You Can't Hold Back the Dawn

In the midst of nothingness, there is a road that goes directly to my true home. - Gesshu in the Zen Calendar (September 5, 2006).

Day 145. No cycling today. I saw a fairly good movie. It wouldn't have mattered if it was good or not. The theater had air conditioning and I watched from a seat you didn't have to straddle. The only sweating was done by the actors on the screen. Bliss.

In the past few days I have discovered the magazine Outside. My partner has them lying all over the house. He has never opened one. He says he "hates it . . . and doesn't know how (he) got a subscription." I know for a fact he doesn't read it because most of the articles are by writers guilty of the "L" word. And I don't mean Lesbian. Hey - you can't work on an Air Force Base in Oklahoma for over twenty years without getting tainted.

I, on the other hand, am enjoying the articles immensely. Outside is definitely targeted at edgy 25 to 40-year-old men with a predilection for extreme sports. In other words, it's right up my alley. I've been reading about rock climbers hooked on benzodiazepines, arctic swimmers, Lance Armstrong and his rival, Alberto Contador, and singers from genres of music I had never heard of. Good stuff.

Trouble is, I'm also reading about the life I never led. My life. The one my True Self would have elected, had she not been so profoundly impacted by influences including an alcoholic dad, the Poster Mom for Codependency, and becoming the Hero Child who had to make straight A's and get a Ph.D. at the ripe old age of 27. Don't get me wrong; I love my parents and my career deeply. I'm just pretty sure that, left unimpeded, I would have chosen a slightly different path.

I would have been a competitive mountain biker and maybe triathlete. My passport would have looked like an action photographer's from National Geographic - in fact, that may have been the profession I chose. There is a high likelihood that I never would have married, and almost a certainty that I wouldn't be a mother (though that actually worked out well). I would have procured my diving certification a long time before 2001, and by now I would have logged hundreds of dives in my logbook. I'd still have the accumulation of rock climbing equipment I owned in the 80's, and my logbook of climbs would be thick, too. The sailboats I've owned would contain more brands than Hobie, and my wind surfer would have seen a lot more surf. I would speak more than a smattering of French, German and Spanish. The number of beaches I've meandered would be exponentially larger, as would countries I've lingered in. And I would never, NEVER still be in Oklahoma.

I realize that sounds like a list of regrets, or woulda shoulda coulda's. That's not how I intended it at all. Funny thing is, I've managed to do fragments of every single thing I listed. The real me, the truest me, periodically burst forth despite the endless life circumstances that kept trying to smother me. One of my favorite undergraduate professors used to look at me as we sat in his office under the eves of the oldest building on campus, swapping stories and contemplating academia and say, "You can't hold back the dawn." He had a twinkle in his eye, and - looking back with the wisdom and maturity of a woman nearing half a century on this earth - there was something else in his eye as well. I was a slender blond in my early 20's with sparkling blue eyes and enough zeal and intellect to stop a train. He never crossed a line with me, and for that, I am grateful. I remember his look and his mantra to me. You Can't Hold Back the Dawn. Though I didn't recognize it at the time, it was the highest compliment I have ever received.

My professor was right. My Self is dawning. The longer I sit, the more I sense an Awakening. The heart of zazen is WAKING UP - to truth, to life, to the infinite goodness of the One. Sometimes I sit on my cushion positively buzzing with an aching, yearning restlessness. Yet I continue to remain absolutely still. Watching and waiting. Accepting. Detaching. Sitting in the quiet, motionless and alert, I feel myself being born. Clearing the clutter and fog from my congested brain is like seeing a sunrise for the very first time. This dawn is clear and uninhibited. The colors are radiant. And I know - I just KNOW - that with this dawn I will sail - and dive - and climb - and ride - and fly - and write - as much as my heart desires.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc