Dharma is Displayed

Dharma is displayed: 

the story is that St. Francis spoke to an almond tree on one harsh winter day, asking the barren tree to speak to him of God - and instantly there was flowering of leaves, a show of spring amidst the coldest season. I've always loved this story, reading of it once long ago and then long being fascinated by the power of being transformed, that a tree would reveal the presence of God through its bloom by simple request and the belief that spring was eternal to the tree. Yet I'm no longer sure of this lesson, that perhaps the real summons wasn't for God to show through the blossoming of the tree out of season, but for its dharma to be displayed, and that this too shows the presence of God, the harshness of winter, branches devoid of leaves and not yet ready for spring's bloom - dharma is displayed through every possibility, each season serves for the purpose of the tree's continuation. 

everything belongs as it is, even as it's already changing.

what St. Francis truly wished to see was the dharma of the tree, the purpose of a barren branches, and perhaps even his own purpose revealed during a harsh season of his soul. It certainly wasn't a casual request. There must have been a reason that Francis needed the tree to show it's dharma, a crisis of faith, maybe a winter filled by the cold touch of doubt. 

St. Francis need to see some reason and purpose to his own barren days.

and with his request - dharma is displayed,

yet not by transformation, the lesson here isn't in the bloom, but shown through the barrenness of branches and the cold touch of a winter's day, that the dharma of tree and season are inseparable, indeed being the very same display. Had St. Francis made this same request during spring's full blossom, perhaps autumn's fallen leaves would have been revealed - as dharma is displayed through every possibility of branch and season. The story of the almond tree is a beautiful example of dharma, how the present moment holds what's necessary for its own fulfillment, the exactness of all that's found right now, and that life is continuously changing even in the midst of what a season shows.

what St. Francis issued was a prayer, speak to me of God he asked the almond tree...

and with that, dharma through its infinite motion,

is displayed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Storms and Mushrooms

Of storms and mushrooms: 

it's the time of storms and mushrooms, a cloud burst of heavy rain, lightening, and strong wind, often a daily occurrence through these hot and humid summer months. These storms appear due to moisture in the air, rising rapidly to meet colder conditions above and it's this mixture that causes the intensity of summer storms. From safety it's an amazing thing to witness, frightening if caught within the violence, tornado's, flash flooding and falling trees are always a possibility. 

yet there's intense beauty too.

as a kid I loved emerging from my house immediately after such a storm, following the swollen creeks to see how high they rose,  strong currents becoming rapids, almost a river in certain spots. There were fallen tree limbs to climb across, larger rocks washed from the stream banks to now reach the path, all residue from the storms violent sweep through my local woods. 

later in life, long distance runs and hikes kept me ever watchful for the conditions of these storms, on the lookout for the safest spot available should run arise while I was still some distance from my home. Even with being careful there were times when I was caught directly in a storms path and the only real options it seemed was to continue right through, surrendering to wind and sudden downpour, mindful of whatever debris might be blown in my direction, most literally becoming an object of the storm, no escape, windswept, drenched, a fierce acceptance of every flash of lightening and booming thunder. 

sometimes continuous motion is our only safest option. 

and then, always, there is that peaceful aftermath...my lifelong favorite is the sudden appearance of mushrooms the following morning after such a storm. Abundant and seemingly spontaneous, where there were none just the day before they're now seen quite clearly, mysteriously, appearing as if by some deep earth magic. This fungi is always present, but seldom noticed until post rainfall when they bloom to the typical mushroom appearance. Mushrooms are actually the fruiting body of fungi, flower like, their role is to produce spores and release them to the air. Mushrooms show me the flourish of life that results from every storm, teaching me to trust that the unseen holds a true and certain magic of its own, and that sometimes beauty only shows after heavy rainfall. 

and so it is, the magic of summer begins...

a showing of storms and mushrooms. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Reoccurring Dream

Reoccurring dream;  

there's a reoccurring dream I have, fairly often, and more of a nightmare really, made all the more frightening as it's an actual replay of an event during my early 20's, a stupid episode from my days of heavy drinking. I won't go into detail here, it still bothers me that I would endanger the lives of others by my actions back then, getting behind the wheel and driving in my stupidly blind condition. At that point I didn't even consider my drinking a problem, not yet anyway, as that would take a few more years of risky situations to myself and others, as well damaging so many of my relationships.  

but that would come, eventually, entirely by grace.

by all odds, and my reoccurring dreams confirms this every time it plays through my mind - I shouldn't have survived that night, worse still, I see each point where I could have harmed another, taken a life by sheer selfishness and stupidity. No reason, people would have died for the sake of me going to a party, or in other situations going to a bar. This particular has been burned into my memory, becoming one of the few reoccurring dreams I have, my only real nightmare. 

yet, I survived, having made it home with a wrecked car, and no other consequences paid. Back to drinking the very next night, and for years after. The question I ask myself is why did I survive, how did I escape harming others, that I so easily could have taken someone's life, many people actually - was there a reason, or purpose for me to be spared that horror? 

all these years later and I still have no answers. 

I don't believe there are any.

the truth is, as I see it anyway, I wasn't spared by divine action, saved with a specific purpose in mind. I was lucky, that's all,  and many aren't. I don't know why. It would be easy to say that there was some grand design involved, that I was meant for something greater. But what a great disservice that does to all those whose lives were taken by the stupidity of others. Every life is precious, even those of the stupid and ungrateful, the undeserving, every single life. 

even mine. 

my reoccurring dream plays out in excruciating detail, relived entirely, and I wake up unsure of my actual place in time. It's horrifying, not any less so now then it was years before. Decades later, many years sober, I think how easily I left drinking behind, just slipping from my life as a worn garment that no longer needed to be worn. It was that simple, and yet, someone could have dies for something so worthless, or I could have survived with guilt for the stupidity of my actions. Yet done of that happened, I simply stopped drinking when it was time, and I do believe it was through the grace of meditation, having reached a point where I no longer needed whatever it was alcohol seemed to provide. 

and still that reoccurring dream.

