Tigers and Strawberries

Horyuji Temple, Japan, Buddha Jataka

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him. Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away at the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

 

This morning, the image above came to mind. East Asian Art history grad school was years and years ago, but this image returns often, and with it, the story that Dr. Glen Webb told. His version was somewhat  similar to the one above, but was related as one tale in the many past lives of the Buddha (Jataka). 

Dream?: In meditation, my heart knew for the first time, the meaning of this Jataka: the tiger is going to devour me whether from above or below. The beautiful and scary tiger, my death—will come sooner or later. 

The tiger and the strawberry (of life) are one. And they can be both sweet and/or sour. May I grasp at life ever so lightly and enjoy it on my way to the inevitable. 

This story with its apparent lesson, may not seem to be much of a realization... But it felt like one. 

How sweet it tasted!

***.  ***

Dream?: I'm in Venice, lost and wandering, exhausted in the illogical, cobbled streets in search of lodging. Every view is exquisite, there is amazing art, new friends, wonderful food. A sense of anxiety comes and goes. 

***   ***

Dream?: Cleaning and organizing a friend's room, I am filled with unexplainable sense of joy and enjoyment. Don't want to wake up. I awake and return to the dream several times. 

***   ***

tigers! strawberries! love!

The Jātakas (meaning "Birth Story", "related to a birth") are a voluminous body of literature native to India which mainly concern the previous births of Gautama Buddha in both human and animal form.

Vessantara Jataka, Sanchi

In these stories, the future Buddha may appear as a king, an outcast, a deva, an animal—but, in whatever form, he exhibits some virtue that the tale thereby inculcates. The Jātaka genre is based on the idea that the Buddha was able to recollect all his past lives and thus could use these memories to tell a story and illustrate his teachings.

(from Wikipedia)

break like a branch in the wind; make art like Knausgaard in his room: waves and particles

Koan is a riddle with no solution

used to provoke reflection on the inadequacy of logical reasoning, 

and to lead to enlightenment.

Years ago in a dance class at University of Washington - our teacher instructed us to "just walk across the room," in front of the class, which I did—and failed totally—according to her.

Until recently, I always wondered why. 

An impossible task for my (or any) conditioned mind, the assignment was a koan of movement. Over the years it became a recurring and unresolved memory. Now however, I recall it with a smile as I read the prose of Norwegian author Karl Ove Knausgaard, who "walks across the room" with his art —effortlessly and unselfconsciously. Unlike my mannered movements that day, Knausgaard's direct, unadorned writing lacks the mask of trying to make "good" art. 

He just makes art. 

And writes like a Zen master. 

There is a saying or a meme that goes "Dance like no one is watching." Well, Knausgaard writes like no one is watching. In fact, he has said, while writing the first two volumes of "My Struggle" he didn't believe anyone would read it. It must have liberated him to find and express his truth. Truth for me, has always been the domain of poetry, music, and visual art because it is oblique, non-verbal. The finger writing about the moon can never be the moon. But Knausgaard gets so close! His work flows with a natural, intuitive structure. As he focuses on the mundane in all its wonder and triviality, boring detail becomes somehow revelatory and universal: moon to Moon.

Believe Knausgaard's and all our—artistic/spiritual energies come from a place of quiet or MU as Zen might call it, free of internal and external judgements. Apparently it was an awareness I lacked when walking across the room that day and in living life. Since then, the freedom of slowly dropping baggage (judging and the inherent violence of grasping) in art/life has been balanced with comical—blips of fretting and trying. Let go and let go and let go...

For the heart, life is simple: it beats as long as it can. Then it stops. Sooner or later this pounding action will cease of it's own accord, and the blood will begin to run towards the body's lowest point where it will collect in a small pool, visible from the outside as a dark soft patch on every whitening skin, as the temperature sinks, the limbs stiffen and the intestines drain.     

—Knaaugaard, first sentences of  My Struggle Book One

 And death, which I have always regarded as the greatest dimension in life, dark, compelling, was no more than a pipe that springs a leak, a branch that cracks in the wind, a jacket that slips off a clothes hanger and falls to the floor.

           —Knausgaard, final sentence of My Struggle Book One

You don't know what air is, yet you breathe. You don't know what sleep is, yet you sleep. You don't know what night is, yet you lie in it. You don't know what a heart is, yet your heart beats steadily, day and night, day and night, day and night.

