This page is designed to promote dialogue and discussion among Vipassana Hawai'i sangha members. You are invited to submit material you would like to share for inclusion on this page to sangha@vipassanahawaii.org.
Announcements
Doug Vann Memorial Scholarship Fund
This fund offers scholarships which create opportunities for students who need financial assistance to attend the annual retreat in Burma. Contributions to this fund can be sent to Vipassana Hawai'i, 184 Crescent Lane, Glenwood Springs, CO 81601 (checks can be made payable to Vipassana Hawai'i).
Activities
Vipassana Hawai'i Potluck
Potlucks are held on the last Saturday of the month, unless otherwise indicated.
There is a sitting at 6:00 pm followed by a vegetarian potluck
at 7:00 pm. Guests are welcome. Please bring a vegetarian dish to share.
Please also bring your own cushion. To receive advanced notice of potluck
location and details, email info@vipassanahawaii.org.
Articles
Kyaswa Retreat, Sagaing Hills, Burma
By U Hla Maung
The
Sagaing Hills, in central Burma, run north-south for a distance of about
29 miles west of the Irrawaddy River. Once heavily wooded, the hills were
long ago the habitat of wild fowl, deer, leopards, tigers, and myriad smaller
creatures. Then, during the reigns of Burmese kings who ruled from nearby
ancient cities, the hills became a sanctuary for hermits and monks needing
to escape from the hustle and bustle of worldly common-folk engaged in activities
driven by greed, anger and delusion. The first hermits and monks dwelt in
small caves cut into the limestone hill-slopes, sufficient for protection
from wind and rain and from the wild animals that formerly had dominion
over these hills. The hills are still dotted with such caves, many now abandoned.
Later, as the piety and wisdom of many of these hermits and monks became
known, and as their numbers grew, well-wishers built simple dwellings of
stone and wood, monasteries, and small shrines and pagodas. Presently, it
is estimated that there are over 700 monasteries or nunneries and 7000 monks
and nuns living on the Sagaing Hills. For more than a thousand years now,
these hills have remained a sanctuary for monks and nuns.
In Rangoon, the capital of Burma, World War II era buses-timber frames and steel sheets riveted together-belch thick smoke and noisily ply through streets against the backdrop of colonial buildings baking in the sun. Five hundred miles farther north, in Mandalay, buses, cars, motorcycles, and bicycles compete with reckless abandon for the right-of-way at crossroads without traffic lights. From Mandalay, to enter the Sagaing Hills is to enter a time-warp, where worldly priorities of wealth and status and power are forgotten, and in the faces of the smiling nuns, one can see the love and humility that spiritual discipline can nurture. Despite the very simple, frugal living conditions within the Hills, one senses that here perhaps can be found true contentment and peace of mind. In truth, it may be partly because of these frugal conditions that there is contentment here. No newspapers and no television to distract and disturb the mind. No "modern conveniences" and nothing of the turmoil of city life, where the synthesized fantasies and seductions of modern marketing keep the unwary in a perpetual state of longing and dissatisfaction.
From January 9 to January 30, 2001, 35 foreign yogis, mostly from the United States, Canada, and Australia, gathered for the Fifth Annual Kyaswa Retreat for 21 days of intensive vipassana meditation.
The monastery is located at the entrance of a short valley leading into the Sagaing Hills. Individual dwellings of teak, mostly 10 by 12 feet, simply furnished with bed, table and cupboard, and outhouse washing and toilet facilities, are located on the hillsides, giving yogis each new day a beautiful view of the sunrise over distant plains, with the Irrawaddy River and its sandbanks in the foreground. The days were pleasantly cool, but washing was in water just this side of freezing. Sayadaw U Lakkhana (through an interpreter), Steven Smith, Grahame White, and Lynne Bousfield gave interviews and Dhamma talks. Deborah Crown and Greg Scharf were retreat managers who looked after the sundry needs of yogis. Alan Jassby participated as both yogi and manager for the ongoing MettaDana projects in neighboring Wachet village. These projects include improvements to the TB Ward and treatment programs at Wachet Sangha Hospital, financial support for pupils of Wachet Primary School, construction of school buildings, and repair and maintenance of monuments and pagodas long ravaged by weather and neglect. Carolle Gauthier, a French-Canadian yogi and acupuncturist, stopped her meditation practice a week early to give acupuncture classes to students of Burmese indigenous medicine. As word spread of Carolle's free treatments at Wachet Sangha Hospital, she found herself swamped with patients and working 10-hour days. Patients reported improvements and are already lined up for next year! Throughout the retreat, Sayadaw U Lakkhana, as always, showed great consideration and kindness, and the catering staff and helpers, again as always, charmed the yogis with their goodwill, patience, and untiring exertions.
