Living Statues Among the Pines

Linda Braga, Castro Valley, CA

Last weekend (April 14-18) twenty-four people had the distinct privilege of being with Justin Stone at Green Gulch Zen Retreat Center in Northern California. There we learned the art of sitting meditations and we also came to know Justin at a much deeper, personal level.

The five days were an event all in themselves, as each one of us dared to sit still and go inside, dared to allow the process to evolve without expectation, dared to trust that Justin could lead us to a deeper knowing of our own being. Within that first day, we all unconsciously gave up our own unique ways and merged with “a group consciousness” which allowed us to meditate with a focused intensity never before experienced. By the fifth day we were all able to sit for an uninterrupted hour in total stillness. As a leader and guide, Justin was exceptional. The depth of his knowledge and experience with meditation is unequaled. His stories of people, places, and events from his life in the Far East make him a “living library.” We were all inspired and awed by him. It made a lasting impression on all of us. We felt honored to be part of such a gathering–gaining insight and wisdom on many levels: how to live, how to teach, how to enhance our own meditation, how to let go of useless ideas and habits, how to open up to life.

Perhaps the most moving part to me was Justin’s willingness to share stories of his own personal struggles “along the path” and to be vulnerable. The final evening of personal sharing from each person was poignant and emotion-filled. From this sharing we all experienced that indeed, “We are all One.”

This poem was written for Justin as a token of gratitude for the retreat and all he has done for us. Each line in the poem refers to some shared group experience during the retreat.

Green Gulch Retreat

April 1993

Rosalind Braga

I have become
the green grass
the slippery rock
the fluttering butterfly
a child’s piercing cry.

I have become
the howling wind outside the yurt
the smell of black bean soup
the taste of ginger and fresh lettuce
the texture of falling rain

I have become
the bird calls at early dawn
the hoot owl late at night
the clack-clack of Zen wood
blocks calling those to practice

I have become
the silence
which comes when friends
meditate together