My Early Morning Walks

My early morning walks: 

quite often I've written of my early morning walks, the health benefits of getting first light directly to the eyes and the chemical reaction that occurs within the body. My preparation for a good night's sleep begin from the moment I arise, breathwork and meditation, yoga, and then out the door to catch those very first rays of morning light. There are a host of other reasons to greet the dawn, and adding motion to the moment and walking for even 20 minutes enhances our health immeasurably, physically as well as mentally. It's also good for the soul, purifying, brings us close to the cycle of local nature. 

for me, I love being out before first light, making myself available for the sun to easily reach me. Walking is an adventure at this hour, I'm between worlds, suspended between last moments of night and fast arriving dawn. There are nocturnal animals still on the the last moments of their hunt, stalking smaller creatures, a quick raid into neighborhood gardens, hopeful of an easy meal. Other animals are just beginning to stir, songbirds preparing for their dawn chorus, deer rising from their tall grass bed and making their way to the nearby stream for water. 

and I find myself in the midst of it, a participant through walking and my watchfulness, belonging to this thin strip of time between two worlds. My early morning walks are sacred, truly holy, and I guard them with privacy, seeking seclusion, doing my best to avoid others who dare to wake and get outdoors before sunrise. There are a few, mostly runners in a hurry, and I watch them almost always miss the signs of life in their surroundings, oblivious to all but the most obvious points of nature. There's no blame here, I'm not finding fault as I've been similar in the past, consumed with motion for the sake of what's measured, and missing the subtle aspects of what it most truly offers. 

I have no wish to return to that point in time. 

my early morning walks are something else entirely, reserved for the holiness that's found, giving myself completely to silence and whatever soft sounds are emerging to these hours. There's no goal here, nothing to do but enjoy the motion of my body, allowing a natural rhythm that's attuned to my surroundings. It's not exercise, although I'm walking swiftly, my heart benefits, and health improved - what I'm doing is a soul walk, healing, participating in the sunrise by making myself available to first light. 

my early morning walks are entirely for the soul. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Conversation

A conversation: 

I've started a conversation, sort of, what I've actually done is started talking to my camera, live session on a YouTube channel and now on Instagram, social media, and mostly unfamiliar territory for me. I'm enjoying it, finding it a free flowing experience, an extended riff that might eventually reach a point, but maybe not, usually it doesn't, and that's fine, it doesn't seem to matter. 

it's a conversation. 

an art form, really.

mainly, I'm having fun, expressing myself, in dialog with those who leave a comment, which so often sends me in a completely new direction. If this is an art form, it's expressionism, an emotional flow of whatever thoughts presently stir my mind as well as soul. Perhaps it's therapy too, and exactly what I've long needed, a conversation with the world in hope that we reach a proper understanding. Or at least come to friendlier terms with each other. 

what I talk about is meditation, yoga, fitness fairly often. Yet it always comes back to a main point of simply being kind, offering our best selves to the world, authentically, free of any concerns over judgement of who we are. That't why I put myself in front of the camera, going live and presenting my awkwardness, stumbling over words, being at once shy and verbacious. It's who I am, and it's mostly been hidden for a lifetime. 

but I'm ready for a conversation. 

so what I hope to do is be fearless in my presentation, open, free - authentic. And that means clearly stating that I have no answers, none of us really do right now, but perhaps together, in conversation, a few of us might come to ask the right questions. 

and have some fun along the way. 

Peace, Eric 

Every Expanding

Ever expanding: 

I'm always a little amused over the debate on meditation, with some stating that it's a practice of little value for awakening and others claiming that it's key, perhaps even vital for it to happen. Honestly, I have little concern over the matter, at least not any longer, having meditated for three decades and having my own sense of awakening, profound, and even now, years later, being ever expanding. Meditation is transformational, I am witness to that through the ongoing changes of my life, being able to view the process through the quiet reflection that my practice offers. Yoga, meditation, and self-inquiry have brought me no small degree of joy and an even greater freedom from many addictions, most of them being far too subtle for notice until my mind was calm enough for me to see them. 

was meditation the true cause for any of this?

the truth is, I don't know, and it really doesn't matter to me. Meditation is an easy, seamless part of my life, a joyful encounter with a deep silence that brings forth an infinite sense of creativity and inspiration. My world is enhanced by this practice, ever expanding in curiosity and wonder. What I find is that these aren't results, but more truly being the experience of meditation itself, spilled over my time of sitting into the reality of my everyday world. 

seamless. 

maybe it's different for those on the other side of this debate, probably so, as there seems to be a need to argue their point. I see no reason for me to join in this discussion, to present my own example as proof of anything at all. Meditation doesn't lead to anything, it simply reveals who we already are at the very depth of our identity. 

and our world expands from there. 

~

Peace, Eric 

It Seems

It Seems: 

it seems almost sacrilegious to enter certain sounds into the morning's hush, breaking silence for the sake of noise that doesn't belong to these hours. I feel most myself before sunrise and the moments just after, my thoughts are sparse, essential, and I fit more quietly into my morning routine. This is where inspiration appears, there's more room for a grand idea to find me and reach towards my fingers, and even the keyboards respond in hushed tones to my typing, everything's softly inspired in their own way. 

it seems almost holy. 

of course sounds always arrives, often abruptly, harsh. The world sometimes wakes with such a rush to makes its entrance known to the morning. Not naturally though, with nature being softer in it's waking, as even songbirds in their early chorus seem to first test the air with a tentative note, almost afraid to break the hold of silence with the beauty of their song. Listening, attentive, and I can catch each note as it softly emerges, not yet a song until embraced by the quiet of the morning, vibrations finding their home in the silence of the air and only then being heard as music. 

through silence, this is where inspiration appears.

where vibrations reach the point of song.

so it seems almost sacrilegious for any small disturbance, with any noise being a form of violence committed against these holy hours  - yet listening, attentive, and I find that silence itself is never truly disturbed, remaining open, spacious, an allowing presence through its embrace of every sound.

