Dinner at My College Professor’s Apartment

(for Phil Ennis)

I never imagined I was included.
I fully believed in the world
of loneliness and relentless achievement—
I knew pretending as the only possibility.

But that night he laughed with delight
while he wrote his fresh insights in magic
marker on the kitchen cabinets that held
his hodgepodge of second-hand dishes
and while the soundless black-and-white TV
surreptitiously revealed (as he explained
to me) a wealth of deeper truths.

Then he turned to me in all seriousness
and slyly invited me through the open door
saying: “The world is an interesting
place, Rynick, and you can think.”

I was shocked and amazed. No one
had ever mentioned that insight and liberation
on my own terms were possible, let alone necessary.

—

Seeing and thinking through the deep surface
training the world opens herself and you
are free to be irreverent—to laugh and cry
and even, if you choose, to write
in magic marker wherever and whatever you want.

Personal Practice – Spend the day watching closely the people and patterns of interaction that surround you. Don’t believe what is said, but listen for what is unsaid and perhaps more important. Turn off the sound on your TV and see if you can glimpse the wealth of information being revealed beneath the surface. Write whatever crazy idea comes into your head, then share it with someone who might appreciate a brief respite from common sense.

Responding to Difficulty

We’ve had such lovely weather these past few weeks. After an early spring where it wouldn’t stop raining or get very far above freezing, we’ve had glorious June days with cool nights and articulated days of full sun. The heat and humidity will come later, but for now the mountain laurel is in full bloom. Even the fragile and wondrously gaudy iris have been in bloom for several weeks.

We’re also in the middle of a mini-drought and I’m now glad for the earlier soaking that has sustained most of the perennials. And I don’t mind the daily watering that is required to get the annuals settled to the point where they can tolerate a few days without active watering without fainting.

My daily ministrations begin with filling up two two-gallon watering cans at the side faucet. Then I carry my thirty-two pounds of water evenly balanced on each side as I wander through the different sections of the Temple garden. It’s not just the annuals that need support. All the perennials I moved earlier in the spring to create more room or to fill in empty spaces in the garden also need tending this first year. As I stand trickling water over my little charges I imagine the moisture soaking down through the soil, encouraging the roots to go deeper and deeper. Self sustenance is of course the goal.

Each plant has a different tolerance to these dry spells. Some, like black eye Susans and marigolds, once established, are relatively unfazed by periods without water. They don’t panic. They simply stand still and wait certainly for the next rain. I wonder if, beneath their calm exterior, they silently adjust their leaves—quietly closing down respiration to conserve moisture? Or are they naturally light breathers?

But some, the divas, like the impatience and the pansies are quite dramatic about their needs. They swoon at the first sign thirst—going limp and flopping down as if death were imminent. I then must rush in as the hero to revive them with a long drink. Nothing happens at first, but after I walk away, they miraculously rise up and often go on as if nothing had happened.

As a young boy, I was taught that it’s much better to be like the tough ones than the demonstrative ones. Don’t show what’s going on inside. It’s fine to have feelings, but one shouldn’t talk about them, they should just be understood. I still think there’s something fine and honorable about bearing whatever comes without complaining. But the line between complaining and sharing useful information and asking for help is often lost on me. I’m so well-trained that sometimes I hardly know myself.

Of course, in my own way, I can be quite dramatic as well. When I’m in a bad mood, I go around inside myself as if the world were coming to an end. Everything is stupid and I get lost in the world of suffering that I am carefully narrating and maintaining with my internal complaints and observations.

Sometimes it’s just too embarrassing to admit how petty I can be. I’d rather be equanimous and easy-going. The truth is, sometimes I am and sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I can be still and content in the middle of the inevitable droughts that come and go. Other times I lose myself in stories of lack and separation and throw myself to the proverbial ground in my mini-despair. Limp and helpless I wait to be noticed and rescued.

I’m learning to be thankful for both sides of me and for all kinds of flowers and people. Different styles of response. Different shapes and needs. Different capacities in different moments. How wonderful!

As long as I remember the fullness of it all, then I can also remember to appreciate the necessary differences between me and you—between me and the many different universes I encounter in the garden and in life.

Personal Practice – What is your style of response when things are not going your way? Notice the little (or big) irritations that arise for you today. What is your natural tendency? Do you keep quiet and wait for things to change? Do you make sure others know immediately? Can you notice without judging your style to be better or worse than someone else’s?

