Monthly Archives: May 2025

Self Enquiry: Listen to Your Self

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This last little while I’ve been going through some serious contemplation, some deep questioning, on how to be ‘more of a monk’. Things like how to pray more deeply, and often; how to have a more focused and concentrated devotional practice; how to be a nicer person. Things like that.

Actually, that’s not exactly right is it? These are questions, enquiries, that for a number of years (is all my life too big a stretch?) habe occupied me. I’ve consistently been making enquiries, addressing questions, to Self – as well as to God or the Divine.

Still, like all things in life, self-enquiry goes through more intense, then less intense phases or periods. Let’s just say that lately I’ve been immersed – sometimes to the point of distraction – in one of those more intense periods.

(note from internal editor: Do I have to remind you once again to get on with the story you are here to tell?)

Okay then; let me see. Oh yes, right. Last night I was looking forward to beginning a new book. I’d read the introduction and thought that it was going to be just my cup of tea as it were, that it was something I would enjoy and learn from.

Anyway, as I opened the book on my tablet, I was suddenly stopped by a sort of wordless warning. The sense I had was that this book would indeed be a little piece of the answers I’ve been seeking.

Not so much in the contents I felt, it was more about approaching the book with more openness, less skepticism, more generosity of spirit and mental attitude. And the idea seemed to also include taking these qualities with me later as I thought about what I had read (or was about to read I should say).

You see, being more open, less skeptical, and more generous, come under the umbrella of being nicer. Still given the subject I was about to read about, I was a bit surprised by this ‘warning’.

As it turned out, I finished the entire book, so enthralled was I by the contents. The only things that tested my resolve to ‘be nicer’ was a number of occasions when the author’s worldview and interpretation of events, stretched my patience.

But, I managed. I didn’t become inpatient or outraged or irritable . When threatened by such responses I simply reminded myself that I was reading about another person, and I didn’t have to have an opinion one way or the other about what they believed or how they lived. Not only do I not have to have an opinion, I’m not sure I really have the right to an opinion about someone else’s life at all.

Besides, haven’t I just got through describing how I am myself deeply engaged in a process of self-enquiry? And wouldn’t such a process involve exposing myself to ideas, worldviews, kinds of information, new to me or not in alignment with my own beliefs? Surely bursts of impatience, indignance, judgement, and the like, would close me off in my search for answers?

Anyway, as I said I was so enthralled by the book – my reading informed by a little more generosity, a little less judgement, a renewed attempt at openness – that I finished the book in that one sitting.

Mind you it was only one hundred and something pages long. Still, for me, it was pretty good going.

PS Speed reading wasn’t – isn’t, nor ever will be – a part of my ongoing self-enquiry into the depths of my monkhood. Perhaps I need to add something like ‘Transcend the ego’ to my list.

Slowly & Mindfully: A Reminder

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Among the physical exercises I try to perform on a daily basis, are a couple for strengthening the hips. One of these begins with me standing upright, feet together, eyes level, looking ahead.

Then I swing one leg at a time for ten repetitions in a kind of arc like motion out to side, keeping it level with the side of my body, bringing the leg back to the rest position with feet together. It’s a pendulum motion.

Anyway I’d been merrily going along doing these exercises more or less every day for ages, months really, until one day my partner hermit was watching me, and said:

‘You’re supposed to be doing it slowly and mindfully’. Or words to that effect.

You see I had been quite happy swinging each leg out in turn at a fast pace, kind of like an aerobic sort of thing. Just to get it done if I’m honest. Wrong! Supposed to be slowly and mindfully.

Lift one leg slowly in an arc like motion out to the side of the body. Pay attention to the movement as it’s happening; no need to push the leg out, just lift it to a comfortable position. Just let the arm trail loosely and of its own accord, along with the leg. Then, again slowly and paying attention to the process of the movement, bring the leg back.

And I do have to say there’s been an amazing difference. I can actually feel the muscles working during the exercise, and can sense the minute incremental motion as the leg swings slowly. It’s a way better exercise than it was, and now I wouldn’t do it any other way.

I was reminded of this incident this morning as I came across a short admonition, a little reminder to myself I have stuck on a Table of Contents page in my Bhagavad Gita.

Go slowly and mindfully in everything

What’s interesting is that, despite seeing and reading this so-called reminder more or less every day, and despite proofs of the benefits of actually listening to the reminder, such as what I’ve just described with the exercise , the reminder seems to mostly go right over my head, in one ear and out the other as they say.

