Many years ago now, James suggested that I read ‘The Bodhicaryavatara…the Way of the Bodhisattva’ composed by Shantideva…in the 8th century.

I did…then, when we were talking a year or so later, he again suggested that read it.
For a moment I thought !…has he forgotten, does he imagine that I didn’t?
Then realised that what I had just said must have been way out-of-line…so I read it again…

…and discovered that if we’re lucky enough to continue deepening our engagement with the dharma… in the time between engaging with a text or teaching for the first time …and the next re-reading or listening…we’ve become more receptive.
So different aspects, which were initially invisible or obscure, may become more accessible and their meaning more clear …
That change can occur even after a night’s sleep…

Shantideva was ‘an Indian monk scholar philosopher and talented Sanskrit poet’
and for me, some of his writing is breath-takingly poetic.
One offering in the section ‘Confession of faults’ is of…
‘Lakes adorned with lotuses… where the calls of the wild geese steal the heart beyond bounds’

Those ‘calls of the wild geese’ were, for me, a heart-opening invitation to the dharma…
and next Sunday 7th, the first Sunday in December some of us ‘lucky ducks’ who fly in whatever way we do with dharma encouragement and wisdom as the ‘wind under our feathers… ‘ will be sitting perhaps on a lake adorned with lotuses, or an a cushion on the floor …
and answering that call…

Practicing…being as we actually are rather than how we think we are…

In the connected post, part (ii) Being as we are, I’ve written bit to go with this… about the meditation, which I hope will be helpful…

The dharma generously offers different paths to freedom from suffering to sentient beings… who differ in what they will find appealing and useful…
and invitations to engage are limitless in scope…

This poem by Chögyam Trungpa also seemed apposite… and maybe its invitation will also strike a chord with you…

Wild Duck

The one to whom peace and solitude

Are known for ever, perfectly,

You, Milarepa, Longchenpa,

The Guru to whom all things are known,

The one who shows the single truth,

You I remember, I, your son.

Crying from an alien island.

The wild duck, companionless,

Cries out in desolate loneliness,

And flies alone, wings outspread,

Soaring in the boundless sky.

In the womb beyond the one and many

Yours is the inner loneliness,

And yours alone the emptiness

Within and everywhere around.

The mountainside alone creates

The clouds that change the rain, the two

That never go beyond the one,

So soar away, wild duck, alone.

Thunder resounding everywhere

Is only the elements at play,

The four expressing the sound of silence.

The hailstones triangular,

The black clouds and the storm’s blast

Are earthbound only, wild duck,

So do not fall a prey to doubt

But get you gone upon your flight.

The waters of the sunset lie

Saffron-painted, beautiful,

And yet unchanging is the light

And dignity of the sun; so cut

The cord that joins the day and night,

And stretch your wings and fly, wild duck.

The moon’s rays spread over the ocean

And heaven and earth smile: the cool

And gentle breeze moves over them,

But you are young and far from home,

Wild duck. So stretch your wings alone

And travel on the path to nowhere.

From Mudra, pages 34 to 35.         (24 June 1965)

This poem is reproduced here with the kind permission of Carolyn Gimian who, among other engagements, moderates and compiles the weekly CTR  Quote of the Week online