tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28635752910366707702024-03-16T05:11:30.692-04:00The Meditative GardenerDaily Dharma from the garden.Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.comBlogger2067125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-84546066096631139382021-04-25T18:09:00.001-04:002021-04-25T18:09:14.840-04:00Follow The Meditative Gardener at MeditativeGardener.com/blog<p><a href="http://meditativegardener.com/blog/">MeditativeGardener.com</a> </p><p><br /></p><p>Blogspot will soon be ending its email feature.</p><p>To continue receiving this blog in your email, go to <a href="http://MeditativeGardener.com/blog">MeditativeGardener.com</a></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-50131892392549599572021-04-21T20:27:00.004-04:002021-04-21T20:27:48.738-04:00Arborvitae<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-PZYDNT978/YIDB8O54HUI/AAAAAAAAIVU/pyV5Eflh7eELPtzmT2Up0Y9lz4WTayDfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/arborvitae%2Bin%2Bspring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_-PZYDNT978/YIDB8O54HUI/AAAAAAAAIVU/pyV5Eflh7eELPtzmT2Up0Y9lz4WTayDfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/arborvitae%2Bin%2Bspring.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My arborvitae survived the winter, but they have interesting shapes--a full head of hair on top and a flouncy skirt at the bottom. In between, one is see-through. The other has an hour-glass figure. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I tried to save them from the deer by covering them in Christmas lights, though i'm not sure that strategy worked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">How many strategies do we use to save ourselves from dukkha. We give advice. We take advice. The Buddha tells us straight. Clinging is the cause of suffering. How to stop suffering is to stop wanting things to be different than they are.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Can i be happy with hour-glass arborvitae?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-4787020584049048202021-04-17T14:55:00.004-04:002021-04-17T14:55:37.197-04:00Call Me Crazy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVqlkjp9peY/YHsthRtOEcI/AAAAAAAAIUU/9mB7XMyOB9ojUGz2258CAWDc9gObMv3BACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/banana%2Btree%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bsnow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bVqlkjp9peY/YHsthRtOEcI/AAAAAAAAIUU/9mB7XMyOB9ojUGz2258CAWDc9gObMv3BACLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/banana%2Btree%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bsnow.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>On Wednesday afternoon, before the predicted snow of Thursday and Friday, i planted my banana tree outdoors near the back door, in the semi-shade of the north side of the house.<p></p><p>You know what happened.</p><p>The question is: Did i suffer? </p><p>Did you stress out in reading this little vignette? Did you have an opinion? Or make up a story?</p><p>I "knew" that the temperature would be above freezing. (It went down to 37 degrees.)</p><p>So, i wasn't stressed. I tell this story as a joke on myself because i want you to notice the relief of tension. <i>Snow! Oh no! Whew! Everything's okay, after all</i>.</p><p>It is possible to have no story and no opinion. No judgment. And therefore no stress.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-80103401608644468072021-04-13T10:17:00.004-04:002021-04-13T10:17:38.271-04:00Generosity Blooms<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ol1o1Wn69ro/YHWnUuXxiKI/AAAAAAAAITc/FPqLZ66PXMoEYsvgTkG4lhUoJKMZk9kVQCLcBGAsYHQ/s547/parrot%2Btulips%2BKaren%2BDavis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="547" height="351" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ol1o1Wn69ro/YHWnUuXxiKI/AAAAAAAAITc/FPqLZ66PXMoEYsvgTkG4lhUoJKMZk9kVQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h351/parrot%2Btulips%2BKaren%2BDavis.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>One of the last errands i ran before leaving for Florida for 2 weeks was delivering pots of budding tulips to friends. I gave one to Karen, a Master Gardener friend. Three weeks later, they are still blooming.