Category Archives: art

Chant the Name and Write a Blog Post!

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Even the biggest dream catcher won’t always catch the dreams

This morning I woke up restless, and extremely tired. It felt as if I hadn t slept at all, though I know I did. Who can say about these things? Perhaps dreams disturbed me or something.

Anyway, despite this grogginess/restlessness vibe, I resolved to get on with morning routines. And, in addition to breakfast and normal stuff, I set an intention to continue with my usual morning devotional practice.

So with that in mind (and a coffee in hand as an extra aid to wakefullness), I sat with that intention and in a mood of devotion.  As is my usual practice, I picked up my Bhagavad Gita.

Now, this particular edition has some pages in front and in the back that aren’t really a part of the main text. Over the years I’ve written things on these pages, and pasted in various pictures, prayers, and other things meaningful to me.

As I picked up the book, it fell open accidentally, by chance, at random, to the pages on which I had placed an image of Saraswati, as well as a page of repeated mantras to her. (I use the female personal pronouns because she is a female representation of the divine in particular aspects. More on this later).

Okay I thought: that’s a pretty clear message about where to go from here. I will chant Saraswati’s mantra for a while. Then I thought, there’s a really nice live recording of the mantra by Krishna Das. Do check it out, it’s very lovely, very meditative and soothing.

So, for about 30 minutes I chanted along with this beautiful renditon of  the mantra. Well, it’s a hymn really, a sacred song. And, now? How do I feel?

Awake! Wide awake, alert, ready to face the rest of the day. Inspired also, hence this quick post. No longer restless, well not as bad as I was anyway.

Oh, I should tell you a little about who I think Saraswati is, though of course if you click on the link on her name above, you’ll learn more.

For me, She is a personifcation, a representation, of the divine; the universal consciousness in its aspect of the arts and learning. Obviously, there’s a lot more to Saraswati than that, but for me, she is like a muse, a sort of mentor; She reminds me that art (and study which I have to get to today as well!) is an expression of all that is divine. Actually, art is the divine just as all things are.

I think that Saraswati has been busy with me this morning.  She has helped me to set down these words I share with you. Perhaps, this little story of my morning has reminded me that I can call on Her more often. One of my biggest aspirations, you see, is to share more with you here.

Oh, one last reminder: There is no such as thing as ‘accidentally’, or ‘by chance’ or ‘at random.

Peace

All I Had to Do Was Dream

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Last night I had a dream. Of course there’s nothing unusual in that: I dream every night, every time I sleep (and sometimes when I’m supposed to be meditating as well). Actually I’m no different than probably every other living being in the Universe: I dream when I sleep.

No. The particular dream isn’t my point here (though we’ll be discussing it soon enough). What makes it worth noting is the fact that last evening, before going to bed, I watched a documentary on Carl Jung and The Red Book.

Jung compiled The Red Book at a time of personal crisis and distress. Using dream analysis, his own imagination, and intense self reflection, he used both paintings and text to express what he saw and understood from these practices. Hauntingly beautiful, other worldly pictures depicting dream images, archetypes, both personal and universal, helped him delve deeply into his unconscious mind and the collective unconscious.

I gave up trying to interpret dreams a long long time ago. Don’t ask me why: I probably couldn’t say. Most likely something to do with a kind of wariness about going too much into where the mind wants to take me, and my sense that the “dream” doesn’t stop when we wake up.

Still, watching this doco prompted a lot of discussion with my partner hermit, and a lot of thinking on my part. The mind is not our enemy, though sometimes I feel that it is. Well, it can be the enemy if we allow it, but equally we can allow the mind to be our friend. After all, what activity of any kind is possible in the world without mind?

So, with that in mind (get it? in mind?) I will share with you that above mentioned dream from last night.

In the dream I was in a small kitchen, making tea. I’d put on a kettle to boil. A very large, heavy kettle, probably three or four times the size of a normal one. I was in the process of looking for a mug or cup, and just as I picked one up that I liked the look of, a crowd of five or six people came bustling noisily into this very crowded space.

