black beans simmering on the stove top...heavenly scent of cumin rising into the air...chilling winter winds once again whipping at the window pane....i settle comfortably into my seat, fleece blanket wrapped warmly around my shoulders, a steaming mug of earthy puerh tea in my hands...gently, i close my eyes.
allowing words of dharma to permeate...truth resonating...heart opening, mind relaxing, body softening...
coming back to center...anchoring here...again and again.

"knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on."


clear path

by john travis

(from his dharma talk given at spirit rock meditation center on march 6, 2010)

"the white heron
standing so still
dignity of posture
so like the yogis in our own hall
knowing somehow
to draw ourselves back
back into the center of safety
consumed solely
by the center of our own flames
burning of the old
the old stories wishes fears desires
your own voice calling to yourself
only heard by yourself
back back from the brink of the remembering
to this place where the white heron stands
breath breathing you
untouched by a shredded past
an incomprehensible future
resting like the white heron
only the dignity of the posture remains
blessed by the faculty of our senses
knowing somehow
there is no other world
than this
simply this
there is a small point
infinitesimal point
where the worlds divide
one road
leading back
back into the flames of becoming
this voice speaking too quickly
desperately searching
through the crowded years
where life's hopes and fears
can be played
in this game of winning
and probably losing
grasping tightly
capturing
imprisoning
keeping it all
of the time
and there's the other path
the old path
caught
in the miracles of ordinariness
bewilderment
the price of the sand slipping through our fingers
knowing somehow that you have to surrender
leaving behind the hopes and fears in this grasping
resting nowhere
falling on your knees
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on
knowing somehow that the heart knows its way from here on"


~you can find his dharma talk and many others at www.dharmaseed.org

modernity

"we are running

running and
time is clocking us
from the edge like an only
daughter.
our mothers stream before us,
cradling their breasts in their
hands.
oh pray that what we want
is worth this running,
pray that what we’re running
toward
is what we want."

~ Lucille Clifton ~

(From: QUILTING: Poems 1987-1990)

my anthem

By: Alanis Morissette

...As I cut the cord of home
I kiss my mother’s mother
and look to the horizon

Wide eyed, new ground
humbled by my new surroundings

I am a citizen of the planet
My president is Kuan Yin
My frontier is on an airplane
My prisons: homes for rehabilitating

Then I fly back to my nest,
I fly back with my nuclear
But everything is different

So I wait, my yearn for home is broadened,
Patriotism expanded
by callings from beyond

So I pack my things nothing precious all things sacred
I am a citizen of the planet
My laws are all of attraction
My punishiments are consequences
Separating from source the original sin

I am a citizen of the planet
Democracy’s kids are sovereign
Where the teachers are the sages
And pedestals fill with every parent

And so, the next few years are blurry,
the next decade’s a flurry of
smells and tastes unknown

Threads sewn straight through this fabric
through fields of every color
one culture to another

I come alive and I get giddy and I am taken and globally naturalized

I am a citizen of the planet
From simple roots through high vision
I am guarded by the angels
My body guides the direction I go in

I am a citizen of the planet
My favorite pastime edge stretching
Besotten with human condition
These ideals are borne from my deepest within

sudden unsought intimacy

here i find myself in the tropical warmth of bali reading a book about the cold snows of winter! the book is called "st. nadie in winter: zen encounters with loneliness." written by terrance keenan. nadie is pronounced nah-dee-ay, a spanish word meaning "nobody." in ganesha bookstore downtown ubud yesterday, i stumbled upon this book which i'd never seen before and immediately felt drawn. i leafed through and found a mix of poetry, memoir and stunning insight.
there is a part i'd like to share this morning...

