by Lask Grey Kindred
I live at the top of a mountain where springs appear when it rains. Water gathers in the cracks of the stone, and begins a trickle downward into a creek. The creek in turn feeds into a river, and the same water makes its way over many miles to the sea. A river is born as individual raindrops in quiet high places, but the nature of the river’s life is to move outward, onward, and downward. In moving, it nourishes every inch it travels. In giving itself away and perpetually leaving familiar ground, the river becomes itself.
The same could be said of practice. A meditation cushion is not a stagnant pool– it is a spring. What begins to rain from the heart of samadhi is not meant to be contained forever within the walls of a zendo. The dharma seeks channels, the peaceful paths of least resistance within the rough environment through which it travels, always finding ways of flowing onward. Expressing the dharma outwardly does not mean abandoning the sense of quietness we find in the zendo; it means allowing our peace to take shape in the world, to find its course in natural action, patiently wearing through or flowing around obstacles it encounters. Even small streams change landscapes over time.
The river does not question where it should go– it simply descends upon the world around it. It always moves wherever it can. It finds the path in the act of traveling along it, and even the slowest or most dammed up river is ultimately relentless; it will never not arrive at the sea.
Sometimes, we mistake restraint for virtue, or think nothing will come of sharing our insights and experience with others. But water that never flows from its source or never develops a current soon becomes stagnant and its clarity dims. In contrast, a river sustains life precisely because it moves and gathers as it goes, and its abundance is not lost by sharing – it multiplies, and whole ecosystems arise wherever the river passes. A river does not care whether the valleys are ready, or whether the fields are deserving, and it does not distinguish at all between orchards or weeds – everything it touches is left with the river’s influence, like the dharma at work.
Land doesn’t automatically flourish just because it rains sometimes or because there’s water far underground– some land only survives because the river reaches it. So many people in our communities are starving for the compassionate perspective and skillful means this practice can provide. For the bodhisattva, a simple gesture of generosity, a thoughtful word, or an action rooted in mindfulness may be the spiritual nourishment that is needed in the places you travel. Let the dharma spring freely, let it move you, and you’ll find the path as you go.
