Words cannot touch

This beauty,

This silence,

That wants nothing;

And yet, holds everything;

(Even our wanting).

To find this silence

Is to come to the end of seeking

And to overcome the world.

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Words cannot touch

This beauty,

This silence,

That wants nothing;

And yet, holds everything;

(Even our wanting).

To find this silence

Is to come to the end of seeking

And to overcome the world.

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We are always just here.

No matter what we do, where we go, or what we think or feel, we are always just here.

In a way, we can travel around the world and never move an inch.

Walking on the beach with a friend, talking on the phone, or driving to the store, we are never anything but right here. Flying coast to coast the same. Reading the news and watching TV, participating in a political protest, no matter what thoughts and feelings are evoked, we are always here.

Rather than ‘You are here’. It’s always ‘here is you’.

But the mind has a hard time with that. The thought machine and the present moment don’t appear to get along. Investigation, however, will reveal that the apparent separation is an illusion.

You have to wonder why? Why does the mind so resist the present moment?

Does the shift from involvement in thought to the present moment make thought feel like it’s out of a job? And of course, thought really, really thinks it needs a job. Its whole existence is based upon having something, anything to do, all based on an imagined past and future.

In the meditative world, thought and thinking tend to get a bad rap, but obviously, thought is extremely important for human survival and quality of life; to distinguish poisonous plants from safe plants and good chocolate from bad, to look both ways before crossing the street, to invent vaccines that prevent disease and death, to communicate with one another and to make art, music, and poetry. Thought is truly an amazing human faculty.

But despite all its benefits, there’s one small problem with the world of thought: it is based on pictures of reality, and we mistake those pictures for reality, living our lives through images. We essentially live virtual lives, like living life through Instagram. Most of us, most of the time, walk around with the idea that we are single, separate entities in a world filled with billions of other single, separate entities. Of course, every one of these single, separate entities lives, day to day, with a complex and vulnerable picture story of themself. The foundation of meditative inquiry and spiritual awakening is the discovery that we are not single, separate beings. We are, in truth, not separate from one another, nor from the sky and clouds, the stars, planets, and exploding galaxies. We are one with the earth, mountains, and oceans, as well as all the critters, from elephants to ants. The end of identification with thought is the end of the illusion of separation, and awakening to the only reality of here and now.

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We are always just here.

No matter what we do, where we go, or what we think or feel, we are always just here.

In a way, we can travel around the world and never move an inch.

Walking on the beach with a friend, talking on the phone, or driving to the store, we are never anything but right here. Flying coast to coast the same. Reading the news and watching TV, participating in a political protest, no matter what thoughts and feelings are evoked, we are always here.

Rather than ‘You are here’. It’s always ‘here is you’.

But the mind has a hard time with that. The thought machine and the present moment don’t appear to get along. Investigation, however, will reveal that the apparent separation is an illusion.

You have to wonder why? Why does the mind so resist the present moment?

Does the shift from involvement in thought to the present moment make thought feel like it’s out of a job? And of course, thought really, really thinks it needs a job. Its whole existence is based upon having something, anything to do, all based on an imagined past and future.

In the meditative world, thought and thinking tend to get a bad rap, but obviously, thought is extremely important for human survival and quality of life; to distinguish poisonous plants from safe plants and good chocolate from bad, to look both ways before crossing the street, to invent vaccines that prevent disease and death, to communicate with one another and to make art, music, and poetry. Thought is truly an amazing human faculty.

But despite all its benefits, there’s one small problem with the world of thought: it is based on pictures of reality, and we mistake those pictures for reality, living our lives through images. We essentially live virtual lives, like living life through Instagram. Most of us, most of the time, walk around with the idea that we are single, separate entities in a world filled with billions of other single, separate entities. Of course, every one of these single, separate entities lives, day to day, with a complex and vulnerable picture story of themself. The foundation of meditative inquiry and spiritual awakening is the discovery that we are not single, separate beings. We are, in truth, not separate from one another, nor from the sky and clouds, the stars, planets, and exploding galaxies. We are one with the earth, mountains, and oceans, as well as all the critters, from elephants to ants. The end of identification with thought is the end of the illusion of separation, and awakening to the only reality of here and now.

