I find myself
continually looking for guidance. I am a human, with full awareness of
my humanity—my frailty—my hubris—but also of my redeeming qualities, and
the potential growth that stems from them. I am a big cat that
sometimes forgets that to show one's true strength, the action is far
more important than the growl. Be quiet, be prepared, be contemplative,
and be ready—for all that it is in your path to do. I have the ability
to observe, synthesize, and learn from the greatest of teachers—my
loving mother—the earth and stability beneath my feet. It is from the
womb from whence I came that I have come to learn this lesson.
When an Autumn leaf falls upon the surface of a still lake, ripples extend and alert of its presence. Nature feels and experiences even the most delicate of disturbances. But given enough time, the ripples fade and the leaf is embraced by the water-gracefully borne upon its back and held afloat.
This is how the still mind behaves. It is not idle. It bears with gentility—embracing the presence—carrying the source of its unrest to the place where it too will finally be at rest. The still mind feels and experiences all, possessing the strength and energy to absorb disturbance and let it harmlessly disperse; because the still mind is a medium-a filter-the bow of a swift boat. It is static while all else flows around, through, and over it; cutting through the motion like the sharp katana blade.
To be still is to be stationary—not idle—for great strength is required to remain still while in the midst of the raging storm.
Make me as the lake.
No matter the ferocity of the storm nor the strength of the disturbance, eventually, through much effort, it regains the stillness—allowing the turbid and tumultuous nature of its waves to tire themselves out and obey the natural law of peace. No stone thrown can skip across its surfaces for eternity. Eventually, it too will sink beneath the surface—elevating the water when it too finally rests. Even the stream that feeds the lake only does so to keep the water fresh and to relieve the pressure. The lake is still but fed through motion. It is the nature of the lake to maintain the balance.
So may it also be my nature.
When an Autumn leaf falls upon the surface of a still lake, ripples extend and alert of its presence. Nature feels and experiences even the most delicate of disturbances. But given enough time, the ripples fade and the leaf is embraced by the water-gracefully borne upon its back and held afloat.
This is how the still mind behaves. It is not idle. It bears with gentility—embracing the presence—carrying the source of its unrest to the place where it too will finally be at rest. The still mind feels and experiences all, possessing the strength and energy to absorb disturbance and let it harmlessly disperse; because the still mind is a medium-a filter-the bow of a swift boat. It is static while all else flows around, through, and over it; cutting through the motion like the sharp katana blade.
To be still is to be stationary—not idle—for great strength is required to remain still while in the midst of the raging storm.
Make me as the lake.
No matter the ferocity of the storm nor the strength of the disturbance, eventually, through much effort, it regains the stillness—allowing the turbid and tumultuous nature of its waves to tire themselves out and obey the natural law of peace. No stone thrown can skip across its surfaces for eternity. Eventually, it too will sink beneath the surface—elevating the water when it too finally rests. Even the stream that feeds the lake only does so to keep the water fresh and to relieve the pressure. The lake is still but fed through motion. It is the nature of the lake to maintain the balance.
So may it also be my nature.
