The World Weaves

 The World Weaves
©1/09/2026 Karla Johnston

I drive down Tahoe mountains,
into the valley of Nevada,
fully aware that with each mile, my heart closes.
His last offense was sexual assault.
My instinct is high alert.  

Security checkpoints completed,
His mother and I walk down an outside corridor
lined with snow-capped mountains
and blue sky against rolling barbed wire.

A Deaf man is with his lawyer, waiting.
When I appear, there are no formalities,
his hands cut right to the chase,
as I voice—his desperate request—
to remain in custody.

“It’s the meth. I don’t know what happens.
When I get out I can hold it together for about a week
and then, it consumes me!”

Dark eyes fill, and he swipes away tears between sentences,
eventually placing both palms entirely over his eyes
to stop the flow.
I experience communication cut-off,
how hard it is to stay,
a yearning for freedom
beyond prison walls.

Lawyer is wide-eyed and looks at me.
My eyes are locked on his client’s hands, waiting…

 “So, I have to be here. I asked to be here.”
My voice cracks with emotion.
 
A plan is discussed: to request treatment in his native language—
American Sign Language—at a rehab in Southern Nevada.
We’re hoping the State will pay.

I’m escorted to one side of a large hall to sit with his mother,
he sits at the far side and begins signing to her.
I speak his words into the mother’s ear
while looking over at the guard,
who smiles at me,
so I continue.

The doors to my heart open, open, open.
One hour with him and his mother is all it takes.
She is the living Rock of Gibraltar,
“God as your fortress,” type pep talk.
The woman is serious, with a voice like honey.
His eyes finally stop flowing.  

Eventually, man’s name is called.
The three of us get up,
converge at the meeting room door.
We enter and sit before the Board of Parole.
They express perplexity at his request
to be placed in custody.

They ask what he wants.
Again, the desperate plea.
Perhaps it’s the mother’s wringing hands,
sniffling  sounds from the Board,
or lack of dry eye in the place—
after a recess to compose ourselves,
a detained extension is granted.
Precious time to get into the Southern Nevada facility.

When I get out to my car, I’m exhausted,
What about the victim? I think.
Did we abandon her?

Before turning the key in the engine,
I sit for a moment,
and look at the mountains,
find the half-moon, low in the sky.
I realize I ran the gamut of emotions:
guarding my heart,  
then, jumping both feet in,
before coming to stabilize.
And, over the next few days,
I ran the gamut again.

Well over half of all people in custody
meet the criteria for substance abuse.
Where has society gone wrong?  

Victims’ burdens,
States’ burdens,
families’ burdens,
prisoners’ burdens,
my burden,
now—your burden.

The world weaves these sorrows
through you and me.
If we really look, if we really see—
what do we extend?
Hardness of heart,
Over-riding fear,  
Wise compassion,
Stability?

Seating Arrangements

Seating Arrangements
©2025 Karla Johnston, Innerconstellation.blogspot.com

Sitting at a restaurant table, looking out at Tahoe sunset
through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
Colors pink, tangerine against a darkening sky.
Friends show phone pictures of a recent trip to Egypt,
sitting on camels, waving merrily,
speak of Labubu dolls,
and finding them cheap in Japan.
While outside directly behind them,
on the other side of the glass,
a man pulls up on his bicycle,
a makeshift rikshaw,
and walks to the window.
He’s disheveled, in need of a shower.
We lock eyes.
I smile a soft greeting,
he waves, then begins picking through the trash can
positioned against the restaurant wall.
There’s a cage-like contraption over the top
with a small open hole,
making it difficult to pull out the cans and other goodies he collects.
Man doesn’t stay long.
Friends are unaware, their backs turned.
My husband sees, I feel him beside me, an equal softness.

I’m pulled in the direction of True North,
in the direction of compassion for our equally empty lives,
spinning in many directions, trying to survive—not empty like meaningless,
but empty like full of everything there is to experience
in this one life.
Empty: not sad, not happy, not lucky, or down and out—simply precious.

My heart full,
I turn to my friends,
take my husband's hand,
and smile. 

Anxiety Melts

Today was a memorable day. After nearly 2 years of study, my cohort and I were officially installed into the Zen Peacemakers Order (ZPO). What does this mean? Daily dedicated actions that bring peace to ourselves and those around us. This is done in community. 

When the ceremony finished, I decided to dodge the raindrops and drive over to the Presbyterian Church where they do a weekly community feed. I was greeted with warm hugs, exclamations of love, smiles, and a steaming bowl of vegetable soup. Connection, brightness, peace. 

I saw a young woman I hadn't seen in months, and I pulled up a chair to join her. We caught up on singing, her love of music, along with her newest development--using AI to create images that catered to her off-beat, insatiable artistic bent with no judgment, fully embracing all her possibilities. We giggled and interspersed our conversation with riotous AI created pictures. Connection, brightness, peace.  

