Continue by Continuing

My wish for you is that you continue.
Continue to be who and how you are,
to astonish a mean world with your acts of kindness.
Continue to allow humor to lighten the burden of your tender heart.
In doing so, we heal and become stronger.
We can interact with one another without hesitation
and our communities will be nurtured. 
We've all been reminded of how tentative we all are; how short our time is.
May the footprints we leave in this world for our youth and those not yet born lead to healing, wholeness, and fulfillment. 

~ Maya Angelou "Continue"

As I read these beautiful and poignant words by a great Black writer, I am reminded of how simple it really is. Just continue to continue what has been started and what is yet to be. Pay attention, be humble and full of gratitude. We did not start all this and we will not finish it. We are just continuing and carrying on but we do have the choice of what to continue, what to carry on. Do we keep carrying pain and the wounds of the past? Do we continue to bring forth hatred, bigotry and small-mindedness? Or do we let go of these ghosts of the past and continue that love, kindness and beauty that also is a part of our common humanity? The choice is ours but we cannot make it if we aren’t paying attention, if we don’t know ourselves, if we are distracted all the time.

A friend wrote to me today and said “It seems odd and too bad that if we are condemned to think all the time that we can’t at least think about miracles rather than problems.” What we think all-too-easily becomes the world that we (think) we live in. Can you focus on the miracles? Can you let the world delight you? Do you see beauty and connection everywhere?

If not these things then I know that I can continue to remind myself that there is more to my life than I think or that I am even capable of thinking. And if that doesn’t work, I can simply focus on breathing, which makes me wonder, “what is breathing and where does the oxygen come from?”

Out of tiny holes, which we call stomata, comes
all the oxygen we could need.  Breathing in
breathing out.
Amazed at the ease
of plants appearing from, where?
no-where
out of thin air
the atmosphere
they grow
connecting earth, water and
air.
Fiery oxygen
fuel, food and heat.

by David LaFever

Takin' it to the Streets

In June of this year I will join a small group of Zen practitioners to experience homelessness as first-hand as we can think of during a four-day retreat on the streets of Seattle. I will only be able to take $1.00, a blanket, a poncho and the clothes I am wearing. I will have to beg for money, find places to shelter, get food, and figure out how to use the bathroom without getting arrested.

 
Now at this point you may be thinking, “you are nuts, why would you want to do something like this!” Yes, I am a little “different” as I like to think of it, but as to why I am doing something like this, well, that is a complicated answer. I bet I will understand it more clearly as it unfolds over the next several months and after the retreat itself.

I don’t really know why, but I know that I have wanted to do this for a number of years now. There is some part of me that wants to experience things that are, well, beyond me or at least beyond the usual, everyday me. To stretch myself in order to understand myself better I guess you could say. To see myself reflected in others, especially in others that I may have thought were quite different, and to recognize common humanity.

Also there is a part of me that wants to understand lives much different than my own, which I have learned over the years makes me much more open and compassionate. Living in this way for a few days, I suspect, will have the affect of forever changing the way I see, react to and relate with a homeless person. The the root of the word understanding is “standing with” or “standing among”, not standing beneath as many believe. Standing, sleeping, walking, eating, and begging with will likely engender great compassion and understanding thus changing the nature of my relationship with homelessness, and probably to myself as well.

To begin practice begging, which I will need to do on the street, I am asking for money. Whatever money I raise will be given to the organizations and charities that support the homeless in Seattle. At the end of the retreat, as a group we will decide where that money goes. I ain’t keeping any of it. My goal is to raise at least $500, so you got any spare change? Can I bum a ten-spot or a twenty off of ya?
 
With each donation I will put a wooden bead on a string thus making a mala (prayer beads). I will take this with me on the Street Retreat so that you will literally be with me and I will feel your love and support, which I will surely need. My hope is to take as many of you with me as possible so just give a little and come along for the adventure!

Let me know if this is something that you are interested in supporting and I will let you know how you can do that. Please check back for updates, both before and after, to see what I am thinking and what I experienced on this street retreat.


by David LaFever

Stepping Outside Myself

That moment when the door
opens, over the threshold
I go
stepping outside
into the cool mountain air
instantly refreshed
enlivened
face meeting face
lung breathing into lung
oh sweet, beautiful rarefied air!

