The Precepts: Our Refuge, Our Goal, Our Realization of Truth

The Precepts:  Our Refuge, Our Goal, Our Realization of Truth

By

Ozmo Piedmont, PhD

It is amazing how truth can be found everywhere and in every experience.  I was ill recently with a severe flu, thinking that the symptoms would soon diminish through bed rest and quiet.  But instead, for several days I lay in bed suffering all the physical symptoms of high fever, chills, loss of appetite, aches and pains, headaches, confusion and fear.  I had no energy to either move or go to the doctor.  However, this illness was a teacher. 

In the midst of the chills and fever, I could see my negative karma from an entire lifetime appear before me.  I could see choices I had made that had caused my own and others’ suffering.  I felt a deep sadness and regret for what had passed.  Along with this regret was a self criticism, a fear that I was not good enough, I had somehow failed in reaching some goal of spiritual perfection.  However, in seeing this criticism of myself, I could also see that I had often criticized others, that I was judging them in subtle ways that lowered them in my eyes, putting myself in a delusional sense of superiority.  At that moment, something clicked, since I remembered that two of the precepts had to do with not criticizing others, “Do not speak against others” and “Do not proud of yourself and devalue others.”  These precepts are not just rules to be followed, but are actually a key to removing the obstacles that keep us bound to the Wheel of suffering and samsara.  Buddha mentions five obstacles that keep us from realizing the Truth of who we really are: 1. sense desire or greed, 2. ill will, 3. laziness, 4. restless or worry, and 5. doubt.  In criticizing others, I participate in three of the obstacles: 1. I am engaging in ill will towards others, 2. I am manifesting fear and worry as I compare myself to others, and 3. I express doubt about myself through an insecurity that seeks to elevate little self over and above others.  In criticizing others, I am essentially criticizing myself, and in so doing, I am judging myself, seeing myself as inferior and undeserving.  And it is this judging that keeps me from being free.  If, on the other hand, I can let go of criticism, I can begin to see the perfection that is always there. 

At this point of my illness, I was beginning to feel my life energy slipping away, and I could see my ego structure as an empty construct of ideas and concepts, beliefs and fears that were loosely held together in a belief of a limited, constricted sense of little self based on fear, doubt and confusion.  There was now only a very thin transparent film separating this little self from death.  I wondered if it had all been worth it.  There was a part of me that needed to decide whether I should just let go, since I was feeling so much physical pain, and just slip into oblivion, or whether I should continue to fight to hold on to this life.  I consciously decided that this was not the time to leave, that there was still much work to be done.  But if I was to remain, I needed to find a reason beyond thought.  I needed to know the Truth of who I am.  As my fever and flu increased, I felt this little construct of personality begin to collapse, no longer able to function, seeing the collection of ideas and constructs fall away, and feeling doubts, fears and anxieties to rise up, as if Mara were challenging all that I thought I knew.  Although I had physically nothing to show for it, I needed to find the value of a lifetime of dedication and practice.  I resolved to stay conscious, to invite in all the fears, to discuss with Mara all the doubts arising, and to find the Truth.  All my book learning and theories were empty, and doubt began to overwhelm me that all was an error, my life had been a waste, and I doubted if there was anything at all, whether there was anything as true peace or Divinity.   At my lowest point, I had to admit that I knew nothing, was nothing, and that I had nothing to give.  Nevertheless, an extraordinary realization began to dawn in me.  I realized that “nothing” was not all that bad, in fact, it was comforting.  Perhaps nothing is the whole point, the emptiness of the Unborn is found in the spaciousness of no thought, no concept, and no construct.  I knew I had truly committed my life to meditation, spiritual practice, and dedication to the precepts.  What I had to admit is that the ego, and all its thoughts, is not real, just an empty shell.  I could see that shell was now beginning to fade, draining away its energy, strength, and ambition.  I could no longer rely on any thing that I had read or thought of as being true, since this was in the realm of ego thought constructs which seemed to fall away with the collapse of the ego. 

