The Hermit Pilgrims have signed a lease for the rent of a house for a year. Not only have we signed a lease, we have, in fact as of yesterday, been residing in the said leased property.
Admittedly, it’s exactly the sort of small house which we had in fact been longing for for some time. It’s got many characteristics that make it for us, the ideal site for a hermitage: we even have a temple room!
The lease is for a year initially, and if, after a year we feel led to move on, then that’s what we shall do. But for now, – as in the present moment that is the ongoing now, the only ‘time’ one can talk about with any meaning or truth – we will be in the one hermitage, the one safehaven by the side of the road, for a longer period than in any other in the last many years.
Anyway, enough of this reflection on the nature of time; the big question on your mind I am sure is why? Well, the first little thing to say is that the pilgrimage goes on; it’s just that we’ve taken a tiny step towards the vow of stability many monks and nuns make as a matter of course. We’ve not really ever taken such a vow before. Mind you, a lease is a binding document, I wonder does that count as a vow?
Of course, as I’ve just laboriously spelled out, there is only the moment, the ongoing now; so who can possibly say about ‘a year’?
Next, let me tell you a bit about a book I’ve read a few times and like very much. It will possibly give you a flavour of the why.
Cave in the Snow by Vicki Mackenzie tells the story of Tenzin Palmo, a Tibetan Buddhist nun and her, I think, twelve years in solitu6de in a nearly all year round snowed in cave in the high Himalayas.
Tenzin Palmo had been living in a rather remote monastery, but felt after some years the need for greater isolation and solitude. The monastery was too busy and noisy, with all sorts of comings and goings.
There was too much entanglement with the greater society in the form of the surrounding villages and town. She wanted some quiet basically
In an interview sometime after she came down from the mountains she was asked if going to a cave was perhaps an escape, an ‘evasion of the trials of an “ordinary” life. Her reply spoke to me when I first read it about 20 (or more?) years ago, and still does today:
‘Not at all. To my mind worldly life is an escape,’ she replied to the interviewer. ‘When you have a problem you can turn on the television, phone a friend, go out for a coffee. In a cave, however, you have no one to turn to but yourself.
You have no choice, she says, when problems come up, and when things get tough, but to go through with them, till you come out the other side.
‘In a cave,’ she said, ‘ you face your own nature in the raw, you have to find a way of working with it and dealing with it.’
My situation is not quite like hers. For example there is more than one person in our community of hermits. Still her story does resonate and speaks very much to my own situation.
Not only is there never going to be any absolute certainty in our material world, there is never – ever – going to be anything in the realm of worldly things that will deliver us perfect peace and lasting happiness.
Easy to repeat, this tidbit of transcendental knowledge, but quite another to get oneself unattached to the idea that, well, maybe, just maybe, the next big thing, might just be different, might indeed be the forever answer to peace and happiness.
And it’s that attachment that I’m tackling at the moment.You see I long for a more pure hermit life, a life with a lot less engagement – and entanglement with – worldly things and situations.
I once wrote in a poem calledSeeking Noble Truths or Just Passing Through that ‘longing is loss’, and it is, if one is attached or clings to the object of desire, or an outcome being exactly as is envisaged. Not being attached means less disappointment, less suffering, if as often happens, life does its thing and the outcome is not what we hoped it would be.
But here’s the thing: the bonds of my attachments in this area are loosening a little, bit by bit. And the paradox isn’t lost on me either: As I ‘settle’ into our (supposedly) longer term hermitage, I will, I hope, come closer to a point of stillness, of equanimity, and of silence. I will inch even closer to that state where attachments will all just fall away.
Hermit caves take many and varied forms
Now, in no particular order of priority or preference, I’ll try to convey in words some of the reasons we’re opting to continue our pilgrimage in a more long-term hermitage.
To be honest, as hard as I try to be present, to just live here and now, I just like the vast majority of my fellow human beings, find it extremely difficult to not be pulled ahead to the future (or dragged back to the past for that matter).
No sooner have we moved into a new hermitage, then we feel we have to start shopping around for the next one. Of course, one can’t ignore the practicalities, but for me it goes way beyond being a sensible planner.
And to be perfectly frank (I wonder who this ‘frank’ is anyway?) we’ve tired of it. The looking, the thinking, the talking and emailing to prospective places. It’s actually quite boring, to be stuck on that kind of merry-go-round .
It’s also extremely distracting. It gets in the way of our efforts to calm and quieten our minds for extended and deeper meditation and contemplation. Not to mention the ongoing (seems endless sometimes) discussions of the pros and cons of decisions to be made, as well as the frustrating second guessing I’m famous for.
