When you lift a net, notice how the holes come up with it.

This one has been bouncing around my head for a few weeks.  I can’t find it on the dharma talks and can’t recall the context.  But it doesn’t matter, I suppose.  Rohatsu is a blur of transitions and I had entered it with the intention of simply moving in and out of the spaciousness that is created in retreat.  Time/space is a challenge in my life, as is geographic/space.  Just before writing this post, I was on the phone with a manager in a police agency and chatting about the various things we will be working on together.  She commented that my schedule sounded intensely busy, to which I chuckled and said I was worried that I didn’t find it so.  “What’s your secret!” she laughed.  Lift the net; the holes come up with it.

It’s not really that conscious though.  For the most part, I tend to thrash around in the net strings, caught in the structure and concepts of my work and practice.  Once in a while when I lose my balance, I fall into the space between the strands.  Hardly a conscientious, intentional practice.  And that’s fine because it’s in the accidental revelations that opportunity for transformation arises.

So in this season of transitions from dark to light, from holding to releasing, from calm to chaos, I wonder if we can lift this net and fall together into the spaciousness that is always and already waiting for us.

Thank you for practising,

Genju

I’ve spent the last four hours trying to get Outlook to work.  For some reason, it stopped sending email notifications of appointments I booked over the day.  It doesn’t have to be a big deal but technology and I have co-dependent relationship; it promises joy and ease and I will pay any price for delivery.  Unfortunately, the only thing it delivers is obsession and if I complain about the misrepresentation, it points out that the fault is in my perception.

So, I have spent more time than it deserved trying every tactic to get Outlook to return to our old relationship where I enjoyed the delusion of partnership and it hid its tender indifference from me.  (The term is from Camus’ The Stranger, a book I have not read but the words heard in one of the dharma talks struck me deeply.)  We so hate to be thwarted in our desires, especially when we are convinced those desires are our deliverance.

Reflecting on the various partnerships I’ve forged over the years and what tender indifferences were hidden from me makes for an interesting explore.

Thank you for practising,

Genju