Connection ~ Brightness ~ Peace

After an hour of catching up and AI silliness, she said, "It's funny...I can be wracked by anxiety, literally unable to sit still, yet when I come here, it melts. A community of loving presence does that some how. 

May we search and find the places deemed unfindable, incurable, misunderstood, and hopeless. May all being be embraced, cherished, and feel worthy of goodness. 

 

 

As the Leaf, So am I

I'm sitting at my writing table window, watching the wind whip clean the Pine branches. Dead, brown pine straw lets go of the trees and flutters to the ground. Everywhere, three-pronged offerings spin down and are received by the earth without any fuss. It's Autumn, after all, it's the cycle of change. I don't always feel the season sloughing off with ease. Many years I have held onto summer as long as possible, but this Autumn, I'm genuinely experiencing letting go. 

Friday, I was invited to participate in feeding our local marginalized community. I showed up at the gathering hall, hoping to sit with people, eat dinner, listen, and get to know folks. The serving team supported my goal one hundred percent, yet something inside kept me busily at a distance. I arrived early and fell into the role of dutifully helping here and helping there. I noticed when I was "serving," taking the plate to a guest, offering water, and asking what was needed, I felt comfortable, friendly, and genuinely connected. Serving was my comfort zone. 

Twice I sat down and engaged with people and was entirely rewarded, not by what I gave but by what I received. Eventually, I met two Jamaican men and asked what brought them to Tahoe. One of the men gently smiled, explaining that the Jamaican dollar had devalued over the years to the point that it was barely worth anything ($100 Jamaican dollars are worth 63 US cents). Socialist Democracy had taken over his country. I knew none of this and listened with rapt attention as he explained his plan to work in the USA and get his life back. He said in a lilting voice, "I'm a man of peace, I don't do violence. Someone told me to come to Lake Tahoe, CA, so here I am. It's beautiful and the people are so nice." He oozed warm-hearted gratitude. 

The other person I sat with was a bedraggled, wild-eyed man who I had met years ago at the Mental Health Department. He bombastically strolled in, sat down, shoveled in his food, and then dramatically pushed his finished plates across the table for the approaching server to gather. He was told to settle down. Genuinely wishing to reconnect, I sat down with this man and another older fellow who quietly sat beside him. He watched all the commotion and didn't move away as the others at his table had. Before I could wonder what to say, I was asked rocket-fire questions: Do you live in Tahoe? How long? How old are you? Do you have children? When did you graduate? Then...introductions followed. The carbonated atmosphere calmed as we told stories and shared desserts. 

At night's end, after cleaning up, the friend who invited me asked if I got what I wanted from the evening. Yes, I answered, and then shared my strong pull towards serving and productivity, not wanting to appear as being a slacker by the team and...the great joy of finally making deeper connections. My friend reiterated her support to just sit, eat, and be with the guests. The team members close by nodded in agreement, "It's what they need most." 

It's what I need most. Is service a shield I wear, or perhaps a cape I tie on before I fly in to save the day? What might happen if I simply show up and let the winds blow me here, blow me there? I know I am ultimately supported 100%, by my practice, by the ground of who I am--the ancestors, my good heart, love, compassion--those things AT MY SERVICE that are inexhaustible. 

May our letting go of the season be gentle, full, and thorough. May we not fight change but trust where it's leading us. Letting go, may we meet our neighbors with nothing to fix and everything to learn.

  

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

…find out what it means to me….

An opportunity to pilot a street chaplaincy program in my hometown has arisen. I recently visited with someone I consider an expert in the arena of street living—a loved one who struggles with homelessness and substance abuse. I asked him, “What’s your advice for me?” This is what he said:

RESPECT — no matter where someone is on their journey, they deserve respect. When I’ve been at my lowest— dirty, garbage bags full of belongings, I’m looked at differently. When I go to Franklin and Marshall College campus, carrying my backpack, in context, I’m treated like everyone else. I’m not bothered, I’m left alone. Yet, when I’m at my worst, someone who smiled at me the day before looks at me differently. When someone is at their lowest, isn’t this when they need respect the most?

BE CAREFUL – if someone doesn’t want to talk, leave them alone. People are capable of doing anything when they’re desperate. Don’t push it, give people space. You never know the full extent of what a person is going through.

It all boils down to respect.

*~*~^’^~**~*~^*~*~^~*~*~*~^
This beautiful conversation reminded me of our basic humanity and goodness—we all deeply yearn for respect, safety, and dignity. These are universal desires and when extended to another, they connect us in the hardest of circumstances. How many times do our perceptions color what is actually before us? Labels such as addict, recovery, homeless, affluent, and many others, inform our responses. In an age of recognizing and celebrating differences, is basic shared goodness forgotten? Is it possible to simply SEE? Shared humanity and longing are the root of my loved one’s advice based on his personal experience. May all beings everywhere know their worth, and see it reflected back to them. May we be clear mirrors for one another.      

