Wednesday, April 15, 2026

Answering Your Deepest Questions; Thich Nhat Hanh on the Sunlight of Awareness; Wisdom for Caregivers

 

Tuesday, April 14, 2026

Moon Joy

 

04.10.2026

Moon Joy


Earlier this week, when the astronauts of the NASA mission Artemis II, were conducting their landmark lunar flyby, they were filled with what one NASA officer called “moon joy.”

Although the astronauts had been well trained in the cold language of science, as they looked at the far side of the moon — the side that no human had ever before seen in real time — they slipped into the language of wonder.

“I just had an overwhelming sense of being moved by looking at the moon,” astronaut Christina Koch told The New York Times. “The moon really is its own unique body in the universe,” she continued. “It’s not just a poster in the sky that goes by — it’s a real place.”

Reading these words, I recalled a certain Buddhist teaching: If someone tries to tell you about the moon, he may — with his finger — point it out to you in the sky. But you should not confuse the finger for the moon. Instead, guided by the finger, you should look at the moon itself.

Here, the moon represents the direct experience of truth, the true nature of mind, enlightenment itself. In contrast, the finger represents the teachings, the methods, the words and concepts a teacher uses to invite you to awaken. What does this mean? No teacher or text can give you enlightenment; awakening can only be experienced directly. Words are a raft you can use to get to the other shore, but then let them go. Ultimately, there’s no way to explain direct experience.

I think the astronauts of Artemis II tasted this truth. Mission commander Reid Wiseman quipped that mission control should send him a new list of words to expand his vocabulary because he knew of no adjectives, no words, to describe what they were seeing out the window.

This is just one of the moon’s many dharma lessons. For more teachings that can point you in the direction of awakening, see the three articles below. Meanwhile, in this troubled time, my practice is to cultivate moon joy. I think this is the practice of many of us right now.

Maybe you and I can’t go to space. Maybe we can’t look out a window and see the moon’s volcanic plains or cratered highlands for ourselves. Yet we can look at the photos taken by the NASA team, and — if we open our hearts and minds — we can have a direct experience of these lunar images. We can see the moon as a real place, an awe-inspiring place. And we can feel the joy.

–Andrea Miller, editor, Lion’s Roar magazine

Reflections on Chiyono’s “No Water, No Moon”


Merle Kodo Boyd responds to Chiyono’s “No Water, No Moon.”


For several years now, I have kept a picture of Chiyono and her bucket on the bulletin board above my desk. It is a delicate nineteenth-century woodblock print of a young Chiyono standing in pale moonlight, a bottomless bucket at her feet, a puddle of water spreading across her path. The artist is Yoshitoshi.

I was drawn to Chiyono’s verse the first time I heard it. I was seized by the words, “With this and that I tried to keep the bucket together…” But I did not know that she is also thought to be Mugai Nyodai, whose name we chant in our morning dedication to our women ancestors. She was the first Japanese woman to receive dharma transmission and founder of the first Zen Buddhist convent in Japan.

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The Moon Is Me, I Am the Moon


We are all one and the same. This is the experience of Zen. So teaches Shodo Harada Roshi in his book of original calligraphies.


When the subject and the object become one and the same, this is the experience of realization. When we move in oneness with the heavens and the earth, this is the experience of Zen.

We see the flowers and the mountains, we hear the bell ringing, and we know it all as ourself. The river is ourself, and so is the other. We see that from the origin we are all one and the same. This experience is Zen.

The moon in the deep spring is so beautiful that we are pulled right into it, and that moon itself is in a vessel that becomes the moon’s very purity and clarity. The moon is me, and I am the moon. We enjoy this world completely.

How Equanimity Powers Love


True equanimity, says Kaira Jewel Lingo, is not in any way detached or uncaring — it’s inclusive, and loving, and the foundation for spiritual courage.


In this analogy, loving friendliness, compassion, and joy have a warm quality, like the sun itself, while equanimity is cooler, the full moon that only reflects the sun’s rays. This cooler quality does not signify a lack of caring. Equanimity is full of love. It is a face of love. What’s unique about equanimity is that it helps balance the other three aspects of love so that we don’t burn out in our caring, in expressing the other aspects of love to others. It keeps us grounded. Without equanimity, our compassion can become compassion fatigue; we can outpour to an extent that we become exhausted or overly identified with the situation. Equanimity can help keep us resourced and in our center.

How to Find Your Middle Way; Guided Walking Meditation; A Spring Prayer