By the River’s Light
I’ll Live My Life
out of sight of Babylon
A Note From Me: I can’t tell you who wrote these words. Maybe I did; maybe it’s a song lyric; or maybe it’s a quote from someone famous. Whatever the case, a half hour internet search failed to come up with anything even close. So, The best I can do is thank whoever did bring these beautiful words into the world. I hope you are pleased with how I’ve made use of them.
Yellow-Golden sands
carpet the floors
of tidal rockpools,
home to crustations and seagrasses.
And the coffee tasted like medicine.
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!
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.
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
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
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.
Welcome friends to another post
I’m actually scheduling this one to publish sometime in the future. The reason is that, as I reread it now, I see I’ve used ideas, and even some sentences here that appear in a couple of recent posts. The thing is, I think this is a post worth reading, so I’m kind of sneaking it in via a touch of time travel. In any case, please enjoy, and by the way, thank you for sticking with me for this long (however long this is).
It was a revolutionary idea for its time, the early 19th Century. Come to think of it, it still is. A reform minded Christian minister, William Ellery Channing proposed that the proper goal for each of us human beings is perfection.
Or rather, the goal should be a realisation of the perfection that is already our true natural state, our true selves, which we’ve forgotten as we have got on with the rarely easy business of living in a material world. You see? I did say it was a revolutionary idea.
After all, he wasn’t talking about the obsessive perfectionism that often curses so many of us anxious types. Or the myths propogated by mass media of what it means to be ‘perfect’. No, he was proposing a complete and thorough shift in the prevailing thinking about the nature of humans, and in reality, of all life.
Anyway, he posed the question:
Do you ask in what this perfection consists?
He then proceeded to answer his own rhetorical question:
I answer: in knowledge, in love, and in activity
When I came across this little vignette in an unrelated book I’ve recently finished reading, I was a little bit mind-blown. Channing’s formula is more or less identical to that presented over millennia in a number of the world’s religious or spiritual traditions.
For example in the tradition I am studying these last years, Sanātana Dharma, this little formula constitutes pretty much the foundation for any kind of spiritual growth. It could be said that in a real sense it is the very basis of all Yoga:
Jnana Yoga (knowledge, study, includes meditation, contemplative practices and so on), Bhakti Yoga (Divine Love. In the sense that love is always divine) and Karma Yoga (often called the Yoga of action. It basically includes everything we do in the physical world. The Karma bit is about our actions becoming selfless).
In other words, just sitting there on their own these three Yogas offer a pretty succinct answer to the question many of us ask ourselves constantly: How can I live a good life?
We pursue knowledge for many reasons: it may be a reluctant pursuit as we sit through the interminable years of high school; or later as we head to university or college to train for a career that we hope will support us. The thirst for knowledge might arise when we come upon a topic or an area of interest and fascination that we just have to learn more about.
Just as with the infinity of knowledge, love comes in equally infinite guises. Unlike knowledge, however, I don’t think there are ‘reasons’ we can give for love. Love is love; it is its own reward (and it’s own torture), it just is what it is. Divine is as good a word as any. Any love, all love, is love for all and for everything.
And then there is the kind of knowledge we pursue as we try to answer what I like to call the Who am I? questions. Things such as: What’s the meaning of life? Where am I from? Where am I going? Is this all there is? Oh, and of course the real biggie: Who am I?
Now, at the risk of having to take the prize for the most obvious statement ever made, let me make the point that all living things have to take action all the time if they are to remain alive. So obvious that I’m even having to take several different actions in order to tell you this. So, you might well ask, what’s the big deal? What’s Channing and all the others through the ages getting at? What activity?
Well, I think Channing was getting at the notion that every action we take needs to be informed by knowledge and love. But, what knowledge? Well, clearly we are caught in a tsunami of information much of which goes to making ‘fake’ knowledge, propaganda, deceptive advertising, biased education, and the rest.
In other words how often do we see knowledge not used correctly? And, how often is humanity’s use of knowledge – our actions – informed by love? Now we can begin to realise how revolutionary this idea is, and always has been.
I think that’s why the Sanātana Dharma teachings and world view embody the concept Bhakti, or divine love. As I noted, all love is divine. These teachings tell us that all action is to be undertaken with love, without attachment to rewards or outcomes, and dedicated to the welfare of all life.
Channing had the same idea: for him all life is pure and perfect already. And of course it follows I think that all actions we take have the potential to be informed by a wisdom gained from proper use of knowledge, and to be informed by love, whether it’s for self, for other people, other animals, Earth herself.
So, pretty revolutionary stuff eh? I guess a lot of us have heard that famous quote from Gandhi:
Be the change you wish to see in the world.
Well, here’s the freaky bit. Just now as I looked up the quote to make sure I got it right, I discovered that he never actually said those words. Not in that form anyway. Here’s what he actually did say. It’s a long quote but I think it’s an interesting note to finish on. I think for me it clarifies many of the questions this little discussion has raised in my own mind, as it will for you I hope.