At this point, I literally offered my life up to the Divine in faith, trusting that perhaps my sense of loss and regret was merely an aspect of ego, and therefore not the Truth of who I am.  Although I had nothing at all to show for it, in the end, if this were my last breath, I offered up this life of practice and spiritual effort to the Divine and I asked for help.  I could truly say I had done my best.  But to whom was I offering?  And what was being offered?  This is when I began to see the meaning of emptiness.  The only thing I could definitely know was that all is empty, spacious, and infinite in its limitlessness.  Here there are no ideas, no theories, there just is That, pure in its emptiness, neither needing anything nor requiring anything of me.  I began to understand that the practice based upon the precepts is inherently complete and real.  Each time I choose to follow the teachings of the precepts, I am choosing to align myself with Buddha, and that Buddha Nature is inherently empty, pure, Immaculate.  There was a great comfort in acknowledging the spaciousness of nothingness, a surrendering to the Infinite that is always complete and whole, beyond emotion and thought, embracing all that arises, and to which all returns. 

I began to have a vision of the entire universe opening before me, and although I was conscious and still individual, I felt myself merging into and becoming one with the universe.  I could see infinite stars and galaxies spreading out before me, and I was a part of them.  I was beyond emotions of feeling good or happy.  It was just an awareness of the way things are.  We are both the One, and we are individual.  I could also see that my regrets, doubts and fears, criticisms, and angers, were all limits that got in the way of seeing the purity and spaciousness of who I am.  Yet, I had a sense of trust in the Truth of the Infinite, that all was for the good, that the purity and perfection of Buddha Nature does not depend on any state of mind, nor on any feeling of happiness, goodness or even peace. It is much more than that, it is a knowing that we are essentially this emptiness, complete and perfect just as we are.  I realized that by holding on to the Precepts, by not buying into the karma of negative choices, regrets and doubts, to realize I am not those limits I had believed myself to be, by choosing in every act to follow the precepts, then I am choosing to live freely, I am choosing to be that spaciousness, no longer blocked by ideas of right and wrong, nor emotions or regrets.  That although I must live with the consequences of my actions, I can still be free, knowing that the precepts are the living Buddha, and that Buddha-ness fully expresses itself in this life as I choose to follow the precepts, I become clear, I am the Truth of emptiness, as the sky is the Truth of emptiness that is never diminished by the clouds of feeling, emotions, and the thoughts that pass through it.  The precepts are Life itself.

I now could understand Truth on several levels.  I am both this individual consciousness that is One with the Eternal consciousness, that there is nothing that is ever lost, that death truly has no hold on us, because death of the ego and the body is not the death of who I really am, this Consciousness that is not based on anything, which is eternal, which has no beginning and no ending.  It is beyond all emotions or states.  It simply IS, and although the body and even the mind do end, Conscious IS, and it is eternal.  Every time I choose to live according to the Precepts, I am waking up to Consciousness within the Emptiness, and that is beyond words or concepts, which just IS. 

At the point I began to take medications for the flu, I felt the vital life force rush into my body and cells, as if the door to a prison cell had just opened, allowing sunshine and clean air to wrap themselves around me.  The little imprisoned self was now free to function as it does normally.  I felt appreciation for the little self, the ego, to do what it does, like a computer that processes information and keeps things organized.  I could see now that the awareness of spaciousness could be trusted beyond all states of the little mind.  In fact, the mind and the ego are perfect just as they are.  They are wonderful tools that allow us to practice and meditate, that it is because we can use the body and we can choose to practice that we can experience in the here and now our Illumination.  How beautiful and perfect are ego and body.  There is no need to eliminate anything.  All is a part of the Eternal, and all is participating in the practice of applying the precepts, which is Buddha himself, the conscious choosing to align with That in every moment.  Therefore, although the ego is a construct, it is a wonderful construct that expresses the Infinite when we continually choose to sit and not do, when we continually refrain from the negative patterns of karma, and we continually choose to act as Buddha, we then become Buddha, continually discovering in ever deeper and deeper ways what that means.  The Precepts are both our map as well as the goal, the body of Buddha manifesting in our consciousness.  Our lives become an act of Grace, appreciation, and surrendering to that Immaculacy. 

