Natural Beauty

During the first few months of my residency at Maple, it seemed to be overcast every day, all day long. Weeks passed without observation of direct sunlight or stars. This seemed unusual, but much about the weather seemed unusual that year. Snow dumped and thawed over and over again in cycles. The loop trail that went around the property was nearly impassable for much of those months of December to March, when previously it had been used for running and skiing daily at that time of year. I was beginning to feel the impact of this sunless existence as I wondered if it was OK that I longed to see the sun again.

In the previous year I had trained with a teacher from a different tradition. On one memorable occasion during a retreat with many people who were new to her teaching, she held a group interview and had an exchange with a man who seemed earnest but confused about what it meant to abandon sense pleasures. He asked her if he could still enjoy the sunset, and looked totally crestfallen and bewildered when she replied that even that enjoyment should be abandoned. At the time I was using a visualization of the sun as a meditation object, now somewhat sheepishly.

At Maple I had often seen incredible sunrises and sunsets over the rolling hills of this region of Vermont, the Northeast Kingdom. Soryu told us once in an evening exhortation that he had specifically chosen a location for Maple’s home that was situated in such natural beauty so that we would feel compelled to meditate out of enjoyment of the setting. Every now and then I would see Soryu stop and take in the scene on his way to or from the zendo. He would be walking somewhere in a direct line as he usually did, when suddenly he would deviate from that line and take a few strides down the hill, pause briefly full of attention and look out at the mountains and clouds, before continuing on his way. The pause was like the pause of a ball being rolled up hill, as it reached the pinnacle of its journey, before falling surely back down.  Was he taking it in? Was he enjoying it? Or how was he engaging with it?

And so it was a few months into my residency that we held an awakening week in which again it was overcast every day. The seriousness of the group’s endeavor had been building and building as we deepened our meditation. I felt there was much at stake for everyone. By the end of the week there was one glorious morning sunrise, the sky seeming to exhibit the energy we had all collectively cultivated. It was exercise period and I was paused at the window in awe when I should have been on my way to the treadmill. Just as I tried to tear myself away, Soryu walked out of the Zendo on his way to wherever he was going, and I watched as he paused abruptly and turned toward the sky, holding his arms out wide as if greeting all of life.