Knowledge; Love; Activity
We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man [sic] changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.
Mohandas Gandhi
Peace from me to you
One week today and I will be there. In other words, this time next week at this time I will have arrived in the desert city of Broken Hill. Almost in the heart of the continent and right in the middle of the Outback. In fact they call that whole area The Big Red after the colour of its tens of thousands of square kilometres of desert sands.
It’s about 1500 kilometres from the Pacific Coast where I am right now. I’d like to write about the ‘call’ to the desert, which I am finally answering, but maybe I’ll get to that in another post.
Right now I only want to say how excited I am to be going. A bit anxious too (I’ve been there before, but still …), and plain and simple looking forward to getting there.
Acturally, to be perfectly clear about it: I can’t wait to be there. But, you see, herein lies the problem: I am so keen to get there that I’m feeling as if I am no longer here. I am not present; I am not living in the moment and in the place I’m in (which I love by the way, the place I mean).
I don’t mean to say that I am some sort of Buddha who is usually fully present in each moment; or who is serene and calm when he knows change is coming. Any reader of this blog will tell you that presence isn’t necessarily my greatest strength.
But, I must say that lately I have improved (slightly) my living in the moment, being here and now, way of living. It’s just that I’ve been longing for this particular change (and all that I anticipate will come with it) so much that I just can’t help myself.
Did I mention already that this is a problem for me? Well, yes, I did, and it is. I prefer very much to be where I am and when I am and fully in the flow of the ongoing present.
Of course there is nothing wrong with wanting something to happen. The problem arises when one is so anxious for whatever it is to happen, that what’s happening here and now ceases to be where one is at—in other words: the trouble is that I stop being in the present.
Buddha taught what are called The Four Noble Truths. (which pretty much form the core of Buddhist teachings) The second of these Truths says that attachment is the cause of suffering. Suffering here means anxiety, worry, regret, fear; all those kinds of things. Whenever we say something like, ‘I can’t wait to…’, then it is a sure sign we are attached to that want or desire.
By the way, the First Noble Truth is: Life is suffering. Suffering, The Buddha taught, is simply the price of being alive. We get hungry, we are conscious of pain (in all its guises), we grieve; we grow old; we get sick; and we die.
But, right now, I want to talk more about Noble Truths three and four. Number three says that suffering can be overcome. Nice clean, clear, and not to mention, succinct little statement. Of course, it’s easy for him to say isn’t it? He is Buddha after all.
Perfectly reasonable reaction from us suffering humans. But there is hope and we will find that in Noble Truth number four which gives us the how to overcome suffering. There are quite a few ways to put this Truth into words, but the one I like best says:
The way to overcome suffering is to sit.
What? Sit? Yes, sit. Be still; stop moving. Of course if we relate this Truth to my little dilemma for wanting to so badly to be somewhere else that I’m not able to be where I am now, we can expand this Truth to something like this:
Focus your full attention on what you are doing now, and where you are now as well. As much as you can, be open to change, but be less attached to the nature or timing of that change. After all, you can make all the plans you like, but who knows what’s really going to happen—you won’t know that till it actually happens.
So, that’s what I am trying to do. Instead of saying stuff like ‘I wish I could go sooner’, or ‘it’s only x days till I go’ (yes I know, that’s what I said way up there at the top of the post), I am going to ask myself, ‘What am I doing now?’, and I plan to look around me, and engage more with the reality of this moment. And try hard to realise the ongoingness of that everlasting moment.
As Ram Dass said,
Be Here Now.
Hey, that’s a great mantra isn’t it? Chanting it whenever I start getting out of the here and now mode, might just put me back there again. I mean here—and now. You know what I mean!
Love and blessings from me to you
Paul
Greetings friends
At the moment I’m reading a book (Myths of Light: Eastern Metaphors of the Eternal) by Joseph Campbell, the brilliant, more than brilliant scholar, writer, teacher, and philosopher of all things having to do with myth.
Actually, to be honest, it’s truly riveting reading, but still, it’s a hard book to get my head around, but I’m taking it in little chunks, and the effort is, you can believe me, well worth it.
Campbell makes so many fascinating observations and his insights are genius. One section that gave me much to think about was where he talked about Carl Jung‘s idea of masks:
… he [Jung] points out that each one of us is invited by his [sic] society to play a certain role, a certain social function …
… We all have to put on a mask of some sort in order to function in the society. And even those who choose not to function in the society, to revolt from the society, put on masks too. They wear certain insignia that indicate, “I am in revolt.”
Yes, I know, it’s an idea we’re all pretty much familiar with: we all put on masks: work masks, school masks, relationship masks, masks to impress, masks to hide behind, all kinds of masks. But here’s what got me thinking: If you saw my last post, you’ll remember just near the end I said something like, ‘I am a hermit and a pilgrim’.
Now, normally, I tend to think I don’t wear masks. But, surely such a statement declares that I have simply put on one more mask? And, given the usual perceptions of hermits and even pilgrims, am I telling anyone who will listen (especially myself) that ‘I am in revolt’?
