I have a place, because there is no place

I was listening to a dharma talk on line and when it was over, I heard the voice over, thanking people for listening and asking for a donation. I wondered about the person who did the voice over: Who is her teacher? Whatever happened to her? Did she even have a rakasu?
And I thought about her place in the zen center. I thought about how she was a poet and how she had come up with some really unique ways of looking at and sharing the dharma and I thought that was pretty cool that she got to be, kind of, the poet laureate at the zen center for a while. (I actually have no idea what this person's role was at the zen center. Everything I write about her is totally my own perception, of what I thought she did at the zen center). And I thought that was cool that the zen center did that, that it just had a place for her- that at one point, she had shown up, done her things, and the zen center had responded by creating a space, a role for her, a place in which she could exist and be who she was for the time that she was there.
And I thought about the fact that after she was gone, it wasn't like anyone had replaced her, that there was a new poet laureate or anything like that- that that position seemed to be created just when she showed up and then it went away after she left and now she was doing something poetic somewhere else.
And I thought about that-that she showed up, a space was created for her, just her, then she went away and that space was gone.
And I thought about the fact that maybe she didn't sew a rakasu and maybe she didn't have a teacher and that maybe her time at the zen center was just what it was while she was there; that maybe it had nothing to do with having a teacher or sewing a rakasu- it just was what it was for her, for her unique contrbution to the zen center, and that that didn't have to have anything to do with what you might traditionally do at the zen center. (And honestly, I have no idea whether or not she has a teacher or has sewn a rakasu- I know absolutely nothing about her other than she's a really cool poet).
And then I thought that maybe I have a space at the zen center, that I don't have to sew a rakasu, that the zen center is there for you to be whatever it is you are, that there is space for anyone at the zen center because there is no space at the zen center. It isn't a place of fixed roles or boundaries or ways of doing things- it's a place for you to come as you are and be who you are, while you are there and that is all.

I thought about this in my classroom, about all the kids feeling like they have a place, because there is no place, no one way to be, in our room, that all of their personalities have a place in our room, that together we make our classroom and that without each and every unique one of us we wouldn't be the room that we are.
And I thought about me and last summer and how I came home feeling like if I was no different then I had nothing to offer so what was the point of writing the blog and then realized that it wasn't about having something to offer, it was just about being, just being.
And I thought about me at the zen center again, that I do have a place there, that it frightens me that I do have a place there, that I don't have to be a certain person or thing or way, there is a place for me no matter who I am. I am included, have been the whole time, was just too afraid to feel it or accept it, or whatever, but I've always had a place there, from the first time I showed up.

We all have a place in this world but not like a place, not like a slot that we fit into like I thought. There really is no place, there isn't a fixed state or role or part that we play, we're just part of one great big whole. We don't know which part we're playing and it changes all the time but we're little and we're connected and we're in it, have been from the start, and won't ever leave.

I don't really know what to do with this knowledge. It both frightens and deeply assures me. It's like I've fallen back into a pillow, a full body pillow that neither swallows you nor pushes you back out again-you're neither engulfed nor supported, just held, gently, enough to know you're safe but not enough to keep you separate from the world outside the pillow.

There is a place for me at the zen center. I have no idea what it is, only that it's there. I was going to say that it's there, waiting for me to fill it, but I realize that I already am filling it, have been filling it this whole time.

And of course you know that this means that there is a place for me in this world. That I don't have to be a certain someone or a certain way. In the same way that there is a place for me at the zen center, that no matter who I am there, it is the place that I fill, it is the same in this world. I am just here, I am just being, and that is all I need to be.

I have no idea why this frightens me so much but it does. It is terrifying to see that this is all that I need to be, that I am doing it, that this who-I-am is enough, is perfect actually, in that it is true. As long as I am actually just being, not being-in-order-to-be-someone or trying to fit in some slot or trying to do some right or wrong or get there; as long as I am just being who I am, in each moment, that it is enough. I am actually true, like true as in alignment, as in a wheel that spins cleanly because it is in alignment with the forks on either side of it. When I am true and just being, I am, and as much as it frightens me to admit it it, that's actually all I need to be and so I am already doing it, I am already me.