The Sweet Heart of Winter

Winter Monks 20"x24" acrylic and collage

It could be the winter of our discontent -- or not.  Brutal temperatures and storms are blasting their way across the landscape. The weather has gone mad in many places. Here on the west coast of Canada, I am really ineligible to comment on the weather lest you bombard me with snow balls and sharp icicles.

But winter still exists here in lotus land, with it's grey, foggy days, shortened by how the sun brushes by our tilted, blue sphere. Winter has its effect on sentient beings, whether we care to admit it or not, whether we choose to live in a big city and carry on a pace that hardly nods in the direction of the short, cold days or whether we batten down the hatches for winter. And for some reason unknown to me, this year I am embracing the full heart of winter as it exists here. Sharon Zappha Barfoot wrote about her experience of winter in a much snowier place here.  And wherever you live the question seems to me, do we resist what is or do we somehow enter into it? Do we acknowledge our place in the natural world or do we live in separation from it? Do we try to make light out of dark, in either our inner or outer worlds? These are the bigger questions for me?  To what lengths will we go to sustain our delusion? Where do we shine the flashlight of our awareness?

Before winter's weathery course was set, something in me knew I was going to savour hibernation this year. Other years I have tried, but ended up doing a lot of grumbling about the darkness and feeling lonely and hurumphing that this year I might go away for a bit. But as I watched others plan their holidays and listened to stories of winter getaways to come nothing was tempted in me.  No beaches called to me, no warm breezes beckoned, no spots on the map flashed hotly, come here. Instead like a dozy black bear I slowed my pace and prepared for the delicious decent into hibernation. My cave is warmed by a fire, the lair offers all manner of comforts. And the internal world has many hillsides, rock walls to scale and tumultuous oceans to explore. I am never bored.

16"x20" Oil & Cold Wax  "Tracking"

It is interesting to watch the slowed call to activity.  I have become some lumbering creature of the earth. The slowness of the day sometimes feels shocking to me. How could I get so little done? And yet I seem powerless against this feet in molasses feeling, like I am some small creature ruled by a masterful force. There is a gentle joy to it. I am simply surprised how appropriate it feels, how it seems to be calling me to some deeper state.  There is a feeling that there is purpose and a reason for this, that there is some strange call to a landscape deep within.

There is lots of time for meditation and here's one of my favourite guided meditations. It's called Nourishing Your Inner Being and that feels like that's what this winter is about, offering internal nourishment that will support more active times.  This is my winter project if I need to give it a name.  And in nourishing this inner being there is a feeling that I am nourishing all parts of my life: the inner life, the spirit, my art and writing life, and my physical body; that when the winter earth thaws and the days lengthen there will be a natural movement into the next season.

I realize I am fortunate to have the time to live in harmony with this season, to sleep late, to be still, to do less. Even here where the animals of the woods don't hibernate, they slow. We see the deer and the squirrels less often, the birds are less busy. Only the tiny hummingbird keeps up its frantic pace. Living close to the natural world reminds me on a daily basis of how the planet sustains itself, cycling back and forth to create balance.

And so that is where you'll find me these days, meditating by the fire, contemplating and reading, sipping tea, painting a little and residing in the deep heart of winter.  No matter what your circumstances I invite you in ways large or small to join me in tasting the sweetness of winter. It's about creating a different story around the real or imagined winter life, or perhaps creating no story at all?

Treasures of the Self

Another little shot of the Zen garden in progress

In a comment on my last post, Dharma blogger extraordinaire 108zenbooks said something like "even in the harshness, I feel your gentleness".  This got me thinking.  Since that post was about the heavy club of judgment we often wield, I wondered about the flip side of that stick; appreciation. My own gentleness, hmm, appreciate that??

While we are often quick to cite our shortcomings and could easily whip off a long list of them in a blink, we don't often give much attention to our strengths or positive qualities.  Have you ever been at a workshop where people are asked to name their positive qualities or strengths?  Things get very uncomfortable and quiet.

To cite the bleeding obvious, as Basil from Fawlty Towers might say, I am not talking about ego here.  But you knew that, even if you've never seen Fawlty Towers (poor you!).  We are not puffing ourselves up here like peacocks, filling ourselves with false confidence, but contemplating the unique qualities  and gifts we came here with.  Because we are individuals, with our particular karma, we carry with us unique gifts.  Lynette's comments reminded me that one of my qualities is indeed gentleness.  I often see this as some sort of shortcoming and that would be judgmental fairy waving it's dark little wand.  And I think each personality trait (can I call it that?) has it's flip side.  Tenacity can also manifest as stubborness.  Gentleness can morph into timidity.