What would it be like to expand your range? If you tend to be a hold it inside kind of person, what if you complained a little more today? If you comfortable sharing your internal weather with others, what if you said less today? Notice what happens when you step over the line of whatever rules you have been taught.

On Missing a Day

I spent most of yesterday morning sleeping. I got up several times—even made a cup of tea and headed for the porch to write, but felt dizzy and nauseous so headed back to bed. I wanted to write—felt I should write, but I just couldn’t.

It’s hard to stop. The patterns of our lives pull us forward—for good and for ill. The virtuous cycles of writing every morning, of daily time in the garden, of nutritious eating—all of these are habits that nourish me and bring me alive. Of course there are the vicious cycles as well—patterns of behavior that offer immediate reward but ultimately leave me feeling disconnected and exhausted. Most of my vicious cycles have to do with too much—too much time on the computer or TV, too much work in the garden, too much sweet food or being too nice. (The last one is really complicated and I’ll write about it some other time.)

We all have ways to escape and these are important human necessities. Life is often too much and to be able to stop whatever important work you are doing and take a break is an important thing to do. Too much of almost anything is not healthy.

The Buddha taught about the middle way. I recently learned that in the Anglican tradition there is a similar concept called the ‘via media’ – the middle road. This teaching of some path between two extremes is a guide to help us living balanced and meaningful lives.

We all have a tendency toward extremism. I knew a guy who spent three or four hours a day in the gym. While spending time in the gym can be a healthy thing to do, he was obsessed with the appearance of his body and it didn’t seem like it was improving the quality of his life to work out so much. Now I’m not in danger of that particular excess, I have learned to be moderate when I do exercise. At my tender and advanced age in my seventh decade on this planet, I can easily do damage to my body in my enthusiasm for the project of getting in shape.

How do we find and maintain good habits? For the past few months, writing every morning has been a habit that has enriched my life. Every morning, until yesterday, it was the first thing I did. I’d been wanting to write regularly again for the past three or four months. I’d even decided to write another book and I’d been noticing the people (including my mother) who said they missed my regular writings and postings. But I couldn’t get started.

We human beings are creatures of habit. The things we do today are the best predictor of the things we will do tomorrow. Our challenge is to break out of the current patterns that no longer serve us and not to let the new ones carry us away. There are all kinds of theories about how to break old habits and create new ones. All these theories are true to some degree and sometimes work. But none of them work all the time.

For me, creating and maintaining life-giving habits is a matter of intention, stubbornness and grace. Any two of these three, without the third are not enough.

Intention comes from asking the perennial question: ‘What do I want? What do I really want?’ This question has the power to take us beneath the surface of habit and busyness—to take us out of our heads and down into our hearts and bodies. This is a very different question from ‘What should I do?’ While this can be an essential question too, it often leads us into more thoughts of what others think and what we’ve heard and read. This is different territory from the deep longing of the heart and perhaps has its place only after we have touched the deeper purposes of our beings.

When we touch some purpose beyond and beneath all our ‘shoulds’, then we have to decide to take some step based on that purpose. This is where determination comes in. What is the next thing to do? How do I take one step to move toward what is calling to me? And then take the next step. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. It doesn’t even have to be the best thing. But every worthwhile adventure begins with some small action. Then we need the determination, the stubbornness to take the next.

Finally is the matter of grace. While there are all kinds of skillful means and helpful perspectives, life remains, for me, a mystery. Sometimes I am conscious of how easy it is to move in alignment with some deeper intentions of the heart, other times I feel utterly powerless to live the life I so glibly talk about. It is always premature to take ‘credit’ for any good habits you have. We continue on our path only through the grace of good health and favorable circumstances. We should every day give thanks for whatever behaviors we currently have that nourish and enrich our lives—and vow, as we can, to continue as long as we are able.

So all day yesterday, once I was out of bed and stumbling through my day, I tried to decide whether it would be better to do some kind of short writing – to keep my ‘string’ of posting every day going. I don’t want to be controlled by ideas of purity and pride and I want to follow through on the intentions and actions that seem to serve me and the world around me.

In the end, I don’t know whether I actually made a decision or it was just laziness that led me to settle in to the couch next to my wife and watch the next episode of Veep and then the next episode of several other shows. It was lovely and easeful.

I only felt slightly guilty. In the back of my head were the familiar doubts. Will I write tomorrow morning? Will I lose the motivation of ‘not missing a day?’ I didn’t know, but realized that I won’t write forever and thought it would be good to have a day off.

