A Hush-Filled Speck of Time

We have to get quiet. We have to be still, and that's harder and harder in this century. - Jane Kenyon in the Zen Calendar (October 6, 2007).

Day 241. First of October. Could the weather be in any more glorious? (At least, in my little fragment of the galaxy!) My cycling legs have a mind of their own this week. A manic mind. Through all those torturous, heinously hot days during the summer in which I had to keep myself in check to avoid overheating, I must have been storing speed and stamina at the cellular level. In recent rides explosive bursts of energy radiate through my legs, making them churn the pedals like pistons on an ocean liner. I hope it keeps up. This would make for a heckuva mountain bike season!

Short blog tonight. While meditating over the past few days, I became aware that my grip has gradually been tightening on certain aspects of life. Starkly un-Zenlike. "Let go your hold!" may be my mantra over the next few days. There have been a few moments of "Just This!" during zazen recently. I believe these are sneak previews - sneaky and brief - of enlightenment. They are the most remarkable glimpses of a peacefulness that defies description. I do know this: it is definitely not a cerebral phenomena. There is simply a hush-filled glimmer of utterly, completely, and effortlessly occupying a singular speck of time. Sort of like a Hollywood version - larger than life - of dwelling in the here-and-now.

As if that weren't singularly incomprehensible, the sensation is accompanied by a sublimely ecstatic sense of, "How could I ever have thought there was anything wrong? All things are perfect, exactly as they are!" Within a second or two my Monkey Mind, to my great dismay, indubitably thunders in with all manner of reminders of suffering. Strange how my mind is so suspect of joy. Those sacred, fleeting time specks seem like something upon which I would want to linger.

I will close for now to be with a friend whose marriage is teetering on the brink. Regrettably, my Monkey Mind isn't the only reminder of suffering.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc