Wholistic Fitness

my Dad’s Bardo Entry, one week ago today…my left hand is on my M(om) curled next to him, my sister was on the right…my little brother took this pic…i’ve never shielded any component of WF Practice from you before, and the Deities will not allow me to begin now…a yogi just live his or her life out loud, naked, vulnerable…the highs and the lows all the in-betweens…that’s known as Wholistic Fitness.

i’ve said it from the beginning;  if we are not training for our own Bardo Entry…and those of All Beings Everywhere, then truly, how wholistically fit is our fitness training?

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What is born will die,
What has been gathered will be dispersed,
What has been accumulated will be exhausted,
What has been built up will collapse,
And what has been high will be brought low.

TRADITIONAL BUDDHIST SCRIPTURE

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thanks to Maha who found this in the SanghaLounge archives,  i would like to share the following Teaching i authored for Father’s Day in 2005…may all of you have a Sacred Memorial Day:

Published on Jun 20, 2005 by coach

FOR MY FATHER on FATHER’S DAY:

i dedicate these simple thoughts and pictures from today
to you, my father…
and to all Father’s Everywhere.

becoming and remaining a Skillful Father is in-Deed 
the ultimate expression of a Peaceful Warrior; dedicated, strong, faithful,
reliable, versatile, and wise.

i bow to skillful, responsible Father’s everywhere.

especially my own.

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The Father Warrior Journey

by a son named steve

i consider a father to be like a tree
a tree who stands proud each day
 well-rooted regardless of the
dry, dusty, unknown trail often stretched before him.
i consider a father to be like a tree
 whose bark may be thick and deep
 yet wears much deep loved rolled up his 
wrinkled, dirty work sleeve.
i consider a father to be like a tree
 whose screams for attention is a silence 
that responds to motion, 
like wind acquired from heaven’s breath.
i consider a father to be like a tree 
whose roots drink the plains of summer grasses, 
whose sap is the pure stream of mountain waters,
 and whose limbs bear the balance of scattered rainbow colors
and the burden of snow.
i consider the Teachings of my father to me to be like a tree 
above which a thunderhead gives momentum 
to the immensity of clouds and sky 
yet i can relax and know that my path is before me, 
for the Presence of my Father Spirit is the remembering 
that an endless breeze comes from behind me,
 as if to push me forward in my own Father’s Journey and sense the presence of doing 
that which I cannot see.

Toweh,

White Corn Boy

son of Henry George Ilg