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"Pain cracks us open. It breaks us. But in the breaking, there is a new kind of wholeness that emerges. From my brokenness, a new, beautiful mantra emerged: weeds bring yellow birds." – (Steve Leder, More Beautiful Than Before: How Suffering Transforms Us)
When we first arrived in San Francisco, adjusting to the numerous stairs at the temple and our apartment took time. While we've mostly adapted—getting some cardio each time we come and go—one downfall emerged early on: a sharp pain in my left knee. After consulting a new doctor, she prescribed medicated cream and physical therapy exercises to strengthen the surrounding muscles.
During a recent visit from friends to the Botanical Gardens, this seeming limitation led to an unexpected gift. After about an hour of exploration, my knee prompted me to rest by a pond while the others continued their tour. As I sat in stillness, enjoying nature's symphony, six geese floated near me, engaging in their natural routines—bathing, diving for food, and preening. One particular goose repeatedly rolled onto its back, providing amusing entertainment as it struggled to right itself. Soon, five more geese joined the group.
I remained motionless, simply observing, only reaching for my phone occasionally to capture their antics. When the geese eventually decided to move on, they surprised me by exiting the pond just an arm's length away. I held perfectly still, somewhat tense about their proximity, as they waddled past one by one—some shaking off water, others seemingly oblivious to my presence, and one who held my gaze a bit too long for comfort. After their departure, I noticed turtles sunbathing on nearby rocks. I relaxed into my bench, soaking up the sun until my wife and friends returned 45 minutes later. It was a deeply rejuvenating experience.
Reading Steve Leder's book "More Beautiful Than Before" helped me recognize the gift in this experience. Just as he writes about "weeds bring yellow flowers," I found myself writing in the margin, "Achy knees bring geese." Upon reflection, I'd revise this to "achy knees bring peace."
As we age, our bodies change—whether from old sports injuries, accidents, or genetics. The jokes our parents and grandparents made about aging suddenly begin to resonate. We can get stuck yearning for how things used to be, but this comes at the cost of appreciating who we are now.
Shinran states, "Even when the world is filled with a great fire / Pass through it and seek to hear the dharma / Then you will unfailingly become a world-honored one / And free all beings from birth, aging, and death." While I've often referenced this passage in dharma talks, treating the "great fire" as an external obstacle, I now realize the greatest fire I must pass through is my own mind.
Not every moment brings a life-changing revelation, but each moment offers an opportunity to hear the dharma. When we reflect on our experiences, we allow the dharma to come into clearer focus. The smoke and flames of our internal fire—our ego—can blind us to seeing things as they truly are. This time, I needed an external prompt to recognize a deeper significance in my experience. This highlights why listening to others share the dharma is so valuable—it allows us to reflect through different lenses.
As we continue to engage with the dharma and walk through our own fire, we discover moments that deepen our gratitude and help us find thankfulness, even in challenging times. What are your weeds that bring flowers or your achy knees that bring peace? Let's clear the smoke and see for ourselves.
Namo Amida Butsu
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