The Cliff

The Cliff

I sit with hospice patient, Michael, who is dying of prostate cancer that metastasized to the spine.

I am here to be with people facing the certain finality of their earthly days.

A finality we all are facing, obviously.

But someone in hospice care is terminally ill by default, with a life expectancy of six months or less.

Michael doesn’t seem to understand that he has come close to the Cliff’s edge. He says he expects to be healed but it is a slow process, much slower than he would like.

I wonder how much closer he will need to get before the unlikelihood of remaining in this world becomes obvious.

And before the world beyond this world engages his serious attention.

Maybe it never will.

Maybe he will take that last step over the Cliff without ever having given a second thought to the vast mystery into which he falls.

I hope not.

I hope his heart will swell open to the fathomless, even as his spirit yearns for its liberation.

And I hope he will share with us some vision of the enfolding night and the radiant dawn as these overtake him.

For truly, I have a hidden agenda in being a hospice volunteer.

I want to draw near to that ultimate Cliff myself - but voluntarily, with eyes, heart and mind open.

And long before the old body, trembling, cannot help but tumble into it.

I want to welcome the enfolding night and radiant dawn when their moment comes.

I want to offer conscious thanks for these days and nights that have been mine,

With all the suffering mingled with joy that has infused my perfect life.


So I sit with hospice patient Michael,

And watch for that wondrous spark of recognition to illumine his face.

Pumpkin Head

Pumpkin Head

This morning I am asking again, is there anything in me today?

Anything to give? Anything worth giving?

Can I come back to the keyboard and type words that people might see?

I feel empty, dry as a bone.

I feel like one of those pumpkins whose insides get scooped out.

And then children carve a face in the empty pumpkin shell,

put a candle inside,

and call it a Jack O’Lantern.

Yep, that's how I feel today.


Suddenly it occurs,

Wow, that’s actually a beautiful symbol.

The pumpkin head whose personal mind has been removed

and replaced by spacious light?

Whose smiley face illuminates the night?

Yes!

Sword in the Heart

Sword in the Heart

Last night I saw, “Seduced and Betrayed” with Helen Hunt and Bette Midler. It takes quite a movie to hold my attention past fifteen minutes, but this was an amazing treatment of the enigmatic and paradoxical way human relationships unfold through contrary circumstance and apparent mishap.

The Piscean (in terms of two fish swimming opposite directions) movements of the soul were depicted in an insightfully touching yet non-sentimental way.

As the plot developed, awareness deepened in the main characters from unconscious reaction to conscious choice, culminating in the knowledge that even in committed love a person will hurt his or her dearest ones - and cannot help doing so. And that this is part of the wondrous mystery of intimate human relationships.

At the very end a Jewish fable was related of a father telling his son to jump, and that he would catch him. So the son jumped, and when his father caught him he felt love. And when his father did NOT catch him he felt something more: life.

Interestingly, the character stories portrayed in the movie were almost as convoluted, complex and improbable as my own real one – but not quite.

I also believe love means willingly bearing your heart to the sword of your beloved, but success in this requires practice. Perhaps pain appears in our lives as just that - target practice. And you can’t hit a target you don’t see.

It seems the way to be at peace with uncertainty and unresolved situations is to become fully aware of them. Once consciously embraced they no longer have the power to affect. They appear simply as aspects of the miraculously complicated and impenetrable life God has granted.

But if the prospect of bearing your heart to the sword is daunting, if the many contradictions and seemingly irreconcilable aspects of life present too much threat of pain, the tendency will be to push these under the level of awareness.

Once in the subconscious they are able to influence and affect freely and ceaselessly, bringing suffering into your experience - perhaps in unexpected ways. Thus the agony you hoped to sidestep comes regardless, but remains inaccessible to treatment.

Sometimes God catches us and we feel love. But sometimes He appears to miss.

That "fall," where God's catch wasn't there, is the sword aimed for our very heart.

We know it will hurt, so the choice is whether to avoid or accept it. To push it out of awareness or to make it as conscious as possible.

This is the life lesson that our deepest relationships bring to us over and over

. . . until we get it.

Trust

I am learning it is possible to not live in fear, to not expect the doom of loss.

I am learning it is possible to trust.

What is the worst that could happen? Well, it's already happened.

You weren't loved unconditionally.

But . . . no one ever HAS been! We are all in the same boat, searching for someone who has the ability to love us unconditionally.

Yet, no one can. No one outside can provide what can only come from inside.

Once we get that, the sense of fear diminishes and the desperate need to find security in this world eases.

And one day you realize . . . it's over.

The seeking for safety, for that mythicial longlasting superhuman affection from some other body is over.

Then Trust comes forward.

You look inside and ask, what has been there all along?

