Notes on a Buddhist path
I sank into the massage table, every cell of me ready to be pummeled and coaxed into relaxation. Since this was my first visit to Russell I made sure to tell him I like a very deep massage. Placing his hands on my back, he said he knew why I liked it rough: my body felt like petrified wood.
Oh, that can’t be good.
It’s funny how a life can change with just one step in a new direction. How the years of contemplating that step one day come to placing our singularly intention on the new ground that has been waiting for us and for this one rare and precious moment to arise.
When Dorothy peered behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz her world fell apart. All that she hoped for, all her dreams, all her plans dissolved in the sudden awareness that no great and powerful being could save her, could rescue her from the suffering of loss or satisfy the cravings that beset her, and her companions.
I know just how she must have felt.
Both gentle and bombastic purveyors of the worldly visited my cushion and walking paths of practice. Welcoming everything, this being enjoined with mindfulness, concentration and wisdom, and they became my three sisters of compassion.
There was an owl that was a constant sight on my daily walks of the summer. I would spot him sitting still and silent, a graven image of my misplaced idolatry.
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