           —Knausgaard, first sentence of Spring

Note to Bronwyn: when you were near death, you had a realization that you would be 

dancing with the waves and particles. 

May we all be so lucky and wise to transition with such grace and wisdom. 

May we all dance in boundless waves and particles of love, walk across the room, write, make art, bake bread, cry, laugh, dance, chop wood, carry water....and break like a branch in the wind.

And I miss you.

 

perfect imperfection—dunking the duck & the funk

Today, as I sat (supposedly) in meditation, in a chair not a cushion —with one knee folded traditionally and one "wounded knee" outstretched —the imperfections, disappointments in (my) and all life popped up like ducks in a shooting gallery. 

Try your luck! Dunk the duck!

Quacks:  will recent hiking fall prevent me from ever sitting in full lotus again? Is my yoga practice moving toward more first series adaptations? Will I ever recover the "difficult" ones from second series again? What about running? What about aging? What about love? And everything else? 

more: unconscious and conscious shoulds quack what I ought to/"must" do or accomplish daily ingrained quack efforts to please prove (my) "goodness" quack MY goodness!! quack MY yoga practice quack how to fill or fix quack the needs and woes of others quack and so on quack and on and on...

definitely 

infinitely

deafening

try your luck they said 

my trying luck 

was running out 

then it stopped

 

and that old/new magic

happened

again and always 

all things are beautifully fine

no need to try

so hard 

or at all

ALL IS WELL 

so well someone 

allowed everything 

to be as it is

exhale

My goodness! What just happened?

Goodness! 

Boundless love to the infinite, mundane, everything between, and to those helpful ducks!

post script:  It's been over 2 years! Thought post in 2020 was going to turn out to be the last. However, this putting word energy into the ether is grounding - (for me). 

And the above post may be a partial summary of COVID experience.

LIFE IS GOOD 

(even when it's not!)

boundlessness

from November 2020. Hail to the Mask!

This entry was started in November 2020 without comment other than quote below. 

The only comment I would add today - is that I enjoyed (and still enjoy) 

the anonymity of wearing a mask.

 I shall begin another post 

today.

 

pumpkin head seeds (on Day of the Dead)

"Bummer," said the woman next to me. As I poured water on the broken tea bag, we watched the leaves float up gracefully. It was the end of a silent retreat and it was the first thing anyone had said to me in days. 

And it was the funniest, most brilliant statement I had ever heard. 

BUMMER 

As we shared a gentle laugh, my brain imploded, and what I truly wanted to do was jump for joy and fall to the floor in giggles.

What kind of perfect sense/nonsense was this, stumbled upon like Banzan's koan?

(Banzan was walking though a market and overheard a customer say, "Give me the best piece of meat you have."  

"Everything in my shop is the best," replied the butcher. "You cannot find any piece of meat that is not the best."  At these words Banzan was enlightened.)

And as I write on this All Saints Day eve, the sky is dark with clouds; leaves dive, float, and finally rest, enhancing the earth in fiery color.
Alight with joy, it's about to rain and the tea bag broke. 

Such is the season of transition—and there has been plenty of it lately for all of us everywhere. Have not always been able to endure, float, and land with ease and grace, but this little pumpkin head knows in this moment—all is—and will always be ok, even perfect. 

love

!bummer! (any word will do)

amen

metta 

gratitude

A monk asked Master Haryo, "What is the way?" 

Haryo said, "An open-eyed man falling into the well."

song for little birds

Mysore rangoli

63 days ago
this one started a sort
of song
named bird song

yesterday one Dottie
who hunts but does not kill
brought a baby bird
inside

how our every heart beat shook our tiny body
how we wanted our small life

last night
a painted song named
till death was hung
and we ached in pain and love

today 
wanting not to know—no not now
that we—the bitty bird and I (in part) had died

how our heart-beat beat and shook our tiny body
how we longed to stay in life

'til death 
heart will sting and pound
our songs of pain and beauty
and we will fly how we will fly

while ever now even now 
this one mourns and cries
for one song sung less
far less than
63 days

www.maryaroland.net

Magic and Mundane

note from Ladakh

1.
Note to Self
halahala is
a dark allusion to self
—gotta love Sanskrit
2.
Illusion
so unwind unbind
your halahala head tricks
—look at mojo go!


