Meeting on the path:
But I cannot clearly know
If it was he,
Because the midnight moon
In a cloud had disappeared
~ Lady Murasaki Shikibu

Image and tanka submitted response to the lens-artists challenge (Travels and Trifles): path
Meeting on the path:
But I cannot clearly know
If it was he,
Because the midnight moon
In a cloud had disappeared
~ Lady Murasaki Shikibu

Image and tanka submitted response to the lens-artists challenge (Travels and Trifles): path

Reflections from a Bridge Nikon D750 f/4.2 1/400s 45m 100 ISO
I’m in a forest of tall pine trees. Smooth river rocks and trimmed elephant grass edge a pathway covered with dark red, black, and gray colored gravel stones. The pine trees release their scent as they sway with the breeze. The singsong of birds fills the air as they flitter from one branch to another. Before me I see a clearing illuminated by the rays of the morning sun. As I step into the clearing, I feel warmth of the sun’s touch and see a house centered within a fallowed field and question, “is this home?”
As I make my way through the fallow field, I find three ancient keys lying within a dust-filled furrow. Silver is the first key. A knowing tells me it opens a door to a space of tranquil abiding. Gold is the second key. It gives admission to a room of healing serenity. Diamonds make up the third key. It unlocks a keepsake of my remembrances.
The awakened groan of the wood planks welcome me as I step onto the weathered porch that surrounds the house. I find that the silver key fits the lock of an entryway door. Before I open the door and step over the threshold, I feel compelled to turn around and, with non-judgmental awareness, attend to and then put aside all that I see within and beyond the wheat field.
…
I step over the threshold and feel an inviting atmosphere of affectionate acceptance that encourages me to wander unencumbered throughout the interior of the house.
…
I find myself at the bottom of a stairway which I ascend. On the second floor I enter a room lightened by the light of the midday sun entering a picture window painted by the landscape that extends to where the blue ridge of the sky touches the earth’s multi-green jagged horizon. Opposite to the window is a ceiling-to-floor bookcase lined with books, aged and worn. The warmth within this room embraces me with stillness, silence, and clarity. My eyes light upon a small trunk and I know that it is for me. As I pick up the trunk I find that it is light and fits with ease into the cradle of my arm.
…
I leave this room and again walk about the house. I find that the gold key opens a door to a central room of calm solitude. Stepping into this room I sense the presence of a compassionate being who introduces herself as Sophia, the aged guardian of the innermost things, “my heart hears the wordless tears and fears within your heart and feels the quiver of your heart-filled joys. You have entered the hearth of your home, an ancient site of healing.”
…
I sit comfortably on the floor and open the trunk with the third key. As I explore the contents, I understand that they are mementos of my life’s journey. My consciousness, mind, and body move in unison with the moment of my breath’s spirit as I hold one keepsake after another. I acknowledge the memories, images, feelings that each memento evokes with the reminder that I am in a space of healing serenity and that I am not alone.
I feel a slight tugging within my heart as dark memories hidden within darker shadows accept the invitation to ride upon the in-breath of the compassionate guardian. With their departure, my body releases long-held tears. With my in-breath, I hear her whisper, “This is a time of healing transformation”, and I feel a wondrous golden energy spread throughout my body.
…
A calling beckons me from beyond this house that feels like home. I hear permission to leave with a chosen remembrance or to place whatever arose back in the trunk. I step over the threshold; I feel an invitation to return whenever I wish.

Is this Home? f/4.3 1/400 45m 100 ISO
Excerpts from B Koeford, A Meditative Journey with Saldage

A light switch… Sony RX 100 III f/2.8 1/50 25.7m 800 ISO
This week Jenn (Traveling at Wits End) invites photographers to “stop and take a look at what you’re missing” and photograph something that we “pass by, but may think is too boring or average.)