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OK, we are sitting down this morning,

To be quiet and listen to the world.

The windows and doors are open,

and we hear the local woodpecker going rat-a-tat in the woods.

We hear the drone of the neighbor’s lawnmower.

And the kitchen clock ticking.

The scent of a Peonie on the kitchen table

Reaches us from across the room.

We feel the wonderful, gentle, thump-thump of the heart.

And what else?

Inwardly, quietly,

Is there a question there?

A wondering?

Who am I?

Who hears and sees and feels it all?

Can we just be with it,

Without having to know anything?

Without expecting anything?

This is the art of not knowing,

Of allowing life to be as it is.

It may not seem like much

But it is a doorway to the healing of the world.

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OK, we are sitting down this morning,

To be quiet and listen to the world.

The windows and doors are open,

and we hear the local woodpecker going rat-a-tat in the woods.

We hear the drone of the neighbor’s lawnmower.

And the kitchen clock ticking.

The scent of a Peonie on the kitchen table

Reaches us from across the room.

We feel the wonderful, gentle, thump-thump of the heart.

And what else?

Inwardly, quietly,

Is there a question there?

A wondering?

Who am I?

Who hears and sees and feels it all?

Can we just be with it,

Without having to know anything?

Without expecting anything?

This is the art of not knowing,

Of allowing life to be as it is.

It may not seem like much

But it is a doorway to the healing of the world.

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It is a quiet Spring Sunday morning in Maine. You are sitting in a sunny spot in the garden, listening, watching, and sensing the world around you. The air is filled with pollen, bugs, and bees, and the ‘Choo Choo Bird’ (a Pheobe?) as usual, doing its indefatigable rounds. You have read the news this morning and know the world is in chaos, as usual, but right here and now, there is peace, quiet, and a welcome space to turn inward and engage the art of not knowing.

As inner silence deepens, thoughts can be observed arising- conversations held yesterday, things to do today, etc.- but in the space of awareness, none take hold; the direct recognition of one’s relationship with thought is to be free of thought.

To be free of thought. Wow. Now, that is the gift, no question, that keeps on giving. It doesn’t mean we suppress it or try to get rid of it. It means that once thought, the whole, complicated mechanism of thought, is seen for what it is, it begins to lose its power to control our actions, reactions, feelings, and relationships. We begin to know ourselves, oddly enough, as not-knowing, as the living space of awareness.

Not knowing is the art of meeting life as it is, moment by moment. You don’t need to know anything about the crow cawing to hear ‘Caw! Caw! You don’t need to know anything about the bees buzzing to know the buzzing of bees. You don’t need to know anything about the warmth of the sun on a sunny Spring morning to know what that feels like.

The art of not knowing starts with awareness of the present moment, but it has no limits. It is essentially becoming aware of awareness and coming to know oneself as awareness. Not knowing is not the result of a process. It does not come from anywhere and seeks nothing. It is our natural state, pure and simple, beyond the mechanism of thought. It could be said that we don’t find not-knowing, but if allowed, it finds us.

And you definitely don’t have to know anything about blackflies on a June day in Maine to know that once they find you sitting still in a garden, it’s time to move on.

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It is a quiet Spring Sunday morning in Maine. You are sitting in a sunny spot in the garden, listening, watching, and sensing the world around you. The air is filled with pollen, bugs, and bees, and the ‘Choo Choo Bird’ (a Pheobe?) as usual, doing its indefatigable rounds. You have read the news this morning and know the world is in chaos, as usual, but right here and now, there is peace, quiet, and a welcome space to turn inward and engage the art of not knowing.

As inner silence deepens, thoughts can be observed arising- conversations held yesterday, things to do today, etc.- but in the space of awareness, none take hold; the direct recognition of one’s relationship with thought is to be free of thought.

To be free of thought. Wow. Now, that is the gift, no question, that keeps on giving. It doesn’t mean we suppress it or try to get rid of it. It means that once thought, the whole, complicated mechanism of thought, is seen for what it is, it begins to lose its power to control our actions, reactions, feelings, and relationships. We begin to know ourselves, oddly enough, as not-knowing, as the living space of awareness.