The foreign yogis included several foreign monks who have been residing in Burma for one to three years. With their dedication and commitment to the practice of Dhamma, the yogis were a source of wonder and inspiration to the Burmese visitors to the monastery, some of whom had come to donate breakfast or lunch.
During the retreat, Steven Smith and Grahame White had the opportunity to talk with Shwe Taung Oo Sayadaw, abbot of a monastery in Kanbalu, about 100 miles north of Sagaing. The Sayadaw, with his forthright, engaging manner, was much grieved at having to talk through interpreters. It was, he confided, like talking through a poorly connected phone line. Oftentimes, he had said something somber and profound, but the interpreter's manner had been light and jocular. He was left wondering, "Had the message gotten through? Had I talked too long? Or too briefly?" The Sayadaw also remarked that the foreign yogis were like the bees that flew in from afar to alight upon the lotus flower and drink the sweet nectar and take away the golden pollen. All the while, the frogs, who lived in the muddy waters of the pond, were ever croaking, "The lotus is ours, the lotus is ours." The Burmese people, Sayadaw said, are like the frogs, always claiming the Buddha's true doctrine to be theirs, but very few get to taste the Dhamma's sweetness because the vast majority do not take vipassana practice seriously, but are satisfied with shows of devotion. As Australian writer Paul Croucher has written in History of Buddhism in Australia regarding attendance at Buddhist monasteries in Australia, "Typically, Australians come for meditation evenings and Asians for the festivals."
It may well come to pass that while Burmese Theravadan monks continue to extol their ancient lineage, a new hybrid lotus will be developed in the West, more vigorous, more attuned to modern conditions, and more able to attract devotees in Europe, Australia, and the Americas. For the present, Burma remains home to a large number of Sayadaws who are well-versed in both the (Theravadan) scriptures and the practice of vipassana, their ability to spread the Dhamma being hampered only by language.
Toward the end of the retreat, Sayadaw U Lakkhana presented each participant with a small gift, a souvenir of the 2001 Kyaswa Retreat. But yogis took home not just Sayadaw's gifts, but a greater understanding of the Buddha's Dhamma and memories to cherish of the kindness and generosity of Burmese well-wishers and the soothing, living stillness of the Sagaing Hills.
This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i
News, Spring 2002
Marathons and Meditation: Linking Two Cultures
By Matt Czaplinski
Two
years ago I went to the Sagaing Hills of Burma for the retreat with Sayadaw
U Lakkhana and Michele McDonald-Smith. I practiced walking meditation as
the sun rose red over the Irrawaddy River, and drew inspiration from immersion
in a Buddhist culture steeped in the teachings of generosity. I learned
to live with the ants and mosquitoes and heat, and after the retreat was
over, I decided to continue on to another monastery and to ordain as a monk.
I felt blessed to receive an inside view of Burmese culture, with its astonishing
contrasts of poverty and generosity, political repression and freedom of
heart. I walked on alms rounds through Burmese villages, my feet bare, receiving
rice in my bowl from those who could never comprehend the material wealth
of the culture from which I had come. It seemed that the less people had,
the more they gave. And it has been this way for many hundreds of years
in Burma, this practice of selfless giving to support those cultivating
peace and understanding. No wonder so many Burmese people seem so joyful
and generous.
Practicing meditation in Burma was not easy for me. I experienced worsening pain in my knees and after three months, I decided that I needed to leave to recover my physical balance and to get some perspective. It was not only difficult physically, but also psychologically, practicing an intensive meditation technique that stripped away external comforts and often felt narrow and constraining.
One of the most helpful activities for me upon my return to the United States was running. I had been a runner for almost twenty years, but when I first returned from Burma I had trouble running two miles because of my knees. I was afraid my running days were over. Then I watched my sister, who had given birth to her third child a few months before, run a relay leg of the Vermont Marathon, and I was so moved that I vowed to run the whole marathon the next year. Gradually my knees recovered and my body strengthened. I started running longer distances and was soon racing again.
