Unknown's avatar

treatment-resistant joy

A friend of mine described being in a room full of puppies as exposure to treatment-resistant joy.  I laughed initially from the mere image of bouncing balls of fur and manic tails.  Then, the cynic in me muttered, Hah!  Just wait until they graduate from puppy school to doggie boot camp.  Having trained a number puppies, we’ve struggled with teaching them how to behave yet not lose that wholehearted abandon of puppyhood.

It’s so easy to get trained out of our natural incline to joy.  Practice can get that way; it can feel like enlightenment boot camp some days.  And it was evident this weekend. A holiday weekend for us, it marks the beginning of some real dig deep gardening.  Despite the early arrival of Spring, it’s been raining so much that the grass is a foot high and our lawn mower died after one brave circuit of the homestead.  The flower beds are choking with grass and dandelions.  The irony of St. John’s Wort, used to treat depression yet causing grief, didn’t escape me; it has completely invaded the bee balm and lifted the stone walkway.  Gardening meditation was not shaping up to be pastoral or bucolic.

Yet practice also informs me that these initial thoughts of and sensations that underlie a belief of futility are unreliable predictors.  No matter how I start out each Spring, the work gets done, the space is created for each plant and every blossom.  So digging in – literally in some cases – is all there is to do.  The rest follows.  Just like sitting zazen.

And when I got discouraged, there were these luscious beauties:

It’s easy to get lost in the weeds.  It was nice to look up and be showered with aching beauty.

I also caught a video on Facebook posted by Eshu Martin of the Victoria Zen Center.  Treatment-resistant joy is not only for kids!

Kensho from Cadbury.

Unknown's avatar

thanks giving

It’s one of the most beautiful Fall seasons I can remember and one filled with so many sensatorial gifts. The colours are unrelenting and, despite the equally unrelenting rain, it looks like we will have a great show for a few more weeks.  The earth smells thick and rich as leaves and plants fold back into it, a nutritious decay.  Geese, loud and exuberant, curve across the sky and the beating wings of hundreds of starlings rising from the corn fields sound like the ocean surf.

The baskets of produce in the kitchen speak to a summer spent tending the garden well.  That there are  friends who still want more produce speak to years of cultivating joyful relationships of give-and-give-enough.  Frank is totally chuffed by the hot chillies he managed to coax out of our short growing season and he attributes it to mindful coercing.  I’m thrilled that the roses we transplanted from my mother’s garden continue to bloom; their fragrant scent fills the zendo and the altar is alive with their colour.

There are many lessons emerging from these days which I’ll unpack over the week.  Gratitude, of course, is a typical one this time of year as we savour the Summer’s bounty of carrots, beets, apples, and pumpkins.  For added spice, today is Thanksgiving here in Wild North.  Oddly, gratitude is a feeling I take for granted because I connect with it as something that arises when good things happen.  Then I received a post from  a friend which showed me the secret ingredient in gratitude.  She wrote: Happy Gratitude Attitude! How neat to see something special planted deep inside the word!  Gratitude becomes relational, an attitude we can cultivate towards our experience.  More important, for me, it becomes a stance to my experience that is independent of the experience itself.

Thank you for practising,

Genju