A Mind That is Blue as the San Diego Sky

The past drifts and changes like the clouds. Our minds conjure delusion upon delusion as we categorize/criticize any particular phenomenon in our memories. Yet we’re as changeable as the clouds. Our personal and collective past become like the white light of clouds, transforming at every moment; obscurations to direct clarity of sunlight, of Truth—lost, for many moments or hours.

Like entities being born, thriving, then fading to a wisp before our very eyes in a few seconds.

Like trying to find your way amongst sand dunes: a wind comes along and the whole geography becomes another planet. Life is feeling more and more like that—groundless.

Yet Pema Chodron, the Western Buddhist nun at Gampo Abbey in Nova Scotia, teaches that we must accustom ourselves to this groundlessness. NOTHING to hang on to. No ONE. No THING.

Big fat fear.

Sky-gazing for a long time. Sky mind. Cloudy, grey? Fluffed white and San Diego blue? A blue that goes on forever. May Father Sky imprint his story on my mindstream. O Mother Earth, you give me my life.

Healing means letting go of a cloud.

Letting Go

Well, I just have to speak up about Letting Go. I’ve never in my life had so many inner and outer, dualistic opportunities to struggle, and wail, and pity myself . . . but to keep going because I had to, and was committed to, and could not expect any other to shoulder the burden of me in this lifetime, with my unique pile of issues—a pile of laundry to separate into whites and blacks . . . yet I decided to wash everything together . . . and most of it still sits behind me in a pile, waiting to be folded and put away, after a week, in a pile.

That too has been Let Go. It’s ok. I said it was ok to me. To spend the ever-churning days and nights practicing watching my breath, or saying mantras and practices in front of this altar I’ve designed, saying the practices according to a pre-devised, 30-day schedule for the lunar month. This is the biggest part of the day—if I can rouse myself to consistent discipline. This is my job as I lay in my bed. I go to work with my routine of mundane responsibilities, like everyone else with a home, then the spiritual work begins and lasts until about 2pm, I eat, fiddle with the mundane, and focus on spiritual tasks from about 9pm till 11 . . . then I sleep by watching my breath.

Who else lives like this? Alone? With similar intentions? Have I let go of the World? Or has the World let go of me? Either way, letting go seems the way to go—if I can manage it. Shedding oneself of all the encumbering costumes of past life dramas. Must feel like the moment of release of a tight belt around waist. Such relief. Ease.

May my heart open so all can see my natural, uncontrived nature, my Buddha nature. Let go of your life at every exhalation says Pema Chodron. Be ready to die at the end of every outward breath. And be ok with it. 

I discovered a few days ago that I would just give up on my expectations of the results of an important issue. Ok. I let go. Go on. Don’t look back. And kawumph. Gift from the Universe on Tuesday, gift from the Universe on Wednesday afternoon, gift from the Universe on Wednesday night. This is no new teaching, but it is the first time I have experienced it.

Prayers? Meditations? Watching breath? Sending out healing light to others? I’m grateful to be physically and mentally entwined with the Universe. The choice is clear: The World of Duality or The Path. I choose The Path and whatever flows with it. I am inspired, filled with gratitude, that the Universal loving forces have heard my sob-filled requests. I offer my tears to the Grandmothers.