Because of you, I will live on forever.
This is what her teacher told her.
This is what she told me.
How can you officially be my teacher?
You don’t ask.
You sit on a cushion.
I cupped my hands
in Cosmic Mudra,
breathed in my missteps
and exhaled forgiveness
over and over and over.
Outside the room
with the giant crucifix,
the Mother Mountain held us
in her lap
comforted by a blanket
of fog that never lifted
the whole day.
It covered us,
softly misting
tears – sorrow, joy – of being together,
coming home, heart bursting.
Every time
I forget to remember,
every time
I remember to forget,
I am free to experience What Is.
What Is is always bearable,
even when it isn’t –
for change is just a moment away
and just as quickly, gone.
Sing to me,
Mother Mountain.
Tell me a story
while I soften my gaze.
It is easier to stomp your foot
and miss the ground
than it is to miss the Way.
Or something like that.
Without fear,
I’m left holding only upturned hands,
my eyes meeting your eyes
hugeness of spirit
and no need to know,
know when I’ll return
how it will all go down
what the next chapter will hold.
Without fear,
I am emptiness,
hungry for breathe.
For once, there is nothing to chase,
to track down, to win over,
to get right,
to secure. Just inhale again,
then let it go.
Thirty thousand times a day.
There is no need.
There is no next.
There is only now.
The rest will take care of its own self,
perfect and effortless
as the sun and the moon
somersaulting effortlessly
through the brush.
In another part of the world,
the world that has no corners,
my babies are sleeping
in their own beds.
I am sending them breath,
sending myself breath,
with each exhale letting go of worry
that I am not good enough.
In another part of the world,
the world that has no corners,
my beloved sweats out his prayers in darkness.
I am sending him breath,
sending myself breath,
with each exhale letting go of worry
that I am not enough
that we will not have enough.
It is always enough.
There is always enough breath,
enough gravity and oxygen and water
and creativity
and improvisation
and support
and competence
and love,
always enough love
to get us through this moment, and the next.
Now do you see?
Your life is your dharma.
Your life is the Way.
Follow your life, watch it unfold
the soft purple flowers of the jacaranda trees
littering the road
where you walked so slowly,
for once in no hurry,
not running away
or towards anything at all.
Thank you, Maezen.
I love you. You are love. I am love. I am so grateful.
deep sigh out and tears followed. Thank you.
Lotus flowers everywhere we have just decided to call my baby in womb Pema the tibetan word for lotus.
xx
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i love you, sweet jena. i am so filled up with gratitude for meeting you in the flesh–breathing together, side by side, arms outstretched, as we take the next step. let's keep reminding each other. many many many many thanks. xo.
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Breathe in, breathe out, all we have to do is keep breathing. The rest will unfold. Jena Strong, you are love, too.
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perfect poetry for the day we shared. i feel that you said here everything i wanted to say but didn't know how. what a gift. a gift following a gift.
it was a pleasure to meet you and witness, feel, and breathe the magic with you jena.
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so happy to have connected with you (over tears), so perfect for the day, yes?
happy that we were all a part of something so beautiful and healing.
love to you.
xo
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This is beautiful.
This is my favorite part:
“breathed in my missteps
and exhaled forgiveness
over and over and over”
I breathe in my missteps all the time but forget to exhale forgiveness. I plan to change that.
Thanks for your beautiful words.
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