the ancient masters were profound and subtle.
their wisdom was unfathomable.
there is no way to describe it:
all we can describe is their appearance.
they were careful
as someone crossing an iced-over stream.
alert as a warrior in enemy territory.
courteous as a guest.
fluid as melting ice.
shapable as a block of wood.
receptive as a valley.
clear as a glass of water.
do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
the master doesn’t seek fulfillment.
not seeking, not expecting,
she is present, and can welcome all things.
rinse the leeks and then slice into thin slivers. saute slowly in good butter, a bit of extra virgin olive oil, with a generous squeeze of lemon, salt, pepper. until soft. fry a couple of eggs. serve with a drizzle of your favorite extra virgin olive oil (the kind you save for drizzling), another squeeze of lemon, fresh grated asiago, a sprinkle of sea salt, a crackle of pepper.
monday mornings. before sunrise. cup of jo then out to slop around in the pastures. irrigation.
a lot has changed over the last few months. notably: i have moved home to reno, nevada after a short but tender journey to the middle of america and have adopted a dog friend named ruby. i’m teaching yoga full time at a studio called yoga loka–the same lovely studio where i began teaching almost ten years ago. i’m trying my hand growing a vegatable garden at my new home with the support of many loving gardener friends.
the title of my blog may change down the road since i can’t say i’m too far from home anymore. for now i’m trying to get back into the habit of documenting little bits of my life here with photos, notes, poems, and recipes. here are a few of my favorite shots of late:
“i love you, gentlest of Ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you.
you, the great homesickness we could never shake off,
you, the forest that always surrounded us,
you, the song we sang in every silence,
you dark net threading through us,
on the day you made us you created yourself,
and we grew sturdy in your sunlight…
let your hand rest on the rim of heaven now and mutely bear the darkness we bring over you.”
—rainer maria rilke, translated by anita barrows and joanna macy
(discovered on speaking of faith)
How To Be a Poet
(to remind myself)
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your work,
doubt their judgment.
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
There are only sacred places
And desecrated places.
-Wendell Berry, from Given New Poems