even tripping up is grace.

no two meditations are the same. this much i know. but i don't know it can be this dramatic from one day to the next. yesterday was all sweet peace. here's how this morning goes. in the beginning it all seems to go as i have been doing the action sequence day in and day out. look. i get up, have my drink of chlorophyll, aloe, a little apple juice and psyllium, poop, - i cannot overstate what a huge difference pooping before meditation makes to the quality of meditation, but i'd better get back to the real drama of the day before i get carried away with pooping - where am i? o, right, then i wash the mouth and teeth and face. some gentle stretches. bow to four directions. bow to my meditation seat. so far, nothing is off track. yet somewhere around i put the earplugs and eyewraps in place i begin to sense something is off within. a little bit. very subtle. it's like the camera lens is slightly, very slightly, out of focus. so slightly that i just dismiss it.

i proceed to rigorously rub my hands to give a little tai chi bath to the eyes, face, head, neck and chest. as i am about to begin reciting 'a thousand mirrors,' the poem that i have been letting off my lips daily for one and a half years i hear a tiny whisper. you'll trip. i thought i knew what it meant. i'll trip over the poem 'breakthrough' which i am about halfway through memorizing. but as i type this now i realize that is the beginning of me getting out of the present moment. the onset of getting off center.

anyway words stream out of me swimmingly. in another corner of the mind the worry that i'll forget some part of 'breakthrough' loops like a stuck record. not loud. but enough to suck my attention out of the present moment. until suddenly i realize words stop flowing out of the vocal cord like a river's flow is obstructed by an unexpected boulder. my attention goes into shock. panic jams awareness. disbelief shakes up the mind. thought waves strike. negative thoughts. heavy thoughts. this can't be. it's impossible. so i try to gather myself, squeeze the scattered attention into the line. 'the reality of my existence is...is...is...' what is the word after 'is?' nothing comes. the brain jumps up and down and all around inside the skull. banggg. wangg. nothing comes. after a while and i don't know how long in terms of the linear passing of time i drag myself to the next verse. obviously i am still not totally in the present. because after 'each mirror was broken into thousands of fragments' i go right back to 'the reality of my existence is...' i struggle some more and go nowhere but round and round like a scared mouse. meanwhile negative emotions take this opportunity and make their appearance. discouraged is the main one. and exasperated too. i won't go into their extended family.

i begin to notice the breath is out of whack. so i do the only thing i know how to do in such dire circumstance. i turn attention to the breath. in a few rounds i watch the edginess in the breathing movement smooth out. then i hear this. relax. i take a deep breath in, a long breath out. a couple of more rounds later, conviction arises from deep within. i can't recall whether it comes with the inbreath or the outbreath. doesn't matter. they all come from the same place. anyway the message i get is this. i haven't forgotten the poem. really, i haven't. why would i even doubt that. scrap it.

with that i see what i need to do. move on to the next verse. and so i do. as i let the rest of 'a thousand mirrors' flow out of me i feel a refreshed, renewed resonance. 'destruction took its time. while grace was penetrating deeply i said to myself, people say grace is a shelter, why, then, am i losing all i have?'
indeed. 'all the reflections are grace. all the mirrors are grace. grace had revealed that everything is grace.' yes, even tripping up like this is grace.

as i step off the meditation mat i hear the inner self say, write with one voice.  'the power of grace takes me across,' ain't it the truth. ain't it the truth.

lord buddha food. chewing on my style.

i get this insight when i am making sweet rice. by the way, this dish of rice and milk brings to mind the scene where siddhartha is under the bodhi tree and realizes the truth. along comes sujata, a woman. she offers him rice and milk. he takes it. now is it because he realizes that torturing and depriving the body doesn't bring him closer to the truth? or he recognizes that he needs a body of strength in order to teach the truth to many? i don't care. all that matters is lord buddha as we know it, the teacher, is born. with this memory i just fall in love with this dish. milk. rice. just the sounds carry the vibe of calm and nourishment. besides it is super yum. more than yum. it is light and satisfying, a one pot meal for the season. i can see myself eating it breakfast, lunch and supper. so there i am stirring basmati rice in a little ghee, plenty of freshly ground cardamom and some milk. whole, not low fat or no fat. according to ayurveda, i need lubrication, meaning oil, to balance the dry heat of the season. besides, serious meditators do need a little bit of fat everyday. the key word here is 'little bit' and it has to be quality oil. ghee is the best. i think i am way off track here. where am i going? o, that's right, i have an insight. the thing is i have been chewing on something my editor says, now it reads like two separate books, one in the immortals world, one in the human world, you've got to make it one book. gee. what does that mean? i thought i worked so hard to bring the two together. meanwhile time goes by. cut to the learned brahmin. he says to me, what you say, don't change, the style, change. by the way i really resonate with his english. we hong kong chinese speak english kind of like that. especially cantonese chinese. which i am.

