embrace the road
In the darkest night, it is perfectly clear.
dwelling nowhere, 2024. Acrylic, water and oil crayon on 12x12” wood panel. Inquiries: Folklore Gallery, Santa Fe.
It’s 4:15am, I’m waking for my first time as jikido (timekeeper) at Upaya. I’ve spent days reviewing the flow of this morning in my mind: short weight workout, stretch, pour tea, drive there. Unlock doors, turn on lights, fill water vessels on each altar, light candles. Place my cushion, place the inkin (bell indicating the end of zazen) near my seat, and stand in my spot near the door, bowing to each person as they take their places around the periphery of the meditation hall.
In this low light, the muffled sounds of silence mixed with gestures of respect, I can feel my mind releasing typical habit patterns, focusing on details instead. My nervousness fades.
Since I’m keeping the time, I find myself glancing down, tracking minutes. Thoughts flood in—my son, home for the weekend, how I’m missing him now even when he’s right there. His sweet friends flowing in and out of the house, every hug is a blessing. I think about James still suffering with pain, how that changes our reality lately. Then my friend who’s dying comes to mind, and the friend who’s caring for her. Then a new friend who’s paralyzed, how can that even be. Each of their faces, bravery. Then back here to the zendo, minding new aspects of things.
And this one breath.
At the end of the sit, we prepare for service, similar forms, a different chant each day. Even when repeated, the words never land the same way. The sutras and poems chanted intend to speak to the heart, not the mind—each one reminds us almost cryptically to shed concepts, to forget who we think we are. Each time we chant, centuries of repetitions echoing, move me inexorably toward wonder.
Today’s chant is special to me.
The Song of the Jewel Mirror Awareness is a poem from Song Dynasty China, emerging from the vibrant days of Ch’an (which evolved into Japanese Zen). When I heard it the first time years ago, my cells reorganized, opening a mind of quiet, so fresh and new. Feels supportive to highlight two of the more elusive lines and unfold them with you.
“In the darkest night, it is perfectly clear.”
What is “the darkest night”? And what is “it”?
For support, I re-listened to a recent talk from dear teacher Sensei Shinzan Palma, reminding me that the darkest night is any moment we’re bored, angry, frustrated. When we’re in a tough time with friends or family, when we’re feeling besieged by grief or fear. When we’re sitting, struggling, sincerely trying to return to presence.
What exactly is it? It’s the awakened mind, the breath, the heart, the emptiness—it’s never not there. When we stay the course, especially in tougher practices, we can touch it.
“In the brilliance of dawn, it remains hidden.”
When nothing is lacking, things are in flow, when we feel at ease, Shinzan points out how depths of practice can feel elusive, superfluous, even. Our task is letting go of our habits of grasping and identification, even with what’s working. Embracing the road, complexity, our evolution. And to keep disappearing, so the awakened mind can be revealed.
“When it’s a sunny day, a light day, we cannot see the stars… but at night we can see them. The stars are like our Buddha nature... always there.” -Shinzan Palma
Dear Reader,
How is your practice going?
Might you commit to a daily ten minutes for the rest of this month with me?
Do you experience a clearer connection to practice when life is challenging?
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Thank you for being here. Heading into the final month of this year with hope.
Thank you for this. I always think of the dark places that change us as the BIG losses and changes or sicknesses- it is a relief to know we can do our work in each little moment of internal anguish - there are so many and that’s okay 😀
I will sit with you for 10 minutes a day for the rest of the month. Thank you for the beautiful post Elena.