SOMETHING has been, and something still is. Something that has NEVER abandoned you.

Do you feel it? Of course you do. So . . . trust that.

Be with it. Surrender to it.

Love it, and let it love you in return.

Problems Solved

Your 'problems' will be solved through you,


but not by you.

Laugh

"OK COUNT, THIS IS REDICULACE!
I CANT CONTAIN MY SELF ANY LONGER!
WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"


Ha! That produced a laugh!

Which is kind of a rare commodity these days.

Well, OK I guess some explanation of the dry spell is in order.

For me this has been a time of facing inner shadows – dark scary ones. And when they are hovering I just feel backed into a corner and damn near speechless with apprehension.

And every so often I think it must be great to be one of those happy go lucky sorts of people who manage to sing and dance through the days and have clever things to say no matter what.

Or else I think, OK this is what’s happening now: the world is going through the wringer. So don’t beat yourself up for feeling like crap.

Or else I think that this blog, much as I actually love it, is just a reflection of my dysfunctional egoic state that serves no really beneficial purpose to anyone.

Or else I am so overwhelmed with a sense of catastrophic and claustrophobic doom that there is no motivation to do anything anyway.


Wow! And someone really wants to hear more about that stuff?

God bless you, man!

And thanks for the laugh!

The Graveyard

The Graveyard

I walked in the graveyard under a filmy moon. The spirits had risen from their tombs and floated uneasily in the night air.

“Who are you?” I asked one that hovered over a stone cross.

“I am Delight,” it answered.

“And you?” I asked another.

“Joy,” it replied.

As I looked upon the restless spirits they began to spontaneously name themselves:

“Contentment, Simplicity, Selflessness, Honesty, Hope, Trust . . .”

Below each, a corpse lay buried and decayed in the earth. Never having been released, their spirits haunted the unhappy past.

“What can be done?” I asked, seeing my name above the cemetery gate.

“Have you never heard of Christ?” they asked. “He who resurrects the dead must descend into hell to rescue them.”

I recalled the Savior’s words:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

For hours we communed together, I and the spirits of childhood. Then dawn began to edge the horizon.

“Now I know where you lie,” I said to them. “You shall be remembered and mourned.”

A sigh of gratitude passed through the gathered ghosts.

“And in God’s time,” I promised, “the Messiah shall come.”

Pray

Haven't felt able to post for awhile. In the meantime, this song expresses my hope for everyone and our country and the world as well. Another CD original featuring my daughter Victoria.

Cosmic Heart

Cosmic Heart

The heart’s understanding is fine and inscrutable.

It does not grasp and grind upon the subject of its love, but rather reaches with tender tentacles of intuition into the void.

It hesitates to disturb the everlasting ethers with its inquiry.

In the radiance of forever it senses and sees the light of its beloved.

It feels the intensity of life, keen as a knife blade.

Yet, from this feeling the heart does not cringe.

It embraces such pain eagerly, as its own meat and drink, the blood of its vital sustenance.

The heart is a voyager in the vast cosmic currents of mother/father God.

It wanders in its own true home,

Both ever-known

And ever-unknowable.

Curtain Call

Curtain Call

The day begins; I have re-entered the dream of my life.

Now, it is not quite so arduous as before, the actor on the stage is not so convincing to the audience, he does not compel such complete attachment and identification.

I shall engage the dream of this day knowing it to be a passing scene from which the un-passing witness will emerge unchanged.

Therefore, let the scene be well acted. And let the actor perform well.

Let him be unafraid and brave. Let him face uncertainty with calm trust.

Let him do what is best for all and not seek his small protections.

May this day’s play be fitting and commendable.

Let it be a triumph not of ego and conflict, but rather of simple humility and good will.


Then shall the witness stand in appreciation at the curtain call.

Then shall he applaud a show that has been much to his liking.

The Pier

The Pier

Extending out into the river was a narrow wooden pier that floated upon the rippling waves, steamy in a warm afternoon sun.

This was a place I liked to come, to sit inches from the flowing Willamette and breathe deep the serenity of water and sky.

But one day I discovered, in my favorite spot at the end of the pier, a wedding ring lying.

No one was around to query or alert – I was alone with the immense discovery.

And how often does a person find a wedding ring?

It was a simple gold band such as many people wear. No initials, no engravings, no distinguishing marks beyond the scratches of being long worn.

Was it lost? Abandoned? Left by accident? Left on purpose? Did someone want it back? Or never want to see it again?

And . . . why me? Why did I find it?


Why was a wedding ring waiting at the spot where I like to sit on the pier, on the day I decided to go to the river?

Why was it suspended over moving water, the universal symbol of spirit, and not on the shore somewhere?




