Close to the music

File:Regulus ignicapilla -Galicia, Spain -singing in a conifer tree-8 (1).jpg

Two short pieces from Seamus Heaney, probably the greatest writer of  modern Poetry in Ireland or indeed anywhere in the English language, who died yesterday.  Ar dheis De go raibh a anam.  Both are about space. 

Because there is “constant movement” in our lives, as Zen teacher Charlotte Joko Beck once said,  “with lots of things going on, lots of people talking, lots of events taking place“, we need meditation which in its essence is   “simplifying space“,  One way of doing that is to simplify the chatter in our minds, creating the space to  simply be with each moment, without always running a commentary. We practice to get closer to pure awareness and less caught up in our judgment, criticisms and interpretations. We too try to stay very close to the music: 

 And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

The second is just one of my favourite poems, written after the death of his mother. Her passing leaves a gap in his life, reminding him of the space in the front hedge when they chopped down a tree. When we simplify the situation through meditation, we create an inner space for ourselves, removing ourselves from the ringing phone, the television, the constant running. As the poem suggests, this  inner space is not completely empty, but is also a source – a “bright nowhere” –

I thought of walking round and round a space
Utterly empty, utterly a source
Where the decked chestnut tree had lost its place
In our front hedge above the wallflowers.
The white chips jumped and jumped and skited high.
I heard the hatchet’s differentiated
Accurate cut, the crack, the sigh
And collapse of what luxuriated
Through the shocked tips and wreckage of it all.
Deep-planted and long gone, my coeval
Chestnut from a jam jar in a hole,
Its heft and hush become a bright nowhere,
A soul ramifying and forever
Silent, beyond silence listened for.

 The Haw Lantern

photo noel feans

Travelling light

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There is an old story of a famous rabbi living in Europe who was visited one day by a man who had traveled by ship from New York to see him. The man came to the great rabbi’s dwelling, a large house on a street in a European city, and was directed to the rabbi’s room, which was in the attic. He entered to find the master living in a room with a bed, a chair, and a few books. The man had expected much more.  After greetings, he asked, “Rabbi, where are your things?” The rabbi asked in return, “Well, where are yours?” His visitor replied, “But, Rabbi, I’m only passing through,” and the master answered, “So am I, So am I.”

This is not a lesson to be put off. One great teacher explained it this way: “The trouble with you is that you think you have time.” We don’t know how much time we have. What would it be like to live with the knowledge that this may be our last year, our last week, our last day? In light of this question, we can choose a path with heart.

Jack Kornfield,  A Path With Heart

photo dirk ingo franke

Using time well

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In a week when the newspaper front pages in Ireland and England devote as much time to celebrity gossip and the gyrations of Miley Cyrus at VMA Awards as they do to atrocities and human suffering in Syria and Iraq, it is probably good to reflect on how we can live more consciously. One element of this is where we choose to place our attention and devote our time:

If they say we should get together. Say why?

It’s not that you don’t love them any more.
You’re trying to remember something too important to forget.
Trees. The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project. It will never be finished.

When someone recognizes you in a grocery store, nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven’t seen in ten years appears at the door,
don’t start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.

Walk around feeling like a leaf.
Know you could tumble any second.
Then decide what to do with your time.

Naomi Shihab Nye, The Art of Disappearing

photo crusier

Recognizing your experience

Looking Outside

Here’s a definition of mindfulness: it’s a strengthening of your concentration so that you can be more precise and clear in recognizing your experience. It’s also a strengthening of your equanimity — your ability to be relaxed and open in the face of your experience. The concentration part of mindfulness is a little like drinking a cup of coffee; it kind of wakes you up. It’s like the straight spine of arousal or awareness. The equanimity part is like the relaxed limbs of the body. The spine is straight, and the limbs are relaxed. This relaxation part is a receptivity and acceptance to things as they are. It’s a kind of “friendly audience” to your own experience; a sort of “Hello. Wow! OK.” attitude — a gentle, matter-of-fact awareness of your experience, rather than a reactive pulling back.  All mindfulness practices cultivate both of those, the concentration and the equanimity, so that you can be clearer, more precise and more relaxed in the face of whatever is happening to you —whether it’s loud noises coming in from a jackhammer running in the next building, or a pain in your knee, or your emotions about your spouse.

Polly Young-Eisendrath

A different strength

sitting

Too often, people think that solving problems is based on conquering the earth,

rather than touching the earth,

touching ground.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche

The principle of nowness

nowThe principle of nowness is very important to any effort to establish an enlightened society. You may wonder what the best approach is to helping society and how you can know that what you are doing is authentic and good. The only answer is nowness. The way to relax, or rest the mind in nowness, is through the practice of meditation. In meditation you take an unbiased approach. You let things be as they are, without judgment, and in that way you yourself learn to be.

Chogyam Trungpa