<p></p><p>This is what happens when you allow generosity to bloom in your heart.</p><p>What easy (and maybe fun) thing could you give to a friend today?</p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-58519763948792947572021-04-12T12:25:00.002-04:002021-04-12T12:25:21.778-04:00Lotus<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ye9k6d1I8qk/YGD3aXIcqDI/AAAAAAAAIRY/F4Q3S_TiMSclIMDzBB5qVpr3Qc2s09QrwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/purple%2Blotus.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ye9k6d1I8qk/YGD3aXIcqDI/AAAAAAAAIRY/F4Q3S_TiMSclIMDzBB5qVpr3Qc2s09QrwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/purple%2Blotus.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Lotus is an often-used image in the Buddha's teachings. Part of the devotional ritual includes offering a lotus, 3 sticks of incense, and a candle to a statue of the Buddha.<p></p><p>I don't find lotus in the North Country where i live, so i was happy to see it in hot and sunny Florida.</p><p>The magic of lotus leaves is that they self-clean; they don't collect water.</p><p>Wouldn't i love to have a self-cleaning mind?</p><p>Mindfulness is the quickest self-cleaner. Mindfulness of this moment doesn't allow gunk from those past moments to accumulate. Past gunk is washed away by the present moment.</p><p>No future fog either, because the present is all there is.</p><p>Just look at that lotus with its roots in the mud, standing beautifully in the water of Life.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-17261005889120409612021-04-11T21:35:00.004-04:002021-04-12T12:20:12.067-04:00I Want. I Don't Want<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PnjcBisFc8Q/YHOjlM1jyMI/AAAAAAAAITE/q7SvqZwcDukz8CTbTvfgE6vrXWFfqqvhgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Cheryl%2Bspraying%2Bclothes%2Bwith%2Bpermethrin%2B%25282%2529.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PnjcBisFc8Q/YHOjlM1jyMI/AAAAAAAAITE/q7SvqZwcDukz8CTbTvfgE6vrXWFfqqvhgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/Cheryl%2Bspraying%2Bclothes%2Bwith%2Bpermethrin%2B%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />In the rush to catch up with spring at home, i conveniently forget that it is time to tick-spray all my clothes. I don't want to. I want to go out to the daffodil garden. I want. I don't want.<p></p><p>I don't want to spray my clothes. I also don't want ticks biting me. I do not want Lyme disease.</p><p>I throw a drawerful of shirts down the stairs. I hang them up in the woodshed. I spray them. Three hours later, i take them off the hangers and cart them back to their drawer. I throw the next drawer full of undershirts down the stairs. Etcetera. Etcetera.</p><p>The civil war of the mind: I don't want. I want. I don't want. </p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-89018777484263076932021-04-08T18:59:00.006-04:002021-04-09T11:07:26.539-04:00Flying Home<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xyhMDEi108E/YG-Jcq3h0eI/AAAAAAAAIS0/YiM9BalRJ7orw1KrkkvG2SURnqEnvf36wCLcBGAsYHQ/s512/geese-migration-pattern.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="341" data-original-width="512" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xyhMDEi108E/YG-Jcq3h0eI/AAAAAAAAIS0/YiM9BalRJ7orw1KrkkvG2SURnqEnvf36wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/geese-migration-pattern.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />We flew home from Florida yesterday. This early morning, before dawn, i heard Canada geese flying north. Homeward bound to Canada.<p></p><p>Where is home anyway? Do you have a place that feels like home? </p><p>I didn't recognize falling in love with my sweetie. He simply felt like home. Comfortable. No fireworks. Restful. Contentment. I didn't need to go anywhere else. I didn't wish for anyone different.</p><p>Every morning i take refuge in the Buddha. I take refuge in the Dharma. I take refuge in the sangha. That's my spiritual home. Not a physical place and not dependent on a physical being, although i deeply appreciate the beings in my various sanghas. Refuge--a place of safety. Home.