sunday grace: big buddha

while i was at creative joy in breathtaking upstate new york a few weeks ago, i wandered away from the monastery at garrison on a whim to visit another monastery a few miles away:  the chuang yen buddhist monastery, home of the largest buddha in the western hemisphere.  (for size perspective, see tiny live human head in bottom right corner.)

i went to see the big buddha and he is awesome.  but i discovered so much more about the buddhist traditions.

on the walls surrounding the building, there are a thousand tiny buddhas, each with his own golden light and a label printed in chinese.  i couldn't find an english-speaking person to explain it to me, so i just enjoyed the light show.  i imagined they are akin to lighting candles in a catholic church:  sweet little prayers for loved ones.  i have a thing for prayers that glow.

the base of the big buddha is encircled with beautiful boddhisattvas.  the hands of each form different mudras.  (it's true, i am all about the hands and the feet.)

ten thousand peaceful buddhas are sitting en masse to create the illusion of giant white lotus petals.

the center is a school and there is a small library of literature to browse or take home.

the grounds are spectacular.  i sat outside on a bench while troupes of (softly) laughing children played.  i watched a tour bus tai chi lesson as i sipped hot jasmine tea in the crisp autumn air.  i whispered a note of gratitude that there are tour buses that bring americans to places other than outlet malls and off-track betting.

there are countless buddhas on the grounds as well.

up the hill from the main campus, there is the beautiful and peaceful thousand lotus memorial terrace, where ashes of loved ones are placed.  pots of burning incense are at every turn, as are children and families honoring their deceased parents and elders.

on the second terrace a young man stood in a deep bow for what seemed like an hour before the urn of a loved one.  at his feet were a few white boxes of take-out and two sets of chopsticks, one set for his respected elder. what a lovely tradition, to bring a favorite meal to share.  it was so touching and tender.  i sensed lightness and joy from all the families who were present.

i will never forget this sacred place.

creative joy

last week i journeyed to new york's breathtaking hudson valley to attend the creative joy retreat.  it was four luscious days filled with love, yoga, play, writing, photography, laughter, rest, tea, dance and stories.

i cannot conjure sufficient adjectives to give written justice to the october beauty of this space.  our retreat was held at the garrison institute, an old monastery made of stone and stained glass and a thousand seeking souls that now holds programs of contemplative practice. the grounds are expansive and include woods, trails, a garden, a labyrinth, bamboo groves and an opportunity at every turn to be one with your thoughts.

the beautiful jane lafazio, filling up her sketchbook.

tiny blooming miracles:  flowers in late october.

practicing being fully present and attuned to the beauty inside and out, asking myself the question, "what do you want?" and acting on the answer without apology or explanation...these are the things that filled my days.

these two bright spirits are half of team aliveness, our small group in which we practiced witnessing, not fixing.

A is for awesome.  and aliveness.  and awareness.  and answers.

giving fears, negativity, criticism, etc. to the minion to hold is one of many little practices i'm bringing home with me.

i find myself struggling to find the words to describe the experience.  i believe it's because i allowed myself to be fully present and truly experience the retreat and the kindreds who gathered.  i did not feel the need to document (either with camera or pen) every single minute with an eye toward blogging about it.

also several of my experiences were just simply beyond description.

thank you thank you beautiful brilliant women of creative joy.

thank you jen louden, marianne elliott and tracey clark for bringing us together and creating a program so deeply meaningful, fun and unexpected.

sunday grace: yoga in the woods

on a bright sunday morning, the morning of the autumnal equinox, we gathered in crystal clear brilliant sunshine at the edge of a forest to mark the transition from summer to fall.

the lovely jen waine led us through restorative poses that allowed our bodies and spirits to express and honor the balancing point between light (summer) and darkness (winter).

it's been a while since i've been on my mat.  this practice was the perfect invitation back to yoga.  i love that yoga is always there, no matter how much i deny her or pretend other things are more important.  she is always forgiving, always accepting, always worth it.

being able to step off my mat onto the soft wet grass was incredibly grounding.  this is something i need to remember to do every single day:  stand on the earth and be strong and still.

and then there were the healing rays of the sun, warming me and infusing me with clarity and a good chunk of vit d.  my friend dawn calls these "jesus rays".

a little altar and jen's hands.  those hands move energy with tenderness and compassion.

  (this beautiful photo by paul tucker)

the view from savasana.

grace.  every single second of it.

sunday grace

our home is on a little hill we call gypsy hill.

it is sacred space and where all energy is replenished.

sunday mornings here are all about grounding.

and nourishment for body and soul.

and setting intentions for the week ahead (ace of wands:  inspiration, expansion).

and inhaling the beauty as the sun peaks over the tree line.

gratitude.

the release

while it did not technically occur on the night of the winter solstice, there was a wee releasing ceremony on a bright breezy sunday morning.

a year's collection of regrets, hurts and worn-out habits scrawled on bits of paper like tiny white flags of surrender, bundled and bound with an offering of sage.

smoke and ashes lifted by the wind and carried away...

thank you.