So building fires
requires attention
to the spaces in between,
as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build
open spaces
in the same way
we have learned
to pile on the logs,
then we can come to see how
it is fuel, and absence of fuel
together, that make fire possible.

We only need lay a log
lightly from time to time.

A fire grows
simply because the space is there,
with openings
in which the flame
that knows just how it wants to burn
can find its way.

by Judy Brown

A clear call, in this poem by educator, speaker, facilitator, poet and writer Judy Brown, for making sure there’s enough breathing spaces in the fire that is your life. I especially like the trust and confidence that speaks in the last few lines: ‘the flame that knows just how it wants to burn’. But it does need space to find its way. Good to remember in a culture where ‘more’ seems to mean the same as ‘better’!

So let’s pause to create space, and remember to rest…

PS If you’d like to (re-)start your mindfulness journey because you’ve realised there are too many logs on your fire and you feel stressed, join the Mindfulness for Stress weekend either online or in Samye Ling to explore how to create more space and ease in your life…

Photo by Obed Hernández on Unsplash

For so long
I thought only of the river’s end.

Then one morning, I set my paddle down
to watch the sun rise over the eastern hills –

only to find myself floating – somehow gently upstream.
I promise it was not what I had expected.

by Matty Weingast

Heather read this poem at the end of a wonderful teacher training retreat which finished last week, and it’s stayed with me as an invitation to effort less, and appreciate more. It’s so easy to come to that which is important to me with a level of striving, a reaching towards our desired end-goal. And yet, how much easier and more joyful things become when I let go a bit, appreciate what is here now and open to pause with a sense of gratitude for the many beautiful moments that constitute the journey…

Matty Weingast has put this with simple words into a powerful image, in this poem from his book The First Free Women which is inspired by his understanding of the Therigatha, or “Verses of the Elder Nuns”.

I’m going to let myself be surprised more often by what is possible without the habitual effortful grasping after what I think I need!

PS if you’d like to explore how mindfully meeting the moments of your life may bring pleasant surprises, take a look at our upcoming courses here…

Photo by Josh Duncan on Unsplash

thread of smoke that rose
and touched a cloud — or the cloud’s

replica adrift on the slow river of thinking —
and disappeared inside it. In that dark water,
a new lily was opening, sky-white out of the muck.

It was only a glimpse, quick,
like a bird ruffling,

but I saw the flower’s
beautiful stark shape, an artichoke
brightened from within by the moon.

A path lay shadowy at my feet,
and I followed it.

by Chase Twichell

A moment of opening can have a deep impact and a new way forward may reveal itself, as the poet and teacher Chase Twichell names in her poem above. Listening to her speaking about talent and writing poetry, I am touched by her dedication and commitment to it, and how highly she values it also rang through the last lines of another poem by her hand: Poetry’s not window-cleaning. / It breaks the glass.

In the compassion training, we pause with the image of the lily or lotus flower, which rises so brightly out of the mud it has its roots in. The reminder that the mucky hard stuff is actually the ground from which compassion blooms never gets old to me, as my dislike for the struggle is such a strong habit. And the harder the going, the more resistance I feel – and hopefully, the more fruitful what blossoms out of it. Which can seem like a pale promise when in the midst of that dark time where the path ahead is unclear… Good to remember that things are never as fixed as they can sometimes feel, and that in a moment, ‘the sky outside the mind’ can come flooding in to give a glimpse of what was previously hidden.

May we all find our way forward, in kindness to ourselves and others…

PS It is definitely my experience that orienting my mind toward the practice of mindfulness and kindness helps facilitate those glimpse-like moments. If you’d like to try out practicing with us, why not join one of the free daily sits online…

Photo by Åsmund Arup Seip on Unsplash

By Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

I can’t remember where I came across this poem but it’s been travelling with me for a good while now, as a hope and a possibility. What does it take to do something different from yesterday? What is it, that makes new choice possible today? I wish I knew. Intention helps, certainly, and creating conditions and turning towards – but it seems to me that all my efforts don’t quite explain the magic when it happens.

I remember years ago, during a Holy Isle retreat, an eloquent older man called Richard was asking Rob Nairn about those wonderful moments of the mind actually resting, of that space suddenly opening where everything (and even the most unwanted stuff) is ok to be there in the bigger picture, that peace that envelops dis-ease. Where does it come from? And Rob turned it around and said: “well, you’ve experienced it, where do you think it comes from?” And without a second of hesitation, Richard answered: “the grace of God”. And for once, Rob had nothing more to add.

I’m unresolved about the old God question so I wouldn’t have phrased it like that, but I’m with Richard in thinking it comes from something other and bigger than my little self that’s trying so hard. Trying so hard is not the way, as Stewart Mercer reminds us. But much is possible with a little openness, and getting out of the way…

In satisfying my curiosity about the writer of these words, I discovered that Rosemerry has written many other beauties. In fact, she has been sharing a poem a day on her blog with a fabulous list of tag subjects alongside it, offering rich reflections and poignant metaphors on a wealth of topics. Worth a deep-dive!

Photo by Réda Chakir on Unsplash

II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place
but, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in … it’s a habit.
my eyes are open
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

V
I walk down another street.

by Portia Nelson

A mindfulness classic, this one. It came to mind last week as a friend shared some exasperation about repeating habitual patterns in stressful situations: “I thought Krishnamurti said that the seeing is the doing! Why is this popping up again and again?!”

Much could be said about that, in fact Krishnamurti himself has said it several times and in different contexts (for example when speaking about the art of listening, here).

But it seems to be very human to fall into the same hole several times (as Dianne Reeves sings about in The First Five Chapters) and the sooner we can smile at ourselves for falling in yet again, the faster we can get out again… and find ourselves in another street.