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Meditate Only for Its Own Sake
Last night I had the singular pleasure of hearing Gary Snyder read his poetry at the Folger Shakespeare Library. At the end of the reading, Mr. Snyder answered a few questions. In response to one question about advice he gives to aspiring poets, he said: “Don’t be journalists. Do hard physical labor that leaves y0ur mind open.” This is not surprising advice, coming from one who has chosen a life requiring regular manual labor. “Meditate only for its own sake,” he added, in an apparent non sequitur and without elaboration.
Gary Snyder’s poetry is evidently influenced by his dedicated study and practice of Buddhism. The insight and clarity of his poetry surely reflects not only his intellectual study, but the deep wisdom of a dedicated, long-standing, and steady meditation practice. The advice to “meditate for its own sake” seemed almost the offering of a koan by the master (poet) to his pupils. Meditation, in my experience, definitely enhances clarity, insight, creativity, and health. Meditation is not meditation, though, unless when engaging in meditation that is all one is doing and without any goal (like the “actionless action” of the Bhagavad Gita). It is the deepest of practices to engage fully, but not be doing except for the sake of doing itself (and in alignment with the deepest truths).
- Art and Culture | Asana, Pranayama, and Yoga Practice | Food for the Mind (Yoga Philosophy, etc) | Meditation | Photos
Another Self-Induced India Photo Flashback (Roadside Temples)
Another self-induced India photo flashback after a long work day reading and writing at the computer with breaks only for shoveling snow and for eating and cleaning up.
We were traveling on the bus when I saw the Durga temple (the fifth photo–the one with the white glare and flat sky, but an incredible Durga). I suggested to my seatmate that he take a picture with his better camera. I recall it quite reasonably and correctly being pointed out to me the flat, white heat of the midday, humid sky and the glare off of the window would make it impossible optimally to show the intricacy and vividness of the temple.
I snapped a picture anyway. I was seeing things at angles coming and going and with whatever the light was at the moment. I likely wasn’t ever going to be there again and certainly not any time soon.
Sometimes the bus would pause in just the right place for a perfectly composed shot, but mostly it didn’t. In this, the act of taking these photos was much like other aspects of life and practice. Our path is not always certain. Sometimes it is hard to see because there is too little light or too much. Sometimes we have something obscuring our vision. Sometimes we are going too fast and only notice just before it would be too late for that turning.
But even with vision turned or obscured, we are always experiencing something. How can we make the best of each moment of experience? For me, it is meditating and bringing the spacious awareness of meditation to what I am witnessing. Taking photographs helps me witness in a certain way, too.
Robert’s Dendrobium
A number of years ago, when he was moving from Capitol Hill to Denver, my friend and former neighbor Robert gave me this dendrobium orchid, which bloomed this year for me for the first time. The dendrobium was just an extra. If you know orchids, you can see that it is planted with a vanda. These orchids came from Robert’s mother’s garden in Florida. When she had to give up her place in Florida, Robert brought home some of the orchids, including the vanda. If I know Robert, he just saw a baby dendrobium in the garden and stuck it in with the vanda when he carried it back north to Capitol Hill. When Robert moved to Colorado, he left the vanda with me because he did not expect it to tolerate the Colorado climate. Even here, the vanda is not likely to bloom. Not enough heat, light, or humidity in DC (really!!!). But after five or six years of steady care, the dendrobium flourished and finally bloomed. Robert inspired my affection for orchids; he had a greenhouse and knew each one of his tropical plants intimately. We would go to an orchid show or nursery, and he would look with love on each and every plant, cherishing their individual traits, no matter how small or large. At the botanical gardens, he had different plants he visited and enjoyed. Now his yard has cactii and peppers. He has a few of his most faithful orchids, which are flourishing and which were delightful to visit, and I have this lovely reminder of a time when Robert was one of my local gardening buddies. This, I think is one of the extra joys of gardening, especially with houseplants that come from cuttings. They have a history with our family and friends that is passed on, cherished, and shared. I also have a night-blooming cereus that was a baby from a plant that started as a baby of one in his mother’s garden. The night mine first bloomed (just a single night in the year), the parent plant with Robert in Denver also bloomed.Bonus love from this particular dendrobium; it is scented!
Sadhana
Freedom Plaza, Washington, DC, October 2, 2021
