Category Archives: monk in the world

Insights Gained on the Kora (A Follow On Post to our last one).

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Namaste and greetings friends

The previous post on this blog was about the notion of Kora, or the circumambulation of a sacred site or object on foot as a kind of pilgrimage. If you missed it, you can find that post here.

While researching for that blog, I came across an old file in a forgotten folder which also touched on Kora as a topic. I’d forgotten all about it as it was really only a first draft of a proposed post that, at the time didn’t go any further.

Reading it again, I right away realized it was a great theme for its own post and would follow on quite nicely. So, before I share that with you, allow me a minute to set the context.

In early 2020 we had just arrived in a small outback town in central NSW. We’d planned our arrival to coincide with the onset of the very first lockdown put in effect as a response to the outbreak of Covid 19. Our hermitage remained there for about six months before that first (of several as it turned out, though we didn’t know it at the time) lockdown eased and we moved on.

As with that last post, this one features a sports ground, and my adoption of it for the purposes of my own circular pilgrimage practice.

Thank you for your patience

Across the road from the little apartment in which we took refuge a few months ago as fear of the Corona virus spread and travel was restricted, is a sports ground. In freer, safer times, they play cricket, and – in the winter – football there.

That ground, or rather the oval shaped fenceline surrounding it, has become a Kora for us. A Kora is a kind of pilgrimage in the form of a mindful and meditative Circumambulation.

Kora is a Tibetan word, but the concept of pilgrimages circling sacred sites is common to most religious traditions. I guess you might say, we’ve kind of adapted the practice to suit our purposes.

Anyway, a few days ago I noticed that markings had been painted on the grass: a set of giant squares and other lines. I realized that football must soon be returning, along with the reopening of cafes, restaurants, and so on in the town.

As I continued on my Kora that day, I began to notice that many leaves had been painted along with the grass. It occurred to me that these blue-hued leaves could be seen as a kind of symbol for at least one aspect of the current ‘crisis’ that I’d been thinking about already.

Since first adopting this ground as my own Kora, I’d often seen – and sometimes collected – leaves blown from neighbouring trees by winter winds. I’m always doing stuff like that. Sort of my way of connecting with nature.

Then, on the day in question, I saw the return of human activity to that grassy leaf-strewn space.

I make no comment here, no judgements about rights and wrongs. Life must go on. And with life, the cultural activities of all human communities must resume.

I simply point out that it seemed to me that blue paint on winter-blown leaves is an apt metaphor for the impacts that we, the human species, have on the world we live in.

Also, as you can see from my photo, that impact isn’t always ugly, or bad. In this case, I think it’s actually quite beautiful.

The other thing to say is (as I read on a sign taped to the fence on the same sports ground) please remember to social distance. (note: the pandemic is officially no longer with us, but when you think about it, it might be seen as a wise precaution at any time. There are always germs around waiting to spread!)

Oh okay, one more thing. In a time – in a world – where social distance has become a verb, remember that the only distance between any of us is purely physical and an invented mental construct. All life, despite seemingly unlimited names and forms, is one. There is no separation.

Peace and Love

Circling Sacred Sites is Good for You (Me)

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As a self-described Hermit Pilgrim, I aspire always to live a contemplative and secluded life, as far apart from wordly concerns as I can manage. At the same time, I am a pilgrim, in both the sense of the internal journey of the Self as I study and meditate, as well as in the world itself: I move from one living space to another – one temporary hermitage to another- as I feel directed or led.

In the last several years I’ve noticed how often I seem to find myself in one more temporary hermitage that ‘just happens’ to be located right next door or across the road from a sports-ground, or what’s often called ‘a local oval’.

At least three times in recent years, that I can recall. And it is so at the moment. This time the hermitage is in a suburb of a mid-size city (by Australian standards) that in reality is more a low-key and small seaside town on a peninsular.

Anyway, just as with those other occasions, I have been grateful for the oval across the road: It makes for an ideal Kora.

