Notes on a Buddhist path
Yesterday evening as the sun was tipping its brilliant countenance towards the horizon, my dear cat, Clause, died in the warm embrace of my bedroom in the care of someone who was not me.
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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