As a hermit, I am a pilgrim, dependent on a pure faith that I am exactly where God would have me be. I am here, and it is now.
I forget in which of his books I read this, but it’s a prayer written by Thomas Merton shortly after he’d finally moved into his hermitage full time. The ‘I am here, and it is now’ I added, though of course it’s also borrowed.
It’s a prayer, an affirmation, I recite at least once a day. And, like Merton, I aspire to that ‘pure faith’. Faith is a strange thing: it may grow and develop and then it does indeed support me in my intentions and living, not to mention the comfort it provides..
But, all of a sudden it can just flow away, leaving me adrift, bereft, and not sure of anything.
I am a pilgrim, it’s true. But as Bhajan (a bhajan is a sacred song, a hymn) singer Krishna Das sings:
I am a pilgrim/the road’s so long.
And sometimes it seems a lot longer than this particular pilgrim would like. Still, as they say, how long’s a piece of string? And it’s rougher than I’d like as well. but again how rough is rough? Layers of meaning in that word longer.
Yes, I am a hermit, and my mind’s not the same, as Jackson VanHorn sings. Same as what? Whose mind is mine different from? Is my mind somehow not that same as it once was? True though: my mind is hardly ever the same.Here’s the whole chorus as it spoke to me:
Yes I am a hermit My mind is not the same Yes I am a hermit and ecstacy’s my game.
For this hermit, ecstacy is not a stage experienced all that often. Mind you, there are fleeting moments, but like the pilgrim road, there are long distances to be trod between one of those moments and the next.
Well, yes the rock – the hermitage – has much potential for peacefulness; a peace expereienced quite often actually. It’s a sacred space
But, as in any way of living, any way of being, peace comes and peace goes. And when it goes, it can seem like it never existed, and that ‘sittin’ peacefully’ is, and always will be a fantasy never to be realised or made real.
It’s about equinimity
That’s something else I heard today. Well, there’s not a lot of equinimity in this hermit pilgrim today. Seems, then, that there needs to be some shifting of perspective; some peace needs to be restored
My Lord Ishvara
Deep withn the still centre of my being
May I find peace.
Silently withing the quiet of the grove
May I share peace.
Gently and powerfully in the wider circle of humankind
May I radiate peace.
Om Tat Sat
Om Shanti Shanti Shanti
Afterword:
A few hours have passed since I made these notes; I have regained a little balance, but still thought it was important to publish this post.
A couple of days ago I recieved a beautiful gift in an email. I often receive wonderful things through the email, and this one, as with so many of the others, has profound meaning for me.
Not only that, but this gift has served as a reminder to me of that significance. I’d like to share with you that gift, as well as some thoughts on its importance and meaning to me.
There are a multitude of sources online where you can learn all the technical stuff, word meanings, history, origin, when it’s used and all the rest. I would like, however, to just ‘think out loud’ in my own words, and follow my own heart’s promptings.
Hari Om Tat Sat, is actually two mantras in one: Hari Om, and Om Tat Sat.
Hari Om represents the totality of what we might call God. Hari refers to the manifested cosmos, as well as the creative impulse in its manifest form. I call that Ishvara, but it doesn’t have a name I’m sure!
Om, is the unmanifested universal consciousness, the Absolute Reality. Meaning, as I understand it, existence itself. I call it Brahman, or God, but again, names are just labels we humans apply to things to make it all seem so neat and tidy!
They say that Om Tat Sat is the most sacred of mantras (in Hinduism). It’s used at the completion of prayers and rituals as a way of invoking the presence of the divine and ‘bringing it all together’ you might say. Well not so much bringing, more like a reminder that everything is one already.
I really like the chanting of Hari Om Tat Sat. It’s a centering practice I would say, a way to remember the oneness of all. And I say it, as the traditionalists do, as a closing to prayers or other practice; it’s like ‘Amen’ or ‘It is so’ or ‘Let it be so’ or, well it’s endless – and personal and subjective.
As mentioned, Om means Brahman – or God in the unmanifested state; Tat, not only sounds like that but does in fact mean all that is. In other words, Brahman or the Absolute. Sat means Truth, Absolute Truth or, once again Brahman.
