108zenbooks

connecting

catching the Ox

blossoms of desire
brew a strong tea
~ firing separation

to be intimate
~ we struggle

mirrored and reflecting

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The Ox and I dance.  He turns the horns of delusion towards me and the ferocity of wanting overwhelms me.  Infused with my desires, he reflects what I believe will make me whole; blinded by the need to fulfill my desires, true intimacy eludes me.  I cannot see with my whole body and mind.  This is the karma of desire: I see in the Other what I believe will make me whole.  This is the nature of spiritual infatuation which, as with lust, will fail me consistently and inevitably.  Driven only by the heat of longing, the faith beyond labels evaporates and my spiritual practice becomes calcified – rigid and girdled by form.  Already, I long for the early days of heady excitement, the mystery that fired the search.  I mistake this for intimacy and the longing makes our dance a ritual of possession.  Slowly, in the space between steps, I see how the illusion of ownership is protective – surely against loss but inexorably against love.

If I can let go of these shields – the acquired knowledge, the labels, the constructed self – there’s a chance to connect with true intimacy. Something may come of this dance as the Ox and I create each other.  In each moment we can embrace each other.  Or, we can battle for domination over each other.

I see my illusions fused to the Ox and he catches me in his gaze.  “The most living moment,” Rumi says, “comes when those who love each other meet each other’s eyes and in what flows between them then.”  We become transparent to each other and dance as one.

At this stage, still pendulating between desire and intimacy, the connection cannot last.  The Ox pulls off into the mountains of intellectualizing and vanishes into the mists of doubt and ignorance.  It doesn’t matter.  We are caught now, tied by the same love for connection.

Thank you for practicing,

Genju


June 24, 2010 Posted by 108zenbooks | 108 thoughts, Eastern Teachers, reflections | , , , | 3 Comments

necessary autumn

For this second week of my journey, I’ve prepared a few poems and what-nots I hope you will enjoy.  I wonder if this will also reflect my process over this week?

A Necessary Autumn Inside Each

You and I have spoken all these words, but as for the way
we have to go, words

are no preparation.  There is no getting ready, other than
grace.  My faults

have stayed hidden.  One might call that a preparation!
I have one small drop

of knowing in my soul.  Let it dissolve in your ocean.
There are so many threats to it.

Inside each of us, there’s continual autumn.  Our leaves
fall and are blown out

over the water.  A crow sits in the blackened limbs and talks
about what’s gone.  Then

your generosity returns: spring, moisture, intelligence, the
scent of hyacinth and rose

and cypress.  Joseph is back!  And if you don’t feel in
yourself the freshness of

Joseph, be Jacob!  Weep and then smile.  Don’t pretend to know
something you haven’t experienced.

There’s a necessary dying, and then Jesus is breathing again.
Very little grows on jagged

rock.  Be ground.  Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up
where you are.  You’ve been

stony for too many years.  Try something different.  Surrender.

Rumi

From The Soul of Rumi translated by Coleman Barks

March 29, 2010 Posted by 108zenbooks | 108 thoughts, Eastern Teachers, reflections | , | 2 Comments