Letter to a friend undergoing chemo

From the Lake Michigan side of the state, we dedicate our practice to you this week—every day, every single day,  every hour, even the hours which are quiet, and particularly the hours which are difficult and long, (and did I say, long,) you will be remembered like the sounds of the waves on the shoreline and the language of compassion which is spoken most elegantly in silence will hold and support you and all the good ju-ju over here (and we got some. We’ve been preparing for this), will be gathered and directed to you this week, especially the 3rd and 4th day. I am including the entire sangha on this side of state—all the rabbits that eat my garden in the morning and the ones who return in the evening for seconds, all the woodpeckers that put holes in the cedar siding of my house at heights none of my ladders reach; all the sparrows that live in the holes and spend their days caring for their children; all trees in my yard whose loving arms creatively turn and twist, allowing better positioning toward their source; the insects that find their way to my kitchen, the bees on my Russian Sages, one of favorite new friends: my neighbor’s golden; all the tomato plants and all the worms who have found my almost ripe tomatoes; the water lilies that have taken over—everything; can I include the buckthorn (I would want them on my side! They are most persistent.); can I include the 6 year old who dresses up every day as Batman and keeps our neighborhood safe, peaceful and crime free;  We include the planets in this sangha.  The 4 seasons. The moon will watch over you at night as well as the moon’s friends, the stars.  All offering millions and millions and millions of years of unconditional love and tenderness. If you do not see, hear, feel or know them on the 3rd or 4th day, know they are there in the same way air, not seen, is present and available. Know that all dedicate our practice to you this week.

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