Portrait of a Hermitage
We all know from experience that there is never going to be any absolute certainty in anything we arrange in our lives. Of course I know very well that even a signed, sealed and delivered legally binding contract or lease, means very little if the parties involved put their minds to it or change plans somewhere along the way.
All things in the material world are relative, and always subject to change; there’s nothing we can do to bend that natural law. Given such a context we still feel okay about entering with a right-hearted intention, this agreement for a year (at least) in the new hermitage.
As the residents of the hermitage are prone to say really quite often: ‘Your will, not mine, be done’.
Then, when life does its thing, I’ll be more able to roll with it. Why? Because I will (hopefully) have better learned that it’s not my will that’s to be done, but the Divine Will, the natural law and order of the Universe.
As I sauntered along the shores of the Ganges River in Rishikesh several years ago, I was given a gift.
In the High Holy Lands Where Magic Sometimes Happens
As I ambled, headed upstream in a relaxed kind of mood on that sandy riverbank, I happened to glance down. There, right at my foot I noticed a small shell. Flat with the stereotypical fan shape so many shells have, and a about a centimetre across. I picked it up.
At that moment I sensed that this little shell was a gift from the river to me. Still, I had to wonder how it got there, a seashell on the sandy banks of a freshwater river with it’s source not too far from where I stood, just a bit higher up in the Himalayas – the highest mountain range on the surface of the planet.
One possibility is that this shell originated in the sea that once existed in the lands above, where the Himalayas now stand. Mind you, I’ve only ever heard of the fossils of sea creatures being found in that region.
Another possibility suggested to me at the time, is that some other traveller having picked up the shell on a beach somewhere other on their travels, kept it with them till they arrived at this sacred place.
Then, perhaps as an offering that traveller – fellow pilgrim?- let that shell go into the waters of Maa Ganga.
Of course it doesen’t matter in the least which – if either – of these scenarios reflect what actually happened. Somehow this little shell travelled from an ocean somewhere (and somewhen!) to this precise spot on the banks of the Ganga to be discovered, to be gifted to me.
I received that offering, now a gift from the river to me, with a deep and prayerful thank you, and a sense of the sacredness of that moment and of that place.
And, today, the journey made by that little shell, has come to a kind of full circle. This morning I released it to Varuna, to the sea here on the Pacific Coast at the beach over the dunes from the hermitage.
That initial giving and receiving took place about eight years ago now and I have that little shell with me ever since.
First I wore it around my neck attached to a mala (prayer beads) made of Rudraksha seeds I used for chanting mantra.
After that, it migrated to another mala – this one made of beads of black volcanic rock, perhaps very fitting given the little shell’s possibly ancient origins.
Then, one day about a year or so ago, that little shell developed a crack and then shattered into several little pieces.
Still, I treasured those remains, those fragment I kept with my other ‘holy bits and pieces’. Then, after a while, I began to get the sense that I was going to have to return this little shell to the sea from where it had come.
I knew, though, that it would have to be the right place, a place I was drawn or led to. So, time passed, we travelled to several different hermitages for about a year.
Then, two days ago, we moved here. To a cozy hermitage on the side of a sand dune, just across a bridge from and on the outskirts of a little seaside town on the Pacific Coast of Australia.
It’s one of those spots where the elevation, distance, and whatever else by nature’s arrangement, all combine in just the right way to allow a vast view that takes the eyes to the curve of Earth herself; the horizon isn’t flat here, it’s a sweeping giant curve. Add to this the equally dramatic view offered by the dome of the sky.
The coast is beautiful here. Not that it’s not special in so many places, but there is something here that speaks to me.
At the top of the dune just beside the hermitage there is an extremely convenient bench seat overlooking the beauty of the ocean.
And it just felt right: here is the place that seeks the return of the remains of that little shell, by now reduced to a couple of small fragments.
So, after a time sitting and contemplating at the above-mentioned convenient seat, I walked down the dune to the beach, and then to the water’s edge. In a mood of prayer, with the edge of the incoming waves lapping at my feet.
After first consigning to the water a shell native to this shore, to show the way to my little shell, I thought of the journey that little shell and I had undertaken together. Then I thought of how far and for how long that little shell had travelled so far on its own journey.
Then I returned what was left of that little shell to the sea from which it had come. And I watched it carried by the waves returning from the sands of the land to waters of the endless ocean.
PS See the Lava Rock Mala? Well, it too has changed form in recent times. It is now no longer a full length neck mala; it has evolved to become a compact and convenient pocket Mala for what you might say is ‘everyday use.
Well, here we are with the third and final part of our contemplations on Flee, Be silent, Pray Always, the answer discovered by our friend Arsenius who was looking for a way to be saved from the the things of the world.