For some reason my karma is such that illness and physical challenges have been a gateway to the Unborn.  It is enough to know the Unborn.  All that life teaches, in whatever form, through whatever karma, is a blessing.  I bow down to the Infinite wisdom, and feel deepest gratitude for the insights and understanding that come through this experience of life and the application of the Precepts. 

THE LOTUS OF LIGHT

THE LOTUS OF LIGHT

By

Ozmo Piedmont, PhD

In October of 2009 I was diagnosed with heart disease, a 90% blockage of a main artery in the center of my heart.  Overnight I went from working full time as a high school philosophy professor to lying in a hospital bed, afraid to move, worrying that any strenuous effort might cause a heart attack.  I had been complaining of pains in my chest months before, revealing a high cholesterol count.  As follow-up, I went into the hospital for a (heart probe).  Lying on the table, I watched a screen while a wire catheter was passed up through my leg and into my heart.  The discomfort was not so much physical, as was the fear of knowing I was looking inside my own heart.  This was symbolic of what my practice would be for the future: looking into the physical, emotional, and spiritual heart of my being. 

Fear is an overwhelming obstacle to our wellbeing.  Bhikkhu Bodhi, in his book The Noble Eightfold Path, points out that fear is an aspect of worry, one of the 5 main obstacles to our liberation from suffering, the other four being sensual desire, ill will, mental and physical torpor, and doubt.   These obstacles appear due to our mis-identification with little self.  One is urged to apply right effort to overcome these obstacles through meditation, practice and the understanding of the Truth of who we are:  the Oneness of the Eternal manifesting itself as the infinity of apparent forms we perceive ourselves to be.  Through diligent practice, we begin to disengage from our mistaken beliefs that cause lifetimes of suffering, and instead begin to understand our connectedness to the Infinite though our nourishment of the seven factors of enlightenment, which are both the goal to our practice as well as the process.  These factors include mindfulness, investigation, energy, ecstasy, tranquility, concentration, and equanimity.  Of course, this is easier said than done.  Lying in that hospital bed, I feared the death of this body, and doubted whether anything would survive. 

In the following weeks, this became my koan:  “What, if anything, will survive death?”  I questioned my teacher, Rev.  Master Meiten, asking,   “If we are not the ego, nor the skandas (aggregates) of material/form, nor the sensations, perceptions, and samskaras of mental formations, nor this ego consciousness, then what are we? Are we pure universal consciousness itself, as referred to by the term Alayavijñana, beyond duality, form, and appearances?   Rather than give me a definitive answer, she addressed the underlying problem.  “Where is this coming from?” she asked.  “You have been practicing for some time now, so what is the problem?”  I had to admit, choking back the tears, “I am afraid of death”.  “Well of course,” she replied.  “You have been through so much in the last few weeks, it is natural you would feel this way.” “Bring it to your meditation,” she urged me.  “Sit with it and you will find the answer.”   Somehow, just her acknowledging my fear, without judgment, was a comfort.   

I began to work with and through my fear.  When it arose, I began to use mindfulness to see the fear as any other strong emotion, observing the sensations and thoughts that arose as a result in the body, while resisting the tendency to attach to them as reality.  Remembering the Dharma and practice, I would remind myself, “Perhaps I am wrong.  Perhaps this fear is not based on reality.  Perhaps I am fearful because I am attached and identified to this limited body.”   This had a calming effect that allowed me to begin opening myself to guidance from another level, from the Source itself.