indeed, 

being holy. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Fox and Owls

Of fox and owls: 

most mornings and I'm out the door before sunrise, right at that edge before first light hints along the horizon.There's now an added reason for this early time, an urge to walk the paths in hope of an encounter with my neighborhood fox and owls, both present, but not seen for quite some time. I have no idea why this feels like such a strong reason, only that it's present, perhaps a wildness of my own that's in need of seeing it's reflection through animals and landscape. 

there are other reasons as well for being out so early, all valid and easily explained, but my pursuit of fox and owls is a mystery, making it all the more powerful in its urge. I am called to stalk these animals though a sense of curiosity and wonder, just a sight to satisfy my own wild nature, knowing that they're near and surviving well on the edge woods and suburban homes. 

for whatever reasons, I'm drawn outside before sunrise...

in hope of an encounter.

it's probably been over a year since I last caught sight of a fox, several near misses as others have reported that they've seen one just a head. I hear owls often, their wild call always thrills me to the depth of bone, and only a few months ago one swooped closely overhead. I think knowing that both these elusive creatures are present, right near my home, is enough for me, and that I'm most happy to be hopeful of a sighting, that there's a possibility of an encounter. 

what I'm really stalking than, is magic, mystery,

symbolized by the wild beauty of fox and owls. 

and that's what seems to call to me each morning, a powerful urge drawing me outside, pursing that sense of magic and mystery, a vision quest really, stalking the presence of a deep wilderness that's found just as truly within my own inner landscape. In essence than, it doesn't matter what I actually see on these early morning walks, everything's revealed as a reflection of soul, aspects of a singular reality that shows me the variety of its beauty through all that I encounter. 

yet still ever hopeful...

of fox and owls. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A True Salutation

A true salutation: 

it's the foundation of my practice, sun salutation, and all other poses are branched off from here, being supportive to my twice daily prayer of breath and motion, offering both sessions to the rise and setting of the sun. A true salutation. What I love about this sequence is that it's indeed a practice, not perfected but always in process of perfection, as if an authentic flow lies just beneath the surface and each repetition brings closer to its reveal. 

and that's the prayer, being revealed as true light. 

sun salutation is a beautiful sequence, flowing through stretch and contraction with the breath quiet easily following along. When I am close to to my authentic flow, my true salutation, I am guided by the breath to a point of pure awareness, motion and sensations simply appearing through a lens of light. This is the essence of meditation, surrendering to a process of rapt attention until my own involvement seems to entirely disappears, vanished to just the sweep of breath and grace of motion. 

effortlessly.

my practice isn't performed to achieve this, as that would only interfere with my surrender. My only role is to be embodied, alive to each sensation, aware, a slight witness that's even now fading to the light of it's own awareness. 

what I practice is really just a commitment to an art form seen as yoga, a deep prayer of gratitude offered to the sun through the grace of breath and motion of the body. 

a true salutation. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Even As It Storms

Even as it storms: 

there's only first light at dawn, even as it storms, and my sunrise walk beckons - and so I head through the door into heavy rain, lightning flashing but still seems far, as thunder rumbles from a distance, assuring me of a safe, yet rain soaked walk. 

this was yesterday's walk, getting out of the door just before sunrise to chase that early light, getting it to hit the eyes at just the right time to cause a positive effect and produce the conditions that lead to an easy slumber later that night. It's a health practice, part of a routine of breathwork, meditation, and yoga that restores me to a central point of well-being. And it works, but more so, this is a ritual of spirit, a morning renewal found only through my time in nature. 

even as it storms.

we don't get to choose the conditions nature might hold for us, it's how we find it everyday, and the only recourse is our acceptance, to brace ourselves and enter the morning exactly as its found. Heavy rain at all, at least for this morning. I don't mind the rain, not really, as once past the initial discomfort I am as wet as I'll be for the duration of my walk, reminding myself that in reality, I'm waterproof, my skin shedding water as easily as any duck's feathers. It's a small comfort, but brings a smile through the rain, and with that I fully embrace the storm, giving up notions of wet and dry and simply walk towards the subtle early light that finds its way to me through the dense cover of the clouds. 

there's only first light at dawn.

even as it storms. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Quiet Life of Yoga

A quiet life of yoga; 

it's a quiet life of yoga, and this seems to be what I'm called to do, at least for now, for this portion of my journey and for however long it might last. This is yoga in it's deepest sense, original meaning of union with the divine, and in essence this is what I do - my current life is given over to what I can only call the holy experience of being alive, finding myself curious and aware as to what each moment holds, awake to the backdrop of mystery from which is all unfolds...

a quiet life of yoga. 

and that's truly what this is, with none of it planned, but there's a spontaneous call to wake well before dawn, sitting for a length of meditation, absorbed in a silent mind. There is sun salutation to greet just the first hint of dawn, before even first streak of light appears, yet sensing it's arrival through my body's urge for motion. There is time after for my single cup of coffee for the day, thoroughly enjoyed, each sip savored as the last I'll have until tomorrow. I write, still spontaneous, nothing really planned, and simply let the words flow, only least effort given and allowing inspiration to take hold. 

and still there's time for a walk before the sun rises. 

a welcomed gift of nature. 

it's from this point on that life continues, easily so, usually, and not even unforeseen events interrupt it's flow. The stillness from my morning seems to be retained, carried over through seamless moments without effort of my own. Life remains spontaneous, inspired, a true simplicity of being. What I mostly find is the absence of my involvement here, that it's all intimate, and yet not personal. Life is happening and I am a participant, an infinite event of motion, being aware of my own nature.  

that's how it is right now, 

a quiet life of yoga.

for however long it might last.