Seeing begins with respect, but wonder is the fuel which sustains vision.~Steven J Meyers
I believe we all intimately know of that moment…the moment, an early morning moment, that occurs just as we lift a window frame. That fleeting moment as morning awakens us…before the mind discriminates, defines, labels, associates, and tucks away into memory…the moment of awareness to, awakening to the touching, the greeting..our vulnerability to morning’s sensual presence…That’s magic, the “things in themselves.”
our eye consciousness and ear consciousness can touch the world of suchness without distorting it. With mind consciousness, we tend to distort…
Thich Nhat Hanh (Understanding the Mind) writes that there are three fields of perception: perception of things-in-themselves, as presentation, and as mere images, and that the way we perceive reality has everything to do with our happiness and suffering.
The perception of things-in-themselves is when we are perceiving directly without distortion or delusions. This is the only one of the three modes of perception that is direct. This way of perceiving is in the stream of…suchness; that is, “reality as it is.” … Everything—a leaf, a pebble, you, me—comes from suchness. Suchness is the ground of our being, just as water is the ground of being of a wave.
Are we capable of touching reality-in-itself? … A flower can be the manifestation of the world of suchness, if we perceive it directly. It all depends on our mode of perception whether we touch the suchness of a flower or only an image of it that our minds have created. Our perceptions rarely reach the mode of things-in-themselves, however. We usually perceive things in the other two modes, as representations or mere images.
The first five consciousness-the sense consciousness of eye, ear, nose, tongue, and body—are capable of touching the realm of things-in-themselves, especially when they contact their objects of perception without the participation and intervention of mind consciousness. When mind consciousness gets involved, however, there will always be some thinking and imagination, and the image brought to it by one of the sense consciousnesses will become distorted.
We are capable of reaching the field of things-in-themselves, the world of suchness, but because we think and discriminate we don’t usually perceive things as they truly are. The nature of our mind is obstructed. This means that we build a world full of illusions for ourselves because of the distorted way we perceive reality. Meditation is to look deeply in order to arrive at reality—first the reality of ourselves and then the reality of the world. To get to that reality, we have to let go of the images we create in our consciousness… Our practice is to correct this tendency to discriminate and think dualistically, so that reality will have a chance to reveal itself. (pp 65-71)
Miksang, a Tibetan word, has been translated to ‘Good Eye.’ Miksang photographers write that when we see with/through a Good Eye we see the world as it is for the first time. This is because this way of seeing is absent of memory and association. The world is manifesting to us, as it is out of nowhere.
Julie DuBose wrote (Shambhala Times, April 7, 2017, “What is Miksang Really?”) that the basis of Miksang photography
…is the open space of availability in our minds. When our mind and eye connect directly with a visual perception, it is like a flash of lightening arising from this empty open space. Without the voltage, the electric presence of the flash of contact inherent in the image, it is flat and lifeless, somebody’s idea. This is the juice of direct perception. If we can maintain our connection to this raw energy of perception through to our expression of the perception with our camera, then it will be completely expressed in our image.
There is no halfway, half a flash of perception. The perception and the resulting image either does, or does not, have the living, raw experience of that moment of voltage embedded in it. There is no in between. This is the joy of “fresh” seeing.
A. Karr and M. Wood (The Practice of Contemplative Photography) notes that contemplative photography begins with “the flash of perception.”
In the flash of perception…there is a space for things to come to you. Experience is definite, because there is no doubt about what you are seeing… Whatever it is, it is here, and there is no doubt involved, no shakiness. The nature of perception is sharp, with a brilliant, clear quality. The flash of perception is a moment of seeing that is one-pointed, stable, and free from distraction. Experience is not diffused or scattered or moving. It is direct and in focus. It is stable because it is not tossed about by winds of thought or emotion. There is a stillness and roundedness as awareness remains with perception.
W. Rowe (Zen and the Magic of Photography) introduces the reader to Roland Barthes’ description of the essence of photography, the “punctum”,a small, distinct point.
The punctum, “will break (or punctuate) the studium*…photographs that are “in effect punctuated, sometimes even speckled with these sensitive points; precisely, these marks, these wounds, are so many points.” Punctual rises out of the scene, seeks out the viewer, disturbs the studio, wounds, cuts, pricks, and stings the viewer…also has the power to provide sudden enlightenment… a tiny shock, is usually found in the detail bringing “certain photographs very close to haiku.”
Only the moon
and I, on our meeting-bridge
alone, growing cold ~Teiga (S. Hill, The Sound of Water)

Torsten Andreas Hoffmann (Photography as Meditation: Tap into the Source of Your Creativity) indicated that within:
the context of photography and shooting images, the photographer must be at the right place, with the right lens and the right aperture, at exactly the right moment to capture the picture. Successful images, however, are not guaranteed based solely on having the correct posture and intent. However, by letting go of intent, the stillness of the mind can take over and you can attain oneness with your surroundings. Barthes refers to this concept using the term “satori,” which describes the highest state of enlightenment and comprehension in Zen. I prefer to use the term “Samadhi,” which indicates a state of utmost vigilance and attention. Photographs taken while in this state may achieve the quality of puncture.
As I was pondering my understanding of “the flash of perspective”, as an experience of a shock that is like being awakened from sleep by a loud noise and Barthes’ punctual that “disturbs, wounds, cuts, picks, and stings the viewer to an haiku moment, images of Buddhist masters who drop a book or strike with a stick as a means of wakening wandered into my thoughts. As a therapist, I came to understand that there is an immediate response to “shock” that may be expressed as denial, laughter, tears, shaking, screaming, or tears that occurs as a way for the body/mind to re-establish a state of equilibrium. Also, my own personal life experiences have taught me that expected moments of “shock” (as opposed to those horrid moments that come out of the blue) are more likely to be responded to with a more grounded and contemplative state of being.
“Wounds, cuts, shocks, picks, stings…are not these words of violence incongruent to a contemplative state? With all this said, I find myself wondering if these “shock” elements identified by contemplative photographers may have, even the smallest tendency, to blur and distract me from those now moments of “things in themselves.” If so, then how could I open myself to being a photographer who receives and shares the gift that awaits my awareness? To lessen the tendency to shift away from an “awakening?” What are they ways to cultivate an attitude of receptivity, an openness to what might be given to me? To engage in a photo walk that is more like meditation or a spiritual discipline than a search or a hunt?