It's early February and the temperature is in the 60's. A lone morning birdsong has been heard; a bear has been spotted. Primordial possum encounters house cat. Warm sun comforts and thrills. All is gorgeously divine. And some of us are soaring toward the light.

Except. 
we have wax wings
and ice is melting

It's early February and temperature is in the 60's. Slightly creepy. No bear no daffodil no fly should reveal her face this early. Mating birdsongs and peeper's peeps should be saving their chants for future dates.

Except.
Ready or not, I want to trill a song, sprout green wings, lumber through forest, and fly, fly fly!


*********

Unwind Unbind
Very earthbound here lately and bingeing on The Sopranos. It has helped me see—we all live (with varying degrees of awareness) in our little worlds. Each reality, whether it be mafia, art, military, religious, business, yoga, environmental, academic, or other—has its own rules, beliefs, ideas of success. Illusory aspects of our realms are not easy to spot unless they belong to others' systems. (An overly obvious example is the crumbling codes and concepts of Trump-mind and Trumpism.) So thanks, Sopranos. (brilliant television IMHO)

Unwind Unbind
Lola sleeps a lot, even for a cat. She has cancer. She is being showered with huge amounts of love, attention, food, and neck scratches and then even more love.
May all creatures feel the magic, be well, and transition peacefully.

Unwind Unbind
Have been chewing on a trauma relating to a lifetimes ago failed friendship. Miles of mind tapes and tangled heart strings unwind. These words:

In trying to create a sense of comfort and relief from her own suffering this person made others responsible. —paraphrased words from a student of Adyashanti

Thinking most of us have been guilty of such illusion/mistakes at one time or another. And this person's comfort and relief, played out in particularly hateful, hurtful ways. 

"When our wounds cease to be a source of shame...we become....healers"
"...how do we hide our wounds?" 
"How can we put our woundedness in the service of others?" 
—Thoreau
Seeing/feeling how shame is related to abuse—is a small awakening. Gratitude.

Unwind Unbind
Had to leave Mysore yoga class after only a few standing poses this morning. Back was hurting bad. Felt I needed to only do backbends. Came home. Did a bunch (of dhanurasanas). Unwound. Feel fine. Go figure. Must be the new moon.

new moon new
green heart-wings
every minute
unfolding
rebirth renewal
and always metta

INSPIRE : EXPIRE : INSPIRE : EXPIRE : INSPIRE : EXPIRE : INSPIRE : EXPIRE : INSPIRE

Belur, South India

"Practice and all is coming," may be the most famous of Pattabhi Jois's sayings. A beacon of encouragement, it calms and reassures regardless of what one's practice may be—life, for that matter. It's all coming, all good, relax, just do your practice. 

Recently an insight struck after seeing an Ashtanga post. Marsha was attempting to bind in Supta Kurmasana after having given birth a few months before. Obviously this pose was an easy one for her pre-pregnancy, but there she was in the video—revealing she was no where near the bind. And then there was the conversation with John before Thanksgiving when we discussed gaining and LOSING poses. (My first experience with gain-loss shock was legs behind the head. Had believed that once you did a pose, that was it forever. Truth can be so rude!) The kicker in this flash was the guy on A. Home Practitioners site who posted a video of his "float" through asking for improvement suggestions.  You're doing fine—practice and all is coming.

But the saying felt incomplete.

Practice and ALL IS COMING AND GOING, I typed.
Like our breath, all things are always coming and going. Truly we cannot hold on to anything, I thought.

Three plus years of injuries have come with some insights. When I started this particular yoga practice, poses came easily. It was fun, I liked the challenge, and with the blessing of a beginner's mind, I didn't know or worry if I were doing poses right or wrong. I read some Ashtanga lore, and thought—all good, and nope! you'll never get beyond first series. At some point something changed. I really liked getting new poses and doing them well. No problem if ego got involved because  haha—higher self was throwing little self a bone. Of course, I was fooling myself.

So when injury arose, it allowed me to see that there was a certain psychological forcefulness, a subtle kind of violence present in both my asana practice and life. Though I may not have consciously used these words, the energy can be expressed with getting, acquiring, achieving, conquering, succeeding. I have often used the words finding a pose, a minor semantic improvement. Either way, much was taken away. On or off the mat, that energy does not work for me. It also seems what I am now calling—asana obsession—(any obsession really)—is an inevitable phase of contemporary culture and yoga (another topic altogether).