~

Peace, Eric 

Being Self-Aware

Being self-aware: 

it's fascinating to consider that consciousness is purely a physical process caused by the brain, energy organized in such away that a collection of elements, no different in essence than those of a tree, but somehow, through a certain alchemical magic - we're aware of ourselves and the world around us. This is truly the basis of alchemy, matter is literally converted to the gold of consciousness, the mere dust of bodies somehow gain a sense of being self-aware. 

of course it might not be true...

consciousness could be fundamental to the very core of existence.

everything being self-aware.

scientist and philosophers have no clear idea either way, many holding suspicions on either side of the issue, with much debate between them. I'm neither scientist nor philosopher, my opinion matters little, and yet I am as fully conscious as any great mind, having tools at my disposal to explore this as deeply as any other. My laboratory is my own quiet mind, an experiment of tracing thoughts back to stillness and simply waiting for the next one to appear.  

abiding in silence. 

aware.

without a sense of self found present.

only a witness to the entire process...

and even this will disappear. 

this doesn't prove anything, not  really, other than my own satisfaction of my bias - consciousness seems fundamental to me, a fabric of reality that's unable to be removed from my thoughts concerning it. I don;t find it to be a hard problem at all, however consciousness emerges is magic, mysterious, and doesn't require any answers. 

not from me at least.

it's enough simply being self-aware. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Wetlands

Of wetlands: 

my neighborhood has many small areas of wetlands, remnants of a wilder age, barely noticeable now until a steady rain restores them, however slightly, to their proper hold of earth. This may be a patch of land reclaimed for a moment only, as if waiting for the right conditions to assert the deep wildness of its nature - or in some areas it's a true marsh, small, yes, but a wilderness just the same. 

regardless of development,

it seems that earth will always retain the wild edge of its nature. 

waiting for the right moment to return.

I've a long love of wetlands, however they might be defined by purpose and location. As a child I was fascinated by how quickly these areas would reassert themselves to their rightful land. Of course they were always present, gaining my attention through what seemed a sudden appearance. But really, wetlands abide through whatever happens to them, not a return, simply a small reclaim of their rightful hold of earth, even if only briefly before another point of change comes through. 

in some areas, fortunately, they retain their wild edge. 

however slightly. 

the realization here is that I'm never far from my own true nature, an essence of wilderness felt deeply as my soul, an inner landscape always ready to be reclaimed in just a moment's recognition. This is my love of wetlands, from smallest patch found throughout my neighborhood, to the vast expanse of swamps and tidal shores, how vital they are for earth's benefit, an ecological system of such unique mixture and profound beauty. They're a wilderness of my own reflection, that I hold a wild edge too, however slightly it may seem. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Not So Easily Defined

Not so easily defined: 

sometimes I'm asked what I write of, a question of category and theme, and it seems a fair question. Most writers have a particular genre they find success with, their talent and interest falling neatly into a specific classification even as they might bring a unique voice here. There are many talented authors who are able to cross those lines with ease and are not so easily defined by style or genre. 

me? 

I have only this moment to write of, it's either a burst of sudden inspiration or no words at all - and in a sense this give me the ultimate freedom to expressive myself uniquely, allowing my authentic voice to find me, being  that I'm less in involved with my own satisfaction and rely solely on whatever words appear.  

not so easily defined. 

so I could right say that I write from presence, a genre of silence, emptiness, and that words bring their own sense of meaning to the page. My role is mostly to arrange their order, often active only after a long stretch of listening to the quiet voice of inspiration. I am not an author with intent, whatever story I tell is given in the moment and then I'm free to move on to whatever next appears. Perhaps this is based on inclination over talent, maybe no small degree of laziness, but I found it words for me, that I'm able to write daily in my own expressive manner, no restraints. 

Not so easily defined. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just Before Sunrise

Just before sunrise: 

being just before sunrise, and it's a different world now then it will be in even a few moments, with mystery still holding it's slightest edge, night not quiet ready to release its hold. This is when I start my walk, having kept track of hours in order to greet first light, treading that faintest line between dawn and remainder of the night - 

 being just before sunrise.

and a bit of magic still in place. 

a different world indeed. 

some songbirds have been up for hours at this point, dawn chorus sensing light well before its arrival, giving first notes closer to 4:00 a.m, playing me to a deeper meditation as I listen. Deer are still bedded down mostly, not even startled by me walking near, pausing in my brisk pace to wish them good morning, blinking their reply in return. Rabbits are stirring, well before squirrels have awaken it seems, always cautious, ears twitching for slightest cause to seek cover. There's danger even now, fox, owls and hawks are well aware of what animals wake so early and are prepared to seek an easy meal. 

my conversation with the world is quiet at this hour, a language in need of few words, more of sensations in response to what's seen and heard. Thoughts are limited as well, as if my brain holds to silence until the last possible point of night, and only then requires this specific process of the mind. Being just before dawn and this seems the most common language, hushed, as if breathed against the body in a whisper. 

being just before...

and this is how we listen to mystery. 

~

Peace, Eric 

It's Own Pleasure

It's own pleasure:

it's not that it has to lead anywhere or that we are meant to achieve anything, meditation is it's own pleasure, a quiet mind that reveals itself through breath or mantra - any benefit aside from this simply arises as a bonus to the occasion. I do believe that meditation initiates awakening, maybe not always or too everyone, but it softens the hold to self identity and in the right moment, auspicious, there comes an urge to let go, surrendering to the spaciousness forever at hand...

and nothing really happens.

although everything has changed. 

a quite remarkable accident it seems. 

as for me, I continue to sit in meditation. I'm not seeking anything other than this moment on the cushion, a quiet mind is still its own pleasure and I cherish this time of sitting in the early morning. The world arrives to me here, easily so, and I'm available for whatever will arise. In this way I simply greet the morning, matching my silence with the world's, being more truly a recognition that it's really a single hold, seamless, not a quiet mind at all but an intimate capacity that allows the morning to arrive. 

easily so.

and entirely for its own pleasure.

