After The Plunge

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.