In a very real sense, this third injunction might be seen as the most important of the three. Indeed, again in a very real sense, those first two seem to me to be prerequisites for the third. Certainly, many of us would like to flee to a place and state of silence in order to escape the world and its many and varied causes of our suffering. Such people are simply and completely over the noise, the chaos, war, greed, the complexity of relationships, and all the rest.
Then there are many many others who, rather than looking to escape the world, are wanting to ‘flee’ towards a place and state of silence in order to engage more fully with the world by contemplation, meditation, and most of all, prayer. Such people are working towards making their entire lives a prayer.
And then there are the third group which is made up of those who have some sense of running away from the world while at the same time they feel compelled to move towards a contemplative life that they sense will be the best way they can actually serve the world.
I think I can include myself in this last group. I’ve never coped well with masses of people, being in the workforce, or dealing with the horrors that the world seemed to be overwhelmed with.
At the same time, I’ve always wanted to (and have tried to) combat injustice, racism, violence and the rest. I guess you could sum it up by putting it this way: I was (still am) an oversensitive person who one day had had enough of trying to ‘fight the system’ when it was the system making and changing the rules of the game as it went along.
Better I thought, to turn inwards in order to reach or realise my oneness with all living things. I’ve always been predisposed to praying as well, so it was a natural evolution in many ways. My intention and commitment these last few years has been (and still is of course) to pray continuously and with all my being.
My prayer is for the release from suffering for all living beings and that’s my central focus for prayer. For me, it feels very much that I am a lot more use to others living what I think of as a prayerful contemplative life than being actively engaged with the world out there in the midst of it all so to speak.
Pray Always
Prayer for me is not so much about petitioning some all-powerful being who is seemingly on a whim able to grant or refuse my wishes. For me it is more an affirmation of the reality of my already existent oneness with the entirety of the universe. It’s a way of seeking to actually realise that this oneness is my very Self.
Prayer is about being present, not wishing blindly that things be different than they are. In praying I seek to affirm that the ‘universe is unfolding as it should’, as it says in a famous poem I’ve always loved. (Actually if you don’t know about Desiderata [Things Desired] then please do check it out; you’ll love it).
I think that in this sense, prayer is in fact an act of mindfulness, or rather an act which will help develop a mindfulness practice. It is a way to practise being fully focused and present to whatever is going on, whatever circumstances we find ourselves in.
And if we’re able to be present – even on a temporary or momentary basis – then we will be more calm, more at peace, and more able to achieve some clarity in our lives and with whatever is the intention with our prayer.
I know it might sound like a clumsy attempt at a clever play on words, but we’ve described mindfulness as the practice of being fully present. But we can put it another way. We can define that state of being fully present as being in presence. Like what we might say to a friend who is daydreaming while we are trying to talk to them. We might say something like ‘so and so, your presence would be appreciated’.
In presence of what? I would say everything. When we are absolutely in the present moment (again even momentarily), when we are able to realise our oneness with all things. Essentially the universe is there – or is it here? – with you in that present moment. It’s a moment when we may indeed feel we are in the presence of all that is.
Some may call that presence God, or the Divine, or Universal Consciousness. Others may see it as being in the presence of their own true and authentic Self.
That leads quite nicely to the next aspect of prayer that I want us to look at. Praying to God. I’ve spent so long on mindfulness because I wanted to stress that I don’t think it’s necessary to have a personal name or form for God, or even a notion of an unmanifested, invisible ‘force’ called God, in order to pray.
On the other hand for me, and I know for a lot of people, there are names and forms of the universal consciousness that pervades and permeates the universe, that I personally resonate with and I can reach out to them whenever the feeling or inclination arises. It sounds a bit odd to say, but for me to think that all that is, is all that is, sort of sums it up.
And as a result of that, any prayer I pray is addressed to my own Self which is simply part and parcel of all there is. In other words, it’s a personal choice for any one of us what form or name we choose to pray to. Or if we don’t pray to a name and form at all. All is one.
One thing I’ve mentioned I think a couple of times is the idea of making all our activities into a prayer, but other than the discussion on mindfulness and presence, I’ve not really addressed the how and why.
Why is pretty obvious. Because living and acting mindfully helps us in so many way such as being more peaceful, more relaxed, happier, and so on. The how, now I’m thinking about it is the purpose of this post. And it’s also true to say we’ve been talking about it since this series began.
That is to say, we flee from the aspects of our lives that don’t serve us and which can be changed. This might be a decision to spend 30 minutes every day sitting quietly and undisturbed. And as we’ve mentioned a few times already it could be going all out and moving to a desert cave somewhere.