Today, for some mysterious reason, it actually got my attention. At the same time, again who knows why, it triggered a truly relevant and appropriate memory to act as a kind of metaphor to illustrate the point to me.

I suppose it’s stating the obvious, but I can say that doing that (or any) exercise slowly and mindfully – in a watchful and observant manner – acts as an exercise in presence. Otherwise I’d not be sensing or feeling the muscles and the movement, or the peace of no random thoughts.

Did I mention that, having corrected my modus operandi with that particular exercise , I’m feeling the benefits? It definitely feels like things with legs and hips are loosening up, getting stronger. I’m actually walking further now without my legs aching on me.

More than that, I actually find myself wanting to do the exercise as opposed to ‘wanting to get it done’. Why is this? Well, I think it’s because I’m yearning to rediscover that feeling of presence; it’s a bit like a meditation, and in the same way clears the mind of random thoughts – at least for the short duration of the exercise. Having said that, even a short duration clarity plays its part in reconditioning a stubborn mind.

So, mental clarity, good exercise for the body, for the heart, even the soul?I think it’s the perfect metaphor for how I aspire to be living my life.

Slowly and mindfully.

Note to Self: Have a Little Faith Will Ya?

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As a hermit, I am a pilgrim, dependent on a pure faith that I am exactly where God would have me be. I am here, and it is now.

I forget in which of his books I read this, but it’s a prayer written by Thomas Merton shortly after he’d finally moved into his hermitage full time. The ‘I am here, and it is now’ I added, though of course it’s also borrowed.

It’s a prayer, an affirmation, I recite at least once a day. And, like Merton, I aspire to that ‘pure faith’. Faith is a strange thing: it may grow and develop and then it does indeed support me in my intentions and living, not to mention the comfort it provides..

But, all of a sudden it can just flow away, leaving me adrift, bereft, and not sure of anything.

I am a pilgrim, it’s true. But as Bhajan (a bhajan is a sacred song, a hymn) singer Krishna Das sings:

I am a pilgrim/the road’s so long.

And sometimes it seems a lot longer than this particular pilgrim would like. Still, as they say, how long’s a piece of string? And it’s rougher than I’d like as well. but again how rough is rough? Layers of meaning in that word longer.

Yes, I am a  hermit, and my mind’s not the same, as Jackson VanHorn sings. Same as what? Whose mind is mine different from? Is my mind somehow not that same as it once was? True though: my mind is hardly ever the same.Here’s the whole chorus as it spoke to me:

Yes I am a hermit
My mind is not the same
Yes I am a hermit and ecstacy’s
my game.

For this hermit, ecstacy is not a stage experienced all that often. Mind you, there are fleeting moments, but like the pilgrim road, there are long distances to be trod between one of those moments and the next.

And as for Tim Moore claiming he’s

‘… sittin’ peacefully on Hermit Rock’?

Well, yes the rock – the hermitage – has much potential for peacefulness; a peace expereienced quite often actually. It’s a sacred space

But, as in any way of living, any way of being, peace comes and peace goes. And when it goes, it can seem like it never existed, and that ‘sittin’ peacefully’ is, and always will be a fantasy never to be realised or made real.

It’s about equinimity 

That’s something else I heard today. Well, there’s not a lot of equinimity in this hermit pilgrim today. Seems, then, that there needs to be some shifting of perspective; some peace needs to be restored

My Lord Ishvara

Deep withn the still centre of my being

May I find peace.

Silently withing the quiet of the grove

May I share peace.

Gently and powerfully in the wider circle of humankind

May I radiate peace.

Om Tat Sat

Om Shanti Shanti Shanti

Afterword:

A few hours have passed since I made these notes; I have regained a little balance, but still thought it was important to publish this post.

Thank you for your patience

Love and peace

Paul the hermit

A Gift Came to Me in an Email

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Even a Leaf

A couple of days ago I recieved a beautiful gift in an email. I often receive wonderful things through the email, and this one, as with so many of the others, has profound meaning for me.

Not only that, but this gift has served as a reminder to me of that significance. I’d like to share with you that gift, as well as some thoughts on its importance and meaning to me.

There are a multitude of sources online where you can learn all the technical stuff, word meanings, history, origin, when it’s used and all the rest. I would like, however, to just ‘think out loud’ in my own words, and follow my own heart’s promptings.