In May of 2000, I ran the Vermont Marathon and finished well enough to
qualify for the Boston Marathon in 2001. Running had once again become a
major part of my life. It has been deeply beneficial not only to my body
but to my psyche, to see that it is possible to overcome difficulties if
one is determined. Running is itself a spiritual practice for me, a discipline
that helps me to be more fully present and awake. Feeling the life of one's
body, its aches and pains and tremendous energy, can teach one a great deal
about the nature of life.
In one sense, running, exercising one's body each day after sitting in an
office in the materialistic West, is a world away from the selfless renunciation
of dharma practice taught in Eastern monasteries. Yet though they may take
place in very different contexts, both are disciplines of mind and body.
Of course, most westerners don't generally view running as a mindfulness
practice. In America, marathon running itself has become big business for
the medical organizations that use it for fund raising. I was struck by
the possibility of using my own marathon to raise funds for the efforts
of the MettaDana Project in Burma, thereby joining two aspects of my life,
running and meditation, if only in a symbolic way.
As you may know, Steven Smith and Michele McDonald-Smith have been instrumental in setting up and teaching retreats in Burma in the Sagaing Hills, and they have initiated the MettaDana Project to help the villagers in the surrounding area to confront problems of disease and lack of education. When I was there on retreat in 1999, Michele had just lugged a suitcase containing a lead vest (for x-rays) all the way from Hawai'i. It struck me that just a few resources in a country such as Burma can go a very long way toward improving the lives of those in poverty, and that this is one way we can begin to repay the generosity of the Burmese people.
And so, before the Boston Marathon in April 2001, I wrote letters to everyone I knew, asking them to sponsor my race for the benefit of the MettaDana Project. I received a tremendous response, with many people pledging money, both with set donations and with amounts based on a finishing-time formula--the faster I ran, the more money I would bring in for the cause.
In the week leading up to the marathon I had a cold, and it was an unavoidable opportunity to confront the fears that I would not be well enough to run, or that the illness would affect my race. I had been planning and training for the Boston Marathon for more than six months, so to have it all go out the window because of a cold would have been extremely disappointing. At the same time, it seemed appropriate to be reminded of the unreliability of bodily life as I prepared to push my well-conditioned body to the limit. By Sunday the congestion from the cold was gone. I was still completely neurotic about every ache and pain in my body, but I no longer had any doubt that I would run.
On race day I woke early, primed to run. The starting line in Hopkinton was jammed with runners, race volunteers, and police directing shuttle buses and crowds, a very different world from the hill monasteries of Burma. I felt somewhat overwhelmed by it all, so I began to recite a line from the Satipatthana Sutta, which I had been studying in a Pali class. "Na ca kinchi loke upadiyami," I murmured to myself: "I do not cling to anything in this world."
At 12:00 the starting gun went off, but there was a considerable pause before the two thousand runners in front of me accordioned out and we all began to shuffle, then jog, forward. It would take 15 minutes for all 16,000 runners to cross the starting line.
The first miles passed smoothly, mostly downhill. My body felt good; the aches and pains of previous days had disappeared. Even out in the small towns there were crowds lining the road, and the spaces between the groups of spectators became smaller and smaller as the miles passed by. By Framingham, the crowds were huge and the cheering was constant.
In the middle of the race, perhaps between ten and fourteen miles, I experienced my first pangs of doubt, the first waves of pain and fatigue and the fear that perhaps I would not be able to maintain my pace. But this phase of doubt passed, and by the Newton Hills at mile 17 I felt strong and determined again. My mile paces slowed but my rhythm stayed strong, and even on Heartbreak Hill, though it seemed incredibly long, I didn't break my stride. It wasn't until two miles later that I felt my energy reserves starting to ebb, and my pace slowed. I was hitting the dreaded wall, otherwise known as "bonking."
The last four miles seemed to be fueled only by some internal stubbornness not to give in to the exhaustion and pain, the almost deafening roar of the crowds, and the knowledge that the money raised by merely finishing would help to make conditions better in one small but beautiful part of the world. I knew that a number of people at the Insight Meditation Society were sitting in meditation during the marathon and sending metta, or lovingkindness, the very practice that is so deeply rooted in Burma, particularly in the Sagaing Hills, where the MettaDana Project operates. So even though I desperately wanted to stop and walk, I somehow managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Coming around the corner onto Boylston Street, I could see the finish arch in the distance, and I managed to dig down and pour on a last surge to carry me across the line in under three hours, meeting my goal and setting a new personal best.