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-51961846102801442342021-03-29T20:34:00.002-04:002021-03-29T20:34:08.121-04:00Your Mind is a Garden<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sIr11Ttqg3M/YGJwaiPtcLI/AAAAAAAAIRg/jUpItdccW9gYvuCVmyVyn9rhYaNDUNd4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s275/your%2Bmind%2Bis%2Ba%2Bgarden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sIr11Ttqg3M/YGJwaiPtcLI/AAAAAAAAIRg/jUpItdccW9gYvuCVmyVyn9rhYaNDUNd4wCLcBGAsYHQ/w266-h400/your%2Bmind%2Bis%2Ba%2Bgarden.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>"Your mind is a garden;<p></p><p>your thoughts are the seeds."</p><p>So are you growing flowers? Or weeds?</p><p>I recently taught a class on the Noble Eightfold Path. One of the first investigations we did was to divide our thoughts into wholesome and unwholesome. Do this for 3 minutes during your next meditation.</p><p>Once you become aware of the unwholesome, the unskillful, the "weeds," you can apply the antidotes.</p><p>Loving-kindness and patience antidote just about everything.</p><p>You can practice loving-kindness during meditation or on a walk or while you are driving or while you are washing the dishes. You can grow flowers in your mind all day every day.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-79447634437956588772021-03-28T20:56:00.003-04:002021-03-28T20:56:35.813-04:00Amaryllis Blooming<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lUVUH84NJPM/YGB1E6XsYPI/AAAAAAAAIQw/79plp7bCiMo0iOy00s2rq4VqrlWUepd2ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/red%2Bamaryllis%2BU%2BFlorida.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lUVUH84NJPM/YGB1E6XsYPI/AAAAAAAAIQw/79plp7bCiMo0iOy00s2rq4VqrlWUepd2ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/red%2Bamaryllis%2BU%2BFlorida.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>At home, my amaryllis are just starting to bloom. In the gardens at the University of Florida, amaryllis are blooming full-blast.<p></p><div>Notice how close the stems are to each other. That means the bulbs are packed together tightly, sort of like daffodil bulbs for us in the North Country.</div><div><br /></div><div>It looks like the closely packed bulbs encourage each other to bloom. If we stay in close touch with our Dharma friends and a Dharma teacher or two, they encourage us to bloom in the Dharma.</div>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-33108343315518310492021-03-26T21:18:00.006-04:002021-03-26T21:18:41.487-04:00Blue-Eyed Grass<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oV0wKTa9Rk/YF5WOlWs7gI/AAAAAAAAIQY/wJsUfxy-xBEwAw6HvoQctt8Ny8xpbrwCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG-2399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2oV0wKTa9Rk/YF5WOlWs7gI/AAAAAAAAIQY/wJsUfxy-xBEwAw6HvoQctt8Ny8xpbrwCgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/IMG-2399.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>On my walk this morning, i saw blue-eyed grass growing on the roadside. I love blue-eyed grass. Such a simple wildflower. A single blue flower on a single stem of grass. I've tried growing it and always lost it. Today i saw it in profusion--growing in sand (read: limestone) in Florida (read: hot). I don't have those conditions in my garden.<p></p><p>In meditation, i don't have the proper conditions for the meditative absorptions, which require deep concentration. To some people, deep concentration comes easily, naturally, even spontaneously.</p><p>I am content with what i have--good enough concentration and deep enough insights to understand. And if, once in a great while, a beautiful concentration arises, i am at peace with what is. No blue-eyed grass in my garden. Not much concentration in my meditation.</p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-85481702901961015922021-03-25T21:04:00.004-04:002021-03-25T21:04:37.542-04:00Florida Lobelia<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p8fTZwUSJZg/YF0wlg6_-mI/AAAAAAAAIQE/PqwmfV0A9EMbfADMqt314HBc-ZFEL_EFQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/wild%2Blobelia%2Bin%2BFlorida.