But this morning, I’m happy to feel well enough to be here again. Happy to have this time to wander and wonder. And hope these mostly daily reflections continue to be helpful for a few others as I send it off without waiting for it to be perfect.

Windows of Opportunity

I began writing yesterday with the intention of finding my way to the most vivid image from Wheatley and Kellner-Rogers’ book A SIMPLER WAY. But I got so lost in the wind-up that I didn’t get to the delivery—so absorbed in explaining the background I didn’t get to the thing itself. It’s funny how often we set out to do one thing but then get distracted on the way. But more and more I’ve learned to trust that the distraction is at least equally valuable as the thing itself. Or that the distraction IS the thing itself.

If we imagine our lives as a series of events and the world as a collection of objects, then we’re liable to miss most of our lives in the space in between here and there—between this and that. Between me and you. I get in the car and go on autopilot and wake up when I arrive at the destination. Where was I while I was driving?

From the perspective of the mutuality of arising of life, however, we can appreciate that there actually is no space in-between. Every moment and every place we encounter IS the fullness of our life. We are embedded, woven into the world we help create. Everything is always interacting with and supporting everything else. One of the gifts of this perspective is that there is no need to wait.

No need to wait till you get to your ‘destination’ – because you are already there. It turns out that ‘there’ is ‘here.’ In the world of interconnection and interdependence, your whole life has led you to this moment and this moment contains everything you need.

Wheatley and Kellner-Rogers use this wonderful metaphor (which is the point I have been trying to get to all along):

‘There are no “windows of opportunity,” narrow openings in the fabric of space-time that soon disappear forever. Possibilities beget more possibilities; they are infinite.’  

There are no “windows of opportunity”—no small moments of time that we have to take advantage of or they are forever gone. EACH moment is the “window of opportunity” we have been waiting for. This is fully good news because it means that whatever situation in which you find yourself is full of opportunity. Our job is not to get to a better place but rather to be fully where we are so we can participate in unfolding the potential that is already here.

I’m most conscious of practicing this when I garden. Being a naturally spontaneous (disorganized) and creative (impulsive) person, I rarely have a clear plan for time I spend in the garden. This means that I often find myself engaged in some task for which I don’t have the tools I need.   So I spend a considerable amount of my time in the garden walking from one part of it to the garage and back to where I was in the first place.

These are the walks I have been training myself to appreciate. Rather than focus on the limited amount of time I have and all the things yet to be done, I try to remember that walking in the garden, even to fetch the clippers which I forgot, is spending time in the garden—IS gardening. The endless tasks will never be completed so I might as well enjoy being in the middle of it all—the green growing and wondrous flowering—the dying back and the sprouting forth. Sometimes I even pretend that I have come out just for this walk to the garage and back. I slow my pace and enjoy this walking life of a gardener.

Each moment IS the window of opportunity. Climb through and check out the view from right where you are.

Personal Practice – Pay attention today to the spaces in between. The time between when you realize you need to go pee and when you finally arrive at the toilet—the spaces between the decision to do something and when you begin doing it. You could also notice the spaces between you and the others in your life. What if we’re always ‘in touch’ but it’s just always a different kind of ‘touch’? What if the space in between is just a figure of speech and we’re always already there—already connected?

Life-long Learning

Today is my 39^th wedding anniversary!

We had lived together for four years before I pulled over to the side of the road on our way back from a vacation with my family and asked her to marry me. We were going to go to Japan where I was going to apprentice to a master potter. That never happened, but everything else did.

I feel incredibly blessed to have had such a long time together, though looking back I can’t imagine where all those years went. I remember bits and pieces—the night we moved into the apartment where our bedroom was a large closet just big enough to fit a thin futon and we said goodnight to each other against the background drone of the huge a/c system of the college dorm behind us. And the day we found out we were expecting a child and called our good friends though it was still way too early in the morning but we were so excited we couldn’t help ourselves.

The difficult times stand out as well. When we got the call that her mother was dying and we should come to Boston to be with her before she passed. And the year-long collapse of the independent high school where we both taught that led to leaving everything and moving to Worcester in 1991. Not to mention the myriad times of confusion and conflict between and within ourselves.

It turns out that living with another human being is a challenge and always a work in progress. Who knew? Though it all, I have found that I am quite a slow learner. I seem to have to learn the same lessons over and over. I am still trying to take in some of the things I need to learn about being a human being.