Kora is a Tibetan words that means the act of walking around or circumamabulating a sacred place or object.

A monk on the Kora around the home and temple of the Dalai Lama in the Indian Himalayas

Tibetan Buddhists do Kora as a form of pilgrimage and walking meditation. It is a devotional practice and it is said to have transformative powers.

Of course Buddhists are not alone in practising this kind of circumamabulation (from the Latin circum (around) and ambulare (to walk).): Muslims circle seven times around the Kaaba in Mecca as the final stage of Hajj .

Many religious traditions consider Mount Kailish in Tibet a sacred place and circling it on foot, even once, is considered by some to be the equivalant of one complete lifetime.

In south India there is another sacred hill called Mount Arunachala. Each year millions of pilgrims walk around its base, which takes a couple of days. In India, the word pradakshina is used to describe such circular acts of devotion and pilgrimage.

And the list goes on: as I said many if not most religious traditions have a practice of walking around sacred sites or places as acts of pilgrimage or devotion.

So, what has any of this have to do with me walking around local ovals or sports grounds and calling what I do a Kora? Well, my intentions are similar to those other pilgrims but perhaps more humble. Let me explain.

Not being a sports-oriented person (not into competition and team sports at all really) I can’t comment too much on the idea that a sportsground is sacred ground because of the sports played there.

I do acknowledge and understand how it is that so many people do in fact consider the games played there as sacred activity with winnings and losings and full of heroic deeds. This indeed makes these places sacred sites.

Then there is the fact that many such grounds are named in memory of local people who have been prominent in the community. And, as is the case with the oval over the road from the current hermitage, ovals do actually become sites of memory.

This one, called Lynn Oval hosts several memorials at its periphery: there are tributes to miners who have died in accidents in local mines.

And there is a lovely statue of a guide (service dog for people who have vision impairments) dog called Tessa who is famous in the area for helping to raise a lot of money for more guide dogs.

Lastly but, for me, probably the most significant ‘evidence’ for a local oval being sacred ground is that it, well it just is. Just as all ground is sacred. An affirmation borrowed from First Nations’ Peoples says it all very nicely:

We stand always on sacred ground and beneath sacred skies.

In other words, everthing, everytwhere is sacred. All the rest, the memorials, the games played, they are not what makes the ground sacred, they are the things that people layer onto the space as a way of acknowledging the inherent sacredness.

And that is how it is for me. It’s not me walking around the oval chanting mantra (or at other times ‘just thinking’) that makes it sacred ground, despite being sacred acts in their own right.

I mentioned earlier an alternative word for Kora, pradakshina. This comes from the Sanskrit for ‘to the right’, because traditionally the idea was to always circle the sacred site or object clockwise, so the sacred object remains on one’s right.

Obvioiusly there isn’t much to see on the middle of the oval as I walk around the boundary fence (it’s about 400 to 500 meters by the way). Mind you, the other day a flock of pigeons were feeding in the centre while I walked. Then, at another oval, in another town, there would often be a lone Ibis sitting almost in the centre. It’s all sacred.

This idea of centre has me realising that the whole point for me of walking around ovals chanting my mantra, is the reach my centre. The temple I’m circumamabulating is me; I’m the container so to speak, for the Consciousness which pervades and actually is all there is.

Peace and Love

Holy Wanderer: A Saddhu performs pradakshina around a shrine to Shiva in Rishikesh India

PS: I’ve written another post, also related to Kora. Please feel free to visit that post here

Truth Is (Reshared)

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Greetings. Just now as I scrolled my blog at random as I like to do from time to time, I came across a pair of posts from successive days almost exactly two years ago.

It was kind of neat rereading, so naturally I thought I would like to share them with you again.

Please enjoy

Peace and love

Truth Is

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

The Road Rises Up:  A poem about journeying (Reshared with a note added)

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It’s a funny thing, but as soon as I start thinking about resharing older (let’s call them prior posts instead) all sorts of posts come up begging to be the next in line to be shared again.

