Contentment Runs Like a Deep Continuo
“I bow before disappointment's wild grace.” –Miriam Louisa Simons
This book is a crystal forest pool where the water is so clear that amber and purple pebbles glisten up like infant eyes, inviting your bare feet to step in for a cool caress. So you take off your shoes, those dreary hiking boots you’ve been dragging through your journey, laden with the dust of your stories. You wiggle your toes in anticipation. You step in.
And you wince, because the edges of the gems are so jagged with precision, suchness, quiddity. Every nerve in your body wakes up, connected to the sole. Not the spirit soul, but the soul of your foot.
Yet this feral secret crystal spring is not deep in the forest. It is really at the edge of your own backyard, if you have the vigor to journey there, and let the mud settle, and gaze awhile. This book is made not of distant temple bells but back-yard things, linoleum flashes, the unwashed teacup, not the holy grail. I am grateful for Miriam Louisa’s playfulness. The metaphysical esoteric jewels of Dharma most teachers polish and hide on an altar, Miriam Louisa juggles and drops on the floor, lovingly dusting their shards. She is a master at un-mastering the Way, letting us see in ten thousand little disposables of daily drudge, the face of the Bodhisattva...
Come taste the awe-some-ness of life—all of it—the broken and the brilliant. There is no separation between the whole or the fractured vessel, between what we perceive and what we are.
“I bow before disappointment's wild grace.” –Miriam Louisa Simons
This book is a crystal forest pool where the water is so clear that amber and purple pebbles glisten up like infant eyes, inviting your bare feet to step in for a cool caress. So you take off your shoes, those dreary hiking boots you’ve been dragging through your journey, laden with the dust of your stories. You wiggle your toes in anticipation. You step in.
And you wince, because the edges of the gems are so jagged with precision, suchness, quiddity. Every nerve in your body wakes up, connected to the sole. Not the spirit soul, but the soul of your foot.
Yet this feral secret crystal spring is not deep in the forest. It is really at the edge of your own backyard, if you have the vigor to journey there, and let the mud settle, and gaze awhile. This book is made not of distant temple bells but back-yard things, linoleum flashes, the unwashed teacup, not the holy grail. I am grateful for Miriam Louisa’s playfulness. The metaphysical esoteric jewels of Dharma most teachers polish and hide on an altar, Miriam Louisa juggles and drops on the floor, lovingly dusting their shards. She is a master at un-mastering the Way, letting us see in ten thousand little disposables of daily drudge, the face of the Bodhisattva...
Come taste the awe-some-ness of life—all of it—the broken and the brilliant. There is no separation between the whole or the fractured vessel, between what we perceive and what we are.
“I bow before disappointment's wild grace.” –Miriam Louisa Simons
This book is a crystal forest pool where the water is so clear that amber and purple pebbles glisten up like infant eyes, inviting your bare feet to step in for a cool caress. So you take off your shoes, those dreary hiking boots you’ve been dragging through your journey, laden with the dust of your stories. You wiggle your toes in anticipation. You step in.
And you wince, because the edges of the gems are so jagged with precision, suchness, quiddity. Every nerve in your body wakes up, connected to the sole. Not the spirit soul, but the soul of your foot.
Yet this feral secret crystal spring is not deep in the forest. It is really at the edge of your own backyard, if you have the vigor to journey there, and let the mud settle, and gaze awhile. This book is made not of distant temple bells but back-yard things, linoleum flashes, the unwashed teacup, not the holy grail. I am grateful for Miriam Louisa’s playfulness. The metaphysical esoteric jewels of Dharma most teachers polish and hide on an altar, Miriam Louisa juggles and drops on the floor, lovingly dusting their shards. She is a master at un-mastering the Way, letting us see in ten thousand little disposables of daily drudge, the face of the Bodhisattva...
Come taste the awe-some-ness of life—all of it—the broken and the brilliant. There is no separation between the whole or the fractured vessel, between what we perceive and what we are.