6/14/15 Sunday. My husband and I are sitting outside this morning. There is light and stillness and a cacophony of birds and sirens. I relish in in. I know that this day won’t last and my unease is gazing into the horizon. I need to just sit today, zazen. Not do, just sit. This is impossible of course. There is work here and work there that needs to be done today. But I can sit for now and be here. Be still and listen. Time will move forward either way. Regardless of what I do or don’t. The dog is sitting watching, waiting. He has his own stress. Stress is a part of life. I gaze into the future with my deck of cards.
I pick this from an OSHO Transformational Tarot. Deck, (Living Totally) ”Those who say ‘we am waiting for an opportunity,’ are being deceptive, they are not deceiving anybody but themselves. The opportunity is not going to come tomorrow. It has already arrived, it has always been here. It was here even when you were not here. Existence is an opportunity, to be in the opportunity.” “Don’t say, ‘Tomorrow I will meditate, tomorrow I will love, tomorrow I will have a dancing relationship with existence.’ Why tomorrow? Tomorrow never comes. Why not now? Why postpone? Postponement is a trick of the mind; it keeps you hoping, and meanwhile the opportunity is slipping by. And in the end you will come to a cul-de-sac-death- and there will be no more opportunities left. And this has happened many times in the past. You are not new here you have been born many, many times. And each time the mind has played the same trick, and you have not yet learned anything.”
My husband and I go to yoga on the other side of town. My husband prefers this class and it is full with an eclectic bunch. A Brit is next to me with crooked teeth and a nice smile. We were to tell our favorite poet. His was Auden. I keep asking for him to repeat himself. I am hard of hearing and with his accent and the background chatter of others sharing I can barely hear him at all. It, very American of me to say in my Midwestern type accent, “What did you say?” He patiently repeats himself as I uncomfortably stare at his parted mouth into his teeth trying to understand his annunciation.
After sharing who our favorite poet is with one another in partner fashion, the teacher has us hunker back to our mats in downward facing dog. A former schoolteacher, he likes to pontificate and throughout his babble profound words are sometimes spoken. You just have to trudge through the muck of what he says to get there. As I tune in I hear, something like when you reach for your desires you cannot find them. They won’t be there if you reach. “Don’t you know that your highest self has the all the wisdom it needs?” Hmm… He continues to talk about “left handed tantra and going after your desires.” He tells us. “Just read Osho’s words and you will understand about left handed tantra. (Osho again how ironic that I just pulled one of his cards earlier today.) “Osho was a sage in India.” The teacher educates those who don’t know. “He was something else in American history but that’s another story.” (Left handed tantra, I later learn through reading is—learning the way of finding your path through the forbidden pleasures and using the dark path to enlightenment. It sounds like the more fun path to me. The left hand way... You can bet, though that this isn’t the ‘right way’—preachers and prophets will surely attest to this.) I ponder all this as the class flows nicely and during Savasana I can’t believe my ears when I hear this distinct guitarist playing.
I wonder silently if it is coming from the stereo system. I peak and there’s a guy sitting on the ledge on the side of the room sweaty, with his shirt off and eyes that seem to be looking at me as I open mine and he is singing, “I can taste a world without fear, and I can say to you, It is real. There is in this Universe an unconditional grace that exists"...My heart opens a little as I think, let it be so..please let it be so as I shut my eyes again…
I recite my favorite Frost poem for my husband when we get home. I stumble on the words and have to look them up.
Nature’s first green is gold,
.....Nothing gold can stay.
My voices catches as I come to the end and he looks at me uncomfortably, my display of emotion seemingly disproportional to the poem, he gives me a hard look and then looks away, saying, “that’s nice,” and (he) adds that he chose our son's poem. He wrote a poem when he was about 8 years old that my friend Melissa calligraphied for us and hangs on our bathroom wall.
Time
Time has gone by
Just like a fly
What used to be white is now green
Now people don’t act as mean
Seasons will come,
Season will end
I hope I make some new friends.
The pool will open soon
And that will be fun.
I will swim instead of run.
I notice how similar his poem is to Robert Frost's.
I pick this from an OSHO Transformational Tarot. Deck, (Living Totally) ”Those who say ‘we am waiting for an opportunity,’ are being deceptive, they are not deceiving anybody but themselves. The opportunity is not going to come tomorrow. It has already arrived, it has always been here. It was here even when you were not here. Existence is an opportunity, to be in the opportunity.” “Don’t say, ‘Tomorrow I will meditate, tomorrow I will love, tomorrow I will have a dancing relationship with existence.’ Why tomorrow? Tomorrow never comes. Why not now? Why postpone? Postponement is a trick of the mind; it keeps you hoping, and meanwhile the opportunity is slipping by. And in the end you will come to a cul-de-sac-death- and there will be no more opportunities left. And this has happened many times in the past. You are not new here you have been born many, many times. And each time the mind has played the same trick, and you have not yet learned anything.”
My husband and I go to yoga on the other side of town. My husband prefers this class and it is full with an eclectic bunch. A Brit is next to me with crooked teeth and a nice smile. We were to tell our favorite poet. His was Auden. I keep asking for him to repeat himself. I am hard of hearing and with his accent and the background chatter of others sharing I can barely hear him at all. It, very American of me to say in my Midwestern type accent, “What did you say?” He patiently repeats himself as I uncomfortably stare at his parted mouth into his teeth trying to understand his annunciation.
After sharing who our favorite poet is with one another in partner fashion, the teacher has us hunker back to our mats in downward facing dog. A former schoolteacher, he likes to pontificate and throughout his babble profound words are sometimes spoken. You just have to trudge through the muck of what he says to get there. As I tune in I hear, something like when you reach for your desires you cannot find them. They won’t be there if you reach. “Don’t you know that your highest self has the all the wisdom it needs?” Hmm… He continues to talk about “left handed tantra and going after your desires.” He tells us. “Just read Osho’s words and you will understand about left handed tantra. (Osho again how ironic that I just pulled one of his cards earlier today.) “Osho was a sage in India.” The teacher educates those who don’t know. “He was something else in American history but that’s another story.” (Left handed tantra, I later learn through reading is—learning the way of finding your path through the forbidden pleasures and using the dark path to enlightenment. It sounds like the more fun path to me. The left hand way... You can bet, though that this isn’t the ‘right way’—preachers and prophets will surely attest to this.) I ponder all this as the class flows nicely and during Savasana I can’t believe my ears when I hear this distinct guitarist playing.
I wonder silently if it is coming from the stereo system. I peak and there’s a guy sitting on the ledge on the side of the room sweaty, with his shirt off and eyes that seem to be looking at me as I open mine and he is singing, “I can taste a world without fear, and I can say to you, It is real. There is in this Universe an unconditional grace that exists"...My heart opens a little as I think, let it be so..please let it be so as I shut my eyes again…
I recite my favorite Frost poem for my husband when we get home. I stumble on the words and have to look them up.
Nature’s first green is gold,
.....Nothing gold can stay.
My voices catches as I come to the end and he looks at me uncomfortably, my display of emotion seemingly disproportional to the poem, he gives me a hard look and then looks away, saying, “that’s nice,” and (he) adds that he chose our son's poem. He wrote a poem when he was about 8 years old that my friend Melissa calligraphied for us and hangs on our bathroom wall.
Time
Time has gone by
Just like a fly
What used to be white is now green
Now people don’t act as mean
Seasons will come,
Season will end
I hope I make some new friends.
The pool will open soon
And that will be fun.
I will swim instead of run.
I notice how similar his poem is to Robert Frost's.
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