No Slow Approach

No slow approach: 

it seems that autumn started suddenly this year without summer lingering at all, temperatures dropping sharply, cold and damp for several days in a row, no slow approach to a season's change. Almost immediately it was autumn, yet without the joy of changing leaves, no sense that we've arrived here through the natural order of a season's progress. For me, the early fall is often my last time of carefree ease before a seasonal darkness sinks in, winter is long in my bones and harsh on my emotions, lasting longer than a calendar marks, the season for me is based on the length of day and warmth of sun. Winter is very long indeed. 

yesterday the season broke with true early autumn, warm and bright sun, leaves with just a bare hint of change. My every cell absorbed the sun's presence, soaking in warmth and light as if I could store it through the entire length of fall and winter. A beautiful day, one much needed and never to be taken for granted. I was deeply appreciative for the sun's presence, for the warmth it offered, and the light framing a brilliant blue sky with just a few clouds passing in its vast expanse. This was a day for me to treasure, simply being a moment completely of its own presence, timeless, offering itself without any sure definition of a season and I took it for exactly what it was - a gift. 

there really is no slow approach to a season, everything is always immediate, changing even as we bask in the appreciation of its time and presence. What we have is just this moment, whatever it offers, and there's always the possibility of a winter's touch or a sunlit instant of warmth. It's all a gift, every point within these changing seasons, and to feel anything at all is to be alive, recognizing the immediacy of the present moment without resistance to it's offer. That's the gift, simply being present, aware, alive. 

with no slow approach to reach this moment...

I embrace only what's offered. 

thankful for its gift. 

that I am...present, aware, alive. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Headless Ecology

Headless ecology: 

it's the most subtle view of ecology, dealing with life in relation to specific surroundings, systems, and yet really it's a seamless transition, the diversity of one thing seen in full display. This is the interdependence of all things, seeing that the study of one ecological system is no less than having to view the world in its connection, wetlands being dependent on the conditions of oceans, deserts a fragile system affected by distant mountains, and in a sense everything being a shoreline to an ocean's concern. Nothing is found separate, never truly apart from an any other aspect of the world. Really, it's a headless ecology, meaning that it's all viewed as a single system, seamless, no section of the world having an inherent value of its own - one thing, diverse, yet remaining always, one thing alone,

a headless ecology, truly. 

this brings us to the view of Douglas Harding and his original claim of being headless, a position he explored through the experiment of self-inquiry, pointing from any object, noting its specific qualities, and then retracing the line of sight directly back to the source which holds the view. It's there for us all to see, an experiment to be performed and not simply believed, or worse, dismissed as a silly trick without merit to its claim. And what's seen is no less than our emptiness, having never glimpsed the qualities that we've long believed defined us - the only evidence of our appearance is relied on by mirror, photos, or the description told by others. In our own view - we're headless, an ecology of infinite systems, the capacity to hold an entire universe within the seamlessness of our true nature.

and that's the great secret of emptiness, it's reality, that everything stems from this point of origin, not being a void at all, but an endless capacity for life to continuously emerge. The universe is the fulfillment of emptiness, taking the potentiality of existence and giving it full display. It's what we are, emptiness in the vibration of form, an expression of its fulfillment. Through this view, indeed it's a headless ecology, everything being truly the continuation of a great intimacy, one thing...

seamless in display. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Most subtle point of listening: 

to the most subtle point of listening, with the mantra grown faint, softly repeated though an almost infinite field of silence - and it's just the listening now, my only true presence found, perhaps being the most subtlest point of all. 

until even this is gone. 

meditation is my disappearance, it's where I drop off as any sort of personal entity, seamless, and I simply exist as the presence I've been all along, capacity, openness, where life occurs through what seems an allowing space of clear awareness. But I don't find this impersonal at all, I'm not in anyway removed from the activity of the world, there's an intimacy here of pure participation, that at this most subtle point of listening I belong to every sound that's heard, necessary even, as vibrations become the actuality of a birdsong, insects in last note before dawn, mantra playing through my mind...

at the most subtlest point of listening,

I am.

until even this is gone. 

of course this is just description. my own words given in a lyrical sense, not meant to be taken in any sort of literal way - although it's exactly how things are, at least it is for me at that most subtle point of listening, with the mantra so faint now, all but disappeared, breath softer too, barely a trace of presence...

and then even this is gone.

