"That Journeys are Good"

"That Journeys are Good" by Rumi was one of the readings today at the First UU Church of Minneapolis. It's a poem for every occasion, for we are always on a journey, external or internal, often both simultaneously, and learning, like Joseph in the Rumi poem, who left his country  "to understand dreams, and give away grain."  As I have journeyed through my days learning to meet others, meet joy, fear, and desperation, I find I often turn away from experience, from meeting someone else (in their pain, frustration, elation, accomplishment), for fear that my shortcomings will be revealed if I reveal myself (an impostor!). I have undertaken a daily ritual, morning after morning, day after day, week upon month upon years, with the intention to stay in the presence of the Fear (the Buddhists say they are "sitting with fear," not that they are afraid). This practice has perhaps become my most profound--and transformational-- journey of all. And it looks nothing at all like what I thought it would.  

Last night I dreamt I was standing in tree pose (I've been doing a lot of yoga--can you tell?), and my hair was blowing wildly, sand was blowing in my eyes, my clothes (because I wasn't dressed properly for yoga class!) were flapping in the wind and up and across my face. But I was insistent on staying in the pose--for reasons of ego or commitment I couldn't say. And I laughed a little bit--I can't recall if it was in the dream or in my half-conscious awareness of my dream--at the transparent metaphor, analogy, lesson of the Buddhist image of the mountain. Our true nature, our unconditioned self, is like the mountain--it is unmovable, even when the wind is blowing crazily, or the snow is falling, or children are digging at the surface. The external just blows through, momentarily changing the view, but ultimately not the mountain itself. My utter determination to stay in the pose as the conditions around me changed seemed to reflect a moment of awareness of my true power. In those moments of my dream, I was suddenly, experientially, transformed.

As I rode my bike home from the FUUCM (that's a crazy acronym if ever I've seen one), I thought about my upcoming trip to Detroit with my daughter for a big skating competition she has been struggling over; I thought about my trip to Bangkok, then Cambodia. Such possibilities await. And then, as I was riding along the street, I saw down the block a flock of (no, not seagulls you 80s rock fans) Canada geese stopping up the roadway. They can fly, I know, but they were really all just strolling down the street. I took this photo then rode away. A few minutes later they took to the sky wings beating not quite silently, calling to each other or me below. Or both. I had two thoughts as they flew over me in beautiful formation: I hoped not to be soiled by geese poop. And I guess now it's time to learn to give away grain.