Not I, not mine, not myself, just elements, said the Buddha to his son.

Once when I was on retreat there was a woman, let’s call her Liza, who was not like the other retreatants. She smoked cigarettes, swore, challenged the teachers, snuck food into the temple, and had a generally caustic attitude. She was secretive and defensive about some of these behaviours; I saw and heard them because we were in neighbouring rooms. I wondered even why she was there as she seemed to have little interest in diving deep into contemplation or meditation practice. Yet, she was there. And I could identify with her comings and goings, her searching for happiness in the quick fixes. I used to be like her, if a little less abrasive. I still am to some degree; old habits are persistent!

But in that moment, there was only sound and it was like a symphony. No me, no trees, no wind, no names, or exclamations. The painting is Untitled because there is no name for that experience, really. The Buddhists call it emptiness, other faiths might call it God. But to name it limits it. Interestingly, in Buddhism and in the Tao, this deep wisdom, this infinite source, is feminine.

Walking on Earth is a miracle. Each mindful step reveals the Dharmakay. —Thich Nhat Hanh

To be entangled in all that mind activity makes the experience very heavy and sharp. It is difficult, but It doesn’t help to be angrily asking “Why me? Why this? This is my life?” Notice the feeling tone: “this is unpleasant.” And it can stop there. There are many different practices to stop the mind from spinning out. Looking for those five aggregates is one that works for me because the Buddhist teachings make sense to me, have shown me that even when it feels like a crucible, it may very well be an opportunity for transformation, for listening to instead of shouting at Life. For evoking the image of Thay walking, present in each step.

May we not be separated from the great happiness devoid of suffering.

I touched this once on retreat during the luminous heart-opening practice of tonglen and now it is a regular way of being. But when I first heard this Buddhist phrase (traditionally chanted to evoke compassion), I found it confusing. Incomprehensible, actually. One of my earliest memories is of walking in snow behind my father who was carrying my sleeping younger sister. He pointed out Orion, so visible in the winter night sky. The body, belt and, sword are hard to un-see once pointed out. I later learned that there is also a club in one raised hand and a shield thrust forward in the other hand. Orion is a hunter and clearly ready to fight and defend. This stance characterized much of my young adult life. This wasn't obvious to people from my calm and kind — and shy — exterior, but it characterized my inner life until at 33 a medical diagnosis changed my outlook on life and began a gradual process of opening to that great happiness.