The event seemed so improbable and strange that it had to be staged – some kind of cosmic communication.

Was it a message about someone else’s life? A message about mine?

So many questions floating by . . .

Drifting downstream . . .

Passing on a river of spirit . . .

Easing past the reach of rational answers . . .



. . . till I could ponder them no longer.


And so,

Thankful for meeting the wondrous wedding ring,

I sat down in my accustomed spot at the end of the pier,

Inches from the flowing Willamette,

And breathed deep the serenity of water and sky.

Attachment

Attachment

The pope and I were changing clothes together in a locker room. Not sure why – maybe he wanted me to feel at ease in visiting the Vatican.

He asked a lot of questions about my background. I told him that in my religious tradition people were supposed to fast from regular food before receiving Holy Communion.

The pope expressed surprised at this practice but also said he understood.

“Only to man are some things more holy than others,” he told me. “In God this is not the case.”

After this, ranks of situations and concepts presented themselves for my review. Some of these would have been considered important or holy while the others just the reverse.

But suddenly I realized they were all equal – equally important, and equally unimportant.

And I realized the only thing that moved something from one camp to the other was a person’s attachment to it.

Aversion or desire made the seemingly unimportant become important.

A nice message in a well presented vision.

But why was the pope in it?

Maybe to underline the point:

the seemingly most important of men with the seemingly least so

. . . both putting on their pants one leg at a time.

The Dream Self

The Dream Self

After the dream is over you wonder how you could have been fooled by its ridiculous premises.

Why was your dream self so afraid and cautious? Why was it so self-protective and petty?

The experience was only a dream, after all. A toothless monster, a ghostly film appearing in consciousness, soon to be vaporized by the light of wakefulness.

Why did your dream self not act boldly, courageously?

Why did it not display love and compassion?

Why did it not risk itself for the highest achievements?

You awaken and are embarrassed by your dream self.

You feel ashamed of its seemingly limitless stupor, its uncanny ability to stumble and fall, to be awkward and ignorant.

In the light of day, it is easy to see what your dream self could have done better.

Next time, you say.

Next time my dream self will forget its personal interests and embrace the great beyond.

Next time it will be true.

Next time it will really be . . . me.

Father and Mother

Father and Mother

Mother touches the heart and it warms, remembering love.

This child has sought Mother’s all-embracing milk from many other breasts, but in vain.

Father touches the mind and it opens, perceiving truth.

This child has sought Father’s mighty wisdom from many other teachers, but in vain.


Do not depart from me, O my Mother and my Father!

This child has been an orphan wanderer for so long! It has cried for you ceaselessly in the night!

This child does not seek anything but your touch. It is lost and miserable, not knowing itself without you.

This child desires you above everything – all past, lesser desires have arisen out of the frustration of your absence.


This child does not need to know why things are as they are. It is content to trust in your love and your wisdom.

Be with me, O my Mother and my Father.

Please be with me.

Too Fat

Too Fat

I was driving down the road and the car just wouldn't go fast, everything passed it by. Finally I looked underneath and saw that the tires were too fat. They were rubbing against the frame.

So the painful, plodding trip went forward in slow motion, agony stretching into infinity.

Then a view opened to a cheese factory where blocks of cheese were being processed for shipment. Ladies in sanitized gowns stood by watching for anything that might go wrong.

At that moment they saw a block of cheese that was oversized, didn't fit the process. Quickly they knocked it off the line so it didn't obstruct the others.

Into the reject tub it went.

Too fat.

Not Bored

Not Bored

I sat in a technical-intellectual meeting for hours – and wasn’t bored.

It wasn’t that I understood the content, far from it. THAT was a needle’s eye my mind wasn’t willing to go through.

But something else became highly interesting, even completely absorbing:

I noticed how good my right foot felt inside its canvas sneaker.

Amazing sensations arose along the toes whenever I wriggled them a bit. Soon the arch and heel contributed their own tingly pleasures.

But that wasn’t all.

The shin was also in good shape (feeling-wise) under its pants, and the knee was having a very good time being knee-worthy.

As I put attention on the various regions, hips, back, arm, etc., they ALL contributed favorable status reports.

Meanwhile my left foot also started making its presence noticed in a very agreeable way. After a moment I couldn’t tell whether the left or right side felt better.

All this inner activity was far more satisfying than what was going on around me, namely death-by-indoctrination.

Not every bodily sensation was warm and fuzzy, though. Conditions in some regions of the CD biosphere were not totally ideal – for instance there was a certain weirdness in the stomach, a slight tightness in the shoulders.

Still, there was a definite sense of pleasure in paying attention even to these.

And so . . . time passed easily as I communed with the waves of life movement flowing over, under, around and through this mysterious presence which goes by my name.

