bamboo

Bamboo touches something in me. It might be because I associate it with China and Japan, the birth places of Zen – that great movement in human consciousness and spirituality. More than that connection though, I love the way bamboo moves in the wind. It has this yielding yin aspect, which is its strength. As the wind blows, bamboo bends but does not break. It dances in the wind and yet, in the end, is not troubled by the wind. Somehow the bamboo is delicate and yet at the same time strong.

This, to me, is an example of how we can be in the world: with a delicate sensitivity to what is present in the moment, and yet at the same time dwelling in that place within us which is invulnerable and incorruptible. Our true strength lies in our essence. This is something of what the bamboo represents to me: the beautiful mixture of sensitivity and strength.

Perhaps the thing I love most about bamboo is watching it on a still day, when the air does not seem to be moving and the bamboo is also still. Yet somewhere on it, one little leaf or group of leaves is trembling. It’s as if the bamboo is full of excitement and cannot quite contain its stillness. If you have meditated, if you have direct experience of that still space within yourself, the great silence, you will know that that stillness, which is our essence, is also the source of our vitality. We too, even in our most still moments, are quivering. We can barely contain that energy of silence and stillness. This is what bamboo reminds me of as I sit and watch it trembling with the delight of being alive.