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| Naoka on her first day - Sept. 1, 2012 |
I am thoroughly enjoying sharing Chiang Mai with Naoka, each day a flower opening to positive changes and pleasant surprises. Together we contemplate how we can present our gifts and talents to the world—the exciting possibilites of inviting others to join us on the Path to Paradise.
If your mind is empty,
it is always ready for anything;
it is open to everything.
In the beginner's mind
there are many possibilities;
in the expert's mind there are few.
Shunryu Suzuki-Zen Master
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| Buddhist temple at Doi Saket
We invite you on a Tao journey, a Zen walk, where together we will lovingly glance back at the old, the familiar, the habitual that no longer serves, then together move into and beyond the unseen, to arrive in the real time experience of the fifth dimension—your consiousness seeing and perceiving All That Is, you living love in paradise.
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| temple priest in Doi Saket |
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| Naoka in the temple |
I began by opening my consciousness to the evolution of a story - a story of things 'not happening the way they should,' then, with beginner's mind, surrendering to a new possibility, the allowing of, then following that possibility to a place beyond all struggle, to a place of love; to paradise. This is my novel: Shambala - The Path to Paradise. I personally left my struggle, left my home and journeyed out into the world, in order to realize that I, that We can all live this love story — that the 5th dimension super-imposed over the 3rd, is real, is here now and ready to be lived. Naoka joins in this realization and together we invite you to journey with us. The lotus sits in the pond ready to bloom — in the morning stillness we sit and wait, for the blooming is inevitable.
Entwined within/a backstory of Shambala, is the story of Robert St. Clair, an 80 year old man who tells of his thirty years living in Shambala. While there he wrote a book called Many Gods, One Heart. This book includes exerpts from his personal diary, his poetry and stories of a young man called Shamar, who lived in Lhasa, Tibet. Here is another Shamar story:
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Shamar and the fisherman
Every morning around seven a.m. Shamar would walk for a mile along the river, one half mile down and one half mile back. Along the way he would pass a sweet looking little old--at least eighty, maybe closer to one hundred year old--fisherman. The old man always arrived at the river just before Shamar, and went through the same routine he had done the day before. He would walk to the bank of the river, to his chosen spot and set his tackle box seat down near an old cherry tree, but not under it. He would examine his rod, but never took the time to attach a worm to the hook—and after testing the reel he would cast his line far out into the middle of the river. He then lodged the rod into its set-in-the-rocks holder and sat on his box in meditation. He would watch the river flow and watch the river flow and watch the river flow.
Shamar never saw him catch a fish or ever act like he wanted to. The old man just sat there, quite content in his meditation.
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| Lake on the Queen's land, in the mountains north of Chiang Mai |
One day Shamar finally walked up to the old man and said, "Good morning." The man nodded his head an eight of an inch, made minimal eye contact and then returned to the river. As far as he knew the man never looked at him again and in the months that followed Shamar was like a shadow which passed by, apparently unnoticed. He often stopped under the cherry tree, where he could be noticed, but the old man remained focused on the river, as if a glace away would disturb it’s flow.
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| Tao Gardens Resort and Spa |
One day Shamar decided to say something to the old man. This time he stopped a few feet in front of the tackle box, between the man and the river, and raised his voice, “See you tomorrow.”
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| temple boy |
Shamar wondered what that meant. Maybe the old man is a Buddha, Shamar thought as he walked away, and every morning I walk pass the Buddha. Since he is being Buddha in meditation, he doesn’t notice me. Or maybe he does and is teaching me in an odd way; maybe I have to walk by him without saying anything for a year, maybe five years, me walking, him staring at the river, before he finally says, “I’m home now. Sit down my son and we will begin.”
So from then on, day after day, Shamar continued walking and the old man continued sitting, staring. Buddha never caught a fish. Shamar never stopped to talk. He walked. Buddha sat. That’s all. Nothing needed to be said. Nothing needed to be done. All was perfect as it was in the walking and the sitting.
One day you may go down to a river, or walk on a beach and see a little old man sitting on his tackle box, or a younger man walking by. Maybe one of the them is the Buddha waiting for you, ready to say, “I’m home now. Sit down my son and we will begin.”
Maybe life is simply about sitting, walking, doing, being, always vigilant of the inner voice that says "Sit" and the inner voice that says 'Move on"—the dynamic Zen, your trust, your knowing of what is right—as you continue on the path to paradise.
With love as always,
ps. The Grand Invitation has your name on it.
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