home to East nirVana

Enjoying my final Cortes Cafe of the season, veg chili with cornbread and maple-pecan butter...so good. Wary of pre-emptive nostalgia, but oh, being in this place has nourished my body and soul.

Leaving Friday from Cortes, to a weekend retreat with Lama Geshe YongDong focused on Sherab Chamma, the mother of all Buddhas, to learn more techniques to deal with fear. Then home to my East NirVana nest Sunday night.

savouring every sweet'n'sour moment.

nothing to show

this is what i have to show, for these past five months which passed like water. during this time i have not watched a movie or read a novel, a newspaper or a magazine. have not surfed the Internet, have not listened to music, written many words or painted many pictures. have made very little money and spent very little money. have not started any new projects, or created any tangible legacy.

no words, no pictures, no artifacts.

just five deep months worth of BEING, not one moment wasted.

giving thanks

i give thanks for the light that shines through and within me. the light that gave me courage, to declare my intention and to stay. the light i always knew was there but never quite trusted, until the moment six months past when i walked under those prayer flags and through that door, and i said, i am here.

i give thanks for five full months of meditation and presence and prayer, of cloud-watching and bird-listening. i give thanks for this opportunity to be of service, in so many small ways.

i give thanks for my teachers, all my teachers. So many i have met on this tiny island alone, and so many more. i give thanks for the wisdom of the red granite rocks and the treefrogs and the mad squirrels, the dragonflies and the apple trees. i give thanks for all the water i hauled up that hill, and for the logs now burning in the woodstove.

i give thanks for the angels and the warriors of the city - i will be home with you soon, in that parallel paradise.

thanks given.

Bodhisattva

This fully enlightened being turned up at the Dharma Centre yesterday, and has made herself very much at home. There are no neighbours nearby, and she is clearly not a being who would ever run away or be abandoned. She is healthy and sparky and serene, and savvy about running along the road on the right side of my bike. It is a mystery, and I am searching for anyone who may know of her previous incarnation.

Unconditional happiness

This is the goal now: unconditional happiness.

Without money or goods, or property or progeny; without lovers or partners or family or friends. Without accomplishments or monuments or trophies or tributes. Without health or mobility or comfort or rest.

Any or all may arrive and be welcomed.

But I will be happy, regardless.

All the ladies in the house

The Babbling Buddha draws a stream of wondrous and wondering women. They wander up the path one by one, every fourth or fifth in tears (like me, when i drifted under those prayer flags for the first time). Blinking, slightly shell-shocked. And fuck-it-all, free.

I came home to meet Elena and Apple sitting at the kitchen table, finishing their blackberry-chocolate-chip pancake dinner. They had pitched their big yellow tent on one of the platforms and were almost ready for bed.

The three of us went to the Carrington Bay rave. We watched in awe as the rushing tide between the ocean and the lagoon came to a complete halt, one moment of unearthly stillness, and then – switched direction. Apple squatted on the edge of the dancefloor with me, mesmerized by the girls in flouncy tutus, fur hats and fairy wings, goofing it up with boys in fun-fur pants and spangly ties. She leaned into me and whispered conspiratorially: "it's like christmas here!".

This one's for all the ladies in the house, fuck-it-all free.

No water

The well has run dry and so i walk like a village woman down the hill, from the kitchen to the rainwater reservoir.

The reservoir is beside the pump house, in the overgrown orchard. There are three apples trees each a different kind, so I sample one of each just to savour the difference. And there are blackberry bushes of course, and the berries are fat and abundant and tart and sweet and stain my hands and my tongue and my clothes.

There was a tiny frog beside the reservoir yesterday. We spent long moments staring curiously into each others' eyes; his golden-speckled and mine island blue.

I climb up on two wobbly logs, scoop my bucket into the reservoir. I put the bucket on my head and go back to the kitchen, walking uphill slowly like a village woman.

Monk pesto

Combine:

Basil grown in a pot from little plants brought by Wendy.
Parmesan left behind by Shulamit.
Organic garlic found in the cabin.
Sunflower seeds from the large bag left donated by a hostel guest.
Grainy salt left in a dish by Gaert and Robert.
And olive oil, from my personal stash.

Mush it up in the blender found in pieces in the shed, cleaned and reassembled.

Through the goodness of generosity and other virtues,
May I awaken fully in order to serve all beings.

More pasta anyone?

The dance of compassion and courage

Margie Gillis' dance course was called Dancing from the Inside Out, and she began and ended the workshop with these words: There is no conflict between what you are, and what you are becoming. Her mantra: let it be there, let it change.

The twin themes of this episode of my life: buddhism and dance...well really, what's the difference! they are all about being impermanence, presence, learning from the body, celebrating life and apprehending the inextricable reality of death.

On Saturday we launched into the third month of our Four Immeasurables course at Dorje Ling – the Immeasurables being Equanimity, Lovingkindness, Compassion and Joy. So now we are onto Compassion - and compassion is all about fearlessness. Compassion is about action. To be fearless is to be naked and vulnerable and not separate from the forces that stand in my way. To speak my truth in service. The essential element of truth-speaking is compassion.

And so, in honour of this month of Compassion, tomorrow I am off to Lasqueti Island for a few days of Contact Dance...going nose-to-nose (and head to floor and face to crotch) with fear. Yay!

Everything is dying

The forest sounds so different now, from when I arrived here in May – quieter, stiller, drier. It hasn't rained in over a month ad even the ferns are orange and brittle, the outhouse full of crackly alder leaves suspended in a web above the hole.

The thrushes have long stopped warbling, I miss their high ascending cry. The deer are cautious and slow, fat on berries and leaves, and the fawns are almost full grown.

Even my good friends the frogs, are silent.

And the humans have taken on a shrill and frenzied edge. I am one of them. Fighting attachment, prying my fingers from the slippery wheel of time as it turns, turns, turns.