The wonderful (and terrible) thing about life, whether you are in a long-term relationship or not, is that it gives us all multiple opportunities to learn what we need to learn.

I suppose the most challenging lesson that I learn repeatedly is that it’s OK for people I love to have difficulties. My instinctual relationship to problems is to get out my hammer and try to fix them. Growing up as the son of a minister, I learned that my job was to notice when other people were unhappy and then to do something to help them to feel better. While this may be a noble aspiration and even occasionally helpful, it arises from a mistaken assumption about what is necessary and what is possible.

Of course our job is to be kind to each other and help as we can, but it is also true that other human beings have a whole range of feelings and that this is not a problem. Just because I feel uncomfortable that someone else is sad or confused or angry, doesn’t mean that it’s my job to get them to change. People don’t need me to fix them – especially my friends and family members.

So I’m slowly learning the lessons I need to learn. And this morning, I’m especially grateful to Melissa, my wife of these many decades, for her patience and support in the face of my ongoing stubbornness and slow progress toward true compassion and genuine relationship.

Personal Practice – What are the lessons that life is trying to teach you? Take a moment and think about the places where you repeatedly get stuck? What is the argument or confusion that arises again and again with you and your partner? With your parents or children or friends? With yourself? (Everyone/thing is a mirror that shows us some part of ourselves we have not yet known.)

What if this ongoing pattern of yours is not something to be fixed? What if this issue actually contains some learning of great importance for you? Lean into where you are stuck and see what you haven’t seen before. Don’t try to change anything.  Appreciate exactly where you are and see what happens.

Pushing for Systemic Change

The brutal murder of George Floyd is still with us all. Eight minutes and forty-five seconds. The horrific obscenity of seeing a human being killed right in front of our eyes. And we are powerless to stop what has already happened. Now captured on video and in our minds, we have to watch and listen to his pleas again and again.

Not that it was worse than so much that has come before. But this is different. Maybe it was the straw on the top of the mountain of straws that finally broke the cart underneath. Maybe it is the technology that has given us all the capacity and the interest in capturing our lives on video. Maybe the pandemic has weakened our capacity to shield ourselves from that which we would rather not know. Maybe it’s just time.

Many black men and women have been killed by police over the past ten years; the terrible march of headlines and outrage that flares and dies back. But this time feels different. Every day we see people taking to the streets across the country and across the world — risking their health and safety in the face of the coronavirus as well as the pepper spray, batons and rubber bullets. Kettled and shoved to the ground. So much caught on video. Fires burn. Assaults and crimes on both sides. But one side has lethal weapons and military style armor and a court system that is designed to shield them from accountability. The other side has numbers and rage and anonymity.

I watched part of a John Oliver’s rant about the police that was quite moving. It was a relief to hear his outrage at the ongoing pattern of abuses that is visible even in the police response to the outrage against this very abuse. Oliver, perhaps with the vision of an outsider, emphasized the importance of understanding the historic roots of our current situation. From the roots of policing in finding and returning runaway slaves to the American love affair with cops – especially the rogue cop who cuts through bureaucracy to bring swift justice to the bad guys.

A protesters hold up their fists outside the State House. (Robin Lubbock/WBUR)

This is not a case of a few bad actors giving the others a bad name. Though I do believe that most members of the police are indeed decent human beings, the deeper problem is the whole American conception of public safety. The roots of our policing are in enforcing the ‘rights’ of slave owners, and then property owners over the black bodies and others that might threaten their economic and physical hegemony of control.  There is something fundamentally wrong with how we enforce safety in our country.  The US has one of the highest incarceration rates in the world and the majority of those in prison are men of color.  This is not an accident, but systemically intentional.

Things seem to be different this time. I’m encouraged by the mayors and governors and other elected officials who are talking about fundamental change. But I am wary. As we have seen with legislative efforts to curb gun violence, the power of the status quo is fierce.

Yesterday I listened to an interview with the head of a national police union organization. Beneath his reasonable demeanor I heard his unstated intention to keep any changes that must come as minimal as possible. He was willing to enter into a conversation, to form a commission, to draft some new guidelines, but underneath, his commitment to the people that benefit from how things are was clear.

Scientists who study systemic change have observed that fundamental change in is only possible when a system is far from equilibrium. As long as things are running smoothly, whether they be chemical reactions or patterns of social interaction, there are few possibilities. The power of the unconscious forward momentum of life is fierce. Only when the status quo is disrupted can we hope to change things on a substantial level.