So here's the summary, such as it is - I don't know why anything happens, my life unfolds as a mystery, continuously, and each moment is gifted to my curiosity and surprise. Once I drank, and I seemed to have little regard for life, my own and that of others, my actions and behavior risked the well being of anyone close to me. I no longer drink. I am drastically different now, and there was no real attempt for me to turn my life around. Everything changed as everything changed - that's the only way that I'm able to explain it. None of this is taken for granted, I am grateful to be alive, for having been spared the possibility of injuring another, or taking someones life. What I see is that life doesn't have to follow a grand design, following a purpose or even having a specific meaning. It's enough to have this moment, an entire lifetime being lead to right here, now, and the miracle of a breath taken.

just this breath, 

and with this...my reoccurring dream is over.

~

Peace, Eric 

Larger community

Larger community: 

there's a larger community involved here, not just my neighbors in the houses next door, or those who live in another section of town. My community is all inclusive and isn't limited by location, religious beliefs, language, and more truly it extends to every bit of land and species. 

everything belongs. 

the definition of community holds that it is first a group of people living in the same place or having a common characteristic that brings about a bond. It's about connection and therefore doesn't limit us to living in a certain place, nor even a particular point of interest. What we have is a larger community, infinite really, all connected by the shared ground of earth, air, and the benefits received by sun and oceans, a thread of forest, mountains, and every animal, tiniest insects, every aspect of life that ties us permanently together. 

it's the larger community of life, nature.

our truest belonging. 

with this we have only one question to ask ourselves, a mantra really, repeated for the sake of our larger community - how may we serve? 

this service doesn't limit our joy in anyway, what it does is point us in the right direction for its true fulfillment. Life is meant to evolve, purposely so, and not just for the benefit of a single species. We're of a continuous involvement here, being life itself, and not a separate unit having a self-interest opposed to other aspect of our larger community. If one aspect fails the entire structure is compromised, quite possibly beyond repair. Our role, our fulfillment and joy, is to thrive and evolve for the benefit of all, a true community with a common bond. 

life, 

in service to itself. 

~

Peace, Eric  

That I Am a Sinner

That I am a sinner: 

that I am a sinner in the literal sense of its translation, having found that I've so often missed the mark completely in my aim, indeed, not even a target to be found. This refers to the ancient Greek concept of sin from which our present concept derives from, with sin being based more from ignorance than intent to do harm or transgress certain laws attributed to God and man. The ancient Greeks believed that to sin was a matter of missing the point of life entirely, that we are harmonious by nature, and that a failure to recognize our true essence is a transgression of our deepest values as a person. 

that I am a sinner simply means that I have missed the aim of life.

as it seems I often have. 

this isn't at all an original sin, truly we are born in innocence and remain so, at no point being separated from the divine flow of life itself. To become a sinner is only a matter of forgetfulness, having strayed in thought from our beginning intent of joyfulness, that in essence - we are simply an expression life itself and we're meant to show ourselves in whatever way brings us most easily to this joy. 

that I am a sinner...means that I've forgotten myself.

and yet given every opportunity to remember. 

 so in this sense, there's no real sin, and no actual sinner, as we've never completely missed the mark, there's not a target that we aim for -it's just life either being recognized as holy or ignored of its true potential. Here, in this light, holiness and joy are synonymous, the natural expression of life and we inherent to its core. 

that I am a sinner only means that I've forgotten this, missing the mark completely even as it's continuously displayed as my true reality. 

to be free of sin...

is to remember.

awakening.

now. 

~

Peace, Eric

As I relax Completely

I'm not sure that I would consider the things that I most love to do as a practice, not really, at least not in the sense as is often spiritually viewed, that meditation, yoga, breathwork and other common themes are spiritual practices based upon achievement, believing that I will attain a certain outcome of awakening. I see these things only as a practice of their performance, it's the ritual itself that truly counts, just the moment of my surrender as I relax completely to the task at hand - and that it's all beyond any sense of practice or achievement.  

there is only the performance.

and not even a performer found.

as I relax completely, if there is a spiritual system here, an underlying principle involved, that's it. This is what a lifetime practice is finally reduced to, relax, let go of any concepts, even one of surrender - and with the entire world opens to a deeper understanding.

most truly, this is the way things are, and by this I mean that this moment itself won't ever by changed by my denial of what it holds, or that any effort now will effect the present situation in any meaningful way. Certainly right actions done in the present moment will cause a different outcome in the future, and as I relax completely, simply accepting things as they are, I am are more apt to bring a fruitful change. In no way does this acceptance mean that I have to like where I find myself now, relaxing is far too dynamic for any passive sense of surrender. 

as I relax completely....

my world is already changed by this response.

intuitively, 

I see my path more clearly.

and if truly I have a spiritual practice at all, 

this is it.

~

Peace, Eric 

Spiritual Alchemy

Spiritual alchemy; 

really, it's no less the spiritual alchemy, that basic elements, most common, and not exclusive to the brain at all, will somehow prompt the experience of awe that occurs every time I see a Red-shoulder hawk alight on a branch, or produce the urge to give for me to give a curious moment to turtles sunning on a log, glimpsed as I walk around my local pond. These are conscious experiences, and a strictly materialistic view would have that they result from interactions of material things, a biochemical process of the human brain and nervous system - and that I am conscious only because of some particular arrangement of these physical items found throughout the entire universe, together having somehow sparked my experience of awe and curiosity of the world. 

that I am aware at all is spiritual alchemy. 

the arrangement of certain items to transform matter into mind.

there's no argument here, I'm not up to the task, and ultimately it doesn't matter to me, however consciousness is produced - I am, and truly it is as simple as that. I'm just as amazed that the universe can be arranged in such a way as to produce a sense of awe, and that physically, I am capable of pursuing a life that stirs those feelings. Materialism is spiritual alchemy in finest display, true magic indeed, basic elements mysteriously coming to a sense of being self-aware. 

alchemy.

my own experience is simply and only consciousness itself, with nothing being found separate from this awareness. Meditating, deep within a quiet exploration of self and the selflessness from which my thoughts and experiences arise - I find no point of origin, it's far too seamless here, not a single item more vital in importance than another, a spiritual alchemy consisting of ingredients that are far too subtle to truly exist completely on their own.

all I find is consciousness.

and I have no idea how any of this came to be.

a material explanation is as valid as any other as far as I'm concerned, being that I'm a firm believer in magic and the mystery of its arrangement. 

it's really just spiritual alchemy. 

no matter what it's called. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Poised

Poised: 

my aim is poise, at least for the moment of slowly taken breath, to hold a selected yoga pose  right to the point of balance, having an elegance that would be so easily lost with just the slightest shift of any of the numerous factors involved. That's my goal with yoga, with certain postures, finding that edge between stability and falling from the pose, being poised, perfectly held by ground and air. 

of course I most often fall, or failed to even reach that possibility at all, having either overreached in confidence, or holding myself back just inches from that precarious point of balance. What is has to be is surrender, allowing myself to reach a state of poise that is independent from my belief in it's existence, not reaching for it as a goal...but simply reaching for the sake of breath and balance. 

being found right at that edge of completely letting go.

poised.

beautiful.

unafraid to fail,  and with no thought of the possibility of a fall, my faith is given completely to the air that surrounds me, trusting ground in its support, breath slowed to the point of suspension -

and for just an instant, almost without slightest motion of my own, as if held by infinite factors, an entire universe in embrace, poised on the very edge of mystery.

