“Even if the Sun were to rise in the West, the Bodhisattva knows only One Way.” These words have always resonated within me especially in times of uncertainty or difficulty, and I have always tried to respond to them authentically and to the best of my ability. I have always been attracted to the monastic or contemplative realms of religious or spiritual life. In fact I continue to hold a firm belief that these paths alone are the “One Way”, the only Authentic Spiritual Practices. Much of what people practice today called “spirituality”, or “religion”, is a “path of convenience”. The problem lies in the fact that, that which the heart seeks is never convenient even though it is always everywhere we go, “pervading the entire Universe”. I have always imagined the first “monastic” who looked up into the heavens while at the same time toward that which was calling him or her, within them from where their experience rang, had no words for their experience and chose not to. For them “the experience” itself was sufficient, more than sufficient, it was “wondrous and mysterious”. This is the Nature of Authentic Spirituality. One inspired by the Zen-Life and other traditions like it, understands that no matter how much we think we have or can explain it, well as the Korean Zen Master told his students, “The moment you open your mouth, you are wrong.” As if that is not bad enough, the moment we seek to understand it or explain it we rob ourselves of any possibilities to know it and betray the purity of the invitation. We are called to experience life not explain it. The Mystery that Life really is, can only be known by “living it”. The Prophets, Buddha, Jesus, all called us to “the desert experience”, where the journey is by no means convenient, and requires one’s full attention or commitment. How we ever got to the idea that “convenient spirituality” was an option I’d rather not waste a moment trying to explain.
“When sorrow comes, let us accept it simply, as a part of life. Let the heart be open to pain; let it be stretched by it. All the evidence we have says that thus is the better way. An open heart never grows bitter. Or if it does, it cannot remain so. In the desolate hour, there is an outcry; a clenching of the hands upon emptiness; a burning pain of bereavement; a weary ache of loss. But anguish, like ecstasy, is not forever. There comes a gentleness, a returning quietness, a restoring stillness. This, too, is a door to life. Here, also, is a deepening of meaning – and it can lead to dedication; a going forward to the triumph of the soul, the conquering of the wilderness. And in the process will come a deepening inward knowledge that in the final reckoning, all is well.”
-A. Powel Davies
On Thursday October 24th at 11:00 PM I was awakened from a sound sleep by a pain I will never forget. It would be nearly fifteen hours later that a very attractive cardiologist would inform me that I had a heart attack. I realized immediately that my life had changed just 15 hours earlier and nothing was the same, and nothing was going to be.
After days of wreaking horrific havoc all along the east coast of the United States on Monday October 29th, hurricane Sandy came ashore only miles away from my hospital bed, and what millions of Americans had already experienced came to the tri-state area. By the time it was finished young and old, parents and children, sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, friends and neighbors lives changed and would never be the same again.