i digress. hmmm, yes, style. now this is really fascinating. the recurring thought that has been haunting me is this. what's wrong with my style? i don't get it. not yet. until this morning. i am meditating away. the breath is flowing in deep and long, refined like a lotus stalk. i watch thought waves ebb and flow. suddenly and quietly this appears. one is lyrical and sublime, the other is down-to-earth and funny. i have to confess. the urge to go with this and pile on more thoughts is huge. i barely manage to jot the key words down when another insight comes. there's nothing wrong with your style. now, isn't it something that the mind would default to the habitual tendency that something is wrong with me. something is wrong with my style. nothing's wrong with my style. but i do have to work the 'voice' to a certain way so it can be sublime, lyrical, down-to-earth and funny, all of those.

gee, i can already hear the thought shooting straight out of the state of poverty consciousness. this is so difficult.

to be continued.

deeeliish rose water

again, without any mental pushing, meditated two hours. actually the last half hour is for coming out of meditation. kind of like the trip after summiting a peak. as important as the climbing up part. at times i watch my body and mind and breathing movement simply in awe. evidently an invisible power that is out of my conscious control is at work here. i didn't even think of meditating two hours. in fact i was telling myself, one hour is okay, suk wah. but then when the beeps of timer seep into hearing through the earplugs it is clear that the body is still comfortably immersed in this stable, upright and strong posture. i scan around within. there is not an iota of urge to move any fiber or ligament. the limbs are pulsating a lively hum. the tempo is powerful and lyrical all at once. every cell is just fine where it is.

i ponder what has made this miracle possible? of course i understand all the efforts i have been putting in count. but what is the, shall i say, 'last straw on the camel's back' but in a fantastic way?' what pushes the scale to this off the chart way? not missing a beat an inner message appears quietly and tenderly. yummy rose water. i get it. what is happening is a couple of days ago i had the great good fortune to receive an abundance of knowledge about what and how to eat in accordance with the ancient ayurvedic principles in summer season. that night i started making this deeliiiish rose water with roses from my own backyard. yesterday i throw out the old grocery list, make out a new one and stock up on all that are hydrating, moisturizing, oily - as in avocado, not fry food -, sweet and cooling. sublime creations like roses have powers that uplift the body and mind. appreciating a rose's beauty is acknowledging the light of the self within it.

i've always loved my roses. now i love them even more.

breath-in-chief.

don't want to come out of meditation. seriously. this is my meditation experience of the day. the body and mind, particularly the body, are immersed in this sweet and pure peace that hums with vibrancy. today the legs have hit the sweet spot. they don't go numb on me like they usually do after forty-five minutes or so. and the breath. o me o my. the breath. i really have the experience my conscious efforts have nothing to do with the ever deepening of the inbreaths and lengthening of the outbreaths. as i type this sentence i can feel this subtle shift in the breathing movement like a master noodle maker deftly pulling the dough between his skillful hands. i am mesmerized. this inner self of mine is truly the breath-in-chief.

back to this morning's meditation. while i am reciting the poems 'a thousand mirrors' and 'breakthrough' i notice, for several times, i emerge from a place beyond words, where there is no sense of time. but i don't catch myself pausing amidst recitation. yet i simply know where to pick up from where i left. the words just arise from this quiet place within. this quiet, fascinating place, my own self.

just like that, two hours have flown by when i step off the meditation mat.

direct motion. not retro.

this chart is good chart, the learned brahmin examines my stars and planets, but...i knew there's a 'but' coming...but one thing is that many times negative thoughts come in your mind, and that's why restlessness. his heavy indian accent - d and t are pounding drum beats - hits the message home hard. since then i've been pondering my life thus far like super duper fast forwarding a movie. i have had one opportunity after another. fantastic opportunity. i have had the great good fortune of meeting phenomenal people in both work and personal arenas. beautiful people. off the charts talented people. fun people. they embrace me, take me under their wings with generosity and kindness beyond measure. what do i do? i watch pangs of pain as i type this. i push them away. again and again. all because of what? negative thoughts that poison my mind. i remember at one point a girl friend who treats me like her own sister sits on a stair step and breaks into tears and says, we are friends, why are we like this? really. this is a strikingly handsome lady from a distinguished lineage, capable, knows everybody in hong kong, has a big and golden heart, and loves me. what do i feel in that moment? gee, i am so disconnected, so shut down, no words come to the stubborn and stuck mind.