And that got me thinking more, about that ‘especially myself’ thing. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wearing masks; after all as our quote says we wear them in order to function, to have a role or roles in our society.
But we also wear masks for ourselves, so we can give ourselves an identity, a role, a function. So a mask, you might say, is just how we get on in the world, and in our own minds; we take them off, and put them on according to the situation and needs of the moment.
Which says of course that we all are, I am, many things at different times and stages of our lives, our days, our careers, and so on. At this stage of my life I have put on the hermit/pilgrim mask I’ve carried around on the inside all my life. I am asking myself again, does this make me a rebel?
Well, before I donned the hermit/pilgrim mask properly, yes I wore the mask of the rebel, of the angry and outraged advocate of complete and total social change. And perhaps from some people’s point of view, I might still be a rebel: rebelling against the expectations, demands, and easy temptations of my society.
Anyway, I seem to have taken the very long route to the main point of my thoughts on all this rebel insignia stuff. The reality is, I’m not rebelling against anything. Except for those times (all too frequent) when I let anger and outrage slip through. After all, I am still human and have my weaknesses. ‘Tipping points’ as a wise person has called those moments when ‘it all gets too much’.
I see my role, the role of the mask I wear, as a creative one, one of building up, not tearing down. This particular mask is still in the development stages, but isn’t that how everything works
There’s an aphorism I like very much:
It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.
(back in March I wrote a post describing a real-life event that illustrates this wonderful expression, both literally and metaphorically. If you missed it, do check it out).
Now, as of this moment in my life and in my progress on whatever path I’m on, I can truly say that I spend time – a lot of time – cursing the darkness. I mean, how could I not? That probably makes me still a bit of a rebel.
Yet, at the same time, I think I’m learning to understand the pointlessness of only cursing the darkness. Maybe it’s not a case of all one way or the other. Okay, I’m human, so I curse the darkness? There is a great deal of darkness to curse isn’t there?
Perhaps I can allow that cursing to lead me to action? And, well it has. At least that’s what I’m working on, aspiring to. Living as simply, quietly, and in as much solitude, as I am able; buying fewer things; letting compassion inform my eating, clothing, and travel choices (actually all my choices); having as little to do with what I call ‘the mainstream’ as possible; acting as far as I’m able in accordance with my true nature. All these measures are aspects of the hermit/pilgrim role.
But I’ve missed the greatest, most important and vital aspect that goes with the responsibility of wearing the hermit/pilgrim mask: Prayer. Quiet prayer and contemplation. Sometimes just sitting (I know, it’s a favourite thing to do for me), letting the quiet come. Letting the light come.
You know, in some post, somewhere on this blog I’ve mentioned that often repeated statement:
It’s too late for thoughts and prayers
Well, more and more I am getting to grips with the notion that, far from being too late, this is precisely the exact moment when thoughts and prayers are needed most.
I hope that my little efforts can at least contribute in some small measure to the efforts of all the other people out there in the world who, while they may not be hermits or pilgrims, and while their natures might lead them to any number of differing activities in the world, nonetheless share with me the aspiration to light a few candles.
Namaste friends
Recently I came across some notes I’d made about a book I read ages ago, at least a year I think. Anyway, the name of the book: The Art of Mindful Walking. Sorry, but no prizes for guessing what it’s about.
Reading my notes I see that I had been particularly taken with what the author had to say about ‘our place in the Universe’. He reflects on our – humanity’s that is – perception of our size in the big scheme of things.
The author recounts how we once went for a walk with American astronaut Dave Scott, who’d been to the moon on one of the Apollo missions. Scott described to him what it felt like looking back at Earth from the surface of the moon:
It hangs in the black sky like a glass bauble, a blue and white Christmas decoration. It’s a small, fragile world.
Ford then goes on to reflect that this image, of a small, fragile ball floating in space, has ‘become a part of the modern psyche’. Then he says:
We begin to see how vulnerable we actually are. We are the first generation truly to see this. We are also the generation that is coming closest to polluting and destroying it.
I don’t think I’d quite looked at it in this way before. And I admit, it stunned me a bit.
Just think: Of all the humans who have ever lived, those alive in the last 50 or 60 years have been the first to see our home planet in its entirety. At least we’ve had the good fortune of seeing images of Earth just as those astronauts saw it. Thanks to those images made from space, we now have had a glimpse of where we actually live and the nature of our world.
Yet, at precisely this point in our history as a species, when we have that particular knowledge, this is the time we seem to be almost wilfully destroying the very ground we walk upon, the air that keeps us living, and the water without which there is no life.
I’m not a warrior. I am a hermit and a pilgrim and I try hard to not make judgements. As such, I can only look on in wonder.
And I can pray.
Thanks to Jimmy Buffett for the title. It’s a line from one of his greatest songs, called Defying Gravity. Thanks Jimmy for all the music man.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 