Draining Flood

This morning I went to open up my Mac, and it wasn't on. Huh. I left it on last night, unplugged, but fully charged. I left it on because it was downloading the weekend I just spent in Black Earth with my Miksang teacher, John McQuade, along with a wonderful crew of 14 other participants. Images from John, notes (10000+words) plus images from all the participants added up to a few gig of info, and it was still backing them up when we went to sleep.

But this morning the computer wouldn't start and I plugged it in to find it had died in the night, overloaded with the task of sorting the info and storing it.

Needless to say, I am happily in the same state myself.

Basho, Monet, Weston. Evans, Lange, Patterson. Trungpa, Katagiri, Soto. Loori, Goldsworthy, Wright. Shambhala, Buddhism, Contemplation. Spacious, Simple, Pure. 5-7-5. Dot in Space. Figure on Ground. Heaven Earth Man. Ground, Path, Fruition. Flash of Perception.

I called a friend this morning after dropping John at the airport and I started to cry spontaneously: how rare it is to have even one teacher, even one set of teachings you can really totally relate to and receive, much less two, being both writing with Natalie Goldberg and Miksang with John McQuade. Then there's the rest of Shambhala, nothing to shake a stick at in terms of teachings and heart connection. And Paula Novotnak, who first introduced me to writing practice and taught me how to teach. And the students, "my" students, who don't belong to me or anything but are so dedicated and lovely. Good Lord.

Two close friends went through major crisis this weekend while I was out of town - both in messy came-to-head breakups. I, of course, was totally out of reach - my cell phone didn't even work out there. So I am sending them, out over the ether, as they are going about their daily lives and can't call me until later, all of this extra, all of this wealth, all of this love, all that nature has to give, already gives, without us asking, without needing us to receive it. That's the Way, or one of the Ways, of Nature. Ask, and you shall receive - but not because you ask, just because it is already there, waiting for nothing, endless and loving. Obviously I'm not talking about oil or wood or minerals here, I am talking about energy. It sounds too simple to even say it that way.
But that's all I can say, not because I am worn out, flooded with love, but because one can't say what it is. If we could, if a word or words existed to do it, to express what it is that life is, life would be over, done with, gone. Ended. Finite. And it isn't. It's endless and ever-changing.
Constantly flooding, constantly draining. Just ask my Mac.