Meditating on the Beach

This morning in Puerto Rico, i meditated on the beach, listening to the little waves breaking on the sandy shore.

Hearing. Hearing.
Also hearing some distant traffic noise.
Also hearing the constant ringing in my ears that i live with.
Hearing occasional bird calls. Doves. Mynah birds.

Everything in constant flux. No one thing staying the same for a second. The light moved gradually across the sand into full sun.

Water flowing, back and forth. Not unlike the tides of my own body with every pulse. I can't see the constant change inside the body. I see the outer "earth" element of the body, which like the sand appears stable.

And i am fooled into believing there is permanence.

Kale Icicles

It was 22 degrees at ten o'clock last night when i went outdoors with a flashlight to pick some lacinato kale for this morning's breakfast quiche. The kale leaves snapped off like icicles, so gathering a handful was a lot of fun.

My thought was to saute the kale and some onions before bedtime, so that this morning, all i have to do is add the eggs and (goat) cheese.

It's not easy to slice icicles, even with my big, sharp Julia-Child-style chopping knife.

Oh, how we yearn for stability in our lives. In order to do this, we sometimes make our lives small so that they will be predictable. We try to freeze people, places, and things into place and then believe "that's how things are." Actually, it's just our story about them and about ourselves.

We can become so crystallized in our views and opinions that not even the sword of wisdom can cut through. "Cheryl, why do you talk about aging and death so often? Can't you say something positive for a change?" or "Not-self? How ridiculous." or "Of course time exists."

We are all caught in a collective delusion.

Melt into the present moment and report on what you find there. Sitting. Reading. Drinking. Eating. That is all.

Broken

The gazing globe broke. While pulling weeds nearby, the gazing ball toppled off its stand and smashed into smithereens.

Gone. This is a concept I have been struggling with since I was 4 years old. We came home from vacation to find our gazing ball broken. How could that have happened? Broken. Gone.

A novice monk cleaning the room of Thai Forest master Ajaan Chah asked the master why he had such a beautiful cup. After all, monks are ascetics with extremely few possessions. "I see the cup as already broken," Ajaan Chah replied.

So far, every gazing globe that I have called "mine" has broken. This is what gazing globes do. They break. Every mug in my kitchen will eventually break. Every piece of furniture in my home. Even the house itself.

We, like any 4-year-old, would prefer to believe in stability, in un-change-ing-ness. But that is not what really happens.

Lift your eyes. Let them rest on the nearest object, perhaps your nearest and dearest. Seeing that object as already broken, can you love it to pieces right now?

Photos from cobblestonegardensandmarket.com and amazon.com