Evening zazen

Tonight I was sitting in the zendo for about an hour. I realized that this was exactly what I would have wished for as a child, to be allowed to simply sit, still and silent, while the summer evening permeated me. There was a time I lived in wonder, only to be abruptly interrupted by demands, requirements, arguments, accusations, and all the noisy mess of a family shambling toward a breakup; the jealous bickering of children dodging blame and desperate for some kind of validation or righteousness, the doors slammed, sleep broken by the sounds of shouting below, the wretched fear and loss of control in terrible temper tantrums. To sit as I was sitting tonight, immersed in the sounds of rain and birds, the feel of the air cooling around me and through me without separation or boundaries, is truly a profound gift. It is not something to wish for as a permanent condition: I would not give up the connectedness of my relationships for anything, nor the satisfaction of my work, and even the anxieties and difficulties I encounter. It is simply that this moment, this time feels so nourishing, and because of it, I can experience the other parts of my life not as unwelcome demands and frightening conflicts that bring me to despair, but instead wholeheartedly meet them with some ease and openness. This is a different way of living, quite beautiful and filled with joy and equanimity, even when what I am meeting is fraught with grief or pain or rage.