#9

Today’s words* are by Zoketsu Norman Fischer — poet, teacher, and former abbot of the San Francisco Zen Center.

We all know a crisis when we see it, a death, an illness, loss of job or career, breakup of a family or relationship, and we are all spurred into action by such crises — if we are not entirely defeated by them. But after the dust of frenzied activity settles, and we are finally able to feel our way into what we have been through, we realize just how unhinged we have become. We can’t go back to business as usual, for we sense that we no longer fit into our former life.

We need a new life. But we don’t know how to find it. There’s nothing else to do right now but to stay where we are and wait, frustrating though this may be. … This being stuck and stalled, this waiting and going nowhere, may sound terrible, but it’s not. The journey of return begins with stasis, with uncertainty. Do not rush to clear this up, much as you … may want to (p. 34).

Norman offers pointers for ‘sitting with’ our situation, including —

Imagine the new life as a spot or point of life deep in your belly. If it is dim at first, make it brighter with your breathing. Breathe it, imagine it, to brightness. Breathe in its energy when you inhale, breathe out its power when you exhale. Maybe you can’t exactly see it, but you can feel it in your breathing (p. 36).

To which I offer these words from Loving-kindness practice —

As you sit (or lie down), focus on your belly and your breath, quietly saying one of these phrases —

“May I be grow into a new life,”

“May I be filled with light,”

“May I love and be loved.”

Select a phrase that speaks to you in this moment. Say it three times: feeling your in- and out-breaths in between. Take your time; this cannot be rushed. You don’t have to limit yourself to three repetitions: do as many as you wish.

Allow a gradual sinking into the inner brightness, however elusive or dim it may appear. Have courage. Have faith. Do not look for the light, but let it reveal itself in good time — like a spring flower undeterred by chilly nights and the pale light of day.

* “Sailing home: using the wisdom of Homer’s Odyssey to navigate life’s perils and pitfalls.” Free Press, 2005.

image: Calendula blossoms in hues of yellow and orange, plucked from the side of the road outside my home, now greeting people arriving at my friend’s massage clinic.