* If you and your family are impacted by substance abuse, homelessness or mental health challenges, please consider reaching out for community support both face-to-face and online at InnerConstellation.com

Trump’s Assassination Attempt

I’m just going to say it plain and say it straight. The attempt on former President Trump was not such a shocker to me given the rising political discord. Without a stop-break, discord will grow. What’s the real shocker to me are the public responses I’m reading on social media. Where is the decency, where is the compassionate heart for everyone affected by last night’s events? 

I was given a very clear mirror of my own limited heart this morning when, during a call with a community of meditators, I mentioned engaging with the current news. A few people didn’t know what I was referring to, so I mentioned the injury to Trump, another person in critical condition, and the loss of one life. Another person added, like a clear mirror—“and the shooter.” I thanked him, seeing how unconsciously I had dismissed the sniper’s life. After the call, I sat with my dismissal of the one who perpetrated the violence. It was completely unconscious. Why was the sniper left out of my compassionate response? The night before, watching the unfolding events, I had felt a great sadness for the sniper, but most deeply for his family. How might it feel to have one of your own commit an act of violence, did the family feel a sense of responsibility? I can certainly relate. I’ve experienced members of my family who have actually become menacing to society and were incarcerated. I have felt great accountability. Why had I dismissed the sniper’s life? 

For me, “dismissed,” is a key action. How could I have “dismissed,” another as not worthy of my compassion?  One of my first honest questions when viewing the event was, “how many people were struck?” And then, “Who would do this?” All on stage were literally sitting ducks, how terrifying. Next, my mind went to the secret service agents, especially the young woman who continually put her full body in front of Trump’s heart, again and again, until he was in relative safety. There was a doctor on stage who immediately began tending victims. These heroes operated from a place of preserving life and negating a threat to life. 

I’ve identified three key components for myself and I’m mindfully practicing with them this week during the chaos that will certainly ensue: identify when I close down in my body, tend to myself, and open my heart.

I know what dismissal and closed off feels like in my body, I know how to breathe and recognize, breathe and open. In/out until I can engage my heart. What and who am I dismissing? Who is outside of my love and attention? Can I soften those hard lines? 

I’m committed to not having a part in promoting more discord, but in transforming the tragic events of Saturday night. May all impacted by our country’s discord be shocked awake, may we put all resistance aside and embrace the universal right for all people to be free, safe and happy. 

Fourth of July

I’m sitting in the garden on the Fourth of July, beneath an old and mighty Pine tree. Flowers have been watered, garden lettuce is wet and smiling, there’s even a little frog tucked into the crease of the patio chair cushion beside me. All is right in the Independence Day Tahoe world as I smell the grills firing up in anticipation of a community BBQ in about half an hour. I don’t anticipate finishing this vignette before the parade comes alive on my street, kiddos on tricked out bikes and dogs and people decorated in reds, whites and blues, but I wish to get a start. You see, I don’t want to be pulled away, distracted by the long weekend, disconnected from a reality that I see appearing again and again in my life—that of interdependence.

Interdependence began last week in the hospital where I work, when I happened across a precious moment in time. I had walked into the ICU to put away a piece of equipment. The ICU is in the shape  of a rectangle with nursing station in the center and sides of the rectangle, made of see-through glass walls, so each room’s occupants can be monitored at a glance. The door I  entered was directly beside a row of rooms, where within was a very frail, old man, lying supine, eyes closed. Draped over his body was an American flag, whose top corner had just left the hand of a male nurse, having finished pulling the flag across the body.

I stopped in my tracks, took in the sight as the nurse stood at bedside, head bowed and unmoving. Goosebumps covered my whole body, as I, too, dropped into the sacred moment— a gift of honor—the final act of care. No one else was in the room, no family, no other personnel just the veteran and his nurse, connected through happenstance, both living lives of service. It was deeply moving. 

As if this was not enough to demonstrate interdependence, that evening I went to a graduation where a man spoke about a veteran who had died that day. He had been the last surviving D-Day veteran in our town. I wondered—could this have been the man draped with the flag?

(I pause at this dramatic moment to stroll in the parade and eat July 4^th lunch with the neighbors!)

I’m back, once more in the writing nook, beneath the Pine, belly full, heart even fuller in celebration’s wake. I understand, honor and cherish our country’s history, the men and women who died fighting for freedom, Veterans of War covered beneath the red, white and blue and…the reality of interdependence is also alongside freedom. As if the hospital and graduation were not enough to confirm interdependence, guess who I saw at the community BBQ—the nurse who draped the flag! Yes, no lie, (my husband and the nurse are my witnesses!) Whoever is sending the messages, I get it!  

No single act, not a single one, goes without ripples. Every thought, word, action, has a reaction and the ripples go out and go out and touch lives. We are intricately connected, woven in more ways than can be imagined. Countless times throughout the day, we are given glimpses of our interdependence. Is there recognition? Is there someone with eyes to see?  I am you. You are me. My freedom is your freedom. We are profoundly connected with all things, we are interwoven. We are interdependent, a cause for celebration!
 

