goddess #22

scarred by development

gouged by greed

the sub-tropical landscape lies barren

wildness awaiting replacement with

tended foliage

parking lots

attractions,

and towering condos.

still the red bird sings in the tree

and the great blue heron soars above.

may we learn to be happy with exactly what is happening in this one precious moment.

Just arrived in Florida, I am struck, yet again, by the incredible pace of development. Places still wild on my last visit are now vacation condos, strip malls, and parking lots. Remaining wild spaces have "for sale" signs prominently displayed. Yet wildlife appears still to thrive -- water birds wade in irrigation ditches and songbirds sing in trees and brambles.

goddess #21

Gray day

wet snow

stillness of New England winter.

Some 2600 kilometers south,

in tropic heat

bodies decompose,

crushed, smothered.

Hundreds of thousands lost as earth flexed muscle and bone,

no longer steady or firm.

My heart shatters into a hundred thousand shards

that pierce my flesh,

transforming into light

scattering in a billion directions.

Finally, only emptiness remains.

May our hearts be open to the suffering and the joy.

goddess #20

cattails in the snow

birds calling softly against a background

of cars rushing by

stillness in the midst of clamor.

may all being dwell in the stillness

Behind route 1 in Dedham, a commercial artery jammed with stores and traffic, lies a peaceful waterway, part of the Charles River, that zig-zags back on itself and spreads out in parts into marsh filled with cattails. I've canoed these waters, meeting blue herons, turtles, red-winged blackbirds, and other creatures of the wild. Amazingly, this natural world exists just yards away from traffic and commerce, a peaceful oasis in an otherwise suburban landscape.

goddess #19

This life is the gift of the whole universe ...

the earth, the sky, and much loving action.

May I live it in mindfulness, aware of the universe flowing through me.

May I learn to live with moderation, taking what is needed, giving freely.

May I live in a way that nourishes and supports my life, and the lives of my loved ones, my community, all living beings, and the earth.

I accept this life with gratitude and undertake to grow in love, compassion, and understanding, and to serve all beings."

with profound grtatitude to Thich Nhat Hanh and all of my teachers

Walking the paths of Insight Meditation again was both familiar and different. Deep snow had smoothed the way underfoot, blanketing the rocks and roots, demanding a different kind of awareness - to the crunch of packed snow on trodden paths and the swish through new-fallen snow carefully feeling for secure footing.

I had placed goddess #19 on Monday in a tree that called to me with a skin of beautifully colored bark . On Tuesday, as I passed the choice seemed unwise . . . just a bit too exposed and vulnerable, so I moved her to a to a nest within the spires of exposed wood in the remains of a fallen tree.

My treks also took me past the place where goddess #2 lives. It was lovely to revisit her, and to notice that some kind soul had moved her to a new spot, higher in the tree trunk than where she originally stood. She seemed quite content in her snow covered perch.

I am so grateful to have had this time of quiet meandering through the snowy woods -- the sudden rush of wild turkeys taking flight from trees overhead, the flash of red and cackling call as woodpeckers went about their business of recycling the forest, and the everchanging color of light reflecting off of snow.

goddess #18

Marsh frosted over,

fingers numb

The sky brightens

setting aglow the tips of the trees.

"may all beings find peace in the midst of suffering"

The last few weeks has been a time in which many dear friends have been seriously ill, more than I remember being ill at any one time in the past. It has made me acutely aware of suffering and the need to cultivate the peace and stability necessary to be with suffering and to offer healing energy to those who suffer. This goddess too has known suffering. She stands on the frozen marsh - frigid but beautiful - bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. May all be safe, healthy, and live with ease --  and may we be open to both the suffering and the joy as we enter the new year.

 

goddess #17

snow blowing in brilliant sunshine

this shortest day of the year

soon the sun will begin it's slow return to the north

and the days will begin to grow again . . .

ah, impermanence!

"may we dwell happily in the changing nature of all things"

It's 3 pm and the sun is beginning to set on this solstice evening. It's the first day of winter and yet it heralds the beginning of longer days . . . albeit lengthening at a snail's pace for the next several weeks. This goddess wanted to go someplace high, perhaps to see the last rays of the sun as it sets, so I took her to the top of Lars Anderson Park. She stands there in the snow, amongst the spreading branches of an ancient maple, looking over the landscape. The goddess, the day, the snow, reminded me of the constant change that underlies all experience . . . how new life arises only as the old passes away, that one breath is followed by another, in-breath by out-breath, life by death, then life again. Even our heart cells are replaced -- with about half of the heart’s muscle cells exchanged in the course of a lifetime!

goddess #16

for Ben and Ted

december thaw

behind the convent

where you used to sing

my heart melts thinking of you

my teachers, my brothers, my friends . . .

may you be well . . .

may all being know how to love and be loved . . .

I recently learned that my friend Ben was seriously ill. He and Ted had moved away some time ago and I had not been in touch for quite some time. They had both been important mentors when I first began going to Boston Old Path Sangha, not only as friends and brothers in the practice, but as luminous examples of how to love well and be loved . . .

I decided to plant a goddess in their honor near where they lived on Fort Hill. The ideal place seemed to be behind St. Margaret's Convent, near their former house and where they loved to sing with the nuns. When I arrived I found that the garden was inaccessible, but I climbed up next to the fence and placed this goddess . . . one who seems to be soaring . . . in a tree that I could reach through the fence. Unfortunately she fell and lost both her arms. I decided to take this as an example of her indominatable spirit and ability to overcome adversity  . . . and replanted her at the foot of the same tree . . . without arms, bloody but unbowed, and  still soaring . . .