Anyway, I’d sat down to write something on a quote I really like:

Forget all that and hit the road into exile.

FROM A LONG LOST DEEPLY BURIED NOTE-TAKING APP ON MY TABLET

But nothing was coming. Then suddenly I remembered: I’d already written (sort of, kind of, in a manner of speaking) about this topic, if not this particular quote.

Looking up the post, well it did its thing and said very clearly and in no uncertain terms, Post me!

So, here it is dear friends. I will let it speak for itself

Today I’d like to share a poem with you. I wrote it exactly a year ago, but it’s about a day many many years ago. At other places on this site I’ve mentioned that cliched but for me ever so real question: Am I running away from something or am I running towards something?

In one of those other places I joke about my answer: ‘Neither. I’m just a journey person’. Well, this poem began life as a story of the day I first met Jesus freaks as I hitchhiked on just one more random excursion.

Then it becomes at the same time a piece about running, or journeying towards. And, there’s more: it then speaks about the journey as the point of the journey; the movement is the thing

But the thing morphed into a rap about journey beginnings, or at least in the sense of my ongoing attempted, and until a lot of years later, futile escapes from the madness of family and circumstance. That’s the running away bit.

You see, there was something holy felt then, as now, about those seemingly random hitching trips (not that I would dream of hitching in these times). Somehow I knew the Road was the escape route from the growing madness and horror.

Of course I was only able to partially articulate this at that time, but I remember even at 17 (no, it was a year earlier when I’d made my first attempt. I’d forgotten about that) feeling a sort of specialness about the covering of new (for me) ground, the movement, then the arrival at new (for me) places, new towns and cities.

Much of this pilgrimming (for that is what it was) was done in solitude – except for interactions with drivers of course (one of whom was on the day in question one of the said Jesus Freaks) and other necessary people along the way.

I felt a sense of belonging when on the Road; a kind of being in place and in sync. A sense of belonging that I kept fucking up as I let the trickster ego with its taunting messages of fear, loneliness, greed for things and status, and the rest, take control of me and lead me on twisting and tricky roads back to madness.

And now, these 50 years later, I survey the damage done, the cost to self and others. Especially others. No use of course, to look back with wishful thoughts of what if things had been done differently, what if other choices had been made. Such is not truth, not real. Well, none of it’s real anyway is it? Samsara is all it is –  it’s all a sea of madness and illusion isn’t it?

Anyway, here is the poem. May it speak to you.
Peace

The Road Rises Up

I woke up that morning marooned in Albion
in a village of warriors, on a street, in a house,
going mad in a nest of madness
on an island of madness, in a sea of madness.
Escape, refuge, safety – waking thoughts.
Waking dreams. Looking for a way out.

The Road. The Road rose up in my mind.
The Road will save me. Not the shrink
the patriarch screamed I needed to see.
The Road was waiting; I found it waiting for me.
And my thumb in silent salutation and prayer
held aloft in supplication as I trudged on that seemingly straight but trickster road.

Welcome to the pilgrims’ way, the Road greeted me
as I trod ever more lightly
and Babylon’s chariots hurtled past me bound for far nowheres.
Or maybe somewheres.
All in the fast lanes and howling deceptively
of invitations and rejections, attractions and aversions.
Then – in time – an invitation proffered and accepted.
This pilgrim was on his way.

Let the Music Play (Reshared)

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When thinking about a name for this photo I was really tempted to somehow reference the song American Pie by Don McLean. The phrase from the lyrics ‘the day the music died’, kept coming to mind – even as I made the photo of the scene.

By the way, ‘the day the music died’ refers to the plane crash in 1959 in which the up and coming Buddy Holly, and the more well known Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper were killed.

And there was that brilliant MASH scene coming to mind. In the scene there is concert pianist who has lost the use of his right hand in battle. One of the doctors attempts to encourage him to not allow the music to die, to find other ways than actually playing piano to share the music.

Both connections seemed obvious: a very old dead piano decaying, returning to old forms of itself. But then it struck me: it was the instrument that had died and was changing forms. All material things change, die, becoming something else.

