Poetry, Yoga, and Zazen in the Park
The renewed concentration upon my own poetry has brought me behind to poetry in general. Not which you was ever unequivocally gone from it, perhaps only upon the travel down the divergent path. This afternoon, you did the small yoga as well as zazen underneath the cool, midday sun, as well as afterwards took the good demeanour around the park you was sitting in.
During the open as well as summer months, the hollow next is vaporous by the tree leaves. This creates the park feel smaller, the small more closed in, cozy even. Right now, it's far-reaching open. The homes, schools, as well as fields of the hollow next have been easy to see. As are, suddenly, the assorted bare tree trunks as well as branches.
It's interesting how you can miss something that's regularly been there. The leaflet you guess is utterly distracting. Earlier in the autumn, you was probably fixated upon the brightly colored displays all around me. And before that, it was only the wall of green, restraint the valley. Those snaking trucks as well as branches - well, they were being treated rather similar to most of us treat our exhale - forgetting it until it feels similar to it's in danger of being lost forever.
Today, though, it was all trunks as well as branches. There in their strong, sturdy, quiet dignity.
And also, next the single of those trees, the tiny of physique of the mouse, incited upon it's side - the plant of the first frost?
As you rested in trikonasana, the dog came using up behind me. The male with it had tossed the frisbee, though the dog apparently, lost seductiveness as well as came bounding after me instead. It stopped before reaching me, as well as for the second, you looked during it sideways. Then the call from the male caused it's departure, only similar to these warmer November days have been about to skip from us here in Minnesota. !
Winter is upon it's way. There's no disbelief now. Maybe this year, I'll give sleet yoga as well as meditation the try. That total "When cold, be cold Buddha" thing. you don't know.
This aged Rumi poem, the a the single preferred of many, speaks to many things. One competence be to the seasons, as well as their stroke upon any of us.
This being human is the guest house.
Every morning the brand brand brand new arrival.
A joy, the depression, the meanness,
some duration recognition comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome as well as perform them all
Even if they're the crowd of sorrows.
who vigourously brush your house
empty of your furniture.
Still treat any guest honorably,
He might be clearing you out
for some brand brand brand new delight.
The dim thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them during the doorway laughing,
and entice them in.
Be beholden for whoever comes,
because any has been sent
as the beam from beyond.
The art of treating any other, any thing, any experience as an "honored guest" seems rare in these modern times. Maybe it wasn't even which usual in the 13th century, or else because would Rumi remind us in such the way?
The gifts of late autumn have been similar to anything else - beautiful in their own way, as well as soon to be replaced by something else. Replaced isn't utterly the right word. Nothing is ever unequivocally replaced, not even the rusty shaft upon an aged bicycle. The brand brand brand new the single competence demeanour just the same as the aged the single once was, though it's still different.
Guest houses. All. Even the sun, which returns to us each single day in an ever so somewhat opposite form. We have been it's guest house. It is ours. If you can't figure out how to honor what comes to the door, afterwards hold up is nothing though the knocking which never gets answered.