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1127" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-p8fTZwUSJZg/YF0wlg6_-mI/AAAAAAAAIQE/PqwmfV0A9EMbfADMqt314HBc-ZFEL_EFQCLcBGAsYHQ/w220-h400/wild%2Blobelia%2Bin%2BFlorida.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>Lobelia grows wild along the roadside in the Florida panhandle. It's a short, light blue flower here.<p></p><p>I love recognizing the close cousins of familiar flower friends when i travel to new habitats. So often, in a new place, it takes a while before i recognize the features of a place. Stopping the car on the side of the road to look closely at the bluish haze of wildflowers reveals my old friend Lobelia.</p><p>Not being a people person, i often look at new people as strangers. My sweetie, on the other hand, has never met a stranger. He chats up everyone and has them smiling within a couple of minutes. His mission in life is to bring joy to everyone he meets. He inspires me to do likewise.</p><p>This kind of inspiring friendship supports us in practicing kindness in ways that may not come naturally to us. I can look at strangers along the road and say "Hello Friend."</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-56225210167298268192021-03-24T04:00:00.000-04:002021-03-24T09:54:17.037-04:00Rusted Vehicles<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_r8or5JWmZg/YFqNMdTEmuI/AAAAAAAAIP0/2cVK0Hjc8H8BlsCaItvMbgWoiBZ0N9ZjQCLcBGAsYHQ/s275/rust%2Bin%2Bpeace%2BFord%2Btrucks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_r8or5JWmZg/YFqNMdTEmuI/AAAAAAAAIP0/2cVK0Hjc8H8BlsCaItvMbgWoiBZ0N9ZjQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/rust%2Bin%2Bpeace%2BFord%2Btrucks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Today, our local tour began with Rusted Ford Trucks on the side of the road. I recognized two or three of my grandfather's 1940s and 1950s trucks. I recognized my Aunt Jenny's 1949 Ford sedan. All the vehicles completely rusted--rather like my body.<p></p><p>My sweetie and i looked at the new cars on the road and the rental Kia we are driving. In 20 or 50 or 70 years, they will look <i>so</i> old-fashioned, so rusty, so impossible to imagine as new. Just as children and young people cannot imagine that we were ever their age. They are young, and we are old. Thus has it ever been.</p><p>My dear Ford Ranger truck--the one i use to haul manure, wood chips, mulch, mulch hay, and dozens of plants--even it will, one of these days, rust in peace.</p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-3568937603033045122021-03-23T03:30:00.006-04:002021-03-23T03:30:13.907-04:00Azaleas in Bloom<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-amOrUeagw6A/YFk8nHwGGhI/AAAAAAAAIPU/bk_1Z4SGHJwhgP7d9xUoR8T6R0ifpl_mQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/azalea%2Bblossoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-amOrUeagw6A/YFk8nHwGGhI/AAAAAAAAIPU/bk_1Z4SGHJwhgP7d9xUoR8T6R0ifpl_mQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/azalea%2Bblossoms.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>We escaped mud season and fled to Florida since we have both been double jabbed. Down here (near Tallahassee), young leaves are just coming out in spring green. Azaleas are in bloom everywhere!<p></p><p>Spring is indeed sprung. A unique smell is in the air--beautiful and delicious. To someone from north Florida, this is how home smells, especially in the moonlit evening.</p><p>How does home smell? Indescribable, yet so familiar.</p><p>When we come home to our heart of hearts, the feeling is indescribable. And so familiar. Take a few tries at describing the indescribable. Calm. Peaceful. At ease. Safe. This is one description of love.