First, a rare offering from longtime friend, bestselling author and dear teacher Alberto Villoldo and me. Then onward to this week’s stunning poetry.
Last summer James and I were with dearest friends Alberto Villoldo and his wife Marcela Lobos on retreat. Preparing a delicious late lunch, I wander into another room of their place and find a book called Yoga, Power and Spirit by Alberto, and am transfixed. Teachings on the sutras I’d learned decades ago, re-contextualized through a shamanic lens, deepening my comprehension of what I’ve been practicing and offering for more than half my life.
As I begin reading passages aloud over lunch, we realize that we need to share these teachings, together. Over a few weeks, we proceed to record a series of short conversations, rituals, and practices for you, and they’re launching tomorrow.
The first fifteen days, comprising the first chapter or Pada of the sutras, is our gift to you.
If you wish to join us for the full arc of teachings, I’ve crafted an asana sequence for each chapter, meditations, a compelling workbook with ways to follow along, and a robust portal online where you can visit these teachings anytime. Epic for any human, whether teacher or student of life. We’ve ensured the entire body of work is priced accessibly while valuing the weeks and years spent in study and creation.
Voilà, here you are, from our hearts to yours: Yoga, Power and Spirit.
We begin tomorrow, April 24th. Your first two weeks are free; if you choose to purchase the course, you’ll receive teachings on all the chapters, and you’ll be invited to meet with Alberto and me for practices, connections, and more.
Thank you for being here.
Poetry month continues with a new, treasured friend, teacher, and dharma sister.
is a woman of few words, with deep reverence for silence. She’s a contemplative coach, spiritual director, silent retreat facilitator, composer of ambient sound, host of The Silence online sitting group, and author of here on Substack. Daily, she speaks in silences, directly to our hearts. Her brief and beautiful posts feed me.And as she’s recently quoted Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī, a statement true of the connection she and I share—
“our friendship is made of being awake.”
Silence is my instruction, particularly during sesshin, a time of no writing, reading, making. Notably during samu, or work practice, when we bring our heart-mind of zazen to the task at hand, upholding noble silence. I get most of my insights then.
Noble silence means necessary speech only—no need to interact, acknowledge or otherwise communicate—basically practicing zazen while oiling wood, misting orchids, cleaning the instruments in the zendo, refilling water for the flowers, sweeping floors, cleaning bathrooms, walking place to place. I’m not yet comfortable with this, not at all. My ego insinuates, tries to connect, solve, be involved.
The days of silence shows how often I yearn to help, fix, talk, under the auspices of “usefulness.” Every few seconds. Strangely painful to see this habit clearly—a little girl of about seven who just wants to be seen.
For years I thought the people holding noble silence were cold and distant. My ego even took it personally at times. Why aren’t you saying hi when you walk by? Even a glance? Anything? Now when I practice keeping to myself, applying myself to tasks wholeheartedly, ceasing worrying about how everyone else is faring, or what they might think of me, two things become clear:
This is a practice of conserving energy, rather than squandering it.
”Helping” is just habit. I need to attune more astutely and rest in the moment more consistently. Especially in volunteer settings, in hard conversations, I can bring more silence in. I’ll spend the coming years unpacking this.
And here is Andō, inviting us to explore and appreciate silence.
So I begin here, within, always. Even when accompanying others.
Even if writing a poem about a field, it is a reflection of the inner landscape as much as it is of the outer landscape.
When I teach poetry, I invite those learning with me into the inner room. From here, all things are seen clearly, and with equanimity.
you are a river
trying to stand still
—flow
Poem and photograph, Andō.
Cease reaching for a rock on the banks of the river, fighting its flow. You are here to move, to flow, to be fully alive. Take no shape, hold no shape.
Andō implores us to practice sitting, any length of time, to “let it be the language of silence that speaks.”
I’m just over halfway through her small silences course—consider this a strong recommendation—typically I listen over tea before the sun rises, or before bed.
Each time I listen to a module, I feel refreshed, centered, calm, alive. Sitting quietly with Andō, it’s as though my soul is catching up with the last few years of haste, practice and longing for peace in my body.
In one of the modules, the poem below makes an appearance, paring everything down to essence. Every time I hear it, I disappear, falling into it.
ZAZEN ON CHING-T’ING MOUNTAIN
Two versions
I. Translated from the original Chinese by Sam Hamill.
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
II. Then Andō strips the poem down to the bones, in her Small Silences version.
night sitting
only the mountain
remains
More context from Andō:
This piece has its roots in the night I spent my first rohatsu at Monte Sahaja, volunteering in the Mooji Sangha community there. It was also the first rohatsu I ever sat alone. Outdoors, for hours and hours, the milky way clear in the dark of night, shooting stars more common than one might expect in December. The crisp air. and the determination to break through into true wisdom. It began with zazen, just sitting, swathed in a couple of blankets, breath suspended in the cold night air, unfolding int silent illumination, and then, at some indeterminable point, that wasn’t even a point, it was simply the night, unfolding, unfolding, unfolding, stars, misty breath, deep, deep silence. Not a footstep, not expectant of anything. Simply, deeply, still.
Especially in the dark of the morning or night, zazen reveals layers of perception. Five years in, this time, a newness for me; in the last few days I’ve had the fleeting sense of the clothing on the periphery of my body, then, suddenly, somehow I can feel an emptiness inside the garments… as though I’ve evaporated.
My teacher Monshin Nannette Overley invites us to rest in the moment, to let things be as they are, to meet them with upright presence, to release the need to change reality.
Hints of freedom.
Image from Andō.
Every detail is sacred. When we offer silence to the subtle matters of life, we can experience things directly.
Dear reader:
What is your relationship to silence? Share a paragraph, a few words, we’d love to learn with you.
Andō’s daily Silentium posts are here, explore her small silences course, or her weekly sitting online, The Silence, on Sundays.
Thank you for being here.
Below, a tiny thank-you note to paid subscribers, and your link to our next virtual gathering (and assignment), May 7th.
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