‘I’ve just put the kettle on,’ I called loudly over the din. As it happened I’d filled the kettle almost to overflowing, much more than I needed for myself alone.

‘There’s plenty of boiling water to go round.’

Then I busied myself looking for something (a tea bag perhaps?), and when I finally turned back to the kettle to make my tea, I saw it was gone. I was very unhappy with this disappearance: After all, I was the one who had filled the kettle and put it on to boil. Then without a thought or a, what’s the expression? without a by your leave, it’s all gone, nothing left for me. Not only no more water, but nothing to boil more with.

I looked everywhere, even outside the kitchen. Outside was a camp ground and apartment complex, where I (and presumably all the other people) was staying.

Anyway, that’s it. All I remember at least. So, the meaning? Was I merely processing trivial facts and events from my day in this strange fashion? Or was I in touch with the deepest part of my psyche and with the collective unconscious? Possibly a bit of both.

It’s not a big job to make a guess about the meaning. I had a plentiful supply of water (or whatever), and without thought, put the needs of others before my own. But then, I actively resented what had been ‘taken from me’, even though I had freely given it in the first place.

So, the message I take from this dream? Just as I’ve been studying lately, the fruits of my actions are not my responsibility. I have no say over what, if anything, will happen as a result of actions I take. All I am responsible for is the taking of the action itself, the manner in which I undertake it, and the attitude with which I approach the actions I take. That’s it. That’s all I can do. The rest is up to the laws of the universe. Call it Karma, or Natural Law.

Another idea just occured to me: When I take action (like boiling the kettle) and then serve others, I am serving Self, all life, everyone and everything. And obviously that includes me. I’m not suggesting I should have made sure ahead of time that I’d ‘reserved’ enough water for myself, but at the same time …

I might keep this dream analysis thing as practice to practise occasionally, when the inclination or inspiration is there. No more blocking memories of dreams, no more stubborn refusal to reflect on dreams. After all, I spend a lot of time contemplating and reflecting on what I do in my waking life, how is it any different just because it happens while I’m asleep?

Making a Dream a Reality (kind of)

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A few weeks ago I was wandering around in the CBD of Sydney, in Martin Place to be precise. It’s a popular square with loads of tourists,  shoppers, coffee drinkers, and lunching folks.

It’s also a drawcard for both buskers and for street photographers. For me, it’s mainly a short cut from one street to anoher, though I must say, I’ve very often stopped to make a photo or two of the grand architecture, fountain, and the great light that seems to permeate the place.

Anyway, on this occasion as I walked about slowly, I heard a busker. Not a singer, more a spoken word poet type performer. I guess if I were to categorise him, I’d have to say he was a Rapper.

And to put it mildly, his poetry was a amazing; I had to stop and watch and listen for a while. I realised quickly that what he was doing was focusing on a particular passerby and would then make some (mostly humourous) ryhmes about that person. Things like:

Here comes a dude with groovy green shoes.
Not having a pair like them is givin’ me the blues.

or:

Now I see a fella with a phone stuck on his ear.
Come on buddy, why not let us all hear?

Now, I confess that these are my own made-up examples. I wish I’d noted some of the real ones, but I was too busy listening!

It’s easy to tell right away that I’m not what you would call a “natural rhymer”, if there is even such a thing.

But what turns this into a true synchronicity for me is that for a few years now I’ve had a recurring dream in which I’m simply walking along making up superb rhymes as I go. It’s one of those dreams you’re never sure are ‘real’ or simply a dream.

In any case, when I saw and heard this guy that day, it got me remembering the dream and how I’d often thought I would really love to actually be able to do that exact same thing.

Not about people though. I used to photograph people in the street; all kinds of people.  I still consider photography among the most important of my contemplative and creative practices, just these days I don’t photograph people.

