Already in the Web

Inspired by the book, Faith by Sharon Salzberg

In ancient Vedic cosmology, Indra is the lord of firmament; his net is the universe, stretching infinitely in all directions — a cosmic lattice of fine, luminous threads. At every intersection rests a jewel, each one reflecting every other, and each reflection containing the whole.

It’s a vision of reality in which nothing is separate. No jewel has to fight for its place in the net. No jewel earns its brilliance through effort. It shines because it is, and because it is inherently part of the whole.

This image offers a quiet counterpoint to lifelong habits: the sense that we must fight to belong, prove our right to exist, or work hard to hold our place in the world. In Indra’s Net, there is no competition for worthiness. We are already woven in.

Indra’s Net also points to a deep truth about interdependence. Each jewel’s light is sustained by all the others; each reflection is part of the whole. Our lives, too, are shaped by countless connections — some obvious and precious, others invisible yet deeply known.

In mindfulness practice, we sometimes discover that belonging is not something to be won, but something to be recognised. The net has always been there, holding us. The strands may be the people who supported us, the places that inspired us, the moments of courage we could not find alone. And just as we are held, so too we hold others in ways we may never see.

To contemplate Indra’s Net is to soften into the truth that we are part of the natural order of things — as inseparable from the whole as light is from its source. In this view, to really see another person is to see ourselves, and to see ourselves is to see all beings.

May we know how intertwined our lives really are.

The Forest Grove

I’m currently enrolled in a Dharma teacher pathway program.

A voice inside keeps circling back:

What is all this practice really about?

What did the Buddha actually experience that night beneath the Bodhi tree?

And more to the point —

How did he convey it?

How do you convey something that’s not a thing?

That isn’t a possession or an insight to pass on,

but a kind of silence.

A falling away.

What if awakening isn’t a prize or a transformation —

but more like the background hum of a fridge that suddenly stops?

Nothing dramatic.

Just… silence.

Peace.

The cessation of suffering.

Not because life’s conditions have changed —

but because the craving, the aversion, the grasping… has ceased.

Meanwhile, life continues.

Relationships unfold.

The body ages.

Emails come in.

So maybe —

there is no point.

And maybe that’s the point.

Not meaninglessness, but freedom.

Not achievement, but release.

Not a story to be told, but a silence to be trusted.

This blog, The Forest Grove, is not here to give you answers.

It’s a place for returning. For sensing. For letting the dust fall from the eyes.

And maybe, now and then, for sharing something of the view when the fridge hum stops.

May these writings be of benefit. May they nourish your awakening.