Cutting one's toenails.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
Prayer for the Grace to Age Well
When the signs of age begin to mark my body
(and still more when they touch my mind);
when the ill that is to diminish me or carry me off
strikes from without or is born within me;
when the painful moment comes
in which I suddenly awaken to the fact that I am ill or growing old;
and above all at that last moment when I feel I am losing hold of myself
and am absolutely passive within the hands
of the great unknown forces that have formed me;
in all those dark moments, O God,
grant that I may understand that it is you
(provided only my faith is strong enough)
who are painfully parting the fibres of my being
in order to penetrate to the very marrow of my substance
and bear me away within yourself.
-- Teilhard de Chardin
(and still more when they touch my mind);
when the ill that is to diminish me or carry me off
strikes from without or is born within me;
when the painful moment comes
in which I suddenly awaken to the fact that I am ill or growing old;
and above all at that last moment when I feel I am losing hold of myself
and am absolutely passive within the hands
of the great unknown forces that have formed me;
in all those dark moments, O God,
grant that I may understand that it is you
(provided only my faith is strong enough)
who are painfully parting the fibres of my being
in order to penetrate to the very marrow of my substance
and bear me away within yourself.
-- Teilhard de Chardin
Thursday, September 18, 2014
this far
I enjoy being a 76 year old sitting in a chair outside beneath the shade of a tree. No. Enjoy is not the word. Quiet acceptance. Wondering that I made it this far. "Far" is not right either. No sense of linear time, only memory arising in the now. No clouds in the blue depths of heaven. Going nowhere. Nothing doing. My Zen name.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
encounter
Talked with an older (84) gentleman downtown this morning. He was sitting there looking a little sad, evidently mulling something over in deeper realms. "What's up?" I asked. His eyes slowly took on life as he returned from whatever scenario he had been contemplating.
"I don't remember things the way I used to," he said. "And I trip over things at home and fall down. My feet are too big, I guess." I remained quiet and listened. "My mother fell when she got older, broke her shoulder, and stayed on the floor from 9 at night until 1 in the afternoon the next day when someone came to check on her."
He looked troubled. "I might have to go live with one of my children." He named their locations, the nearest one in Phoenix. "Where do you want to live?" I asked. "Flagstaff," he immediately replied. We both laughed.
He was looking more chipper. "They are all so busy," he said and began telling me of the things his children were all involved in. "Would you have a room?" I asked. "Oh yes." "But you would be alone." "Yes," he said. "And you live alone now." He nodded.
He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "One of my sons gave me this," he said. "I keep it with me in case I fall down. I can call 911." "How about one of those things you can wear around your neck and push a button?" I asked. "They cost $30 a month," he said.
By that time he was more animated and lively. "One of my grandsons bought me a computer and we talk on that Skype. He can see my keyboard and he tells me how to operate it." "Is it a laptop?" I asked. "Yes." "Well maybe you can wear it hanging around your neck and Skype him if you fall down." We both laughed.
We got up and he walked with me a little way. "What they say is true." I said. "Old age is not for sissies." "Physically it isn't," he said, "I hope your day is good." "Blessings to you," I said. We went our separate ways.
"I don't remember things the way I used to," he said. "And I trip over things at home and fall down. My feet are too big, I guess." I remained quiet and listened. "My mother fell when she got older, broke her shoulder, and stayed on the floor from 9 at night until 1 in the afternoon the next day when someone came to check on her."
He looked troubled. "I might have to go live with one of my children." He named their locations, the nearest one in Phoenix. "Where do you want to live?" I asked. "Flagstaff," he immediately replied. We both laughed.
He was looking more chipper. "They are all so busy," he said and began telling me of the things his children were all involved in. "Would you have a room?" I asked. "Oh yes." "But you would be alone." "Yes," he said. "And you live alone now." He nodded.
He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "One of my sons gave me this," he said. "I keep it with me in case I fall down. I can call 911." "How about one of those things you can wear around your neck and push a button?" I asked. "They cost $30 a month," he said.
By that time he was more animated and lively. "One of my grandsons bought me a computer and we talk on that Skype. He can see my keyboard and he tells me how to operate it." "Is it a laptop?" I asked. "Yes." "Well maybe you can wear it hanging around your neck and Skype him if you fall down." We both laughed.
We got up and he walked with me a little way. "What they say is true." I said. "Old age is not for sissies." "Physically it isn't," he said, "I hope your day is good." "Blessings to you," I said. We went our separate ways.
Monday, February 24, 2014
learning how to die
"Keep one-point" is the most powerful and most essential practice taught me by a martial art teacher (Koichi Tohei). Keeping one-point has served me through my life and is now serving me as I continue learning how to die.
The one-point or center in the body is two to three inches below the navel and deep inside. One moves from one-point. This allows one to get out of the head chatter, out of entangling emotion, out of fabricated illusion and move with full attentiveness and clarity through life.
But how about through death? One does not want to stay attached to one's body. Where then shall one keep one's one-point? Where shall one center oneself?
I practice the answer to this question even now. I center in the Formless that is producing this form. Rather than being a body that is embodying the Life Force, I practice being the Life Force that is embodying. In other words, I am practicing dying before I die. I identify with the Formless rather than the form.
Where is my one-point? I center in the vastness that produces all that is. I hear comforting laughter and feel warmth and peace. Centering and opening. No attachment. Boundless capaciousness. As Stephen Levine put it, a spiritual being having physical experiences rather than a physical being having spiritual experiences.
The one-point or center in the body is two to three inches below the navel and deep inside. One moves from one-point. This allows one to get out of the head chatter, out of entangling emotion, out of fabricated illusion and move with full attentiveness and clarity through life.
But how about through death? One does not want to stay attached to one's body. Where then shall one keep one's one-point? Where shall one center oneself?
I practice the answer to this question even now. I center in the Formless that is producing this form. Rather than being a body that is embodying the Life Force, I practice being the Life Force that is embodying. In other words, I am practicing dying before I die. I identify with the Formless rather than the form.
Where is my one-point? I center in the vastness that produces all that is. I hear comforting laughter and feel warmth and peace. Centering and opening. No attachment. Boundless capaciousness. As Stephen Levine put it, a spiritual being having physical experiences rather than a physical being having spiritual experiences.
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