Category Archives: notes from the Hermit’s cave

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

Illusion, fear and wrong thinking? A good question

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Greetings to you, visitors to the cave

Let me begin this post by asking you a question. No. I’ll start again: I’m going to begin this post by asking me a question. It’s a question prompted by prayers I recite every day, not only during my morning practice, but at random times during the day. Here goes with the question:

How much time do I spend discussing illusion, fear, and wrong thinking?

Well the short answer is, a lot! Despite all my efforts, prayers, meditation, discipline, and the rest, I spend way too much time pondering all kinds of illusions, indulging in an ever revolving range of fears, and thinking about all sorts of ridiculous, irrelevant, and unwanted stuff.

Oh, before I go on, I should mention that there are actually two prayers I’m referring to:

This prayer, which you might call an affirmation comes, I think, from the teachings of the ancient Indian Rishi Adi Shankara. I’ve not been able to track down the exact source. Getting a little ahead of ourselves here, but a perfect example of wrong thinking would be to berate myself for not being more careful with sources.

So, what does it mean to spend time discussing illusion, fear, and wrong thinking? Well, I know I said I was asking myself this question, but I think it would not be out of order to say that we are all prone to spending time on these things.

Discussing is obvious: talking about, thinking about, angsting over, worrying over. Illusion? Anything that isn’t real, stuff that’s ‘make believe’ as the expression goes. Anything that we are imagining for good or bad.

Our illusions are often about worst-case scenarios, or at the other end of the spectrum, they can be about some fantasy, an idealized perfect outcome to a situation. There is a lot written about how we are so very much trapped in illusion; it’s not the place here for that discussion.

Fears: pretty obvious what fears are. I don’t know about you, but I can get to thinking of stuff to be fearful of anytime, anywhere, even things I know I can face without fear. Like a couple of days ago I was walking across a rail and walking bridge near our current hermitage. A long time ago I had huge paralysing fears of high bridges, especially over water as this one is.

But for a long time now I’ve felt I have mastered this fear and then suddenly on this occasion I looked down to the river below and shocked myself with ‘What am I doing?’ type thinking and fear returned. Mind you, it passed quite quickly as I reminded myself I’d walked over this bridge (and many others) a lot of times without a second thought.

And then there are fears about the future, fears of consequences of past actions, fears of not making the right choices now, fears for health, loved ones, the world. Anything goes when it comes to fear doesn’t it?

Ah, now we get to the biggie: wrong thinking. Again I think it’s safe to say that we all spend far too much time in the company of wrong thoughts. And again, they can be about anything, and can pop up to take over our mind without warning.

Consider how often we think about things that are either none of our business, or they are things we can’t do anything about. We obsess over what we see on the news,  or what celeb is doing what and with whom. Think about how interested we often are in what other people are doing, thinking, saying.

Then there’s blindly following fashion, thinking so much about things we don’t have (and how everyone except us has those things already) that we give into advertising, and end up buying lots of stuff we don’t need, maybe can’t afford, and might not ever use. And don’t forget about the one we all fall for: gossiping about others whether they are famous, our family or friends, or simply our neighbours.

A huge case of wrong thinking are the harsh judgements we make on ourselves; and the amount of time we spend thinking about our faults and failings. And don’t forget the other end of the ego spectrum: it’s also wrong thinking to be constantly telling ourselves how great we are.

There are endless examples of wrong thinking. We need to bear in mind Buddha’s central teachings: there is a middle path that can be taken in all things. Well, this maxim applies to thinking as well. Remember that our mind can be our enemy or our friend.

Even enlightened ones such as sages, rishis, saints and the like, fall victim to illusion, fears, and wrong thinking. Of course as they are enlightened, they perhaps are less affected, less inclined to fall to the depths, as the rest of us might.

Of course, there are ways we can put ourselves on the path to that enlightenment. But in truth, it is a subject that is dealt with very adequately by all great scriptures of the world, not to mention the visionaries who have delved deeply into psychology, philosophy, and the human condition.

And this leads me to the second prayer:

This one comes from a song by George Harrison, titled Just for Today. I actually did a post on this song a couple of years ago that you can find here. As well, if you do check out the lyrics of this masterpiece, you will see that my prayer is a rather generous paraphrase. I don’t think George would mind; I hope you don’t either.

Just for Today (the song and, a little less articulately, this, my paraphrased prayer) is a prayer for presence, a plea to be in this place, and in this time. In other words, an affirmation that I (or you) may remember that there is only here, and only now.

