A Community of the Spirit

Moody Weather

2011-11-15T09:37:00.000-08:00

Another cool fall morning ~
moist air drapes the world
in a blanket of dew that falls, lazily,
from the pecan trees in sparse droplets,
each hitting the ground with a distinct "splat,"
giving the illusion of rain.

The air feels thick and not quite hazy;
morning sun presses through
in soft rays, giving shape to space.
The squirrel's chatter is less insistent than usual.
Dogs bark, but with less urgency.
Even the traffic's hum has a gentleness to it.

I notice, with a flicker of recognition,
that even the weather has moods...

The New Year's Miracle

2011-10-24T08:36:00.000-07:00

On January 1st we smashed pumpkins in the front yard,
dubbing them "the Baby New Year," and filling them
with our hopes and aspirations,
in an impromptu ritual of endings and beginnings.

At midsummer a vine began to grow,
lengthening with the long days of August and September,
sprouting lavish yellow blooms that nurtured the bees.

And now, in autumn, a new pumpkin has emerged,
turning from a deep green to a golden orange ~
We check its progress each day,
marveling in this process of co-creation.

Buddhist-Christian Dialogue in Austin, TX

2011-07-14T17:41:00.000-07:00

This article was originally published on the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center's Shambhala Times News blog.

Austin Shambhala Center Hosts Members of Cristo Rey Catholic Church

On a recent Thursday evening, members of Cristo Rey Catholic Church in East Austin visited the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center for an introduction to Shambhala Buddhism meditation practice. As a professor of religious studies and proponent of interfaith dialogue, I was thrilled to hear about this event. I had the opportunity to communicate with the leaders of both congregations about their experiences of the evening, as well as their reflections on interfaith communication more generally.

Cristo Rey’s pastor, Father Jayme Mathias, has been teaching a world religions course over the past year, in which the congregation’s predominantly Mexican-born, Spanish-speaking members have had the opportunity to learn about and visit a variety of religious centers, including a local Hindu temple, an Islamic Center, a Mexican Baptist church, and a Mexican indigenous spirituality center. Father Jayme’s request to visit the Shambhala Center provided a growth opportunity for both congregations. On the one had, the Shambhala Center had never before offered instruction in Spanish. On the other, as Father Jayme notes: “The course on world religions has been eye-opening for many. Because some 87% of Mexicans are Catholic, they are not so accustomed to thinking of faith traditions outside their own.” Indeed, both congregations challenged their comfort zones, opening their hearts and minds for an evening of learning and discussion.

When the members of Cristo Rey arrived, Austin Shambhala Center Director Billy Boyar welcomed them and offered an introduction to Shambhala Buddhism, with assistance from Rita Ricardo, providing translation and meditation instruction in Spanish, and Luis Iglesias reading passages from Shambhala: La Senda Sagrada del Guerrero (Shambhala: Sacred Path of the Warrior) by Shambhala founder Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche and Gobierna Tu Vida (Ruling Your World) by Shambhala’s current teacher, the Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche. Shambhala Center members Toby Bernal, Lynn Wolfe, Darren Dyke, and Ginny Foley also helped to welcome members of Cristo Rey for the evening.
Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, in his efforts to establish Shambhala Buddhism in the West, was a strong proponent of interfaith dialogue and study, hosting a number of interfaith conferences and gatherings, and founding Naropa University in Boulder, Colorado. Billy Boyar recalls: “I mentioned that Trungpa Rinpoche was interested in creating a dialog between Christian and Buddhist meditators. To accomplish this dialog, Rinpoche had organized the Christian-Buddhist conference on meditation in Boulder in 1985. I had the good fortune of attending that conference, where I heard a number of excellent teachers, both Christian and Buddhist. Relating this history was an attempt to find common ground.”

Indeed, it seems that between these two religious communities in Austin, TX, common ground is alive and growing. Father Jayme, a frequent traveler to Asia, observed in a recent issue of the El Heraldo de Cristo Rey (The Cristo Rey Herald), his congregation’s weekly newspaper: “In Mexico, taxicab drivers place rosaries, images of saints, and other religious objects on their dashboards, rearview mirrors and visors. In Thailand, these same places are adorned with myriad buddhas and other Buddhist objects and images. Both in our Roman Catholic faith tradition and in the Buddhist traditions of Thailand, we find religious images and paintings, altars and incense, holy water and floral offerings. That is, despite our differences, there is also much that we share in common as members of the same human family.”

In the spirit of interfaith exploration, I recently ventured to Cristo Rey for the 11:30 a.m. Sunday Bilingual Mariachi Mass, and what a wonderful experience it was to hear Father Jayme lead the Mass in both Spanish and English with such a lively musical accompaniment! I would recommend this experience to anyone. And, as a member of the Austin Shambhala Center I can certainly recommend the Center’s offerings of meditation instruction, public meditation, and other classes and workshops on mindfulness practice, Buddhism, and the contemplative arts. The city of Austin offers such a rich variety of religious communities and experiences, and it’s heartening to see some of them genuinely reaching out to one another. For more information on interfaith efforts in Austin, check out the:
Interfaith Action of Centeral Texas (iACT)

--Article by Melinda Rothouse with gratitude to Father Jayme Mathias of Cristo Rey Church and Billy Boyar of the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center

Emerging from Sleep

2011-05-13T14:45:00.000-07:00

A work in progress...

Tropical winds carry with them

memories of passion and longing ~

the scarlet flush of a stolen kiss and

other dreams from distant lands.

