Rain drops form from water vapor in clouds. That's creation.
They fall from the clouds when they become liquid. That's birth.
The whole journey down, spiraling and falling, plummeting and screaming, that's living.
That's the exciting part - when the drop is an individual and experiences everything individually and is completely distinguishable from all the other drops falling in the storm.
The storm is life itself. It hurts to hit the ground from that height. That's death, jarring, painful and conclusive.
SPLATT!!
Wherever the raindrop meets the earth, it joins with other drops, it becomes one with the collective whole again. As water, it flows down gutters or into the earth or into streams and rivers. The drop doesn't exist anymore as it did while it was falling. The substance is there, but the form is gone. As a body of water, everything flows easily and there are no problems, no distinguishing between this drop and that drop.
Time comes eventually and inevitably that the water evaporates. It loses all form and its substance becomes too thin to discern. In this amorphous state, all memory is erased. All memory of the collective mind is lost. All memory of the previous journey is lost. All memory of the previous storm is lost.
It's still part of the collective mind, but without form and without substance. It's a transformation period, unknown and indescribable. It's an imporant part of the journey; the cycle to go back up into the sky, be created, born, live, and die again.
The storm is life. That much is known. Living is tears, that much is also known.
I guess reading Suzuki's passage was a sort of affirmation. If a master used a similar analogy, then this thought of mine from 10 years ago must have been sort of on.
I wish my life was like an ocean, constant with its waves, eddies, and tides. But instead, sometimes it's like a thunderstorm, sometimes it's like a fog, sometimes it's like a river or a lake, or a bay or a stream, or sewage.
At times, words like Suzuki's resonate, sometimes they don't make any sense at all, sometimes I don't even touch them for years, feeling like years wasted. But not wasted, everything has its purpose, everything has its time. I'm not striving for anything anymore, and this was just a sort of homecoming.
I wish my life was like an ocean, constant with its waves, eddies, and tides. But instead, sometimes it's like a thunderstorm, sometimes it's like a fog, sometimes it's like a river or a lake, or a bay or a stream, or sewage.
At times, words like Suzuki's resonate, sometimes they don't make any sense at all, sometimes I don't even touch them for years, feeling like years wasted. But not wasted, everything has its purpose, everything has its time. I'm not striving for anything anymore, and this was just a sort of homecoming.