For me it is a little prayer of its own actually. And I’ve heard it used as a greeting many times. It’s a means I think of honouring the divine within the one being greeted, while at the same time I have a sense that it is a recognition, or acknowledgement rather, of the oneness, the unity of the greeter and the greeted along with everything else.
This is why I don’t really feel the need to break the mantra down to explain in technical detail all the constituent syllables (even I were qualified to do so, which I most surely am not).
It really is a way to acknowledge the oneness of all, the Absolute, which includes, obviously, me and you. The Truth is absolute, it says, so must we be, absolute.
Just now, on rediscovering a quote I’d noted down months ago, I spontaneously decided to download again the book I took it from. This will be the third reading: seems to be one of those books that keep calling you back.
The book (The Abbot’s Shoes by Peter Robertson) tells the story of the author’s foray into monastic living in New Zealand way back in the early 1970s when he was twenty something.
One of many mini monastries we’ve been blessed to live in
I’d like to share the mentioned quote with you, because I think it really speaks to my own commitment to the contemplative, hermit life, which is for us a monastic life too – a hermitage is actually a mini monastery.
Sitting in his apartment one night, completely dissatisfied with life the universe and everything, the author contemplates the state of the world around him.
‘All the marching, all the writing, all the campaigning in the world isn’t going to change this insanity, brutality, and carnage.’
Actually this isn’t the quote I’d made a note of; it’s the preceding sentence which I saw again today and it seemed to just fill out the context for me. Anyway, after a few moments of quietness and thought, the author concludes:
‘I somehow intuited that the most powerful, significant , and influential action I could take to change the course of this kind of history, was to hide in a monastery.’
He goes on to reflect that by doing so – living simply, in a community devoted totally to contemplation and prayer – he could become a tiny part of ‘the turning of the tide’.
Years later, reading Thomas Merton‘s diaries, he discovered that Merton had felt the same way, concluding that those living simple, prayer filled, contemplative and quiet lives were ‘keeping the universe from crashing in pieces and falling apart.’
There is a strong sense among contemplatives, hermits, nuns, monks, that this is their function: keeping the whole thing going. Or as our author says, each playing a tiny part in the big picture. I would say, like I know Merton did many times (and acted upon his words), that action in the world is absolutely necessary; it’s just that it can’t do all the work alone.
In our hermitage we too speak often of these ideas, and think about them deeply and try to realise how they affect our lives as hermit monks.
So, hiding in a monastery? Or in a hermitage? It’s true it’s very much a hidden life in many ways. For me though, it’s not about being hidden, it’s more about just what Black Elk says, I’m trying to make my every step a prayer.
Speaking for myself, it’s not that I’m unwilling to pray for a specific individual, or for peace in such and such a country, or relief from poverty, and oppression for specific individuals or communities.
It’s more that: picking and choosing in that way risks leaving people and issues out inadvertently or through some unconscious bias.
I have chosen to live this life apart as much as possible from the world in order to minimise the anxiery being ‘out there’ causes me, to have the quiet, the time, the ‘head and heart’ space to simply pray. To make of my life a prayer
Let every step you take upon Mother Earth be as a prayer
My partner hermit is fond of reminding me of the well known aphorism that a stone dropped in a pond will make ripples that spread out and out. Just like the vibes – the vibrations – emanating from a prayerful life, from all the prayerful lives.
One of the stories I’ve been telling myself for pretty much as long as I can remember, is that my life has been impacted, influenced, directed, controlled, by depression and fatigue. As with all stories, there are elements of fact, fiction, fantasy, real life experience, truth, and the not so true in this one.
Anyway, with the fatigue factor in mind, I’ve recently made an intention (I call it a sankalpa) to lie down for an hour or two every day whether I ‘felt like’ it or not. The idea was that a daily break would be like a catch up, a preemptive measure if you like. Even if I didn’t sleep, it’d be an opportunity to just be still, listen to nice music, relax for a while, a quiet time.
