‘Sometime Soon’: When is it?

There used to be a thing – maybe it’s still a thing – that would happen sometimes. You’d be talking to someone and suddenly they’d burst out:

‘Hey that rhymes! You’re a poet and don’t know it!’

This exclamation, this sudden and surprising interruption, was always prompted by some sort of accidental rhyming happening in something you’d said.

Or, sometimes, it even happened when you had written something and had through no fault or thought on your part, created a rhyme, even a little impromptu and accidental poem.

Well, that’s what happened to be. It was a while ago now and I was writing in my journal. It must have been ages ago because I don’t keep a journal anymore.

In any case, with nobody reading over my shoulder, it was left to me to express surprise at a sudden outburst of poetics on the page. And along with the surprise, I was able to make a quick note of what I’d written:

Anyway, this post isn’t about this little demonstration of spontaneous poetic genius; it’s actually about the ‘sometime soon’ tagging along on the end.

I have no idea where or what the walk to take, the pilgrimage to make, was – or is. Which suggests a rather obvious conclusion: ‘sometime soon’ never came. The walk was not taken; the pilgrimage was not made.

Now, I’m thinking to myself, if the walk under discussion was so appealing – as well as so significant that it transformed into a pilgrimage – then how come ‘sometime soon’ wasn’t right now, or rather right then. If you follow me.

Of course there’s no telling the reasons for the sometime soon. Maybe plans would have been required; travel to arrange; equipment to gather; fitness to acquire. Who knows?

Clearly I was inspired to at least put down in writing that I thought this walk, this pilgrimage, was (or would be) a good thing to do.

Meaning, in that moment, in the present that is (or was) of that moment, that walk/pilgrimage was a thing I wanted to undertake.

Now, while I might have longed to take that walk, to make that pilgrimage, in the present of that moment of writing, and even though planning may have been required, thereby putting off the actuality of the taking and making till some future time, I at the very least could have taken some action – again in the present of that moment – to get the ball rolling so to speak.

So, what’s the lesson here?

Well it’s simple really, very simple. Maybe simpler to say than to actually put into practice, but I think my lesson here is just this. Tell myself the truth as often and as much as I possibly can. In other words:

Be honest with myself

Let’s look at the options

If I’d really wanted to take this walk, to make this pilgrimage, no matter how remote, how complicated the logistics or planning, why didn’t I take action in that present? Or at least in some present before I actually forgot completely what the walk/pilgrimage was.

And why add ‘sometime soon’ if I didn’t actually desire or intend for this thing to happen? Well, possibly to put of any decision about doing or not doing. Or perhaps it was a way of saying (in completely other words), ‘Well, it sounds very nice, but I doubt I will ever end up doing it.’

So, honesty, and clear thinking about what I want and what I don’t want. That way I won’t be so attached, so keen on clinging to outcomes that I can’t see clearly, can’t easily know what I am to do or not do. Presence. Being present is what this is really about isn’t it?

To be completely present, to be fully here and now, requires me (all of us I suppose) let go of the maybes, and the ifs and buts as well as the endless ruminations about do this or don’t do that.

If I want to take a walk, or make a pilgrimage, then I say to me: just get on with it! If I don’t, then just say so, and move on.

Last little comment: I would really love for the present to remind me of what this walk/pilgrimage was. I’m a bit curious I guess(yes I know, curiosity is a present moment deflater) Maybe it’ll come back to me now I’ve written this post.

Peace

The Beginning of Devotion: A Poem

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.

For You Alone: A Prayer

I’m not completely sure where I found this prayer. But I have a feeling it is by Thomas Merton, one of my most favourite and significant teachers and guides.

Thank you with Love

When Trees Speak

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.

What’s Wrong with a Little Repetition?

Strangely for one who lives a life that at least aspires to be outside the mainstream of our culture and society, I have a lot of rules to follow.

What I mean to say, is that, while for the most part I disdain the ‘rules and customs’, and the ‘demands and obligations’ of the dominent culture and our materialistic society, I seem to be quite capable of making up all kinds of rules for myself. I’m then more than able to put the exact same pressures on myself to obey, to comply and to conform.

One of those ‘rules’ is to try not to repeat topics of posts. Obviously there are posts that fall through the cracks of such strictness, but on the whole I like to keep coming up with new things to share with you.

But it’s been occuring to me lately that musings and contemplations don’t work that way. The mind, the heart, know no such rules as ‘no repittion’. (Actually, now I think about it, there are some things the mind likes to repeat all the time that I could do very well without thank you very much)

Sometime, not too long ago I think, I wrote about the beautiful George Harrison song, Just for today. I wrote about how I have a slightly paraphrased few lines from that song written in my Bhagavat Gita, and I read those lines every day:

I know I am not alone in my desire to not be constantly trying to sort out all life’s problems; I know many of us would just like a little peace, a little pause in the ongoing rush of life. Just for today, or even just for a minute.

