Sitting in Sound

Empty-hearted in society,
How deeply moved I am
By the snipe calling
In the evening marsh. - Saigyo in the Zen Calendar (September 13, 2007)

Day 107. You know those dreams where you are trying to get somewhere and you just can't? The worst ones for me are when I need to be moving fast to get away from something dangerous and my body feels like it is lumbering through wet cement. My brain keeps sending the "Hurry!" signal, but my limbs won't respond. The other kind is when barrier after barrier impedes my journey or escape, and time is running out. Imagine combining those dream themes and the cement is slightly set and mixed with rebar, you are wearing army boots four sizes too big, and the barriers are explosive-laden barbed wire fences built 15 feet high. That is what activities of daily living feel like now that my man-child is home. No doubt my presence similarly aggravates his sleeping and waking states. Summer school is going to be a beautiful thing. For both of us.

In between thunder storms, I have been leaving my windows open to the night air while I sit and sleep. So many sounds in the night! I have discovered that focusing acutely on what I hear significantly deepens my meditation. I can become profoundly lost in LISTENING. Sometimes even the Monkeys temporarily hush when I rest my awareness on sound. Between 10:30 and 11:30, two separate trains travel through Norman, emitting their long, lonesome whistles. It is poetry set to music. The whistle blasts several times as the train passes through the main intersections in town. Each blast has its own length, volume, timbre and echo. I experience each of them individually and uniquely as the sound waves bounce through the air and reverberate upon my ear drums. Songs of crickets, wind rippling leaves, tires on pavement, and distant barking (always, always, barking) become juxtaposed upon the train song.

Normally, I would find this cacophony agitating - an unwelcome irritant jangling my nerves and rattling my neurons. In meditation, however, it absorbs me rather than the other way around. Like boundaries melting away during an intense bike ride - when I AM the ride rather than riding - when I listen closely enough I merge with the sound so that it is no longer separate from me. It's like I step into the sound, which is already nestled within the moment. Moment/sound/ Self are indistinguishable. Perhaps, ever so briefly, mind and body fall away.

As usual, when I try to write about it -- Poof! It's gone. One of the most beautiful things about zazen practice: literally, you had to have been there. I'm going there now. The crickets are calling.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc