Holding Court

I sit, and hold court for the citizens of my mind. The thoughts that come tonight are not the nobility of this land, dressed in the fine fabrics of idealism and philosophy. The thoughts that come to my court tonight are the peasantry. They are the farmers and craftsmen, the husbands and daughters, desperate to plead their case before me. Desperate to be heard.

So I let these thoughts track their muddy workboots through my hall, and voice their cases before me. I lend each of them my full attention, and hold them compassionately while they speak. I make them feel that they have been truly heard, assure them that their case will be addressed fully in the morning, and then graciously dismiss them from my hall.

I take a breath, and turn my attention to the next case before me. And so on until I have heard each one in turn, and dismissed each one with equal compassion and detachment. I watch quietly as the last thought turns on his worn heel and pushes his way out through the door.

My hall echoes with stillness. It is empty now, and I sit listening to nothing but my own breath. I briefly fiddle with a well-worn knob on the edge of my seat, pondering what I have heard here tonight. I let it pass and return to stillness. Looking out at the muddy footprints, I smile, sigh, and smell their earthiness.

I climb down from my seat, and begin to sweep my empty hall. These peasant thoughts with their unglamorous complaints are as much a part of this court as the nobility, and I am glad I have taken the time to hear them. I will address some of their pleas in the morning, but for now, the hall is blissfully empty, and I continue to sweep, quietly and happily humming a song as I work.

Desires

I want:

To dance
To live in the woods
To be around creative people
To travel
To wear clothes I make myself
To live in a community
To be barefoot
To use what I already have
To have less stuff (no computer!)
To make people around me happy
To foster a love affair between kids and nature
To be glowy!
To stop being a consumer
To be self-sufficient and self-contained
To be grateful for every minute I have here
To live enthusiastically!
To remember to be in Bliss!
To continue to being spiritual
To make new friends
To wear bells
To find people to dance and play with
To be around people who support my lust for life

Good Day

Eyes open
Heart beats
Breathe in
I am
Thank you

Learning to Fish

"We have to get a wiggly one"



Inheritance



Casting Out Together



Generations

Learning to Fish
Images of my Nephew and Father

Blue Hills Reservation
July 12, 2008

The Road of Beads

My finger travels the road of beads, each repetition of our song another bead, another step, another heartbeat, as I wander deeper and deeper into trance, into the magic of this particular place, with each of these particular people. This moment will never exist again. It is as fleeting as it is eternal. The drums have usurped my feet, which now step a heartbeat, each beat punctuated by
foot
resonating on earth,
bells
jingling on ankles.

I occasionally am drawn out a bit, lured back into the world to glance at friends, to reassure them in their pain. The wailing and sobbing of a friend is a hard thing to bear witness to, but I let it fade. More beads, more footsteps. I fade to black. My voice follows the song, it is as involuntary as the metronome my feet have become. In a moment, it stops. Everything. It all stops. The world drops away suddenly, as if I had just dunked my head into an icy stream, and
I am baptized by stillness.

Exhale.
I am here,
I am nowhere,
I am somewhere,
I am everywhere,
I am here.

Inhale.
I straighten,
Taller than I have thought to stand before.
I profoundly own my height,
my power.
I am here.
I have arrived.
I am here.
I am in my power.

I open my eyes and see these people. I see them. I see each of their glorious faces, lit orange by fire glow, ecstatic in song, lost in their own deepness. I see them, these glorious strangers who have bared themselves, revealed their wounds, shared their joys in the safety of this container of acceptance. I see them, and my heart erupts with compassion. I see each of them. They are each beautiful. I gaze at them one by one and stare in glorious amazement. I just look and look, awed by each of their divine beauties. There are some who meet my eyes, and I watch them register the intensity, the truth, their truth. They look away, and then return wide-eyed.
I smile.
I see you, and you are so beautiful.

I look again and again, face after face, I meet eyes and smile. They smile back. I love each of these faces unconditionally. I am so happy that each of them is here, and breathing, and smiling. I find myself holding a posture of pouring out. I remember to refill my vessel, and come to a place of holding that vessel upright. I pour it out, giving back this love, and then refill again.
There is no limit to the water in this stream.

I stand solid in my compassion. I embody it, and it embodies me. The drumming shifts and stops. The time for secrets is now. I gaze at the fire and see two perfect eyes, with a fire in each one, and seated yogis at the brow.
Fire and stillness.

I send compassion out into this world,
bolstered by the power and beauty of all of these glorious people.

I heal my mother.
I heal my earth.
I heal myself.
Thank you.

Mendocino California
July 5, 2008