Through the generosity of my sponsors I had raised well over $2,000 for the MettaDana Project, funds that will support people's basic health and education in a Burmese community that has selflessly given of its spiritual riches.
This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Spring 2002
Climbing Up and Journeying in on Mount Denali
By Chas DiCapua
In 1999, during the three-month retreat at the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, I felt strongly that I wanted to give back to the teachers, Michele McDonald-Smith and Steven Smith, in some way. I didn't have any particular skills that would help them in starting the Hawai'i Insight Meditation Center, but I wanted to contribute in some way. I decided that I would climb a mountain. A big mountain. I would get people to support HIMC by sponsoring me and pledging so much money for every foot I made it up Mount Denali in Alaska.
I planned and trained for over a year. Doubt and fear (of failure) were my almost constant companions. Two weeks before I was to begin the trip, I hurt my ribs quite badly skiing. I thought that I may not be able to go. I even skied three more runs out of denial! But my ribs healed in time…barely. After 18 months of planning, team-building, fundraising and training, it was a relief to land in Seattle and finally be on my way.
The four of us on the climbing team met in the Seattle area and headed to Mount Rainier for a shakedown trip and to get acquainted. The day we arrived at Paradise lodge on Mount Rainier, it was snowing so hard we couldn't even take compass bearings, let alone see where we were headed. After a quarter mile, we made a good choice to turn back. I couldn't help but think, "Is this an omen for the trip?" A couple of days later we were climbing under clear skies. Yet, as so often happens, the weather started closing in and with just over 1,500 feet to go to the summit, we made a wise choice to descend. Being in the high mountains is a proximate cause for the ego to get a good battering!
Unfortunately, one of the team members had to pull out. The rest of us make it to Anchorage, went on to Talkeetna, and flew into base camp at 7,000 feet.
In base camp one is in a physical environment that can only be described as spectacular and awesome. The vertical relief is so extreme that it is literally measured in miles! You hear climbers saying, "Oh, that summit is a mile up." "That one is two miles." "Denali, it's about three miles up from here!" There can be up to a hundred people from all over the world in base camp at any given time. It's very odd to be with so many other people in such a wild environment.
Carrying supplies up the glacier under the midday sun was a hot, difficult task. 50-pound packs and 30-pound sleds made us feel like human mules. With the combined altitude and nearly 100% reflectivity of the glacier, the temperature felt like 90° or 100° F during the day! After about 10 days of shuttling loads up the mountain, we found ourselves at Camp 3, or Advanced Base Camp, at 14,000 feet. At this level, the mountain really starts to take its toll on climbers. Two climbers were helicoptered out with an altitude sickness called Cerebral Edema. Morning temperatures were now at least -20° F, with many mornings closer to -30° F. Teams or parts of teams were dropping like flies.
The other two members of my team were not getting along. I had a summit (no pun intended) with them and tried to help them to communicate what they felt they needed from each other. Yet it was apparent that neither had the insight into their own feelings nor the ability to communicate skillfully. It is so true that without mindfulness, we're just like boats without motors or rudders, being pushed this way and that by the conditions of samsara. It was difficult for me to watch, yet all I could do was give support and let the situation unfold. The day we were to make our first carry to high camp, one of my team members left the mountain with another team. I felt bad about this and took on some of the responsibility, thinking that if I was a better leader, things could have been different. Yet with there being just two of us, the immediacy of the tasks at hand quickly put an end to that!
We teamed up with two other climbers. The day we were to move to high camp (17,000 feet) dawned clear and beautiful but frightfully cold (-30° F). As I looked up to our climbing route, I could see plumes of snow blowing off the ridge--a sign of strong winds high on the mountain. I had my doubts! It took all our strength and fortitude to climb the steep fixed ropes on this section with full packs. We arrived on the ridge exhausted. It was brutally cold and the wind was blowing 40 mph. I suggested we stay the night in a nearby snow cave and continue in the morning. I was outvoted and we pushed on. It took us almost 4 more hours to climb the last thousand feet to high camp. The route was over a narrow rock and ice ridge with thousands of feet dropping off on either side. We found ourselves literally staggering into high camp at 10:00 pm in a gale, exhausted and dehydrated.
The day which was to be our summit day dawned clear and a bit breezy. I still had not recovered from the ordeal of getting to high camp and made a difficult but wise choice not to push on to the summit. The weather report on our portable radio called for a big storm to move in. We made a very wise choice to halt our climb, and spent the next 6 days descending the mountain in a fairly intense storm.