We Thirst, so We Dug A Well

I’m sitting on a meditation Zoom call, in the garden. A brilliant blue Steller's Jay lands in the empty granite pond and cocks it’s head like they do, looking for water. Turning off my laptop camera, I get up to fetch the hose. I’m moved to tears. A few days ago, a dear loved one slid into homelessness, and my heart is blown open. What is this human tendency to only fully enter another’s suffering when it hits home? I’m very attuned, in this moment, to all those who may struggle to find food, water, safety and shelter. As a child I remember wondering, why does my father’s suffering affect me so deeply, but the suffering of a random man at the grocery store does not? 

Immediacy opens the heart and may it not close, may it never close. The same can be said about joy, I suppose. When someone we love dearly is given a tremendous fortune, say they buy a house or have a baby—we’re overjoyed for them, when it’s a complete stranger, not so much. Our joys, our sorrows, come back to the I: preferences, desires, me and mine. What if the whole world is ours? What if? 

Because it is. This is what I’m realizing. The only way I can be so wide, spacious and free is with the support of my spiritual practice and my community. Everyone deserves such support—the Steller's Jay, my dear beloved ones, the stranger in the grocery store. We all need friends on the path of life, looking out for one another. May we remember:

The whole world is ours, from the smallest grass to the wide blue sky. If we see a joy, may we rejoice. If we see someone thirsting, may we get up and dig a well.

The practice of mindfulness is the clear lens through which I see. Only when I stop and look with eyes that are awake and undisturbed, can I see what is beyond me. Perhaps, even see that life is never just about me and mine. The whole world belongs to me. As my loved one stumbles through his pain and sorrow, he is like a domino, touching here, touching there. May Bodhisattvas near and far help stop the momentum, see him as the whole world—the smallest grass to the wide blue sky. As a community, may we feel the thirst, and help dig a well.

Cup the Light

Two weeks ago, I drove down into the Sacramento Valley to take a break from our March Winter Tahoe Blast. Grateful feet touched the earth rather than 4 feet of snow crust as I  jogged on a green-space trail, and then, I saw this...

So bright and open these sweet California poppies, they took my breath away, literally. I stopped like a deer in headlights and thought, "They're cupping the light!" I was enraptured! An older couple on the other side of the street, peered at me kind of curiously and smiled when I waved. Living in the tundra lands, life can be so monochrome this time of year, the bright orange hillside just about knocked me flat. 

I like this weird winter phenomenon because it keeps me from taking beauty for granted. It's a visceral experience driving a mere hour away and witnessing the land come alive with vibrancy, bird song, organic smells, bugs and crawling things in the 20 degree warmer atmosphere.  

So I rolled in the grass a bit, took pictures of the light catchers, got back up and went on my merry way. My first thought was, "Well, at least if California is supposedly going to hell in a handbasket our state flower is cool and will hopefully continue to thrive and flourish!" Then my second thought was, I know people who cup the light like that, people who are bright rays of sunshine that flood a person's monochrome day. One of them I call "Puppy," (you know who you are), and another is a 76 years old with congestive heart failure, who has no reason to cup the light, and yet she does, and in her words, "...still clicks along."  

I love this metaphor of cupping the light. Where have you seen such phenomena expressed? Do you feel light...right now, opening inside? Do you have the good fortune of knowing one or two light catchers in your life? If you do, please send them this post. Please tell them you love, appreciate and notice their beauty. We are cups of light, waving on the green rolling hillside, holding it until someone who needs it walks by. Here you go, take a sip, and then another....   

Bearing Witness

I'm sitting by the fire with Bene the Cat, soaking up the warmth of our collective, purring bodies and reading poetry (Mary Oliver). Contemplative poetry has always been a tremendous source of inspiration to me, and I made a connection as to why. 

A few hours ago, I attended a training, diving into the 3 tenets of the Zen Peacekeepers Order: 

~ Not knowing

~ Bearing Witness

~ Loving Action

Bearing Witness is being purely present to an experience without judgment, with no attempts to fix, shorten or lengthen the experience, but to fully engage, as open-hearted as possible. Bearing Witness to life as it unfolds seems exactly what a good poem/poet achieves. Mary Oliver was known to just head out into the woods each day with her journal and write about what she witnessed. Here's the poem I just finished: 

White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field Coming down
out of the freezing sky
with its depths of light,
like an angel,
or a buddha with wings,
it was beautiful
and accurate,
striking the snow and whatever was there
with a force that left the imprint
of the tips of its wings —
five feet apart — and the grabbing
thrust of its feet,
and the indentation of what had been running
through the white valleys
of snow —

and then it rose, gracefully,
and flew back to the frozen marshes,
to lurk there,
like a little lighthouse,
in the blue shadows —
so I thought:
maybe death
isn't darkness, after all,
but so much light
wrapping itself around us —
as soft as feathers —
that we are instantly weary
of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes,

not without amazement,
and let ourselves be carried,
as through the translucence of mica,
to the river
that is without the least dapple or shadow —
that is nothing but light — scalding, aortal light —
in which we are washed and washed
out of our bones.