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-7605972583528994632021-03-22T04:00:00.004-04:002021-03-22T04:00:00.849-04:00Hawk Watching<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eSqvIMBr5C8/YFe26j8GBxI/AAAAAAAAIPM/a2tFOp35ABcOh5062fGu8porXppA2YDZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1170/red%2Btail%2Bhawk_iStock_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="1170" height="185" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eSqvIMBr5C8/YFe26j8GBxI/AAAAAAAAIPM/a2tFOp35ABcOh5062fGu8porXppA2YDZgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h185/red%2Btail%2Bhawk_iStock_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> A hawk perches on a tree overlooking our bird feeders. The little birds come and go--chickadees, nuthatches, titmice, woodpeckers. A few bold ones flit in the same tree the hawk sits in.<p></p><p>Finally, we hear a thud on the deck. The little birds carry on eating at the bird feeder as if nothing has happened.</p><p>When death strikes an acquaintance, we carry on in our own lives, going about our business.</p><p>This morning Death was perched in a tree. Some flitted around it. Death strikes. Life goes on.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-19052807515340032592021-03-21T04:00:00.011-04:002021-03-21T04:00:04.261-04:00Snowdrops in the Snow<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xEuav35rzgc/YFU1kdNUYyI/AAAAAAAAIOw/2RAs7gtiNJwK1CVJ4Sqf7oDIQPxx144AQCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/Snowdrops.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xEuav35rzgc/YFU1kdNUYyI/AAAAAAAAIOw/2RAs7gtiNJwK1CVJ4Sqf7oDIQPxx144AQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/Snowdrops.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Snowdrops are blooming. Where there was snow yesterday, there are snowdrops today.<p></p><div>Change runs rampant. Notice that every noun is a slow-moving verb. Snow--here today, gone tomorrow. So many different kinds of snow. Each snowflake different than any other, so what does "snowflake" mean anyway?</div><div><br /></div><div>Snowdrops arise. They are beautiful. You know what comes next. Keep your eye closely attuned to the process, the processes. The process of snowdrop-ing.</div><div><br /></div>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-60270234210908283302021-03-20T04:00:00.016-04:002021-03-20T04:00:05.241-04:00First Day of Spring<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqSHU3tO8SI/YFTeYOPxwkI/AAAAAAAAIOk/3oF9-_k_ybMaKkvxQroir1wP-gt99rjwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/young-woman-wearing%2Bmask-smelling-flowers-in-spring-picture-id1219009220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="1080" height="233" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MqSHU3tO8SI/YFTeYOPxwkI/AAAAAAAAIOk/3oF9-_k_ybMaKkvxQroir1wP-gt99rjwgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h233/young-woman-wearing%2Bmask-smelling-flowers-in-spring-picture-id1219009220.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>By the time you read this, spring will already have sprung--at 5:37 a.m. Eastern. Good-bye winter. <p></p><p>Dare i start waving good-bye to the pandemic? 26% of the people in our state have received at least their first shot.</p><p>The Buddha frames the teaching of the 4 Ennobling Tasks as a doctor might.</p><p><i>Dx--our diagnosis--</i>Suffering (dissatisfaction, discontent, lack) exists.</p><p><i>Hx--the history-</i>-Craving causes suffering.</p><p><i>Px--our prognosis-</i>-Cessation: suffering can come to an end.</p><p><i>Rx--our remedy-</i>-the 8-fold Ennobling Path</p><p>The diagnosis of COVID on our planet can come to an end if we take the remedy--one or two jabs of a vaccine.</p><p>Welcome Spring!</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-40445601952856583052021-03-19T04:48:00.004-04:002021-03-19T04:48:48.817-04:00It's Time to Sow Poppy Seeds<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ysqv8C8EhJY/YFRlCp3uonI/AAAAAAAAIOY/DmPmUDn91HokTUbd91FFLwzrZy4Uu7hmgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Poppy%2B%2526%2Bbee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ysqv8C8EhJY/YFRlCp3uonI/AAAAAAAAIOY/DmPmUDn91HokTUbd91FFLwzrZy4Uu7hmgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/Poppy%2B%2526%2Bbee.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>It's time to sow poppy seeds on whatever remains of the snow. Another three weeks, and it will be too late. If you want some annual poppy seeds, PM me now.<p></p><p>Would you like this wonderful watermelon color? Or purple?