Today, just after breakfast, and getting deeply into my spiritual practice, I suddenly experienced an epiphany. Or to be a little less grandiose about it, I had a little insight which has lead to me to make these notes.
Despite that feeling of exhaustion, and despite the previously mentioned intention to rest more, I resisted going to lie down, thinking I can lie down later in the day.
Why? Surely a person who thinks their life has been ruled by depression and fatigue, would welcome any pretext to lie down, to sleep, to shut the world out for a while.
And, then comes the insight: All of a sudden I realised why I was resisting taking rest: Well, the fact was that I didn’t want to sleep because, well, I’d be asleep. I’d not be able to continue my practice, read, write, to ‘live now’. Putting it another way, I simply wanted to keep on keeping on doing exactly what I was doing.
But wait, I hear you asking: how can you fully live now when you’re so tired?
Excellent question; the exact question in fact that I asked myself. The answer I got from Self was interesting: fatigue as a symptom and outcome of depression is one thing; fatigue resulting from living a full life with enthusiasm (sort of sometimes) is quite a different thing.
Actually, now I think about it, there’s another little insight making its way to the surface of this over-active, over-full mind: The very fact that I thought I had living to do now is a very clear signal that, for at least the moment, depression is not dragging me around, or down, or anywhere else.
Just that concept of wanting to be awake to live this moment? Well, isn’t that a joyful thing? But what about being so tired? Should I go and lie down now anyway?
Ummm… Actually I don’t know; I can’t say really. So, I think I will just keep on doing what I was doing when I began these notes.
Which was chanting the names of God.
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare.
Now that should wake me up for a bit.
PS It’s a bit later in the day, and I’m typing up the notes as a post for the blog. I did in fact carry on chanting for a while, I’ve had lunch, and I think after I post this, I might go for a walk around the neighbourhood. And no, I haven’t had to lie down yet.
The Lion Sleeps Tonight. That’s the song name I always think of. Sometimes you might hear it called Wimoweh. While it’s the song’s Zulu title, it’s actually not a real word: it references a mishearing (and subsequent recording by a group in the early ’50s) of Uyimube (the original chorus) which is Zulu for you are a lion.
In any case, I feel like I’ve known the song all my life. I suppose I have: it was a smash hit when I was seven or eight years old. It’s been one of those songs that have stuck, become a constant presence, to be hummed occasionally, to be sung even less frequently, heard rarely, but loved and familiar.
Anyway, recently (in March I think) my affection for the song surfaced. I was thinking about something my partner hermit had said about creativity and suddenly the melody to The Lion Sleeps Tonight came into mind.
That melody, and my memory of the lyrics then became integral to the poem I wrote to express some of my thoughts about my partner hermit’s statement. It helped me say what I had to say.
I hope you like it – the song – Listen to the Tokens doing their version from 1961; check out the lyrics too. It’s a happy song, a reassuring song of safety and love.
With that I humbly offer my poem. Enjoy
THE HERMITS SLEEP TONIGHT
A creative way to start the day. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
In Samsara’s jungle there is a village, a suburban village. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Near the village – no, in the village the hermits sleep tonight. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
The walled enclosure, their very own paradise, like a castle keep, keeps them safe. A peaceful way, a peaceful way.
Hush my sisters; hush my brothers. No need to fear the jungle. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Day breaks; Surya rises. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Sleeping hermits gather, to break the fast. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
Fast broken, sacred tea imbibed. A prayerful way, a prayerful way
The hermits begin, begin their day of prayer.
A creative way to start the day. A prayerful way, a prayerful way.
The walk from the Hermitage to the coffee shop at the Village Green takes around five minutes or so. This morning, noticing a pause in the rain, we thought we might take the opportunity to get some fresh air and a walk, at the end of which there would be coffee. So, we stepped bravely forward, with the faith that the gods of the rain were indeed taking a break.
‘Look over there, ‘ said my partner hermit as we passed through the centre of the village. ‘There’s a door that can only be opened from the inside.’
