Recently, I have begun to appreciate air again, like a fluid, filling the lake beds of empty rooms, valleys, unused spaces… Sitting still, you can feel the air surrounding you, feel its weight, the lovely column of clear presence all the way from the thermosphere down, to wrap softly around limbs, press the skin of the face softly against the bone beneath, carry the song of that sleepy robin across the hollow depth of the garden to the open window of this room.

When I began meditating in earnest, I entered through the path of Zen. In this tradition, enlightenment is often described as our natural mind, and it’s said that the very act of meditation is already enlightenment. Yet, in Zen the practice is still essential. As Suzuki Roshi said, “enlightenment is an accident. Practice makes us accident prone.” We can’t demand enlightenment, but we can show up and do the practices…

Zen master Dogen said, “enlightenment is intimacy with all things.” This means the barriers of separation between self and other dissolve into a deep sense of interconnection with all of life. When I experience this awakening, I find an indescribable sense of peace and ease, yet also profound compassion for all who are suffering in the world and motivation to be of service.

Lisa Ernst, Lion’s Roar Magazine

Simply to turn up and sit seems to be all that is required. Nothing else is: not concepts, nor understanding, nor doctrine. Just sit still; it is already done.

Silence is the air knowing itself; the bright transparent place it has, that holds us all. Silence is alive with sound, with the singing waves of air; it heals the heart, stills the frantic thinking thing that will not rest. If it comes by accident, then its deliberate loveliness has always been there, only waiting to be found again. Holy, holy, the plain fact of it: that it is. That it is all that is, holds all that is; still, and bright, and true.