~

Peace, Eric 

The Far End

The far end: 

at the far end of meditation and inquiry I find the absence of any lasting sense of self, no one present in need of improvement, nothing solid to hang my name too - there is no better version of myself here, only the confluence of thoughts, sensations, a physical sense of the vibrancy of life, and an aware observation that somehow notes this all as presence. 

of course this is present now, not just found at the far end of meditation, nor is it only discovered as a result of self-inquiry. It doesn't take practice to know this, not really, but both methods help to settle the mind to see this more clearly, a journey to the immediacy of right now. 

a process that takes no time at all. 

for me, I enjoy this sense of unfolding and release, how every observation of an identity easily falls away, being nothing more than appearances within an infinite field of energy that's willing to lend itself to the sake of form. Meditation and inquiry bring me here, and with a smile, I find there was no journey at all, but simply a tour of mind-stuff and a sense of letting go. 

at the far end....

only presence all along.

exactly where I am. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Mettle

Mettle: 

it seems an old fashion word now, mettle, being another word for courage and pertaining to a persons ability to cope with difficulties, an inner resiliency displayed in trying times. I'm not sure why the word came to me this morning, appearing as a subject for me to write of - and yet it's early morning, my pre-dawn writing time, coffee at hand, and I will write about mettle. 

whenever I came across this world, usually in works of fiction, paperback westerns, and the hero would have their mettle tested against a great adversary, an opponent with deadly skills, or a landscape of daunting challenge. It's an interesting word, and to me it seemed to be deeper than mere courage, that it was an inner quality revealed through adversity and not something that would disappear as trouble faded. For me - to have mettle meant that a person had an inherent quality of resilience, surfacing as needed, resting in the very fabric of their body until that specific time. 

of course this was a  romantic notion fueled by the stories that I had read as a boy.

but maybe not so wrong. 

perhaps this resiliency does reside in the deep fabric of our being, cellular, that it's more truly who we are, as if David in the marble, revealed by the situation that demands it, seen only as life carves us down to bare essence. I've had flashes of courage throughout my life, meeting challenges that called for me to deal with physical discomfort, rising to occasions of great fear and being able to move on, continuing with the task at hand. But my own mettle was only ever displayed as I was worn down by the suffering of others, of those I cared for most deeply as well as those I hardly knew, or didn't know at all but my heart was moved. Not only people, animals too, my mettle was shown through a kinship with life. 

that's how it works, our deepest truth revealed, again that bare essence showing through when called for - mettle. I think of my father worn down through life, 93 with congested heart failure, nearing a last breath, and how he continued to show his care for others, for me, even as I held his hand in a final letting go. His mettle displayed, but more so, my own demanding to be shown, that this moment called for me to drop all pretense of false courage and simply face it unadorned of any trappings, meeting my father purely at the level of his suffering. 

my mettle shown along side my father's.

David in the marble.

sculpted by our sorrow. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Patchwork

Patchwork;  

deeper than patchwork, it's really how we view the world before the mind instantly divides it all in stories of separate objects that somehow seem to fit together for a time. Reality is far too seamless for this to be so, and we see this with first glance of anything, like how a tree is simply an extension of earth, branches touched within their infinite reach of sky, not in pieces, but more truly witnessed as an event that flows in continuous scenes of awe 

we see this...

yet deeper still, 

we belong. 

an extension of earth, and sky, and the tree as well.

seamlessly so. 

 reality is deeper than patchwork really, no items are sewn to another in in completion, nor is there a finished creation that ties separate stories together as a whole. It's already once thing, that's the premise, and the world flows from this point on in infinite wonder. Again, our own eyes show us the seamless blend of reality, we don't see a patchwork of objects that only make sense when we reviewed in order, we see it all, immediately, including our true place amidst the scenery, and only later do we have cause to divide it as the story of the world. 

first we see...and it's the immediacy of our experience, intimately so.

and in the briefest instant after seeing - the mind creates a patchwork of design, what's believed to be an easier way to navigate the world. An illusory order of this seamless whole. Reality is the immediacy of seeing, and deeper still, we are the very fabric of this scenery, somehow found as witness to this unfolding design of curiosity and self wonder. 

we are deeper than patchwork, more seamless...

whole.

~

Peace, Eric 

These Hours

These hours: 

it's one of the important themes here, writing about it so often as to make it seem the reason for my blog, and yet the joy I find in waking early, exploring my sense of presence through the deep silence offered through these hours - my writing still seems understated in description, never quite capturing how profound these moments truly are. 

but still I try, often, 

hopeful to write just a few inspired lines might do justice to these hours.

everything is tinged with mystery now, hushed, reduced to a softness existing only before dawn, no other hours bring this same sense of magic, primordial, invoking an ancient presence belonging to the inner landscape of the soul. Not an individual soul, but collective, our essence brought to surface through the thin hours found between the world of dream and our most ordinary reality. 

these are my hours of meditation, sun salutation, writing. 

invoking magic. 

and my day follows from this point on, a presence of joy never far from surface, available to more difficult moments that may arrive at later times. These hours stay with me, as it seems that once magic is invoked there is no return to a mundane reality, everything remains bathed in the softness of its recognition, thin hours throughout the day and at any moment a veil may fall and reveal the world as mystery. 

these hours inspire me, calling me to awaken...

as if my own presence that's invoked.

that I'm a quality of mystery.

known only through these hours. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Track the Hours of Sunlight

Tracking the hours of sunlight: 

since starting my early morning walks several months ago I've been tracking the hours of sunlight, noting how the day had lengthened by degrees, barely perceived at first, just a moment of light extended towards both dawn and dusk. Now approaching mid July and I see just a bit of those sunlit hours diminished, barely noticeable through the joy of summer, days still so long and active, heat intense, and it seems like the perfect length of sunlight for this beautiful time of year. 

and it is...

even as the days grow shorter in the light they offer. 