 What first emerged was a need to find a new approach to healing, one that would be more holistic and which would address my being on more than just the physical level.  Perhaps this healing was on multiple levels, emotional and spiritual as well.  So I opened myself, trusting in the Unknown, asking “What is the next step?”  There emerged in me a strong feeling that I should seek a holistic healing center.  I went into the internet, put in the key words of holistic healing, and the first entry was a center not more than 10 blocks from where I live.  I saw that the center incorporated both Western and Eastern healing practices, including both homeopathy and Chinese medicine.  Since the Western doctors had told me there was basically nothing we could do to reverse the clogged artery, just maintain me on medications to ease the symptoms, I knew I needed something to empower me, to give me hope, to cure the roots of the disease itself. 

I contacted the holistic center inquiring whether they could help me regain my energy, which had been waning more and more over the past several months.  They put me on a regimen of homeopathic drops of various herbs and flowers, as well as a special diet that eliminated all refined foods, chemicals, preservatives, and dairy products.  It was a drastic shift in my normal lifestyle, but I found that with a few weeks, I felt completely different.  My energy returned.  In fact, it more than double, and I was beginning to feel more at ease with myself and others.  At about the second month of treatment, the doctor, a former surgeon who had left his practice to study Chinese medicine and healing, commented to me that often the body manifests symptoms that have arisen on an emotional level.  I asked him what in his opinion did heart disease mean.  He commented that in the Chinese system, heart disease could be related to a deep sense of betrayal.   Something clicked inside of me when he said this.  Of course, I thought, I have experienced many times in my life a broken heart through failed relationships, which felt like profound betrayal, creating a desire to wall off a part of myself for protection and safety.  However, though it may have been necessary in the past for my survival, now I had an opportunity to remove the walls, to find a trust in the Divine, manifesting as trust of others, which could perhaps support my physical healing. 

One of the gifts of practice is seeing the blessing in all that arises.  While I had been in the hospital, many friends and relatives prayed for me.  Some came to visit me.  Others brought me treats and books.  One went so far as to sneak in a delicious omelet, since I had been living on little more than salad for several days.  Another friend, knowing I was confined to my bed, came to give me a sponge bath.  Lying there, I felt so cherished, like a child cared for by his mother.  Here was the embodiment of Kanzeon, the bodhisattva of compassion, sitting beside my bed, quietly bathing my body, showing her love in action.  This was such a loving act, one of many that opened my heart to the deeper meaning of surrender and acceptance that is there for us all.  I began a process of deep surrender in the weeks that followed. 

Nevertheless, many worrisome questions continued to plague me.  Would the doctors have to operate?  Should I be treated by Western medications only?  Could I return to work in the future?  Would there even be work to return to, since one semester had ended and the next begun.  There were so many questions, and the possibility of so many doubts.  However, it became obvious to me, if I identified with the never ending stream of fears and doubts, I would be paralyzed, incapable of acting on my own behalf and unable to be of any assistance to anyone else either.  But what choice did I have?  The answer became clear as I quieted my mind through meditation.  I remembered the words of Rev. Master Meiten many times urging me to let go, to trust in the Divine, and focus on the present, asking in our hearts, “What is it good to do now?” What seemed good to do was to take the extra time for deeper meditation, along with reading and study of the Dharma.    I soon found myself designing a whole course on the Eightfold Path for a meditation study group of which I am a participant.  In so doing, I was reminded that through right understanding, including why we suffer, how we get confused about who we are, and how this ignorance plays itself out in a cosmic play of karma, we can all free ourselves from conditioned living based on small self concerns.   Slowly, along with my physical healing, I began to heal the spiritual heart.   I began trusting the deeper wisdom as well as the process itself.   I started thinking, if it is my time to die, I choose to go in peace.  If it is my time to live, then I choose to live in peace.  Either way, I choose peace.  Somehow, in the acknowledgement of my limitations to solve the koan of death, I began to free myself from the bonds of this body-mind and the karma it carries.  This body contains the result of all the limited choices we have made in the past, our karma based on ignorance, which brings us to a misidentification with a limited ego consciousness based on selfish desires and a belief of separateness.    The irony is, in choosing peace, in choosing trust and love, the aspects of our Buddha Nature, we learn to forget ourselves as small identities based on fear, doubt, and separation.  We learn to get on with the work at hand.  We become expressions of that which is eternal, love, compassion and acceptance of all that is, including both life and death.   In choosing to trust, I experience my wellbeing, a sense that it is all good, that there is value to all we do, that all has meaning.  We can choose to align and connect ourselves to this wellbeing through participation with the Sangha, through acts of kindness, and through teaching by example, not giving into despair, continuing to love and share.  It becomes more and more a trust in joy within the present moment.  This joy is what I am.  This joy is eternal.

