To Remember

On a windy, mountainous ride home from one of our weekend retreats, I felt an irrefutable tug to pull over and take in the vastness, the beauty, and the impermanence of the scene above. 

There was no question—I had to stop for this. 

It struck me to such a profound degree that I wondered about staying there until darkness fully consumed this little part of the universe. 

There was an unmistakable expansion in my heart and a deep connection to this experience, to my place in "the family of things," as Mary Oliver has written. 

Ultimately, my schedule and exhaustion won the debate, and after a good long while, I reluctantly got back into my car to keep driving.  

As I left, I recognized that this scene was not rare. This fog-textured, ridgy sunset is nothing new to those of us who live in California.

It was the mind that had changed, the senses that had awakened, the heart that had opened.

During retreat, awareness, like pristine mountain water, had the chance to reemerge and fill the dry beds of consciousness within me so that I could clearly see the dazzling, shimmering world. 

One meaning of the word mindfulness is "to remember."

I notice in myself and others, again and again, how easily we forget that much of what we seek is nestled in the reality of the here and now. How easily we forget about the vivid fullness of this human life, the ever arising and passing opportunities to connect with life as it is and others as they are.

It's so joyous when we remember! And it's so wonderful that our practice, relying on nothing external, teaches us to remember. 

And when life is unpleasant, chaotic, or difficult, fullness and connection are equally possible.

When things are straight up heartbreaking, as they may be for you right now, we remember how much more painful it is to avoid pain. How healing it can be to turn towards it. 

We remember that the only moment in which peace can begin is this one.