In both those scenarios we give ourselves the opportunity to be silent and, hopefully also surrounded by silence. How to pray always? There’s an expression I love and try to live by: Follow your Dharma. Here Dharma means your own truth, being authentic to who you are, having the intention to do what’s right in all situations. And of course actually following through with that intention if at all possible. In this way you transform every action into prayer.
Living a life of prayer does seem on the face of it to not involve much use of spoken prayers, as in saying prayers with words. Well, I don’t intend to be humourous here, but a great deal of prayer does it fact involve talking to one’s Self. To the real self, that part of us that’s part of everything else. It can do us good to have these deep conversations.
Then of course there are the many many prayers that already exist to serve people from so many traditions, cultures, to suit all kinds of purposes and intentions.
Many of us will be familiar with a number of prayers learnt when we were children. If you’re anything like me, they still pop up by themselves from time to time.
Actually as I deepen my prayer practice, I’m discovering that I’m remembering all sorts of prayers from many and varied sources. I think as I dig deeper, more and more are coming up to the surface.
This prayer (by Thomas Merton I think) resonates deeply with me
If these ‘pre-prepared’ prayers say what you want to say and in a way that resonates with you, then you are free to choose those that feel right for you. I guess I mix and match the prayers I use; it’s always dependent on my feelings, thoughts, and intentions at the time.
Like Arsenius, I try to be open and responsive to whatever the ‘answers’ are, even though my ego does sometimes when it doesn’t like the answer, try and control outcomes.
One point about such prayers: I find it tempting oftentimes to simply recite them at what I’ve heard described as lip level. By rote and without emotion, in other words. At those times I try to slow down or pause to reflect on what I’m doing and why to get back in touch with Self.
A major part of my prayer life is chanting mantra. I try to spend more time chanting as time passes. There are a number that I use depending on inclination and need.
I chant anywhere and sometimes a mantra will start chanting itself, surprising me by its arrival
(This photo isn’t me by the way)
Now, probably one of the most important aspects of my own prayer life: I know I’ve mentioned my intentions in praying at all, but one aspect I haven’t mentioned is praying as devotion.
Devotion as in worship, praise, as in gratitude for the beauty in my life, as an expression of love. Knowing with the mind that all is one is fine, but these kinds of prayers help us to cement our awareness of that oneness of all living beings. As I said earlier, I, like you or anyone else, may use particular names and forms to represent this oneness, but, well, it’s all one, so we are non-different from all those names and forms.
Lord Sri Krishna is among my favourite forms of Universal Consciousness (also known as Brahman)
There are many representations of the Divine, but Krishna and this picture of Him are special to me.
Focusing your devotion on a particular form seems to help make it easier or more real. It’s tricky to pray to and with a thing that has no form and is invisible.
So, my friends I hope what I’ve said here is of some little interest to you and that you have found at least something you can use for your own life.
Thank you for bearing with me as I chose to post a short story before I got onto this post, the next part in our small series. Actually, I hope you enjoyed the story, and if you missed it, then please feel free to have a look. You will find it here.
Anyway, welcome to Part 2 in our little series of contemplations on the answer that Abba Arsenius received to his question: How can I be saved? (from the world with its sorrows and noise and traps of all kinds)
The answer he heard from deep within his own Self – what he called God -was the succinct, to the point, no nonsense:
Flee, Be Silent, and Pray Always.
In Part 1 we realised that fleeing (from the world) doesn’t necessarily mean we have to leave everything and everyone behind and go live in a cave in the desert as he did. For some of course it might mean exactly that or some 21st Century equivalent, but I think for the vast majority of us, fleeing simply involves some modification of our current lifestyle, changes to our habitual ways of thinking and behaviours in order to rid ourselves of attachment to and entanglement in the things, situations, and people in the world that aren’t working for us.
And, now, in this post we will spend some time in contemplating the second injunction given to Arsenius: Be Silent.
Be Silent
I haven’t actually given a lot of thought to this topic since our last post. Nor have I done any online research, or watched YouTubes (I checked for fun and there seems to be hundreds, maybe thousands) about silence.
No, at least in this I have tried to remain silent and simply wait for the post to come together of its own accord in its own time. Perhaps this decision came from that same place Mr A heard from when he had his question.
So, what does it mean to be silent? Well, as I just mentioned, there are seemingly unlimited answers out there just waiting for us to grab on to. The better question would probably be, what does it mean for me to be silent?
First thing to say is that I’ve come to realise (okay, it’s an ongoing process of coming to realise, not there quite yet) that there is absolutely no person, no circumstance, and no place that I can rely on to provide me with silence. So, I’m coming to accept, there is no point in looking anywhere, or to anyone, as the source of silence, at least not in the physical world.