"picture a small boy looking out his bedroom window at dawn. he sees below him a walled garden under very old trees, the brick walls heavy with ivy. there is the scent of green on the air, of apples, of earth and manure from the nearby farm. the grass in the garden is wet, and the small flowers are heavy with dew. in the garden he watches a woman with long white hair, the first time he has seen it long, let down. she is walking barefoot. her nightgown and robe are wet at the bottom. she is holding a cup of tea, walking very slowly, talking to her plants softly, words he cannot quite hear, until he realizes they are words she has never spoken to anyone, they are czech, her birth tongue. he senses without words of his own to articulate it, that this is a private moment, how she places herself into her day. the unexpected intimacy moves him deeply. ...what it is to be with another without judgment, to enter their vulnerability, a sudden unsought intimacy that eliminates "other." it is the intimation that the "light itself" has no boundaries."

in the above passage, the "light itself" is referring to the buddha's words, which are said to be the only actually recorded words directly from buddha, spoken on his deathbed. the words in pali language:

atta dipa
viharatha
atta sarana
anana sarana

dhamma dipa
dhamma sarana
anana sarana

and a translation:

you are the light itself!
do not be afraid.
you are the refuge of the light.
there is no other refuge.

you are the truth itself.
light of the truth!
refuge of the truth!

a day lived in haiku

pink lotus beauty
muddy waters underneath
mirror reflecting


4 a.m lizards
spitting fire in the bathroom
i wake with poems


jungle symphony
rice field singing electric
sunrise in my chest

-ubud, bali

imagining world

in my dream, the angel shrugged & said, if we fail this time, it will be a failure of imagination & then she placed the world gently in the palm of my hand.

~brian andreas "storypeople"

the basketball

sometimes, if your lucky, something comes along, grabs you by the scruff and says, "wake up! wake up! there's more!"

there's much, much more.

"the artist's way" came along this fall, thanks to a dear friend here in korea, and is awakening me to the vast realm of so much more.

writing three stream-of-consciousness pages upon waking every morning and taking oneself out on weekly, solo artist dates are the core of the practice. those of us who are participating in the program also meet once a week to share our experiences and support one another. it's been 9 weeks now. how to even put into words what is unfolding, i can not yet. the seedlings are still germinating underground, fragile and still in need of darkness. however, i will tell you about the basketball.

at one of our last "artist's way" gatherings, we were going around the circle reading our wish lists. 20 things we wish we had. some answers were:

more courage

a million dollars

a house

a perfect lover

blue hair

a basketball was tops on my list. i have had the most insane cravings to go down to the courts and shoot around lately. the desire grabs hold of me in my legs, my arms, my hips, and it's all i can think about. as soon as i said, "i wish i had a basketball," one of the gals in the group said, "i have a basketball you can have!" "really!?," i exclaimed. "i could just borrow it, you don't have to give it to me," i said in my well trained, midwestern way. "no way, i want you to have it, it's yours!" wow. and that's the kind of goodness that's been happening again and again these last 9 weeks. the author of "the artist's way" calls it synchronicity. i think we're all at the point where if we didn't believe in it before, we certainly do now.

so, this afternoon, being an unusually warm winter's day, i decided to take myself on an outdoor artist's date! i hopped on my bike and rode down to the track/basketball courts on campus with my new b-ball in my backpack. the courts were full of students playing, so i ran a couple of miles in the meantime. it felt invigorating to be out in the fresh, winter air, surrounded by mountains, flying around that track again as if i had wings on my heels.

when a court cleared out, i claimed it, just me and my new ball! i have to say i felt a twinge of self consciousness at first, being the only gal out there, surrounded by 75+ guys shooting around and trying not to make their staring obvious. however, i stood my own ground and began shooting lay ups. right side of the basket, then left side, right, left, back and forth. after a few minutes the slight bashfulness shifted into an old familiar trance of single-minded focus. a feeling deeply recognized from the past. hours upon hours, year after year, shooting hoops by myself or bumping/setting/spiking/serving the volleyball against the side of the house after finishing homework until nightfall. it was like pulling teeth to get me to come in for dinner. i could have spent night after night out there in the dark, in a blissful trance-like, meditative state induced by the repetition of embodied activity and concentration. looking back on childhood, those were some of my most contented, peaceful moments.

as i shot around today, many vivid images came back to me of playing in childhood...and then later in high school and college. i loved the games so much when i was young that it didn't matter if i played perfectly or not. i just loved the playing. as i grew older and perfectionism really took hold, i found myself wanting more than anything to be the best, to execute each move, each play, flawlessly. that desire led to eventual demise. sucking the love of the game right out of me. what i am learning now, i wish i could have known then. how deadly perfectionism is. how it effected not only my experience of sports, but so many other things. how it is the master block of creativity. how it keeps us from exploring possibilities. how it shuts us down and blinds us to our potential. the grand kicker is that perfectionism has the capacity to actually make us believe we can't do something, before we've even tried!