</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-60476145757865446092021-03-18T09:19:00.006-04:002021-03-18T09:19:41.460-04:00Chickadee Grief<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHp_475QE18/YFNTAsqCqMI/AAAAAAAAIOM/R2wkpzi93WQYLdnlFXcuvdJDlhUS76m5gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1746/crippled%2Bchickadee%2Bhanging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1746" data-original-width="1665" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tHp_475QE18/YFNTAsqCqMI/AAAAAAAAIOM/R2wkpzi93WQYLdnlFXcuvdJDlhUS76m5gCLcBGAsYHQ/w381-h400/crippled%2Bchickadee%2Bhanging.jpg" width="381" /></a></div>I am grieving a crippled chickadee,
whom I last saw on Monday, March 8. Her wings were fluttering that
day, as if she had lost even more mobility in her legs and toes. For
a month, she had been skooching on the deck or railing like a double
amputee in India sitting on cardboard and propelling himself with his
hands.<p></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> That Monday morning, she was hanging
upside down by her toes. In previous days, I had seen her grip a
branch or wire with both toes and slowly slide backwards until she
was upside down. She would flutter her wings to bring herself back to
upright. She repeated these chin-ups five or ten times. She was
panting; I could see her back wing feathers move up and down two or
three times a second.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> That last morning, I put sunflower
seeds in the coffee grinder and ground them finely. She didn't seem
to have the leverage to peck a sunflower seed to bits. Usually a
chickadee holds a sunflower seed between her two feet and pecks and
pecks at it. Chickadee beaks are very small. Other birds swallow
sunflower hearts whole, but the chickadee breaks it into bits and
eats the bits.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Her handicap enabled me to distinguish
one chickadee from the dozen that visit our birdfeeder, distinguish
her from the two or three chickadees that eat out of my hand.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> I knew the end was near. I didn't see
her the rest of that day. I kept looking for her all week. Then I had
to admit she was gone. Gone.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> The next day the weather was warm. Oh,
if only she could have lived to feel warm weather. Had her feet
frozen one zero degree night? I would never know.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> I try to assuage my grief with various
stories. Already she has returned to earth somewhere. Already some
creature has eaten her corpse. Already she has been incorporated into
owl or possum. The life cycle has moved, and I am stuck in missing
her.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-25390784017136881222021-03-17T04:00:00.011-04:002021-03-17T04:00:05.035-04:00Flower Chaplain<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X4Tdqd6r7MA/YE6nQ3GIs4I/AAAAAAAAIN4/Wk9N8ke2hvQzPq43ju1AQ8jhp_w9Kbh0QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/tulips%2Bin%2Bpots%2Bon%2Bfront%2Bstep.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X4Tdqd6r7MA/YE6nQ3GIs4I/AAAAAAAAIN4/Wk9N8ke2hvQzPq43ju1AQ8jhp_w9Kbh0QCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/tulips%2Bin%2Bpots%2Bon%2Bfront%2Bstep.jpg" width="300" /></a></div> The pots of tulips i planted in December were shooting green, so i brought some of them indoors to bud. <p></p><p></p><p>My sweetie and i are making a jail break next week-- flying to Florida. So i delivered 3 pots of budding tulips last evening--one to a grieving widow, one to a cancer survivor, one to an always-helpful friend. Call me the Flower Chaplain.</p><p>A handful of my friends are chaplains, and i've wondered whether i could be one. But i don't have quite the right personality type. No matter. </p><p>I can offer the hope of spring to those who are ill, the message of change to those who are grieving.</p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-3425874564733612222021-03-16T04:00:00.004-04:002021-03-16T04:00:00.247-04:00Chipmunks Awake!