All times of being together will end in separation
All accumulation will end in dispersion
All life will end in death

What if the richness I feel is mostly not about the people I love and the marvelous toys and experiences I enjoy?  What is there’s something currently not known that never begins and never ends?  What if I am full to the brim right now with well-being, no matter what feelings, thoughts and physical sensations are here in the moment?

How do you talk about the inexpressible?  Are there words that can point to it, leaving it up to the listener to follow the path, perhaps creating one of their own along the way?  Here are a few, I think:

Abiding

Resting in this, as it is now.  Feeling no need to move away from this towards that.  Merely sitting.  Established in the moment, with a feeling of solidity, like a tree just being there in its beauty.

Letting

If my arm feels like flopping over, allowing it to do so.  No contraction.  Not using force to resist.  Being fine with the external coming right up and saying “Hi”, whether it’s pleasant, unpleasant or neutral.

Awakening

As if out of a trance.  Is it possible that I’ve been hypnotized by my culture so that I welcome only a tiny sliver of what is real?  What is just over the horizon from what we say is normal, accepted, usual, standard?

Communing

A quality of contact that enters deeply into the other’s eyes, allowing us to fall free together through unknown pools of peace.  A quality that can emerge in an instant with a stranger, who may really be a loved one that we don’t recognize as such.

Emptying

Of rich foods, alcohol, opinions, hatreds, fears, sorrows, all sorts of stuff that we add to the core of life.  And perhaps it may be said of you, “When I look at her, it’s like there’s nothing there.”  Said as an expression of mystery, not criticism

Deepening

Peeling off layer upon layer of the onion.  Sensing the truth of something once, and then seeing it again as we spiral upward through our days.  Maybe meeting it many times on the journey, each expression more vivid and resonant than the one before.

Shining

Like the sun.  Such a person sees everyone as an old friend.  They radiate blessings in all directions.  There’s nothing to do, other than putting yourself in the company of other people, again and again.

Dancing

Round and round with arms high over the head, a smile bursting from the face, a presence filling the room with joyous movement.  Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, always deliciously lost in the flow of it all.

Revealing

Lifting the cloth to show the beauty of the jewel beneath.  Opening eyes to the essence of all worldly forms.  The gasp of breath as the a-ha! stops us in our tracks, mouth agape, transformed beyond reason.

Seeing

That endings and leavings touch us not.

In my own worst seasons, I’ve come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard for a long time at a single glorious thing – a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window.  And then another – my daughter in a yellow dress.  And another – the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon, until I learned to be in love with my life again.  Like a stroke victim, retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.

I don’t know who wrote these words, and it doesn’t matter.  They’ve touched me and opened my eyes.  I realize that often I don’t look at things in my environment.  Oh, I may see the objects but I may not be drinking them in.  Thank you, anonymous author.  Wherever you are, do your ears perk up as I write these words?  Do you sense the contribution that you’ve made to my life?  On some level, may you see.

I’m sitting in my man chair in our family room at 5:00 am.  Can’t sleep for some unknown reason.  Mr. or Ms. Anonymous has me looking around.  On the end table by the couch sits a gorgeous stained glass lamp, but right now the light is out.  How about if I go over there and turn it on?  Yes.  I’ll be right back.

…

Ahhh.  Much better.  A brilliant red rose is saying good morning, as are green shoots that look like welcoming arms.  Is it as simple as this when I feel tired and dull:  Just turn the light on?  My spiritual lamp may be completely off or it may be on a dimmer switch.  Just turn it on, Bruce.  Take flat moments and objects and breathe life into them.  Animate them.

Now, back to the family room, ably assisted by a cup of coffee.  I look at the soft wine-coloured couch beside me and remember all the cuddling that Jody and I have done there, and all the guests who have lounged and chatted thereon.  Cool.  No longer just a piece of furniture.

On the far wall hangs a painting of Jody and me, created from a photo of us on the leafy patio of a Quebec City restaurant.  Two smiling humans holding each other.  And yet how rarely I look up and see us there.  Time for a change.  Time to embrace what comes my way in the daily round, moment by moment.

All these thoughts are dropping out of my fingers because a dear one out there in the universe wrote about red flames and dark spheres.  Thank you again, universal someone.  It is truly a gift you have given.

In September, 2oo4, I started doing a time trial route on my bicycle, 23.4 kilometres of rolling rural scenery on Fruit Ridge Line.  The journey comes complete with a winery, whose delights I haven’t sampled on the way.  After all, gotta stay vertical on Ta-pocketa, my red and yellow road bike with the skinny tires.

I declared at one point that I would do my route 100 times.  Today was the day I achieved this.  I set out in the morning with a light heart.  I was doing what I said I’d do.  It was a hot ride, with some good headwind on the way home, and I pulled into the driveway in 1:02:19.  A warm something covered me as I sat at a table in the sun, gulping down my Gatorade.  I’d done it, and that’s a good thing, right?

Yes, it was a good thing.  Achievement has a valid place in my life.  I need to honour the consciousness that values moving from some type of deficit to fulfillment.  The world thoroughly believes in this process, and why should I, a nice little Buddhist guy, poo poo the whole thing?  I like the effort I’ve put into getting faster and stronger.  I like the muscle burn.  I like puffing up the hills.

There is another space, however, where doing well, getting better and pushing harder is irrelevant.  Not that it’s bad, but just not needed.  What is in the moment is just perfect, however it turns out.  Through much of my adult, bookreading life, I’ve strived for the big nirvanas, the beauty of the formless world rather than the one filled with people, places and things.  I’ve wanted Spirit to cast aside my thoughts, feelings and body sensations from their central position.

I’m starting to see that the realms of being and becoming are both fine spots to be.  The eternal present and the movement towards a destination can live together in me.  One hundred trips?  Both meaningful and meaningless.  I like both.

The last time I broke an hour for my time trial was on June 13, 2009.  I know there’ll  be a day in August or September when I go under 1:00:00 again.  I’ll stay open to both celebration and “just another moment, like any other”.  My life is richer in the embracing of each.