most of us sleep past sunrise, or up soon after and we miss those hours right before dawn. This is where a more rapid change of sunlight happens, noticeable in the days in the immediate following solstice, subtle, and yet there's already a feel of changing seasons. Tracking the hours of sunlight and I'm out the door for my walk just a moment later than the day before, no more than a pause, but each day now that pause grows a little longer, enough to be measured, minutes of light diminished in the season. 

my research tells me that between the solstice and end of June we'll lose approximately 3 minutes and 27 seconds of sunlight. And of course more so daily, mid July and its noticeable even slightly in the evening, no longer just by my own tracking of the morning lights. Oddly, experiencing the seasons change through sunlight, and I'm less concerned by the approach of winter, still not my favored time, yet I find myself cherishing light in a way that feels sacred, attuned to its attributes, sensing its retreat but not feeling it as a loss. I am part of this changing season, intimately so, a creature made of light, and any shadow cast is not my ultimate reality, but simply a wave of particles showing in a play of form, forever shifting in appearance. 

so most truly, I'm tracking my own existence, only briefly measured as a sunlit moment, with my reality more deeply shown as the capacity for both sun and the furthest reach of its light. Particles and wave, a sutra of sunlight and my own revelation. 

as seen through changing seasons. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Of Sunrise Walks

Of Sunrise walks: 

several months ago, right at that edge of early spring and last reach of winter's still frigid mornings - I began a ritual of sunrise walks, getting first light to touch my eyes and cause the hormonal response of circulating cortisol, epinephrine, and dopamine, a chain reaction to produce greater energy in the morning and then a slow shift to the production of serotonin and melatonin as the day progresses, the circadian rhythm in natural order of early waking, being energetic through the day, and then on to a long, restorative slumber lasting throughout the night.  And it works, I'm alert, creative and productive through the day and by night fall I find that I am ready for bed with less need for a long unwind before sleep arrives. 

of sunrise walks...

and the magic of first light.

 my life is restored to its natural order. 

more so, I find myself spiritually renewed each morning, immersed in early light and nature,  my body committed to motion by brisk pace, and I feel like I belong to this part of the day, as fully as every creature spotted along the way. I am not a mere observer here, but more truly a participant, stalking the lengthening sunlight, basking in all that's touched within its reach.

through these early morning walks...I am most at home.

restored. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Purring Meditation

Purring meditation: 

of my two cats, my littlest one is the most consistent yogi, joining me on the mat most mornings and afternoon sessions, demonstrating near perfect form in every pose she chooses to do along side of me. She also spends considerable time in meditation, absorbed in the purring mantra of her breath, as awakened as any yogi ever - and without any struggle to  reach this realization. My larger cat is perhaps drawn more to Bhakti yoga, devoted to me most of the day, curled against my side in her own purring meditation. It seems we all have our own means of self -realization, one particular practice that will best suits our present need and understanding. 

or the most natural method as shown by both my cats.

it's the art of simply being. 

a purring meditation. 

Misty, my visiting dog, is a natural bodhisattva, easily enlightened and here only to show and teach compassion to others along the way. I commented to my ex-wife just yesterday that Misty looks exactly as she is, a dog filled with happiness, joy, and unconditional love, a welcoming presence to every other dog and person to cross her path while walking and everyone seems drawn to her. What Misty teaches is the immediacy of forgiveness, that any lapse of attention or judgement on my part is easily forgiven in the very same instant that it occurs, a smile and wag of tail showing me that all is well. 

clearly her path is one of love. 

so I'm surrounded by yogis, blessed with teachers that show me different ways to be enlightened. My own path is shown in their devotion, that I am worthy of love by virtue of my presence, and that my actions of caring for others, shown through dog treats, and joining cats in purring meditation - it's all part of my natural expression, easily revealed, no different than a purr or wag of tail. 

not in essence at least.

it's all love. 

~

Peace, Eric 

 

These Holy Hours

I love my morning routine, writing about it often, noting the joy that it me brings me along with the many benefits I believe it offers. It's a growing thing, expansive, maneuvering quietly through these holy hours well before the first light of dawn. My sacrifice is made in going to bed quite early, when most of the world is still active, busy - yet I don't regret it all, being well worth the time I get to spend in silence. 

And that's really the important point for me here, it's that the things I do, as healthy and helpful as they are, each of them is performed as a ritual, the performance itself taking precedence over benefits. Everything is done for the sake of an earliest joy, found only through actions performed in the deep silence offered through these holy hours.

my routine is quite specific to me, meeting health needs and other concerns that I wish to be mindful of in this stage of my life. But I can easily say, truly so, that everything has spiritual value, equal to my meditation time and that, indeed, to all flows from that silent point of sitting. Waking early, there's no rush now, and it seems that the morning belongs completely to me, no one else being yet ready to start their day and make the sacrifice of an earlier time in bed. Truthfully though, I would happily trade an hour or so of sleep for the magic that I have right now.

every sound is hushed, almost tentative in their arrival, with only a few sounds easing through, briefly so, softly, and then instantly returning to the silence of their hold. That's the magic, not the absence of morning noise, nor the peace found through my slower pace - but that everything is held by the hush of these holy hours, eager to return, and that for the rest of the day, if I listen, even if only giving the briefest pause, once more hearing these the silence of these holy hours...

and softly then, 

I return to them as well. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Zen Lessons From a Red Winged Blackbird

Zen lessons from a Red winged blackbird; 

yesterday morning, sunrise walk and my usual routine of receiving earliest light and the many benefits that it offers, physical, emotional, and spiritual. This is one of my favorite parts of the day, regardless of weather, or time of the year, 30 minutes of walking and an entire world opens up to me, life presents itself through so many beautiful and extraordinary ways right outside my door. On this particular morning, a Red winged blackbird disputed his territory with me, letting me know in no uncertain terms that I should hurry on my way and stay clear of that section of the path. After swooping down and providing a light knock against my head, there was little need to argue the point. 

the Red winged blackbird was concerned about his nest. 

and I was only passing through. 

happy to concede that section of the path to him.

it's amazing that such a small, beautiful bird would be so fearless, warning me to stay clear and giving no regard to the difference of our size. Several days ago I watched one harass a deer that was feeding too close to his nest and chase her across a field and into the nearby woods. The bird had a clear aerial advantage, mobile in flight, and the deer never stood a chance in her confusion. To flee was simple the only option. I've also seen hawks chased away, fierce birds themselves and yet they chose the best option of leaving this territory to the blackbird. 

after my encounter yesterday morning, I could hardly blame the hawk. 