~

Peace, Eric 

Belonging To The Earth

Belonging to the earth: 

belonging to the earth, and at no point are we ever removed from this, our bodies made of elements of this deep participation, only differing in arrangement of ingredients, we are the same stuff and structure as every other aspect of the world. 

we belong to the earth. 

here, this is more than our home, it's actually what we are, and we feel this intuitively, knowing ourselves as grassland and forest, mountains and stream beds, seawater coursing through our veins. We bring something more too, unique to us alone, and yet granted by these materials as well - somehow, we are the earth in self-reflection, conscious, and able to know that this is so. This knowing doesn't remove us from our belonging to the earth, but only deepens our connection, having a responsibility of care in how we carry out our lives, we are earth, consciousness of an entire planet. 

and at point removed from this. 

in quiet moments we know this, feel it through the bones of our connection, that we are kin to trees and plants, intimately so, sharing in the role of breath and air, an exchange of vital elements of need. We are family to every creature, from single celled to the largest animals that roam this world, they are part of this collected consciousness, adding a quality to the earth's reflection. This is how we come to know ourselves, through this diversity, not seeing ourselves as other, but essential to the whole, one consciousness knowing itself through the view of multiplicity, all belonging to the earth.

and through this view...nothing is excluded. 

and that's the point, if we belong, if we are truly part of this deep participation, than everything must belong as well, not a single aspect of earth being denied this inclusion. We are not really stewards of the world, our responsibility goes much further than that, deeper, we are the earth, and our concern is of self-care, knowing that there is no degree of separation from our skin to earth's soil, from blood to tidal flow of oceans, and that we share just one soul alone...

belonging to the earth. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Some Mornings

Some mornings: 

there are some mornings when ideas aren't readily available, the desire to write is still strong, but words seem to elude me, inspiration's not so easily found. It's not often, usually themes abound, my mind is eager with ideas  and it's just a matter of allowing the words to flow. But there are a few morning's when this  isn't quite so, writing is more of a concern, and right now I find myself amidst this struggle.

until the moment I let go of this concern, surrendering thoughts of any struggle.

here's my standard practice, writing about writing, about whatever struggle is happening now, and to just put words on a page, filling the screen or pad of paper with whatever words that come to mind, and greeting the emptiness for its potential and not as a challenge to be fulfilled. Some mornings I write with a more subtle inspiration, no grand theme or original ideas, but I find myself writing more for the practice, for the sake of more deeply listening to the undercurrents of my mind, to feel the keyboards still dance beneath my fingers even if their motion is slowed in a more thoughtful manner. 

writing is my practice, an art pursued regardless of an outcome, it's a prayer really, a sacred form of communication without need of any answers in reply. I'm happy writing even nonsense, something completely without meaning to anyone but me, and I will still share it as an artful expression of what that particular moment held when it was written. Some mornings are like this, I write without purpose, content in the experience itself, happy to wait in the silence before a single word is given, listening to the world unfold in the earliness of the day, coffee warming my hands, relaxed and at ease with whatever happens now. There might not be words, some morning this may happen, and I will sit with their absence, drinking my coffee, listening....

~

Peace, Eric 

Small Devastation's

we are all marked by some form of loss, each of us - and from the moment we come into the world, perhaps even well before, it's continuous, small devastation's that life offers through its course, and it seems we become somewhat immune to their notice, scarred and hardened from such an early age. It's the largeness of a loss that brings this back to focus, how fragile life is and temporariness of all we cherish and hold dear. Yet nothing prepares for a loved ones absence, always being taken too soon when our moments together are counted through the measure of love. 

