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rain talk is dharma talk

Updated: Jan 2


december retreat 2023 bali



it rained heavily the morning of our last day of retreat in december. i was in a contemplative mood, not surprising given the stillness and silence and the many hours of sitting during the week. the downpours were compelling. i wrote the lines below when it struck me that the common expression; it is raining outside, was no longer the experienced reality of that moment as i could no longer say something is happening outside for it no longer felt there was an inside separated from it. what outside is, what inside is, for a while the distinction between the two was forgotten. in that forgetfulness i could hear my own words speaking in the downpour for the rain had become my own voice except that what was mine was now emptied of me.


_______________________



last day in the quiet of this room

the rain gives a talk and i am listening


the long awaited for rains are coming

though not yet arrived

arrived yet still coming


wherever clouds may be going

to walk with early hours of rain

with early hours i mean

walking with upland rains

the world you sought to abide in

tried to understand all awash i mean


this patter on the roof you hear

carries the night along with it

carries the carp's sleep in the pond

dreams of dazed flies by the pane


listen to the whispering drizzle

redemption is a downpour

it's the scent of grass

rising from the damp earth

the pulsing on the skin of trees

you can now feel as your own


and the mist where the

vanished volcano breathes

lifts the jungle in purest light


vast stillness

let silence hear for you

birdsongs have no source

they tell of a time of the earth

when it first burst into music


in that song what comes and passes

is us and the rocks the many streams

where we are forgotten

and revisioned timelessly


the words you read now

written on thin sheets of rain

droplets of emptiness scattered in the sky

how i have longed to write them to you


listening

listening to thunder

to the rattle running through glass

immersed in the flow of the unheard

unseen

listening


the world opening before you

is a world of never closing

it's the nothing is ever hidden world



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