Hari Om Tat Sat, is actually two mantras in one: Hari Om, and Om Tat Sat.

Hari Om represents the totality of what we might call God. Hari refers to the manifested cosmos, as well as the creative impulse in its manifest form. I call that Ishvara, but it doesn’t have a name I’m sure!

Om, is the unmanifested universal consciousness, the Absolute Reality. Meaning, as I understand it, existence itself. I call it Brahman, or God, but again, names are just labels we humans apply to things to make it all seem so neat and tidy!

They say that Om Tat Sat is the most sacred of mantras (in Hinduism). It’s used at the completion of prayers and rituals as a way of invoking the presence of the divine and ‘bringing it all together’ you might say. Well not so much bringing, more like a reminder that everything is one already.

I really like the chanting of Hari Om Tat Sat. It’s a centering practice I would say, a way to remember the oneness of all. And I say it, as the traditionalists do, as a closing to prayers or other practice; it’s like ‘Amen’ or ‘It is so’ or ‘Let it be so’ or, well it’s endless – and personal and subjective.

As mentioned, Om means Brahman – or God in the unmanifested state; Tat, not only sounds like that but does in fact mean all that is. In other words, Brahman or the Absolute. Sat means Truth, Absolute Truth or, once again Brahman.

For me it is a little prayer of its own actually. And I’ve heard it used as a greeting many times. It’s a means I think of honouring the divine within the one being greeted, while at the same time I have a sense that it is a recognition, or acknowledgement rather, of the oneness, the unity of the greeter and the greeted along with everything else.

This is why I don’t really feel the need to break the mantra down to explain in technical detail all the constituent syllables (even I were qualified to do so, which I most surely am not).

It really is a way to acknowledge the oneness of all, the Absolute, which includes, obviously, me and you. The Truth is absolute, it says, so must we be, absolute.

Hari Om!
Om Tat Sat

A Lesson in Humility

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Opening my Bhagavad Gita this morning for my daily reading, I noticed that I was about to begin a new chapter. I always like when that happens, but this post isn’t about that; it’s inspired by a small scrap of paper glued on the facing page.

In years long gone, a less minimalist me would collect bits and pieces cut from newspapers, magazines or wherever (no Internet in those days). This particular strip of paper was cut from a newspaper (makes me shudder a bit to think how I would devour newspapers every day if I could. Shudder in horror) and has the title Today’s Text. It was a daily quote, usually a verse, from the Bible, and I’d often cut out those that appealed to me. As this one obviously did.

No longer collecting such bits and pieces, this one somehow survived the now ancient culling of excess material stuff, and has ended up in my Bhagavad Gita. Don’t ask me how or when.

Anyway, before I get off track, or too far down the track, here’s the quote we’re talking about

A man of knowledge uses words with restraint.
    Proverbs 17:37

I paused when I read this. As you probably are already guessing, I just had to write it down and added some notes of my own before getting on with my Bhagavad Gita reading.

What comes next is essentially what those full of first thought notes said, plus a little context setting to begin with.

In addition to the Bhagavad Gita, I am also reading, bit by bit, another sacred text. A couple of times (including today) I’ve been frustrated at having to plough through a page and a half (for example) of a description of a concept or idea that I’ve thought could have been said in no more than a couple of sentences.

Is he, the author, a person of knowledge? He most certainly is. He has wisdom too. He was a respected teacher and scholar. Some, many, say he was a saint.

So, perhaps it’s me demonstrating my own lack of knowledge here. Perhaps it is me, also lacking in wisdom, who is using words without restraint. Just because my opinion proposed using fewer words, does not mean by any means that they are better words.

Perhaps it’s me in error: passing judgement on an author I consider knowledgeable and wise, and who is certainly more than intimate with the topics he’s commenting on.

So, allow me to put another perhaps into this mix: Perhaps if such a person takes one and a half pages to describe an idea, then it might just mean that I am in need of more knowledge than I think I have. Surely I am missing something.

At the very least I am being prompted to reread the sections in question, that I was so hasty to dismiss as too wordy. Perhaps (what is it with this word today? Have to nominate it word of the day – perhaps) there is something for me to actually learn before letting my mind run away with critical thoughts based on quick and ill-informed judgements.

A Few Thoughts on the Big Question: Why a Monk’s Life?