I miss my father.

but also, I think of those small devastation's, losses accumulated through life, and my father had a long one, 94 years old, and so close to making it to 95, so close, yet it was his time to let go, and as always he did so with grace and final lessons to teach me. Every moment of life is a letting go of some sort, some of those small devastation's, others with a more immediate and lasting effect on our lives. Through his last few months my father lost his ability to walk unaided, his sense of independence, and so many little things that are easily taken for granted, just simple joys of motion and activities once performed with ease. His last days were filled with continuous loss, small devastation's and he never once complained, not did he suffer in absolute silence of his loss. We talked about it all, made plans for what might next happen, and worked with what was still available and present. 

he lived until his very last moment. 

of course we all do in a way, yet with my father's death every small loss was noticed, there was a length to our mourning with everything in such sharp contrast to just the previous day. There is great beauty in this mourning, of knowing loss as well as the immediacy of what we still have now. No, it's not easy, no small devastation ever is - yet we gain so much from their notice, a deep appreciation of how life still offers itself so fully even at the time of loss. This was shown to me by my mother as well, her years of slow decline through Alzheimer's, a continuous loss of her memories of a lifetime, and at once too their was an open wonder to what was available to her now, a trust in her immediate world and that she would be cared for, loved, each loss balanced by what life still offered. 

sometimes that doesn't seem enough, we want more of what we've always had, to suffer just a little less and regain a sense of ease and comfort. I make no claim that letting go is easy, not always, all I can really say is that they happen and are built through the very fabric of life. There's no escape from these small devastation's and no avoidance of the larger ones, their presence make a complete life, whole, and we are blessed with innate ability to mourn what's lost, to grieve with deep sorrow, and yet at once too we have the capacity to love and carry on, embracing life even as we suffer from the hard steps if its journey. I've had a long year of mourning, and it continues, other issues have come to surface, more small devastation's make themselves known. 

it's just what life offers.

and through it all...there's the immediacy of it's beauty, my ability to grieve what's gone, and the capacity to love all that's present now. 

I thank my parents for this lesson. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Just A Few Words

Just a few words:  

tomorrow marks a year since my dad passed away, and I'm not sure that I have the right words to note this occasion, or any words really, perhaps the gloom of weather suits my thoughts and mood best and I should simply pass the day in silence. But of course I'll try and write something, even just a few words, it's what I do after all, an attempt to share what deeply moves me. 

it's been a profound loss, of course, at no age are we ever immune from the hurt of losing a parent, and these past two years have been a time of grief for so many, loved ones taken by a pandemic that swept through the elderly and those weakened from previous conditions. I think we all share a deep grief right now, expressed through different ways, some more outgoing in their re-embrace of life, and other still at a loss as to how to now proceed as if these are normal times. 

I think that's why it's important for me to write even just a few words, or at least attempting to, marking the occasion in the same manner as did for my father's care, writing of my struggle, how unprepared I was then to let go as both caregiver and a son - how unprepared I am now to proceed as if these are normal times. Yes, I've adjusted, life continues on and in many ways I've managed to used this time to be of service to others, offering my words, as well as devoting myself to teaching meditation, a tool that was vital to me during this time of grief and sadness.

and really, that's it, I've been sad.

 depression has always been an edge to my daily experience, often felt sharply, but mostly just a looming presence, a shadow that waits to greet me in certain, unguarded and unexpected moments of my life. Through the years I've learned to recognize its presence, befriend it...almost...or at least not to automatically and mindlessly push it aside whenever it approaches. This years been hard though, harder, as every moment is now unguarded, I'm broke open, vulnerable...lost. 

a long year...

so even just a few words, and here they are, written, shared, and I'm not sure of their worth, if anything really needed to be said. But it's what I do, an attempt to express and share what deeply moves me. Grief, sadness, dealing with the shadow of depression, it's all a momentary approach, I am mindful to what's present, no attempt to manipulate myself to feel anything other than what the moment holds. One year out from the death of my father, as fresh as yesterday, and right now, this moment holds his loss. But also...his presence as well, and that's what makes the difference, that I'm never quite alone as I so often feel. My grief is our connection, and when it passes, there is the joy of all he's given me. It's all present now, grief and joy, sadness, and a deep love that holds me through it. Everything is here, everything belongs, and I make no attempt for things to be other than they are. 

life continues...

and these are just a few words that deeply move me.

shared. 

~

Peace, Eric