Service June 5, 2010 — revision 1647

==Opening Words== ::Moving Forward :The deep parts of my life pour onward, :as if the river shores were opening out. :It seems that things are more like me now, :That I can see farther into paintings. :I feel closer to what language can't reach. :With my senses, as with birds, I climb :into the windy heaven, out of the oak, :in the ponds broken off from the sky :my falling sinks, as if standing on fishes. ::Rainer Maria Rilke ::translated by Robert Bly ==Gathering of Items for the Altar== ==Spirit of Life== ==Poem== :I'm at a day-long meditation retreat, eight hours of watching ::my mind with my mind, :and I already fell asleep twice and nearly fell out of my chair, ::and it's not even noon yet. :In the morning session, I learned to count my thoughts, ten in ::one minute, and the longest "was to leave and go to San Anselmo and shop, then find an ::outdoor cafe and order a glass :of Sancerre, smoked trout with roasted potatoes and baby ::carrots and a bowl of gazpacho. :But I stayed and learned to name my thoughts, so far they are: ::wanting, wanting, wanting, :wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, wanting, judgment, ::sadness. Don't identify with your :thoughts, the teacher says, you are not your personality, not your ::ego-identification, :then he bangs the gong for lunch. Whoever, whatever I am is ::given instruction :in the walking meditation and the eating meditation and walks ::outside with the other :meditators, and we wobble across the lake like The Night of the ::Living Dead. :I meditate slowly, falling over a few times because I kept my ::foot in the air too long, towards a bench, sit slowly down, and slowly eat my sandwich, noticing the bread, (sourdough), noticing the taste, (tuna, sourdough), noticing the smell, (sourdough, tuna), thanking the sourdough, the tuna, the ocean, the boat, the fisherman, the field, the grain, the farmer, the Saran Wrap that kept this food fresh for this body made of food and desire and the hope of getting through the rest of this day without dying of boredom. Sun then cloud then sun. I notice a maple leaf on my sandwich. It seems awfully large. Slowly brushing it away, I feel so sad I can hardly stand it, so I name my thoughts; they are: sadness about my mother, judgment about my father, wanting the child I never had. I notice I've been chasing the same thoughts like dogs around the same park most of my life, notice the leaf tumbling gold to the grass. The gong sounds, and back in the hall. I decide to try lying down meditation, and let myself sleep. The Buddha in my dream is me, surrounded by dogs wagging their tails, licking my hands. I wake up for the forgiveness meditation, the teacher saying, never put anyone out of your heart, and the heart opens and knows it won't last and will have to open again and again, chasing those dogs around and around in the sun then cloud then sun. ~ Susan Browne ~ ==Song by Mark== ==Meditation and Discussion with Meg and Lyric== ==Closing Words== ::The Guest House :This being human is a guest house. :Every morning a new arrival. :A joy, a depression, a meanness, :some momentary awareness comes :as an unexpected visitor. :Welcome and entertain them all! :Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, :who violently sweep your house :empty of its furniture, :still, treat each guest honorably. :He may be clearing you out :for some new delight. :The dark thought, the shame, the malice. :meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. :Be grateful for whatever comes. :because each has been sent :as a guide from beyond. :-- Jelaluddin Rumi, : translation by Coleman Barks