I do wonder, did historic yogis strive to "get" and "perfect" poses? Go to big classes? Look around and see if they were "better" than others? I doubt it. (Well, who knows—maybe they did at the Kumbha Mela, begun in 8th C.) My guess from looking at paintings and admittedly, idealizing them—is those yogis and ascetics just did poses as time and their bodies allowed. It was not an obsession, but one part of an integrated spiritual practice.

Thinking about these ancient yogis sets me free from many contemporary cultural messages: just do it, no pain-no gain, nothing succeeds like success, etc. On the other hand, despite its cons,  I am okay with the energy of contemporary democratic, organic yoga culture. It's an awareness practice, par excellence! 

Awareness: Some time ago Greg noted that this one doesn't like to do a pose unless it's done perfectly. What? Ok, true, and where did that idea come from? As Christine pointed out today, it comes from the outside. More coming and going. Recalling and tapping into beginner's mind—I rediscover open, non-judgmental, accepting energy.

Deep bow to the teachers named in this post.

And so in yoga, as in life, while I am a perfectly imperfect manifestation, there is another theme—one of balance between effort/desire and acceptance; between indifference and allowing all things to be as they are. And beneath it all, is an infinite well of gratitude and love.


metta

Belur, South India

Middle image is from the British Museum

Balancing Acts and —I Love You Raggedy Ann!

from the Bechtler Contemporary Museum show in Charlotte, NC:

"Wrestling the Angel" 

(art and religion)

Hints of fall today. As I considered the over ripeness of this late summer day, I thought of last Saturday when contemporary art, the heart (Raggedy Ann, my beloved childhood doll) spirituality, religion, seasons/change, and circles/wheel of life and rebirth—came together, as they always seem to do.

The painting above is part of an art and spirituality exhibition featuring artists such as Chagall, Roualt and regional artists, Gina Gilmour and others. Also included was Niki De Saint Phalle's "Cathedrale." It's a contemporary interpretation of a Gothic cathedral sculpture like the one at Strasbourg, and both remind me of the 12th Century temple at Belur, South India. Connections.

ALL ONE! 

"Cathedrale" by de Saint Phale, 20th C

Belur, South India 12th C,  Channakesava temple

Cathedral of Notre Dame de Strasbourg tympanum, 11-15th C

But I have digressed (into an art personna). Full circle in another way, came after the museum, when we went to John Bultman's workshop. John's teaching - asana practice and conference felt very open and accepting. With all the changes in my mind, body, and heart after shoulder surgery, I  felt his spaciousness allowed and reinforced what had happened to me: the dropping of the perfect and more asana-obsession. Without that overriding focus, there is now space in my head and heart for the other limbs to more fully enter and enlighten—from Yama to Samadhi.

It's about balance, also. There is a yoga sutra verse (2:46) that says asana should be relaxed but stable ("steady and comfortable"). Another middle way—is asana breath or "free breathing" as Sharath calls it. Asana breathing is NOT Ujai.* It is a breath with just enough sound for the practitioner to hear/be aware of. Ujai is a special and loud Pranayama breath. (Apparently Pattabhi Jois did not have the English words to explain this distinction.) 

So we balance effort and relaxation in yoga poses and with the breath in doing those poses—in all of the limbs, and in life. 

Coincidentally, in my meditation practice I am focusing on another type of balance, the union of opposites. It's been blissful and terrible - which I guess is exactly one of the unions to go for. Though I've still got some icky stuff from long ago to work through, it feels like I've burned through a LOT in the last ten years. 

I am crystalline over ashes.

I teeter in balancing poses.

I am the Virgin and Raggedy Ann.

The Equinox nears!

The Middle Way. Balance. 8 Fold Path. 8 Limbs.

ALL!

ONE!

metta

*Ujai creates heat, and might be used in asana practice on a cold day or as one needs it. The breath info comes from Sharath via John Bultman. 🙏🏽 

Also, interestingly, David Garrigues newsletter yesterday featured his answers regarding breath. Garrigues said the same thing about ujai - but with different words. 

Once upon a Time and the Big Bang

How did it come to be almost summer?
Where is yesterday's snow? 

In the all at once? In the every little thing?

Was there a huge cloud?

Was there a big crowd?

Isn't the heat oppressive?

Do you remember that time? 

Wasn't it a windless, cloudless day? 

