A Meditation On Chenrezig

Outside the tarp covered window the winter rages on. Snows fall for another countless day and the sun is hidden once again. Inside, the room is warm and fragrant. The tile floor is heated from below, giant bellows push ember-warmed air up from the lower levels to heat the bath rooms. You sit lotus style in a ornate, hand hammered, copper tub, with steaming water midway up your chest. The herbs and perfumes in the water sting your eyes and fill your nose with smells of earth. Butter lamps burn around the room, casting a soft yellow pale on every corner, the smell from the lamps is disguised and forgotten amid the burning agar wood incense. From somewhere else in the monastery you can hear the chanting still, the Om Mani Padme Hum comes at you over and over until you hear the sounds as one sigular tone.

Your eyes are softly closed, even if you wanted to open them the stinging would slow you. You easily keep them closed while you watch Chenrezig in your mind. He stands before you, one of his four arms is outstretched and open palmed to you, asking for you to come with him, offering you one more chance. One of the millions that he has and will continue to offer.

Some one unseen pours more water in to the copper tub and takes a bucket out, keeping the level constant. The churned water releases the vapors again and they fill your nostrils.

You see a deep purple in your minds eye. Beyond the purple, in the center of your vision, a soft yellow starts to pulsate and grow, stretching into the sun before a crystalline blue follows behind, until the purple once again pulls forward. The colors stream in succession now; purple, yellow, blue, purple, yellow, blue, purple.

The wind outside the window is gone now, you can hear your own breath escape your mouth. The water is motionless against your chest as you sit perfectly still, your chest does rise and falling with breath the water quickly settles against you.

The colors fade into whiteness and Chenrezig is standing there again, his arm reaching to you, his mouth closed, but not tight. His eyes open, you can see the reflection of other people’s faces in his eyes, moving past like clouds on a sunny day.

Mindful of the warm water on your skin you reach out to grasp his hand and you feel something tangible as you clasp. Your eyes come open and the room is gone. The tile floor, the butter lamps, the burning agar wood, the window and the snows beyond: all gone. Surrounding you now is only the whiteness of the pure lotus.

Float now on the perfect flower.