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Just now, on rediscovering a quote I’d noted down months ago, I spontaneously decided to download again the book I took it from. This will be the third reading: seems to be one of those books that keep calling you back.

The book (The Abbot’s Shoes by Peter Robertson) tells the story of the author’s foray into monastic living in New Zealand way back in the early 1970s when he was twenty something.

One of many mini monastries we’ve been blessed to live in

I’d like to share the mentioned quote with you, because I think it really speaks to my own commitment to the contemplative, hermit life, which is for us a monastic life too – a hermitage is actually a mini monastery.

Sitting in his apartment one night, completely dissatisfied with life the universe and everything, the author contemplates the state of the world around him.

‘All the marching, all the writing, all the campaigning in the world isn’t going to change this insanity, brutality, and carnage.’

Actually this isn’t the quote I’d made a note of; it’s the preceding  sentence which I saw again today and it seemed to just fill out the context for me. Anyway, after a few moments of quietness and thought, the author concludes:

‘I somehow intuited that the most powerful, significant , and influential  action I could take to change the course of this kind of history, was to hide in a monastery.’

He goes on to reflect that by doing so – living simply, in a community devoted totally to contemplation and prayer – he could become a tiny part of ‘the turning of the tide’.

Years later, reading Thomas Merton‘s diaries, he discovered that Merton had felt the same way, concluding that those living simple, prayer filled, contemplative and quiet lives were ‘keeping the universe from crashing in pieces and falling apart.’

There is a strong sense among contemplatives, hermits, nuns, monks, that this is their function: keeping the whole thing going. Or as our author says, each playing a tiny part in the big picture. I would say, like I know Merton did many times (and acted upon his words), that action in the world is absolutely necessary; it’s just that it can’t do all the work alone.

In our hermitage we too speak often of these ideas, and think about them deeply and try to realise how they affect our lives as hermit monks.

So, hiding in a monastery? Or in a hermitage? It’s true it’s very much a hidden life in many ways. For me though, it’s not about  being hidden, it’s more about just what Black Elk says, I’m trying to make my every step a prayer.

Speaking for myself, it’s not that I’m unwilling to pray for a specific individual, or for peace in such and such a country, or relief from poverty, and oppression for specific individuals or communities.

It’s more that: picking and choosing in that way risks leaving people and issues out inadvertently or through some unconscious bias.

I have chosen to live this life apart as much as possible from the world in order to minimise the anxiery being ‘out there’ causes me, to have the quiet, the time, the ‘head and heart’ space to simply pray. To make of my life a prayer

Let every step you take upon Mother Earth be as a prayer

Black Elk (Ogala Lakota Holy Man)

My partner hermit is fond of reminding me of the well known aphorism that a stone dropped in a pond will make ripples that spread out and out. Just like the vibes – the vibrations – emanating from a prayerful life, from all the prayerful lives.

Foster Your True Self: It’s A Big Deal

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Today I finished watching  a beautiful and extremely fascinating documentary.  It was about life in a Trappist monastery as well as a fascinating history of that movement. I was struck by something one of the monks said.

He was referring to what he and his fellow monks are actually doing with their lives in the monastery. He said their lifestyle was helping them to:

‘foster who we truly are before God.’

Hearing this, I had to pause the video, make notes, and do some thinking. What had actually struck me, my first thought on pausing, was that this is exactly what I’m doing as a hermit monk dwelling in our Hermitage. Exactly what I’m doing. Well, at least it’s what I’m aspiring to.

There are two aspects or primary intentions that inform the life I try to live as a hermit and monk that are in fact integral one to the other; they merge actually to become one primary focus of my life.

I practice an ever evolving and I hope intensifying devotion to the divine, with the upliftment of the world and all beings as its central theme.

The other, integral focus, is an equally ever evolving and intensifying quest for self-knowledge, for the answer to the question, who am I?

In other words, I am attempting to foster who I truly am before God. Foster as in ‘encourage the development of …’ (as one definition puts it).

In this case, the development is the growth of the knowledge of my true nature – who I am above and beyond this physical (and mental) creature running around madly trying to figure things out.

In my life there is much effort devoted to the cultivation – a synonym for foster – of that knowledge: meditation, prayer, contemplation, study, just sitting, being still. Did I mention the aspirational nature of all this? It’s an ongoing project to say the least.

