The Middle Way
Zen Spot #85 -- Mindfulness, meditation, detritus, the dead, the dying, the smiling February 6, 2018 00:05
In northwestern Philadelphia, at the farthest edge of the city, a foot path begins that winds its way into Center City, over ten miles away. Forty feet wide and covered with a mix of gravel and hard earth, the ground is almost black. A canopy of trees, forty feet above, protects everyone and every thing from the sun.
Strollers. Runners. Lovers. Families. Dogs. Horses. Deer. Snakes.
The path's name draws visitors, voyeurs, natives and the naive. The seduction is real though, if you can be seduced by a wilderness confined completely within Fairmount Park which, in turn, is completely confined within the city limits. A destination within a destination within a destination within a destination, infinitely, if one considers every rock and branch and fish over which the adjacent Wissahickon Creek flows.
An almost afterlife
Between the path and the creek, the landscape drops off dramatically. Perhaps a fifty-five degree angle in parts. On the other side of the path, a hill rises almost vertically.
In heavy rain, weak trees and dead leaves and fallen branches wash down the hill toward the water but get caught between the path and the creek. Thick with a demolition derby of dead and dying vegetation, there is no blood. Rich soil splattered with an almost afterlife piles up, camouflaging nothing.
Hericlitus introduced the world to the idea of being and becoming. At its core, the belief holds that nothing is constant. All people and all things are evolving. Existing and persistently changing in that time before birth and after death. Each flying into the other at warp speed.
Bouncing. Breaking. Thriving. Decaying.
In the moment
Glass-topped water appeared still while waiting fall but was, in fact, moving slowly. The lives of leaves were ending, becoming soil. Wood was bleaching and rotting. Bark was blistering in the sun. Dirt was blackening and softening, chewing and swallowing whatever couldn’t make it to the creek.
Before me, the time/space animation of water and a time-lapse story of the death of anything on the floor displayed itself. Rot residing eighty feet below the canopy. A swath of life, between the detritus and the treetops, holding millions of trunks and trillions of leaves and every animal natural to this woods, burgeoning.
Fighting. Stinking. Smiling. Eating. Swaying. Farting. Crying. Singing. Jumping. Strolling. Running. Loving.
A full circle.
An artist, entrepreneur and writer walking the Buddhist path, his art focuses on the Dharma Wheel. The four wheels shown above are among over 600 DharmaMechanic has created over the course of his career. Each has a unique story. If you’d like to read the story of these wheels or purchase a framed 20" x 20" ready-to-hang print, visit SilkDharma.com.