Thursday, September 3, 2009


early one Saturday morning sŏnyu practice at ocean eyes participants slowly arrive while I wait in pensive anticipation, ‘will she actually come this time?’ I think to myself while talking with the newly arrived guests. this was to be her first and as it turned out her last visit to the Zen center. when she walked through the door wearing grey sweatpants and matching sweatshirt, I thought that she could wear even a burlap sack and make it look like a gown on a princess. her smile immediately warmed the dreary winter morning. she met me in the kitchen where we talked– she wasn’t feeling well a bit under the weather, so we kissed and hugged and giggled like children, we played and flirted in between instructions from the monk. after practice we had lunch at the pier in Huntington Beach then walked along the shore holding hands and laughing out loud. the wind blowing in her hair, the smell of salty air the electricity of her touch and the abandonment in her eyes transfixed my soul and drew closer to my heart. walking and talking unaware of the others– such moments are jewels in the collection of memories contained and held dear. the crying of the seagulls, the crashing of winter waves– intimacy is rare and appears only if we are open and present. she left me with her cold that day, and I couldn’t have been happier to have shared in her germs for kissing her and holding her it was a small price to pay.

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