The Zendo of Clare

 I agonized over what to title this writing. I labored over it for days. Titles are so important. I longed to give proper credit where credit is due.

I could easily have called it:

"The Zen of the Road Within Us." 

Or 

"Traveling Altars"

Or 

"Breadcrumbs on the Water."

Sometimes The Muse is mighty.  She comes like a living force and speaks to me in downloads of fully formed concepts and deep understanding. At other times, she leaves me breadcrumbs on the water. In bite sized morsels. Leaving me half starving for a taste of the Truth she comes to offer. She teases me. Showing me images like a kaleidescope. Colors so brilliant, that just one strand could offer you the fullness of a much longed for meal. If only I could find the words.

This whole journey started at the feet of the Nuns of Saint Ursula of Saint Clare. It was from the Ursuline Nuns of the small Catholic elementary school of Saint Clare, that I would receive the foundation for all further education.

The Nuns taught me how to read and write. When to Kneel. How not to behave. What to Pray and Who to Pray to for intercession. 

In spite of themselves, they also taught me how to See beyond the Veil. 

The Nuns were my first stained glass windows.

I longed for their Mystery. The folds of their Robes, the Beads of their quieting, quickening Breath drew me in to my own inner sanctum. I learned early, however, not to speak of such things out loud. As Eliot once said, " Human beings can not bear too much Reality".

In Zen Buddhism, a Zendo is a spiritual dojo where meditation is practiced. 

The hallways of Saint Clare, in pursuit of the Mystery of the Order of Saint Ursula, became my first Zendo. The Altar on which I would offer and lay my self down.

The Nuns of that time taught me how to prepare for the eventual arrival of the everlasting Later. They taught me how to ready myself for that great future date of "His Coming", or "my going." Yet in spite of themselves once again, they would teach me to unwrap the Present. And ready myself in the Now. The pathway they set out before me would lead me to all future roads I would travel.

As I write these words, there are Sanghas gathering to honor the passing of the  Holy Master of Vietnam, Thich Nhat Hanh. The Monk among us. The folds of his Robes resplendent in the Mystery. He teaches mindfulness and the Art of " Saying proper Grace".  It is only because of the Nuns of Saint Clare that I can read the words of the Buddhist Saint. They are the lineage of the Altars within me. They formed the first of my silent longings. They taught the knees of my heart to bow and bend in prayer. Saying proper Grace, the way the Buddha before me has taught, would not be possible without an Ode to Clare.

I could easily have called this writing:

"The Altars of Each Other's Eyes"

Or 

"The Monks among Us".

Or 

"The Zen of Amen".

But I leave you with my thanks for every breadcrumb and every wave and every dancing particle of Light that shows up on these pathways before us. And through Us. And As Us.

I thank you here and now, Saint Clare. I never truly knew you till this moment. As you rise up inside me. As Anchor. Foundation. And Flame for the Altar Within. 

As fuel for The Muse. 

If only I'd find the right words.





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