I smile...

completely letting go.

Poised.

~

Peace, Eric 

Through a Quiet Mind

Through a quiet mind: 

it's through a quiet mind that the universe shows me I belong - and that's really all there is to meditation, over 30 years of practice summarized here. 

to simply say that I belong. 

that's really no small thing, my beginning steps toward meditation were taken from a place of deep insecurity, not feeling as if I had a true home, and if I did it certainly wouldn't be present in the turmoil of my mind nor found through the channel of my body. I was extremely uncomfortable in this sense, not belonging in my own skin, even my thoughts would tell me so. Meditation was a journey of settling for me, right here, finding myself at home amidst the motion of thoughts and insecurities of my body. It began with first sitting and has only deepened over time. 

it's through a quiet mind that my body shows me I belong.

by this I don't mean to say that there is always the complete absence of thoughts in my meditation sessions, sometimes there is, and often it's still quite busy, or at least as I begin my sitting. A quiet mind is our natural state of comfort, spacious, and it's through here that our thoughts pass, so often unnoticed in their hurry. Meditation slows us down, we notice ourselves, at first dismayed by the rush of thoughts and how little sense they truly make in spite of all their noise.

a quiet mind is always our return. 

home.

it's through a quiet mind that I find myself, my truest self, real in the sense that I am present in every moment, never straying from this anchored place of pure existence. My body is home, from cell to molecules dancing into form, My mind is a mystery, unfathomable, and yet a reality that extends itself to be explored.

everywhere is home. 

meditation simple reminds me that I belong.

exactly as I am.

~

Peace, Eric 

Happy Accident

Happy accident: 

it's the predominate view in science that life has come about through a happy accident, an arrangement of molecules that has just happened to produce carbon life, fine tuned for our existence but not by design, only through chance and for our good fortune. Another, less popular theory, is that the universe is evolving to ever greater complexity, with consciousness emerging as a by product of this evolution and that life, in some form or another, simply had to occur as a natural conclusion. 

and this evolution continues on, a process, and we will either prove ourselves useful in our role, or be left behind for the next chapter to unfold without us.

regardless, the universe continues to evolve.

this seems to be somewhat of a compromise on the hard problem of consciousness, that it's not purely an end product of materialism, with the universe itself through its growing complexity had reached a point for consciousness to emerge, or as astronomer Carl Sagan famously said - " we are a way, for the cosmos to know itself." So it would appear that we're not an end result at all, not a happy accident, but really just part of an ongoing process...

still unfulfilled in our potential as an emerging mind. 

my own view, little as it matters, is that I am a happy accident by design, an aspect of consciousness that has found itself in this particular form, quite unsuspectingly so, astonished by my own self recognition. It's doubtful that the universe will arrange itself this way again, my little spark of awareness being no more than a blink within an infinite cosmic eye. Yet, it's to this very same cosmos that I belong too, the source of every aspect that appears, consciousness -

 however it has emerged. 

~

Peace, Eric 

It All Ties Together

It all ties together: 

How it all ties together - it's fortunate that I have the time to practice yoga twice daily, a set routine along with breathwork before each mediation session. Of course I'm up early for this to happen, but that has been a blessing as well, allowing me those hours of near silence to meditate. to write, offer up a morning prayer of gratitude, and take a sunrise walk to greet the day. This routine also helps prepare me for a quality night of sleep ahead, that what I do so early in the morning, is just a step towards bed and peaceful slumber. 

it all ties together. 

and this is true yoga.

being a seamless practice.

so really, I should say that I perform yoga throughout the entire day, and even the night is devoted to its practice, as I follow my breath, an ocean pattern of sound, ujjayi breathing, into deep sleep. This mindful breathing has also helped ease a recurring anxiety issue that has plagued me for some time, a few years of dreading night's arrival and what felt like an actual torment that would come. Sleep was no easy issue for me, not something that happened easily, and the practice of yoga was my salvation.

it all ties together.

really. 

the amazing thing is how my practice has continued to deepen through the years -  how even as yoga has been a presence throughout my life, reading books about it as a kid and teaching myself asanas, studying it's philosophy and learning meditation as a young adult, and now it still continue to open me to new and greater mysteries. 

even now.

the word yoga, translated from Sanskrit, means union, and really it's not so much a practice as it is a realization. We are already whole, completely so, and every feature of yoga simple serves as a reminder. Once remembered, the practice continues for the many benefit it offers, serving as prayer set in motion, touching upon that place of stillness deep within where all movement has its origin, and allowing it to unfold through every aspect of our lives. 

it all ties together.

everything.

it's all yoga. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Navigating Through Emptiness

Navigating through emptiness: 

sometimes I don't need a topic to begin writing, that without any set theme there comes a certain freedom found in the fear of not knowing where any beginning might lead me towards, if anywhere at all, as I'm navigating through emptiness without a sure conclusion. 

every sentence is then a mystery to me, each word really, as I have no idea which thread to now follow, if inspiration lies ahead, or if this is a false trail that reaches nowhere in the end. There's a thrill in not knowing, and a certainty that this is beyond the thought failure, even a sense of accomplishment has no place here - it's just writing for the mystery of appearing words, how they arrive from the complete emptiness of before to this very moment that my fingers reach the keyboards.

I'm writing mystery.

navigating through emptiness without a sure conclusion. 

most truly, even an author doesn't appear until these words arrive, it's all self-creating, inspiration being in need of an instrument to reach its own fulfillment. Everything is created right now, with each word given an writer immediately appears in order to provide for their arrangement, assigning any meaning, and again disappears until their role is needed. 