Raw, condensed, and so very watchful, a full witnessing of the owl, and then, the turning inward, the contemplation, becoming one with this expression of life (and death)--Bearing Witness. 

I can't imagine the owl was an uplifting sight, and yet, it filled her with awe-inspiring wonder, and she reported faithfully without any interference. Bless the poets in our midst--those who practice Bearing Witness: to the owl, to Israel and Gaza, to the baby taking her first steps, to the lengthening light of Springtime. May we practice allowing life to unfold freely, greeting what arises with respect, dignity, openness and wonderment.  

 

Tea with Willie Takahashi

Dear Ones, every precious once in a while, you meet a bright light that warms you with the gratitude of their life, the ups and downs, all conditions for thanksgiving. Such a friend passed with prayers of gratitude on his lips and those of his family. His lesson for me came on the second sunset, after he had passed. I share it here as a dedication to recognize the blessings of my life this week in all my writing shares, starting here….

Tea Ceremony with Willie Takahashi

©2024 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

 

“What is the sweetness you can add to your life so it is not so bitter?”

Green Matcha tea astringency, 

Greets my tongue,

Warming the core of my body, 

As I kneel on a buckwheat cushion

In streams of late afternoon sun.

 

Touch of maple syrup, added on a whim,

Is awash,
Palatable sweetness,

A living question, 
Swallowed down the dark tunnel of my body.

I bow, 
Add to my tears: 
Warm sunshine,
Clouds, tinged gray,
Slowly moving, 
A soft and gentle Pureland
In a windless sky.

Springtime rests on mountain’s horizon, 
Cupping sun’s setting rays.

 

“What is the sweetness you can add to your life so it is not so bitter?”

Dear Friend, Willie, is the question yours?

Are you here, continuing to stir our hearts,

Boundless in shape and form?

 

Five o’clock chime of the Mahogany clock, 

sings back a familiar, melodious tune. 

The question, so tenderly rests here…

Like Green Matcha Tea, with a touch of maple syrup,

Shared ceremoniously between you and me.  

Surfing the Waves

This week I had the opportunity to watch a very moving protocol for trauma care in the Emergency Department where I work. A voice came over the intercom, clear and calm: "Full trauma arrival ETA 15 minutes." And progressively the announcement went until, "Full trauma arrival now. All hands on deck." 

Wheeled from the ambulance into the ER receiving hallway was a person on a stretcher with a neck brace, eyes closed, injuries obviously sustained. The normal chatter of the ER silenced, as all direct-care personnel stopped what they were doing, arrived and circled around the patient, three rows deep. All were alert, quiet, waiting at full attention while the charge nurse and ER doctor stepped in and began the assessment. We listened as call outs to appropriate care specialists were made and the newly formed team stepped forward to begin life saving measures. You could have heard a pin drop. 

A palatable reverence swept through the Emergency Room. From my station, I came back to my breath and began offering Metta.* I suspect I was not the only one. An elderly man poked his head out of his room and looked on with wide eyes. Within minutes the patient was whisked out of ER towards the operating room.

I was filled with a sense of awe for the fragility of life and those who are willing to step forward, ready to offer whatever supports life. Imagine if we could learn a similar protocol whenever we are witness to a person's decline, "Full trauma arrival now. All hands on deck." Imagine if we stopped everything we were doing and gravitated toward the one in need with full attention and an open heart, ready to give of ourselves. Imagine if we touched a deep reverence in moments of decline, realizing this truth--life is fragile, and we are only here for a precious amount of time. Can I be gentle with myself and others? Can I help repair injury? And if not, can I offer pure attention, in awe and reverence? 

Looking around the ER at the faces of caregivers, I went away from the experience gratefully inspired, uplifted and sobered. Everyday we ride the balance between birth and death, only most of the time we're totally unaware. Precious, precious life teaches ~ everything changes, constantly, dramatically and in ways barely perceptible. When full remembrance of this truth is practiced, we can surf the waves...up and down....beside one another.  

* Metta - practice of wishing well for another, said to naturally arise in the face of extreme suffering. Metta describe the feeling of care one actively engenders toward another. It is said to be the most natural state of who we truly are and can be compared to prayers for the benefits of all beings.

Bounty ~ 14 Days of Love

Poetry Friday, here we go....

Love’s Bounty
©Karla Johnston 2023

Dictionary gives two definitions, seemingly, entirely different:
Bounty – generous giving that is vast, natural and complete
Bounty – payment for capture and destruction of a living being
Hmm…LOVE,
this simple,
4 letter word,
doesn't tangle with word jujitsu.