My bones lay heavy and dull,

held in place by a force stronger than gravity.

It’s hard to emerge from this dewy world

where dreams of lust and longing,

seduction and satisfaction

hold me fast with long, sticky fingers -

trapped between dream and waking.

I lay here, savoring the pleasure,

gazing out the window as pecan branches sway

and rustle, tickled by those sultry breezes.

I’ve slept so deeply these last few nights;

ambrosia for an insomniac.

It’s the same sodden slumber and deep dreaming

I experienced after moving to New Orleans,

with its enveloping, steamy air and those same southern, Gulf winds

making their way north from the Caribbean,

carrying their stories and their sorrows with them.

And these remnants infuse my dreams,

flooding the valley of my subconscious

with a pungent, penetrating musk

of jasmine and brine.

Miksang and Haiku

2011-04-21T17:42:00.000-07:00

I recently participated in a weekend workshop called The Way of Nature: Miksang and Haiku with teacher and poet Miriam Hall. We spent two days photographing, writing, and wandering around the gorgeous environs of McKinney Roughs Nature Park outside of Austin. Here's what emerged:

Red honeysuckle
lavishly adorns the pole ~
in spring's new wardrobe

Lizard changes hue
as bees busy themselves in
opulent pink buds

Last year's spent seed pods
hanging on, not yet displaced
by this season's shoots

Feather light spring breeze
tickles skin and rustles leaves ~
Whoosh! A gusty angst

Tired bones lean in
my eyelids growing heavy
amidst the dry reeds

Pollen hangs from tree
taunting me with its graceful
plumes ~ tonight I'll sneeze

Retreating to Dzogchen Beara: Eastern Spirituality in Western Ireland

2011-03-09T06:29:00.000-08:00

New article about my experiences at a Buddhist retreat center in Ireland, published on ReligionNerd.com! Religion Nerd is an e-magazine that offers information and a wide array of perspectives on world religions and issues related to religion, both in America and internationally, and aims to foster religious dialogue.

From the moment I stepped into the van, I knew I had entered a different world. The other passengers were already well-acquainted with the weekly O’Donaghue bus from Cork to Castletownbere, a little town somewhere far out on the Beara Peninsula in West Cork, Ireland.

Heading home from a day of commerce in the city, many passengers carried loads of shopping bags that filled the narrow aisles while others were making a weekend commute to the Peninsula. A musty odour permeated the vehicle, smoky—dusky, an infusion of cigarette smoke and body odour, perfume and food. Aromas left behind by the countless passengers who made the trip many years past. The seats worn and threadbare, the windows smudged with breath and oil from the many heads that rested upon them...

By the time we reached Castletownbere, most of the other passengers had disembarked at various points along the roadside. “Can you stop just there, at the next crossroads? Thank you, thanks so much! Goodnight,” passengers imparted before disappearing up wandering side roads or into neat modern homes. Exiting the van in Castletownbere’s tiny square, I looked around helplessly for a taxi, finally asking the driver of the van where I might procure one last mode of transportation to my destination.

“Where are you headed, then?” he asks. "Dzogchen Beara,” I reply.

Another voice joined the conversation; I turned and found the man who had sat behind me on the van, whose accent I had earlier struggled to decode as he talked on his cell phone. “Oh, yes, I’m going that way—a lad is on his way to collect me. He should be able to drop you off if he’s got room—he’ll be going right past there.” He assures me. “Wonderful,” I reply.

As we wait, we introduce ourselves, and it turns out he’s just back from Galicia, Spain, where he completed a three-month pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. My impression of him shifts drastically from country bumpkin to world traveller—religious pilgrim…And so I hitched a ride with him and Gert (Gurd?), his German friend who cheerfully rearranged the back of his car to make space for me: “Feckin’ sold me other car!” he shouts.

They asked if I have previously been to Dzogchen Beara? ”No, this is my first time.”

“Well, whatever they say, don’t sign anything,” says Gert, wryly.

“What, you think they’ll ask me to sign my life away?” I inquire laughingly.

“Just don’t sign anything!” Gert insisted, slightly suspicious of the strange Tibetan Buddhist retreat center residing in their midst.

I arrived around 9:00 p.m. at the international hostel, where, like some post-millenial contortion of Tabard’s Inn from the Canterbury Tales, the party is just beginning. Gathered in the kitchen were a zany lot of merry Buddhist/hippies, cracking jokes about death and reincarnation, and celebrating the departure of Anna, a willowy, wise, gracefully aging and painfully kind guest. Though she’s the guest of honour, she jumps up when I walk in, welcomes me, and shows me to the women’s dormitory. Settling my bags, I returned to meet the other guests: There’s gentle Richard from Holland, who gave up his career in the theatre after his parents’ passing to come and live among the Buddhists, shrewd Cynthia from New Zealand, a widowed retired former hostel-owner (the Buddha’s Abode, it was called), three cheerful Italian students on summer holiday, waifish Clare-the-Mermaid from France, and Tim from who-knows-where, strumming the ukulele in a vintage three-piece suit with flowers in his hair, leading a call and response to: “Who’s got the love?” “We got the love!” Damien, the social worker-turned-musician from Dublin, whaling on his digerideedoo and a local Corkonian, Brona thrilling us all with her oven-rack-and-shoelaces-turned organ of the gods (just put those little loops at the end of the shoelaces into your ears while I run this fork across the oven rack, and prepare to be amazed—note to self: must try this at home; great party trick).