I am writing for my own fulfillment.

my own identity, really.

if only for this moment. 

so  perhaps there's no navigating through emptiness, not really, as that's what always belongs here, and I am as temporary in my role as writer, just as brief, as the appearance of every word. 

sometimes the topic is emptiness itself...

 that there is no sure conclusion,

every word is it's own fulfillment, and equally so for my appearance as a writer. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Leaves and Branches

Of leaves and branches: 

it would be impossible to choose a favorite type of tree, each one offers such beauty and unique qualities only found in their particular branches. Every tree, regardless of type, shows its own individual gift that will capture our attention and imagination if we simply give it notice. As a child I was fascination by the white bark and texture of birch trees, having read of a natural oil it produced and being perfect kindling if a campfire was ever needed. During the great depression I had an uncle who operated a still for this oil and used it to support his family for heating and cooking. Beech trees too stood out with their bark, smooth white in contrast to their leaves that seemed to hold the deepest green in narrow strips. Of course willows would always be an attraction, more rare for me to see and I would have to travel to pond and streams to find them. My childhood belonged to woods and the adventures they held, exploring lots that seemed a wilderness to me then, and even now beckon for my time. 

everyday I make a point to join them, 

seeking company of leaves and branches. 

knowing that they heal.

these days, it seems the Black walnut tree grabs for my attention, scattered through my neighborhood and throughout the local woods, standing out by its tall rise and spread of leaves and branches. The black walnut will shape itself to its location, apart from other trees it has an early reach of its branches, closer to the ground, wider and offering a friendly shade. If found in the woods, crowded by other trees, it grows straight and tall first before it then spreads its limbs further. This is a shade tree, its branches offering a canopy of protection from the sun, as well as shielding me from rain amidst a sudden storm. 

every tree has a beauty of its own, a unique meaning and place within my heart and imagination. There are types of trees I've yet to see, so many found across the world - and yet there's no loss for me here, it's the trees I've known, having been comforted by their presence, that matter most to me now. That's the lesson of leaves and branches, that it begins root deep within the moment and then love spreads easily, naturally, from exactly where we are. 

with this, every tree seen...

is a favorite of mine. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Shift

Shift: 

empathy is a shift that's so often unexpected, not something that we might wish for in certain situations as it shakes us from our normal point of view and causes us to see the world anew. My own recent experience concerned a certain political figure that I've longed disliked and dismissed as a danger to the country - and yet somehow during a recent news clip I was overcome with an understanding of what it must be like to be this person, having a deep sense of how he was trapped within his own condition mind without any possibility of knowing any other way to experience the world. I very much felt the emotional entrapment of this person, layers of pain and conditioning since earliest childhood that keeps him in such narrow confines of how he's able to express himself. 

it was an awakening of sorts, and yet one I wouldn't necessarily wish for.

empathy, this deep shift in my own understanding, has now seems to have given me a choice. Do I continue to dislike this person after having the experience of his limited ability to navigate his inner world?

 Or is there really a choice here? 

yes, empathy caused a shift within me, and with it came a true sense of compassion, and even an unbidden and totally surprising feeling of love. Yet he remains a danger, he's still trapped in an emotional void of choices, almost always wrong in his response to others. Empathy doesn't change the present situation - it  only changes my own response, and that it now provides me the option of acting with compassion. 

so it's not a choice at all.

not really. 

compassion is the core of what we are.

even if it's deeply hidden.

buried through a lifetime.

my empathetic shift in my own conditioning caused me to remember this compassionate response, it's not a choice, I can't help but to see this person differently now, replacing my former dismissal with love and a heartfelt wish for his own experience of empathy. But it doesn't really matter, it was never truly about this person. It's my view that's been changed, this shift towards an unexpected sense of  love and compassion.

and with this, however slightly...

everything has shifted. 

Fractals by Design

Fractals by design; 

that we are fractals by design, patterns within an endless scope of energetic display, from smallest structure of cells within the body, and then on to tree leaf, a blade of grass, streams, and every passing cloud - it's all a symmetry of nature, infinitely self-repeating, a full show of who we most truly are...

fractals by design.

and we respond to this, to a cellular point, and even more deeply so, with molecules dancing in delight to this design, our every particle arranged in a pleasing structure matching this display of nature. We are meant to belong here, to be part of this astonishing exhibit of nature, endlessly arranged through every version that's ever to be shown. 

patterns infinitely arranged.

this is direct experience, immersed through our own design, nature in continuous reflected upon itself. We are awash in fractals, and more so, it's simply what we are, energetic patterns somehow given a more solid show of form. This is why we feel connected to nature in a meaningful way, akin to trees and fields, welcomed by the conversations offered by the course of streams. It's reality in communication with itself, a language understood by fractals and spoken in return through our own energetic patterns. Most truly it's consciousness in full expression, mysterious, artful, beyond the need of any understanding.

it's simply meant to be expressed.

beautifully so.

and through whatever patterns that unfold. 

we are fractals by design...

infinitely displayed. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Subtlest Sound of Letting Go

Subtlest sound of letting go: 

and the mantra is the subtlest sound of letting go, being the merest vibration of forgiveness offered to whatever thought that might have come before. It's silence itself in manifest form. Here, in this meditation, we simply think the mantra easily, not holding to it in concentration, no effort to remain thought free. It's the vibration that does the work, carrying us to deeper stillness...

the subtlest sound of letting go.

what we find is that the thoughts we have during meditation don't really matter, each one is already surrendered in the very moment that it appears and there's no need to be mindful of its passage. We simply think the mantra with littlest effort, a vibration that returns us to being true witness to all that occurs, and with this even the witness soon disappears to the silence of its home. 

everything let go.

completely on its own.

that's really what forgiveness is, a natural process that happens with least interference from our end, that it's just a recognition that this moment, right now, holds no sin nor scar from any previous encounter. It's our truest sense of freedom. So the mantra is the vibration of forgiveness, it's our return to present moment reality, being our deepest state of silence, where everything is already surrendered in the exact instant they occur. This is true forgiveness, and it's not an act that we perform, but just life in natural process. 

meditation is simply our reminder.

and the mantra is the most subtle sound of letting go.

with nothing here to be forgiven,

having already been surrendered...

completely on its own.