I have come to a place of consideration that one small way in which to become acquainted with underlying attitudes and be in a more graceful receptive place to receive “things in themselves” is to begin to become aware of the words/attitudes that have the potential to define the process by which I photograph.
I ask myself will I be more able to see with respect, as noted by Steven J Meyers, if I intentionally silence the words “shoot,” “capture,” “frame,” “take,” “exposed,” “cover,” “take the shot,” in order to open myself to “receive,” “connect with,” “create,” “be present with,” “wonder,” “surprise,” “reveal.”
And then, will I be more able to open myself to the expression of a temporary enlightenment, in which I see into the life of things.”
*studium…
the intention of the photographer…the elements of an image rather than the sum of the image’s information and meaning. …the elements of the punctum penetrate the studium—they have the ability to move the viewer in a deep and emotional way.

They did not die in the hurricane.
They died in pain, at home, of kidney failure unable to access the dialysis clinic for weeks.
They died, gasping for hours near the end, when the oxygen tank they needed to breathe gave out.
They died in the dark and the heat of unsanitary ICU units, of burns or gunshot wounds received before the hurricane that they almost certainly would have survived otherwise.
They died, burning up with fever, of leptospirosis from being in touch with flood waters during the effort to save their neighbors.
They died in fear and confusion after being forced to go off their regular medication.
They died of heat stroke.
They died of diseases of antiquity, in a crisis is of neglect unworthy the greatest, wealthiest and most powerful nation in human history.
They died. But we lived. And we remember. ~ Eleazar David Melendez
In this world, time is like a flow of water, occasionally displaced by a bit of debris, a passing breeze. Now and then, some cosmic disturbance will cause a rivulet of time to turn away from the mainstream, to make connection back stream. When this happens, birds, soil, people caught in the branching tributary find themselves suddenly carried to the past. ~A Lightman, Einstein’s Dreams
Reality in itself is a stream of life, always moving. ~Thich Nhat Hanh, The Sun My Heart
Cartier-Bresson’s photograph of children playing in the rubble of war…may become a metaphor or symbol of hope. The image over my desk of a grieving mother and child after an earthquake in Armenia, made by my photographer friend Mark Beach, symbolized for me the sorrow and tragedy that is part of life. An image I once made of the source of the mighty Susquehanna River–a spring flowing into a bathtub in a field that serves as a water tank for cows, then spilling over to begin a stream–reminds me that the restorative juice “river,” with which I am associated, has many small sources. ~H Zehr, The Little Book of Contemplative Photography
It is my deepest hope that you consider how children have been given the message that they need to speak with a trusted adult whenever they have been inappropriately touched by another or impacted by other classifications of child abuse. In fact, our powerlessness as adults to ensure the safety of our children have put the responsibility for address squarely on the shoulders of the victim…the powerless.
As a retired therapist, I find myself recalling how victims of domestic violence and sexual assault would speak, with tears in their eyes, of the need to remain silent as a way of protecting their families. It is incongruent…an injured soul seeking to protect another’s soul.
And, as evident today, when a victim does speak, she faces such scrutiny that serves to message to those who remain silent that to speak is to add to the negation that already tears into their being. Shamed by the initial act and then shamed again through outsiders with their own agenda.
Look to your children…imagine them being silent to protect you. Listen to your public words…imagine them being said to your children, the young ones who will suffer in silence to shield you from harm.

Sony RX100 III f/5.6 1/250s 8.8m 800 ISO
Jen at Traveling at wits end invites photographers who love window images to open themselves to moments of windows within windows. This moment was accompanied by a silent voice, “ah…here I am windowS within a window as well as windows within a reflection!”


