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Lions Roar : July 2012
IN SUNDAY SCHOOL, I COLORED PICTURES of crosses and lambs and learned that the soul slips from the body after death and then passes through pearly gates. Later, in yoga classes, I saluted the sun and learned that the soul reincarnates from body to body, stumbling toward nirvana. But I don’t know if I believe in souls. Sometimes I don’t believe in anything at all except in green grass and its dying into brown and into flattened detritus by ice and snow, and then in the new green grass that follows, and browns, and flattens again. Sometimes that’s all the reincar- nation, all the heaven, I need to believe in. More than anything, I know that I belong there in the grass, believing in it. Watching it sway in the wind. Watching the ascend- ing ladybugs who don’t care if they are going the right or wrong way, who aren’t aware of anything but tiny foot after tiny foot. There is a field below my house. I go there and sit as often as I can. I try to be as open as I can to the grass, whether it’s wet or cold or muddy. I try to just sit and breathe and receive whatever is there. I guess you could call it meditation, though that’s not what I call it. I call it sitting in the field. It’s a response to a Rumi quote I love: Outside of rightdoing and wrongdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there. I like that field. It’s about yes. I want to be able to receive that yes. But sometimes I am too concerned about the ladybugs and their trajectory and about the bears that wander through this migration corridor of my Montana home. It’s wild here and I’m afraid of my wildness. That’s why I go to my garden to sit. It’s smaller there and I am somewhat responsible for the design. I can trust the apricot rugosas to bloom from June to Sep- tember and the Queen Anne’s lace to grow up around the Buddha PHOTOBYANTONNOVOSELOV/FLICKR.COM There Is a Field—I’ll Meet You There Whether the grass is damp or dry, lush or languishing, LAURA MUNSON tries to simply sit and breathe and receive what’s there. You could call it meditation, though that’s not what she calls it. She calls it sitting in a field. SHAMBHALA SUN JULY 2012 17