Ancient Mirrors and Earth Worms

These are some musings from zen writing practice that I did in April at Sakura-ji, which is the Creston Zen centre.  We are really lucky to have Kuya and the Zendo here.

A sentence from a zen text is pulled at random and you have a minute to write your thoughts without stopping, without judgement.  It is a really interesting practice.

 Ancient mirror, rock bed of the land. Genesis of life, of soil, of ancient forests reaching for the sky.  Creating life.  Mountains curving around rivers and lakes.  Reflecting sky.  Sky blue. Sky grey. Sky ripples with wind.  Wind which touches the face, plays in leaves and hair, chills and cuts and cools and soothes.  Ancient rhythms across the world changed but not changed.   Processes for renewal, recycle, rebuild.  Death and life.  Changed from this to that.  Now balance is broken but not forever.  Do planets explode like in sci-fi movies when balance is cracked?  Or do they continue towards a new balance derived from ancient rhythms.  One that mirrors, but is not the same as the past.  Will new creatures evolve?  Magical beings that communicate with the roots of trees? That fly? That cooperate.  Respect.  Love.  What will that all look like?  What is the ancient mirror of spirit?  Is spirit continuous?  Are we one spirit through time just as wind blows...

Dig in the earth and find worms.  Big worms, small worms, wiggling worms.  Red or grey white and purple banded.  Follow their tunnels in the earth.  Burrow deep.  What is it like to live in the arth?  To be bathed in humus?  Rich, moist, cool.  Who are you neighbours?  Centipedes, fungus, beetles?  
Do you get together for neighbourhood potlucks when compost is dug into the earth?  Do you rate the compost like wine?  Certain piles having different ingredients, different rates of decomposition?  This one has hints of apples and llama poo while this one has cow and nettles.  Corn stalks, leaves and dead plant material versus the taste of grass clippings and new growth in the spring.  oh what is it like to  be a decomposer?  To transform one material into another?  Is there a secret sect of alchemist living in the soil, changing rotting materials into gold?  Black gold, the smell of life,  the ultimate beginning of health.   Are you afraid of the robin who comes to hunt you to feed her babies?  Or do you offer yourself up willingly as an alchemist, a transformer?


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