Let’s just say, Love (with a capital L),
awaits your noticing
it is everywhere, all the time,
in every situation and circumstance
no matter how life-shattering it seems.

Love has put a bounty on your head—
you are priceless,
worthy
nothing you do
can separate you
from Love.
That's a period

I will be leading 14 Days of Love meditation Saturday, February 11 at 9:30am Pacific Time. Please come join in this no-charge Copper Beech Institute offering in whatever  ways you can, and if you can't make each days two meditation offerings, you will receive the recordings so you can soak it up at a time good for you. CBI facilitators are heart-guided individuals who will offer 14 days of infused and embodied practices. Enjoy! 

Rest ~ 14 Days of Love

Ahhhh, that feeling of coming to rest after being bone tired, when the body lets go to gravity, lets a comfy recliner, the bed, or another hold it….

What about the rest that comes while INSIDE the whirlwind of tension and chaos? This is what mediation is calling us to practice. When we come back to our breathing, that simple exchange of in and out, we immediately notice the whirlwind of the mind. “Rest, rest,” we encourage our bodies with the practice, and at times, it is achieved—a deep rest, a deep rest that is aware, alert, free and open hearted to what comes, whatever that might be. 

Recently, I was considering the deep transformational power of suffering. Think about the most life-changing moments of your life, more than likely, most of them involved a deep level of suffering. When it hits, as it will, in every life, can we go to the practice, can we rest? I think of the function of a Tap Root ~ to deeply stabilize, absorb nutriments, and store those nutriments when the times get tough. Can we build the strength of our Tap Roots, can we rest in the dark, maybe even probe deeper? What are your nutriments, the things that give you life? Music, friends on the path, a walk in the sunshine, a flower opening to spring? Can we take time everyday to rest in what nourishes us and store it for times of need, when we or our loved ones are called to transform? Rest, my Darling, rest deeply, knowing you are held and equipped with everything you need for growth, life and transformation. 

I will be leading 14 Days of Love meditation Saturday, February 11 at 9:30am Pacific Time. Please come join in this no-charge Copper Beech Institute offering in whatever  ways you can, and if you can't make each days two meditation offerings, you will receive the recordings so you can soak it up at a time good for you. CBI facilitators are heart-guided individuals who will offer 14 days of infused and embodied practices. Enjoy! 

What Happens When We Inhabit the Practice?

Two weeks ago, I was completely and utterly exhausted. Getting over COVID, after a busy day, the effects still lingered. The previous night, I had been supporting my loved ones for four hours at a critical juncture point in recovery. It had been brutal, and as a result, I had no energy left. I decided to lay down for a 30 minute nap. 

When my alarm went off, I woke with a profound sense of love, of being entirely loved. I felt embraced and held and to my surprise, entirely rejuvenated. I sat there, soaking it in for many moments, and then my thinking mind came back on board…what caused that? I was practically unconscious and the love was unmerited. I didn’t ask for it, I was’t even thinking of anything loving, in fact, I was feeling the opposite, fully drained. Where did that love come from? Did I slip into someone’s whispered prayer for me? My grasping mind wanted to know—how do I produce such care for myself and others?

 

The nicest part about the whole experience is that since waking up from the nap, I have felt the same presence of love every day since, sometimes many times a day, at moments usually unsuspecting: during an inconvenient holiday work assignment in the ER, while driving, while cooking, while getting ready in the morning, waking up in the middle of the night to pee….

I’ve noticed three things usually (but not always) occurring when I’ve been “held in love”—a quiet atmosphere, a quiet mind, a state that is open and receptive. In order for loving presence to be available to me, I must be available to it. Perhaps filling up with love, peace, contentment is the result of mindfulness coming to fruition, a mind and heart turned towards compassionate care, in a direction that is skillful and good. 

What Happens When We Inhabit the Practice?

©2023 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Perhaps we become
love, peace and joy, 
unmerited, 
inside and around us 
at all times
across all realms of wakefulness 
and rest.  

Never Disparaging Friends on the Path

Yesterday I had the very good fortune of being asked why we do a particular thing in our mindfulness community. My response was, “to encourage inclusivity, so everyone can participate without any kind of obstacle.” Inclusivity in this context wasn’t only in regard to life choices, gender, ethnicity, or race but specifically inclusivity of views. Inclusivity is a strong North Star for me, particularly inclusivity of whatever a person may be struggling with in their life.

Bodhisattva is a word in the mindfulness tradition that describes someone or something who vows to not turn away from suffering and instead, do their best to alleviate it. One of my favorite Bodhisattvas is named Never Disparaging Bodhisattva. Such a one sees the goodness inside living beings, no matter their backgrounds, dirt and grim and accepts them with an open heart, trusting that they know how to wake up and are in process. Never Disparaging reminds me of something Thich Nhat Hanh was famous for saying—right view is the absence of all views. The idea here is not that we shouldn’t have views, that’s recognized as impossible, we will have preferences, values, ethics, however, we acknowledge that others also have preferences, values, ethics and come from a background completely unlike ours. Their experiences are entirely different and we will support one another in waking up, we’ll keep our hearts open, our views open to include and listen to others. When we practice doing this, our ripple out is expansive.