Sony RX100 III f/8 1/400s 25.7m 800 ISO
One autumn day while walking in a park, I became absorbed in the contemplation of a very small and beautiful leaf in the shape of a heart. It was turning red and barely hanging on to the branch, about to fall. I spent a long time with this leaf …. Usually we think of the tree as the mother and the leaves as its children. But contemplating the leaf, I could see that the leaf was also a mother to the tree. The sap that the tree’s roots take up, called xylem sap, is only water, amino acids, and minerals, not rich enough to nourish the tree. So the tree distributes that sap to the leaves, which, with the help of the sun and carbon dioxide, transform it into phloem sap, rich in sugars, which the leaves send back to nourish the tree. So the leaves are also a mother to the tree. …
“We are like that leaf. When we were in our mother’s womb, we were also linked to her by a stem, an umbilical cord. All our nourishment came through the umbilical cord. Our mother breathed for us, ate for us, drank for us, did everything for us. Then one day that cord was cut, and we started to think of our mother and ourself as two different entities. In fact, our mother continued to nourish us like before. Our parents are present in every cell of our body. We continue to receive nourishment from our mother, as well as the suffering and the troubles of our mother, which continue to influence us, as they did when we were in the womb. That cord is still there, not just until we turn eighteen, but for our whole life.
”When we can see the umbilical cord, we can start to see the countless umbilical cords that link us to life all around us. There is an umbilical cord that exists between us and the river…. So the river is also a mother and there is an invisible umbilical cord between us. … There is another umbilical cord betweens and the clouds, between us and the forests, and another between us and the sun. The sun is like a parent to us. Without our link we to the sun we could not live, and neither could anything else. We are nourished and sustained by countless parents….
Excerpt From
The Other Shore
Thích Nhất Hạnh

a metaphysical search…Nikon D750 f/7.1 1/25s 135m 100 ISO
I awaken to the mourning dove’s appeal for the sound of another, and find the passing dream state, like many before, was spent wandering through a petrified forest unlike any created by the ancient uniting of Gaea, Mother Earth, and Uranus, Father Heaven. It was filled with a longing, a seeking; it was a series of moments of futile endeavors.
As I walked upon moonlit pathways, edged by shadows of hidden yesterdays as well as shrouded by entangled memories, I encountered afterimages, echoes, phantoms, fragmented sequels, refrains, and vague specters. Now and then, it felt as though I had stepped on a “mind-trap” and suddenly became entangled inside an invisible emotional net that swirled me around and around from one apparition to another. Each apparition messaged that I have gone around and around in discursive circles once, twice, a thousand times throughout my lifetime of nights. I say to myself, “I’ve been here before. I’ve re-imaged, revisited, and reviewed past dreams as if I were an author rewriting a long ago discarded novel about an outcast.” Within this uncertainty a voice urges compassionate reflection.
Within stilled and silent reflection is an awareness of the emergence of a cluster of physical sensations from my stream of experiential consciousness. Together with the awareness of this particular cluster of physical sensations is the identification of a feeling I have labeled as “homesickness for a place, person, or time” and the creation of a story about an “I” who is an outcast.
TWO TRUTHS
From this point, I ask of myself, “What are the defining characteristics of a person who is an outcast?” I question if I have had these characteristics since the moment of my conception. I then discern if my relationship with all living beings, from my spouse to the robin outside my house, is limited to and defined by these characteristics. In other words, have I always been an outcast, and does every living being relate to me as an outcast?
I come to the conclusion that the answer to both of these questions is no. I now hear an encouragement to release the story line that arises from a false identification with “I am an outcast.” In conjunction with the release of this story line is the subsequent letting go of the construct of an unknown person, place, or time. Within the emptiness that accompanies this release arises a consciousness of feeling – sadness intertwined with loneliness. To find that to simply acknowledge this particular cluster of physical sensations with “sadness and loneliness is arising” and to resist the urge to identify with these feelings releases me from the wellspring of suffering within the label of “outcast.”
I am now free to concentrate on that discernment of myself as being freed from this metaphysical search, and to focus on this inferential understanding and to concentrate on discerning the impermanence of sadness and loneliness. This is the discriminating awareness that arises from meditating.
Thus you must train yourself: “In the seen there will just be the seen; in the heard, just the heard; in the reflected, just the reflected; in the cognized, just the cognized.” . . . when in the seen there will be to you just the seen; . . . just the heard; . . . just the reflected; . . . just the cognized, then . . . you will not identify yourself with it, you will not locate yourself therein. When you do not locate yourself therein, it follows . . . this will be the end of suffering. ~ The Buddha
Excerpts from B Koeford, A Meditative Journey with Saldage
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