Tea And Zen - PODCAST

Nervous System Reset Meditation

In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Held - A Sacred Lullaby

Rest now, beloved,
the night need not explain itself.
Even the dark is carried
in a deeper light.
 
Nothing you’ve been through
has taken you from this—
the quiet place
where you are still held.
 
Lay down the questions,
let them fall like leaves.
There is a silence beneath them
that has never been disturbed.
 
You are not outside of love.
You have never wandered that far.
Even here… especially here…
you are gathered in.
 
So soften,
like the tide returning to sea.
No edge to defend,
no ground to secure.
 
Not afraid…
not alone…
not lost.
 
Only held.
Only held.
Only held.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
DONATE
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

The Intelligence That Is Already Here

When the question of where understanding comes from begins to dissolve, something gentle but profound is revealed: what we call insight may not be something we gain, but something we recognize.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
 
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Let it Shine

This little light of mine,I’m gonna let it shine.This little light of mine,I’m gonna let it shine.Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? NO!I’m gonna let it shine.Hide it under a bushel? NO!I’m gonna let it shine.Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Don’t let anyone blow it out,I’m gonna let it shine.Don’t let anyone blow it out,I’m gonna let it shine.Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Harry Dixon Loes
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
Donate
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
 
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Poem on Faith: Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject of Faith by Mary Oliver

Every summerI listen and look under the sun's brass and eveninto the moonlight, but I can't hearanything, I can't see anything -- not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,nor the leavesdeepening their damp pleats,nor the tassels making,nor the shucks, nor the cobs.And still,every day,the leafy fieldsgrow taller and thicker -- green gowns lofting up in the night,showered with silk. And so, every summer,I fail as a witness, seeing nothing -- I am deaf tooto the tick of the leaves, the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet -- all of ithappeningbeyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum. And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.Let the wind turn in the trees,and the mystery hidden in the dirtswing through the air.How could I look at anything in this worldand tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?What should I fear? One morningin the leafy green oceanthe honeycomb of the corn's beautiful bodyis sure to be there.Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
DONATE
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Beyond the Senses: The Creative Act of Remembering Who We Are.

There is a question that comes, often softly, sometimes with urgency:
What happens when we die? And behind it, another: How do you know what happens when we die?
It is a fair question. An honest one.
Because from the perspective of the human senses, death appears absolute. The body ceases. The voice is no longer heard. The form dissolves. And our senses—so trusted, so immediate—report: this is the end.
But our senses, for all their brilliance, are profoundly limited. They are designed to navigate the physical world, not to reveal the totality of reality. They show us surfaces, movement, form—but not essence.
And so we stand at an edge.
Because what many of us begin to discover—through experience, through stillness, through moments that cannot be explained—is that there is something more. Not as a belief, but as a direct encounter. A presence. A continuity. A field of being that does not begin with the body, and does not end with it.
Yet here is the paradox:
To know this, we cannot rely on the senses that were never designed to perceive it.
We are asked, instead, to enter what feels—at first—to be empty space.
From the perspective of the ego, this is unsettling. Even frightening. Because it feels like stepping into the unknown without ground, without proof, without certainty.
And yet, this movement—this stepping beyond the known—is not a flaw in the design.
It is the design.
It is the creative act itself.
Because what is creation, if not the emergence of something real from what appears to be nothing?
Every act of faith, every quiet surrender, every moment in which we release our grip on what we can see and measure—these are not acts of denial. They are acts of participation in a deeper reality.
We are not abandoning truth.
We are entering it.
In this way, the journey beyond the senses is not a departure from life, but a deepening into it. A remembering. A reorientation.
We begin to sense—not with the eyes or ears, but with something more subtle—that what we are is not confined to the body. That love, presence, awareness itself… does not belong to the physical form, but moves through it.
And when the body falls away, that which we are does not vanish. It simply is no longer filtered through the limitations of form.
So when asked, “How do you know?” the most honest answer may be: I don’t know in the way the mind wants to know. But I have touched something that cannot be reduced to the senses.
I have felt a continuity that does not depend on the body. I have encountered a depth of being that feels more real than anything I can see.
And in that encounter, something in me recognizes: This is not the end.
This is not even close to the end.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Resonance and Presence