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yTx68ualWz8/YE6mTelXWYI/AAAAAAAAINw/CzTmQ19cwygTrwHGXh2QUKUGpwk6eIn0wCLcBGAsYHQ/s225/chipmunk%2Bfrom%2Btreehugger.com.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yTx68ualWz8/YE6mTelXWYI/AAAAAAAAINw/CzTmQ19cwygTrwHGXh2QUKUGpwk6eIn0wCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/chipmunk%2Bfrom%2Btreehugger.com.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Chipmunks have awoken from their long winter's nap. They don't hibernate; they are dormant, asleep in their dens. As such, they are at the mercy of any burrowing predator. But one (so far) has survived the frozen earth and is running around searching for food.<div><br /></div><div>When we wake up enough to realize we've been sort of sleepwalking through our lives, where do we go for sustenance?</div><div><br /></div><div>A spiritual path, of whatever stripe, answers the deeper calling within, which has been buried by career, marriage, children, and all sorts of other distractions. What about your hunger? The one you can't quite name. The one you can't quite put your finger on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Come home. Come home to the here and the now.<br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-85832745842147500082021-03-15T04:00:00.014-04:002021-03-15T04:00:05.066-04:00Lake Ontario is Snowing On Me<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tzKnf8M4tQs/YE5TB-N1cOI/AAAAAAAAINk/tJvSwPD4RDYbZjiqqRT91hT__JJsUC14QCLcBGAsYHQ/s701/94356.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="701" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tzKnf8M4tQs/YE5TB-N1cOI/AAAAAAAAINk/tJvSwPD4RDYbZjiqqRT91hT__JJsUC14QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/94356.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>According to the weather map, a snow storm, which begins south of Lake Ontario, is now snowing on us. Kind of fun to think about the lake evaporating, rising skyward, being blown 300 miles east by the wind, and falling as snowflakes on my lawn and gardens. Lake Ontario is snowing on me.<p></p><div>Lake Ontario water is obviously not me. The Lake Ontario snowflakes melt, percolate through the ground, and enter the water table. Then water comes up from my well. I drink this water. The water in the glass is not me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, the water rains out of my body into a toilet. That's not "me" either, though i may claim it as "mine." But is it?</div>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-65294873912556700072021-03-14T11:29:00.005-04:002021-03-14T11:29:46.470-04:00Baffling the Mind<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OxvbzW_9T2Y/YE4qUBHePII/AAAAAAAAINY/ZwFWYkmB6FAIi4lHdNCRwB9oYtSSNfa4QCLcBGAsYHQ/s2511/squirrel%2Bbaffle%2Bsuet%2Bfeeder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2511" data-original-width="1252" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OxvbzW_9T2Y/YE4qUBHePII/AAAAAAAAINY/ZwFWYkmB6FAIi4lHdNCRwB9oYtSSNfa4QCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h640/squirrel%2Bbaffle%2Bsuet%2Bfeeder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />My neighbor sends me a photo of a squirrel in her new suet feeder. Oh, yes. Those inventive, incorrigible squirrels.<p></p><p>I use a seltzer water bottle as a baffle for my suet feeder. At first i used a regular seltzer bottle, but it turns out those bottles are exactly as long as a squirrel.</p><p>I found an extra-long (extra tall) seltzer Saratoga Springs water bottle and cut off the bottom. The squirrels do monkey around on the hanger, and, if i don't have the suet feeder chain fastened tightly, they will knock the suet off the hanger, and good-bye suet.</p><p>We need to put baffles around our minds to prevent the monkey mind from wandering off to do too much monkey business. My favorite baffles are</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>no news</li><li>no TV</li><li>no novels</li></ul><p></p><p>What baffles do you use to protect your mind?