Not knowing is the art of meeting life as it is, moment by moment. You don’t need to know anything about the crow cawing to hear ‘Caw! Caw! You don’t need to know anything about the bees buzzing to know the buzzing of bees. You don’t need to know anything about the warmth of the sun on a sunny Spring morning to know what that feels like.

The art of not knowing starts with awareness of the present moment, but it has no limits. It is essentially becoming aware of awareness and coming to know oneself as awareness. Not knowing is not the result of a process. It does not come from anywhere and seeks nothing. It is our natural state, pure and simple, beyond the mechanism of thought. It could be said that we don’t find not-knowing, but if allowed, it finds us.

And you definitely don’t have to know anything about blackflies on a June day in Maine to know that once they find you sitting still in a garden, it’s time to move on.

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You followed me in like you were invited...

taking a break, I guess, from your garden work,

going from flower to flower to flower.

And as I sat down in my old studio chair,

Surrounded by beloved tools and brushes,

The smells of wood and paint.

I see you are curious,

Buzzing around to every nook and cranny,

Hovering here and there like you were taking notes.

Of course, you have to investigate me

From head to toe and back again.

I can feel the breeze from your wings on my cheek

And feel blessed although

A note of concern that you will go into my ear,

But you move on…

One more swing around the room

And back out the door into the sunshine.

So much more to do,

So many flowers.

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You followed me in like you were invited...

taking a break, I guess, from your garden work,

going from flower to flower to flower.

And as I sat down in my old studio chair,

Surrounded by beloved tools and brushes,

The smells of wood and paint.

I see you are curious,

Buzzing around to every nook and cranny,

Hovering here and there like you were taking notes.

Of course, you have to investigate me

From head to toe and back again.

I can feel the breeze from your wings on my cheek

And feel blessed although

A note of concern that you will go into my ear,

But you move on…

One more swing around the room

And back out the door into the sunshine.

So much more to do,

So many flowers.

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Stepping outside the front door this afternoon was a revelation of spacious light and fresh air. Bare branches nodded and whispered, and small cyclones of leaves twirled in the driveway. A flock of crows was making a ruckus in the nearby woods. You climbed to the top of the ridge behind the Center, where you stood for a while, admiring the panoramic view of the distant hills and valley below. As you surveyed the sparkling world, a spontaneous surge of gratitude arose within, not for anything at all other than the wild beauty of this moment, unfettered by comparison. After a while, pulling the Velcro fasteners on your coat snug around your neck, you set out eagerly on a long hike to the far end of the Center’s property, which extends deep into a splendid old hardwood forest.

You had been rustling through the carpet of fallen foliage for the better part of an hour when it suddenly occurred that you had no idea where you were. You had become completely disoriented. Stopping to get your bearings, you saw that every direction offered the same option of endless leaves and trees. The ambient light was fading fast, and even though a chilly wind was biting your cheeks, your clothes had become clammy with perspiration.

After an hour of going in circles, a feeling of panic began to rise in the gut.

You were lost.

The body-mind’s priorities had shifted to deal with what was perceived, on a non-verbal level, as an emergency. Your senses had become remarkably alert and highly receptive. There was a feeling of urgency, yes, but in the spaciousness of awareness, there was a disengagement from the mechanism of fear. You recall standing transfixed, observing the silhouettes of naked branches against fast-moving clouds. It was as though you were seeing clouds and branches for the very first time. The smell of wet, fallen leaves permeated your whole being. What happened next can’t be put into words. All that can be said is that everything came to an end. What had been perceived as ‘my life’, ‘my past and future’, ‘my precious story’, simply and quietly died. There was no longer a ‘me’ doing anything. Everywhere was beauty; not beautiful, but beauty. Doesn’t make sense, does it? From a rational point of view, it can’t be explained.

You had a keen perception of the darkening sky and whistling wind, creaking trees and tumbling leaves, the whole natural world knowing you were there and being glad to see you. Everything was gladness. Everything was conscious and alive, even the rocks. There was a curious physical sensation of slowly falling forward into the world, like a giant tree, and becoming the world, and the whole sky becoming your body. It might sound crazy, like a mystical experience, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even what could be called an experience, since there wasn’t, in the normal sense, a separate someone there to have one.