The music on the other hand, hasn’t died. It not only survived that plane crash and the transition of those three singers, it has thrived. Their music lives on. Music can’t die. Why?

Because music is life. Vibrations, harmony, and sound itself, are the foundations, the roots of ‘life the universe and everything’ (to borrow an old expression). As such, music is not a tangible, physical thing and it needs an instrument to make it manifest in the world; music merely passes through the instrument and emerges into being.

I liked that MASH episode. The doctor (stuffy Major Winchester) says to his patient, the wounded pianist, that as a skilled surgeon he has hands that ‘can make a scalpel sing’. But really, what he’s wanted all his life to is to experience music the way the pianist has.

He says he can play the notes, but he doesn’t have the gift that would allow the music (as in Chopin, Brahms and the rest) to flow through him. He tells his patient, who is depressed and unwilling or unable to consider that the music may not have died:

The gift does not live in your hands. The true gift is in your head, and in your heart, and in your soul.

Major Charles Winchester

Hearing that line again reminded me of Om. There are a number of religious traditions that consider OM (sometimes spelt as AUM) to be the primordial sound, the very source of creation. The word itself, when written is considered sacred.

Then there is the verse from the Christian Bible that makes the exact same assertion:

In the beginning was the word and the word was with God and the word was God.JOHN 1:1-3

Well, music needs an instrument – whether in the form of a voice, body, mind, or in an object made of wood, strings, brass, or something else – in order to manifest into the material world and to be experienced by us.

Just think: the piano in my photo in the front garden of a house in a mining town has most likely allowed many generations to experience music. Accompanied them in celebrations and greivings; helped so many through good times and bad times; witnessed people laugh, cry, and even dance;

Of course, Major Winchester’s gifts as a surgeon are that he is a instrument for the vibration, the music of the universe, to make itself manifest in another way.

And what he is essentially saying to our wounded pianist is: ‘Look you can shut it off forever (his words) or you can continue making your gifts – your Self – available as an instrument that allows that music to come into the world for everyone to share’.

Well dear friends, I have pledged to carry on using my gifts and be available in just that way that allows the music to come through me in whatever form and shape it takes.

By gifts I mean those things that have been granted to every living being: the ability to create harmony; the ability to make and spread good vibrations; and the capacity to appreciate and celebrate beauty.

And when you think of it there is no way to put a limit on the number of ways that the music that is Life might be channelled through each and every one of us

A good place to pick up some good vibes, get into harmony with yourself and appreciate beauty, all at the same time

In my own ways I try to make harmony in and around myself as much as I’m able. I am always attempting to cultivate behaviours and attitudes that help to create and spread good vibes. And I constantly seek to appreciate beauty, even when the world seems to be only ugliness.

Of course, as I say I am only the instrument. The music -the beauty, good vibes, and harmony – exist with or without me. But music in whatever shape and form it takes needs an instrument if it is to come into our material world and be there for all of us to share.

So, this is my prayer: that at least every once in a while, every now and then, I can actually be that instrument .

PS Just a little postscript. When passing that particular garden (the piano garden I call it now) I was drawn to this:

Eagle-eyed Garden Guardian

Just as I photographed this lovely creature, I heard my partner’s voice:

‘Did you see the piano?’

Now being in what you’ve heard me call the Zen Zone I was fully focused on and absorbed in, our winged friend. Coming back from wherever I’d been, I did in fact notice the piano.

You see, you just never never know where the music is going to come from. I might not have seen the piano with my own eagle eye but lucky for me music had a ready and willing instrument standing by to remind me of which way to look.

A Note on Recycling & Introducing the Next Post

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Recycling. Blog posts that is. I don’t think I’ve ever really given much thought to whether or not bloggers recycle their posts on any kind of regular basis. I don’t mean to suggest that nobody ever does it, or that I have never reshared a post: there has been the occasional one I’ve recycled over the years on the various blogs I’ve been involved with

But, not routinely. That’s the word: I’ve not yet made it a routine part of blogging practice to reshare posts at regular (or even at not so regular) intervals.

