Beavers

Beavers: 

there was a time, over two decades ago now, when beavers made their way to my small neighbor pond and established their home there. They were beautiful to see, a sign of true wildlife it seemed to me, adapting a man made park into their habitat and creating a brand new ecosystem in the process. It wasn't meant to be though, or at least not for very long, as neighbors complained over the possibility of homes being damaged, property values lowered due to an alter landscape, and, I believe, a certain amount of fear as well, with even a small amount of wilderness being found not so far from their doors. 

by this I don't mean a concern for their personal safety, but a more primal fear, the thought that we're not in as complete environmental control as we wish to believe. Beavers don't alter the landscape any more than humans do, and in fact, in the change they bring is most often an environmental boon, a vast improvement to the trim and proper park space that we demand. 

beavers are ecological engineers, knowing inherently what an area most needs.

being wiser then we are in their connection to the land. 

there are several connecting neighborhoods that sustain a small population of beavers. I see them occasionally on my longer walks and runs. Each time I send a silent invitation for them to make their way to my small pond once more, hoping that maybe this time we'll be more welcoming and find a way to adjust ourselves to change. It's a small hope though, as it seems that humans are often slow to learn, believing that we have the final say on how nature should be shown.

of course we're wrong.

forgetting that we're simply a small aspect in this infinite display of ever changing wilderness. And truly, it's all wilderness, every last tract of land connected to an endless ecosystem that ultimately contains oceans, stars and furthest galaxies as well. We're part of this, and not in control at all, we have no final say on the course of nature, But our beliefs that we do cause great and grave danger. We alter landscapes so drastically that the environment struggles for balance. 

we've forgotten our own inherent wisdom.

our deep ecological connection. 

 perhaps beavers can remind us of this, showing us that we can alter a place for our homes and yet still offer room for a wilderness's expression. We need a reminder that we're not ultimately in charge, that right now we know so little of our eventual impact on the world. Unless it's already too late, proving indeed that it's humans that are the invasive species on this planet.  

but maybe we can learn from beavers.

other species too. 

teaching us that we belong to wilderness.

that it's inherently who we are. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Prayer

Prayer: 

my morning now unfolds as a prayer, softly so, a silent communication between myself and the world that greets me. It always begins with a simple thank you, once more I find myself alive, my breath easy and my body ready to serve me through the day - I've been granted all this without any request, a blessing, and one that I no longer take for granted. 

I am grateful to be alive.

and saying thank you is my prayer each morning.

from there I am immediately sitting in meditation, first with breathwork and then a soft repetition of mantra guides me into stillness until it's then let go - I am settled into silence, even more restful than the entire night of slumber, yet sharply aware as well, a unique expression of aliveness. This is my part of true prayer, no longer really a communication, it's too seamless now, silent, there's no point to offer any thoughts or words as everything is already instantly known across the deep silence of this infinite field of pure beingness. 

I sit like this until there's an inclination to move.

and then my prayer begins as motion. 

lasting through the day. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Kenosis

Kenosis: 

the mantra is always my surrender, each return to thinking it's subtle sound empties me a little more of every previous conceptions of my role in meditation. It's the mantra that does the work here, acting as a form of kenosis, my own small will let go so that something entirely more powerful plays through. As I continuously come back to the mantra, no matter how many times my thoughts might lead me astray, a great silence eventually prevails...

and that is my surrender.

I love the term kenosis, being from the contemplative tradition of Christianity, but universal in its meaning. The word implies a prayerful plea of emptying ourselves of control by ego and to be filled by God's divine will, our actions now guided by a touch of grace that steers us through life's hardships. My meditation is a natural kenosis, with the mantra being a vibrational prayer that leads me ever deeper to my one self-surrender, an already present field of grace and silence. The great truth of kenosis is that I'm already empty of any sense of a permanent self, only my beliefs in its reality linger slightly, a return to ego-form that plays a certain role in my everyday life. 

my mantra carries me past this role.

a kenosis of revealing myself as capacity for life to play through.

it's a self answering prayer,

already granted.

 even as I think my mantra.

