Always on the Ground
In my dream, I am walking and talking with the Dalai Lama in a familiar locale on the Tibetan plateau. This is a recurring dream, and I ask him if he remembers. He just smiles. I offer him an ice cream cone, which he thoroughly enjoys. Later, I must protect him from a small army that wishes to harm his ability to teach the Dharma. (Apparently, it goes well.)
We eventually find ourselves in one of his summer residences, where he reminisces about his young life, showing me some of his childhood rooms and toys. We then enter the room in which he receives visitors. While I watch, he offers a teaching to a close student—repeating the same thing, “It is always on the ground.” The student asks why, “What does it mean?” The Dalai Lama simply repeats the same thing, “It is always on the ground.”
We later travel together in a Jeep. He seems to enjoy driving through the mud, and we go to get more ice cream. His close assistant brings me my portion. She is tall and raven-haired, wearing traditional Tibetan garments. She offers to me my portion of the treat. It is melted, and she pours it like liquid from a leaf-shaped lamp. It drips as nectar, bursting into flame as it flows over me.
I’d like to think this dream is very profound, and maybe it will impress the reader (ego, what?) with some kind of teaching. But it isn’t for anyone else to interpret. After all, the story is full of symbols from my unconscious shadow nature. I recount it here only because it’s been fermenting in an archive of bits and pieces I thought might inspire some writing. So, here we are.
Apart from the subtleties that this dream communicates to me, I think there is a simple truth which may resonate with all of us: “It is always on the ground.” Everything we need to learn is right here; the ground of awareness. It is always accessible. We only need to walk the path of our life to know the next step. Unfortunately, we often have other plans, and that creates a bit of a problem. We lose sight of the trail because we would rather walk in the shadow of delusion rather than mine the gold of where we are right now.
Right now, I am sitting in a little alcove on the third floor of the new central library, gazing out the window toward the Three Sisters volcanoes. The mountains play host to a dusting of snow that barely conceals the naked basalt peaks created by a serious drought. Between me and my view of the volcanoes is a residential area hidden within a surprisingly mature stand of trees. And in front of that, closest to me, is a line of traffic on 27th Street.
The layers are obvious: Uncontrived nature, nature peeking through, nature paved over. What does this ground teach us? Pure awareness, awareness peaking through, awareness paved over? Maybe. We should go get some ice cream and talk about it. But watch out for the mud…and the fire.