There was, however, a knowing, not by a ‘me’, but a knowing nonetheless, that this oneness and the intense joy springing from it is the way things really are. That the world, the universe, is, and always has been, our real body, is just the way it is. We are, in truth, vast beings that contain the universe, and no matter how lost we may think we are, there is never anything to fear because there is never anything to lose, or, for that matter, to gain.

At some point, stopping and standing still, you spotted in the distance a fluorescent trail marker attached to a tree that marked the main trail entrance. You ran towards it, laughing all the way, just as the last faint traces of daylight drained out of the sky. A rising half-moon kindly lit the way back to the main building, and in the entryway, you took off your coat and boots to the wonderful smells of dinner.

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Stepping outside the front door this afternoon was a revelation of spacious light and fresh air. Bare branches nodded and whispered, and small cyclones of leaves twirled in the driveway. A flock of crows was making a ruckus in the nearby woods. You climbed to the top of the ridge behind the Center, where you stood for a while, admiring the panoramic view of the distant hills and valley below. As you surveyed the sparkling world, a spontaneous surge of gratitude arose within, not for anything at all other than the wild beauty of this moment, unfettered by comparison. After a while, pulling the Velcro fasteners on your coat snug around your neck, you set out eagerly on a long hike to the far end of the Center’s property, which extends deep into a splendid old hardwood forest.

You had been rustling through the carpet of fallen foliage for the better part of an hour when it suddenly occurred that you had no idea where you were. You had become completely disoriented. Stopping to get your bearings, you saw that every direction offered the same option of endless leaves and trees. The ambient light was fading fast, and even though a chilly wind was biting your cheeks, your clothes had become clammy with perspiration.

After an hour of going in circles, a feeling of panic began to rise in the gut.

You were lost.

The body-mind’s priorities had shifted to deal with what was perceived, on a non-verbal level, as an emergency. Your senses had become remarkably alert and highly receptive. There was a feeling of urgency, yes, but in the spaciousness of awareness, there was a disengagement from the mechanism of fear. You recall standing transfixed, observing the silhouettes of naked branches against fast-moving clouds. It was as though you were seeing clouds and branches for the very first time. The smell of wet, fallen leaves permeated your whole being. What happened next can’t be put into words. All that can be said is that everything came to an end. What had been perceived as ‘my life’, ‘my past and future’, ‘my precious story’, simply and quietly died. There was no longer a ‘me’ doing anything. Everywhere was beauty; not beautiful, but beauty. Doesn’t make sense, does it? From a rational point of view, it can’t be explained.

You had a keen perception of the darkening sky and whistling wind, creaking trees and tumbling leaves, the whole natural world knowing you were there and being glad to see you. Everything was gladness. Everything was conscious and alive, even the rocks. There was a curious physical sensation of slowly falling forward into the world, like a giant tree, and becoming the world, and the whole sky becoming your body. It might sound crazy, like a mystical experience, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t even what could be called an experience, since there wasn’t, in the normal sense, a separate someone there to have one.

There was, however, a knowing, not by a ‘me’, but a knowing nonetheless, that this oneness and the intense joy springing from it is the way things really are. That the world, the universe, is, and always has been, our real body, is just the way it is. We are, in truth, vast beings that contain the universe, and no matter how lost we may think we are, there is never anything to fear because there is never anything to lose, or, for that matter, to gain.

At some point, while stopping and standing still, you spotted a fluorescent trail marker attached to a tree in the distance, marking the main trail entrance. You ran towards it, laughing all the way, just as the last faint traces of daylight drained out of the sky. A rising half-moon kindly lit the way back to the main building, and in the entryway, you took off your coat and boots to the wonderful smells of dinner.

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What is meditation but the art of Love and Wonder?

Wondering who and what we are

without a name, without a past or future.

Can we just listen to whatever is happening, right now…

To the breathing and heartbeat, to the energy field of the body?

Letting everything be just as it is,

No expectation.

