Wholistic Fitness

i baptize Dewachen each spring in the Sacred Stream of my own chi-ldhood; Junction Creek, in the San Juan National Forest.  This shot was taken the other day by Ananda, less than a mile from where i grew up and about 5 miles from where we now live.

Both Sadness and Joy…
Conscious Fatherhood contains both deep sadness and exhilarating joy*.   The sadness, at least for ilg, comes because i realize the deep-rooted (selfish) fun of my old ways is forever gone.  Joy because of the elevated vaulting of dharmic perspective which slowly shimmers within my new role as “householder yogi.”   As i begin – SLOWLY – to learn how to let go of my identity with my lifetime goal as a ‘renunciate mountain yogi’,  an extraordinary, sacred joy seeps into the chronic domestication of my new life.   As Soygal Rinpoche teaches, “This is no ordinary joy.  It is a joy that gives birth to a new and profound strength, a confidence, an abiding inspiration that comes from the realization that you are not condemned to your habits, that you can indeed emerge from them, that you can change, and grow more and more free.”

Hard Warriorism;  The Easy Part (for me)
This morning, i did a Club Ride called the Le Deux Citron, with Durango’s A/B level cyclists.  By the end of the sufferfest, i had cranked 48 miles with over 2,750′ of climbing at an average speed of 19mph.   The glaring juxtaposition of such high-end warriorism and at times painfully dull domestic dad-stuff never fails to tweak my tattered egoic filaments of self-flagellation.
Those of us born into the Warrior Caste (for however many lifetimes),  are determined by destiny to recognize ourselves as Warriors and we must be treated differently by ourselves and others.   As a Yogi/Father i continue to attempt to play judo with and flip my Hard Warriorism into Soft Warriorism…where my weapons are not bicycles, skis, or climbing gear but are eye-level smiles of understanding, listening, and attending regardless of ‘how much i have to do.’

A future regret that these mantled moments of ordinary actions – dandelion picking, bug spotting, sandbox playing, chicken chasing, tire swinging – can’t go on forever. Dewa, last week, abiding in her typical backyard zen.

Soft Warriorism;  The Hard Part (for me)

As a Soft Warrior, my days are a living Blessed Mala of ordinary moments turned extra-ordinary by the simple, eternally fresh Awareness of my daughter.  Herein, lies my genuine Enlightenment potentiation.  Herein lies my next Higher Lessons from my Zazen training and high mountain multi-sport focus:  Books are read, mountains of laundry, dishes, and kid-clutter shatter my former preaching about maintaining a home as clean as zen temple.  As the narrow-gauge train puffs and chuffs past our home,   Dewa, Amma, and i lie supine upon our dandelion quilted backyard and collectively blow spindrifts of clouds from the warm rays of Grandfather Sun (“Dada Ha”, in Dewachenese).
Some of the sadness arrives from a yet-to-abide-in regret.  A future regret that these mantled moments of ordinary actions – dandelion picking, bug spotting, sandbox playing, chicken chasing, tire swinging – can’t go on forever.

Dewa giggles, “hold me tighter, Daddy!” as we tire swing for the bijillionth time beneath a blossoming canopy of elders as the Animas river creates a symphony from her spring run-off.  These m(OM)ents are as fragile and sacred a beauty as any Glacier Lilly i’ve found in the surreal lofty realms of the rocky heights.   More so, i dare write.
One day, Dewa may walk without concern past such frivolous beings as dandelions, elder canopies, and bugs.   One day, my morning bed won’t contain a little-limbed Rinpoche content to cuddle with her daddy even as she wriggles next to me like a puppy in spring.
Soft Warriorism…the sound of my calloused feet walking barefoot beside my daughter through the swoosh of uncut grass…the Realization of Impermanence nourished by the gift of my Daughters’ life.

Keep these words in mind, and Love all.

Om So Ti.

your feeble teacher

“Equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration,” i tell my local child-less friends and fellow athletes.  Then again, i might be showing my forty-nine years of age as a new daddy.