‘I’ve never noticed that before,’ I replied, looking across the street to a wall into which was set a door with no visible handles or lock. The only things that suggested that it was in fact a door were the hinges on one side, as well as its size and shape.
Now don’t ask me how many times I’d passed that spot. Most likely dozens of times, on both sides of the road. Still, now that I had been shown it, I was intrigued. Mentally I was captured: I thought, what a wonderful thing: the one or ones on the other side of the door have complete control over who or what is allowed to enter.
With such a door, one that only opens from your side, you could easily choose to rarely – or even never – open it. Ah, peace at last went my thoughts.
But, right away, those thoughts were dismissed, sent packing: too simplistic, too extreme, to heavy a response. Though, you know, I do feel strongly that such a response to the world – shutting it all out completely – is perfectly understandable, completely reasonable, and oftentimes even an absolute necessity .
Still, I had that feeling towards my reactive thoughts of ‘too extreme’ (inner editor’s note: he has no idea what he’s saying does he? If you ask me, right this minute he will be thinking his initial reaction was spot on and he’d love to have a door like that. Anyway, we’ll let him have it his way).
Some further, more careful thought is required here I think. For a start, here’s a question: If I were to keep the door shut all the time, how would I ever be able to allow my own light, my own love, my own Self, out into the world?
Maybe there’s a way to keep the door open sometimes, then at other times choose to keep it closed to bar access to unwanted intruders in the form of people, thoughts, events, emotions and so on.
After all, it is my door (in this little fantasy at least), the door to the inside, where resides the ‘real’ me, the Self within, beyond and above, the physical form that I so tenaciously cling to as as being the real me. Talk about attachment!
Perhaps slightly exagerated, but this is close to how I see my actual door working as distinct from the story I’m telling in this post.
Where was I? Oh yes. With that door that opens only from the inside, I might come – eventually – to realise that there is nothing to disturb me – unless I open the door and let whoever or whatever that is unwanted, through the door.
I am my own gatekeeper, and without my consent my gate (door) cannot be opened and entered.
And, getting back to the choices I am able to make to sometimes open the door to allow some light and love to flow out from me, out the door and into the world. The more I’m able to discern when, and for how long, to open the door as a way to control what comes in, to what can reach me, the more resources of said love and light I shall be able to build up.
Which, in turn, will lead to more and more opportunities I’ll have to open the door in order to share some of that good.
I can envisage a state reached where my door could quite possibly be left to stand ajar all the time.
You see, the more love and light pouring out, the less that disturbs me can get in. Love and light is transforming, isn’t it?
Yes. Now I’ve noticed – recognised – the door that can only be opened from the inside: It’s me! Now, where did I leave my door keys?
In my last post I reflected upon the meaning for me personally of a Bhagavad Gita verse that had particularly struck me as I carried on with my renewed inspiration to read the text from the beginning.
Today, I didn’t even get to the place where my reading left off yesterday. Before reading I like to pray some or all the prayers I have pasted in the front (and the back now). As I was deep into this practice, one prayer in particular stopped me, just as with that verse yesterday.
This one seemed to speak to me, asking ‘What do I mean to you?’ So, I made a mental note (always a risky proposition with me), and carried on with my prayers, determined to take time later to think about that prayer, and try to answer its question. So, here I am, later in the day, making these notes.
The prayer itself I am fairly sure comes from Thomas Merton, monk, mystic, and writer. Not completely sure, but I know that whoever composed it was one clearly inclined towards living the life of the mystic.
What will please you Lord? Let me grow in wisdom, become purified, and do your will.
For whoever composed this prayer, it is an expression of a genuine longing. I can say that for me it is a deep plea, expresses my own longing. Each time I recite it, in fact, I can say that, although this is the first time I’ve addressed the big what does it mean question, I do sense the longing and grasp the meanings of the various words and ideas in the prayer. Actually, now I think about it, I do say this prayer or parts thereof in one form or another very often.
What will please you Lord?
When I begin to pray these words, what I feel I am actually doing is asking the Universe, the Divine, Self, God – the I AM – how can I live my life so that it is attuned to the natural order and flow of the Universe.