Do you remember that sound? 
Was there a big bang?
Isn't the heat oppressive? Shivering from the cold?

 now     forever    now 
ever becoming
finished

inhale 
the exhale
 infinitely finite

know naught

we astronauts
k n o w  n o t

the endless knot
the imponderable

m  e  t  a

In my little universe, the novel Buried Giant comes to mind right now. Ichiguro's focus on memory and writing style made me wonder if I had forgotten part of the story. It felt like I was experiencing the same memory gaps as his characters. What an example it is of art expressing  the truth of our human reality, worlds better than any explaining could ever do.

So...wondering if it's time to quit all this wordy stuff. The truth, from cosmic to mundane cannot be expressed—pointed, glimpsed at maybe—as the moon is reflected in water. Nevertheless, here's my little world of—healing shoulders, yoga mats, art, music, meditation, changing relationships, growing awareness and joy. 

Have learned so much humility and acceptance from this rascally and injurious shoulder! 10 months (since surgery) and every single day I get on my mat - not knowing or having a clue how it will feel or if what I do to "regain" my practice will injure it. 

An adventure it is. Outer space it is. And is this not true about (my) life in general? I think so. 

Every day, if we are open (or forced to be open to it, like YT) is a completely new experience and discovery. Why you are fearing, Sharath used to say to me. No answers yet, my Teacher,  just the freedom that comes from walking into and experiencing a garden.....variety of fears. 

And more—every day I grieve, am outraged, and feel helpless during these times of political turmoil and cruelty. Nightmares come true. Surely beyond voting in November there must be a way right now in particular to relieve suffering and affect change. 

Have been fostering cats, thinking about all of the above, and watching how the ultimate clarity of a retreat becomes altered as "ordinary" life resumes. I am open to wherever things lead and to what ever role appears in this journey. Hope it shows up soon. I'm not young. 

LOVE

The Animism of Catechism

from Ajanta Caves, India

Got snowed-in a lot these past two months and started streaming various movies and TV shows. Among them were Breaking Bad and Big Little Lies. Both TV series dealt with degrees of dishonesty in all their characters. In Breaking Bad, there were examples of extreme forms of corruption in characters who had lost connection to conscience and heart.

INTERESTING

balancing these excellent studies (IMHO) of our dark sides, was a wonderful documentary about Buddhist nuns. Several western women who, led by a Rinpoche, visited various remotely located nunneries in Tibet. The contrast between the complexity of the westerners' lives seemed to highlight the clarity, wisdom, and naturalness of the Tibetan nuns. I went to sleep that night and woke up the next morning and the next—repeating

SIMPLICITY

This one-word mantra is calming. 

There is so little simplicity in social media these days. It has become a place where we put up only posters/memes. I've come to miss the days when people posted pictures of their meals! But sometimes there are cracks in the wall. A friend posed a New Year's question, what are your personal concerns? She got lots of honest FB answers, every one of which resonated with me. The

QUESTIONS

for me are on-going investigations into relationships past and present, and the heart of service. Am feeling answers to these and to all questions may be found in nothing special or may actually BE nothing special, simple things like listening and sharing anything—money, time, good energy to individuals and groups, art that raises awareness, and by living all 8 limbs of yoga and sitting in silence. Will see.

SEEING

both cosmic and everyday truths have been a transcendent gift these days. My mind scrambles and shuts down at the inability to grasp infinite vastness and smallness, no beginning no end. 

"MU" 

(enough said)

artist: Hakuin

And here I digress to the subject of grade school Catholic catechism that may have prepared me, in its own uniquely rote way for an Advaita view of our existence in the cosmos. 

Q: Where is God?

A: God is everywhere.

OMG! 

God is in ALL things. Everywhere.

LOL and LO! The beautiful but unsuspecting 

animism of catechism! 

Laniakea 

The Laniakea supercluster is home to Ikea and the Milky Way—and about 100,000 galaxies.

Red dot is site of our galaxy.

Q: Had God a beginning?
A: God had no beginning; 

He always was and He always will be.*

*Law of physics (and catechism?): matter can neither be created or destroyed. 

Then all matter always was and always will be. 

Glory be! So everything at least, in part— 

including us—is infinite. 

Because god is EVERYWHERE

SIMPLE

LOGICAL

CONCISELY HUGE 

IMMENSE

yes, (and joyous) are the implications.