Of course, one key element of achieving silence may be the absence of noise. Maybe. so living where there is less traffic, less focus on materialism and commerce, fewer people, less media imput (news, TV, Internet, and all the rest) might be a place for some to start.
Even if it isn’t possible to to avoid all these things completely, I try to drop or change the things I can which for me sometimes at least, gives me a chance at a little silence.
Having said that, I’m reminded of an aphorism I once read: A hermit living alone, in a cave on a remote mountain, away from any kind of road, no radio, TV, etc, is never going to manage to be in silence if his mind and emotions are always busy with thoughts, memories, desires, fears and other emotions.
On the other hand a person living on a busy city street in the midst of all kinds of chaos and noise, may be living in perfect silence. If they have a still mind, steady emotions, that give them the ability to ‘sail through life’ as the saying goes.
But what about me? Well, this prayer says it all In order to achieve a state in which I can actually be silent, I am attempting to amend my life – utterly and completely. I can be quite self-critical on this, badgering myself with desperate questions how come I can’t just be silent (and quiet in the accepted sense of the word as well). It’s a dilemma which frustrates and disappoints me. But, to be a little fair to myself, I suspect I’m not very different to most other people when it comes to silence. After all, if it was so easy, how come we need thousands of books, articles, YouTubes on how it’s done?
As mentioned, the absence of noise isn’t necessarily a prerequisite to achieving silence. But, I have to say, that for me, it’s pretty important. Being surrounded by the noise of the world, as well as my own hyperactive mind and seesawing emotions, are for me blocks to silence. Though, when I think about it, there are glimpses, even when one of our temporary hermitages is on a busy street, or under an airport flightpath.
As a bottom-line starting point, I don’t watch or read news; I don’t (anymore) randomly scroll the Internet even when ‘looking for something to watch’ on YouTube. And of course I don’t use television. Ever.
I’m not saying that when I do watch a video online that it’s always only spiritual or holy stuff. Nor do I only read books about saints and spiritual matters. Mind you, I would say more and more lately I’ve been tending in that direction. It’s just happening naturally I think.
A reason for that progression is effects of the amount of time I spend meditating, chanting mantra, and ‘just sitting’. Never enough time spent, but I’m getting there.
In all these three activities there is of course always lot of mental noise trying to mess things up. Not to mention the dreaded external noises. But, even then, there are gaps, spaces between breaths, pauses between repetitions of the mantra, and even when just sitting there are (if my mind has mercy on me) little moments free of thoughts, fleeting gifts of silence.
I think most of us have a tendency to focus on the problem of noise and disturbance, both external and internal, and ignore those fleeting little moments of silence.
With the momentary absence of thoughts it’s like when we ‘get lost in a beautiful piece of music’ as my teacher says. We’re still there, we can still hear, it’s just that we – as in our ego in one of its many and varied forms, our mind – is absent. And that means there is silence. Then we are in that legendary blissful state of being one with the music (or whatever the activity we are ‘lost in’).
Because our thinking mind seems to be absent (no thought equals no mind), there is nothing to judge whether there is silence or not. Just as when we are in deep sleep, as opposed to the dreaming state, there is silence, the absence of thought; no ego dialogues; all is silence. That’s why often don’t realise we have achieved that silent state: no mind to record the experience, so when we do resume thinking, we assume we’ve not stopped thinking at all.
Despite these many years of meditating, chanting, and sitting, I seem to still expect something spectacular to occur. Some blissful state, some revelation of enlightenment, or some other magical happening, maybe visions or some genius idea or something. It’s not a rational expectation of course, but …
Yes. It’s still hard to let go of the search for some kind of ‘signal’ buried under all the ‘noise’. Lately, however, I’m slowly coming to realise that looking for signal is really my ego/mind looking outside in the world for some kind of experience of silence. But to belabour the obvious, silence is silence; what’s to experience?
That doesn’t mean that there’s nothing. Nor that it’s some kind of void, just emptiness and ‘nothingness’. Silence is the space in which the seeds or knowledge are able to take root before they can become manifest in our material world.
It’s just that we might not notice untill sometime later when we see or sense a change in our thinking, our behaviour, or how we feel about the people, places, things, and circumstances of our lives.
See you next post when we look at the final of the three injunctions given to our friend Arsenius, Pray Always.
Thank you and may you realise the silence that already is present within you.
Something quite different today. I had planned to write the second part of our contemplations on Armenius’s answer to his prayer. But then I came across a short story from quite a few years ago now, that seems to speak directly to our series title, Flee, Be Silent, Pray Always.
Grab a cup of tea, relax and enjoy the story
I offer it, I share it with you now in the hope that you will find it interesting and (or) entertaining. It’s going to make this post way way longer than usual, but I hope you find it worthwhile to spend some little time reading it.