these last 9 weeks have been an excavation. spelunking remote caves of childhood consciousness. unearthing what i used to love before perfectionism rolled on the scene...and sensing those feelings of excitement and passion bubbling up again inside. suddenly craving basketball, not to be the best or even to compete, but simply for the love of shooting around, the way i remember it from was when i was little.

i realized while shooting lay ups today that long ago i gave up practicing shooting the ball with my left hand. it must have been back in jr. high that i came to the conclusion that i wasn't as skilled with my left hand, therefore, if i couldn't dribble or shoot well (perfectly) with that hand immediately, i wouldn't even try. from that point on i solely focused on my right hand, blocking out the left side completely. i was shocked at this remembrance. how someone so young, only 11 years old, could give up so quickly for fear of failure, not knowing that with a little practice her left hand skills would surely develop. i felt tenderness for that little person who was/is me, who was so deathly afraid of what might happen if she didn't do it perfectly.

so this afternoon, at age 32, on a basketball court in korea, i began learning how to shoot with my left hand. i did it for the little girl in me that gave up on that over 20 years ago and is still kicking herself. it was humbling, all those air balls, with 75 jock guys watching, but boy oh boy i felt an aliveness inside that was powerful beyond any old, critical voices shouting "stop! before you make a total fool of yourself." today, both a little girl smile and a 32 year old, grown woman, "you're safe with me" smile met those voices and a softness in the belly that kindly said, "you've come a long way, baby...just do it!"

right then and there, life became new.

winter chrysanthemums

this day begs to be written...

i hopped on the 8am train to mungyeong with my thermos of homemade miso, a small bundle of steamed rice and some dried seaweed. perfect breakfast for a blustery, cold winter's morning. two and a half hours later upon arriving at my destination, my dear friend, soojin, picked me up at the train station and took me to her husband's dental clinic where i received royal treatment. i had two cavities filled and a cleaning for no charge at all. i argued and argued, but it is no use arguing against the korean way of giving. it is a hopeless undertaking and such an amazing practice of receiving and letting in the bounty of it all. the gifted dental care was just the beginning.

we left the clinic and drove a few miles to a very well known potter/tea master's house just outside of the tiny mountain town of mungyeong. as soon as i saw him with his humble monk's clothing, his greying hair and beard and his kind, sparkly eyes, i knew we'd come somewhere special. wolpa songsangnim welcomed us into his teahouse/potter's studio with open arms and gentle demeanor. he, soojin and her husband go WAY back...15 years of friendship. we seated ourselves on cushions on the heated floor at a long, rustic wooden tea table. he served us steaming little cups of boicha (puerh tea). when he'd heard we were coming, soojin said he ran up the mountain and picked some fresh crysanthemum flowers to put in a vase hanging on the wall. the decor of his space was traditional korean style...sparse, zen-like, with just a few pieces of earthen pottery and a sprig of yellow winter flowers that spoke volumes of simplicity and beauty.

wolpa kept commenting that i look like demi moore! (not many foreigners come to mungyeong!!) after about 20 cups of boicha later, we headed out for a fantastic feast of tofu veggie soup and rice with all the usual side dishes. the owner of the restaurant gave us some mountain berry wine as "service" (on the house), so we ate, drank and were more than merry! wolpa's face turned beet red with just two small cups of alcohol and he began speaking in poems, as many koreans do. it was so sweet, so wonderful. his name alone is a poem. "wolpa" means "moonlight on the waves." wow. with a name like that, you're pretty much set.