From this perspective, we are in a moment of unique possibility. May we continue to be disturbed enough to create specific and fundamental change in how we think about and practice keeping our society and ourselves safe.

Personal Practice – Do one thing to make your voice heard. Talk to a friend. Email your Congressional representative or elected official. Attend a rally. Donate money to organizations working for change. Do something.

Nine Easy Steps to a Happier Life

A recent scientific study* reports that you can improve your happiness by up to 37%** by simply looking up! While we don’t yet know the exact mechanism that produces the effect, lifting your gaze momentarily (Sky-Gazing) prevents you from doing useful work and allows you to become aware of the world that always surrounds and embraces you. Raising your eyes to the sky may also activate healing memories of being young in the summer and being on vacation and having nothing much important to do.

In just a few minutes, you too can begin to experience the benefits and be on your way to a 37% happier life.

Most of us have been trained to constantly look down in order not to trip and to stay focused on the task at hand. Looking up interrupts this functionalist perspective and begins to re-weave our connection to the world around us. The simple practice of sky gazing is a way to break free from the trance of everyday life and return to a healthier and more realistic relationship to life, the earth and the cosmos.

Sky-Gazing in Nine Easy Steps:

1. Go outside or find a window with a view
2. Sit down in a reasonably comfortable chair, couch or chaise lounge
3. Slouch (and put your feet up if possible)
4. Lift your chin several inches
5. Let your gaze rise (must be 45 degrees or above for maximum benefit)
6. Look up and out with relaxed focus
7. Notice little things up high — like how the breeze moves the leaves near the top of trees or how the shape of the clouds is always changing or the specific color of the sky
8. Take a couple breaths
9. Remember that the sky is always above and is never rushed or worried

Some people report their experience Sky-Gazing as ‘a mini-vacation’ and say they re-enter their daily activities with more spaciousness, ease and equanimity***. In the interest of scientific research, I would urge you to try this right now and see what impact it has on you.

(After you have done this practice from the seated position for some time, you may want to try the advanced practice which involves doing this same practice while lying down outside – preferably under or near a large tree.)

Enjoy.

Personal Practice:  Try it yourself and notice what happens.  One small addition and one caution: I mention seated and lying down (advanced practice), but standing sky gazing can also be enjoyed.  And DO NOT ATTEMPT TO DO THIS WHILE WALKING, DRIVING A CAR OR OPERATING HEAVY EQUIPMENT.

notes:
*conducted by me as I sat out on my porch one afternoon
**23% of all statistics are made up on the spot
***the productivity impact of this practice merits further study as some employers might find their workers less willing to efficiently do meaningless work after sky gazing

Hidden Histories

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I’m hiding behind the Buddha this morning. Literally. Really literally.

My usual perch on the porch has been usurped by the process of painting. First was the scrub and power-wash—thank you Ray. Then last week was the laborious scraping and prepping—thank you Doug on hands and knees. Yesterday was the full coat of primer to take advantage of all the previous work—again, thank you Doug. And later on today, Doug will come back for the smooth work of applying the final coat. This final coat of gray, this most visible record of activity, will take the least amount of time in the whole process.

I suppose this layering of invisible efforts and causes is true everywhere we look. We often see only the most proximal causes while most of what led to some thing appearing before us is invisible. Putting the seeds or plants in the garden is usually fairly quick and easy—it’s everything that comes before and after that takes the work.

This morning I’m sitting on the access ramp in a jumble of chairs and low tables—behind the weeping cherry tree that was rescued from the bramble when we moved in and behind the two ton Buddha around whom the access ramp wraps. All three of these—the cherry tree, the Buddha statue and the access ramp have their hidden histories.

Every thing appears and disappears as the result of innumerable causes and conditions.

The cherry tree must have been part of the huge landscaping project in the 80’s when these grounds were the site of the Jewish Elder Services Center. The individuals who worked here, who came to be cared for and who supported the campaign to install a lovely curving brick walkway leading to a gazebo among the trees, they are all long gone. Not to mention the people who imagined and carefully tended this tree when it was just a slender sapling.

The Buddha statue was hauled here on a trailer truck and swung into place with a boom crane while a number of us chanted and marveled. Originally quarried and carved in China, the statue was mistakenly ordered by a local salon owner and only came to us through a chance conversation with the enthusiastic of the owner of the construction company that was digging up our parking lot.