~

Peace, Eric 

Trickster

Trickster: 

to write of rabbits again, thinking of when they first caught my imagination as a child and seeing them near my grandmother's garden, being the bane of her vegetables and flowers, no fence or wire to keep them out for long. I would set cardboard box traps for them, using a bit of lettuce to lure them beneath the box and trigger the cure to release the stick that held the box in place, effectively catching the rabbit and allowing me to transfer it someplace safe, garden free and in the wild. Except, of course, it never worked, not a single rabbit ever caught. Here was my earliest experience with a trickster spirit, mischievous, laughing at the human folly of battling nature of any kind. 

from that point rabbits always played in my imagination, storybooks with their mythological adventures shown would pull me into their magical world. Gardens were more than vegetables patches it seemed, they portals into the very heart and belief in myth. Even as I grew older, from childhood to teens and then my earliest adult years, they would continue with their trickster role, appearing just as my belief in a magical world was fading to the responsibility of adulthood. 

rabbits kept me grounded in the belief of magic and myth.

a trickster role throughout my life.

for this...I'm truly grateful. 

somewhere in my teens I watched the movie Harvey, late at night, most likely home from a search of party or other means of spending the infinite energy of those years. No matter what I did, how many parties, alcohol or drugs, there was an impossible void to fill, the loneliness of youth already in slight shift towards an undertone of depression that would last through much of my life. Again, the trickster, a six foot tall rabbit appear only to Jimmy Stewart's character in his own time of despair. Harvey was a pooka, a mischievous character from Celtic lore, and through the screen from my small television, late at night and volume low - magic reappeared. 

what Harvey did was simply reawaken my curiosity to the mystery of world, of wild places that hold a thin line between ordinary reality and myth. And that's true magic, life itself, and how everything appears from absolutely nowhere to the exactness of the present moment, continuously, seamlessly, without effort from my end for any of this to occur.

life just appears. 

and there's nothing more magical. 

that's the role of a trickster, causing a shift in the view of life, reawakening a sense of magic and connection to the mystery and wildness of the world. I see rabbits almost daily now, more so than ever before, and they always draw me to that thin line connecting me to magic. They are a life theme for me, trickster companions that keep me fully anchored in this mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Beatitudes

it's been said by some biblical scholars that the only words  spoken by Jesus in the New Testament, a direct teaching,  are found in the Sermon of the Mount, the Beatitudes, and if this just these words alone survived as later Christianity, then it would still be enough to base an entire religion upon. They're beautiful words, full of deep meaning and instructions on how to live according to the way of Christ. In my own opinion they serve us much better than the Ten commandments in terms of our relationship with others, as well as being a powerful means of inner transformation.  

of course there are many such teachings in vast array of spiritual texts. Gandhi was transformed through his study of the Bhagavad Gita, it was a living teaching for him, one to be applied in life and not just read to gain knowledge and spiritual information. It awakened his soul and called his body to action. He lived the Gita. But just as easily it could have been Patanjali's Yoga Sutra's, or one of many Upanishads, and yes, the Beatitudes could have sparked this inner fire to serve as well. 

it puzzles me that those who devote their lives to studying the bible, a Christian of true spirit who wishes to serve others and purify their soul through action, wouldn't seize the words of the Beatitudes and apply them to their lives, having them as a daily meditation, a guideline as the way of Christ to follow. After all, this was the directive of Jesus, his own teaching, and he spoke for the benefit of those who must needed to here his message. 

yet today, they largely seemed ignored. 

as for me, I'm not a Christian, but the Beatitudes speak to me deeply. They're powerful words and they certainly have an effect on me even with a brief meditation on their meaning. I could rightly say that my politics are inspired by the Beatitudes, my desire to live humbly, at peace with world and neighbors, causing as little harm as possible to even the smallest creature. The words themselves take us to their deeper meaning as we give them energy and study. For instance, blessed are the peacemakers means those who are actively working for peace, with that being an inner journey that soon finds its way through every aspect of our lives. 

a peacemaker works for peace...

inwardly.

and a more peaceful world will follow. 

each saying has a deeper teaching to offer us, not just the meaning we get at first reading, but to allow the spirit of the words to reach our heart center and spark a true revolution of spirit. Again, this isn't the only holy text to cause this inner fire, really, words themselves are not truly needed for our study. But they're helpful, most especially for those who feel called to live according to specific scriptures. I'm not a Christian, yet I haven't left the words of Jesus behind. 

they're my politics...

to be a peacekeeper.

~

Peace, Eric 

Downward Dog

they're the glory poses of yoga,widely known as king and queen of all postures, and perhaps the ones most readily associated with yoga practice is the matching set of headstand and shoulder stand. It's the image of the yogi defying gravity with the tall posture of feet straight in the air and balanced solid through the delicate position of being placed on head or shoulders. The inversion poses have much to offer, profound benefits that have immediate impact on our health. Not to mention what they offer to us spiritually as well. Indeed, they are rightly known as king and queen. Yet for me, it's always those most overlooked poses that draw my attention as well as my commitment, the ones that don't instantly capture the imagination through the intrigue of their position and wide spread reputation. My own king of all asanas is Adho Mukha Svanasana, the Downward Dog Pose. 

most certainly a humble king. 

this is often seen as a transitory pose, paused for just a moment as we continue through a series of asanas, or a quick warm up before approaching more difficult postures. It's rare that we devote much time here, although it's a popular pose by name and practice, it's not one that seems to capture our imagination in quite the same way as those more fascinating in appearance. But I find myself completely devoted to this pose, deeply so for its host of benefits as well its grace and humbleness. 

downward dog pose is a modest inversion, the head is lower than the heart, improving blood flow through the body. It lengthens the spine and stretches every back muscle from hip to neck, strengthening shoulders and arms, keeping the legs form and supple. It's an easy pose for most of us to commit to and provides an inversion that doesn't call for balance, so we receive many of the benefits that headstands and shoulder stands offer without having to place ourselves in what for some might be a precarious position. It's a humble posture,  seen graceful in the full length of spine and through arms and legs being planted firmly to the ground. It's truly a pose worth of our devotion. 