And the sound
of quiet 
not silence
deep
stillness
flowing
relaxing my mind
and every muscle
in my face.
I smile.

Sounds so true
as to hold silence within
and aliveness too
voices within voice
river-bird and wind-horse

Voices come 
all around
sparrow and sparrow-
hawk
kiik kiik kikkikki!
flicker and eagle
boink boink 
of raven.

An aliveness that
moments ago
while inside
I could not detect
did not notice
did not know existed.

But now
oh sweet NOW!
Now I know
I am flush 
with knowing
standing with
leaning into
listening intently
to this.

What is it about this moment?
Yes, yes I mean this moment
this exact moment
when I step across
feeling the ineffable
lightness of 
being outside.

Cold winter air
river cry 
eagle call
deep stillness
poised on the brink
of wonder and mirth.

Simply 
stepping 
outside
myself
into the brilliance of another day.

by David LaFever

Hai, hai, hai – kooo!

Since the first of the year, for some reason, I have been writing poetry, especially haiku, every single day. I wonder if it is just part of my seasonality with subtle cues and responses of my internal landscape to the external rhythms of energy. For whatever reason I have been really enjoying writing again and have been practicing writing haiku both within prose and as a stand-alone journal entry. I hope that you enjoy the haiku below and that they give you some sense as to my life – both the inner and outer geographies and where they meet.

Six from Portland

Inside and outside
Neither true nor false
A warm cup in my hands
Pacific lamprey
450 million years and counting
no bones about it
Rain slanting sideways
Misty masses of movement
Blows me inside
A restless spirit
Moves in all things unsatisfied
Or is it the coffee?
Cold, gray Portland streets
Harder than the hardest rock
Cardboard for a bed
What is it I feel?
The power of Multnomah
Misty eyeglasses

From Home (the Methow Valley)

Cold sparkling night sky
A full moon illumines all
Shadows pass quietly
Snowed lightly all day
Where does it all come from?
Kids tracks everywhere
Sledding party fun
Joy echoing through the woods
Snowflakes lightly falling
A bitter cold wind
Blows from the north, then the south
The snow squeaks underfoot
That which I call pain
Takes all my concentration
And then dissipates
Snow started mid-morn
Cold air crystals floating down
like cottonwood seeds
Earlier today
A rodent met its demise
Where talon met snow
Sweat lodge on the rez
Coyote tracks in the snow
Where to go from here?
Stepping outside, night
Looking skyward from earth, stars
Standing on my head
Quiet evening at home
Lights are low, kids are asleep
A great horned owl hoots
Wet snow falling down
Up and down we go, up
and down the slopes once more
A kind of fun, a
distracted fun. They said,
"You're a good skier."
Around the fields, I
skied. Goat Creek, Coyote and
back to Mazama
Gray and cloudy days
Slushy streets and dripping roofs
Where has the cold gone?
My girl all curled up
on my chest, weighing me down
Lifting me up too!

Delight Me

If you are anything like me, you have a daily, if not constant struggle with expectation. Expectations are a total set up. As adults we seem to be incapable of functioning without expectations and at the same time incapable of regularly fulfilling them. On the positive side, when I ask you to meet me for coffee at 10:00am, I expect you to be there and lo and behold there you are. Right on time. Thank you very much.

But hidden within expectations is another seed that must sprout, that comes with the package. Herein lies the set up: my expectations are regularly unsatisfied and if I am truly honest, unsatisfiable. Why is that? I think it is because they are inherently wrong. When it comes right down to it, how can I expect the world to behave exactly as I think it should. That is absurd and incredibly self-centered and yet, that is precisely how I go about my day. And I bet you might do this too. So expectations have an inborn self-destruct button and there is another pesky problem with them.

Again, if you are anything like me, you are constantly changing your expectations. I raise them, I lower them, I drop them (almost) altogether, and I add a new one with such regularity as to be as autonomic as breathing. We expect things to go well, we expect them to go poorly. We expect things to be smooth, we expect them to be rough. On and on.

As the saying goes, “we can’t live with ’em and we can’t live without ’em,” so what do we do with them?

