Snowfall

Snow is falling. The white flakes drift down from the sky. Coming from the north the gentle blizzard reaches the southern hills. As the snow arrives, so comes the great silence. The track is filling up, no one can come, and no one can go. Stillness lies in the reflection of the cloud brightened snow, white around the bird table. The Bullfinch is stealing the whitened buds, the tits are pecking at the nuts and the Nuthatch takes the seed to a branch and hammers it. Although it is cold, the feeling is warm. Now, as the silence and stillness descend, the Chan house is isolated. Its true nature appears.

What might Dogen say of this?

Once upon a time a famous biologist and his Zen practitioner companion were travelling in the high mountains of Dolpo in Nepal searching for Snow Leopards. For the biologist it was an ecological project; for the practitioner the Snow Leopard was an enlightenment quest in remote places. Their mutual understanding was rather slight! The winter was fast approaching and they were on their way south under falling snows.

In a remote valley they found a tiny deserted village, all inhabitants gone south over the passes for the winter. Yet, there was smoke drifting from the chimney of a small Gompa. Intrigued, they knocked upon the door. An old monk, one legged and dressed in yak cloth, woollen robes, creaked it open. He was quite alone. Knowing the villagers had all moved south, they asked him.

"Why are you staying here?" "Oh," he said "Can’t you see – a one legged man cannot cross passes in snow."

"But how can you survive the winter here, alone, deep in snow and frozen in?" they asked. “Well," he said, "I have everything".

The biologist understood him to mean he had logs and dung for heating, and supplies for simple food and drink. The practitioner understood him to mean something quite else. What was that? Perhaps only another practitioner can understand.

When the track is blocked for vehicles at Winterhead in winter, which is a rare occurrence, there can be no coming and going except by horse or on foot . With a damaged back, there can be no movement.

What does it mean to stay in minor uncertainties? Perhaps the Calor tank will soon be empty? Maybe the electricity will fail? Are there enough supplies in the freezer? Do I have everything?

Do we have ‘everything’ when uncertainty strikes? What is that?

The snow flakes drift softly on the Buddha room windows. The incense burns and the candle flames wander to and fro on the silent images. The sitter sits. The gentleness of the lone home floats the air. Everything is here, nothing missing. The sitter lets self dissolve in stillness. What is to be found?

Do you know the fruits of silence? Do you know the blessing of the snow?

Chuan-deng Jing-di