Red winged blackbirds are fierce too in their protection. 

my thought here is that no attack is personal, it's simply nature in protection of its home, or showing aggression against a perceived threat. There was a message for me, a clear sign for me to be mindful, attentive and not completely lost within my thoughts. The signs were present, with the blackbird offering me early warning of his call and circled flight above his home. It's nesting time, mid summer, and I know that they're protective of they're mate and just laid eggs this time of year. But my attention was elsewhere at the time and I can't even remember what thoughts I might have had that seemed so important at the time, only that I wasn't mindful to the warnings that were kindly provided, and that simply being present would have saved me from attack. 

clearly I was in the presence of a master.

of the highest order, really.

 receiving zen lessons from a Red winged blackbird

and I am grateful for the lesson.

~

Peace, Eric 

Slugs

Slugs; 

for the past several days, heading out on my sunrise walk, and I've first been greeted by slugs, or perhaps a single slug that lives in my yard. I have no idea of knowing, but it wouldn't surprise me as slugs can live for two years once mature, if able to avoid their natural predators. That would seem no easy task judging by appearance, slow moving, being without a shell, and with no obvious forms of defense or self protection. Yet nature is ever clever in its design, and slugs are able to harden their bodies, contracting into a ball and along with the mucus they produce, making them harder to grasp. Still they are a vital food source for many birds and animals, an important aspect of life, belonging fully within a seamless ecological structure. 

they're also often viewed as pest, destructive to gardens, and generally seen as gross, slimy, not beautiful or useful at all. I would agree on the slimy part, maybe even gross if forced to add a personal label to my description, or at least until not too long ago. Lately, for several years now, and I seem to be losing my sense of bias towards any creature, returning to my childhood sensitivity and innocence where everything belonged within a more magical world. 

every garden and yard contained an infinite mystery to be explored. 

I delight in seeing my visitors each morning, pausing to appreciate their awesome design, the beauty of their form and function. They've made it through the night, vulnerable, surviving to the moment that they greet me, and I wish them well on their continued journey, their dharma, whatever that might be. I am not familiar with the world of slugs, little knowledge of their behavior beyond what I've read in my recent and growing curiosity, sparked by their morning appearance at my door. But I know that everything has a dharma of their own, never small, as life is an endless circle of belonging, vast, yet infinitely connected by design. My pause and appreciation to their visit links me to them now, made more intimate by my observation and the short but heartfelt prayer I offer in greeting...

thank you, thank you, thank you.

for this moment of together. 

everything belongs. 

~ 

Peace, Eric 

Another Form of Magic

Another form of magic: 

as a child I believed completely in the power of prayer, attending a Catholic school and faith in prayer was taught equally with math and English, it was expected that our prayers would be answered - as long as they were directed rightly. I tried my best. It wasn't much later, still before high school, that my interest drifted to magic, what's considered real magic, mystery schools,  rituals of nature, and the power of the mind to attract our strongest desires. Oddly, this never conflicted with my Catholic upbringing at the time, even then it seemed that I was dealing with the same source no matter the language of my faith. Prayer was simply another form of magic. 

that's what really drew me to yoga and meditation, another fascination that started very young and my practice continues to this day, deepening through the decades in it's value and my commitment. Patanjali, in his Yoga Sutra's claimed we could gain the powers of an advanced yogi through our practice, another form of magic, and one that greatly appealed to me. This was the Law of Least Effort, planting a seed, subtle energy, initially watered by intent and then simply letting go. Through this the yogi allows the universe to handle all the details, our role now is to be watchful for signs, open to the synchronicities, meaningful coincidences that would lead towards success, the fulfillment of our desires. 

of course the problem here is that if our desires aren't met, our practice is as fault, or perhaps we need another form of magic to reach our ultimate success. And there's always another form of magic, one more book with a promise of fulfillment, a new teacher offering a secret means for attaining our dreams and reaching our goals. Finally. The truth is, without realizing it, we're invested in our failure, the real goal is in the seeking and we refuse to let it go, that's our fulfillment...

being a perpetual seeker.

we're lost in maze of mind and magic.

never even realizing that we're lost. 

or maybe suspecting so, having a hint that something isn't working in the way that's been promised. Yet through the years of never quiet reaching the realization of my dreams, I find that I still believe in magic, that Patanjali was offering something deeply magical after all - yoga, meditation, each breath taken, this is my fulfillment, the original seed planted, being at peace and perfectly content right now. There is magic in this moment, pure, an entire universe open to my expansion. This was the seed placed in the fertile field of my imagination so many years ago, and to my surprise, I now realize that it was immediately fulfilled in the very instant it was planted - my only true wish, my heartfelt desire, was the happiness found in the depth of every moment, not the absence of sorrow, nor the release of any suffering, but the magic of simply being exactly as I am. 

it's another form of magic...

sure in its fulfillment. 

