What Comes Alive?

After the rains, it has been clear and milder on the whole. I drove up to Wilbur on Friday, taking my time in the old van, under blue skies, with glimpses of snowy peaks off to the east, and a couple not far north of Wilbur as well. Just a month after the solstice, the afternoons already feel longer. I took a run up to the medicine wheel after I arrived, warm where the slopes were in the sun, and cooling already in the shade. After I had eaten, a great scattering of stars in the sky, though the temperatures did not drop below freezing as I had imagined. Saturday was hazy, but Sunday sunny again. It felt good to sit in the sun in the middle of the day, and to run up to Coyote Peak after the meditation sessions.
In fact, turn-out was not great this time. It seemed that there were a lot of very chatty guests over the weekend, which made the bath-house less contemplative than it can be, and I told myself that perhaps introspection was not on the menu. For those that did come, I posed the question, which has been rich for me in my recent visits: what comes alive in the silence and stillness?
I was glad to have John there, leading tai chi in the mornings; it was the first time I had seen him since the Camp Fire, and he seemed as joyful as ever. Since so much of what I do feels linear, or static, tai chi feels like something I need to keep incorporating into my life.
Apart from the sun, and the water, and the running, I did spend a lot of time reading, getting up-to-date with the New Yorker again, continuing to read Shohaku’s commentary (and rather wishing I had been able to cram more of his insights into my class), as well as  polishing off a cheery memoir by Bernard Cribbins which my sister had sent me for Christmas, and which did, as she hoped, invoke many happy memories of childhood.

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I didn’t get my camera out until Sunday morning, when I went roaming as it got light.

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