Holy Leisure

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Abstract

y leisure.” There will be no formal teachings or sittings. Part of me feels nervous to be in charge of the day. I wonder about the term “Holy Leisure.” It pings something deep inside, a stirring. I wander outside with my journal and sit quietly in the grass. As I sit bearing no agenda, I begin to feel inside something akin to this holy leisure. I am relaxed. I am simply sitting, simply looking. Then words pour out from my heart, such is the wonder I feel.I write:Sitting in reverence I see the monastery offers up Life, itself, as the cathedral.I bow in humble submission, bending knee, a

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wed by the grandeur, the immense abundance and profound stillness everywhere.I am overcome with gratitude and appreciation.Life’s arms envelope me in warmth, so that my small self lets down its ever present guard. Those arms of gratitude make me feel safe and loved.Presence steps in and the heart cries:THIS is what I want . . . delight irreverently escapes the last boundaryThere is no “I” only wonder, innocence, play.Down the path I commune for thirty minutes with a butterfly who licks and kisses me all over.</article></body>

Written on silent retreat at the Zen Monastery Peace Center

It is solo day on the retreat — a day described as set aside for “holy leisure.” There will be no formal teachings or sittings. Part of me feels nervous to be in charge of the day. I wonder about the term “Holy Leisure.” It pings something deep inside, a stirring. I wander outside with my journal and sit quietly in the grass. As I sit bearing no agenda, I begin to feel inside something akin to this holy leisure. I am relaxed. I am simply sitting, simply looking. Then words pour out from my heart, such is the wonder I feel.

I write:

Sitting in reverence I see the monastery offers up Life, itself, as the cathedral.

I bow in humble submission, bending knee, awed by the grandeur, the immense abundance and profound stillness everywhere.

I am overcome with gratitude and appreciation.

Life’s arms envelope me in warmth, so that my small self lets down its ever present guard. Those arms of gratitude make me feel safe and loved.

Presence steps in and the heart cries:

THIS is what I want . . . delight irreverently escapes the last boundary

There is no “I” only wonder, innocence, play.

Down the path I commune for thirty minutes with a butterfly who licks and kisses me all over.