there are subtle layers to this pose, beyond the strengthening and balance benefits there's the calming of the mind, clarity, regulation of the nervous system. The regular practice of downward dog helps support the digestive system, the lifted hips providing gravity for waste products to more easily move through the body, relieving us of many digestive issues. Therapeutically it offers relief for tension, headaches and migraines, with blood flow to the head increased, easing pain, healing. Regular practice also promotes better sleep, a higher quality rest. 

this is the pose that brings me deepest joy, expressed throughout my entire body, but most especially the length of spine, the energetic structure of physical form, an alignment of my most subtle essence to the base point of my existence. This is a bow to air as well as devotion shown to the ground, touching earth while lifting to the sky. It's a pose of deep reverence and again of full boy joy.

with downward dog...

body and spirit bow, 

grateful for the firm contact with earth and the subtle touch of air.

indeed, a humble pose. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Infinitely Patient

Infinitely patient: 

the page itself is infinitely patient, equally willing to remain blank as it is to hold the words that I commit to it, and any judgement of its emptiness is mine alone. That's always my starting point, arriving here either with an idea that instantly demands my words be added to the page, or perhaps I find myself waiting for inspiration to appear exactly when needed most - the page itself is infinitely patient. 

and the demand for words is entirely my own.

that's actually a comfort, an empty page is truly beautiful, there's an allowing presence here, and it will hold a single word with the same grace as a paragraph, providing itself as a backdrop for whatever inspiration leaves behind. 

in essence, deep to the core of reality itself, I'm as infinitely patient as the page. My own emptiness is continuously expanding to hold more and more, an endless universe really, and I am capacity for it all, without any sign of borders to reign myself within. There's no wait for inspiration, I'm being instantly filled by life, as life, and that most truly this emptiness is its own fulfillment. 

patiently, I accept the world without complaint.

infinitely so.

of course this isn't my everyday realization, most often it seems that I'm crammed with words and information, my life being a page full of demands and worldly concerns. At least that's the daily story I've so frequently written, and capacity, infinitely patient, holds on to every word. Each morning though, arriving to the page and finding my emptiness in reflection - I'm reminded that it's all a story, every last word, and that life itself is infinitely patient, free of my demands and complaints, and yet always willing to expand and hold whatever story I wish to write. 

in essence, deep to the core of reality,

my life's an empty page...

infinitely patient. 

~

Peace, Eric 

It's All Spontaneous

It's all spontaneous: 

and even as I find myself locked within certain patterns, having a certain rhythm to my days that seems to work best for the benefit of health, for inspiration, and even brings me no small amount of joy - I find as well that it's all far more spontaneous than it might show. From my first impulse to awaken each morning to every following action that seems well planned, it's all spontaneous in occurrence, a notion that simply appeared for me to act on, mysterious by their very origin. 

it's an odd thing to say from someone who has a set routine from morning all the way to last ritual before I close my eyes at night. But it's through this repetition that I've come to see how done of this is really planned, and that indeed, it's beyond my ability to give thought to just a fraction of the details for a single thing to happen. 

it's all spontaneous, life, every bit...

although appearing quite the same. 

and that's what brings me the most joy, knowing that nothing is ever truly repeated, every aspect of my life being brand new in the making, even as it seems to ripple forth from some motion set before. Each morning that first impulse for my eyes to open is a once upon opportunity, the conditions for this very moment of my awakening will never be this way again, a perfect opportunity for my day to begin, or to press the snooze button for a brief stretch of extra sleep - however it occurs is a small miracle of infinite grace and the continuous motion of the world. 

it's all spontaneous.

life.

every bit.

so my well planned routine is truly a joyful act of spontaneity and inspiration. I am locked in a greater pattern of events beyond my comprehension and I have no need to give any of it my attention. The rhythm here isn't my own, none of this is really planned. I am simply an aspect of life's flow, perfect through every opportunity of my existence. 

spontaneous.

and this brings me no small amount of joy.

~

Peace, Eric 

Shaman's Drum

Shaman's drum: 

surrendered to the shaman's drum, each beat plays through me now, drumming through my absence, with just a note of consciousness that's somehow able to observe. This a journey, and I have no idea what's imagined or real, and with no need to know the difference. It's simply what's happening, another aspect of reality shown and there's an eagerness to explore. 

a shaman's drum calls to me.

the story is that I'm lying in bed listening to a recording of shamanic drumming made specifically for these journeys. I've given careful preparation for this opportunity, followed instructions, and then listened to this specific beat, 205-225 drum strikes per minutes, a shaman playing, and real or imagined I descend to the lower world. My sole purpose is just to be here, not yet concerned with having questions answered, or to meet an animal guide, although I will greet these opportunities most enthusiastically should they be presented. I've actually been here before, through other means entirely, but it's different now, there's a sharp awareness to my presence, and while it's not a sense of being in control, there absolutely no concern - I am completely surrendered the shaman's drum, even as it seems to fade in distance. 

I am fully in the lower world. 

this isn't a journey to gain anything, it's not about having another experience of conciseness, or to prove the existence of non-ordinary states of reality. It's just a journey, an opportunity to explore a deeper side of nature, a spirit world that's alive with the purpose of the divine. I don't ask if it's real or imagined, my only wish is to be awake in this presence, feeling a kinship with life in a deeply intimate fashion. It's true to me even if completely dreamed while lying on my bed. My journey is of creativity, an exploration of an entirely other world, not separate from our own, but one that's been long forgotten. It's here that nature speaks to me, secrets shared, inspiration given. 

and following the rhythm of a shaman's drum...

I find myself amidst the lower world.

exploring. 

~

Peace, Eric 

My Commitment

My commitment: 

sometimes it's best to start writing with no idea of what words might arrive, almost stream of conscious, only with just a bit of consideration for whatever theme is weaving through the words. Long ago I committed myself to words on a page, daily, and to not be concerned for my own opinion of their quality and worth, that their value would be inherent to my commitment. I haven't missed a day of writing in almost 25 years, even if it's been a quickly expressed memo written in poetic fashion. 

every word matters to my commitment. 

this isn't a streak that I'm trying to continue, it's not a consecutive day count that only matters for its length of years now. My commitment to keep the channel of inspiration open, to always be receptive to the flow of words even if there seems to be a struggle to stay open for their appearance, or there's a lack of opportunity to be as creative as I might wish. 

there's no excuses made.

inspiration only cares that I'm willing to present for its arrival, aware of this creative opportunity, and that I give even a small time to notice the holiness of its presence. Words are gifted to me each morning and I return this favor through attention, a portion of these early hours devoted to their appearance. I don't expect everything written to have great meaning, nor to always be able to offer insights that are poetically expressed. But sometimes a certain magic happens, maybe with only a line or two weaved through an extended pose that strike me with deep pleasure for their beauty. 

