Uji

Not long ago, I determined to make a pilgrimage. I stood at my back door, and took a deep breath...

San Francisco emerges from the fog

I'd had a lot of visions-- ideals, really-- that I decided needed proper testing, through direct experience. Imagine how shocking it was to discover that those visions, my experiences, and my place within the experiences wouldn't always match up.

View of Taos from Tres Orejas, NM

So for a time, I sequestered myself away from the disappointment of humanity, and allowed myself to be swallowed up by the utter, magnificent beauty of our larger reality. This was a pilgrimage to vastness itself, and at long last, I found the limitless quality of my own bones.

Aicpaec, the Decapitator. Moche culture, Temple of the Moon, Trujillo, Peru.
Not my own picture, but you can find it here, along with relevant history and travel info.

Then along came Manjushri. "I will cut off your head," she said. I bowed down, from desert to rainforest, in a pilgrimage of allowances.

But it was a sojourn to disappointment, because (of course) having our head cut off is never what we think having our head cut off is.

Kiva group, Chaco Culture National Historical Park, NM

Away I wandered once more into the ocean of sand and stone, armed with more questions, more frustrations. I entered a hole in the ground, climbed down a long ladder, and I waited. Soon thereafter a teacher appeared, as they are wont to do at the moment you need them most. He was kind and old, and his feathers, reassuring.

"You must pay tribute to your ancestors," he said. "You must find them." And so I did. And I was glad to know I came from somewhere.

Redwood forest, Northern California

From somewhere then, I meandered somewhere else, craning my neck as far as it would allow, finally finding the ancestry of time itself.

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, MA

But time runs out, as even poets know; and back 'round to center was I, in a turbulent re-entry to everyday pain. How did it ever get like this? "It is as it ever was," said the poets.

At my back door once more then, and a quiet exhalation of determination. I grasp the jamb, steady my feet, and gaze forward. The clearing winds, the turning year; all in alignment: This is a pilgrimage to now.