A homecoming of sorts

She declared that she found her bearings when she became lost. Strange that. In the storm at sea, with the night sky blotted out, you are alone, lashed by freezing waves. No point in raging against the thunder. You are hardly even a dot in the gun grey night of the universe. No matter how hard you try to get that perspective, the fear is writ large; finding the courage to carry on almost seems impossible. And then you are reminded: Wisdom says you are nothing. Compassion says you are everything. Such a thought is a homecoming of sorts.


Sitting, loving what is, I am not entirely convinced.
Circling, before the dive in. The deep dive in. 
The lived life, the examined life.
If you want reality to be different than it is, she laughs, 
you might as well teach a cat to bark.
It then comes to me. The world is larger because of this.
When you walk into a room and everyone agrees on something, 
you know that someone is hiding something 
or there is something you don't see.
We don't need prophets for telling the future, 
because they are trying to change the present, he says.
With this, like the poet says, the coating of dead dust falls from the windows. The old ways of seeing - habits really - are broken.
We walk along the seafront, the meadowing path breathes with wildlife. The unexamined stories are airlifted away by 
butterflies and the thought of what the wise woman said: 
you are the one that can end your suffering.
Sitting still, loving the world as it is, making friends with the wind.

Inspired by John O’Donohue, Byron Katie, Omar Ghobash and Shane Claiborne.

Circle back

It came to me, landing on the soft spot, to stop 
Getting in my own way. It is the place that I stand when 
My feet are sore, to return here: 
'No one can do more harm, neither a thief or a hater, 
More than your own untrained mind.' 
To meet this moment fresh, this invitation to 
Circle back to the idea that 'no one can do more benefit, 
More good, neither a friend, nor a lover, your parents, than your 
Well-trained and well-directed mind,' 
Opening up your wildness and your immensity.

Inspired by Padraig O Tuama in a conversation with Krista Tippett, On Being and a talk given by Oren Jay Sofer to the Seattle Insight Meditation Society in which Oren read from the Dhammapada.

Song sung

Your best is not good enough, he lectured
Usually after several stiff brandies.
Outside, the Christmas beetles sang in chorus in
The evening African heat.
It was a life-time ago and, I suppose, to him he thought, 
meant to be helpful.
Yet, even now, it is difficult to excavate the enormity
Of what not good enough meant.
Strangely, looking back, it was
The wildness of the beetle song sung in tune to the darkening sun that
Somehow kept me safe and enough.