~

Peace, Eric 

By Degrees

By degrees: 

it doesn't feel right to call it self improvement, most especially as there's little real improvement and any sense of self is seen through as a temporary assignment to a role well played. So there's no one present that actually needs to be improved - and yet everything has changed, life seems just a bit easier by degrees, lighter somehow, as if unburdened of a weight I never knew was being carried. 

and of course, things are much the same as always. 

so let's call it self-surrender, or even better...

simply letting go. 

again, my life is easier by degrees, perhaps barely registered on a scale of self improvement. My issues are still present, some large and others reduced to seldom being noticed. Honestly, I couldn't really say what's better or how things have exactly changed for better. There's just no measurement here, my actions aren't given towards a goal of judgement, not even in regard to the benefits I might have been initially seeking when I began their practice. Meditation is an example, started decades ago in the hope that at the very least I would be a more efficient, happier person, and at best, ultimately, I would be enlightened. Maybe some of that has been realized, I'm certainly happier, and it wouldn't take much to be more efficient than I was back then, being a heavy drinker and lost in the fantasy that was worthless as a person. Meditation changed me, yet it wasn't by my own effort, it wasn't self improvement in any possible way - and I have no way to possibly describe it, little desire to actually try, as I meditated...

everything changed.

easier by degrees.

same with yoga, breathwork, some forms of self-inquiry, all things I practice, but no longer with a goal in mind, they're not an endeavor embarked on for transformation, although I've been transformed. Just not the way I would have imagined so long before, back when I was so hopeful that I could be a better man, improved upon in every measure. 

that person is actually gone.

really, he never existed at all. 

there was  only the myth of self improvement.

but no self. 

or at least not a singular one, there was no lasting persona that survived the decades of deep silence found through meditation, disappearing in a long stretch of an asana, with only the breath sweeping through the body, not even a witness to observe its motion. From very first sitting and asana, no self exists that has ever been improved, no self that has lasted to this day - although everything has changed, subtle, somehow...

by degrees.

with no true, or lasting self, having been involved.

~

Peace, Eric 

~

Peace

About Purpose

About purpose: 

it feels a bit odd for me to even consider writing about purpose, that after having spent much of my life doubtful that I would ever reach the point of feeling accomplished and assured of who I am, and to now believe that I  have anything of value to say on the subject - leaves me feeling slightly incongruent. 

of course that's precisely why my insights matter,

to me, at least.

here's what I know about purpose, mine - it has nothing to do with career or family, there's no grand assignment issued forth from that stars as to what I'm meant to be. I don't believe that there's a divine plan for me to follow that leads to anything of value. All of this might be true for others, and I'm filled with happiness knowing that their lives have had this meaning. Yet none of this is their real purpose, it's not the reason they're alive, as if existing to fulfill these certain goals and checkpoints of what's considered a well lived life. No, there's a singular purpose here, just one reason to exist...

for me, at least.

and that's to be alive.

really, it's that simple, my purpose so easily fulfilled. I am life, fully divine by virtue of appearance, and even if existing solely by chance the universe must have been aligned a certain way for my arrival. Any slight shift of ocean tides, or the arrangement of stars and I might not exist at all. 

about purpose, and here's what I know - 

I find no reason to be alive aside from the experience of being life itself, that my true and only purpose was immediately revealed in the exact instant of my arrival, or maybe even long before. Perhaps my only real purpose is to be astonished by existence, all of it, every aspect that conspires for me to be alive, aware, and able to give such deep appreciate that it's so. I see that done of this is based on accomplishment, there was no effort involved for this achievement, not from me. I'm a product of some continuous purpose of the universe at large, meaningful by virtue of grace and appearance. 

divine by my very nature. 

that's all the assurance that I need.

~

Peace, Eric 

Earliest Notes

it's fleeting for me, I will usually just catch their earliest notes before the morning air begins to fill with sound and I have to distinguish their songs from the slow rush of noise that reaches me. I'm up at 4:00 a.m, an important ritual for me, to wake and meditate in this quietest hour, met only by the dawn chorus of songbirds to greet me.

somehow, 

it seems that even these earliest notes seem to belong to the silence of the morning. 

and that's the true nature of silence, in its deepest sense, that it's not really the absence of sound, but more truly it's the ever present backdrop of reality that allows for vibrations to be heard as an expression of the world. Even the most grating and continuous noise has silence as its home, and to listen closely, mindfully, with bare attention given to its presence - I return to the point where silence seems to break its hold and sounds emerge to the waiting judgement of my mind. It's then that I give labels to what's heard, thinking of the loveliness of dawn chorus, or the annoyance of that first blare of television as someone turns it on only for the habit of its distraction. 

yet silence itself is impartial to every sound.

and this, being the backdrop of reality.

so, I'm already impartial too, dawn chorus no different than blaring noise of television. Or at least so by deepest reality. But there's a preference here as well, just as true as the impartial nature of reality - and my own backdrop of silence gives deep appreciation to songbirds and their earliest notes, dawn chorus, causing the least ripple of vibrations to emerge, and that the scape of silence seems to part with greater pleasure as it allows these sounds to be heard. 

more than likely it's my imagination.

but I wake every morning, 4;00 a.m to catch those earliest notes of dawn chorus...

just to be sure. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Mantra Meditation

Mantra meditation: 

this mantra meditation isn't based on concentration or mindfulness, they're just not needed here, or at least not with each repetition of a sound that's used entirely for the quality of its vibration, sinking me ever more deeply between thoughts to a natural silence found. Using any force in this manner would break the hold of the mantra's seduction, interrupting the easy work of sound and vibration, drawing me towards an ever greater effort of the mind. 

it would be the opposite of the grace of being...

which happens completely on its own.

mantra meditation relies on vibrations, a sound that occupies the mind and allows me to fall effortlessly between whatever thoughts might flutter by, not demanding an empty slate, but simply recognizing the clear sky nature of reality, that everything's able to pass through unhindered by a lasting hold. What mantra meditation offers is a moment in the gap, and once glimpsed I find it easier to fall within that timeless point of being, carried there by the mantra's vibration. 

with little effort needed. 

this isn't about awakening, nor preparing myself to enter a higher state of consciousness. Those things too might happen entirely on their own. What I'm doing here, mantra meditation, is relaxing in the grace of what I most truly am - the easiness of being myself, an aspect of the world at large, clear and open by my very nature. There's nothing to concentrate on, no point of contemplation, I'm already mindful by virtue of the grace that's found. 

beingness. 

