First, sitting in meditation and then during the  Dharma discussion which followed, I was seated between an 82 year old cowboy/logger in the 4th generation of the people who settled this area (after removing by force the Native population), and a young woman who runs an organic vegetable farm/gardening enterprise, she is a Portland transplant several generations younger than the older cowboy. Sixteen people were gathered in this little temple in the northeast corner of Oregon and meditated and then engaged in talk about the teachings of the Buddha and Zen training in  particular. One person, a Catholic nun who dropped by with a friend who attends some of these Sunday events, spoke to the Buddhist teachings by referring to Jesus’ teaching to Mary and Martha in referrence to being more still than busily active. Our Buddhist Master, a female monk, responded to that observation in open agreement as to the values of true teachings that can be seen as True, irrespective of their context, i.e. Buddhist or Catholic.

I was reminded that on the inside of my Small Kesa is a teaching written by RM Jiyu Kennett, the founder of our Order

“That which is True is greater than that which is holy”

So it is.

Part of the discussion had been led off by the mostly retired logger/cowboy about the difficulty of dealing with a lifelong habit of working and doing and not being used to attending to stillness for its own sake, as opposed, perhaps, to the stillness that can come over one in sublime moments in a  natural or “spiritual” setting. Many contributed their views and some natural difficulties encountered in looking at a common experience that is often so deeply personal.

A lovely way to spend a few hours with good hearted/intentioned people willing to come together and be still (deliberately so), and discuss subjects that are at a bit of a remove from the water-cooler or dinner-table but often in our hearts and minds at some level.

Big questions, no answers.

Rumination and searching within the heart with sincere friends; some of them strangers.

What could be better?

A day well spent

Can be a lifetime.

With no achievement

Nothing to show,

But, content.

Because I’m now living on a horse ranch I have a lot to learn.

Here’s what I learned today.

The horses being raised here are Lusitanos. A horse that was bred in Portugal for warfare. Before the advent of full heavy armor a  knights horse had to be able to maneuver in any direction during battle. The bigger slower breeds were developed and replaced the specialty horse like a Lusitano. They are very smart and intuitive and like people and are very inquisitive.

On this ranch there are pastures and paddocks that have horses at different life stages.

In one field there are two old stallions. They get along. One of them has only one eye, he lost it in a fight with another stallion; the other stallion was killed in that fight.

All the fences have electric wires on them. Some of the wires are attached to the boards of the fence if it is wooden, as they are in the paddocks; or they are plastic woven cloth with the wires embedded in them. When a horse touches the wire it really hurts them. They know after about an hour if the electricity is turned off and they begin to be rambunctious around the fencing. They don’t like being held captive.

This ranch is small and set in a valley full of smallish ranches and farms, people have to constantly be in the give and take mode. You may not like some of your neighbors all of the time, but if they need your help, you help them. They’ll act the same way towards you.

Helping, assistance, and looking out for the common good trumps religion, politics and all sorts of  behaviors and life styles. The folks here are more egalitarian than all of my friends in the liberal enclaves of the Bay area. Here, you can’t choose your neighbors or community, they are the same and you have to accommodate each other and act respectful; mostly. Life’s just easier that way, it turns out.

Where there are horses there are flies. Although the cabin I’m in is very well build and has great windows with good screens, there are always flies about. They are good to train with in terms of learning acceptance. Herding flies out the front door and moving screens so they can escape probably takes up more than an hour of my day. I understand why they are called house-flies.

They are like cats, they want to go out desperately, yet often fly right back in.

I chuckled to myself this afternoon when I realized I could be a character in a movie of whom its said, “He wouldn’t hurt a fly”. I want to, but I don’t.

It’s in the little things that the Big Teachings are practiced.

Maybe I can claim to be a fly rancher. If I’m on an airplane and someone asks conversationally what I do, I’ll say I have a small ranch in Oregon and run a herd of couple of hundred head of stock.

I don’t have to say my ranch is a small cabin and I herd flies.

Head em up! Move ’em out!

Sitting in a new place. Watching four white butterflies

Meet join apart rejoin rejoice and seek and find some

Thing in the purple vetch; their circle grows closer as the

Shadows lengthen and here comes the cat I call Pancake.

Country cat in the barn, He drinks from the pond and the

Great stone bowl filled with yesterdays rainwater and comes and

Takes a sip from the square plastic container bottom I set

Out for him and his  Breakfast Named Cats companions. They

Include, Waffle and Flapjack. We are all awaiting the prognosticated

Appearance of White Omelette, the Cat of Quiet Wisdom. Soon

She will be seen. Perhaps heard. In the middle of this is the

Wonder of a Magpie walking on a fence rail, camera ready and important.

Yet, we have war and neighbors and families consumed with distrust & ill will

Because we just can’t stop, look, and listen; for no particular purpose

Other than, to just Stop. Look. & Listen.

Cease.  See.  Hear.  Now.  Do.   It waits. 

Winnemucca, Nevada. Got here at 1:40 this afternoon. Disconcertingly, the exact amount of time Google Maps predicted how long it would take to get here. I left too early got here too early.  Checked into a Casino Hotel that I just picked by price (cheapest), with most Nevada-ish name (Winner’s Inn), from the Expedia site.

Smoky, weird dark Casino. Lots of furtiveness with the few daytime denizens. In fact, the whole place is at 2 percent capacity. I engaged the desk manager in conversation and she’s been at the job for four years, likes it and has made a career for herself.

“When’s the busy season?” I didn’t ask in fear she would say, “We’re having it.”

I worked for several years in Casinos in the mid-seventies, one job quite prestigious and very much a money maker. The manager who hired me, at the end of our conversation where he offered, and I accepted, the job said, “Remember, just don’t steal too much.” This was a major Casino.

I know the downside of this life of hustle very well. Actually there’s no upside, but you can’t tell that to many who are in it, because they are waiting for the big upside to manifest itself. It rarely does, and if it does, it’s a trick; which one finds out, or not.

So, to have this glancing encounter with tiny glimpses of a former existence is quite interesting and ultimately encouraging.

We can, and do, change.

Anyway, the room is very comfortable and large with nice basic amenities. I would recommend it to anyone. The tricky part is the persistent air conditioner, it gets quite a work out in the Nevada Summer. The bug spray aroma in the room is comforting in an oddly reassuring way.

Winnemucca, is a bit of a time machine with lots of old folks, me included, who find  charming that old grubbiness and tawdry hustle of a small Nevada casino. They where the majority of the joints, with just a handful of standout shiny multi-story palaces in operation for most of the gambling saga of Nevada.

Ahh, the good old days, when a guy kindly advises you to not steal too much. Because if you got too greedy then everybody else who was stealing has to take a little less so the whole edifice can remain intact. Not being greedy was the way to look out for your co-workers.

Just good business rules.

Back then they didn’t have MBA’s they just said it like it was.

Morning at nearby temple,

Two towns over, by

Hurricane Creek;

Quiet today though, Creek, me,

Birds, soft wind soughing, sighing,

All most silent, and quiet; and

Yet, there is some thing moving.

It leaves a trace of Its passage

In the ear and the heart. Here,

A small voice. Well come.