There comes a time in life when we begin to notice something subtle about human connection. It is not simply kindness that we are looking for. It is not agreement.
It is not even understanding in the ordinary sense. What we are quietly searching for is resonance.
Two instruments placed in the same room will sometimes begin to vibrate together. Strike one string on a piano and another string, tuned to the same frequency, will begin to hum without being touched. Nothing visible passes between them. Yet something unmistakably moves.
Human beings are not so different.
When two people meet in true presence, something beneath the surface begins to respond. Words may be spoken or not spoken. The conversation may be simple or profound. But underneath it all there is a felt recognition — a sense that something inside one person has awakened something inside the other.
This is resonance.
Much of life is spent in places where this resonance is faint or absent. Rooms filled with people who are kind enough, perhaps even well-meaning, but where the deeper strings of the heart remain still.
We leave such places feeling oddly alone, even though we were not alone. But occasionally we enter a different kind of space. A space where the field changes.
Someone speaks from the heart. Someone listens without defense. Someone allows their presence to be simple and undefended. And suddenly the invisible strings begin to vibrate. This is why presence matters so much.
Presence is not performance. It is not the careful arrangement of words meant to impress or persuade. Presence is the willingness to be here — honestly, quietly, without armor.
In such moments something ancient moves through the human field. Something older than language. Older than belief. A recognition that we belong to the same living mystery.
Those who have known this kind of resonance recognize it immediately. It cannot be forced. It cannot be manufactured. But when it appears, even briefly, it nourishes the soul in a way that nothing else can.
Perhaps this is why we continue to seek one another, even after disappointment, even after loss.
Somewhere in the world there are still other instruments tuned to the same key. And when we find them, we remember something that was never truly lost:
The music was always within us.
Presence is what allows it to be heard.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
DONATE
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
Your support sustains the teachings, meditations, and healing transmissions — all offered freely to anyone who needs them. Together we keep a living field of love, service, and presence alive in the world.
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

The Quiet Wound of Being Human

Love does not hurt.
What hurts is believing we are without it.
That is the quiet wound of being human.
Yet love remains — beneath the noise, beneath the fear, beneath every story we tell ourselves.
We have never been without it. Not for a single moment.
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
DONATE
Meditation Sans Frontieres 501 (C) 3 Non Profit Registered Charity TAX EIN 81-3411835
Your support sustains the teachings, meditations, and healing transmissions — all offered freely to anyone who needs them. Together we keep a living field of love, service, and presence alive in the world.
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

Dante's Prayer

When the dark wood fell before meAnd all the paths were overgrownWhen the priests of pride say there is no other wayI tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not seeThough you came to me in the nightWhen the dawn seemed forever lostYou showed me your love in the light of the stars
Cast your eyes on the oceanCast your soul to the seaWhen the dark night seems endlessPlease remember me
Then the mountain rose before meBy the deep well of desireFrom the fountain of forgivenessBeyond the ice and the fire
Cast your eyes on the oceanCast your soul to the seaWhen the dark night seems endlessPlease remember me
Though we share this humble path, aloneHow fragile is the heartOh give these clay feet wings to flyTo touch the face of the stars
Breathe life into this feeble heartLift this mortal veil of fearTake these crumbled hopes, etched with tearsWe'll rise above these earthly cares
Cast your eyes on the oceanCast your soul to the seaWhen the dark night seems endlessPlease remember me
Loreena McKinnitt
 
Nigel Lott teaandzen.org
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE

When I Die - Rumi

Few poets have spoken about death with such luminous clarity as Rumi. In these lines he reminds us that what the world calls dying may not be a departure at all, but a homecoming into the eternal arms of love.
In the quiet between heartbeats a whisper calls you home, you are not broken you are becoming. These threads of silence and sound are letters from the threshold, offerings from the edge of stillness. Nigel  TEA AND ZEN - MAIN LIBRARY                                                                                                                                                                  DONATE