The access ramp was built by a host of volunteers. But the man who designed and did most of work was available and interested in helping only because of terrible circumstances in his personal life. When the ramp was almost completed, his story became public. It was serious and we tried to talk to him about it, but he wasn’t willing to talk and disappeared shortly after he completed the ramp. I am grateful to him this morning for his skills and hard work even though I have not seen him in over a decade.

And so it goes. What we encounter comes to us through the efforts of countless others. Everything we encounter has a history beyond telling. It is appropriate to be grateful for all the circumstances that brought this moment into being. The terrible and the wonderful things are finely woven together into this. Every thing is the product of and depends on everything else. Nothing is extra.

I hide behind the Buddha. Glad for the twining clematis tendrils by my elbow and the brilliant petunias by my nose. Glad for the sound of the cars rushing by on their essential Pleasant Street journeys. And glad for one more morning.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Personal Pratice – Look around you and pick one or two objects that catch your attention. Now take a few moments to appreciate the hidden histories of each one. How did this thing come into your life? And before that, how did it come into being? Imagine the path it took toward you and all the individuals, just like you, who were a part of that path. Appreciate the interconnection of it all. Be grateful to everything that brought this into being.

Twenty Twenty Vision

In 2015, we made a five-year plan. We called it the ‘2020 Vision’ which we all thought was a very clever double entendre. It was two years after our Boundless Way Temple Zen community purchased the Temple building and grounds—a rambling Victorian mansion on an acre of land on the outskirts of the city of Worcester. It was five years after Melissa and I originally bought this same place to function as a Zen Temple for our local community and as a retreat center for our larger Zen organization.

Our original vision for the Temple was to create a place of beauty and practice. These words seemed to capture some energy of possibility. We didn’t know exactly what they meant, but they pointed in a particular direction and crystallized the courage that allowed us to step out into the unknown and to follow.

Our Zen group began with two friends in 1992. We decided to meet every Sunday at our house at to meditate together in the TV room of our house. We were happy to have others join us but were committed to sitting together ourselves, no matter who showed up or didn’t.

Eventually the group got so big we had to clear out our dining room table and meet in there. Then it was emptying the living room of furniture. The day we had forty people come for a day-long meditation was the day we realized we needed a larger place. Notions of an old warehouse space in downtown Worcester were scrapped when we found this current Temple building. It had been on the market for eight months and the price had dropped considerably.

When the Temple community raised the money to buy the Temple from us, these words ‘a place of beauty and practice’ were still alive and resonant. Many people joined in and we all took the risk of transferring the ownership. It meant Melissa and I were now dependent on the community for a place to live and that community owned a large building and was dependent on us for the leadership and guidance of this newly arisen organization.

The 2020 Vision came two years later and organized itself around the phrase ‘...to support and sustain a place of vibrant Zen practice for ourselves, for those around us and for those who follow us.’ A little more complicated, but these words touched some powerful longing within the community. The five-year vision itself contained a projected budget that dreamed of a gradually increasing size of the community, more residential retreats, a living wage for the teacher position and continual investment in the property and grounds.

I would say we got most of our predictions right – or rather we succeed in articulating a path that did indeed materialized under our feet. The two things we forgot to include in our plan were the growth of our larger community which led to its splitting into two separate groups and the coronavirus pandemic. The former we might have predicted if we had looked at other start-ups that grow quickly and the later might have been foreseen if we had taken our apocalyptic science fiction or our global immunology studies more seriously.

Unexpected large events seem to play a large part in the history of our planet—both natural and human. Until the meteor wiped out the dinosaurs, our mammalian ancestors spent most of their time hiding under rocks and trying not to get stepped on. Their size and insignificance were part of the survival strategy that got you and me here. The dinosaurs may have had a good plan, and certainly had a good run, but in the end, other things happened.

So now, here at the Boundless Way Temple, we’re in the reset mode again. Residential retreats in close quarters are not going to be happening here or anywhere for a long time. We haven’t even begun practicing in person here at the Temple yet, though plans are afoot.

But our online daily meditation sessions have two or three times the number of participants as we had when we met in person. Our daily Zen practice community now extends around the country and overseas. And our May virtual retreat (cleverly named as ‘The Distant Temple Bell Sesshin’) had a waiting list and we’ve just opened registration for our three-day July retreat.

Another five-year plan, in these rapidly changing circumstances seems a little premature. But we’re dreaming again.

We just don’t quite know yet what forms it will take next.