Normally we empower our demons by believing they are real and strong in themselves and have the power to destroy us. As we fight against them, they get stronger. But when we acknowledge them by discovering what they really need, and nurture them, our demons release their hold, and we find that they actually do not have power over us. By nurturing the shadow elements of our being with infinite generosity, we can access the state of luminous awareness and undermine ego. By feeding the demons, we resolve conflict and duality, finding our way to unity.
Getting friendly with powerful instinctive forces is easier said than done. I took the photo above during the Lotus Lantern Parade during the festival of the Buddha’s birthday in Seoul. I haven’t found the exact story it corresponds to as there are numerous myths about befriending tigers in Korea. I trust its symbolic message is universally vital.
Lama Tsultrim’s quote speaks to befriending “demons”, those aspects of ourselves and our world that frighten us. The girl riding the tiger is at ease with a beast we normally consider terrifying. She has learned to work with powerful energies and align herself with natural forces as she moves in the world.
We can learn with the innocence of a child to trust our “wild” nature. I imagine the young girl represents feminine intuition – something available to both men and women. As an aspect of our Buddha-nature, it is something we are born with and can be revealed as we re-train in our natural goodness…demons and all!
The Female Buddha book – now on sale at Amazon – click on book!
The Japanese nun Rengetsu gathers violets in every poem she writes. In the poem Winter Dreams she captures moments by plucking the petals of her memories one magic moment at a time.
To recall the verdant colors of spring in the depth of winter is an expression of faith in the seed of Buddha-nature and the lush field of our heart and mind.
When the Dalai Lama describes emptiness as fullness he helps us grasp the fertility of space. The violets arise against an empty palette, fill the canvas as we gather them in a beautiful bouquet and disperse in the next sweet, sad lapse of time.
The evanescence of
This floating world
I feel over and over:
It is the hardest
To be the one left behind.
In Thirty Years After my Husband’s Death we enter into a loving sanctum as she reflects on her loss and feast in the vastness of her broken open heart. Her words dance on the razors edge of bliss and emptiness, one image a flash of ecstasy, the next of letting go.
Clad in back robes
I should have no attractions to
The shapes and scents of this world
But how can I keep my vows
Gazing at today’s crimson maple leaves?
Set against the autumnal blaze of the maple leaves Rengetsu’s non-attachment to the effervescent floating word is reflected in her black robe. We see through her contemplative eyes the brilliant juxtaposition of the longing of the human heart and clear awareness.
Who else but a poet could evoke the bounty of the void so well? As a sky dancer her word play evokes a tango. The seduction is so acute and the beauty so sublime. In this last poem, As a Nun Gazing at the Deep Colors of Autumn she touches in and lets go. Touches in and lets go.
To escape into the world of writing is no escape. I’m sitting in a plane about to launch for Japan reading Rengetsu’s word play. She is one of the reasons why I endure long flights to see through the imagined eyes of another time and place.
Her five-line waka poem, The Pleasure of Calligraphy celebrates a rhythmic moment of flow, a movement of mind expressed in beauty. She writes blissfully as ink captures the grace of nature at work in her discipline.
I write as if awkwardly learning a new language, two phrases forward and the next, scratched out. I’m slowly learning to trust the flow of my mind: noting what thoughts pop forward, which get edited out.
The calligraphy of Rengetsu is masterful. Her brushstrokes confident and rounded as if they were grass bending sensuously in the breeze. Her hand is steady into her eighties.
I write in fits and starts. Pleased in the end that I’ve gotten anything coherent on paper. Her genius is her total alignment with nature pure and direct.
She shatters my stereotype of the nun divorced from delight. Her joy breaks all bounds as she fearlessly leaps off the page and into my heart.
The roar of the waterfall,
The howl of a
Will they shout out to me
In Mountain Retreat her words plunge over the abyss of my insomnia. She implores us to pay attention to the deafening roar of our inherently wild nature.
I must listen to the terror lurking in my sleepless heart. Rengetsu powerfully frames awakening with awe struck wonder. Here she portrays life in relentless yet captivating terms.
Her question points to our all too human fear. Do I have the capacity? Can I reside in the storm moment-to-moment? Or will I contract into a dreaded future?
The choice to shout-out the beauty and the terror is ours. In her poetic howl we can guess Rengetsu embraces the night with valor. I cannot resist her invitation to celebrate it all.