Yesterday, our mindfulness community in Lake Tahoe had a beautiful opportunity to practice inclusivity of views and supporting one another on the path of practice. Never Disparaging Bodhisattvas hashed out why we make the personal decisions we do and managed to hold each other with love and compassion ~ our highest ideals. Supporting one another in this day and time, when so much division and hatred plagues our country and the world is the ripple that will heal our families and communities. Listening, trusting we are all growing in our awareness and understanding, that we are in process, learning how to be more open hearted and take care of those around us in the best possible ways, is our rubber-hits-the-road practice. I take a deep bow of gratitude for mindfulness community, for our practice, for my Never Disparaging Bodhisattva friends on the path, for a place where we can be accompanied, our suffering hashed out, understood and ultimately loved and supported. 

Spirit's Thrumming

 It's time to write about Ukraine. I realized it it on my mindful walk yesterday, strolling with the clouds and brilliant sunshine...

So, how to start? I didn't turn on the news, I went within and opened my heart to the situation, holding it as tenderly as possible while walking in my beautiful Lake Tahoe neighborhood. Slowing it down, taking in the natural world around me (AKA The Ultimate Dimension), I began to feel a movement, a thrum... 

1st Thrumming: the clouds overhead began giving a sermon:

"To transform masterfully,
covering sun, moon and stars yet
moving, shifting, shape-changing.

"Puffy, slender, thready white,
like cotton-candy or Slate-gray-night,
beholding to both moisture and light."

With the heart of a cloud, I smiled to neighbors, children making imaginary sand castles on their driveway, and to the little free library I passed beneath the pine trees. I opened the converted-pane-glass door and found upon the shelf, the story of Big Brown Nut Hare and Little Brown Nut Hare...

I held the war and conflict and the kindness of the little free library, a neighbor's wave and the spacious blue sky. After a couple miles of strolling like that, I realized... I had written barely a stitch on Ukraine~Russia. It's time. 

Arriving home, I prepared to write by planting Spring seeds, I wanted to practice feeling both the tragedy and the goodness of people. I didn't know yet how to do that, but planting seeds seemed a start. 

2nd Thrumming: I dug around in last year's seed packets and found Arugula, Chard and Russian Blue Kale. My curiosity was piqued, does Russian Blue Kale actually come from Russia? Turns out it does! What are the chances? All the way from Siberia to sit in my hand and be planted on a Tahoe windowsill. I felt a visceral warmth. My husband and I find the purple-veined, blue-green leaves the most tender and delicious Kale we have ever consumed. When I harvest them, the oak-shaped leaves are leathery and soft at the same time.

I was heartened and inspired, so after planting seeds, I tidied up my writing space and sat down. I took a few mindful breaths slowly, gently, tenderly, just as I had done on my walk. 

The idea came to begin with a 5 minute timed, "Tiny Poem."  Just let it all go with the metronome rhythm of the timer...

Ready, set, flow...

To my great surprise, out popped a love Koan:

Co-mingle ~

First breath depended on another’s kindness.

Who caught you surfacing the world?

As lungs inhaled with everything that ever was
exhaled with everything that ever will be.   

In my writing mind's-eye were Ukrainian children, Russian children, those whose kindnesses are tending the people during their most dire needs. Humanity at its worse bringing out the best in  people.

As I write this blog post, a news report from CNN comes across my device: Pregnant woman from maternity hospital attack and her baby have died... The 3rd Thrumming. How do I sit with this? Coming back to my breathing, that which depends on another's kindness...inhaling with everything that ever was, with everything that ever will be. The answer comes softly, gently...by holding both the tragedy and the goodness surrounding the tragedy. 

May all beings everywhere be healthy, strong, safe and protected, free from inner and outer harm, may they be light and free in their bodies and in their minds. 

Hallelujah Moment!

 

As we enter the month of December a memory comes to mind that I can't shake. I was asked the question ~ tell me about a tradition that formed who you are today. In a flash my mind's eye saw--little me holding one of those skinny lit candles with the cardboard drip guard, belting out Hallelujah with a congregation thousands strong. 

I was born and raised Reformed Mennonite (yes, I had electricity, no I did not drive a horse and buggy). Reformed Mennonite folks are in general humble and pious people who never sing at the top of their lungs--except on Christmas Eve! On that one night a year heaven came down to earth, truly! Celebrating like that until I was well into my teens, was the truest expression of love, peace and goodwill to all that I was yet to know. On the altar was a lighted candle and from it, a flame was passed, one by one to our neighbor, perhaps a loved one or a total stranger. In a matter of minutes, lights multiplied and a community was born. Light of goodness within each person was acknowledged--no exception, no one left out or disparaged. We shone so bright, so beautifully. A Hallelujah moment was born! 