In the midst of all this mayhem, I craved a quiet evening curled up with a book, but soon accepted that there was nothing to do but join in. As Ross, my beloved dharma buddy back in Austin would say, “don’t hesitate; just say yes…”

Though Buddhist rather than Christian, this place seemed somehow in line with the long and storied Irish monastic tradition, or at least some 21^st century version of it. Being at Dzogchen Beara, I felt that I had entered a living breathing community along the lines of St. Enda (father of Irish monasticism), who lived all those centuries ago on the desolate Aran Islands, an emphasis on simplicity, quietude (certainly not always observed), communal living, recycling and composting, meditation and study. Yes, in the hostel we slept in bunk beds with ten to a room rather than in individual beehive huts, but during my long walks along the craggy hillsides, and hours spent in meditation looking out over the broad, vast sea, I felt a sense of the contemplative life.

Not only did I feel a connection with the Irish monastic tradition, but also with the worldwide Buddhist community. Dzogchen Beara is one of the main retreat centers of the Rigpa sangha, under the direction of Sogyal Rinpoche, a Tibetan lama who fled Tibet after the Chinese invasion. After coming to the West and studying comparative religion at Cambridge, he founded a network of Buddhist centers all around the world. Rinpoche’s international students gather at retreat centers like this one to practice intensive meditation, study, receive teachings and spiritual transmissions, and deepen their practice. You can feel the dedication in their stories and the incredible distances they have traveled to be here. Several visitors tell me of their hometown Buddhist communities in places like Dublin, Nelson (New Zealand), and southern France, and I marvel at the flowering of this tradition of non-violence and compassion.

Chris, a longtime Rigpa member and engineer, who was helping to revamp the center’s communication systems, told me of the Rigpa center in South London, where he assisted with renovations. In its former life, before being purchased by Rigpa, the building served as the courthouse where many of the IRA trials of the 1970′s and 80′s took place. He spoke of cells where IRA members were once held, under maximum security, while awaiting their trials. These same cells are now dormitories and meditation rooms—talk about poetic justice.

During my last evening at Dzogchen Beara, a group of us journeyed into town for an evening of music at the local pub. Sitting at a street side table with the cool ocean breeze nipping at our shoulders—it’s Saturday night and the whole town, people of all ages, are out to relax and socialize—my international Buddhist friends broached the topic of religion in America. Dubliner Edward observed that Americans seem to be more religious than Europeans, who retain a post-Enlightenment skepticism about religious dogma and the intolerance it can foster. Perhaps it is this skepticism that makes Buddhism, with its pacifist and non-theistic stance, an appealing alternative for Europeans to the religious traditions of the West.

And what of religion in Ireland today? Although religious matters suffuse the tempest of Irish history, many 20^th century Irish writers, most notably James Joyce and Edna O’Brien, have written about the oppressive nature of Irish Catholicism and searched for possible alternatives. Both seem to be asking, can you be Irish and neither Catholic nor Protestant? Is there another alternative?
My sense of things is that, despite Ireland’s legendary Celtic past and its staunchly Catholic identity, these days many Irish people, like Joyce and O’Brien, are skeptical, if not downright cynical, about religion. Even people who drop into Church every now and then for good measure, don’t find much that’s “deep and meaningful,” especially among the younger generation. Of course, that’s not always the case, as my friend who walked the pilgrimage route of Santiago de Compostela could attest. Traversing the countryside, one sees endless ruins of ancient churches and monasteries, some lovingly restored and touted as tourist destinations, and many more slowly decaying in the middle of fields, but go to mass at a contemporary church and you’ll find it maybe a quarter full. It makes me wonder whether religion, at least in the Christian sense, isn’t regarded as a relic of a violent and socially-repressive past that the Celtic Tiger is all too ready to leave behind.

And what of the ancient Celtic/Pagan tradition that’s so identified with Ireland in cultural imaginings? Sure, you catch glimpses and hear whispers, especially in the odd women’s retreat advert promising a reawakening of feminine power and sexuality, but it’s not really a living, viable practice as far as I was able to observe. What about alternative/Eastern religions? Well, as in America, people are looking for an alternative way to connect with the spiritual without all the cultural and historical baggage of Christianity. Yoga studios and Buddhist meditation centers are popping up all over Ireland, as a brief Google search will reveal. And, as my experience at Dzogchen Beara attests, although they do not appear to be as ubiquitous or as mainstream as they are in America (at least, not just yet), some people claim that religion is dead, that it has no place in the contemporary world, and yet people are turning to various spiritual traditions (often not the ones with which they were raised) in record numbers, especially in the wake of 9/11, war, economic recession, and a general sense of disconnection and spiritual malaise. If my time at Dzogchen Beara is any indication, spirituality still flows in Ireland, and indeed across the globe. Though we may not immediately recognize it, religious traditions are crossing borders as quickly as any commodity, revealing the true depth of humanity’s interconnection.

View the full article on ReligionNerd.com here.

Miksang Photography

2011-01-12T10:29:00.000-08:00

Photos by Melinda Rothouse

Miksang is a practice of contemplative photography that fosters a deep engagement with the phenomenal world. Like other contemplative arts disciplines, Miksang emphasizes the experience of pure perception, of opening oneself up to the inherent beauty and energy of the world itself, rather than attempting to cultivate any notion of creativity or “skill” within the individual artist. It is about appreciation rather than mastery, recalling Suzuki Roshi’s “beginner’s mind,” in which many possibilities exist, rather than attempting to achieve any sense of expertise.