I write for that moment when the magic happens.

whenever that might be.

and my commitment is to provide myself as presence for its appearance, available for every word that's gifted. 

my commitment is to magic. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Hawk

Hawk:

to catch a close up sight of a hawk is a gift to me, truly a presentation of spirit that comes through the grace of proper timing and location that's entirely of this majestic birds choosing. Recently during a late morning walk we stopped to take photos of a Green heron that was intently fishing in a shallow section of the pond and a Red-shouldered hawk swooped directly to a branch right before us, inviting us to turn our attention away from the heron and bestow this bird with awe. He stayed with us for quiet sometime, having such deep stillness and poise, with absolutely no concern for our proximity. 

a rare gift indeed. 

most often they are seen in hunting flight, their distinctive call drawing my gaze upward in attention, or sometimes posed on a telephone wire and quickly glimpsed while driving by. Even then they're a thrill to see and that same calm poised is sensed through distance, a predator in flight or rest. It's always a special occasion to find one as I'm walking, as if it's waiting on a certain branch specifically for my arrival. Somehow my eyes are always drawn in their direction, as if pulled by a subtle energy of chance encounters. I'm always struck by the synchronicity of events that bring me here. that if I take one turn in a different direction, hesitate for just a moment before heading out the door, and I might completely miss this sacred opportunity. 

and truly is is a holy event, a shaman's gift of direct revelation. 

a hawk will speak to me of connections, showing me a vision of a world through flight, invisible currents of air and energy that invite me to soar along their heights. There is a special sight for these invisible pathways, a hawk's view that sees throughout its entire body, from eye to wingtip, instantaneous in response. That's my lesson here, it's shown by the hawk's patient perch on tree limb, having an inherent gift of flight that relies as much on the grace of air as it does on effort of wings. Flight is always a present possibility, those currents of energy are constantly available, never diminished, and that a restful moment on a branch is just that - a pause, an opportunity for wings to gather close to body, connecting more to earth through limb and all the way to the spread of tree roots. 

I am taught to trust my own gift of flight. 

as well as my connection to earth. 

everywhere is home, from branch to air. 

a lesson from a hawk. 

~

Peace, Eric 

We Are

We are: 

we are soul, it's not that we have one, or anything at all, not really. We don't have a soul, nor do we have a body or a mind, it's simply what we are - soul expressed physically, thoughtfully, creatively. There's nothing else, just soul, seen as infinite form and as every function. 

we are...

truly, nothing more needs to be said but that, the beginning of any self-description is immediately the end as well - collectively, to say "we are" is an apt interpretation, anything that follows is only a story, an aspect of an aspect of reality. 

or even more removed. 

just as my own self-description, individually so, is to say I am, and nothing more needs to follow in order to capture any essence of what I truly am. Those two words are enough, not a summary, but complete by themselves alone, whole, and they contain absolutely everything that comes right after. To say I am is to provide a fabric for my life to unfold, a blank page given for an infinite story to be told. It's reality right before anything else is properly expressed. 

I am - is soul.

we are soul.

and of course, this is a story too. 

even if it's true.

~

Peace, Eric 

That I Dream of Bears

That I dream of bears: 

since childhood bears have figured prominently in my dreams, often appearing in times of most turmoil or if I'm fearful of a certain change to come. They've always seemed to represent my own strength to navigate these events, and that I'll be able to make it through whatever life brings my way. Sometimes they seem to appear for no reason at all, perhaps just to offer reassurance that guidance is always nearby, or that their company simply provides me comfort through the night. Honestly I've never spent much time analyzing this - it's enough that I dream of bears and appreciate the assurance that they offer. 

my grandfather was a bear hunter, widely renowned for his skill and endurance on the hunt. This thrilled me as a child and couldn't wait to one day be such a hunter myself. As I grew older the wish to pursue anything with a wish to harm faded to a deep compassion. There's no judgment to those who hunt by way of their lifestyle, my extended family have lived for generations hunting, close to the land, and I have only love for them and the life they've chosen. But there's not a bone within me with this desire, although it was years before I settled in my own way of living. 

my own desire is to heal, to cause no harm to others. 

in my own way though, I hunt bears through location, having traveled to places where I can find them, backpacking to remote location for just a glimpse of one to cross my path. That I dream of bears is a hunt of power, to confer with them in spiritual conference, a dreamland that provides a direct communication and the transference of the gifts they offer. Perhaps my grandfather would be proud of the skills and endurance I've gathered through these dreams as well as actual mountains that I've climbed in pursuit of simply seeing one for the joy it brings me. 

yesterday, a bear was spotted near my suburban home, minutes from the pond I walk each morning. Of course hearing this brought cause to roam my neighborhood relentlessly, adding miles to my routine walk, sharply watchful for any signs that one might be near. No luck. But several neighbors told me that they saw him. As a child I roamed these very same patches of woods and fields, so much larger in my imagination back then, wilder, every thicket held the possibility of concealing a bear. Of course that was my childhood imagination, wishful for a true wilderness close at hand. Yet I made do with the woods that I had, and years of exploring here unfolded to a lifelong love of trails and wandering, finding bears and other animals in deeper woods then my childhood neighborhood offered. 

as I set on my morning walk, heading to nearby pond and familiar wildlife, there's a possibility that the bear has remains nearby, a small chance, maybe, but one that thrills me just the same. A child's imagination still lingers through these words, being called to experience the wilds once more. I'll probably never see a bear here, not in my neighborhood, but there's always that possibility, seemingly more likely now that one has actually been sighted. 

but it doesn't have to happen, it's enough that I might see one,

there's a possibility.

and that I dream of bears...

is what keeps this wilderness of my imagination alive.