We finally made it back to base camp and got flown off the mountain back to Talkeetna. As we were unloading our gear off the plane, I turned to my remaining partner and said, "Travis, where did that experience go?" It was totally gone. 18 months of planning. 19 days on the mountain. Poof. What an amazing feeling. It was like it never happened! What a beautiful dharma lesson.
In the end, about $10,000 was raised for the Hawai'i Insight Meditation Center. I would have liked to have raised much more, but that's one more thing to let go of.
I would like to thank Michele and Steven for being the inspiration for this fund raising event. It is their teaching and simply being who they are that inspired me to give back. May Michele, Steven, and all those connected with Vipassana Hawai'i and the MettaDana Project be safe, protected, happy and well.
The marathon was difficult, for sure, but I have to say that it is a far more difficult journey that we have undertaken on the spiritual path. The heartbreak hills of our practice are high indeed, and the dazzling speed of changing phenomena will continue until the day we die. Yet in places like Kyaswa Monastery, and in the faces of the townsfolk of Wachet Village, one can feel the faith and inspiration of lovingkindness and know that reaching our final goal of liberation from selfishness is indeed possible.
In the West, our task may often be to reconcile both the great rational power and the excesses of our culture with the peaceful simplicity of Eastern wisdom. To have given some small help back to this culture of lovingkindness, from which I received so much, has been a great joy.
This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Spring 2002
Hiking to Ka'ena Point
By Eileen Cain
A
beautiful day in paradise blessed our hike to Ka'ena Point, the westernmost
tip of O'ahu. The hike was inspired by Chas DiCapua's "Climb the Mountain
Event" for Summer 2001 to raise money for the future Hawai'i Insight
Meditation Center. Chas planned to climb Mount Denali [see his story on
p. 1], and he encouraged others to carry out similar events during the summer
in sync with his climb and in support of the HIMC. Events were planned in
other parts of the country [see opposite page]. Since we weren't prepared
for mountain-climbing, we sought sponsors for a hike on July 21, 2001. Hikers
included teachers Michele and Steven, organizers Wally and Kay Inglis, Xuan
and Thanh Huynh, Michael Zucker, Jake Davis, me, and two visitors.
The trail to Ka'ena winds along the shore of O'ahu. The coastal lava rock, black with streaks of red, records the story of the volcanic origins of this island and contrasts beautifully with the clear, sparkling blue-green waters of the Pacific. It is such a gift to be able to hike beside the ocean!
The generosity of those who sponsored hikers enabled us to raise over $1,500.00 for the HIMC. Many thanks to all who supported us.
Reminding Ourselves To Be Mindful
By Paul Achitoff
We all know that making our practice continuous by bringing attention to our lives moment-by-moment is essential. We also know that doing this is extremely difficult, because we become lost in our thoughts and emotions and forget that we are not being attentive. Unless we are mindful, our bodies and minds will continue to act in very predictable patterns, day after day, like bowling balls in the gutter. If we place obstacles in the path of these rote behaviors, we may stumble across them; when we do, we have the opportunity to be mindful once again. For example, I know that every time I take a shower, I tend to wash myself in a certain pattern: first my left arm, then my right, then my chest, and so on. If I set an aim for myself to wash my right leg before anything else, I may forget -- but I also may remember in the middle of my shower that I forgot, and can try to continue on mindfully. If I usually wear my watch on my left wrist, I might wear it on my right wrist for a week. Every time I check the time I have another opportunity to extend my practice.
A powerful device that can be useful if we are around a friend or partner who also practices is to make very small, arbitrary changes in the way we speak. For example, we might decide not to use a common word like "some" for a week. If our partner notices that we asked for "some cake," we can wink at them, and they can use the hint to wake up for a little while. These arbitrary reminders have to be changed often; otherwise, like notes posted on the refrigerator, we get used to them and they stop working.
One of the most deeply-rooted habits of our mind, and one of the most destructive, is also one that, if used in this way, can strengthen our practice enormously. This is the tendency towards such unskillful emotions as anger. If, instead of wallowing in an angry internal dialogue, we use this familiar feeling as a reminder to resume our practice, everyone will benefit. As William Shakespeare said: "Sweet are the uses of adversity, which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a precious jewel in his head; and this our life exempt from public haunt finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones and good in every thing. I would not change it."
