Gods Eye

God’s Eye

An introduction to Contemplative Writing: Writing in the container of the Dharma/Buddhism is about learning to trust perception – the basic, the ordinary, the magical connection to our world, and our minds. My teacher is Miriam Hall of www.herspiral.com. We both have studied with Natalie Goldberg, who wrote Writing Down The Bones: Freeing the Writer Within. In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie’s groundbreaking first book, she brings together Zen meditation and writing in a new way. Writing practice, as she calls it, is no different from other forms of Zen practice — “it is backed by two thousand years of studying the mind.”

My goal is to share one pieces of contemplative writing each week. The process for contemplative writing: First, I bow. Second, I meditate for five minutes. Third, I set a timer, and begin to write, pen to paper. I do not stop. I do not edit. I invite what wants to arise, the texture of my mind, the passions of my soul, the winds of Oneness.

Please do contact us at 7billiontribe@gmail.com if you wish to bring this fantastic writing practice into your life.

God’s Eye
Twenty minutesGo. Do not stop. Trust the writing.

A light snow is falling outside. I woke up this morning, looked out my window, and found only disappointment. No snow covered driveway, rooftops, car. A deep enthusiasm for this winter storm lives in my body. They are calling her winter storm Kayla.

Kayla, real person, sits behind me in the Optimal Health Network office, as I type to this prompt, God’s Eye. Kayla is the amazing woman who runs my business, Optimal Health Network. She is not a disappointment. She is a Goddess Kayla.

Teresa of Avila looked into God’s eyes. I would like to, but I find myself terrified. Yes, terrified. Some spiritual teachers say The Beloved is looking at me, even looking from me, here right now. I am not religious. I am simply living my life, trying to be human, in the way of other humans.

Think of it, I post to Facebook: Today, I looked into God’s Eyes. I happen to be a nervous system wired with culture — a culture which finds itself in a marriage of brutality — the genocide of whole people even — and God. All these FB people know about this genocide; are living within this cave of genocide; are living within this history, storied inside their body.

Inner, outer, alive, and not dead. I have shame.

It is complicated, but IT seems to be the relationship I am in. God looking at me, and me being terrified to look back.

I do see awe when I look at the snowflakes falling, hear the heavy blade of the snowplow drop against the road, feel these letters arising from under my fingertips.

A conversation in this room where my computer sits:

“Yes, a two-quart enema works well,” Kayla says. Still, I try to keep my fingers moving over the letters of this keyboard. ABCDEFG.

Back to the prompt: How do I meet God’s Eye? I have to tell myself this is only a blank piece of paper, only a writing prompt, only twenty minutes of my life. Why does it feel more important than this?

God’s Eye. This is the prompt.

I began this enema business as a result of plunging the poop from a man’s body. This man lived in Chicago. Driving up to Madison eighteen years ago for a colon hydrotherapy session, he found me in my colon therapy room. The walls of the room painted like spring, lilacs. This man looked at me, please, my colon doesn’t work any longer. I shook his hand, he took off his clothes, I began my work.

“What happened?” I asked, as I squeezed the tubing, pulling out the poop, massaging his belly.

“A car. A car hit me while I was riding my bike. When I awoke from the coma, my colon didn’t work any longer.” he said.

I continued my work, trying to hide, but I looked up into his eyes. “Your name is Jay,” I said. “My dead brother’s name is Jay. He was hit by a car while riding his bike. A green car. He told us he would die long before he died.”

What do I write now? Inner trauma falls within me in this moment, like the silent snowflakes out my window, like the heavy plow against the road. This Jay told me to open an enema website. A few months prior, I’d met a woman whose name also began with a J. Her birthday is September 3, the same day as my dead brother’s birthday.

After Jay left, I called her up. “I need to open an enema website.” She agreed.

Now, as I write this, many years later, I ask myself, is this how God gazes?

Further study:

Falling into the Arms of God by St. Teresa of Avila

How To Practice Contemplative Writing, Video by 7Billion (below)


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