I am asking, what do I need to do to let go of attachments to worldly things which arise from material desires? How do I find the grace to accept when things aren’t going completely my way?
In other words, I’m asking how can i live a good, truthful, happy life in harmony with all other beings and with the Universe.
Let me grow in wisdom
Another of my prayer pages. This one devoted to Maa Saraswati, goddess of, among other things, wisdom
A good place to start, a great first step. But, again I have to ask myself, what does growing in wisdom mean to me?
To me wisdom is not merely knowledge. Though, having said that wisdom needs to rest on a firm foundation of knowledge, otherwise what’s there to be ‘wise’ about?
I’m not talking about worldly knowledge here, though obviously it takes some degree of knowledge for any of us to live in the world. Also it’s relevant to the next part of our prayer; we’ll see that soon.
I’m referring instead to a special kind of knowledge that will (I pray) lead me somewhere closer to acquiring some degree of wisdom – one day.
Self-knowledge is what I’m getting at. And I go about my attempt to obtain self-knowledge in a couple of different ways. I study, sacred texts like the Bhagavad Gita, as well as the words of those wiser than me (which is rather a large selection of people I can tell you) both living and historical.
I meditate (not nearly enough!) as a way to enquire into my own ‘real’ or true nature: who am I? what am I? Just digging deep within to reach some realisation of the answers to those questions.
When I have answered those questions, I will understand that I have reached a true level of self-knowledge. I sense that, at least being on the path to that realisation, I would never be able to develop any level of wisdom.
Mind you, I do feel that all humans are born with some degree of wisdom potential ‘built in’ so to say. As for me, I don’t feel especially wise just yet.
Become purified
For me, becoming purified goes hand in hand with the cultivation of wisdom. In fact I would say that in the very efforts to become purified, it might be possible for me to develop some wisdom as a result of those efforts.
So, here we go again: What does it mean? To become purified? For me it means living a Dharmic life. By Dharmic I mean a life steered and driven by Truth, Right Living, Right Speech, Right Conduct , Right … The Buddha taught The Noble Eightfold Path. That is in my opinion the very best, topmost, pinnacle of self directed means to living a Dharmic or purified life.
The Eightfold Path is not a set of dogmas, rules, or anything like a list of commandments or instructions . The eight steps are merely signposts, a roadmap, pointers for me to follow in order to purify my life, live a Dharmic life. No behaviours are prescribed: it’s entirely my choice what forms my behaviour, actions, and the rest take.
Obviously the path to becoming purified is a life-long one, though some would say that many lifetimes are required. Personally, I can’t even hint that I might be anywhere near close; some days I feel further away than ever.
But, as I work towards ‘growing in wisdom, with the help of my becoming purified path, I pray that some day I might actually learn what I call proper discernment.
This discernment is the ability to act in the world and to react to the joys and sorrows that are inevitable, with compassion, love, and wisdom. To face those inevitabilities with calm and equanimity. Acting with proper discernment will mean that I am living in Truth.
… and do your will
As I reread the words I’ve just written, I realise that, by the time I reach the state described in that last paragraph, I will have succeeded in ‘doing your will. I will have aligned my self perfectly with the order of the Universe. I will know my place as a tiny fragment of that very order.
If I’m honest however, I have to say that I think it’s going to be a very very long time before such a state come to pass. So, what to do in the meantime?
Well, along with my attempts to live Dharmically, and to cultivate wisdom, I have committed myself to a life of devotion. Devotion, prayer, contemplation.
Devotion to what? To whom?
To the Universe, Divinity, God; all that is represented by all those names we humans have put on the Absolute Reality, that is all there is.
Everything. And everybody, is what I’m saying. There really is no separation except a kind of superficial one we allow ourselves to imagine by applying so many names and forms to the material objects, things and so on, that appear to us as separate one from another, whereas there is in fact only one, without a second.
That’s where the contemplation comes in. It’s a going within, inward to what we imagine is a kind of ‘space’ where all merges into one, the one that is all there is.
