This is an AI-generated transcript from auto-generated subtitles for the video Poetry of Practice II (5 of 5, part 2) with Diana Clark. It likely contains inaccuracies, especially with speaker attribution if there are multiple speakers.

Poetry of Practice II (5 of 5): Seeking - Diana Clark

The following talk was given by Diana Clark at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on October 20, 2023. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Poetry of Practice II (5 of 5): Seeking

Introduction

Welcome back. It seems that there was a technical glitch—Zoom and YouTube stopped "YouTubing," I guess—but here we are finding our way back. I didn't drop in the poem earlier, so I'll share it with you now, and we can talk about it a little bit. The good news is that it's a short poem.

"I Confess"

The poem goes like this:

I stalked her in the grocery store, her crown of snowy braids held in place by a great silver clip, her erect bearing radiating tenderness. The way she placed yogurt and avocados in her basket, beaming peace like the North Star. I wanted to ask, "What aisle did you find your serenity in? Do you know how to be married for fifty years, or how to live alone? Excuse me for interrupting, but you seem to possess some knowledge that makes the Earth turn on its axis." But we don't request such things from strangers nowadays. So I said, "I love your hair."

This poem is great in so many ways. The poem is called I Confess, and the poet is Alison Luterman¹.

Radiating Peace

There are a number of ways that we might think about this poem. One is that our practice doesn't impact only ourselves; whether we intend to or not, it impacts others. This poem is about one person seeing another and being struck by their "erect bearing radiating tenderness." Through the simple act of putting grocery items in their cart, the speaker notices that there is something special about this person with the white hair and braids put up with a silver clip.

When we show up in the world with some steadiness, balance, ease, and presence, it has an impact. Whether it is immediately obvious to ourselves or not, we make an impact. Showing up with ease, presence, and peacefulness spreads out from us, whether we are speaking to others or just doing our ordinary things. We don't practice only for ourselves; we also practice for others, recognizing this impact that humans have on each other.

One way that I like to think about this sometimes is to go to the opposite extreme. We would also notice somebody who is frantic, throwing things into their grocery cart, and maybe yelling into their phone at the same time. They might be distracted, agitated, and unkempt in a way that looks like they don't care, or they are clearly having a difficult time. We notice those things as well, and they have a different impact on us than somebody who has ease and poise and seems to be radiating peace.

Looking Inward vs. Seeking Outward

Another way we might think about this poem is how the speaker is seeking. She's looking, and importantly, she's looking outside of herself. Nowhere do we hear about her own internal experience or what's happening for her. Instead, she's looking outside.

I'm struck by the person she's looking at—an elder with white hair whom I imagine has wisdom. The speaker thinks, "That person has wisdom," and she says, "You seem to possess some knowledge." This seeking for wisdom—and not only wisdom, as she describes this person radiating tenderness and beaming peace like the North Star—reflects a deep desire. A North Star is something that shows the way or something that we follow. The speaker is saying she wants peace as well.

This seeking of wisdom and peace can be a big part of our practice, and we might think that it's all about seeking. For those of you who have done grocery shopping, you know that the yogurt and the avocados are never near one another; they're in different parts of the grocery store. Maybe I'm reading too much into this poem, but there's this way that the speaker is just following this other person, stalking her, as the poet uses the word.

Is there a way in which we are stalking wisdom, tenderness, and peace, thinking that it's "out there," but not looking here into our own experience? We have wisdom. We have tenderness. At times, we have peace. The way forward is found within our experience and our reactions to that experience. We spend so much time looking outside of ourselves, but this practice is very much about looking inward.

Finding the Extraordinary in the Ordinary

A third aspect I'll bring up about this poem is an appreciation for its whimsy and everydayness. It is a recognition that everything can be a teacher. All of our experiences can be a support for our practice, even a seemingly random trip to the grocery store. We often tend to think our spiritual practice only happens on the meditation cushion when we're in a meditation posture. But is there a way that everything we do in our life can enrich us? It doesn't mean it's always pleasant or what we want, but is there a way we can learn from whatever life brings us?

Confession and Connection

Lastly, consider the title of this poem: I Confess. This "confessing" doesn't actually happen in the poem. Perhaps the character in the poem feels they are doing something they shouldn't be doing, so they have to confess it. Confession is sometimes associated with religious practices, but there is also a sense that we only confess things we do wrong. How much is this also a part of the human experience? Especially in modern times in the West, we often feel like we're doing things wrong.

Can we be present for that experience too? Even though we may not be doing anything wrong, we often carry this feeling of inadequacy. Instead of getting lost in that, can we connect with our experience in whatever way is available? In the poem, the reader wants to ask this beautiful, white-haired woman about how to be married or about wisdom, but instead, she says, "I love your hair."

She started where she could. That is the connection she could make. I love that we don't know what happens next. Maybe there was a conversation that was really touching and meaningful for the speaker, or maybe not. But at least she made this connection: "I love your hair." I keep smiling and chuckling a little bit at this poem [Laughter], and for me, that is part of its power—it brings an uplift to the ordinariness of life.

Conclusion

Thank you for joining me on this journey these five days on the poetry of practice. It's been a delight to share this with you all. May you find your own poetry. Maybe you feel inspired to even pen some lines on your own, or dig out an old book of poetry that at one time touched you. And may you find your own wisdom, your own tenderness, and your own mindfulness while you're grocery shopping. Thank you.