Mere khawaabon ke is gulistaan mein
Tumse hi to bahaar chhai hai
Phoolon mein rang mere the lekin
In mein khushboo tumhi se aai haiIn my garden of dreams
Spring came only because of you
The flowers had my colours
But their fragrance has come from you-“In lamhon ke daaman mein” from Jodhaa Akbar
There are periods of time when we retreat. Sometimes, we sit. Or clean. Or read and study. For me, I have spent the last four months working my butt off starting my first business.
But I’m back now. I would appreciate any special posts or comments telling me where the interesting conversations are happening, so I can jump back into the community, feet first and eyes open.
Gassho!
Emily
I dreamed I went to sleep within my dream to meet my Master. He looked just like Jeff Bridges in Tron: The Legacy. I was terrified of being made to look like a fool, for I knew I had to battle this experienced Master.
He challenged me to defeat him and I lost, again and again. We were flying through mental planes that were sometimes bizarre and sometimes beautiful, and always I lost. We were tethered together the entire time, sometimes by holding hands and sometimes by a long thread of thought. It began in space, or looking out at a city street like in The Matrix, or in another exotic location of his choosing. Each time he challenged me to reach beyond what I thought was possible, each time he presented himself as my enemy.
Then, one night I was tired of letting him choose the location. I appeared in a large room, as large as several stadiums, perfectly square and brightly lit from nowhere. My hand met his and I visualized bubbles within and around us. They exploded into mushroom clouds and as I fell, I visualized a cushion to catch myself. As the battle continued, neither one of us actually being injured, I was able to anticipate none of his moves but was aware enough to anticipate my own and the effects it would have. Because of this, I could land safely and have time to create the next attack while he was left scrambling each time.
Finally, I saw him standing in the center of the room and I knew the battle was over. I approached him and bowed low. I heard the Master’s voice in my head, “Emily, you have defeated the demon that attacked you each night: your own disbelief.”
Though he released my hand, I could still feel the connection between us as he moved away. The connection was a choice, one that I made each moment.
By: Emily Breder
There could be no bigger mistake than to think that ignorance is somehow dumb and stupid, or passive and lacking in intelligence. On the contrary, it is shrewd and cunning, versatile and ingenious in the games of deception, and in our wrong views and their burning convictions we find one of its deepest and, as Buddha said, most dangerous manifestations:
What do you have to fear from the wild elephant
Who can only damage your body here and now,
When falling under the influence of misguided people and wrong views
Not only destroys the merit you have accumulated in the past,
But also blocks your path to freedom in the future?
| — | From Sogyal Rinpoche’s ‘Remember the View’ e-Newsletter, which is well worth the subscribe. |
| — | Adyashanti, “A constant state of meditation” in Falling Into Grace (via sharanam) |
This author of this book, a teacher, would read to her inner-city fifth grade class every day after lunch. Here is what she wrote about one memorable day:
I was reading them from ‘The Hundred Dresses’ by Eleanor Estes, about a Polish immigrant girl who was so poor that she wears the same dress to school every day but insists that she has a hundred dresses lined up in her closet. The girls tease her mercilessly until she moved away. Her antagonists discover that she really did have a hundred dresses… a hundred beautiful drawings of dresses. Oh God, it took everything not to cry when I closed the book! I especially like that the book is told from the teacher’s point of view.
Well, everything was quiet at the end, but the Ashworth asked if he could whisper something in my ear. He whispered, “I have to tell the class something,” and discreetly showed me that he was missing half a finger. It was a very macabre moment, but I didn’t flinch.
“I faced him toward the class and put my hands on his shoulders. He was trembling terribly. “Ashworth has something personal to share with you. I hope you will keep in mind ‘The Hundred Dresses’ when he tells you.”
“I… I only have nine and a half fingers,” he choked. “Please don’t tease me about it.” He held up his hands.
The class hummed, impressed, then was silent as Ashworth shifted on his feet. Finally, Billy called out, “I’ll kick the ass of anyone who makes fun of you!”
“Yeah, me too!” said Kirk.
“Yeah, Ash! You just tell us if another class messes with you, and we’ll beat their ass up and down!”
Yeah, yeah, yeah! The class became united in the spirit of ass-kicking. Ashworth sighed and smiled at me. The power of literature! (pages 33-34)
| — | Educating Esme: Diary of a Teacher’s First Year by Esme Codell |
| — | Buddha (via fleetingsheep) |
Does it count if you just try to be aware and awake all the time?
Yes.
Does it count if you try to rationalize not sitting regularly by doing the above?
Once you start rationalizing, you’ve stepped off the path. Rationalization is resistance. It’s a slippery slope to not sitting at all when you put it off till tomorrow, every single day.
Great book, related to this: The War of Art by Steven Pressfield (Same guy who wrote The Legend of Bagger Vance)
