A Small Offering
- At April 14, 2021
- By drynick
- In Reflections
- 0
This morning, many entrance points appear, but all are overgrown with the brambles of self-consciousness.
Every inspiration, left to its own devices, deteriorates to a technique that the little self uses to reinforce its defenses against the true and generative shape-shifting reality.
In my ritual of daily creation there is danger—the allure of imagining I know what I am doing. Then, lost in reliance on some self-conscious skill, I fall away from the hazardous heart of things and am condemned to wander in the dreary world of what I already know.
My audacious intention is to live on the edge of the unknown.
I want to pitch my tent on the edge of the great and mysterious forest. Like the great explorers of old, I want to make forays into that uncharitable territory that is the interwoven source of all.
I want to slip into the realm of illuminated shadows to see what I can learn about appearing and disappearing. I aspire to join in the great rising and falling of it all then to report back of wondrous creatures and fresh vistas.
Each small journey, if I can lose myself clearly enough, becomes its own life and death. I practice following some thread I can never know—waiting patiently until what arises offers its own shape and meaning. I do my best to use what I know gently and tentatively, never sure if what applied yesterday is still valid today.
So, this morning, just this. A few cautions, a few intentions—a small offering from the dark forest.
(Excerpted from forthcoming book Wandering Close to Home: A Year of Zen Reflections, Consolations, and Reveries. September 1, 2024.)
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