I think that’s what ‘pleases the Lord’. While I am indescribably, gravely, deficient at all the steps described above, one course I know to be right for me is to continue to engage with those steps, and to devote myself and my life to the Divine, to the Truth.
That’s what pleases me. I pray that it pleases the Lord.
Thanks to inspiration from my partner hermit, I’ve once again begun reading Bhagavad Gita from the beginning. The quoted verse came up this morning as I continued through chapter 2.
Setting the scene, the Bhagavad Gita is a conversation between Krishna (God) and Arjuna, a famous warrior who’s leading the army of the ‘good guys’. The context is actually a metaphor for the battle that goes on constantly between what some call the Higher Self (represented by Krishna of course), and our lower selves, our ego, mind, and the rest of the worldly us (represented by the very worldly Arjuna).
Knowing that, sometimes a verse will jump out at me as being in some direct way related to me. This verse, this morning seemed spookily all knowing about my mood of just slightly earlier.
Before we move on, I should point out that Arjuna has just realised that if the battle goes ahead, he’s going to have to kill many relatives and friends, teachers, and others he respects. And he’s just decided he’s not going to do it and sits down depressed and dejected on his chariot.
Now while I personally applaud this decision (he even says it might be better if he went off into the forest and lived the life of a wandering monk rather than be in this battle), I have to remind myself that it’s not for real, it’s a metaphor for the battle between our two selves.
Krishna says to Arjuna that you’re going to look really bad if you don’t fight the fight to uphold the Truth as you know it. Lesson number one when studying the Gita: don’t sweat the context!
Anyway, to our current story.
I’d just finished my breakfast cup of tea, and I knew it was time to ‘get on with the day’ as the saying goes. Today, though, Tamas** was strong. Which left me feeling, I don’t really want to get on with the day.
Instead I felt I wanted to not get on with anything; I wanted to lie down and sleep, and not think about anything, or do anything else either!
This picture is called Lunchtime Sleeper but it’s how I felt after breakfast this morning!
Mind you, not in the ’empty your mind of random thoughts, relax the body, realise the Divine’ kind of mood. No, more like ‘lay down, block out everything, blank the mind, sleep.’ Blank as it blot out!
Then, the famous second thought kicks in: No, I said to myself. I will not allow Tamas to take control. So, I got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and got ready to begin my practice.
I guess you could say that Tamas finds it easy to take control when one’s mind is in enemy mode as I like to call it (somewhere else in the Gita, Krishna says the mind can be our friend or our enemy).
My mind in particular doesn’t usually need a lot of help to disparage me, put me down. Getting me to question my own capabilities is one of its favourite activities – sometimes.
And it’s exactly right, perhaps I should be questioning myself: If I allow Tamas (mind and ego etc) to have free rein, the pain and the shame is all I feel. Well, perhaps not all, and not always, but still, it’s not a good thing.
So, what’s going on now? I’ve been reading Bhagavad Gita, and now I’m making these notes. Tamas is on the run and my mind is being ever so friendly.
**Tamas is that aspect of our (human) nature that has us leaning towards lethargy, laziness, that ‘I can’t be bothered’ feeling, and excess sleep, and all the other slothful stuff. Blotting out, as I termed it earlier.
Renunciation. It’s a popular topic here at the Hermitage. Perhaps popular isn’t the right word; let’s say it’s a subject of conversation, thought, and contemplation on a quite frequent basis. As it is, I think, for most people attempting to live a spiritually focused life. For today, however, I really want to focus on some of my own thoughts around renunciation.
For those of us oriented towards the quest to live a spiritual, prayerful, and dharmic or truthful life, renunciation tends to mean the giving up of things, activities, and behaviours (including thoughts, attitudes, and the like). The theory is the very act of renunciation itself predisposes one to more authentic and close identification with their own true natures. It places them nearer to realisation of the Divine, of God, Absolute Reality.
And of course when harmful things, situations and attitudes are released, one has less to distract from the spiritual quest and life, Of course, most acts of renunciation don’t result in a one off quick fix: I heard in one of our hermitage conversations a few days ago the perfect quote to help make this point:
‘You just have to keep renewing the renunciation.‘
In other words, it’s a full-time, life-long job!
