Several times a year I make the 45-minute journey (via auto) up into the mountains, to receive teachings at a Buddhist center. A converted hunting lodge, the center is nestled in a high-mountain valley, at an elevation of 8,500 feet or so.  On the way is Brainard Lake Recreation Area: a gorgeous mountain park featuring alpine lakes, streams and waterfalls, stunning vistas, and countless miles of hiking trails.


It always feels like a six-of-one, half-dozen of the other sort of situation – as to whether I’d prefer to spend the day hanging out at Brainard Lake, or receiving spoken Dharma teachings, in the community of spiritual friends (of the human variety). If I’ve made the intention to go to the teachings, I almost always do – though it’s not uncommon to feel strongly tempted to spend the day instead simply wandering amidst the natural beauty of the park, being effortlessly nourished in this way. Though in reality it’s not really an either/or situation -- since the center is almost literally a stone’s throw from the park, and its grounds, though sans alpine lake, are also quite beautiful.

Just the other day, during our lunch break, between the morning and afternoon teachings, I was meandering through a little meadow, flanked by stands of birch trees. Off to the side were several long-needled ponderosa pine trees.  It was drizzling lightly -- the sun peeking through just every now and again – and the thick cover of the pine trees seemed like the perfect spot to sit for a while.

As I approached the pines, I noticed a couple of Indian Paintbrush plants – with their bright red-orange flowers in full bloom -- along with a handful of some kind of wildflower with delicate soft bell-shaped lavender blossoms (in tiered groups of five) whose name I didn’t know.

I nestled in near the foot of one of the pine trees, where the ground, with its soft bed of needles, was still dry, in spite of the drizzling. I opened a book of poetry that I had brought with me -- but my eyes were soon drawn off to the left, where a single bee was making her rounds, among the tiny lavender blossoms.

Flitting from blossom to blossom, she would land lightly, then with utmost delicacy open the blossom – separating top from bottom petal – draw out the nectar and/or pollen, then release back into the air, allowing the two petals of the flower to slowly – over the course of a long second or two – flow back to their original position. Then the same thing with another blossom, and another ….

It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. I felt as though I could easily watch for hours, and still be entranced by this delicate dance: sublimely precise, endlessly intimate, elegant, ethereal and utterly matter-of-fact. I couldn’t believe that I’ve been on this planet for as many years as I have (more than a dozen though not more than ten-thousand) yet only now really noticing this most miraculous of activities.

It brought to mind an aspect of the teachings: how Awareness in no way impedes thoughts (or perceptions or sensations), and thoughts in no way obstruct Awareness. Each functions perfectly, both independent of and in-dependence upon one another.

The bees depend upon the flowers, and the flowers depend upon the bees. The flowers support the bees in creating honey. The bees support the flowers in cross-pollinating. Yet their interaction – at least the one that I witnessed – was infused with such freedom and respect, like two infinities, brushing up against one another, flirtatiously. 

The Tao does not impede the ten-thousand-things, and the ten-thousand-things do not obstruct the Tao. They interpenetrate seamlessly, each nourished, mysteriously, by the other's sweetness.

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Suggested Reading

* Basic Taoist Concepts
* Simultaneous Mind & The Mysterious Pass
* Multiplicity & Modulation: Transformations Of The Ten-Thousand-Things