with this it's seen, clearly so, that there's never been any effort of my own, everything has always happened on its own. My heart beats through some divine will of the nervous system, each organ functioning on the higher power of the body as a whole, thoughts occur without my conscious demand and just as quietly disappear. Even the particles of my existence have gathered through their own spontaneous agreement. None of this is from my effort, there's no requirement of concentration nor any force of action involved. Mantra meditation is my point of reference just before my every need of reference is instantly let go - being surrendered to the emptiness of pure awareness, this capacity that vibrates to the easy sound of my mantra, and yet still retains the highest quality of deep silence. 

the mantra,most truly, 

is the sound of simply being

~

Peace, Eric 

Songbirds

Songbirds: 

they've come to be a constant and now most favored companions on my sunrise walks, even if only by sound alone on some occasions -  I am always offered a song no matter the conditions of the morning. Songbirds are consistent, having a musical note that must be played, an expression of their soul that's issued forth to meet the air. 

they provide a soundtrack to my earliest mornings. 

and not just as I'm walking, my meditation practice, pre-dawn, is deepened by their songs. Scientist call this the dawn chorus, a 4:00 a.m ritual that matches perfectly my time of sitting, their songs seemingly synchronized to be a mantra played in harmony with my own, leading me deeper still to a silence found between each note. After meditation, enjoying my coffee and waiting for words to stir my inspiration for my morning writing - their songs continue, joined now by later rising birds, dawn chorus grown to a symphony sound. 

they never fail in song or inspiration.

I have favorites, by site and by song, but never for very long, their music and the beauty of their appearance fill me with too much joy to favor one above another for very long. It's better said that my favorite is the one who's song I'm hearing now, or for some reason plays with great significance in the moment that it's heard. Songbirds seem to have an uncanny ability to match my mood, being intuitive in song, offering just the perfect note to cause a sense of deep reflection, allowing me to bear witness to my own interior soundtrack of thoughts playing through my mind, as if offering an inquiry as to who it is that's truly listening to their song. 

and silence almost always follows. 

but mostly there's joy, it's that songbirds appear and give notes to the air without concern for mood or conditions, committed fully to their songs, artist simply by virtue of their nature. Songbirds show up with the courage of their authentic voice, their true song, and give if away freely, unconcerned of audience or if there's even anyone present to hear. 

it's always just about the song. 

~

Peace, Eric 

What I Most Want

What I most want: 

what I most want is a moment to myself of pure creativity, waking early to prepare for time at my desk, meditation, yoga, coffee at hand - and then my wish is to be a channel, open to whatever words that wish to find me. That's how I start my day, every morning, and it's not so much to support a goal as it is to allow my authentic voice to speak before it's filled by the noise of the world, news, media and its incessant voice demeaning my attention.  

what I most want is for this moment to be my own.

and write from the silence that is found here.

my writing is beyond judgement, even my own. It's completely selfish, not meant to make a point or offer anything of value aside from the joy I find in its expression. Writing is my gift, and I don't mean by talent, but of simply allowing myself the pleasure of words and their proper arrangement on the page, What I most want is to be struck by beauty, just one line that lights me with a smile of recognition - that this, these few words, came from somewhere far beyond my current place of mind, a point of deep silence just slightly caressed by the breath of inspiration. 

it's here, from where beautiful words arrive, this interior silence of the mind.

so what I most want, really can't be told, it's not words, nor even the creativity of their arrangement - it's that point of deep silence and then that slight breath of inspiration, arriving as a whisper so soft as to not be heard by ears, but registered more truly as vibrations, felt by the soul and only then translated into the form of beautiful words. 

what I most want, deeply so...is that soft moment of recognition,

as silence shows itself as the seamless hold of words.

~

Peace, Eric 

A Quiet Revolution

A quiet revolution: 

it's the most transformational of prayers, an interior technology by design it seems, the prayer of Saint Francis offers deep wisdom that's absorbed by the soul and brought active to our lives. My first committed meditation practice was Passage Meditation, a contemplative method as advocated by Eknath Easwaran, an Indian scholar of English Literature teaching at Berkeley. He recommend memorizing a passage from a rich spiritual source and using that as the focus for training the mind, developing concentration and one-pointed attention, but more, absorbing the words deeply to the point that their wisdom becomes displayed through our daily actions. It's a beautiful method of meditation, and the words he first offers for this practice is the Prayer of Saint Francis. 

what I love about this is the promise of transformation, not by effort or a plan of self realization, but simply having these words absorbed so deeply that they're an actual expression of who we most truly are. Really, it seems we're not transformed so much as we are revealed, our inner light brought to surface and now allowed to shine to the world. I believe other forms of meditation offer this as well, but Passage Meditation is specific to this purpose and the Prayer of Saint Francis is a powerful tool for this design, a means of reaching a deep and meaningful silence that reveals the highest qualities of who we are. Even the first few words, asking to be made an instrument of peace, seem vital to these times, and if quietly absorbed, are enough to cause a lasting transformation. 

here's the real gift of meditation, or at least how it applies to how we relate to others, our relationships, both most intimate and the ones of a casual nature - with practice, we begin to see through our stories, no longer held captive by beliefs that we've inherited from others, we gain a sense of true freedom through the deep silence of our practice. And it seems that we're in desperate need of this silence, that some type of transformation must occur for us to find a peaceful world. Something needs to reach across the tight boundaries of our opinions and beliefs, the rigid systems of politics and religion. So what's called for then is a quiet revolution, an inner transformation that changes the way we see the world. Meditation is a tool for this to transformation, a means for this quiet revolution to unfold, one way, not the only, but it's our personal beginning for such a change to actually happen. 

is this change truly possible? 

I don't know, my own life has undergone a quiet revolution, how I see the world has changed dramatically, my stories and beliefs are held more lightly now, and I'm less reactive to their being challenged. It's a start, I'm beginning to be the change I wish to see in the world. 

it's my own quiet revolution. 

~

Peace, Eric