I suggest that we each try returning to something that we once knew but seemed to have forgotten. As Courtney Martin learned from her daughter, approach the world with “only one giant, indiscriminate expectation: delight me.”

It isn’t about getting something or being greedy and grabby. Rather it is about opening up to what’s actually happening, not what we want or expect to be happening. It is about being open to the possibility of delight and being delighted by what’s right here with you.

As a practice I encourage you to keep this phrase in mind, again in an open-hearted way. Think of it as a reminder of what’s possible rather than a goal to achieve. When walking from your house to the car or your car to work, simply keep saying “delight me.” When out hiking or sitting in a quiet place, keep saying “delight me.” Like a mantra see how it affects how you feel, see, perceive and relate to the world. As a form of focus or mindfulness or meditation, simply keep this in your mind and see what happens. I bet you will be delighted by the results!

Graves Matter

Doing things right means living as though your grandchildren would also be alive, in this land, carrying on the work we’re doing right now, with deepening delight.

Gary Snyder (from the essay “Reinhabitation”)

Walking out the side gat, into the south hayfield to move irrigation around this morning, I passed by a gravestone. In simple letters it said, “white-crowned sparrow,” which were accompanied by a child’s drawing of a bird. Found the songbird a few months back, dead and lying in the grass. We got to it before the ants did and buried it. Two days ago we buried five baby bunnies and a young rattlesnake, in two separate graves, now marked with rocks upon which flowers have been placed.

The practice and act of living-in-place may not begin with death but it certain deepens there. You know that you have settled in a bit when during your daily chores you pass by gravestones on your land. Been here long enough and care deep enough to have burial spots.

These become places to pause and reflect on the life-and-death nature of this thing we call existence. Places to stop and bow or say a prayer or whatever feels like an appropriate acknowledgement. And these are places to remember loved ones and to “remember to remember” that lives come and go, come and go, that living isn’t separate from dying. They are also places where we all, daughter and parent alike, learn to say hello and perhaps most importantly, good bye.

Rattled

I just killed a rattlesnake. It is the first time I have ever done that and likely the first time that I have killed any snake period, except for the few that I have inadvertently run over with a car. That didn’t feel good, and it doesn’t feel good today.

I found it in one of our rabbit’s cages. The doe, who we call Misty, was up on top of her nest box and nine kits (baby bunnies) were inside. The rattlesnake’s head was inches away from them. I had hoped in the moment, as my heart raced and I got a snake noose (length of pvc pipe with rope going through the middle and tied in a loop) from the shed that I had gotten there early enough to avert major heartache.

We just buried five bunnies, eyes not yet open but furred and getting cuter by the day. My older daughter cried, hard, and so did I, softly. Even though we were raising these rabbits for meat, this still hurt. Still does hurt. I am surprised by my feelings. Very sad and also pissed off. I am also thinking of how many times my kids hang out in the rabbit area and I am so thankful that it was bunnies that got bit. Emotions swirl and an ache sits deep in my chest. A gravestone and flowers mark the place where our bunnies lie and where our tears fell, moistening the dirt.

We buried the snake too. Near a tree so that its body and energy can nurture new growth. I regret killing the snake. I easily could have just put it in a bucket and taken it someplace far enough away to ensure it would not return. That would have felt better. The girls put flowers on top of the burial spot. That felt good.

I am surprised that the snake killed so many kits when it really could only eat one or two I would think. It was not a big rattlesnake – four rattle segments only – and how could it have thought to eat so many? It seems so wasteful, so gluttonous.

Then again, I think of how much I take from the earth, and how wasteful I am. Five little bunnies doesn’t seem so bad when compared with all the death and destruction that our people have wrought on this sweet, dear earth – to the earth itself, to other people and cultures, and to all the other beings that live here with us. Gluttony seems to be our way of life.

So why does this piss me off so much? Why am I so sad right now? Can’t I share this planet with others even if they seem so different from me? Don’t I have room in my heart for all beings even if it feels full to the bursting with sorrow? Why am I so rattled?

I don’t have any answers to these questions right now, and maybe I never will. I think I just need to ask them.


by David LaFever