This kind of listening takes courage and patience.

But one day, despite ourselves, we may find that, all along,

It was Love and Wonder,

Finding itself through us.

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What is meditation but the art of Love and Wonder?

Wondering who and what we are

without a name, without a past or future.

Can we just listen to whatever is happening, right now…

To the breathing and heartbeat, to the energy field of the body?

Letting everything be just as it is,

No expectation.

This kind of listening takes courage and patience.

But one day, despite ourselves, we may find that, all along,

It was Love and Wonder,

Finding itself through us.

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Halloween night. You lay awake in the blackness, listening as the wind blew through the hills like an angry ghost, moaning and lashing the house with rain. By daybreak, which arrived clear and calm, all the trees had been stripped of their gold and poked their bare limbs into the dawn. Over the course of the day, the temperature proceeded to drop, and thick, dark clouds moved in. By afternoon, it felt like snow was in the air.

As soon as the afternoon sitting was over, you put on your boots and walked long into the fields and woods, greeting old friends, the maples and venerable oaks, the shagbark hickory and dark stands of hemlock and spruce. The fields, sky, and low clouds were all in motion as you made your way up the hill. It was a blustery, cold day, and the wind was making a happy racket, whistling and whooshing through the woods. After several days of silence and inquiry, the mind had become clear and exquisitely sensitive. Kicking through the knee-deep leaves was the deepest mystery and yet, completely innocent. A spontaneous laugh gurgled up out of the pure joy of just being.

In the corner of the upper field, there is a small, singular sassafras tree. Over the years, as I have passed this tree on a summer day, I have picked and chewed its leaf stems, which have a slippery, sweet licorice taste. In the old days, there were many sassafras trees around here, which were overharvested for their roots and bark, used to make root beer and spices. On this first day of November, there was but a single, brown, mitten-shaped sassafras leaf left hanging and wobbling in the breeze. It fell off in your hand as you reached for it, like it had been waiting for you. As you walked, chewing on the leathery stem, it softened in your mouth and, sure enough, yielded a faint trace of the slippery sweet licorice taste of summer days.

You stopped in the big field and followed the flight of a single crow, his black wings gulping air. The sound of wind blowing through the naked branches, the ever-present ‘caw! caw!’ of the crows, the distant hills and sky, the lingering licorice taste, and even the memories of summer days were all beheld in a vast and silent emptiness that was all-knowing and not-knowing at once.

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Halloween night. You lay awake in the blackness, listening as the wind blew through the hills like an angry ghost, moaning and lashing the house with rain. By daybreak, which arrived clear and calm, all the trees had been stripped of their gold and poked their bare limbs into the dawn. Over the course of the day, the temperature proceeded to drop, and thick, dark clouds moved in. By afternoon, it felt like snow was in the air.

As soon as the afternoon sitting was over, you put on your boots and walked long into the fields and woods, greeting old friends, the maples and venerable oaks, the shagbark hickory and dark stands of hemlock and spruce. The fields, sky, and low clouds were all in motion as you made your way up the hill. It was a blustery, cold day, and the wind was making a happy racket, whistling and whooshing through the woods. After several days of silence and inquiry, the mind had become clear and exquisitely sensitive. Kicking through the knee-deep leaves was the deepest mystery and yet, completely innocent. A spontaneous laugh gurgled up out of the pure joy of just being.

In the corner of the upper field, there is a small, singular sassafras tree. Over the years, as I have passed this tree on a summer day, I have picked and chewed its leaf stems, which have a slippery, sweet licorice taste. In the old days, there were many sassafras trees around here, which were overharvested for their roots and bark, used to make root beer and spices. On this first day of November, there was but a single, brown, mitten-shaped sassafras leaf left hanging and wobbling in the breeze. It fell off in your hand as you reached for it, like it had been waiting for you. As you walked, chewing on the leathery stem, it softened in your mouth and, sure enough, yielded a faint trace of the slippery sweet licorice taste of summer days.

You stopped in the big field and followed the flight of a single crow, his black wings gulping air. The sound of wind blowing through the naked branches, the ever-present ‘caw! caw!’ of the crows, the distant hills and sky, the lingering licorice taste, and even the memories of summer days were all beheld in a vast and silent emptiness that was all-knowing and not-knowing at once.