Miksang in practice begins with what is called a “flash of perception,” in which the photographer encounters the world as it is, before labels or judgments, even before concepts come creeping in. It is the raw, naked moment of “seeing,” an intimate encounter between the perceiver and the perceived, which underscores the inseparability of self and other. It’s not about taking beautiful pictures (though beautiful pictures may emerge), but about dancing with the world of forms, colors, and textures. It’s about noticing, and resting in, the space around things just as much as in the things themselves. Sometimes the subjects of the photos remain unrecognizable—it’s impossible to identify "what" they are by our usual conventions of naming and labeling—and this is just the point: to get beyond our habitual tendencies of categorizing and conceptualizing experience, and to return to the immediacy and freshness of our sensory experience.

Even photographing people and landscapes becomes a new experience, as the photographer senses and communicates the energetic exchange between people and within nature; as a practice it’s a way of opening oneself to the world of experience. Often the results can be quite humorous, even ironic, as when the Miksang practitioner begins to explore the connections between seemingly unrelated images or objects, like the “orderly chaos” of graffiti, objects in shop windows, or various elements within an urban street scene.

I have had the pleasure of attending several Miksang photography workshops, and have found a deep peace in the practice of wandering around the familiar streets and parks of Austin while allowing new, surprising, and fresh sensations and experiences to wash over me. There is a great joy and contentment that arises when we simply relax and allow ourselves to open to the wonders of the phenomenal world.

Many thanks to Miksang teachers Jake Lorfing, Miriam Hall, and John McQuade.

You can learn more about Miksang practice and workshop opportunities at The Miksang Institute and Miksang Texas. There is a Miksang Level I workshop happening at the Austin Shambhala Meditation Center on January 29-30, 2011.

Reflections on an Interfaith Panel Discussion on Sacred Arts

2010-12-10T15:22:00.000-08:00

I recently hosted a panel discussion on sacred arts at Austin Community College. One of the panelists, Irene Perez-Omer, an iconographer in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, wrote this wonderful reflective piece on the event. I am reprinting it here with her permission. For more information about Irene and her work, please visit www.iconarts.com:

Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit

I usually want to write and stop myself; partly because I don't feel like I have any authority to write anything about spiritual matters or theology; partly because I probably won't say anything new; and lastly because no one might want to read it. Today though, I will write in spite of the usual apprehensions.

A few weeks ago, I participated in a Sacred Arts Panel at the local community college. It was a nice evening shared with my co-panelists a Jewish Rabbi and a master/practitioner of Ikebana which I found out was a Japanese art of flower arrangement. We all got a chance to talk about the tradition and practice of our respective forms of sacred art. The Ikebana practitioner spoke of the meditative aspect of her work, and of the harmony of the different elements in her arrangements. Each different branch and each different species of plant represented one of the basic elements of the cosmos, each was equally necessary and important as part of a harmonious whole. She spoke of how we could learn from her art, that each element was necessary and important to sustain the harmony of the arrangement and reflecting on these relationships we could work towards an enlightened society. A society according to her philosophy, where no matter how small a person, how seemingly insignificant their job, this person was necessary and equally as important as another person having a job or function that was considered by many to be of greater importance. That we are all equally valuable in creating and maintaining harmony in the world. All of us have a place and a function to perform that is valuable for the whole, that we all deserve dignity no matter how humble our station in life.

Then, it was my turn to talk about Byzantine iconography. I have had the opportunity on several occasions to give lectures about iconography in the past. In the last year and a half, I changed the focus of my presentations from the art historical point of view which is what usually people expect, to a more direct and necessarily theological approach to understanding iconography. So, in about ten minutes I explained the Orthodox Christian doctrine of the incarnation of Christ, and how that was the sole reason and foundation for iconography. God became man and dwelt among us; so we can represent Him whom people saw, spoke to and ate with. Before the incarnation it was impossible to make images of God. Furthermore, by becoming man, Christ restored the icon of man which was made after Himself and in this way restored our fallen nature to its original beauty and stature. And by also dying a human death and rising from the dead, Christ had now effectively made possible our salvation, our return to God in His Kingdom. So by becoming human, God allowed human beings to become like god. The persons who have achieved this goal are the ones represented in iconography and whom we call Saints. I explained that we are all called to this transfiguration and even in our imperfect state we are considered icons of God as we (included here is all of humanity) are all made in God's image. In addition, I spoke about the veneration of icons, and why this is not idolatry but simply a show of respect and veneration to the persons represented on the icons, not an adoration of the materials which form part of the icon. I briefly explained some of the formal aspects of Byzantine icons (perspective, anatomy, light.) Finally, I explained how the architecture of the Church building, the iconography, the hymns, and the Faithful gathered, both formed part and supported the whole movement of the Liturgy, the ascent from this world into the Kingdom of God, the whole of the visible and invisible creation, humankind and angels, earth and heaven united to participate in this feast which culminates in the Eucharist, communion with God. .... yes, this was a lot to swallow in a little over ten minutes.