So, in a round about way, I’ve made a little “poem” that refers to what I do photograph, inspired by this encounter as well as particular photo I came across just yesterday but made months ago now.

Please enjoy

Strollin’ down the street
I lift my camera to my eye,
no longer interested in the people walking by.
Nowadays I tend to notice their many and varied traces left behind,
or perhaps (and even better) a golden leaf in the gutter I might find.

Thank you for reading this small attempt. Now here’s the photo I mentioned that inspired this attempt at a kind of spontaneous rhyme.

Blowin’ in the Wind

The Beginning of Devotion: A Poem

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The Paradox of the Hermit Life (Courtesy of @travellinghermit3)

THE BEGINNING OF DEVOTION

Attention, paying attention.
It’s the beginning of devotion.
And when you see? When there is seeing?
Well, seeing is praise.

When we see, what we see,
is God.
Not the god, or this or that god.
There aren’t lots of gods,
or so it seems.
And in the end, there isn’t even one god:
there is only God.
So it was said by the sages.

Homage to Holiness: A picture & A Poem

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Iridescent Rosary

HOMAGE TO HOLINESS

Threads harvested from threadbare clothing.
Pea-sized bits of bread, sliced from meagre rations,
Secretly hoarded for sacred purpose.

Mala makers work at night
in the dark of the stinking and freezing stone cell.
Chewed bits of bread become dough again,

and, by feel, frozen fingers knead the dough
Until tiny beads of bread emerge.
A tiny twig, again by feel, pierces each bead through.

Then in solemn prayerful silence and focus,
the nun passes her harvested thread through the first bead.
She ties a knot, no easy task with freezing fingers in the frozen dark.


And so it goes; all sacred duties take their own time.
One by one; one bead of bread threaded; one knot knotted.
The nun nears collapse. But now, at last, her task is done.

As the last knot is knotted, the last bead in its place,
The nun sighs and mutters, whispers, a prayer of thanks.
One hundred and eight beads plus one.
She has made her Mala.
Om Mani Padme Hum

NETI NETI

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On the going down and the coming up
silvered and golded stairs
to and from the Underworld.
It’s all just a giant mirror
In which we see who we are not.

When Trees Speak

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Watercolour by Pauline (with digital enhancement by the Hermit)

Vibing on the mystic trees,
their upside is downside, their downside is upside
selves telling me:
You’ve got to cut through the attachments.
Then, not a new, but old made new again, insight
confirms, clarifies, brings details to,
shines a light on the specifics:
Stop desiring what you already have.

God is in the Ink

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My eyes follow the line her pen inscribes
across the page, its whiteness coming alive.
In such moments, I know that it is true :
I know that God is truly in the ink.

Some Say Love It Is a Flower

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You know how YouTube will recommend videos? Well one that’s constantly recommended to me actually is illustrated with my photos.

So, when it came up again today, I thought I would take a look. It’s been a while since I last watched it. To be honest with you I found it really quite moving, watching it again. Anyway let me share the brief story of how this all came about.

I’d met folk singers Susan and Colin Parrish through the community radio station I once managed. I loved their music and style right away and now, over ten years later I’m still drawn to their music and listen to them very often.

We became friends and after sharing some of my photos with Colin, I was truly surprised when he used them as the visuals for a video he put together of Sue and his cover of The Rose, a terrific song made famous by Bette Midler.

An extraordinary take on a beautiful and powerful song. And to see my photos accompanying was a real thrill. Then as it is now.

I thought I would share it with you here. One thing I hadn’t remembered: Colin’s description :

I was surprised to see my words there. And you know something? I think this song, my photos and that little forgotten quote from me, are all a perfect match. Love is. That’s it really: love is. We, each of us, all are merely expressions of love made manifest in the material world.

I hope you enjoy watching and listening. My little quote really is only echoing lyrics from the song:

Some say love it is a flower and you it’s only seed

Amanda McBroom The Rose

Peace