~

Peace, Eric 

Whatever Words

Whatever words: 

each morning I come to face an empty page, a clear screen that holds nothing but the potentiality of whatever words might be given. I've written most every day for well over 20 years now, not a streak as I really don't give it much concern. It's simply what I do. Truthfully, I no longer even consider it a commitment or a writing practice, it's like yoga to me, meditation, or more so, it's an act that's built into the fabric of my day in the same manner as brushing my teeth and all the other smaller actions that don't any thought at all. I write in the same way my breath is drawn, it just happens on its own. 

but that doesn't mean it's in any way taken for granted, or that I'm not mindful of the words that reach the page. My mornings are inspired, everyone of them, and words generally come easy as I relax with my first and only cup of coffee for the day, my body feeling loose and energetic from earlier rounds of sun salutation, and my mind is still, curiously empty of inspiration until my fingers reach the keyboards and begin typing whatever words arrive. 

it's an easy process. 

and there's very little for me to actually do. 

except prepare the coffee.

it's not that I'm on any sort of auto-pilot of expression, triggered by an empty screen to write whatever words appear - really, it's more that there's an absence of an actual author here, no one attempting to find certain words with great meaning and cleverly arrange them on a page. It's just writing, either words arrive or I sit in silence and enjoy my coffee, inspiration will reach me in its own time, usually paced before the last sip is gone. 

it almost always does. 

so for me, whatever words appear come purely from inspiration, there's no attachment to theme, nor are there any thought given as to who might actually read these words. There's little need to have any meaning here beyond the pleasure of my writing. 

inspiration is always free from expectations. 

most especially my own. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Cattails

Cattails: 

cattails are found along a water's edge, abundant throughout most wetlands, a symbol of a certain place where shore and shallow water meet. They have long been a favorite plant of mine, from a child exploring nearby ponds and creek beds to being an adult now and watching as red-winged blackbirds construct there homes within the protective thicket that they offer - they are a common theme to my memories, a presence to my morning walks and time spent watching wildlife.

a plant I deeply love for its appearance throughout my life. 

cattails are an important habitat for wildlife, providing shelter for birds, food and cover for fish,a home for various insects for both birds and fish to eat. They protect riverbanks and pond shores from erosion, acting as a barrier between the force of water and the edge of land. It's a plant of importance, an ally to the ecosystem, and just by my presence I am included in its aid, healed by virtue of my inclusion. Cattails draw me closer to streams and ponds, giving me a moment to pause and visually explore what's offered. In just a brief glance I might see a turtle, it's neck stretched long to fully appreciate a spot of sun found between the reeds, fish skimming to the surface in a quick dash to catch a meal, perhaps if I'm truly fortunate or infinitely patient I'll glimpse a water snake or eel glide by. Herons are often on the hunt here, stealthy, confident in their skills. And of the many songbirds that make their home amidst the dense stand of reeds, the beauty of the red shoulder blackbird never fails to catch my eye. 

all from the briefest glance. 

visually, cattails are elegant in their stance, gracefully emerging from water, a long stalk looking similar to a blade of grass and then the familiar brown topping of its flower. Cattails show me that my true home is not so easily defined, always on the edge between worlds and yet completely belonging as the thinnest line, a veil that holds the appearance of every side that touches the holiness of its location. It's an important reminder of my place here, that I'm not between worlds at all, but existing as an ecosystem of my own, holding a place of holiness as well,

cattails show me that I belong.

~

Peace, Eric 

Non-Ordinary

Non-ordinary: 

in shamanism it's called non-ordinary reality, a label to distinguish it from our regular state of mind, what we think of as our normal everyday mindset from which we experience life. On occasion a different reality bleeds through and we catch a glimpse of something completely other than the world we know, another state of consciousness expressed in a way that fully stuns us, shattering our conceptions of what's ordinary after all. 

I've loved that term since first reading in my early teen years, the yearning to experience non-ordinary reality fueled early experiments with LSD and mushrooms, taking me to Grateful Dead shows where I would dance with the ecstasy of intense playing from the band, particularly the extended drumming segments, and it was with this experience that I realized drugs weren't truly needed. The music alone could take me to where I longed to be. 

through some years of meditation, self-inquiry, and exploring those non-ordinary states,  I've seemed to settle in a more inclusive view of reality, a world that allows for nature to speak to me through the energy of spirits, being simply information in subtlest form, whispering inspiration and giving me the urge to write of what's been shared between us. This isn't non-ordinary reality, it's just the world speaking directly to me, happening all the time, but the magic comes through the quality of my listening. 

it's really our reality. 

all of us. 

life is simply energy in constant creative imagining, manifesting as infinite form, and there is only that reality. It's inclusive, always willing to be explored through its every possibility. My everyday, completely ordinary morning walk turns into a shamanic journey whenever I pause and ask nature to speak to me, expressing itself through whatever form my imagination takes hold. It's a world of spirits because everything gives voice as some essence of the whole, an expression of some divine energy that gives cause for all of life to exist and appear in some specific form. 

non-ordinary reality is learning to listen, and to see the world through the infinite energetic patterns of its arrangement. In a sense, it's nothing special at all, being exactly as things are right now, completely ordinary in its magical appeal. 

reality. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Gray Catbird

Gray catbird: 

it's the songs that caught my curiosity first, seeming to last for minutes without purpose other than to extend the quality of its voice for others to enjoy, beautifully so, an artist right at the edge of thickets, staying hidden in tall weeds and tangled branches, preferring to be unseen. The gray catbird is related to the mockingbird and has similar vocal gifts, not quite as skilled with mimicry, but devoted to its song and will stretch it at length in a string of notes that play to perfect to the air. 

there's a subtle beauty to the charcoal gray catbird, a beautiful black cap sits atop of its head and with just a hint of rust colored wing-feathers under the tail to give it a distinguished flair, a soft distinction to the uniform gray of its body. A soulful bird, gray suits it's preference to remain hidden and play its songs. I love the artistry of this bird, it's devotion to song above appearance, shy, but not reclusive. 

the gray catbird is the spirit bird to every artist, not as well known as the mocking bird or other birds known for skillful mimicry, yet equal in the joy of giving sound, playing from a hidden depth of branches, right at edge of being recognized as the source of such beautiful songs. This bird shows me the way of artistry, that it's the song that matters, a skillful practice that's beyond the need of finish, each note being the perfection of the moment that it's given. Above all, this small bird teaches me of devotion, playing my own song with joyfulness and ease through the thickets and tangled branches of my life. 

a beautiful song indeed...

such an important lesson from the little bird.

~

Peace, Eric