Now, bringing this Hallelujah moment down into the concrete...watching the news of late, I see division, looting, fear and violence. Inside I ask myself the question--where are the Hallelujah moments--moments of rejoicing in the love, peace and goodwill expressed in us? How are we acknowledging? Stoking? Lighting these flames? I don't recognize the streets of our cities. I've never seen such levels of violence, greed and despair. Our spiritual dimension seems void and lacking. 

I am committed in the month of December to pass the lighted candle, sing and rejoice in what is good and beautiful. If you are in need of a Hallelujah moment, please come visit with me. Shine the light of compassionate awareness on any situation that weighs upon your beautiful spirit. I am at The Studio Tuesdays and Thursdays and would enjoy a chance to pass flames, to shine and rejuvenate, to bring Tahoe heaven down to earth. Zoom is also an option if it suits you best. Please contact me for an appointment to care for your spirit or as a gift to a loved one. May your light shine bright this holiday season and may you pass that light to all you meet.

Related Blog Articles: Double Belonging 

Kindness In The Small

The other night working a packed mental health wing, I got to pondering....

Kindness In The Small

©2021 Karla Johnston, InnerConstellation.com

Have you ever noticed, when walking down the road without sidewalks,

that cars naturally give space to avoid running over you?

When plate or cup is scalding hot, 

the waitress warns everyone.

If arms are carrying a full load, 

people step-in to open doors.

Something is dropped,

and everyone in vicinity bends to pick it up.

A person unburdens great heartache

and surrounding eyes go moist.

Someone smiles and suddenly 

the corners of our own mouths upturn.

Countless times a day

in countless ways,

“Please, you first... 

May I help you?

I feel your pain...I see your joy.” 

I can’t help but wonder

in this time of social distancing 

If we aren’t masking our beautiful, 

innate tendencies

to reach out.

Perhaps, it is the small,

seemingly insignificant, quiet kindness

that gives meaning to our lives.

Tedx Experience!

The two days of rehearsal and final production were amazing! Definitely a few of the most rememberable days of my life. The nine in the speaking team interwove a magical day, none of us having met before. Talks all had at their foundations: resilience, common humanity and compassionate collective care of ourselves, each other and our beautiful Mama Earth. 

Having never spoken to such a large crowd, I had no idea how it would go—hoping to at least not do a “mic drop” as my dear sister joked! My Tedx topic was, “Can Mindfulness Solve the Opioid Epidemic?” Heavy topic, and during my month and a half of practice, I rode the fine balance of heart and mind. It’s an emotional topic for me, and I thought I had achieved a bit of insight—when I go back into my own small story, I suffer but in this present moment, my loved one is doing great: he’s giving back and taking big steps in recovery. When I keep the bigger story in mind—all the millions of people that opioid addiction affects,—I find stability and purpose ~ Not me, not mine. Then, “I” was up and out onto the stage I walked....

Words flowed, memorization held, heart opened, emotions stabilized as I mindfully worked with breath and brought Thich Nhat Hanh into those moments (Thank you, sweet Kathi:). It felt good, it felt solid. I lost count of the people who found me afterwards, wanting to share their stories—many who were 10, 20 plus years sober. Beautiful, inspiring souls, among those still experiencing addiction: homelessness, estrangement, enmeshment, and losses. There were acts unimaginable: selling a loved one to drug cartels, desperation resulting in hiding evidence, insurance fraud to get treatment, etc. I eventually went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet and cried. I can say—stage makeup indeed is waterproof! But, then, I very quickly pulled myself together knowing that even though the opioid epidemic ocean of suffering is wide and deep, the Tedx talk and the community it engenders are tiny ripples, going out....

When I arrived home, I was able to watch the live broadcast and renewed my great desire to grow my personal capacity to be with suffering and...to lighten hearts around me, including my own. Even before the Tedx event when I spoke of the topic of my talk, people shared so many stories and a few days before a colleague lost a child to overdose. I continually go back to the importance of community to hold and cradle suffering of this magnitude. Thay (Thich Nhat Hanh) very wisely understood and conveyed—the next Buddha is not a person but a community. I return to a metaphor often used and attributed to different ancient sages—a spoonful of salt in a cup is undrinkable, but poured into a lake, almost imperceptible. Alone, we are doomed, together, we are strong, resilient and resourceful. I’ve experienced again and again the vast capacity of community to be present with whatever arises. 

When the talk link is given, I will post in hopes it can be used in whatever ways benefit folks. We were warned it may take up to 6 months with pandemic delays. Thank you, everyone for your support, words of wisdom, insights and care. My heart is full of gratitude for all the Lake Tahoe Community College hosts that were tireless in their devotion to the exchange of ideas, inspiration and service.