Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy

Arriving -

When I arrived at Tassajara last Sunday, Lee, the leader and a good friend, asked if I had "arrived".  I said, yes, and then, I realized I had layers and layers to release and let go before I truly arrived.  The same is true on arriving home, though, of course, properly embraced, everywhere is home. We are like turtles.  We carry our home with us when we inhabit ourselves.  Each moment arrives, blessing and blessed, each moment, a present, wrapped in rest.

My lodging, a yurt, was at one end of Tassajara and the baths were at the other, so in the morning, around 5:30, I walked along the creek to the baths to shower, and sink into the plunge pool as the sun arose. An altar at the entry to the baths is an invitation to pause, bow and recite the bath gatha.

Bathing the body
Vowing with all beings
To purify body and mind
Cleansing without and within

Cleansed, I walked along the creek, my eyes drawn upward by the mountains receiving sun-dropped gold.  Trees line the path.  The creek gurgles and flows, held and handled by boulders and stones.  I understand in other years and seasons it is a river, not a creek, but right now, its voice is soft in drop.

The sensory awareness workshop I participated in was titled "Thriving in Uncertainty".  It was about how we meet what comes.  We walked barefoot along a rope.  It was painful, or was it?  Each person had a different experience.  We lay on rocks and boulders in the creekbed.  It was painful, or not.  One man fell asleep.  How do we meet what comes?

I am home now enjoying the calls of quail.  "Qua querko, Qua querko".  What do I learn from the call?  The quail are here, their system of warning intact.

I am reading a book by Verlyn Klinkenborg, Several short sentences about writing. To me,  it is about sensing, about honoring the journey, and not just the destination.   I recommend the book.  He suggests this as an important writing tool.

"The ability to suggest more than the words seem to allow,
  The ability to speak to the reader in silence."

I sit with that and open Thich Nhat Hanh's book, Silence. He writes of "the sound of no sound".  He saw a picture of Niagara Falls.  It was so cold the falls had stopped falling.  They were frozen.  There was no sound.

I was surprised to realize that though Tassajara seemed quiet except for bells and gongs to announce, there was the sound of the river, the wind, and the crickets at night.  Even the stars are so bright, they seem to send sound with their light.  How deep is touch, silent and not?

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