So, with love, here is the story I once called:
LEAD ME NOT INTO TEMPTATION
The old carpetbag perched as if it ” a living thing, an alien visitor from the other world, in the middle of Brian’s old table. Its bulging bulk and musty smell, a constant reminder of its threatening presence.
It had been three days now and he knew he’d have to make up his mind soon, make some sort of decision. He had to find a way to deal with this.
Brian, or Brother Brian as he would prefer to be known, had made the long climb to this crumbling stone house a long time ago. He could no longer tell how many years it had been. All his life he had known what his destiny was to be. Even as a child, he had felt the call of the mountains and the monastic life. But, like most people, he had ignored the call, ignored his destiny, and settled for an ordinary life: school, university and a job shuffling papers for some obscure government department.
Then, one day without warning, he walked out of the office, sold his belongings, packed a small bag and caught a one-way flight to India. He didn’t know quite what he was looking for, but he did know it was something vaguely spiritual. He thought that if he couldn’t find a spiritual life in India, then he wouldn’t find it anywhere.
It didn’t take him long to find his way to the remote mountain monastery of a reclusive order of contemplative monks. For Brian, it didn’t matter what they taught, what lineage, gurus, or teachings they followed; for him it was the simple and quiet life of meditation that was the main attraction.
Now, all these years later as he sat staring at the carpetbag, he reflected on how fast time can pass when you spend your days meditating and working in the gardens that supplied the monastery. Sighing, he thought that they had been good years. Was it ten? Twelve? No, it was ten years he spent in that place. But, for some reason he could no longer fathom, he had decided that the so-called isolation of the monastery wasn’t isolated enough for him.
Then, smiling, he remembered: after a while the other monks’ constant chatter had begun to irritate him; he had begun to long for total silence.
Not our monk’s actual hermitage!
The Abbot understood Brian’s need for quiet and deeper contemplation. After all, he had been his mentor and advisor for many years and knew his student well. He told Brian of the old house, long abandoned, that lay just over a week’s walk in the hills above the monastery.
So, along with a brother monk to accompany him on his trek and help him carry cooking utensils, food and seeds for the garden he planned, Brother Brian left his home.
There weren’t many comings or goings at the monastery, so Brian’s leaving was a momentous event in the life of the community. Not sad, not happy; these monks had long since learned that what happens is simply what happens. But, for Brian, there was a sneaking sense of excitement as he began the long, but welcome, trek to what he hoped would be his home for the rest of his life.
He embraced his brother with a farewell. Brian smiled as it occurred to him that this was likely to be his last ever contact with a fellow human being. Soon the brother was gone, and Brian was alone. He surveyed the house and saw it wasn’t as bad as he’d been led to believe. Why, there was even a table and chairs to sit at.
It was the work of an hour to place his meagre belongings in their place in the house. And so his life of true isolation began. The years passed and Brian’s prediction proved accurate: he saw nobody, heard no human sounds. His only contact with that other world was the monthly cache of rice and other staples the Abbot arranged to have dropped off for him to collect a couple of hours walk downhill from the house.
Brian always ensured that he would not encounter the brother who made that long trek for him. Lately though, he had seen the tracks of a horse and cart. The monastery must have modernized, he’d laughed to himself at the time. Samsara, he thought, it’ll get you every time.
His plan for total seclusion and quiet had worked for a long time. But now as he stared at the carpetbag, he remembered the day that other visitor from the other world had come calling. It was six months ago now and he’d been at his cooking fire, about to ladle his daily rice into his bowl, when he heard the knock.
At first, it was just another sound from the old house that had over the years developed its own voice, or so Brian liked to think. But the knocking persisted, grew louder, and that did strike him as odd.
Putting down his bowl he went to the door of the house, opened it and came face to face with the first human he had seen since his brother had left him here all those years before.
‘Are you Brian?’ the apparition questioned.
Brian, for some moments, had no answer. It’d been a very long time since he had heard another human voice, and just as long since he’d had to use his own to give an answer to anyone.
‘Are you the man known as Brother Brian?’ The voice was more insistent now and Brian saw its owner seemed to be dressed in some kind of uniform. Was he a policeman? A soldier?
‘I am Brian. His voice shocked him.
‘Well, this letter is for you. It is from the government and it is necessary to deliver it to you in person. That bloody Abbot fellow tried to stop me, but it is my duty you know.’
So, this stranger was a postman. He shoved the letter into Brian’s hand, turned and marched away, leaving Brian standing dumbly in his doorway.