As for another concern, it's time. Will save it for later 

to save it. Am beginning to believe that 

everything IS happening 

all at once

is it real? b/c it's 

always 

n  o  w

and then there's me trying 

to save time save more save more.

Mental perceptions measure movement, it's time

parts of universe are moving at unbelievable 

speeds...the speed of 

l  i  g  h t...

particle or wave? 

what is real, real time?

brahma god everything nothing 

no-time no-thing is more 

(immense) than 

what time 

calls

l  o  v  e

IKEA

store is in Laniakea and so is my shoulder, and my shoulder feels very real and good right now. So I will get real: I am mostly—if I don't push getting somewhere too hard—pain free! Since there were so many things wrong with my shoulder, (have I listed them here before?) surgery HAD to fix something!  Torn labrum, 4 bone spurs, tendinitis, shredded tissue, bursitis, and osteoarthritis. 

Whether the stem cells worked or not I will probably never know because fixing all the other things may have done the job (and osteoarthritis doesn't always manifest pain.)

Very pleased and slowly getting back to a fuller, deeper home practice. Know I'm much better—because feeling need for group energy to jump-start (haha literally) chaturangas and other shoulder stressing poses. Mysore at AYA is on the list. YAY!

Image of Yogi on cover of Roots of Yoga

which I am loosely reading now.

Wonder how this guy's shoulders feel.

SIMPLE

loving blessings to all

metta

  

cabin fever : singularities

 December morning view, Waynesville, NC

Friday morning, I awoke to 

falling snow

crystalline so pure

so perfect—its mounds exude 

galaxies of hush

This little haiku and cabin fever got me. All I wanted to say was that there are no words (or photos) for this experience of new snow, but I couldn't just SAY that because only the poetic allusion and brevity of haiku could begin to express...   or maybe Mary Oliver gets close in First Snow * —"such an oracular fever"  "—not a single answer has been found—"

So snow level reached 14" by Saturday morning, making it impossible to get to or from this house on Balsalm Mountain. I caught up on business; took 2 or more hours with yoga practice; worked on art projects; started writing (this); laughed about cabin fever (this is day 3); walked in the snow with the cats; got snow in my boots; and took loads of pictures. 

friends taking a snow day

Maybe I have "oracular fever," not cabin fever? Thinking they are the same.

Either way, what I love about these kind of events is that they make a dent in everyday reality—habits, thoughts, patterns, schedules, everything! Forced to stay inside, having transportation restricted to walking in snow shoes, I start to look more closely at what I usually do and what I am able to do right now, and both take on new meaning. 

There is nothing like surprises, radical interruptions (and travel) to jump-start awareness and mental clarity. And sometimes these singularities—the second definition below is particularly fabulous and pertinent—appear/disappear in an instant and take on infinite value. 

1. The state, fact, quality, or condition of being singular. 

2. physics mathematics: a point at which a function takes an infinite value, especially in space-time when matter is infinitely dense, as at the center of a black hole. {to me this means black holes are truly form AND emptiness.*}  

• 
  

  
  

Who knows when a "singularity" in consciousness may occur? Several years ago, after one of my first experiences with Ashtanga yoga (Jason's class), I went to do some shopping at Earth Fare, an ordinary health food store on an ordinary day (though I did feel a little spacey). 

Looking at a shelf of sugar substitutes, suddenly I heard the most amazing sounds. Music so brilliant and exquisite I was awestruck, ecstatic (no adequate words.)

Then something rearranged itself, and I was hearing a very ordinary, familiar tune, the health food store equivalent of Muzak, maybe. How deeply and sweetly I had traveled in such a short time! 

I have experienced more than a few of these singularities, interruptions, or interferences with "normal" consciousness. Some deep, short, scary, euphoric, or wide. I am grateful for them all, from snow induced oracular fever, to transcendent Muzak. 

Are divine and mundane so different? 
Is the answer in the silent galaxies or the mound of snow? 
In the sound of Aum or the advert jingle?

As Mary Oliver said, "—not a single answer has been found—"

*Heart Sutra: 
"Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form." 
"Gate gate paragate parasamgate Bodhisvaha" 
Gone from forgetfulness to mindfulness. Gone from duality into non-duality. Utterly beyond to awakening.


*Thanks, Kathleen H., who posted Mary Oliver's First Snow poem on FaceBook today. Perfect: Oracular Fever!!

Rishikesh friend with keys