Speaking of aspirational: Two more synonyms for foster that I like are nurture and support. Both are even more in that aspirational category; at least it feels like that sometimes. Actually, maybe there’s a more accurate way for me to be putting this.

After all, as I think about it now, even I would agree that my whole lifestyle, my entire way of being in the world supports and nurtures me.

Except for me, myself, and I, that is: Lest the inner grammarian sends me mad in a search for antonyms for foster, let me just say that I am overly skilled in the self-critical and self-destructive departments. My ability to put myself down and to tear myself apart is legendary.

Anyway, with overwhelming nurture and support coming from my partner hermit all the time reinforcing my sense of Self, all I have to do is work on ridding myself of these self-destrucitive and self-critical tendencies.

So, the conditions for the banishment of self-loathing are there; all that’s missing is discipline on my own part in seeing the Divine in myself as I profess to be trying to see it in everyone else.

I need to be rid of the forgetfulness  that blinds me to the Truth that is actually very plain to see.

Speaking of the Divine, the ‘before God’ is the vital element for me. God is all there is, so it is always before God that I act, whether in a positive or in a not so great manner.

The best prescription is for me to remember. To remember that God is everywhere and everything (did I say that already?). To remember that me, myself, and I, are also included in that everything and everywhere.

I think that once I do remember these truths even for the odd moment now and again, then the real fostering of who I truly am will have begun.

To Sleep or To Not Sleep?

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One of the stories I’ve been telling myself for pretty much as long as I can remember, is that my life has been impacted, influenced, directed, controlled, by depression and fatigue. As with all stories, there are elements of fact, fiction, fantasy, real life experience, truth, and the not so true in this one.

Anyway, with the fatigue factor in mind, I’ve recently made an intention (I call it a sankalpa) to lie down for an hour or two every day whether I ‘felt like’ it or not. The idea was that a daily break would be like a catch up, a preemptive measure if you like. Even if I didn’t sleep, it’d be an opportunity to just be still, listen to nice music, relax for a while, a quiet time.

Today, just after breakfast, and getting deeply into my spiritual practice, I suddenly experienced an epiphany. Or to be a little less grandiose about it, I had a little insight which has lead to me to make these notes.

Despite that feeling of exhaustion, and despite the previously mentioned intention to rest more, I resisted going to lie down, thinking I can lie down later in the day.

Why? Surely a person who thinks their life has been ruled by depression and fatigue, would welcome any pretext to lie down, to sleep, to shut the world out for a while.

And, then comes the insight: All of a sudden I realised why I was resisting taking rest: Well, the fact was that I didn’t want to sleep because, well, I’d be asleep. I’d not be able to continue my practice, read, write, to ‘live now’. Putting it another way, I simply wanted to keep on keeping on doing exactly what I was doing.

But wait, I hear you asking: how can you fully live now when you’re so tired?

Excellent question; the exact question in fact that I asked myself. The answer I got from Self was interesting: fatigue as a symptom and outcome of depression is one thing; fatigue resulting from living a full life with enthusiasm (sort of sometimes) is quite a different thing.

Actually, now I think about it, there’s another little insight making its way to the surface of this over-active, over-full mind: The very fact that I thought I had living to do now is a very clear signal that, for at least the moment, depression is not dragging me around, or down, or anywhere else.

Just that concept of wanting to be awake to live this moment? Well, isn’t that a joyful thing? But what about being so tired? Should I go and lie down now anyway?

Ummm… Actually I don’t know; I can’t say really. So, I think I will just keep on doing what I was doing when I began these notes.

Which was chanting the names of God.

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare
Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare.

Now that should wake me up for a bit.

PS It’s a bit later in the day, and I’m typing up the notes as a post for the blog. I did in fact carry on chanting for a while, I’ve had lunch, and I think after I post this, I might go for a walk around the neighbourhood. And no, I haven’t had to lie down yet.

Maybe later!

The Hermits (and the Lion) Sleep Tonight

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The Lion Sleeps Tonight. That’s the song name I always think of. Sometimes you might hear it called Wimoweh. While it’s the song’s Zulu title, it’s actually not a real word: it references a mishearing (and subsequent recording by a group in the early ’50s) of Uyimube (the original chorus) which is Zulu for you are a lion.

In any case, I feel like I’ve known the song all my life. I suppose I have: it was a smash hit when I was seven or eight years old. It’s been one of those songs that have stuck, become a constant presence, to be hummed occasionally, to be sung even less frequently, heard rarely, but loved and familiar.