we returned to wolpa's tea sanctuary after lunch for another hour of relaxing and getting giddy on cha (tea). the mayor of mungyeong showed up and told us that tea saved his life. i guess he has a hole in his stomach and a bum liver from too much alcohol consumption. needless to say, he's quit the soju and now only drinks tea. he swears on it's healing capacities. wolpa served us all a very rare brew called "young ju cha" which translates as "dragon ball tea." it is some sort of bug excrement that is scraped off of the tea leaves (usually puerh leaves that are aging in brick form) and supposedly does wonders for digestion/detoxification. soojin called it by it's true name, "poo tea." after only moments of steeping, the tea is as dark as the blackest coffee. the aroma is much like that of puerh. very earthy, like a damp forest floor. i had to really work with my mind around aversion and absolute disgust at the thought of ingesting bug poo juice...but i quickly rationalized that i've done countless things in the last two plus years of being in korea that have pushed me past my limits of what i thought i could handle (and i'm still alive), so why not add this to the list!? then i took a swig. almost identical to a rich, old puerh. we enjoyed what must have been seven or eight steepings. and yes, it was certainly aided the digestion process.

wolpa makes gorgeous matcha bowls, traditional korean tea pots, tea cups, tea serving bowls, pitchers, vases, etc...everything is one of a kind. the moment we arrived and i saw the tea pitcher he was using to serve our tea, i started drooling. so raw and earthy, rustic and tactile. the shape unlike any pitcher i've seen thus far. later, as soojin and i were wandering about wolpa's studio, admiring all of his creations, i saw a pitcher very similar to the one he was using. i called soojin over and asked her "how much do you think this is!?" i was sure it was at least $300, as his pieces are very expensive and sought after in korea. she just shook her head and said, "mmm...i don't know." he and soojin had a secret discussion a little while after our walk around his studio in which she must have told him of my affinity for that pitcher. later, he brought the piece out to the tea table where we were all sitting and used it to make one steeping of tea and then mindfully dried it and wrapped it up in a beautiful rust colored cloth and placed it into my hands. i actually started crying, overcome with gratitude for the overflowing generosity of the day, which shocked all of the koreans, as emotion is typically not the first mode of expression! however, i know it was very apparent how much the gift meant to me and that fact wiped away any self-consciousness i felt for wearing my heart on my sleeve.

"today i was happy, so i made this poem"

by james wright

"as the plump squirrel scampers
across the roof of the corncrib,
the moon suddenly stands up in the darkness,
and i see that it is impossible to die.
each moment of time is a mountain.
an eagle rejoices in the oak trees of heaven,
crying
this is what i wanted."

i realize that when i am drinking tea in the company of kind, good-hearted people...and when i am close to nature...i feel well in my soul.
soojin and me...september '09
the beautiful pitcher from wolpa...and my favorite tea cup!

cosmos

"i heard once that it is better to meet god alone than with someone who wouldn't understand."

-noah levine "dharma punx"

child of the moon

the words spill out
tumbling down like rain
washing away the salt of my grief.
time, waiting for no one, steals away
with the pain.
one day, i wake laughing
surprising myself into some kind of joy.
remembrance of something lighter,
wondering where it had gone for so long.
the light in my window
keeps burning
flickering to and fro
keeping time with the twinkling stars.
mother moon glowing kindly
upon my tired face
offering the promise of renewal.
"always," she says.
there is no such thing
as staying the same.

ithaka

"As you set out for Ithaka
hope the voyage is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.
May there be many a summer morning when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you come into harbors seen for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you are destined for.
But do not hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you are old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you would not have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean."

By: C.P. Cavafy

i wanna go to beautiful...beautiful...beautiful

"Beautiful" by India Arie

	- - -
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

"I wish I could take language
And fold it like cool, moist rags.
I would lay words on your forehead.
I would wrap words on your wrists.
"There, there," my words would say-
Or something better.
I would ask them to murmur,
"Hush" and "Shh, shhh, it's all right."
I would ask them to hold you all night.
I wish I could take language
And daub and soothe and cool
Where fever blisters and burns
Where fever turns yourself against you.
I wish I could take language
And heal the words that were the wounds
You have no name for."

by Julia Cameron
From "The Artist's Way"
(thanks, mom...xoxo)

one last time

back in south korea...swimming in a sea of flashing neon signs...happy to see friends, neighbors, familiar taxi drivers, and bread baking happiness....jet-lagged as hell...made it to 8:40pm, heading to bed at long last! more to come...