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I thought I'd begin with one of my favorite poems from the poet

Tukaram. It's called Landlocked in Fur.

I was meditating with my cat the other day,

and all of a sudden she shouted,

what happened?

I knew exactly what she meant, but encouraged her to say more, feeling that if she got it all

out on the table, she would sleep better that night.

So I responded, Tell me more, dear. And she's soulfully meowed. Well, I was mingled with the sky. I was comets whizzing here and there.

I was suns in heat. Hell I was galaxies, but now look, I'm landlocked and

fur. To this I said, I know exactly what you mean. What to say about a conversation between mystics?

One of the best descriptions of the spiritual path is remembering and forgetting.

And the forgetting can be described as being landlocked in fur when we're cut off from realizing the fullness of who we are,

our true nature, our loving awareness, that's really the source of all beings.

And we know this in the particulars of our life

in certain stretches, when it becomes really clear we're obsessed in thinking

or recoiled in fear or hurt or anger or this chronic anxiety and we know we're shrunk in some way. We're living in a

trance. We're in a small self that's landlocked. It's a confined world.

So those are the moments. that's landlocked, it's a confined world.

So those are the moments of not remembering

a larger belonging, not remembering

...