But, and it’s a big big but, we need to make of our entire lives a prayer.

Of course that means using the words, but it also requires a whole lot more. Discipline, self-control, deliberate actions (saying prayers is obviously also an action), meditation, silence, contemplation, and to put it simply: good behaviour in all that we do and think.

Now, this prayer inspired by George is a good place to finish. Or rather, it’s a good place to remind ourselves we can’t solve all life’s problems at once.

Being present, being here and now, really says we have no other choice but to live through this day only. Or perhaps we can paraphrase once more and say we have to actually realise what is already true: we can only live through this one, ever-evolving and moving moment.

So, how do we get to that point of spending less time discussing illusion, fears, and wrong thinking? By coming to realise that being in this moment, and in this place, we are already perfectly fine. All we can and need to do is remember that one simple fact. But don’t worry, all you need to do is remember it just for today.

peace and love

Lessons Never Too Late for the Learning

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This morning I completed the penultimate lesson in a course of classes on the Bhagavad Gita. The classes were held once a week for I think 3 or 4 years and finished a few months ago. As it happens the entire course was recorded giving me and so many others the opportunity to study it online.

Anyway, at the start of the lesson today Swamiji ( Swami Tadatmananda, resident teacher at the Arsha Bodha Centre) reminded us that the course will soon be over. I thought (and it was by no means the first time I’ve had this thought): what an achievement; finishing this long and complicated course; fancy me sticking with it till the end.

Second thought, following a nano-second behind: What an odd idea, to think how great I am simply for finishing my study. Especially when it is not in the slightest way true. I’ll be studying the Bhagavad Gita (and I hope many other teachings) for the rest of my life. This period of study has been simply an introduction, a foretaste of what is to come.

Swami Tadatmananda

Having said all that, I have to say that this time of digging deep into the Gita has been a terrific ride. I’d been studying it by myself for a few years, but that’s nothing compared to having a qualified teacher guide me through such an in depth study and contemplation of this great teaching.

While I do know a few of the 800 verses by heart, I understand that this is not ‘ordinary’ knowledge. As the disclaimer goes: it is very much a pointer to the knowledge; the key is to not to confuse the pointer with the very much transcendental knowledge that is to be gained from what the pointer points to.

Probably my favourite verse written
on a little card that I treasure

My partner hermit has been responding to some of my photos when I post them with little Haiku-like writings. Yesterday (or was it the day before?) I said to her:

‘You’ve done 71 so far.’ I was thinking to praise the achievement.

She replied (with much wisdom as always):

‘I don’t count them. One or seventy one, it’s all the same.’ I’m paraphrasing here.

Looks as if I might be only just at the beginning of my lessons.

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

Making Peace with Poetry and a Prayer

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Namaste my friends

The poem I want to share with you today has, I think, been shared on this blog before. I haven’t checked because I didn’t want to be tempted to censor myself and not post it again if it has been posted.

The poem, titled simply Peace Prayer, has a repeating refrain in each verse:

Our Lady Queen of Peace Pray for us.

A couple of days ago I came across a church dedicated to this particular manifestation of the Divine Feminine. I know it doesn’t seem to be such a far-out coincidence, but up till then, I had never encountered a church with this name.


So, obviously, it reminded me of my poem, written a couple of years ago now. As well as the story that prompted its writing:

When I was 12 my father went to war. As a professional soldier, he went as a part of this country’s commitment to its American allies in its war against Vietnam.

Our family was, at least nominally, Christian at that time, and anyway, desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.

Which means we, my mother, my sisters, and I, formed a tiny prayer circle every night for over a year to pray for my father and for peace.

These days I no longer label my beliefs, not if I can help it anyway. What I seek now is the Divine wherever it is to be found. Which is everywhere of course!

In any case, here is my poem. It’s always the right time to pray for peace, though we should always remember our prayers are really directed at ourselves. It’s up to us to answer the prayer as we are able and see fit.

Peace and love to you all.

Peace Prayer

The father, the husband, the man of the house
He’s away. At the war.
Our Lady Queen of Peace pray for us.

Away at the war, yes,
In a far off land. Not his own.
Our Lady Queen of Peace pray for us.

Away at the war. “Incountry”.
that’s what they call it.
Our Lady Queen of Peace pray for us.

At home the children, the wife and mother wait.
Wait and pray.
Our Lady Queen of Peace pray for us.

At home they wait yes.
Each night on their knees,
in a circle. Prayer circle.

Away at the war, he is fighting. For what?
At home, they are praying. For what?
Our Lady Queen of Peace pray for us.

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