We do live in a winter wonderland. One of my co-workers mentioned that her family and several holiday guests lit a bonfire outside last night and roasted brats and marshmellows while the snow fell softly. She repeated over and over again, "It was so beautiful."
The absolute beauty of the scenery these past few days reminds me of a story from Zen Flesh, Zen Bones called "The Moon Cannot be Stolen" (p. 20):
Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing in it to steal.This story exemplifies the lives and attitudes of many of the people I know who live on the Bayfield Pennisula. Money is often tight because of lack of work and low wages. Possessions are few and/or well-used. Yet complaints are also negligible because we feel richly blessed by the beauty of our natural surroundings.
Ryokan returned and caught him. 'You may have come a long way to visit me,' he told the prowler, 'and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.'
The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.
Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. 'Poor fellow,' he mused, 'I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.'
Tonight's TCC practice followed a full day of work at the library. It felt wonderfully glorious to shed the cloak of the day's responsibilities and busyness while I moved slowly and breathed deeply.
I finished my practice with a five minute seated meditation that I'm incorporating more regularly into my TCC routine. My goal? First, establish the seated meditation as a regular habit. Then, extend the period of time I spend in daily meditation.
It feels comforting and deeply nourishing to sit quietly, especially after I've finished my TCC practice. Why wouldn't I want to feed myself this nectar of the gods? Full-Fill-Meant.
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