We are but petals on the lotus of life, green stalks of tendencies profane.

Roots set down in dark and deep, find sweetness now proclaim.

Illumination blooming, passions perfuming, was, is, and will always be,

The light of consciousness Infinity finds, the liberating will to be free.

The Gift of Loving-Kindness

The Gift of Loving-Kindness

By

Ozmo Piedmont

Guadalajara, Mexico

…Even as a mother protects with her life

Her child, her only child,

So with a boundless heart

Should one cherish all living beings;

Radiating kindness over the entire world. 

The Buddha on loving-kindness from the Metta Sutta (Salzberg)

I live in Guadalajara, Mexico.  Through my regular correspondence with my teacher Rev. Master Meiten in Victoria, Canada, and my studies of the teachings of our founder Rev. Master Jiyu-Kennett, I learned of a special place called Shasta Abbey, a place where one can experience the integration of the Buddha’s teachings into daily life.  From the first moment I heard of Shasta Abbey in Northern California, and viewing pictures of its mountains, monks, meditation rooms, and mid-day meals, I knew one day I would visit there.  It took me three years to realize that dream, gathering the funds, changing jobs, arranging schedules, and making the reservations.  But the day finally arrived when I entered the Abbey for a seven day beginner’s meditation retreat.  I was filled with gratitude.  Here were people living their spiritual ideals, caring for us with gentle respect, exemplified by their continual use of a reverential bow, called gassho, when greeting, passing food to one another at mealtime, entering and leaving a room, during ceremonial, before  and after meditation, and upon passing altars and sacred images.  Through this simple gesture, I learned the meaning of loving-kindness. 

Sharon Salzburg, in her book Loving-Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness, instructs readers on the meaning and practice of metta, from Pali, the Buddha’s language, meaning “loving-kindness.”  She writes: “The Pali word metta has two meanings.  One is the word for ‘gentle.’  Metta is likened to a gentle rain that falls upon the earth…The other root meaning for metta is ‘friend.’”(p. 30)  When we treat the world with loving kindness, we become ‘gentle friends’, true friends helping, protecting and caring for each other, a refuge when we are afraid. 

My own fear began to emerge as I considered my father - now in his eighties, diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. He had recently suffered a collapse and hospitalization.  My family and I, troubled by his declining health, were deeply concerned for his welfare.  This prompted me to ask a monk during the retreat how I could comfort those facing the fear and worry of immanent death.  He replied, “Find that place of stillness and fearlessness in yourself.  Then you can be with another, and assure them that there is nothing to fear.”  These words continued to penetrate my heart as the retreat progressed.  I was searching for that peace and calm, seeking the courage to face the unknown. 

About midway through the retreat, I volunteered to switch my sleeping accommodations from the comfortable guesthouse to the floor of the meditation hall where everyone meditated several times a day in front of an enormous statue of the Buddha, surrounded by paintings of bodhisattvas and benevolent beings.  There was a sick participant who needed the warmth, comfort and care the guesthouse could bring.  I considered it a blessing to be both able to help someone in need by giving him my bed, as well as the opportunity to sleep every night at the feet of the Buddha.  In a sense, I felt He was keeping vigil over me while I slept, while I kept vigil for another in his time of need.  My responsibility included bringing him food at mealtime.  I would knock gently at his door, smile, hand him his meal, inquire about his health, and then leave him with a gassho and a wish for his speedy recovery.  At times I thought how ironic it was.  We are all suffering, as the Buddha pointed out, and we are all searching for the cure.  We are all both the patient care givers as well as the patients needing care.   This samsaric world of impermanence cannot be our refuge.  Through spiritual practice, we can overcome our existential sickness, our mental suffering of attachment, and find the path to peace. 