After some time Brian came out of his stunned reverie. He stared at the letter, which did indeed bear his name, or rather the name he once owned and was of use only in that other world he’d turned his back on. And it bore the crest of the government. Brian could not begin to work out what it was about.
But, realizing that there was only one way to find out, he opened the tattered and crumpled envelope.
Before he even read the letter’s contents, Brian’s world fell apart. The date at the top of the typewritten page transported him back into that other world. As if the long intervening years had counted for nothing, he became who he had been then.
That date told him how long he had been away from the place of his birth; it said to him that he was not alone. His years of practice, of attempting to exist in a timeless state with only nature’s seasons to guide his daily activities, suddenly seemed to have no meaning. But what he read next was almost beyond his comprehension:
Dear Sir
You have lived in our country for many years. We believe you are a member of a religious community. However, such a status does not exempt you from the very strict immigration rules that we have put in place to ensure the security and well-being of our nation and her people.
It has recently come to our attention that your original visa was for a period of six months only. Therefore, you are in this country illegally.
We have decided to be lenient in your case and have not insisted on your immediate arrest and detention pending trial for the extremely serious crime of visa violation. We hereby inform you are to leave this country by no later than three weeks from the date on this letter.
Please be warned that should you not present yourself Immigration officials at your chosen point of departure by that date, action will be taken to place you under arrest and your case will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Yours truly
Ministerfor Immigration
Brian was calm. He folded the letter, returned it to its envelope and placed it on the little shelf he reserved for his few books and papers. It would not be correct to say that Brian’s life and routine returned normal; he was really only going through the motions, tending his garden, even meditating a little more than usual.
But he was disturbed. Not only had his isolation been broken by the visit of the postman all those months ago, he was as the letter demanded, being forced to leave his safe haven, his home of all these years.
But it was neither of these two issues that seemed to occupy him most on this day. As time passed from what he now called the Day of the Letter, Brian had grown increasingly restless. He found himself spending long hours daydreaming and remembering his old life, his life before that day he walked out of the office and bought a one-way ticket. He even sometimes caught himself wondering what life would be like if he walked back down the mountain.
And now, six months later, he sat staring at the carpetbag. He smiled now, remembering the threat in the letter: he’d had three weeks to leave. Still, he remembered from his old life how slow bureaucracy could move sometimes. He reached down to rub the soreness on the side of his lower leg. As he felt the scratches, he recalled how he’d come by them. Actually, he thought, if it hadn’t been for the carpetbag and its soft bulk, he might have been more badly injured …
Along with that general restlessness engendered by The Day of the Letter, he sensed a growing dissatisfaction, a dissatisfaction that had not passed, even after so many months.
And these feelings seemed to extend to the house itself, still as tumbledown as it was when he’d first laid eyes on it all those years ago. Suddenly it didn’t seem good enough and he had an irresistible urge to improve it, to fix it up a little, as he liked to put it.
So, it was three days ago, and he was rummaging around in one of the small outbuildings at the back of the house. He trod with care: the rough floorboards were all loose and in varying stages of decay. And, sure enough, all his care didn’t prevent the inevitable. As he reached for a bundle of metal garden stakes that he thought might make a fine tripod for his cooking pot, his foot sunk into the floor as one of the rotten boards gave way.
He didn’t sink far; something solid but soft got in the way. Pulling his leg out he saw it had been cut. A small amount of blood oozed from some long scratches. Even so, he realized hed been lucky not to have gone in further and he wondered what had broken his fall.
He peered into the hole and saw what looked like a fabric bag. He reached in and pulled it out. Nice bag, he thought, with his newly reacquired eye for things of the outside world. He seemed to remember that such a bag was called a carpetbag.
Standing up and heaving the bag from the floor, Brian was surprised by its weight. He decided to take the bag, reeking of dust and the musty smell of damp and age, into the house before opening it to see what was inside.
How different he was since the Day of the Letter, he thought as he sat three days since finding the carpetbag, staring at the thing. How many years had he been here without even setting foot in that shed? Anyway, it’d been a very long time since he had been even remotely interested in anything of a material nature.
But, at the time he found the bag, he had acted without a second thought; it was just natural to take the bag from its hiding place and into the house. And it seemed perfectly normal for him to want to open it and look inside.
He had lugged the carpetbag through the door and into his house, heaving the heavy load onto his table. The dust made him cough, but he didn’t hesitate. The bag’s zip was rusty, but came apart easily. However, the sight of the bags contents did make him hesitate.
Bundles of paper that he could see were old English banknotes. Pulling himself together, he started taking out the bundles, twenty in all. He guessed that each bundle had to contain several hundred pounds. Of course, he knew that they were no longer legal currency, but on the antique market, he was sure they would fetch a fortune.
