Sunday, July 10, 2011
Moving to wordpress
I seem to be switching from blogger to wordpress. Look for the same old blog at http://toevening.wordpress.com/
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A tree in a heavy wind
A late night and a stormy morning. Aborted 5:30 alarm in favor of sleep. In retrospect its not clear how wise this was.
The weather inside mirrors the weather outside. As waves of rain sweep through the city crowding radar maps with bright colors, I find my own sensitive instruments periodically overwhelmed.
Blood filled with adrenaline has a battery acid feel to it. Skin and heart and lungs charged to the sparking point like a 9-volt on the tongue.
Acute sense of impending doom but no clear sense of direction. There is something here; something wants to be heard, but the message is unfocused. Where does this ill wind blow from? From what depths has this unnamed animal passion bubbled up from to break noxiously at the surface?
Don’t know.
Fear? Longing? Injury? What is this?
Don’t know.
Roots reach out looking for ground.
The weather inside mirrors the weather outside. As waves of rain sweep through the city crowding radar maps with bright colors, I find my own sensitive instruments periodically overwhelmed.
Blood filled with adrenaline has a battery acid feel to it. Skin and heart and lungs charged to the sparking point like a 9-volt on the tongue.
Acute sense of impending doom but no clear sense of direction. There is something here; something wants to be heard, but the message is unfocused. Where does this ill wind blow from? From what depths has this unnamed animal passion bubbled up from to break noxiously at the surface?
Don’t know.
Fear? Longing? Injury? What is this?
Don’t know.
Roots reach out looking for ground.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Mind the Gap
“Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Way out in the water, see it swimming.” – The Pixies
“You ask. That’s your mind. I answer. That’s my mind. If I had no mind, how could I answer? If you had no mind, how could you ask? That which asks is your mind. Through endless kalpas without beginning, whatever you do, wherever you are, that’s your real mind, that’s your real buddha.... To search for enlightenment or nirvana beyond this mind is impossible.... Your mind is nirvana.” – Bodhidharma
“And remember, no matter where you go, there you are” – Confucius
“Come as you are / as you were / as I want you to be / as a friend / as a friend / as an old enemy” – Nirvana
“I was basically trying to rip off The Pixies” – Kurt Cobain
“You ask. That’s your mind. I answer. That’s my mind. If I had no mind, how could I answer? If you had no mind, how could you ask? That which asks is your mind. Through endless kalpas without beginning, whatever you do, wherever you are, that’s your real mind, that’s your real buddha.... To search for enlightenment or nirvana beyond this mind is impossible.... Your mind is nirvana.” – Bodhidharma
“And remember, no matter where you go, there you are” – Confucius
“Come as you are / as you were / as I want you to be / as a friend / as a friend / as an old enemy” – Nirvana
“I was basically trying to rip off The Pixies” – Kurt Cobain
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
My Dinner with Avalokitesvara
All day trying to climb the ridge of an iceberg but sliding into sleep instead. Finding some purchase by stepping into the weave and weft of the tapestry, the grid of Albert’s spacetime. Breathe in and step up into the moment. Breathe out and reflect. A clean bowl ready to receive.
But then again asleep.
An ancient message from an old master:
The swordsman uses skillful means to rescue the family, but they do not see the gravity of the situation. Bathed in awe and gratitude they invite disaster. Is this me? Faith, doubt, and determination. Two out of three can perhaps be accounted for, but the other is in question.
A teacher in another time asks the question: “why do you practice?” I don’t know. A beloved metaphor of old: an immovable tree in a heavy wind. But rooted to what?
A gift:
Why do I practice? What am I looking for? I have been here before and dropped it. Will this be different?
The first motive was curiosity. But then a skillful means sparked a taste and curiosity became desire. Practice was beautiful and I fell in love with the world like one falls in love with a pretty girl. But this was not enough to sustain when practice became inconvenient. Practice born of desire felt selfish and could not be tolerated. Bright spark faded, the tide came in, and the beach became just an echo of memory.
Now I’ve returned to the waters at this rocky shore and wade right in up to my neck. I do not think the same desire moves me. The time between brought storms both slow and sudden, and my roots could find no purchase. I could not bend enough to ride the wind and so I broke. And in that snap instinct or memory brought me back to this old practice. Perhaps it was to look for solace, but I suspect that even broken I knew that none was to be found on these shores. But arriving here and stepping back into the sea I find that I can hear the waves more clearly. I am a part of this world, and what I do has consequence. For good or ill there are many who are tied to me, and if I break and founder I may take them down with me. But now I can hear the message sent down through the millennia: This vehicle has a flawed design, but the recall notice has been sent and I can make repairs.
Silent tears in a darkened room. Speared through the chest by loving arms steeped in woe. In over my head off of unfamiliar shoreline I am moved by tides beyond my fathom. Sensitive instrument, open and unshielded, the faintest twinkle a blinding light. The sky is full of stars.
But then again asleep.
An ancient message from an old master:
"I beg to urge everyone:An ancient message from The Flaming Lips:
Great is the matter of birth and death.
Time waits for no one.
Wake up, Wake up
Don’t waste a moment."
“Do you realize that everyone you know someday will die?”
The swordsman uses skillful means to rescue the family, but they do not see the gravity of the situation. Bathed in awe and gratitude they invite disaster. Is this me? Faith, doubt, and determination. Two out of three can perhaps be accounted for, but the other is in question.
A teacher in another time asks the question: “why do you practice?” I don’t know. A beloved metaphor of old: an immovable tree in a heavy wind. But rooted to what?
A gift:
“The root
of all things
is not far
or close
Above, sky
Below, ground
Between, Chris”
Why do I practice? What am I looking for? I have been here before and dropped it. Will this be different?
The first motive was curiosity. But then a skillful means sparked a taste and curiosity became desire. Practice was beautiful and I fell in love with the world like one falls in love with a pretty girl. But this was not enough to sustain when practice became inconvenient. Practice born of desire felt selfish and could not be tolerated. Bright spark faded, the tide came in, and the beach became just an echo of memory.
Now I’ve returned to the waters at this rocky shore and wade right in up to my neck. I do not think the same desire moves me. The time between brought storms both slow and sudden, and my roots could find no purchase. I could not bend enough to ride the wind and so I broke. And in that snap instinct or memory brought me back to this old practice. Perhaps it was to look for solace, but I suspect that even broken I knew that none was to be found on these shores. But arriving here and stepping back into the sea I find that I can hear the waves more clearly. I am a part of this world, and what I do has consequence. For good or ill there are many who are tied to me, and if I break and founder I may take them down with me. But now I can hear the message sent down through the millennia: This vehicle has a flawed design, but the recall notice has been sent and I can make repairs.
Silent tears in a darkened room. Speared through the chest by loving arms steeped in woe. In over my head off of unfamiliar shoreline I am moved by tides beyond my fathom. Sensitive instrument, open and unshielded, the faintest twinkle a blinding light. The sky is full of stars.
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