Until now, that is. You see, a couple of days ago I was rereading random posts on this blog from the roughly two years or so that I’ve been writing it.

I came across one post that really resonated. Actually, I found it so inspirational that I read it twice! So I shared it with my partner hermit. She liked it, and suggested I should begin to reshare some of my older posts. Yes, I thought right away. That’s exactly what I’m going to do, I said.

It’s a good plan, I realized. After all, on that recent revisit to the blog, I rediscovered things I had either almost, or completely forgotten I’d written. In addition I even gained new insights, new ideas, that hadn’t occured to me when originally writing the posts or thinking about them. Not to mention managing to inspire myself a little.

I was going to just pop that aforementioned post here and now. But I think to keep at a minimum the time you need to spend reading my words, I will give the post its own, what to call it? Its own space.

If you’ve seen it in its previous incarnation, please feel free to read again: it might say something new to you it kept quiet about the first time round.

If you are new to the blog, then a warm and loving welcome to you. I hope you discover something helpful.

peace and love

Behold the Mighty Pen

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?

The Best Job in the World

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Indeed, it is clear to all who dwell there that through them the world is kept in being

I jotted down this note I forget how long ago. Over the last few years I’ve read a lot about the early Christian hermits who lived in the deserts of Egypt, Syria, and other areas of that area we label the Middle East.

While I think it was one of these early hermits who uttered these words, it may instead have been a monk or hermit from the 9th or 10th Century, living in the forests of Russia or Eastern Europe. (I wish was a lot less careless with sources for things I note down).

In any case, it was spoken by a hermit or monk who, along with perhaps thousands of other men and women, fled the strict dogmatism of both government and religious institutions , as well as the corruption, materialism, noise, and all the other distractions of the cities and towns.They went to the deserts, the forests, and other remote places, in search of solitude, silence, and peace.

They longed to commune with the divine. They chose to bypass the mire of worldliness, and hoped to find a better way to serve the divine and the world. The writer or speaker of our quote is pointing our attention to all those who went to the deserts, the forests, and other sanctuaries, who in her or his words, believe they are actually keeping the world going, and its people too.

These nuns, monks, priests and hermits, knew that by communing with the divine without distractions, and living a simple life completely and absolutely centred on the divine, was the way to save the world.

‘So’, you might be saying with a slightly cynical tone in your voice: ‘These are people who have ‘escaped’ from the world and are ignoring governments and the law, rejecting social status of any kind, not associating with other people like other good citizens. They’ve gone to sit in a hut or cave or whatever and are doing nothing productive at all. They’re not buying stuff so they aren’t contributing the the economy. And you say they are the ones keeping the world spinning round? Hardly.’

There are hermits everywhere.

Yes, I think they are. Keeping the world spinning I mean. Just as mystics from all the world’s religious traditions, these women and men of the deserts – and the forests too – knew that the world they’d left behind wasn’t real. Well, yes, it’s real enough of course: I mean we only have to look around us, and feel the workings of our bodies. It’s real alright.

But, realer (I know, it’s not a real word) than this physical world we are in and are an integral part of, is what lies within us as well as everything else in the Universe:

Holy Wanderer
Detached from all Worldly Entanglements

The divine, God, the life force, Consciousness. So many names for the same thing. Many of us sense that at the core of ourselves there is ‘something else’; that there is some kind of intelligence for wont of a better word. This intelligence is what illumines life, as in life, the universe, and everything.

But, we don’t see this, or not so often anyway. The mire of worldliness (a phrase I mentioned earlier and which I like very much) seems to be specifically designed to keep us in the dark so to speak, about our true nature.

Think about the seemingly endless focus on materialism with its temptations and promises to make us happy; the conflict and competition among individuals and nations to acquire more power, possessions, land and anything else that ‘they’ve got and that we want’.

Mire is a good word: We’re trapped and sinking fast in a kind of quicksand.

