The first time I met the Dalai Lama at 23, I had anticipated looking into his eyes and seeing how beautiful he was. But when I looked in his eyes for the first time, and each subsequent time, I was utterly overwhelmed by how beautiful I AM. It literally knocked all the human babbling straight out of my mind and cracked my heart wide open. He offered a clear mirror with my own beauty reflected. I have met with many clear seeing eyes who do this. Children often do it. Nature does this. And occasionally we have loved ones who do it as well. I just spent an amazing week with my beautiful sister, beauty reflecting back and forth, exploding with joy, wonder and heart cracking splendor.
Yes, I know it doesn't look like much. It was only about 5 inches in diameter and 8 feet tall. The root ball was no more than 3 feet deep. But it was a sweet red-bud tree that we planted the year Bodhi was born, his placenta was buried in it's roots and like many of the trees in our neighborhood, it died (see this post to understand why) . I can't say that I mourned its death in a tangible way, rather it produced in me a sort of unnameable melancholy. I am a woman who loves the spring. I nearly live for it. When the first signs of life emerge like a haze of hope, I drink in green with the passion of a desert crawling woman sipping at an oasis. I gorge. This year has been hard. Our neighborhood isn't leafing out in native splendor, instead the tired trees seem to begrudge the effort, only offering a tender shoot or bud occasionally. The north side of many trees appear to have given up all together, too tired after a long winter...
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