~

Peace, Eric 

Softly Whispering

Softly whispering: 

I love the 4:00 a.m quiet, when only sounds of necessity are made and even those are hushed softly though the air it seems. I wake earlier still, first meditating and then yoga, easing up to the magic of this threshold between night and approaching dawn, readying myself for an hour's worth of writing. 

there's magic here, mystery.

softly whispering.

and sometimes, if lucky, a few words filter through, as if translated from silence into something I might easily understand. These become my starting theme for writing, ideas forming from those first subtle whispers of this early hour. 

it never fails.

yet only if I'm patient, listening to silence for its own sake, not to capture words, but for the benefit of simply being still, matching my pace to the slow approach of dawn. There's never any hurry to these hours, an ancient length to light's arrival, and this gives cause for me to settle in and wait, knowing that everything comes exactly as it's supposed to, as it always has, and this includes my inspiration. 

it never fails. 

yet only if I'm patient, listening to silence for its own sake.

trusting that there's magic here.

mystery.

softly whispering in tones of inspiration. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Attending to the Breath

Attending to the breath: 

simply attending to the breath, this has become my default yoga practice, no matter what posture I find myself in, I keep returning to the anchor of breath, a constant reminder of life being played as a subtle breeze of motion through the quiet fields of pure awareness. The breath reminds me that these aren't separate things, feeling its passage is the experience of life and to be alive implies that I'm inherently aware, already noted by sensation of breath throughout my body. 

it's the singular event of my existence. 

that everything is motion.

known through the apparent stillness of being aware. 

it's the paradox of breathing. 

a personal koan.

only meant to be experienced. 

simply attending to the breath, being my always present practice of yoga, an instant meditation that brings me to the core of each experience, seeing how there truly are no separate events, but only life in its various guise of motion, playing through the quiet fields of its own awareness. 

truly, there's nothing more for me to know,

simply attending to the breath...

as it whispering its secrets. 

~

Peace, Eric 

A Slower Inspiration

A slower inspiration: 

some morning the words aren't so forthcoming, there's no block to their arrival, it's just not their time to flow towards the page. I'm content to sit in silence, coffee at hand, waiting by sip and enjoying the bitter taste and warmth of cup. Sometimes a few word appears with an urge to be written, not yet making themselves known as a theme, but I've learned to trust this slower inspiration, that everything will come together in its own perfect way. 

exactly when it's supposed to. 

years ago, when I first started writing daily, my promise was words on the page and it didn't matter how few or if they had any great meaning. The goal was to be a writer and there were no excuses to not practice my craft of writing. None. Not even when it seemed that words might not appear and there was little enthusiasm present to the task. Overtime I've come to the conclusion that writing has it's own pace, a rhythm that will make itself known to me each morning, sometimes drastically different then the day before, yet always existing as an undercurrent of quiet inspiration. 

my role as a writer is to be ready to receive.

patient.

trusting the pace of a slower inspiration. 

and just like that, writing happens, a page is complete, or perhaps only a few words carefully crafted and offered as a token to the page, It's the ritual that matters, showing up, open, and being willing to wait indefinitely in silence for words to appear. 

and they do. 

with their own pace and rhythm...

exactly when they're supposed to. 

~

Peace, Eric 

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving: 

it's an entire day devoted to being thankful, a remembrance of all that's been given by the grace of life and the things we've earned. I love the essence of Thanksgiving, what it represents beneath its growing material concerns - that there is reason, right now, for us all to be grateful. 

no mater how subtle the reason seems to be.

I remind myself of this each morning, starting each day of with a thank you to the universe at large. There was a time when I might have said this to God, but through the years the term has lost some meaning behind it, no longer having a devotional feel, and I simply feel more comfortable offering my devotion and gratitude to life. No one argues that we're alive and this alone is a reason to give thanks. So I acknowledge this, that I'm alive and by this virtue I am granted so much and with little effort given, an abundance of air for first conscious breath of the morning, the circulation of blood streaming through my veins, and the infinite things that cause my body to function with a sense of ease.

certainly I'm blessed. 

my day soon turns into a demonstration of these blessings, sitting in an easy posture for meditation, breathwork that wakes me fully for the day ahead, and then a salutation to the sun, not yet risen, but soon to light my day. I don't really need to invoke a sense of gratitude through any of this, it's already present in my motion, a continuous reminder of the grace of being alive. 

it's the most beautiful part of my day.

so it's the morning after a holiday as I write this, the recognized day of gratitude is over and a season of giving now begins. It's a seamless transition, from Thanksgiving to offering ourselves as service to the world. We are asked to give in the same grace as we've been gifted, a return of favors, and through this the coming days will indeed be holy. 

if only we remember. 

~

Peace, Eric