why am i allowing the memory to roll like this? is it remorse? am i thinking, o i should have, if only i did it differently...no. no. no. because i want to cut the pattern. i want to be in direct motion. not retrograde. i know, mars in direct retro right now. i have no clue what mars in retro means but the idea somehow resonates with me. i want to be in direct motion, not going backwards. negative thoughts foment restlessness. and that drags me away from clear thinking, from being immersed in my own true nature.

an auspicious, joyous happy birthday

what do i feel on the birthday of someone who gives me the experience of my own true nature, shows me how to know it, live it? i feel so happy, so fortunate. she wants the highest for me and nothing from me. well, not exactly. she does want something from me. all that restrain me from becoming and being who i really am. a full and unique expression of the innermost self which is no different from the universal self that creates this ever evolving physical universe.

grateful seekers offer birthday gifts. fruits, jewelries. beautiful things. valuable things. she receive them all with equal thankfulness. in another instant she freely gives them all away. she loves me unconditionally. no strings attached. no attachment either. all she wants is for me to be this happy, strong, courageous and generous person.

one time, over chai, i lament, how can i please my guru? a thoughtful yogi and dear friend and amazing nurse says, do the practices, live the teachings, that's how you please your guru. and so on this auspicious day, joyous day i wish happy birthday to my guru who lives in my pure awareness. she loves me. i love her. this love is pure. this love is divine. it is this love that connects us forever. in the present moment.

what is stopping me from whittling away at it?

this morning's meditation is bright, awake. after getting out of bed it comes to me to go into the yard for a little bit. a little bit. that's very clear. so i do. i water the roses. our eight roses are splendid and forgiving. they are so happy just to get a little bit moisturized while sending up these gorgeous, fragrant beauties even though i've been holding back on watering because of water department recommendation. anyway i have a pattern of going into the yard and getting carried away not realizing i am exhausting myself, often to the point of hurting the body. where am i? o yes, so i meditate after half an hour in the yard. that in itself takes all the spiritual will i have accumulated. i can feel the pull to stay longer. i can hear the figs, bamboos are saying, good morning, so nice to see you. but, really, my point is somehow this unscheduled activity imbues my meditation with brightness and alertness that are marinated with intoxicating sweetness. i watch the inbreath deepening naturally, the outbreath lengthening. i respectfully hold attention on the space where the outbreaths dissolve into like foam into ocean. the sense of satisfaction is beyond measure. the closes approximation i can come up with is this. lying on the silky, milky sand on the fiji island where the movie that brooke shield stars in when she is sixteen, drop dead gorgeous. sparkling and gentle waves wash the body in these massage moves that smoothe out whatever tensions lodged within fibres and tissues. the mind that is conditioned to get satisfaction from things external can't really wrap around this. it's all right. i don't feel the urge to explain it. i just watch the mind go vibrantly still. i know i am washed clean by the source of potentiality from whence the physical universe and stars, planets and galaxies spring.

so there i am reveling in this wonder all within my own being when some long-buried memory makes its appearance. it comes with embarrassment and shame. probably i have consciously shoved it into some dark attic in the belly or pinkie. i make an effort to take in a deep, deep breath. as the oubreath makes its course, long and fine like the lotus stalk that arises out of a muddy pond, i look at it, in spite of the habitual pull that says, no, i don't want to look at it.

i am all of twenty-eight. i decide i want to write a movie script. so i do. i take it to a producer in a big movie studio. a few weeks later she calls me and says, i show it to my boss, she likes it, she wants to talk to you. what else could she want? make it into a movie. she says, suk wah, you play a nice planning role, after a few you'll direct. now, here's where my stupidity and arrogance kick in. it was the time when the first 'rocky' comes out. somehow i am hit with the idea that i can push this. so i say, either i direct or no movie. well, the studio head complies and shelves it.

before returning attention to meditation i ask this question. why am i seeing this now? what do i have to learn from this? the answer comes in a follow up memory. several years after that episode the studio head says, suk wah, i really like that script, is there any way you can look at it again? did i do it? no. why? i don't know. bingo. this is it. this is what's relevant to me right now. i have this manuscript. in order to finish it properly, to get it out there, i have to look at it again. and some how i just can't bring myself to examine it line by line, page by page. what is stopping me from whittling away at it day after day, the way i wrote it in the first place?