And this mire keeps us from becoming aware, from realizing, that we are the Consciousness (the word I prefer but, as I said, names are just names) mentioned above. It keeps us ignorant of our true nature, and we go on and on struggling to keep afloat in the world.

The hermits of the past and the present, the nuns, monks and other contemplative people of all kinds, and, in many and various places, are all engaged in a quest to know – and yes, to realise – that they and everything else in the material and non-material universe is Consciousness.

I believe that, far from being unproductive, from ‘doing nothing’, It is the engagement by such people everywhere with this quest that does indeed keep the world in being.

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons Thank you

I would like to leave you with a couple of quotes if I may.
The first is from Abba Moses, one of the greatest of the early desert fathers who was born in Ethiopia and lived in Egypt in the 4th Century:

‘Our objective is puritas cordis,’ Abba Moses told Cassian and Germanus [fellow monks]. ‘A heart kept free of all disturbance. The more we cultivate such inner stability, the more we can offer our lives in service to the world.’

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons Thank you

The second quote I would like to share is from Saint Seraphim of Sarov, a 19th Century Russian monk who lived as a hermit deep in the woods:

‘Acquire a peaceful spirit, and thousands around you will be saved.’

Probably the best gig in the world I would say.

Peace and love

Silence, Solitude: Where can I find it?

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Remain in your cell, and your cell will teach you everything

This piece of advice from one of the early Christian desert hermits to a follower has been going round in my head for ages. And I mean a couple of years at least. I’d read it in several books at the time, and I’ve seen it in a few since.

Of course, most of the writers of those books interpreted this advice at face value, literally advising the student, hermit, monk, or other contemplative person to stay in their physical cell (hut, cave monastery cell, suburban bedroom, wherever is their permanent dwelling) and listen, meditate, study, and contemplate. The advice is, stay in that space in silence and seclusion. Quite possibly forever.

‘But it could be the cell of your Self,’ my partner hermit said to me one time. And yes, I thought, that’s exactly right. I liked the symbolism. The actual literal, physical space and its geographical location isn’t necessarily the important factor. What’s important is that you, the real you is actually fully present wherever you are, right here, right now.

Think about what it really means to be present – to be here now: It means that you can say, ‘This is the only space and the only moment that exists. Right here and right now.’

Living life is an ever-flowing movement or process, and at the same time (excuse the unintended pun) is always occuring in the present. And in that ongoing moment you – your Self -is always there.

Of course along for the ride is your little s self with its ego, chattering and never quiet mind reminding you of the distractions, stresses, anxieties, worries about things to do or not do, memories of the past, and fears for the future. It goes on and on.

But, still, that space within where you can meditate, pray, contemplate quietly, that’s your Self, your ‘cell’.

I’ve always liked and worn hoodies. I guess a lot of people do. For some it’s about fashion; others wear them for warmth in cold weather or to keep the sun off when it’s hot; some people even use them to hide.

Then there are others such as nuns, monks, priests and others too, for whom a hood is a part of the robe they wear as a member of their particular group.

In those cases, a hood is called a cowl and most often it’s a largish loose hood sewn onto the robe or habit. Just like a regular hoodie.

I read somewhere (I forget where) that some groups nickname these cowls ‘cells’. In other words, the wearer carries their cell with them wherever they go.

Of course they don’t always actually wear the hood on their heads, but whenever they wish or need to retreat to their cells, all they have to do is simply pull their hood up and over their head and all of a sudden they are in their own private and solitary world; they are in their cell.

As I said earlier, I like the symbolism. But more than that: I find wearing a hood on my head or simply in standby mode, comforting.

I’m not overly good with crowds, or in close proximity to other people on a bus or train or whatever. I like knowing that just by pulling my hood on, I’m able to create my own space apart from my surroundings. In that space I can feel safe and kind of apart.

Even at home I wear a hood when I’m meditating or praying. It’s just one more opportunity to retreat into my cell, into Self

Peace from the Hermit to you