The grey and clouds have lifted. I am feeling hopeful witnessing the sun do its work this morning bringing light and blue skies. In the distance I can see patches of smudge, an exhaust of fumes, human activity layering the city with a filmy substance clouding the picture from my window with blurry edges.
Buddhist monks visited me in my dreams last night. They invited me to walk the city streets with them. I joined them following their orange robes billowing in the slight breeze as they pointed with long fingers, at a lizard basking on the sidewalk absorbing the sun’s rays. The monks turned to look at me, patiently waiting to catch my eyes, to make sure I didn’t miss what they were seeing.
We continued walking the streets of Los Angeles and one by one the monks found something beautiful to show me. A bonsai garden, a sanctuary of perfectly cared for plants and rocks in the middle of the sidewalk bordered by abandoned lots and garbage, a tiny bouquet of wild flowers pushing through the crack of pavement.
I followed the monks and their silence as they searched for beauty and meaning. We flowed together through a world on pause from noise and commotion.
Before the dream last night, I was talking to my sister and telling her about a beautiful garden and business I can see from my window. One of the few businesses not tagged and wiped out with graffiti. Through-out the day I look out of my window at this small business holding it’s own energy and beauty. I watch as people carefully walk around the small garden and storefront windows.
I think to myself how can I be more like the monks.
How can I flow through this world looking for beauty pressing through the chaos.