God, the Child.

27 Sep 2010

After all, what is God? An eternal Child playing an eternal game in the eternal garden.– Sri Aurobindo If God is this, then what am I?  I am the eternal Play. I look out my window to the tree that perches next to our house.  It’s golden hue shines so bright that I wonder if the sun illuminates it, or if it illuminates the sun.  I hear the swoosh swoosh of a broom nearby and look down the street to see my neighbor waltzing through the leaves that have created a moat around his house.  Does he know he’s waltzing?  Does he see the way the leaves swirl up to kiss his.

The Story of Everything

17 Sep 2010

Last night I watched a documentary call Into The Universe – The Story of Everything with Stephen Hawking.  Some of my first philosophical questions as a child were about the nature of universe: how did it begin? What was there before the beginning? Does it have borders?  And how could it have borders – what’s beyond those?  I was always shocked when I found out other kids (and adults) had never wondered about these things!  The questions became meditations, I realize now, and contemplating them gave me a sense of expansion.  I liked the feeling of being overwhelmed by the questions – it always left me in a space of complete awe. .

The Dying Season

10 Sep 2010

Over the past week I have been feeling funny.  For me “funny” can lead to all sorts of misplaced reactions and compensations when the feeling isn’t seen clearly and understood.  So the process of finding balance goes something like this:  I get short tempered – bossy with husband, frustrated with domesticity, mad at my cat.  A lucid moment strikes, sometimes spontaneously, sometimes in the middle of my practice – all these things are symptoms of an underlying feeling that’s not being seen.  So, what’s the feeling?  Anger?  Nope.  Worry?  Nope.  Sadness?  Maybe.  Loss?  Yep, that’s it.  Loss about what?  Family issues?  Nope.  Marriage? Nope.  I remember at this point looking outside at the gray.

Three Minutes in the Sun

03 Sep 2010

Rowan and I have a route that we walk almost every morning.  I cherish those times, she loves to be in her stroller and I love to greet the morning sky in it’s myriad of forms.  Because our walks are generally kept to one or two routes we get to see the seasons expressions change from budding sprouts and bursting flowers to the wilting and drying up petals of yesterdays blossoms.  Sometimes it seems we are expected by the stray cats that speckle the neighborhood around our house.  They greet us, in their own way, and then carry on the very important business of being cats.  Sometimes we see the same people and.