After me came the Rabbi, who had been listening with interest and I guessed amusement to what I was saying. Following a brief introduction by the moderator who revealed the Rabbi as a trained singer, musician and Hebrew theologian, the Rabbi asked us to close our eyes and started singing a wordless melody. His voice was very smooth, beautiful and the melody had an ancient sound. After a a minute or two he stopped. He then told us how in his faith, which was about 2000 years old (Hebrews after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 A.D.,) they didn't use images but music, more specifically chanting in their services. He explained how he tries to express the moment, the mood or state of mind in his synagogue through his chanting. How the word "chanteuse" comes from enchanter, someone who can transport you with sound, take you to a different place, a different state of mind. He then expressed how fleeting time is and no matter how much we try to capture the moment with still photographs, or videos that we can never relive the moment. The moment is all we have and so he tries to create an experience of the moment with his chanting during the services at the Synagogue. He explained how the Hebrew chanting relies on 8 principal modes and the chanter can improvise according to his ability and sensitivity based on those 8 modes; that it was similar to Jazz in that sense. He also referred to Byzantine chant as having different tones that function similarly as in the Hebrew style of chanting. To demonstrate how different Hebrew chanters from different cultures would chant the same mode he demonstrated the way a Hebrew chanter from Yemen would sound, one from Morocco, one from Israel and one from America. It was fascinating and at the same time familiar as I have heard Byzantine plain chant by Monks from Mt. Athos, chanters from Syria, from Palestine, from the USA and they all use the same tones but have different flourishes and cultural accents of their own. However, the Rabbi kept coming back to the subject of time, how little of it we really have in this life, how we need to make the most of it, that once a second is gone is gone forever, and how we need to really be present at each and every moment so we may live it fully.

After this, we all answered questions from the audience. We all shook hands, and told each other how much we had enjoyed each others' presentations, etc. The Rabbi mentioned that he thought my presentation was interesting or something along those lines. I can't remember at the moment. It seems to me now that there were things I said that he hadn't heard before.

What struck me about the evening and the reason why I am writing this is that a couple of days later, I kept thinking about the Rabbi and what he said about time. I finally realized that the Rabbi was really anxious about time. For two days I thought about what he had said and wondered why he is so worried about time? Why does he feel that there is no time, that time is slipping away? I wondered why I wasn't worried about it like he seemed to be? I wondered if this preoccupation with time was part of the Hebrew religious mindset or just his personal view of his faith or experience. But, why was I not worried? Was I missing something?

Then, came Sunday, and I went to Church as usual with my family. Once in Church, I lit candles, venerated the icons and with anticipation waited to hear the Priest say the words, "Blessed is the Kingdom of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit." I feel joy when I hear these words at the beginning of every Liturgy. I stood there by my husband in Church, chanting along with the chanters' "Kyrie Eleisons" and looking up at the Platytera on the apse, looking at the icons of the Saints on the icon screen, and remembering what I had told the people at the Sacred Arts panel. Then, I realized why I am not concerned with time. I was in the company of the Saints, of the Church on earth and the Church in Heaven, surrounded by Angels and Archangels, and on my way to receive the Holy Eucharist, on my way to the heavenly banquet, on my way to communion with God. I was already beyond the time of this world and into the time of the eighth day. I remembered telling my audience at the presentation that the Liturgy was an eternal Liturgy going on in Heaven and on earth forever, a constant thanksgiving and praise. That's why I am not worried about time. Christ has opened the gates to the Kingdom of God and we are all called to the company of the Saints, we can all be there as sons of the most high, where time is eternal and Love is never ending.

I am so thankful for this and for my Faith which is so wise and beautiful, and for God's love in giving us eternal life.

- Irene Perez-Omer

Crocodile's Smile

2010-07-21T17:58:00.000-07:00

Notes from a shamanic journey...

Into the Belly of the Beast ~

I remember viscerally the experience of being in the swamp, moving through dark waters, being snatched and eaten, clamped in the jaws of a crocodile, and entering a different dimension. Thrust through the threshold of life into death and beyond. There was no fear, just a willingness and a curiosity to learn what lay beyond. Being chewed and swallowed and discovering the energy, the wonder, of being without a body ~ only spirit.

And then the delightful, joyful feeling of weightlessness, immateriality ~ zipping across time and space instantly in a flash of light ~ still a mental and spiritual presence without the hindrance of a body and all of its attendant needs. Joining with my lover's spirit in a dazzling dance of pure, intermingling intimacy, like a vortex.

We here on earth are so heavy, so close to the ground, so preoccupied with all of our basic material needs, dragging our feet through the mud. But once we are free from the body, this is true egolessness, pure presence. Nothing to worry about / nothing to sustain. No ego or sense of "self" whatsoever. Utterly free, moving through galaxies and dimensions, a bodhisattva in space, acting only in compassion, perceiving and attending to those in need ~ there is no self to get in the way.

On Kirtan, New Orleans, and the Tibetan New Year

2010-02-20T07:51:00.000-08:00

I had the good fortune last night to go and hear Sean Johnson and the Wild Lotus Band from New Orleans play for the grand opening celebration of East Side Yoga in Austin. The band performs kirtan mantra chants with a bit of NOLA funk thrown in, and though I lived in New Orleans for a time I had never heard them play. What fun! A great, big spiritual sing along, and so healing. We sat shoulder to shoulder, swinging and swaying to the lush rhythms while Sean, Gwendolyn, and Alvin ushered us into another dimension. Would that more spiritual practice was so drenched in music and love!

When asked, Sean spoke about the Superbowl and what it meant to New Orleanians for the Saints to have won--people spontaneously running out into the streets, embracing strangers, high-fiving between cars, and dancing in the streets of the Quarter all night long. And all of this in the midst of carnival season. What a triumph for the city, five years after Katrina, when so many had left her for dead. I've been thinking a lot about NOLA lately, the city I had to leave but who always resides in my heart...