But I think as part of our practice we need to develop an inner confidence, one that we develop based on clarity and intuitive knowing of our relative self.  This is where our practice begins.  Without loving and appreciating our little self, we can never hope to move outside of it and experience the dropping of boundaries and seeing the bigger picture of "no self". We need to appreciate and value this "little self" first.  It can only be an aid to our practice because it takes courage to do this work, to travel this path, to know that we are fine just the way we are and we can do better.

Bill Plotkin, from the Environmental Buddhist site says, "Each of us is born with a treasure, an essence, a seed of quiescent potential, secreted for safekeeping in the center of our being. This treasure, personal quality, power, talent, or gift (or set of such qualities) is ours to develop, embody, and offer to our communities through acts of service -- our contribution to a more diverse, vital, and evolved world. Our personal destiny is to become that treasure through our actions..."


What are your gifts that you came here to explore and share?

Does Alice Live In Southern California?

I am in what seems like a diva realm to me; Southern California. The air is warm, everything seems clean and beautiful. There are palm trees everywhere and being March, everything is green. In some places the air is filled with the scent of orange blossoms and miscellaneous flower scents unknown to me. The gardens are magnificent. Even the small homes seem uncannily perfect in my eyes. Perception, imagination, the mind forms its opinions and assessments of what it takes in, in an instant. I saw a card in a spiritual book store the other day that reminded me, "with our minds we create our world". The quote was attributed to the Buddha and reminded me of the great power of our minds, how we need to use them with care and attention.

I find my senses filled with so many things in this perfect land. I greedily drink in the beautiful people and their antics. I could people watch for hours here. I am amused and entertained and slightly removed as if I am watching a movie. There is an unreality to it all.

And if the smelling and seeing isn't enough, there is the tasting. Twenty-five pounds of organic oranges for $10 fresh from the orchard. Avocados and fresh pecans, walnuts and dates, I've even bought a cherimoya to try. There are more amazing raw and vegan products in the stores than I can believe. I want to try them all but my wallet offers a cautionary note!

And so goes the festival of the senses. When does it tip over into greed, instead of mere appreciation and enjoyment? Where does one cross the line into craving and desire? How can we tell? How quickly does it happen and what are the signs? I wonder about these things as I eat the most amazing raw chocolate mousse made from Irish moss and brazil nut milk and cocao powder at Planet Raw in Santa Monica.

And do you see the Buddha here in the picture? He sits at the entry way to Venice Beach. Is he offering refuge to lost souls or perhaps simply emitting his energy to offer balance and calm. Or maybe he is simply bearing witness to the crazy things us humans get up to. Actually the sign near by tells you to stop or you will incur tire damage.

Now while this neck of the woods is beautiful, it seems a hot bed of excess if you look a b it. You can watch people pull up in front of the raw food restaurant in their black mercedes, call up on their cell phone for a juice and thrust a credit card out the window as one of the slightly harried young servers goes by. Ten minutes later you might find yourself nose to nose with a street person showing you a stuffed rabbit playing music. A young man passed me on the street and asked me if I could hear God.

There is so much of everything here sometimes it makes my head spin: the beach houses in Malibu, the houses on the hill that look like they might be museums, the upmarket hotels and swanky restaurants, the high end clothing stores, the spas and home decor shops. It is easy to feel their tug as you see them over and over. I remember the Dalai Lama saying that after driving by the fancy shops day after day, even he felt the lure of some of these things, even though he didn't know what half of them were. And so perhaps we humans are a bit like racoons, attracted to the shiny things we see, the tug of desire raised easily with little provocation? The inward gaze easily distracted by outward glitz.

And it is fun here in the land of perpetual sense excitement, the novelty of it all. But as I stroll the botanical gardens or the take in the produce in the farmers market I look forward to my return to a quieter life, with active tasks to do, to paint and garden and prepare meals. But I remind myself to enjoy the present, the beaches, the flora, the friendly folks who offer free goji berries as I wander their shop, or the free recorded Quan Yin prayer when I buy a small Quan Yin statue. I am easily drawn to feel slightly guilty in the presence of all this. But that I remind myself is wrong view. It requires awareness and some vigilance to enjoy, to remember to be present for the beauty, to drink it in, to not grumble when this orange isn't as juicy as the last and not to fall down Alice's rabbit hole of sensual desire.