But, in the attempt at renouncing, we can potentially find some help towards a clearer focus on the spiritual side of life as well as more sensitivity towards what is good and what is not good for us.
A person free from both hatred & desire is always renounced. Indifferent to dualities, he is free from all bondage and easily attains liberation
Bhagavad Gita Ch 5:V 3
Which is where every one of us knows exactly what it means to try to give up what’s bad for us. It ‘ain’t easy is it? Still, we’re here to talk about me, not you or anyone else. So …
There are a few things that in perusing the monkish life, that I didn’t have to renounce; some things like eating flesh, drinking and smoking, going out to clubs, pubs and the rest, are things I’ve either never engaged in, or haven’t done for a very long time.
Which brings me to a good point to mention here. Any renunciation whatsover has to be a personal decision taken only after serious reflection and thought. And it must be made without outside coercion or pressures. While others may think they know what’s good (or bad) for you, in truth, it’s only you who really knows.
Anyway, as I was saying, or about to say, renouncing things hasn’t always a piece of cake for me. Actually, I love cakes of many and varied kinds and have had to renounce all of them. But that was more for my body’s health than for my spirit, though obviously the two go hand in hand.
Then, just a couple of days ago in a momentous event which in fact was the trigger for all this reflection on renunciation, I vowed to give up a particular breakfast cereal I’m really very fond of.
This renunciation – not the first attempt I might add – being prompted by the fact that I tend to experience quite strong indigestion, huge bloating, and general feeling yuck, when I’ve indulged in this cereal for any length of time.
There is nothing trivial about attempting to renounce foods and so on that harm our health; as I said, it’s a lifetime’s effort. And equally daunting are the non-physical things like attitudes and behaviours.
Any renunciation whatsover has to be a personal decision taken only after serious reflection and thought.
Here is an example, or group of examples, which along with the above-mentioned cereal saga, played a serious role in bringing about this post. They are behaviours and attitudes which very emphatically interfere with my quest for a Dharmic, prayerful, and spiritually focused life,
What I absolutely hate, despise, detest, am revolted by … Oops sorry; I forgot my monkish manners there for a minute. Let me try to rephrase.
I have a strong aversion to gossip, to judgemental thoughts and comments. I am averse to it on a couple of levels. Firstly, I do not like, for one second, the idea of not minding my own business, of commenting on what other beings do or say, or don’t do or don’t say, or how they behave.
Surely, my thinking goes, I have enough of my own business to mind, why do I need to mind the world’s business?
That’s the key one I think. But I really dislike the feelings such behaviour and attitudes invoke in me: anger, frustration, guilt, inappropriate thoughts, words and conversations. There is even a physical component sometimes when I make myself sick in some way through the stress of such things.
There is another point too, just as key if not more so. I’m routinely disgusted by the notion that these criticisms, judgements, not minding my own business, really do impact on what I call the vibes of life for all of us. Call it vibes, energies, whatever, but I sense that our own behaviour has a ripple effect beyond our immediate relationships and environments to the wider world beyond.
So, by now it’s pretty clear that I am in need of some serious renunciation of my judgemental, critical thought and words, as well as the anger, disgust and the like, I feel and express towards those I deem worthy of my judgement. Okay, not just others: all we’ve been saying here applies equally to myself.
Perhaps it’s to do with family, school, or societal conditioning? And like any full-on conditioning it can tend to preoccupy, even possess, one’s life.
These are all old stories. They come from a past that doesn’t exist. For real, it’s gone right? Actually, when you think about it, there really is no such thing as the past.
Long ago, decades really, I was big into affirmations. I had a whole collection in a little folder that I kept in my pocket of on my desk or wherever was handy.
There are a few I remember even now thirty or more years later, and there are one or two that come to mind that might be helpful that I can resurrect to share here.
I release and let go of all that is unlike love. There is plenty of time and space for everything I want to do.
You let go of all that’s unlike love, what’s left? Love. Love is all. All is love. And this affirmation has an added bonus: no regrets, it’s never too late, there is time – and space – aplenty.