Themes of union and separation ~ both are important in the spiritual path ~ Shiva Nataraj, dancing the world into existence, unburned by the ring of flames that surrounds him because he is one with it. In union there is no distinction, but only from a place of separation can we see and feel and touch. As the Tao says: "Free from desire, you realize the mystery. Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations" (Tao Te Ching, Chapter 1). And yet it is an endless dance, for as the Buddhist Heart Sutra teaches us "Form is emptiness; emptiness also is form." We swirl back and forth between unity and bittersweet separation, because that's where learning and growth occur. Learning how to become more and more gentle in the face of fear and injustice and sorrow...

Learning how to love, learning the power of love ~ this was the major message from Shambhala Buddhist teacher Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche on the occasion of the Tibetan New Year (Year of the Iron Tiger, 2010), which fell on Valentine's Day this year. How can we express kindness and gentleness when provoked, rather than anger and aggression? Love is the path...

Shiva Nataraj image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Sitting with George

2010-01-26T22:00:00.000-08:00

Just sitting.
You, draped in gorgeous brocades.
Me, just breathing.
I feel that we are breathing together,
yet when I pause, I know
that you are gone.
Eyes and mouth half open--
frozen
passing away.
Waves and waves of breath.

The fear and uncertainty of sitting with a corpse for the first time--incense burning to mask the smell of death and decay. A strange contrast of ritualized order and chaos. The care and deliberation of the fine, brilliantly colored silks, the shrine, smoke wafting through the air, and the chilling, tearful rawness of sitting with the lifeless body of a beloved teacher and friend. Cold. I remember feeling very cold--a chill that wouldn't leave--possibly from the dry ice packed beneath George as he lay there, mouth open, glasses slightly askew...

Exquisite Noticing

2009-06-27T10:00:00.000-07:00

May, 2009

En route to Italy to meet up with friends in Umbria. I've been charged by my friend Klare with "taking it all in," and by my friend Kerry with "Exquisite Noticing." Colors, textures, elements; scents and sounds. From the plane I observe the way rivers wind their way over the earth ~ the way the land merges with the sea, as we flew over the Mississippi delta downriver from New Orleans. I was startled and then thrilled to recognize the geography as we passed above it. And the clouds: now thin and wispy like gossamer, little bits of nothing; then thick and substantial like cotton; sometimes dark and ominous, kissing and jostling the plane as we fly amongst them. Water mingling with air, substantial and ethereal at the same time...

Laying in a hammock in the shade ~ utterly enveloped and supported, looking out upon the most spectacularly sweeping vista of the Umbrian countryside. Tractors rolling by on their way to tend to the hay fields, grapevines, and olive groves. All manner of birds chirping and fluttering by. Just taking it all in, with every breath ~ the way the breeze caresses my skin, the passing of the day from darkness into dawn, morning to midday, and evening into nightas the sun traces its arc across the heavens. It's all greenery and rolling hills ~ pastoral~ with sweet valleys and sensuous mountain ranges, easy on the eyes.

I am remembering the view from the plane as we came across Southern France, over the Southern tip of the Alps and the coastline of the Mediterranean ~ mountains trailing down to the sea; earth meets water. And how, in the dawning light, the rising sun reflected off the sea, painting a dazzling peach-gold shimmer. Fire on water. I wondered, is light the fifth element? Or is all light encompassed by fire? Our sun, the source of our natural light, is of course a fireball, so perhaps this is so.

A cat gave birth to four kittens the first night I arrived. The miracle of life ~ ordinary magic. Exciting, primordial, simple, beautiful. Mama cat squeezing and pushing, yet so completely calm and peaceful ~ purring for her new children and licking them cleanas they suckled, even when only two had been born and two more remained inside of her. She knew just what to do, though really only a kitten herself...

The sun has finally relinquished its stranglehold on the day, and it is such sweet relief. The crickets are singing their songs to the night and the air feels so succulently soft on my skin. The tiniest sliver of a new moon hangs low in the Western sky. I've never seen the moon so slight. New moon ~ new beginnings. Hillsides and valleys softly cascading down to the Tiber valley, and then up again to volcanic peaks. Tiny specs of light sparkling in the warm, hazy nighttime air. All is well in the world and soon I will be sleeping and dreaming of you...

Photo by Melinda Rothouse. To see more pics from Italy, click here.

Relax with Every Step

2009-02-03T07:44:00.000-08:00

I sit with a Zen meditation group led by David Zuniga on Monday mornings here in Austin. Last week David relayed a story from the life of the Zen Master Shunryu Suzuki (founder of the San Francisco Zen Center and author of "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind"). Near the end of his life and while living with stomach cancer, Suzuki Roshi was participating in a work day at the Zen Center. All day long Suzuki and his students engaged in hard labor, moving rocks and other materials around the Center grounds. One by one, his students stopped to take longer and longer breaks, some of them disappearing from the scene, but Suzuki Roshi worked tirelessly throughout the day. Finally, one of his senior students asked him how he was able to find the energy to continue working, and the reply was "I relax with every step."

Ah, how profound. Relax with every step, with every breath...This is the secret to working with energy, to refilling and replenishing our reservoirs of energy and vitality. Exertion and relaxation are two sides of the same coin ~ they complete each other ~ the yin and the yang. Out of the spaciousness of relaxation comes the impetus of exertion, and after an expenditure of energy, there must be rest, equal and opposite; otherwise there is imbalance, stress, and fatigue. How simple, and yet how challenging in the context of our speedy, restless lives. A beautiful aspiration: relax with every step.

