Chasing the Pleasant

My plants are like pets this week. Outdoors. Indoors. Outdoors. Indoors. Now that the freezing weather has ended, they can go outdoors again and stay there.

People around here are returning from a week of spring vacation, but for my plants, summer vacation is beginning.

Our own constant motion is an attempt to find a pleasant place to abide. But pleasantness is fleeting. Out bodies keep chasing warmth--sometimes flying thousands of miles to find it. Or we chase coolness. We chase comfort. When we sit still, the body in meditation, our mind continues to chase pleasantness by daydreaming or dozing.

Come home to your body. Rest right here in its changing sensations.
Come home to the mind and its kaleidoscope of changing thoughts.

Allow pleasantness to come and go, just like it always does.

Forsythia Stress

All forsythias are not created equal. The yellows vary from lemon peel to butter to golden. My neighbors' forsythia radiantly reaches its arms to the sun. Mine droops and is finished blooming.

I'm dissatisfied (= stress). I want one of those really yellow forsythias (= stress).

Let's see. I could rip out the forsythia i have (= stress), and ask my neighbor for a sucker from his forsythia, and then wait a few years (= stress) for it to grow into glory.

Or maybe my location isn't sunny enough? (= more stress)

The dissatisfied mind tries to problem-solve its way out of stress and thereby fails to notice the 1st Noble Truth: Stress exists.

The problem is stressful, and the problem-solving is stressful.

Relax into the is-ness of this moment.
This moment.
Just as it is.

Short-Lived Redbud

Several years ago i brought home a gallon of redbud seeds from the woods near the house i grew up in, in Indiana. Redbuds (Cercis canadensis) are a delightful little spring-blooming tree, whose pinky-red "buds" are followed by heart-shaped leaves.

I now live on the northernmost edge of the range of redbud, so i planted my little seedlings in the sunniest location i have, on the edge of the woods, facing south.

One of these redbuds now overarches a third of my herb garden. And it looks like it will fall victim to the new construction of a garage.

Something dear and delightful is going to die--very soon.
Everything we cherish will perish.

We could take the attitude "Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we will die," but this intemperateness trades desperation for momentary pleasure.

Seeing clearly the desperateness of our situation, we could instead feel grateful for what we have. Gratefulness leads to joy, and joy feels like love.

I love my redbud tree.

Up in Smoke

I burned 3 BIG brush piles yesterday. The wages of 12 felled trees is death by fire. 12 trees have a lot of branches!

I now smell like wood smoke. My clothes, my hands. I did wash my hair before going to dinner at my neighbors last evening. But they probably didn't notice since the wind blew the smoke in the direction of their house for much of the day.

In smoke we can "see" all 4 elements--air, fire, earth, and water. We can--unusually--see air, which is otherwise invisible. We can see waves of heat. Dark smoke is tiny particles of earth (or solidity) flying up in sparks. White smoke is the water element being released from pine needles and maple leaves.

One day our own bodies will go up in smoke, and all that will be left will be a pile of ashes.

Next summer, the grass that grows where the brush piles were will be oh-so-green.

Believing What the Mind Says

I should listen--i mean, really listen--to my neighbor Connie. Two days ago, she asked me, "Will a poinsettia survive a frost?" She pointed to her big, beautiful, red-red poinsettia.

And then i said, "Oh, it's not going to freeze again." And i really believed my own opinion.

It's 32 degrees this morning.

After a 30-year friendship, you would think i would know: Connie is intuitive. She "knows" things, and the charming thing is, she doesn't even know she knows.

Meanwhile, i continue to believe whatever opinion i have, as if it is the truth.

Believing a thought is a form of craving. We believe everything that goes through our mind, as if we are little children believing every word our parents tell us. In fact, that soothing voice of the parent is the reason our mind thinks--it's trying to soothe us. (Just think of a 3-year-old repeating, to herself, what Mommy said: "Don't touch the prickers. Don't touch the prickers.")

More likely, the mind is soothsaying. And if you believe what it's saying, there's a freezer in Alaska i'd like to sell you. :)

Eye-catching Gold

The shrub Physocarpus (a.k.a. Ninebark) is leafing out. I have 2 varieties.  Dart's Gold looks like forsythia from a distance with its bright yellow-green leaves, but the color last weeks longer than forsythia flowers which are already dropping to the ground.

My other variety is called "Summer Wine" and its red-purple leaves create a nice accent in an otherwise green background.

I particularly like the eye-catching yellow-green leaves of Dart's Gold, which draw my attention, no matter where i am in the garden. The rest of the garden is spring-beautiful and delightful to walk around in, yet Physocarpus overwhelms my visual field and completely stops my wandering eyes.

As we approach concentration in our meditation, our attention is captured by something pleasant and delightful in the body-mind. When joy arises, delight in it, fill yourself with it. Joy comes before concentration.

Wake up joy and wake yourself up :)

Blooming Temperature

In this strange, prolonged spring of hot and cool weather, tulips are blooming at the same time as daffodils. Refrigerator weather "saves" the early blooms, and warm weather entices the mid-season bloomers.

Finding the right temperature for our meditation can be a matter of fine-tuning. While on my month-long retreat, the woman next to me wore 3 blankets, a hat, a neck scarf, mittens, toasty slippers and a blanket over her feet.

I took off my socks and sat barefoot with a cotton shawl draped loosely on my shoulders so that my arms and hands were free. I was aiming toward a temperature just above goose bumps because warmth wilts my meditation. Socks = sleepiness.

Each person's and each flower's thermostat is different.
At what temperature does your meditation bloom?