And the second one. I think it’s just as good:
I am at peace with my own feelings. I am safe where I am. I create my own security. I love and approve of myself.
This one I’ve rewritten as a prayer; I might share that one sometime. The helpfulness here is easy to get: I’m safe; it’s okay to have my own feelings.
There’s no outside threat – nothing to attack, nothing to defend – and, finally, I have no need to be entangled with all that unwanted stuff, that – as I’ve already said a couple of times – is none of my business.
For my community, the invisible and the visible, with love
This morning I announced here in the Hermitage to anyone within range, that today, I would be making lentils. No, I thought, I can’t ‘make’ lentils; my job is to cook them so they might become Dhal. Jokingly to myself I stated by way of correction in my best mentally affirmative voice ‘It’s Dhal day today.’
Dhal is an important staple for us here at the hermitage. Please don’t imagine I’m exaggerating when I say that we eat it everyday. Actually, come to think of it, it might be just an ever so slight exaggeration.
Very very occasionally we choose some other evening meal, always vegan. But to tell the truth, we all like Dhal so much that we hardly ever feel the need for a change.
Anyway, as I say, it’s one of my relished responsibilities to once a week, or thereabouts, play my part in producing the Dhal that sustains the community for the next week.
Just a little aside: Lest you think Dhal is all we eat, I should mention we eat lots of fruits and vegetables, rice and breads, beans and various other things that come to us one way or another.
Please, the inner editor is begging me, can we just get on with today’s topic? Actually, the topic is the Dhal making that has taken place today. So, really, we are still kind of on track.
Right then. Not long after my announcements to the community and to myself, I got to it, to the task at hand. First, I pour red lentils into a largish saucepan.
Not my picture. Just to give you an idea of what I saw that prompted my feelings
I watched as the lentils streamed from the packet to form a little mountain, first at the bottom of the saucepan, growing to full saucepan scale. Funny thing to say but I was kind of mesmerized by this mountain building. I was struck by the thought – more like a feeling – this is wonderful, this is important.
I mean to say that I felt a little awestruck by the abundance. In a sort of gratitude induced reverie, I scooped a handful of said lentil mountain, letting lentils stream back to Lentil Mountain in the saucepan.
Then it’s rinsing time. You see, you need to rinse the lentils to get rid of excess starch, bits of dirt, little stones, or twigs. This is a vital step in the process according to the Dhal Grand Master who taught me this life-sustaining art.
In any case, it’s at this stage that you’re allowed to get your hands right into the mix. Run water, swish the lentils around, drain off now starchy, twiggy, stony water. And repeat five, six, or more times determined by the clarity of the water after each rinse.
I like that bit too actually: kind of pleasant sensation as lentils swirl through fingers and you get experience something of the lentils themselves. Nice feeling.
Next step, fill a giantish sized saucepan (I call it the big pot) with the rinsed lentils, add water (very exacting amounts too, but don’t ask me for precise details), bring to the boil occasionally scooping off any remaining bits and pieces as you watch the alchemy happen.
Then, once boiling, it’s time to stir in various spices. Once again, exact amounts are called for, but, well it’s kind of a trade secret. By which I mean, I couldn’t tell you measurements; one just knows. Could be a cook thing. Or maybe it’s a monk thing?
Enough cooking (sometimes the inner editor doesn’t know when to leave the writer alone).
Okay then.
Gratitude. And wonder. Both experienced today – and not for the first time.
Wonder at & gratitude to Surya (the Sun) which gives and sustains all life, including lentils
Wonder at the aforementioned alchemy that transforms dried, red lentils, a few spices, and water, into a delicious, substantial, healthy and nourishing, food that satisfies and sustains.
Gratitude that I am able to take a small part in this alchemy. Gratitude for the beings who sustain us – me, our community, you, all of us on Earth. Gratitude for the grace I have been granted that actually allows me access to such wonders and abundance.
It’s a lot to be grateful for. All I can add is that it is my deep gratitude that will keep me ‘making lentils’ always.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 