What George is making a plea for here has resonated with me since I first heard this song so many years ago I can’t remember.

Anyway, this was supposed to lead up to the real topic of today’s post which was going to be about my decision last night to spend the next few days in a kind of retreat. Instead it’s turned into a bit of a rave about breaking self-imposed rules.

Actually though, one of the primary motivations for my decision was the very notion of presence, of being still for ‘this day only’. You know the idea: leave all life’s worries and issues, and worldly concerns out of mind, just for a bit.

In other words, in this case I don’t think I mind repeating myself, breaking my own (really rather silly if you ask me) rule. The retreat is timely, and it’s a good thing to be reminded that it really is about presence.

I’ve been getting too caught up in ‘what’s next?’ kind of questions. As well as the usual and very tedious existential angst over life, the universe, and everything past, present, and still yet to be!

So, at the risk of creating a classic oxymoron, it’s now the time to head off to find a little presence, and a little stillness.

Just for today.

Let the Music Play

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.

Lessons from Butterflies

Yesterday found me (for a couple of hours anyway) out on the suburban streets close to the hermitage. Camera in hand and trying to cultivate an attitude of Contemplation. Working for the moment my heart, my head, and my mind all came together to help my camera make a photograph.

Well, in terms of contemplative photography, the outing was a bit of a struggle: getting into the Zen Zone isn’t always easy. And come to think of it, it’s not always part of the plan is it?

I don’t mean the little plans and intentions the ego comes up with about how things are going to turn out. I’m talking here about The Plan: what the Divine has in the works for us.

Anyway back to my walk. I kept walking, sometimes making photos. As I said, it wasn’t easy getting in the zone. Suddenly my eyes were drawn to a particular house. As I looked through the viewfinder I noticed a butterfly on the wall. On the window actually.


Not a living, flying, being as you can see. More of a kind of garden ornament attached to the front of the house. It struck me as I continued looking, that I’d already seen – and photographed – several ‘butterflies’ so far in that walk.

Four actually. In the space of an hour, and within a couple of streets of home. I’d seen them on walls, windows, and on doors.

Through time and in many places around the world, various cultures have looked at butterflies as symbols of transformation, for change, and renewal.

And, it seems to me, that butterflies can appear to us almost lighter than air. They kind of float on the air currents. They’re also known for their darting way of flying in what might seem to us one random direction then another.

So, butterflies have also been seen as symbolic of the human mind with its tendency to dart all over the place from one thought to another. They are said to remind us that we can in fact control and direct the mind.

In that case then, were these repeated encounters with butterflies – albeit of the ornamental variety – some sort of message for me? Perhaps I was to slow down, stop taking myself so seriously and to make changes? And of course remembering that I’m perfectly able to deal with consequences of any changes I make.

A Window for Two

Well, here’s the funny thing. Literally not until I sat down to draft this blog did it occur to me that I have in the last couple of days made what for me seem monumental changes. Or to be more exact, I have put into motion changes that are yet to reveal what if any transformations they might lead to.

You see, over the last few days I have been systematically deleting all my social media accounts (with the exception of a messenger app to speak to my son). I’ve had most of these accounts for up to 15 years or more. So, while I’m absolutely certain that this act of detachment from some of the things in the world that don’t sit well with my nature, I’m still feeling a bit lost, a little empty.

Okay, the butterflies: what have they to do with any of this? Transformation? Change? Lightness? And the ability to float through changes in life? Yes all of these. And we all know very well that butterflies undergo some pretty tough transformations as they evolve into what they are to become.

Who Invited the Lady Bugs?

Something I read once said that if you see a butterfly you should look at what you’re thinking; ask yourself what’s next for me? What changes are in store? Although all those butterflies of yesterday were ornaments on walls and so on, I have actually at other times been privileged to photograph living and flying ones.

In fact just the day before yesterday I met a small white butterfly flitting from one white flower to flower. In the space of a very short time, this beautiful creature gifted me with a very small moment’s stillness, and it gave me a photograph. Here i share that one with you.

Early Christians associated the butterfly with the soul. So, yes, you could say that my meeting with that particular butterfly was a meeting of souls.

But what of the garden ornament, inanimate butterflies met yesterday?

Well, everything’s got soul don’t you think?

Peace and love

God is My All: A Reaching Out, a Rap on time, & a (sort of) unrelated poem

Namaste and Welcome to you.

I can’t remember when I wrote my last post. And of course it isn’t relevant at all is it? I mean to say that in the contemplative life, time sometimes seems to take on some other kind of character.

Or at least I should say that one’s perception of the passage of time shifts; nothing unusal there I hear you say, and of course you’re right. Just thinking out loud I suppose.