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

Trees in Love

2008-12-02T06:08:00.001-08:00

As I sat in meditation this morning, attempting to calm the whirlpools of the mind and contemplate the vast spaciousness of emptiness (no small task!), I happened to focus my gaze up and outward, out through the window of my meditation room. It's a view I have looked upon many times before, out over my neighbor's yard, her tin-roofed shed, and up into the canopy of pecan trees that graces my block. But this morning I saw something I had never noticed before: two trees, "independent" beings each with its own root system, their long trunks rising gracefully from the earth, having grown so close together at their crowns so as to intermingle, their branches weaving together in an embrace of shared foliage. I thought it such a beautiful symbol of love...

Spiral Luminosity

2008-11-19T19:20:00.000-08:00

Spiral. Shifting. Spinning. Energy of a hurricane, flowing outward and outward until it spins off into another plane, never to be seen again ~ out into untold universes, traveling to places we could never possibly imagine, across vast horizons, stretches of time and vistas that we could only know in dreams or telescopic photographs from deep space, otherworldly and beautiful but also cold and unknown. Perhaps those spaces are not so much "out there," foreign and distant, but places within our own hearts, so covered-over and protected that we no longer recognize them, so that we have become strangers to ourselves. Sometimes all we need is a reminder ~ a serendipity or coincidence that jolts us into a faint recognition, a near-forgotten memory ~ oh, yes, that is myself, and myself is no different from any other ~ we are all inextricably interconnected, but sometimes we forget...

Photo and stained glass by Melinda Rothouse.

David Loy and Erykah Badu

2008-09-30T18:37:00.000-07:00

Last weekend I went to hear David Loy give a talk called “Healing Ecology: A Buddhist Perspective on the Eco-Crisis,” at U.T. Austin. Loy is a professor, the Besl Family Chair for Ethics/Religion and Society, at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio. He is also Zen Buddhist teacher. His talk explored how Buddhist ideas of interconnection, compassion, and exchanging self for others, might speak to current environmental problems.

Loy first described the notion, based on the Buddhism's principle of no-self (anatta) and its attendant radical non-dualism, that to help others is to help oneself. If we accept this idea, and if we agree that we are currently facing an unprecedented ecological crisis, this principle logically leads to the fact that humans as a species must protect the environment in order to protect ourselves. There is no separation. What’s good for nature is good for us.

It strikes me that this idea allies closely with the Gaia Hypothesis, the idea that the earth is a complex living organism, of which we humans are only one part. Loy’s discussion also closely resonates with ideas of sustainable economics (or ecological economics), which question neoclassical economics’ assumption that infinite economic growth is a good thing. Our whole global market economy is based on the idea that the economy must constantly be growing, that we must always have bigger, better, faster, more, in order to be “healthy.” But isn’t that idea rather absurd when you think about it? The earth is a finite resource, and a delicately balanced system at that. Shouldn’t our economic system, in order to be deemed “healthy,” work in harmony with the larger environmental system in which it is embedded rather than positing a goal of infinite growth?

The next day I went to the Austin City Limits Music Festival and heard Erykah Badu rock out and speak out about politics and the broken system. She referred specifically to a documentary called Fourth World War (2003), which follows various resistance movements to globalization, war, and poverty. She was so moved by the film that she named her new album after it. And it strikes me that there are so many people out there, coming from so many perspectives, viewpoints, and experiences, but all seeking a change, seeing that the system is broken. How might we all come together? How might we harness all of that energy and love and put it towards actually creating change? How could we create a system that serves everyone and seeks harmony and balance, with the earth, with all people and all beings? I guess it has to come from the ground up. We are all implicated. Change begins right here, right now, with you and me, baby.

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

More snippets from my travels in Ireland

2008-09-26T14:17:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was anxious, emotional, angsty

Today all is calm, all is peaceful

there is nothing to do but be,

nothing to anticipate,

nowhere to go but this very moment ~

rushing headlong into a great adventure

Through the airplane window

sensuous crescent moon:

the journey begins

Smoky, damp air

a spectrum of greys and greens.

Trudging through misty streets

both foreign and familiar ~

it feels good just to breathe

Raindrops falling gently

against the windowpane

sleep will come easily tonight

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

Poems on Death and Devotion in Ireland

2008-09-01T17:24:00.000-07:00

Brigid’s Well

I see it first from above
through sprigs of fuchsia
tied with bits of tattered,
multicoloured fabric,
a trickle among stones.
Gazing up from the grotto, there’s
Jesus in a frame, and a trio
of Virgin Marys draped
with rosary beads ~
pious, penitent, prayerful.

Over every surface, a collage
of mementos, trinkets, and keepsakes
serving a second life as relics.
A careful clutter of candles and coins,
ribbons and faded flowers,
their once-brilliant colors now fading
to grey.
Headless plastic baby doll, an infant’s
pink onesie
and Hello Kitty, hanging from a string.

Dizzy, bearing witness
to so much life-in-death,
clumsily congealed and scrawled
with grief,
I pay silent homage
to this sacred spring
that gives of itself simply, freely
to all who come near, seeking solace,
just seeking.

Photographs of the dead
look on, lifelike.
as holy water
gurgles from the earth
undergirding everything.

Touching Time
St. Enda’s Church and Cemetery, Inishmore

Around the bend, and there it is –
graveyard among grasslands
waiting,
inviting.
As I pedal down the quiet coastal road
low tide has turned the bay to mud,
a broad reach of seaweed
and tidal pools.