The retreat continued to unfold as I worked in the garden beside the monks and other participants.  I had the opportunity to put into practice loving-kindness throughout the day.  The clean-up after meals, the sweeping of the floors, and the washing of walls, all became a meditation of joy and communal participation.  The monks were the perfect example of this, guiding us with tender words, gentle reminders, and modeling serenity at work. 

By the night of the fifth day, however, my heart had become burdened and heavy with the anticipation of seeing my father for the first time since his diagnosis.  In the candlelit darkness, as I prepared for bed before the Buddha, with the image of Kanzeon, the mother of compassion, to his left, I prayed for guidance:  “Please show me the path to serenity.  Teach me what I need to know to be of service.  Let me be thy hand of comfort.”  I closed my eyes and lay down to sleep.

I awoke the morning of the sixth day with an unexplained lightness of heart.  We went through the morning meditations and began our work day.  Everything seemed to have a gentle flow to it, a naturalness that was somehow without strain.  I swept the dust from the outside walls of the temple, imagining I was sweeping the dust from the temple of my heart.  I picked the weeds in the garden, basking in the sunshine as we worked together, and stepping back every now and then to admire the array of color and texture that danced before our eyes.  “How beautiful,” I thought, “This is so perfect, these people, this place, this rhythm of life.  Maybe just doing this, loving every moment and every person, just doing what is here, just cherishing each other, and opening ourselves to peace, is all we can do.”  I watched the people working at my side in silence.  One in particular seemed to be so at peace.  She was tall and ethereal, somewhat like a fairy princess.  Gently she moved through the garden, cleaning, arranging, and pulling the weeds by my side.  I wondered who she was.  We had not talked during the whole retreat, maintaining the rule of silence so as to still our minds and look within.  I wondered what had brought her here.  Had she found what she was seeking, had she found her refuge?  What would she bring away?

Later at lunch, I found myself sitting across from her.  The meal progressed in silence, each dish passing from one to another with a reverent gassho.  How cherished I felt as people handed me the food with a loving smile and a gentle gesture of reverence.  I thought, “Oh what a treasure they are.  These apparent strangers have slipped into my heart with their kindness.  Though we have spoken little during the week, I feel as if I have known them as longtime friends.  I feel cherished by them.”  We finished the meal and awaited the final signal from a monk to arise. The room had become very still.  The sun streamed above us through the windows down upon the table.  I looked up and could see Mount Shasta in the background keeping vigil over us.  At that moment, the fairy princess before me reached into her pocket and took out a small gold wrapped piece of chocolate, placing it gently on the table before me.  “Who was this for?” I wondered.  I looked into her eyes.  She smiled as if saying, “Why, it’s for you, of course.”  I suddenly felt like a five year old child as I shyly reached across the table and grasped this simple offering, slipping it into my shirt pocket.  I winked to acknowledge her kindness, and she bowed to me in gassho. 

As we stood up to leave, I thought, “What a kind gesture.  Though I didn’t know her, had never spoken to her, and though she sought nothing from me, had no reason to do what she did, she had offered me this gift.”  I supposed she thought I needed a little cheering up, and did what was natural to do, as a mother would do for her child.  I felt my own innocence open, accepting this kindness with appreciation, and wondering at its simplicity.   On the path back to the meditation hall, I unwrapped the gold covered chocolate, letting its gentle sweetness melt into my mouth.  I continued to contemplate this act of kindness, letting its lesson melt into my heart, as my heart melted into the Divine.  I lay down on my mattress for an afternoon rest and looked up at the face of Buddha, then at the face of Kanzeon.  The pure simplicity of this gift of kindness continued to penetrate my heart.  I closed my eyes and envisioned the hand of Kanzeon opening to me, giving me what I had so needed, this gift of loving-kindness.  I began to sense tears flowing from my eyes, falling on the pillow.  I realized I was weeping with joy.  I lay there several minutes, feeling these tears wash and cleanse my heart, melting little self away.  “Aha,” I thought, “this is Buddha nature showing itself.  This is what Kanzeon is all about.”  I felt as if I were in a loving embrace, as a child held closely to his mother’s heart, her arms around me.  I realized these acts of kindness are manifestations of the Bodhisattva, Kanzeon.  She gives without expectation from the heart.  The purity of truth in this simple gesture is the healing essence of giving.  I thanked Kanzeon for this gift and knew the next step on the path I would take. 

