The real miracle.

The supernatural power of your presence.

Jun 30, 2026

Update: James is healing super well after laminectomy, pain-free after forty years! Travels have been full of life, beauty, friends and fresh food, all the mercies of moving about. We are sending love and thankfulness for your notes of care and concern after my previous post. Thank you. Mean it.

Context.

My dear co-teacher places her hand on my knee, just as i’m about to offer what i’m certain is a relevant response, and says,

“Can we just pause here a moment and really feel that?”

A pause, for this majestic land, for the light dancing in the leaves during our evening sit each day, for the magnificent art installations of fallen leaves and flowers offered by one of us, daily, silently; but most importantly, for the sensation of the human who’s just bared her soul to us.

Passing this beauty on my walk to the zendo at Stowel Lake Farm, during our week of silence there.

For context, I’m offering my first dharma story on day two of our five-day Zen and Yoga Retreat on Stowel Lake Farm, co-hosted with longtime dear dharma sister Melissa Berry Appleton, regarding Dogen’s fascicle entitled Miracles in the compilation of his writings known as the Shobogenzo (1).

We’re exploring the real miracles: Our practice, our growing intimacy with the teachings, both inner and outer. All the ways in which we are learning to listen; to ourselves, our intuition, to each other, to the animals, the land, the water.

We’re alighting on a few of our personal miracles as I ask our gathered friends to name theirs, and one of us offers that she’s made contact with forgiveness for a formerly-presumed “enemy” during her time here. A true miracle in our time.

In my enthusiasm, alas, I quickly begin sharing that I, too, am having waves of forgiveness here, when dear co-teacher Melissa places her gentlest hand on my knee to offer me the teaching of a lifetime:

“Can we pause here a moment and really feel that?”

Allowing her emotion to enter, to be felt, to not be covered over by my next thought, was a deep teaching. A touch of shame for my insensitive ways passes through me, how human of me. Heeding Melissa’s teaching, I get quiet and listen—I’m still learning this.

And for the one who’s made contact with forgiveness, given this pause, tears roll down her cheeks; she has an experience of her own inner understanding in the rich loamy soil of our shared silence.

We continue our process of undoing aloneness together. Tears throughout the room. I continue my practice of making more space, not interrupting, allowing myself and others to have an experience without running, covering, numbing, changing the damn subject. This feels important.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, dear friend and teacher, offered this the other day as her daily poem (every day!), speaking of going easier on ourselves.

One In the Junkyard of the Heart

all those feelings of brokenness
I tried to throw away
now shining in the starlight

The fascicle.

Three characters in this story: Teacher Guishan, student Yangshan, and one other student, Xiangyang.

Guishan is resting, sleeping… we’re not certain.
Student Yangshan enters his room.
Teacher Guishan turns to face the wall.

Yangshan, humbly: “Teacher, please, no need to be so formal.”

Guishan arises; Yangshan moves to exit his teacher’s room.
Guishan calls him back. “Let me tell you about my dream.” Yangshan leans in to listen.

“Will you interpret it for me?” the teacher asks his student.

In response, Yangshan retrieves a washbasin and towel, handing them to his teacher to wash his face.

Xiangyang (Yangshan’s dharma brother) enters.

Guishan declares: “Yangshan and I have been sharing miracles. This is no small matter.”

Xiangyang replies. “Yes, I’m next door, and heard it all.”

Guishan, to Xiangyang: “Why don’t you try?”

Xiangyang prepares a bowl of tea and hands it to his teacher.

Guishan exclaims, "The supernatural powers of you two disciples surpass even Shariputra and Maudgalyayana (the first students)!"

No, the real miracles aren’t the usual “superpowers”—flying through space, walking on water—no. The real miracles are every petal our friend Jenny lays out each day in her caring way, on paths, benches, altars. The miracles are the bunnies, the chickens, the frogs, the dewdrops on the hundred grass tips, the quiet of our farm zendo each morning and evening. The unified whisper of our shared final words each day; “Do not squander your life.”

The harmony we generate, the care we feel. These are no small matters.

What are some of your real miracles in this moment? I’d love to learn.

The teaching nestled in the flowers on our table.

July Live Gathering

Our next writing gathering happens on July 3rd, at 11am Eastern, with the wondrous Lisa Olivera on her new book. Typically for supporting subscribers only, I’m opening this month’s gathering to all; her new book is important for all beings.

When the Ache Remains: Lessons on Tending to the Unfixable and Finding Beauty Anyway, blends Lisa’s personal experience of depression with pearls of therapeutic wisdom, exploring our individual and collective emotional pain.

So, dear Supporting Subscriber, i’ve crafted two prompts and a private note in our Supporters Chat just for you.

Our almost-daily midday lake swim. And yes, we will offer this again next summer!

Next week: A visual report on my final yoga festival, having just retired from festivals after sixteen years.

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