Blossoming through a broken place

An online mindfulness meditation retreat attended earlier this month was an event that came at a good time of the year and brought with it renewed space for reflection, kindness and connection. Practicing meditation in a group can be one of the most enriching experiences. The Retreat was organised by the Passaddhi Meditation Centre, https://www.passaddhi.com/, and taught by Marjó Oosterhof, Meditation Teacher. Something from this experience I would like to share about here.

An exercise, we, as a group, were invited to do in our own physical space was to do mindful walking meditation and notice three aspects of the walk that brought joy to each of us. Off I went on my walk. The sun was shining outside and its light pierced through any leftover thoughts that were there internally before beginning the walk.

In mindfulness meditation, whatever comes to the attention of the meditator, is part of the landscape of awareness: no need to add or take away anything. The practice can bring up some pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral parts of life, and it is worth taking the risk to let all of it in. And this time, being asked to notice things that brought joy, was something like being invited to dip into the jar of honey, for those who love honey.

Walking by a line of trees along the road, the first thing coming to the attention was that they looked so young; the same trees, dry and brown, and that had no leaves on them just two months before. Such a transformation! Then, the mind found an explanation for what was seen, and it said quietly: “It is spring, after all”.

Being close to the trees felt like a privilege. So, the next natural step was to come even closer to them. They seemed quiet and grounded, enjoying the peace around, and as if nothing was able to move them. The tree closest to me was just like the others, the same type and hight, yet, something was different about it. On one of its branches, a twig looked almost ready to fall. Half split from its branch at a lower angle, it gave the impression that it was broken but still hanging in there, yet, a bud was blossoming from it, like from all the other twigs on the tree. Quite confusing. Moving in closer, I could see that the broken place had already healed and the twig was now securely attached to the branch although it did not look like it from a distance. Then I “twigged” that it was healed enough for the life energy to travel from the roots of the tree, to its branches, to the twig and into the bud. It felt joyful to see how life found its way in.

Can a twig that had been previously broken become securely attached to its tree again? This one did. Nature has such a quiet way of practicing being alive! Had I not moved in closer, the truth of the twig would not have been seen. And, who knows, how many other twigs share the same story? Who knows how many minds are tempted to judge things as they seem, only to discover that there is something else hiding behind the surface? Or, could it be that it is in human nature not to give up on hope for life even when the reality appears to be broken at the surface?

“Under a cherry tree, there are no strangers”. (Kobayashi Issa, Japanese poet)

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