The day the Buddha sat down

Maybe some of you have seen this already.  It just came to my attention yesterday.

Today while beginning my December tradition of reading a chapter a day of A Winter Walk, I saw that some December since 2006 (when the book was published), I had made a note about Bodhi Day, which comes on December 8.

I had written:

The day the Buddha sat down.  He was 29.

On first watching the video and not paying close attention, I didn't realize immediately that the walking person was a young woman.  I was struck by what I thought was the vulnerability of a very delicate young white man whose physical presence seemed to have little to do with the voice of an edgy elderly Jewish/Buddhist man as his death approached.  Now that I know that the walking person is a young woman, everything shifts.

This November was the month when I finally cried long and hard and felt relief.

Here is what November looked like in Bellingham, Washington, this year:

Another yearly tradition is purchasing a Nikki McClure calendar.  I bought my 2020 calendar as soon as it was available.  The November page for 2019 celebrates a quiet family moment, and it gave me a sense of peace each time I looked at it.  Maybe I will give it a permanent place on the wall next to my drawing table when January 2020 arrives.

It was only on a second viewing of "Happens To The Heart" that I saw that the sitting figure rose into the air.  Too much like Mary's Assumption.  Oh well.  I experienced that rising with a sinking feeling. I wonder what Leonard Cohen would have thought of that image accompanying the end of his haunting song.

Then I remembered William Blake's words:

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.

And this:

If you don't realize the source, 
you stumble in confusion and sorrow.
When you realize where you come from, 
you naturally become tolerant, 
disinterested, amused, 
kindhearted as a grandmother, 
dignified as a king.
Immersed in the wonder of the Tao, 
you can deal with whatever life brings you, 
and when death comes, you are ready.” 

― Tao Te-Ching

Mother's Day Weekend Meditation 2014

Remembering my mother.  Remember how creative she was as a writer of short stories, a poet, a seamstress, a painter, a printmaker, a batik artist, a stained glass artist, and a pattern knitter.  Remembering her love of horses and how gracefully she was able to ride horses and that she gave that up to get married and have children when she was 33 years old.  Remembering her lifelong love of books and her passion for art and music.  Remembering the time she thanked me for introducing her to the music of Bob Dylan.  Remembering taking her to see "The Last Waltz" and how much she loved that movie.  Remembering that she thanked me for introducing her to the writing of Ursula K. Le Guin.  Remembering her spiritual journey from Christianity to Judaism.  Remembering what an extraordinary woman she was.  

Remembering how terrified of her I was from early childhood and how angry I was at her from about age 37 until the day she died suddenly, with no warning signs, of a massive heart attack in December of 1994 when I was 45 years old.  Remembering that my first words to my youngest sister upon hearing over the phone, while at work, the shocking news that our mother had died that morning were:

"Now she can't hurt me anymore." 

Just before I spoke those words I looked out the window at the hospital where I worked, and I had a vision of a dark cloud lifting and disappearing from my sight.  Remembering how I could feel truly safe with my mother only after she died.  It was only after she died that I could feel safe enough to begin to love my mother.  

Not everyone can understand that, but I know that I am not alone in my experience.  My mother would understand.  She was angry at her own mother, and then when my mother was in her first year of college, her mother developed gallbladder cancer and wasted away to a living skeleton before dying.  My mother grew to love her mother after her mother died.  I am just like my mother in that way.  I don't have children of my own and was never even pregnant, but this weekend I am due to become a Great Aunt.  My only nephew's girlfriend is due to give birth tomorrow on Mother's Day.  As she gives birth, she will be born again as a mother.  

I am sending all my love to my nephew, his girlfriend, and their baby who is so close to being born.

My heart goes out to the Nigerian girls and their families.

What is complete   

The valley spirit never dies.

Call it mystery, the woman.

The mystery,

the Door of the Woman,

is the root

of earth and heaven.

Forever this endures, forever.

And all its uses are easy.

(Chapter 6, from an English version of the Tao Te Ching, by Ursula K. Le Quin)

"... with sorrow and with great compassion..." / UC Davis and Portland

(The photo of the Ruby-crowned Kinglet came from here.)

I never watched "Kung Fu" when it was on American television from 1972 until 1975, the year the Vietnam War ended. "Kung Fu" is set in the years after the devastation of the American Civil War. Richard's sister, Dorothy, gave me the complete "Kung Fu" series on DVD when I saw her and her husband after visiting Richard's grave at the San Joaquin Valley National Cemetery in 2008. Dorothy, ten years younger than I am, watched "Kung Fu" on TV when she was in high school. While watching the episode called "The Demon God" a few days ago, I was startled to hear the following:

"You are the enemy who is not the enemy. We are of the many, not of the few. We are necessary and useful."

Caine says this to the scorpion who stung him earlier--the scorpion whose life he had just saved and who then showed him the way out of a place where they were trapped together.

If you are curious and have about an hour, this episode (in 6 parts) can be seen on YouTube. The theme of "the many and the few" runs through it. It is a decidedly awkward vehicle but timely, given American participation in another war is scheduled to end on December 31, 2011, and in light of the events of the past week at UC Davis, Portland, and around the world--the 99% and the 1%. Maybe I'm making too great of a stretch here, but the connection was there for me.

Thanks to Beth for this:

THE TOOLS OF FEAR

Weapons are the tools of fear.
A decent person will avoid them
except in the direst necessity
and, if compelled, will use them
only with the utmost restraint….

Our enemies are not demons
but human beings like ourselves.
The decent person doesn’t wish them personal harm.
Nor do they rejoice in victory.
How could we rejoice in victory
and delight in the slaughter of people?
Enter a battle gravely
with sorrow and with great compassion
as if attending a funeral.

circa 550 BCE (Tao Te Ching)

May the policeman with the pepper spray be protected some day by the students he assaulted, and may he return that protection and human kindness by showing them a way out of a place they are both trapped.

Anything is possible.

About a week ago, I saw the body of a green bird with red on the top of its head. It was lying near the door of a small store I was about to enter. It must have flown at the window. There was no apparent injury. Gently picking the bird up, I tucked its tiny body into a soft resting place in the the ivy near the doorway.