Neat rows of Celtic crosses
mark a tidy city of the dead.
But closer now, I see
rising from the turf, the carcass
of a structure –
bones of stone.

Ruins. Ruination.

A narrow, sloping trail leads
around the edge of the ancient church,
down through the generations.

Now I stand
enclosed by four walls,
open to the sky
yet below ground level.
On each side of the narrow chamber,
low, wide bowls accept offerings of rust-encrusted coins
from modern-day pilgrims.

Beyond these walls lie
the ever-growing strata
of bones utilized and then discarded,
returning to earth.
Only the recently departed retain
their identities, names and dates carved into smooth stone.
Beneath them are the rest –
nameless, faceless.
I feel them beckoning.
I am sinking
into the tangled strands
of time.

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

In Search of the Sacred at Gougane Barra, Ireland

2008-09-01T16:56:00.000-07:00

Photo by Melinda Rothouse.

Gougane Barra, a valley withdrawn, a garden enclosed, the holiest place I know. Here, by this quiet pool, where, for a thousand years, tired souls have prayed, there is the peace that passes all understanding…With each step up a wider horizon. So it should be with life; our outlook ever widening towards the infinite rather than narrowing to the vanishing point of our own identities.

- Robert Gibbings

…when you walk in mindfulness, you are in touch with all the wonders of life within you and around you

- Thich Nhat Hanh

In the southwest corner of County Cork, Ireland, sits a forest park called Gougane Barra. The site of Celtic midsummer celebrations, a Catholic hermitage and pilgrimage site, and, more recently, national park and forest preserve, Gougane Barra, with its steep hillsides, lush forests, and jewel-like alpine lake, has captured the imagination of mystics and seekers for millenia. It’s off the beaten path – you can’t easily get there by bus or train, and you won’t find it in most guidebooks, but here, where boundaries begin to blur—boundaries of time and space, nature and humanity, the sacred and the profane—you may find the mists parting to reveal to you something about yourself and your place in this world.

While the others in my group tackle the steep paths up to the mountain peaks and the spectacular vistas they promise, I choose to stay in the valley, along the headwaters of the river Lee, here barely a stream. As Lao Tzu says in the Tao Te Ching, there is value in keeping to the low places, in following the example of a mountain stream:

The supreme good is like water,
which nourishes all things without trying to.
It is content with the low places that people disdain.
Thus it is like the Tao. (Stephen Mitchell translation)

I haven’t the energy or ambition on this particular day to climb a mountain or conquer the world, so I explore the valley, keeping the river on my left. I am accompanied by the gentle murmur of the stream, growing louder, more insistent, as it moves gradually up the valley, creating little waterfalls as it negotiates the incline, and I delight in its gurgles and cascades. It feels good just to breathe, to wander aimlessly but attentively, to feel the soft earth yielding slightly with each footstep.

As I walk around Gougane Barra in the rain, I am constantly brought back to the freshness and wonder of each moment ~ the smooth sheen of the lake’s surface, the fine mist and smoky dampness of the air, the lush greens of the forest and alpine meadows. A playful fog moves across the hillsides, now shielding them from view, now unveiling them. I hear from across the valley the steady splash of a waterfall, dropping sharply down its narrow channel. Everything is shifting constantly in a dynamic dance ~ the weather, the mist, the view. With each moment, with each step, a new perspective.

At times, off to the right, are dark alcoves created by thickly growing low pine trees and brush ~ dark, damp, uncertain places like a cave or a womb. Veering from the main path, seeing a marvelously green glade of moss-covered rocks, a fairy dwelling, sheltered by trees, I climb, my feet sinking and squishing in its mossy floor. This would be the perfect place to sit and meditate, but I have not yet quite let go of myself enough to plunk down on the soggy ground. I continue on into the forest, my feet sinking deeper into boggy, water-saturated mud, but after a few more paces, I stop, hesitant, unsure.

I don’t want to get lost here, already separated from the rest of my group, but it’s something more than that, something primeval and slightly sinister ~ the power of nature, the Tao, the goddess, somehow amplified and distilled in the place. I feel my insignificance here. Is it that we’ve just been talking of fairies and their devious ways? I fear I could be swallowed up by this vastness, sucked down into the watery earth, never to return. It’s a subtle but potent feeling, a nagging hesitation, and after a certain point I return to the main road, symbol of civilization and the way back.

Returning to the lake and to St. Finbarr’s island chapel, I admire the exquisite hues of the stained glass windows and ponder the Celtic designs on the walls behind the altar ~ symbols of Celtic Christianity, of the fusion of Catholicism and paganism, manifested in iconography. Although it’s peaceful and quiet inside the chapel, I’m finding it difficult to meditate there. There’s a deadness, a separation from nature; this interior space is thoroughly Christianized, tamed.

But stepping out through the massive wooden doors of the chapel, suddenly I am back, the connection re-established. I follow a stone walkway around to the back of the church. A huge, spidery, banyan-like tree glistens there, perched sensuously within a little glade. It’s stunning, and a bit unsettling, like some strange, octopus-like mythological creature. Could this be the true power-center of Gougane Barra, a sacred grove? Sanctuary of the goddess?

It’s said that the Christians placed their churches at the exact locations of previously-existing sacred sites, and it makes me wonder about St. Finbarr’s choice of location for his hermitage. The tree stops my mind completely, like a moment of satori in zen. It zaps me back, viscerally, into the present moment.

Walk mindfully through the natural world…Feel the wonders she is constantly offering.