Treasure Hunting

A warm and humid morning. The barking dogs tumble through the open windows to wake me at 3:30 a.m. It’s dark and the blue glow of my bedside clock seems bright until I doze off again. Then it’s 4:50. I don’t think I’ve slept yet I have now memory of the time that just past.

I lie still in the faint light and do a quick assessment of my self. Each morning, I don’t quite know who I am. Or rather I don’t know which of my selves I will find myself to be. There’s such a range of me that I encounter.

Yesterday, I heard a Zen teacher quote another Zen teacher who said we all have 50 different people inside of us. The reason we get excited about some new venture and then fall away is that only one or two of the fifty get motivated while the other 48 or 49 are quite uninterested. Our work, if we want to get somewhere, is to get all 50 together headed in one direction. He said that getting every one of you to take a step or two is better than having one wild enthusiast run ahead only to pulled back by the others.

In the dark, I wonder what I’ll write about this morning. What is alive in me in this morning? Sometimes it’s surprisingly subtle and difficult to notice. Maybe it’s just so close and pervasive that I have no place to stand and view it.

It should be easy, this being myself—I mean who else can I be? But I often I struggle to find my way through the jumble of memories and hopes. Aspirations and expectations pile weigh me down like so many unnecessary blankets. I wonder if they are the unnecessary blankets of a warm night, or the blankets that keep me comfortable on the cold nights?

Now a slight breeze comes and the leaves of the crab apple tree near me sway back and forth. Bouncing up and down, they seem easy with themselves and with each other. Each leaf moves exactly in response to the soft energy of the wind and each movement is woven finely into the subtle dance of this bushy old tree.

I often feel like a prospector. I wander through the landscape of myself looking for something of value. I’m after what others have passed by—what is underneath and invisible. I go slowly and am especially interested in unpromising places. All the likely places have been picked over. Every terrain has its own treasures. I train myself to listen with eyes and see with my ears. My whole body is the Geiger counter I monitor. The entry point could be the squawk of a bird or the heavy feeling of the morning itself.

I can’t predict.

Even now as I stumble around looking, I know that this wandering is the thing itself. Yet I’m still looking for something else—or maybe just trying to follow this diaphanous moment. I make up rules for finding myself and leave treasure maps scattered along my path.

Just look up. Just spend time in the garden. Just sit still. Just take one step. Just do nothing.

All of them work and none of them work. This life that each of us is freely and constantly given can never be hidden. This is always it. But the looking and the searching seem to be part of the game of sacred game of hide and seek. If not for this precious problem, what else would I do with my mornings?

Personal Practice – What is alive for you in this moment? Take a few moments to notice whatever is here. See if you can stay with whatever you notice. What is the geography of this place? If you had to write some words about it, what would they be? What is a small gesture that might convey some aspect or quality of this place? What might be the gift of this place your find yourself?