Hm, it seems it’s that time of year again where I only post slightly blurry, weirdly lit photos taken in a rush while hoping that it’s not really that dark out/overexposed, when in truth I know better.
The busy season at Dhagpo Kagyu Ling has officially arrived. The Lama House is full, there remain no empty classrooms or practice spaces in which to do prostrations, and if I’m not changing sheets or cooking lunch, I’m planning menus or cleaning toilets. I’m still scraping up time here and there to meditate, and it’s a goal for this year to find more calm moments in between the rush rather than just speeding through each day. Though it’s often easier to keep running on adrenaline than to pause and realize how tired/stressed/distracted I am, I’d like to change the habit.
On the other hand, pausing to traipse all over the kitchen, terrace, and garden in search of reasonable lighting for my seared cauliflower doesn’t currently make it into the list of priorities. Which is a shame, really, because seared cauliflower-roasted with whole garlic cloves!- is really a wonderful thing, and a decent picture would probably be much more convincing than the preceding sea of beige. Use your imagination–it’s creamy, earthy, woodsy, even, with a tad bit of caramelization from the garlic.
I cooked this dish for lunch for a visiting teacher, a rare Tibetan vegetarian, and we talked about back pain, sunshowers, and loneliness. I confess I still have a lot of that, even surrounded by people I love. Actually, I think my loneliness increases in direct proportion with the amount of love I feel. I just get so attached to all good things and people. At times, I wish I could keep every moment forever. Which is an evident contradiction, for how could we have new great moments if we didn’t let the old ones go, and what on earth would we do when the moments weren’t great, weren’t even any good? But I’m an exigent creature; I want all things now. I guess it’s for me to live with that.
Wiser beings than me feel love without any loss, even when what they care for passes out of their field of vision or contact. They give without any need to receive. This possibility blows my mind, and furthermore, the fact that I have the good luck to welcome such folks at the center. To make them tea, turn down their sheets, and benefit from their wisdom. I am utterly grateful, to the point where I don’t even mind vacuuming, which I heartily detest in other circumstances. But after all, the masters come to teach us how to be at peace. The least I can do is to remove the cobwebs from the corners of the bedposts and put a few niceties about to make them feel welcome.