For me, having a right perception of time is an important aspect of my Sadhana, my practice: yes, it’s true: time is seen to fly, or it is frustratingly felt to drag. But my aspiration is to see time as simply a human construction that we use to limit, structure, bind, define, and place all kinds of restrictions on our lives.

Which for me, simply means that there is only presence or Presence; only the ongoing continous moment (what we often call The Now). Easier said than done mind!

Swami Ramdas (known as Papa to his followers)

In any case, here I am, just where God would have me be. Feeling strongly to reach out to you, I remember the poem (it’s not really about time in the sense we’re discussing it so far) that emerged the other day after reading a quote from Swami Ramdas that seemed to be an answer to some thoughts I’d been having.

I’m grateul for this, all of this. And for you too, the reader of these musings offered with humility and thanks.

Peace and love from me to you.

GOD IS MY ALL

Thinking thoughts
as if battered by demons.
Memories arising of my own evil deeds, selfish and cruel.
Right away I turn to God:
God is my all;
Hare Krishna

Forego repentance,
relinquish regrets;
you are filled with God,
the supreme essence of life.
God is my all;
Hare Krishna.

Through Papa Ramdas
I hear the Universe speak:
Forgiveness is from God;
and it has been granted.
God is my all;
Hare Krishna.

Broken Hill, Australia
9 July 2022

Living the Life

Welcome to another musing from the hermits’ cave. It’s been a while hasn’t it?

Mind you, I’ve been busy: settling into the new hermitage here in the desert. Actually, it’s been cloudy since we arrived, and raining sometimes. It’s as if the Subtropics have followed us here, except that it’s been freezing.

And I’ve been busy colouring in as well. Not as in filling in a picture book designed for colouring, but in making my own patterns and shapes with the one aspiration of making colour happen.

Japanese calligraphy masters will tell you that God is in the ink, or in my case in the pigment of the colour pencils I use. I draw designs, sometimes complex, sometimes simple, then fill the spaces with colour. Sometimes just one or two, sometimes multiple colours.

Why? Well, the simple answer is because I like doing it. I like to see colour covering the page, seeing it slowly fill that empty space. I’m not good at ‘drawing’ and painting in the traditional sense, but one thing I can do is make colour. So I do.

And it’s a sacred act: God is in the ink remember? It’s the making of beauty. And that is a holy act. There’s that aphorism isn’t there? It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness?

Or, I could say that it’s better to make colour and patterns than it is to be swamped by the darkness.

There’s a Bhagavad Gita verse I like that I came across again the other day:

If one’s thoughts are fully absorbed in the Absolute all his [sic] spiritual offerings also become a part of that same Absolute

Bhagavad Gita 4:24

In other words, all our actions – and we never cease from activity while we dwell in a material body – are not only prayers or offerings to that Absolute (or you can say to God, to beauty, to art, to love, to the universe, to life. Or you don’t have to name it at all. None of the names and forms are relevant) but in fact become that Absolute.

I am a hermit pilgrim, living a contemplative life devoted to the Absolute we just talked about. I have little to offer, but I offer all that I am. And with my photographs, and with my ‘colouring in’, I try to create a little bit of the sacred, a lit bit of colour and beauty to keep us all away from the darkness.

Peace and love

ANSWERING THE CALL LEADS TO MORE QUESTIONS

Greetings and Welcome after what feels like a gap of forever since my last post.

Two weeks today since I moved into a rented house way out here Outback in the mining town of Broken Hill, on the traditional lands of the Wilyakali people whose ongoing presence on this country I acknowledge and give thanks for.

And now, it is the location of my hermitage, my safe haven and refuge. But, no, therein lies the conundrum: I love it here; I know I’ve come to the right place to which I’ve been called. But after two weeks, I’m still not feeling grounded; I’m not really here yet.

Culture shock, fatigue, new environment, excitement; call it what you will; something has me not yet settled and in place. Yesterday a small poem came to me that I think expresses exactly the problem.

And now I’m sharing it with you as a way of explaining why the gap, why the block.

Peace and love from me to you.



The call to the desert
has been answered.
And now, I am here.
No, to tell the truth, I’m not actually. Here I mean.
So, where am I?

Not there, back there
where I came from.
Not even sure if ‘there’ really exists,
if you know what I mean.

Mind you, when I said ‘here now”
I meant it’s been a short now:
Now that I’m here. Just.
A short stretch – so far.

Here; there; now; so far;
it’s all too much.
And you know what?
It’s all in my head.
In my mind I mean.
                                             

A wise teacher once taught:
First thought, best thought.
But for here and now?
As in being here now?
No thought, more like,
is best thought.

Lord Buddha graces the hermitage front garden