Dear Friends, Yogis and Yoginis,

In the last couple of weeks I've had several "hip horizons" with my recovery. I've now gone dancing, ridden my bike, been on a hike, thought about going bowling (really not my thing, but it's a season for new adventures!), and expanded my yoga pose repertoire to include arm balances again! Yesterday I trotted up and down two flights of stairs, played on the monkey bars, and jumped into a free standing handstand in the middle of the room. Today I pressed into a handstand from the ground!

Of course, life's richness does not fill us because of the yoga poses we can do (thankfully so, otherwise we would be on that endless treadmill of needing new poses to satisfy our hunger; much like the new and improved dishwashing soap we're being told we need!). But these horizons do represent a specific healing in my hip. And taking all of the steps required for that healing has informed me about my capacities and my blind spots, challenged me to stay present in pain and in discovery, and urged me to keep both my moment-to-moment mindfulness and my expansive-sky mindfulness on board.

As I head off to India in the best health I've been in in the last three years, I imagine my journey will push me in similar ways as this hip injury did. Likely I will realize my capacity for compassion is both greater than, and at times more vulnerable than, I'm aware of at present. I may be exposed to pain, illness or poverty in degrees that I can't even conceive of right now. The discoveries that await couldn't possibly be fantasized about (as what I could fantasize would probably be small and limited by comparison to the reality). And, no doubt, I will need both my moment-to-moment mindfulness and expansive sky-mindfulness to keep me present to each experience without getting swallowed in them, while also allowing for the spaciousness of heart, time, humanity, and culture that rests in the love that holds all of us, always.

This month, I'll leave you with two current sources of inspiration as I embark on Monday!

In this morning's reading, Mark Nepo wrote:

"If we stop to consider it, making tea is a miraculous process. Isn't making tea the way we cipher through the events of our lives? Isn't the work of sincerity to pour our deepest attention over the dried bits of our days? Isn't patience the need to let the mixture of inner and outer brew until the lessons are fragrant and soothing on the throat? Isn't it the heat of our sincerity that steams the lessons out of living? Isn't it the heat of those lessons that makes us sip them slowly? [Through our sipping, and our sincerity and patience, healing is] a willingness to drink from the tea of life."

And an offering from a student:

Why the name "A Tea Cup Dropped"?
Two gathas by the Venerable Master Hsu Yun (1839-1959).
As is the custom in Chinese Chan sessions, monks are served tea between sits to help keep them alert. The master dropped his cup as hot water spilled from the pouring pot onto his hand.

***
A cup fell to the ground
With a sound clearly heard.
As space was pulverised,
The mad mind came to a stop.

When the hand released its hold, the cup fell and was shattered,
'Tis hard to talk when the family breaks up or someone dies.
Spring comes with fragrant flowers exuberating everywhere;
Mountains, rivers and the great earth are only the Tathagata.

***

May we all sip the tea of our life experiences, both those that are hot and those that are sweet and fragrant. And, if the cup should shatter, or the heart break, may we remember the source of all mountains, rivers and our own divinity. Many, many blessings to you all in the month ahead!

Namaste,
Sarahjoy