I flew to Kansas City some days later to meet my parents.   I brought my mother a white Mexican hand painted shawl from Guadalajara.  I gently wrapped it around her shoulders as I embraced her.  She glowed with appreciation.  I smiled, knowing she would wear it the first chance she got to Sunday church, beaming with pride for her son who had brought this gift from far so far away.  In the following days, I would watch her care for my father, feeding, clothing, and protecting him.  I would see the best of her as a human being, a woman of tremendous capacity and strength to do what is needed for a loved one, in spite of the discomfort, worry, and stress this caused her.   As my father’s primary caretaker, she embodied dedication and unconditional love. 

I then turned to my father.  There he was, weakened by this illness.  “Would he recognize me?” I wondered.  I wrapped my arms around him, and hugged him.  He seemed a bit disoriented at first, but looked into my eyes, smiled, and said my name.  We sat down together for awhile.  Here was the man who had been the pillar of his community, the great lawyer who had fought his battles in court, earning his reputation, respected by many.  Yet here was now the man, the body weak, struggling for words, hands trembling.  Later at breakfast he spilled coffee on his lap. “Oh God,” he blurted out, looking up to heaven, imploring some kind of divine intervention that would give him the patience to go on, fighting to maintain the last remnant of his dignity.  This disease had taken his work, his pride, his strength and power.  It was all he could do now to raise a cup and drink.  I reached over and steadied his hand.   How the roles had changed.  As a child had he steadied my hand, helping me eat and drink.  Now I was holding his.

We were together several days.  I held him and touched him often.  I would read to him from a colorful book of art, and he would delicately touch the back of my hand with his.  The arguments and confrontations of the past were no longer relevant.  In their place we now could just be with one another, share in the silence, a knowingness of well-being, of gratitude, of life.  “You will spoil me”, he said one day, as we walked arm in arm.  “Of course,” I replied, “you deserve it.”

Don’t we all?  Don’t we all deserve to feel cherished, loved, and honored?  Isn’t that what we truly want, to feel an unconditional cherishing that can only come from the heart, our Buddha Nature?  This was the healing gift, for him and me.  We could just love each other.  That is all we really have.  The body falls away.  The illusions of power and control likewise fade.  What remains is love, without pretense, expectation, or judgment. 

When I said goodbye, he was seated beside my mother in the front seat of their car.  I leaned across the head rest and kissed my mother on her cheek.  Then I turned to my father.  Beaming, he reached over to me, puckered his lips with all his heart, and kissed my cheek.  I looked into his eyes.  “Goodbye,” I said.

We never know the impact that loving-kindness can bring.  In the midst of our human condition, our physical frailties and discomforts, we discover blessings.  We come to see the true face of those we love: my mother’s caring devotion, my father’s tender appreciation, and a stranger’s offering of concern.  Loving-kindness reached across the table one day, offering me a piece of chocolate.  Loving-kindness wrapped my mother in a shawl of warmth, steadied my father’s hand, and kissed my cheek goodbye.  This is what we give each other.  These simple gestures express the Eternal and become our refuge.  What is given away, and returns, is the radiant gift of love. 

May all beings be well, happy and peaceful.

May all beings be free from pain and sorrow.

May all beings have continuous good fortune.

May all beings accept all things as they truly are.

Works cited:

Salzberg, Sharon.  Loving-Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness.  Shambala: Boston and London, 2008.