Tag: walking

Morning path

Thinking of a woman folding her map and looking up,

stretching a leg, stepping on a stone; I stop behind the dog.

Meet the eyes of a young Whitetail buck standing in sun-spotted shadow.

 

All week I’ve recalled a shallow forest pond.

Three inches deep. Sky and canopy reflected.

A bed of sand and pebbles. Some kind of wordless whisper.

 

How do we know which moments are sacred and which are mundane?

 

 

 

Om mani padme hum

this one

This morning walking around the pond in our backyard, this post from April 2012 came to mind.

 

“Everything at rest, dusk: a bird calls, 

returning to its forest home. Chanting,

I settle into my breath. Somehow, on this 

east veranda, I’ve found my life again.”

T’ao Ch’ien,

(from Mountain Home, The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China, translated by David Hinton)

 

This is probably my favourite book of poetry and though I’ve read the quoted lines many times, they never resonated as deeply as recently. It’s very true that I have found my life again, but what draws me especially is, “Chanting, I settle into my breath.” Not just the idea of the chant but how comfortable and casually it fits into T’ao Ch’ien’s life and moment.

About 25 years ago I took a book of mantras out of the Thunder Bay Library, thinking it might provide some tools for meditation. As it turned out, mantras were never going to play much of role in my practice. However, “Om mani padme hum” found its way into my life, coming and going over the years. It was one of three notes taped to various workstation walls. “Work hard and relax” and “Be still and know that I am God” being the other two.

After several years, when I’d forgotten about Om mani padme hum, I found “Foundations of Tibetan Mysticism” in a used bookstore. The entire book turned out to be a study of this mantra! So it arrived for another, longer visit. To be forgotten again… until now.

While the mantra sounds lovely, as a poet, storyteller and spiritual guy, the magic is in the meaning. Don’t quote me, but what I remember these 6 syllables to represent is the journey of the lotus. Born in the black mud of the swamp, the lotus makes it’s way through silence and darkness to ever increasing light, ultimately to rise above the surface and blossom into a vision of splendor. No wonder the lotus is such an important Buddhist symbol.

So anyway, yesterday driving to a business meeting in Halifax, for awhile I stopped the churning of thought and chanted instead. Easy words. This morning, “Om mani padme hum” was on my breath, mingling with the wind as we crossed the dam.

 

Trail Notes April 30th – Turkey Vulture

In flight

 

This morning I was fortunate enough to see my second rare bird this spring. On the Trans Canada Trail I came upon a Turkey Vulture! First I walked through an unusual wall of agitated crow racket. I managed to be about 30-40 feet from the bird who wasn’t very shy. Unfortunately all I have is the camera on my phone so the images aren’t great. I’m always grateful for small events like this.

On March 30th a Red-Bellied Woodpecker lingered in the trees in our backyard. Another very rare bird for our parts. Soon it may be time for a new camera.

 

Morning Trail Notes – Hyalophora Cecropia

Hyalophora cecropia cocoon?

 

I came upon this large cocoon on the trail. It’s about the size of a fist. Some quick research points to Hyalophora Cecropia, North America’s largest native moth. Apparently these giant beauties are designed to reproduce, and only live for about 2 weeks.*

These are the birds I saw inside of a couple of hours: Mourning Doves, Blue Jays, Common Grackles, Juncos, Gold Finches, Robins, Eagles, Osprey, Double Crested Cormorant, Blue Heron, Hooded Merganser, Green-winged Teal, Crows, Raven, Song Sparrows, White Throated Sparrow (heard), Hairy Woodpecker, Pileated Woodpecker (heard), Red-winged Blackbird, Chickadees, Black Duck, Belted Kingfishers… one hawk to high to make out and no doubt a few I’m forgetting.

South wind 30, gusting to 50 kilometres an hour.

Seems like poetry to me.

 

*http://mncable.net/~petehonl/cecropia/

Winter journey home

 

Dead on the path; crow’s change.

Young eagle waits and the wind

speaks signs.

 

Spirit-led to harbour seal

skull and bones. Bury them

under leaves.

 

Feathers and matted fur. Leaf spirals.

 

Layer upon layer

of Sufi veils. Sudden God

then some more.

 

Desire, sly trapper

sets bait, loops the snare. Stop.

Just turn around.

 

…

 

On east veranda

with T’ao Ch’ien. Breath chants

a quiet return.*

 

 

* David Hinton, Mountain Home