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The Listener

M.S. 2015

Before and after, before and after, morning to night, day after day, you and them, then and when, good and bad, like and dislike. Black and White, war after war.

This is how we live, and have lived, from the beginning.

A life chopped into pieces.

And then we use the pieces to build a jail for ourselves.

If you are tired of living like this, tired of the news,

and want to escape from jail,

Here is the key:

Just listen.

Give your life to listening.

Listen to your heart beating,

to the crows cawing,

to the clock ticking,

to the wind blowing.

Listen to your aggravation,

to your impatience,

to your sadness.

Listen to the question,

‘Who am I?’

And realize there never was a jail!

Know that you are the world.

And make space

For light to come into the world.

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The Listener

M.S. 2015

Before and after, before and after, morning to night, day after day, you and them, then and when, good and bad, like and dislike. Black and White, war after war.

This is how we live, and have lived, from the beginning.

A life chopped into pieces.

And then we use the pieces to build a jail for ourselves.

If you are tired of living like this, tired of the news,

and want to escape from jail,

Here is the key:

Just listen.

Give your life to listening.

Listen to your heart beating,

to the crows cawing,

to the clock ticking,

to the wind blowing.

Listen to your aggravation,

to your impatience,

to your sadness.

Listen to the question,

‘Who am I?’

And realize there never was a jail!

Know that you are the world.

And make space

For light to come into the world.

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Upon waking this morning, it was observed that the mind had become wonderfully spacious and still. Thoughts could be seen, could actually be observed, like living forms, as they arose in silence and vanished, like ghosts. While getting dressed, it was clear that it was not the usual ‘you’ who was in charge of things. Something had shifted in that department. There was still a ‘you’, but now it was a silent you. You were silence and silence was you. It was silence pulling on your socks and silence buttoning your shirt. Silence was taking care of everything effortlessly. Washing the face, the hot water and soap, lathering and shaving, was all a delight, uncluttered with thoughts and self-imposed pressures. There is such aliveness in each moment, and the question arises, what happens to this precious aliveness in daily life? Why does it seem to become so easily obscured? It is quite clear that this simple presence is the source of true happiness, no matter what one’s life may be. To operate out of this ‘no- self’ is the end of conflict, period. Why, then, does it seem so difficult for most of us to find and sustain presence?

The mind became preoccupied with this query for a while. It is a very familiar, recurring question for people who attend retreats and know they have to return to demanding, busy lives. There was this morning, however, an innocence; a presence that overcame thought. It had an urgency that burned away all thoughts of past and future. It had nothing to do with a ‘you,’ and as you entered the meditation hall and looked out through the big windows, the sun was rising over the hills in deep silence and beauty beyond words.

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Upon waking this morning, it was observed that the mind had become wonderfully spacious and still. Thoughts could be seen, could actually be observed, like living forms, as they arose in silence and vanished, like ghosts. While getting dressed, it was clear that it was not the usual ‘you’ who was in charge of things. Something had shifted in that department. There was still a ‘you’, but now it was a silent you. You were silence and silence was you. It was silence pulling on your socks and silence buttoning your shirt. Silence was taking care of everything effortlessly. Washing the face, the hot water and soap, lathering and shaving, was all a delight, uncluttered with thoughts and self-imposed pressures. There is such aliveness in each moment, and the question arises, what happens to this precious aliveness in daily life? Why does it seem to become so easily obscured? It is quite clear that this simple presence is the source of true happiness, no matter what one’s life may be. To operate out of this ‘no- self’ is the end of conflict, period. Why, then, does it seem so difficult for most of us to find and sustain presence?

The mind became preoccupied with this query for a while. It is a very familiar, recurring question for people who attend retreats and know they have to return to demanding, busy lives. There was this morning, however, an innocence; a presence that overcame thought. It had an urgency that burned away all thoughts of past and future. It had nothing to do with a ‘you,’ and as you entered the meditation hall and looked out through the big windows, the sun was rising over the hills in deep silence and beauty beyond words.

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