saturn return to sender

[originally written July 26, 2009 … updated and posted today]

I fancy that sitting—a la meditation—is kind of like music for me. I’ve studied some theory and have some talent, but I never practice. Coloring in chords on paper isn’t at all like touring with a band, and reading about, say, Rinzai and Soto isn’t at all like sesshin. I mean: I assume. Having never done that.

But, I found a nice little rock off the path with a view and a slanted face and it was actually pretty comfortable. I zoned out, zoned out of zoning out (aka, zoned back in), tried to allow the thoughts to arise and fade, noted the immediacy of the wind’s action on the flowers nearby, tasted the weird almost panic-inducing intimacy of what I fancy to be less-mediated experience.

Soon, I felt sadness, and I recognized it as the sadness that I carry with me everywhere. I furrowed my brow at it. I tried not to suppress it. What the fuck is this thing anyway? What the fuck is it? So strange. As strange as the beauty of the scene, the beauty of the people I know. I felt alone, with the wind and the mountains which refused to either validate or damn my presence. Fucking silent mountains.

But then I started breathing consciously. Then, in the breathing, I felt that I was … participating in the scene: the wind, the rock, the mountains, the creatures living on the tundra. I was not so separate from all of that, because everything there was breathing. Some words came forth to describe the experience and they sort of echoed in my head, as the sadness expanded, and before too long I was crying. The words were “breathing is to participate in the divine. breathing is to participate in the divine …”

I clung to the repeating words like they were a rocking-back-and-forth hug I was giving to myself, but they were not much solace. Participation isn’t solace, it’s just I suppose that participating is less absurd than not participating. I suppose it’s also nice to have company.

I decided then that the world seems mostly to be beautiful, and mostly to be sad. This is my view, my predilection, I think. By and large, beauty unfolds from hardship, and heartbreak is the inevitable end of beauty. The things living in the tundra turn the mountain tops all green and lush in spite of the unforgiving climate. People give to each other and work for what’s right despite their own suffering and damage, and despite the astounding injustice of human stupidity.

Beauty and Heartbreak: those are my current favorite names for the demon and angel lovers who dance the world into being. They’re fucking nuts, but somehow it seems like the only sane choice is to join in…

This entry was posted on Sunday, November 8th, 2009 at 11:57 pm and is filed under huh?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.