Anyway, recently (in March I think) my affection for the song surfaced. I was thinking about something my partner hermit had said about creativity and suddenly the melody to The Lion Sleeps Tonight came into mind.

That melody, and my memory of the lyrics then became integral to the poem I wrote to express some of my thoughts about my partner hermit’s statement. It helped me say what I had to say.

I hope you like it – the song – Listen to the Tokens doing their version from 1961; check out the lyrics too. It’s a happy song, a reassuring song of safety and love.

With that I humbly offer my poem. Enjoy

THE HERMITS SLEEP TONIGHT

A creative way to start the day.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

In Samsara’s jungle there is a village, a suburban village.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

Near the village – no, in the village
the hermits sleep tonight.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

The walled enclosure,
their very own paradise,
like a castle keep,
keeps them safe.
A peaceful way, a peaceful way.

Hush my sisters; hush my brothers.
No need to fear the jungle.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

Day breaks; Surya rises.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

Sleeping hermits gather, to break the fast.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

Fast broken, sacred tea imbibed.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way

The hermits begin, begin their day of prayer.

A creative way to start the day.
A prayerful way, a prayerful way.

A Story of a Door

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The walk from the Hermitage to the coffee shop at the Village Green takes around five minutes or so. This morning, noticing a pause in the rain, we thought we might take the opportunity to get some fresh air and a walk, at the end of which there would be coffee. So, we stepped bravely forward, with the faith that the gods of the rain were indeed taking a break.

‘Look over there, ‘ said my partner hermit as we passed through the centre of the village. ‘There’s a door that can only be opened from the inside.’

‘I’ve never noticed that before,’ I replied, looking across the street to a wall into which was set a door with no visible handles or lock. The only things that suggested that it was in fact a door were the hinges on one side, as well as its size and shape.

Now don’t ask me how many times I’d passed that spot. Most likely dozens of times, on both sides of the road. Still, now that I had been shown it, I was intrigued. Mentally I was captured: I thought, what a wonderful thing: the one or ones on the other side of the door have complete control over who or what is allowed to enter.

With such a door, one that only opens from your side, you could easily choose to rarely – or even never – open it. Ah, peace at last went my thoughts.

But, right away, those thoughts were dismissed, sent packing: too simplistic, too extreme, to heavy a response. Though, you know, I do feel strongly that such a response to the world – shutting it all out completely – is perfectly understandable, completely reasonable, and oftentimes even an absolute necessity .

Still, I had that feeling towards my reactive thoughts of ‘too extreme’ (inner editor’s note: he has no idea what he’s saying does he? If you ask me, right this minute he will be thinking his initial reaction was spot on and he’d love to have a door like that. Anyway, we’ll let him have it his way).

Some further, more careful thought is required here I think. For a start, here’s a question: If I were to keep the door shut all the time, how would I ever be able to allow my own light, my own love, my own Self, out into the world?

Maybe there’s a way to keep the door open sometimes, then at other times choose to keep it closed to bar access to unwanted intruders in the form of people, thoughts, events, emotions and so on.

After all, it is my door (in this little fantasy at least), the door to the inside, where resides the ‘real’ me, the Self within, beyond and above, the physical form that I so tenaciously cling to as as being the real me. Talk about attachment!

Perhaps slightly exagerated, but this is close to how I see my actual door working as distinct from the story I’m telling in this post.

Where was I? Oh yes. With that door that opens only from the inside, I might come – eventually – to realise that there is nothing to disturb me – unless I open the door and let whoever or whatever that is unwanted, through the door.

I am my own gatekeeper, and without my consent my gate (door) cannot be opened and entered.

And, getting back to the choices I am able to make to sometimes open the door to allow some light and love to flow out from me, out the door and into the world. The more I’m able to discern when, and for how long, to open the door as a way to control what comes in, to what can reach me, the more resources of said love and light I shall be able to build up.

Which, in turn, will lead to more and more opportunities I’ll have to open the door in order to share some of that good.

I can envisage a state reached where my door could quite possibly be left to stand ajar all the time.

You see, the more love and light pouring out, the less that disturbs me can get in. Love and light is transforming, isn’t it?

Yes. Now I’ve noticed – recognised – the door that can only be opened from the inside: It’s me! Now, where did I leave my door keys?