Some other day, when I’m bored, maybe I’ll try to figure out what happened in the meeting.

Walking on Water

Walking on Water

A group of us were working together on various jobs and I had been watching my work load decrease bit by bit. Then one day the guy in charge called us all together.

He said things were getting really tough. I could see the worry on his face. I could feel my stomach go queasy.

But suddenly . . . I wrenched myself free.

“No, it isn’t like that!” I said emphatically.

And immediately, I was awake.

A relief, and a lesson.

Lying there, I thought of Jesus walking on the water. A “miracle” – that’s how this episode is interpreted and conveyed:

"Don't try this at home!"

But at that moment I saw it in a new light.

I felt Jesus was teaching us to walk on the story of our lives rather than sinking into it and drowning.

Peter had tried to follow Jesus’ example and was initially doing fine.

“But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me” (Mat. 14:30).

I totally get that.

There are moments when the peace is strong and I feel part of the big picture.

Then that boisterous wind blows fear into my heart and suddenly it is:

“Omigod, MY STORY!”

And the drowning commences.

A little later that night my dream continued.

I was in a room with wooden walls and big wooden drawers that slid into the walls. These drawers held the mysteries to everything imaginable.

I came to one drawer that supposedly contained the “answer” for me, and slid it open with high anticipation. Inside were rows and rows of folded objects whose use was impossible to conjecture. I was dumbfounded.

But then . . . I got it (I think).

What I need is not in some drawer somewhere that has to be found. It is already here.

This is the reality that has to be faced squarely every day and lived with intently.

There is nowhere else I can go, nowhere else I need to go.

It’s all here now.

Be with it.

That's walking on water.

The Body

The Body

I have been watching the state of my body changing. This has many aspects, but one of them is called aging.

The skin gets thinner, the muscle tone harder to maintain. Seems like healing takes longer and body stuff generally starts seeming less optimal.

Some of that is a result of laziness and stupidity – not doing what is healthier, continuing to abuse the system the way “ignorant youth” (to use a vague generality) often do. That part I can try to correct.

But a person could pump iron and down vitamins until he was 105 and still experience an inevitable physical decline. We aren’t intended to live forever in this life, this incarnation. This is only a part of the bigger picture.

So, there are things to improve if possible - but also things to accept as they are regarding the amazing gift of our physical vehicle,

this form that allows us to experience the world and presents the possibility of bringing awareness and consciousness into manifestation.

And the gradual, inevitable weakening that it goes through now seems to contain or reveal another blessing – the withdrawal of energy from that physical realm of experience so it is more available for the contemplative and meditative dimension.

Plants flower in summer and their blossoms fade. Even though the stalks wither and grow dry, seed pods emerge – the culmination of that plant’s possibilities in its present life cycle.

I feel increasingly able to accept and cherish the culminating, concluding era of my own life cycle, however long that is yet to last.

And I hope the energy released from maintaining the outer body so assiduously can heat up the inner spirit all the more.

I hope all parts of me burn in the light.

Syrup

Syrup

The present days have pulled me into the story again, at least that’s how it feels.

Like drowning in syrup, something so thick your legs can’t kick and you are fatigued into suffocation.

A person wonders, when will it be over, this story of me that is so tiring and tiresome?

When will the exhilaration of things going as wished, the frustration (more common) of things not doing so - really be over?

And so, who would want to speak of all this?

Who would want to record it, articulate it into stone?

Maybe in another day, another week, I will regain fresher air, distance myself a bit again from the story of me where the sun doesn’t seem to shine.

Yet on the other hand, the intent of this blog was to be a record of my journey, a supposedly representative human, through the days at hand -

both the seemingly good and the seemingly bad.

And so, with some reservations, there it is.

From the currents of leg entwining syrup,

Signing off for now,

Yours,

CD

Wave of Light

Wave of Light

The wave of light arrives in all its intense mystery and splendor, illuminating the moment.

Caught up in this transcendent experience, one's heart flutters in joy and agony, perceiving yet more clearly both the transparency and the translucency of its human state.

This glorious wave is inspiration itself, catching up one's awareness into realms of delight and despair, into hope and desolation, as the limitless expanse of existence flashes into view briefly, its wonder beyond description.

One thinks, “Now I understand; now I see. I shall live this way always.”

But after a moment, when the day's gift has been imparted . . . the wave scintillatingly fades out of view.

Yes, now you are to live this way.

At least for today.

You are charged with taking the inspiration delivered from on high and bringing it into this world of flesh and blood, where people have wounds and sores and are confused.

But apply it first to yourself, to your own discontinuities and dramas.

And then, perhaps, eventually . . .

that gift may reach also unto others.