You ask me why I dwell in the green mountains
I smile and make no reply, for my heart is free of care
As the peach blossom flows downstream and is gone into the unknown
I have a world apart that is not among men
Li Po
Tag: Nature
Passing away
November is traditionally the month for remembering those who have passed away. It is a practice in harmony with this time of year, as the days shorten and the cold of winter approaches. There seems to be a broad antropological basis for this awareness, as it can be found in the Celtic calendar around this time also. Keeping an awareness of the impermanence of all things is one of the basic practices in most of the wisdom traditions. One of the reasons that we struggle is that we give things more solidity than we should, including the problems and worries which pass through the mind as thoughts or emotions. I think the most important lesson learned in sitting meditation is that nothing stays the same for long, including the activity of the mind. Learning the truth of that in a real, felt way, leads to equanimity. Trying to hold onto things that are changing, even good things, pinning our happiness onto things being exactly as they were, leads us to be less present with how things actually are. However, I do not find this practice easy or something I realize in a once-off manner. I would love if enlightenment came that way. However, for me it is a slow-learned knowledge, that I am working with day-to-day. Looking out on the mountains around my house this morning gently teaches me. The trees let go of their leaves, the mountain allows the mist to descend and rise. I too try to let go, not trying to make this or that moment last forever.
In the deepest forms of insight we see that things change so quickly that we can’t hold onto anything, and eventually the mind lets go of clinging.
Letting go brings equanimity. The greater the letting go, the deeper the equanimity. In practice we work to expand the range of life experiences in which we are free.
U Pandita
Slowing down, going deeper
Although yesterday’s incredibly mild weather belies the fact, we have passed the traditional date for the start of winter. It began on the feast of Saint Martin, marking the end of harvest, the drinking of the new wine, and the time for farm labourers to return home. Then the ancient period of forty days preparation for Christmas, observed since the 5th Century, followed. Traditionally, these days coincided with a sense of the natural beginning of winter, and the body’s response in taking recovery time for itself. They were a time of reflection and a simplification of intake, of taking stock and winding down. In today’s world, technology allows us to promote the opposite – longer shopping hours and a speeding up in preparation for the holidays, as Thanksgiving and Christmas advertisments begin to appear. An ancient way of doing things and a modern one. Thus we have a choice.
Nature has its periods of growth and its periods of rest. We are still somewhat in the bright and gentle light of autumn but we know that the darker days of winter are sneaking up on us. Soon all will go quiet and cold, with little seeming to stir. However, as yesterday’s post reminds us about the psychological sphere, underneath much is going on. Nature becomes for us a model in its beckoning us to turn inward and look deeper, to rest, reflect and simplify. Thomas Merton reminded us of the value of “winter, when the plant says nothing.” There is a time for us also to slow down, to say little, to wait and watch.
Our task is to find a balance, to find a middle way, to learn not to overextend ourselves with extra activities and preoccupations, but to simplify our lives more and more. The key to finding a happy balance in modern life is simplicity.
Sogyal Rimpoche.
Leaves falling
A wild and windy Autumn day. The leaves are falling in earnest. Am reminded of Shelley’s words: O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being… The wind is related to the breath in many of the wisdom traditions, and the breath to the Spirit or the life force within us. In the poem, the wind moves Shelley to reflect on his inner self, and see parallels between his life and that of the nature around him.
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
An Autumn poem
One of the most b
eautiful in the English language. In ancient Celtic myths the swan was associated with music, faithfulness and with purity. They frequently symbolized the inner life or the soul. They were especially associated with this time of year and with the Celtic Feast of Samhain, celebrated at the end of October. In the poem they lift off dramatically, migrating and moving on, inspiring us by their beauty but always, ultimately, out of reach.
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.
The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
The garden of love
The garden of
Love is green without limit, and yields many fruits other than sorrow
and joy.
Love is beyond either condition:
without spring,
without autumn,
it is always fresh.
Rumi
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