This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Fall 2000
Two Travelers To Burma
By Joe Bright
I want to tell you the story of how Doug Vann finally made it to Burma. He had been looking forward to attending the retreat in Burma in January, 2000, and we all felt the pain of that unfulfilled plan when he passed away last summer. What most don't know were the circumstances by which his energy and effort propelled me to the retreat in Burma.
Last July's retreat in Honolulu was my first. The noble silence we practiced meant that my introduction to Doug, who sat behind me in the meditation hall, was through our non-verbal habits. Certainly those qualities helped bolster our practice as afterwards, at one of our weekly sittings, he came to me and expressed his enjoyment of our sitting together. Then, more as statement than question, he said: "So you are going to Burma." My reply to the contrary confused him and he said that he had such vivid imaginings of how great it will be to travel and meditate in Burma with me. My surprise was that I held a deep, unexpressed interest in going. I had known of the impact the retreat had on Shereen the year before, but I told him of the difficulty I would have in financing any travels. We agreed that one never knows how opportunities arise, and I thought that he seemed the sort who finds solutions to obstacles where none seem apparent. With that, our ten-minute conversation was over.
The following Saturday, Shereen called to inform me of his passing. That was also when I learned his last name and wondered if there was a relation to the Mike Vann I knew in high school. The next day's sitting/service for Doug confirmed the relation and I was able to tell Mike about meeting his father. Naturally I made sure I was able to attend the following week's boat procession and potluck. During the potluck, it was announced that there was a scholarship in Doug's name for the Burma retreat. I felt that karmic opportunity could not be passed up, and so I let Steven Smith know that I was interested.
Many months later the plans came together very well. I picked up Doug's remaining ashes, which had been kept in an urn after his burial at sea in Honolulu so that they could be taken to Burma, and I was off to Asia for the first time. The trip itself was magical. Each step arriving and leaving the monastery seemed well cared for. The whole adventure can't be told here. Perhaps in emails, if anyone is interested. Let it suffice to say that the trip through Bangkok and various places in Burma was filled with a whole cast of interesting and compassionate characters.
Of the retreat itself I can say that we should all be so fortunate as to experience the environment created in the Sagaing Hills for the practice of Vipassana meditation. The continuous practice in that protected environment helped me to find the willingness to experience fears and doubts. The fruition of the investigation came on the final morning.
I offered dana from Shereen for a breakfast in Doug's honor. The managers saved it for the day that we would spread the remaining ashes in the Ayeyarwaddy River. I awoke that morning feeling very emotionally tight in my stomach. As I sat at breakfast with little appetite, my mind turned to my memories of Doug. I reflected on the whole experience of the retreat and the fact that it was possible for me to attend because he had died. I thought of how he had suffered; how the family and friends had suffered, and how I had been granted the opportunity to face my suffering as a result. With these thoughts came the full weight of understanding of the uncertainty and nobility with which we face our toils and joys. I can't put into words the flood of sorrow and gratitude I felt for all our efforts to endure in life. I thought how I would like to live with the sense of urgency and passion that seemed to characterize Doug's life.
Soon after, the teachers and I were in a boat moving into the currents of the Ayeyarwaddy. As Michele McDonald-Smith chanted, we took turns letting the ashes go into the swirling silt. As the distinct grayness of the ashes mingled and then dissolved into the brown of the river, a central theme of my trip took root. It concerned the lack of control over arising conditions, but that all conditions are worth experiencing. It showed me that we can actually experience them if only we are willing, at least briefly, to become and remain open to what our life is. If we are willing to share this openness, then sometime, somehow we all wind up supporting each other.
And so it was that Doug reached and became a part of Burma. I thank all for their practice and support. I dedicate my practice that you, too, may feel the touch of mindfulness. I hope that wherever Doug is now, he has felt an inexplicable sense of peace and contentment for having helped me through all of this.
Metta to you all.
This article appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Fall 2000
Japanese Shape
by Harry Palmer
The way it forces you to look
watching your step
so as not to turn your ankle
on a rock
or step into water nearby
The way it turns the torso
this way and that
view after view
spaces between spaces
and spaces between
The way it slows you down
step after step
no skipping between
there is no short cut
to the edge of this garden
The way it swirls the vision
into brown and black
and green and light with
sound in the air until
only a blanket remains
The way it stops the mind.
This poem appeared originally in the Vipassana Hawai'i News, Fall 2000