</p><p><br /></p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-62465774934300156282021-03-12T15:05:00.005-05:002021-03-18T07:32:00.414-04:00Ralph, the Squirrel<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1avqUmVDGQ/YEvI9K2PbrI/AAAAAAAAINQ/YbEM6wMMMWgbFF2NVGY8HtafmDJaHSwkgCLcBGAsYHQ/s800/squirrel%2Beating%2Bsunflower%2Bseeds%2Bon%2Brailing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="800" height="223" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1avqUmVDGQ/YEvI9K2PbrI/AAAAAAAAINQ/YbEM6wMMMWgbFF2NVGY8HtafmDJaHSwkgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h223/squirrel%2Beating%2Bsunflower%2Bseeds%2Bon%2Brailing.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>My sweetie complains about the speed with which i eat dinner. Then he remembers going out to lunch with my father, who finished his lunch at the Chinese restaurant in 10 minutes.<p></p><p>"Ralph had 9 siblings," i say. "During the Great Depression. There were no second helpings." </p><p>I never realized that i also eat fast, until my sweetie pointed it out to me. It's a habit that i haven't tried to break.</p><p>For most of my adult life, i thought i <i>was</i> my habits. <i>I am a person who....</i> Eventually i glimpsed awareness, and for a second, saw the lack of self. Habits do not make a self, it turns out.</p><p>I lay sunflower seeds on the railing of the deck for the birds, and when I am not looking, a squirrel sneaks up on the railing and gobbles. He sees me coming. He eats faster. I open the door. He eats faster. I open the storm door, he starts to run. "Get out of here, Ralph!" i say to the squirrel who is scampering across the snow.</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-73624503872324220462021-03-10T16:41:00.000-05:002021-03-10T16:41:02.176-05:00Cat Reads The Noble Eightfold Path<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRL5kWHB7dw/YEk7fxPYWGI/AAAAAAAAINA/e6CdS95Qy_wyOnHmpu-ls29Fh7-_QB1wwCLcBGAsYHQ/s617/cat%2Bsleeping%2Bwith%2BBhikkhu%2BBodhi%2Bbook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="617" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pRL5kWHB7dw/YEk7fxPYWGI/AAAAAAAAINA/e6CdS95Qy_wyOnHmpu-ls29Fh7-_QB1wwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/cat%2Bsleeping%2Bwith%2BBhikkhu%2BBodhi%2Bbook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> At the Barre Center for Buddhist Studies some years ago, we looked out the windows in the meditation hall to see a moose meandering among young chestnut trees. "Oh, look," someone said. "The moose wants to hear the Dharma."<p></p><p>At another retreat center, where a bhikkhuni (nun) lived, a deer looked in the window while she was giving a Dharma talk. The bhikkhuni told us of a mother deer giving birth under her clothesline. The deer knew it was a safe place.</p><p>Now a student emails me a photo of his cat sleeping with Bhikkhu Bodhi's book--<i>The Noble Eightfold Path</i>. That's one way to get your Dharma--by osmosis, while sleeping. Or perhaps, when we weren't looking, the cat fell asleep while reading?</p><p>Monks in Asia tell incredible stories of meditating in a cave and a white tiger walks in and lies down. After the Buddha's enlightenment, a cobra coiled around him.</p><p>Animals recognize the good stuff. Do we?</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2863575291036670770.post-2153560211943277492021-03-09T09:18:00.010-05:002021-03-09T19:09:57.200-05:00Flower Clouds<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3_eqTW6xvE/YDul-Edcs6I/AAAAAAAAIKE/JlgbUDIvRiYx9486nhNfio-R3ySfp2BewCLcBGAsYHQ/s713/flower-clouds-1903%2Bby%2BOdilon%2BRedon.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="713" height="269" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G3_eqTW6xvE/YDul-Edcs6I/AAAAAAAAIKE/JlgbUDIvRiYx9486nhNfio-R3ySfp2BewCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h269/flower-clouds-1903%2Bby%2BOdilon%2BRedon.jpg" title="Odilon Redon" width="320" /></a></div> Flower Clouds is a 1905 painting by Odilon Redon. Two women are on a spiritual journey.<p></p><p>If you could take one person with you on your spiritual journey, who would that be? </p><p>If you could accompany one person on their spiritual journey, who would that be?</p>Cheryl Wilfonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10978127683134282409noreply@blogger.com0