At the very bottom of the bag, he found a large pouch, heavy and solid. Opening the drawstring, he found it full of stones. Pulling out a handful, he realized they were small diamonds, dozens of them. Mixed with the diamonds were stones of many colours: red rubies, green emeralds, purple amethysts.
Even his newfound interest in material things was defeated by this discovery. He returned the pouch and the wads of banknotes to the carpetbag and set the thing in the middle of his table. Suddenly he felt the pain from the scratches on his leg, so he left the house and went to the little stream he used for water and washed the wounds.
For those three days he went about his daily routines as best he could. But he had to pass his table and the carpetbag many times a day, and it came to preoccupy his thoughts. Its contents could ease his re-entry to the outside world in a very nice way. In fact, he doubted he would ever have to think about getting a job or earning a living. But this was his home. No matter how much the postman with his letter had pulled him back to that other world, no matter how much stuff, how many things, this carpetbag and its cargo could buy, he’d have to leave his home.
So he sat and stared. He didn’t think; he’d gone over and over his choices. He couldn’t do it anymore. He just stared, and time passed. With a start, Brian realized it was dark and that the house was cold. Still not thinking, only acting, he went to the little shelf and retrieved the letter and a pencil. He returned to the table where he sat and began to write on the back of the envelope in the tiny script he’d mastered all those years ago when he still thought keeping a journal was a useful practice.
My Dear Brother Abbot
How many years you and my other dear brothers have made the arduous trek to bring to me the staples that keep this body alive. No words of gratitude would ever be enough to tell you how I feel. Of course, I know if I were there with you now you would tell me that you and they are only doing what needs to be done for a brother. Still.
When this letter arrived, I was deeply disturbed. I found myself thinking of and longing for the old world of my youth. I found myself falling into Samsara again. I did not like this, but I found it drove me to change my world here. I began to be obsessed by the need to improve the house in a physical way.
While I went about this crazy business, I injured myself by stepping through a rotten floorboard. My fall was stopped, and my injuries lessened by this carpetbag that I now send to you.
However, in the three days since, I have not been able to engage correctly in my daily routines and practice. When you see what is in the bag you will understand my distress and confusion. On the other hand, you might not: you are so much more advanced along the path to enlightenment than I.
I have just sat through a long dark night of the soul, completely lost and not aware of this body or this material world that surrounds me. When I rose from this state, I knew what I had to do. The letter in this envelope and this carpetbag and its contents do not belong to me, nor do they belong in my world. I send them to you because I do not know what else to do with them.
As always, I rely on your help. You have always been there for me when I stumble and as I enter the bliss.
Your brother salutes you dear Abbot.
Brian
Scooping up the letter and dragging the carpetbag off the table, Brian strode out of the house, and in the darkness, trod the well-worn path to the spot his brothers brought his supplies to.
Long ago, he had built a small shelter for the brothers to rest in, and in which perishable items could be left. He placed the bag there and, with a large stone, weighted down the letter so it would not be missed when the brother next came.
As he rose from this task, Brian saw that it would soon be dawn. He would have to hurry if he was to make it back to the house for his morning meditation.
THE END
If you’ve made it this far, thank you. I hope you had an enjoyable and interesting read. Next post will truly be part 2 of the series, and we will be contemplating the second part of Armenius’s message: Be Silent.
A few days ago I began a new work to study and contemplate in my not quite daily Lectio Divina practice. It’s actually a spiritual classic that, although I’ve read it before, I felt the need to explore a little more, dig a little deeper, rather than simply reading through it as I did the first time.
I haven’t gotten very far in the book; like I say it’s going to be a slower, more reflective process this time (I’m amazed how little I remember as I reread now). A small story the author tells us by way of describing how he’s structured the book, is actually where I’ve left off, so that I can share it with you before I go on with the text and forget!
Abba Arsenius (courtesy Wikipedia)
It concerns Abba Arsenius who was a high ranking Roman official working in the household of the Emperor. Clearly he was looking for a more meaningful, more spiritually oriented lifestyle away from the dogma running people’s lives, politics, the decadence and the rest, because he constantly prayed to God, seeking a way out that would lead him ‘to salvation’. He was wanting badly to be free.
Well, he heard an answer, from deep within his soul:
Flee, be silent and pray always.
So, that’s what he did, fleeing first obviously. I don’t know the rest of his story. I mean I could look him up, but for our purposes here today, all we need to know is that he took off secretly to Egypt and went to live alone in the desert.
Nouwen believes:
“The words flee, be silent and pray summarize the spirituality of the desert. They indicate the three ways of preventing the world from shaping us in its image and are thus the three ways to life in the Spirit.”
Flee. It’s quite a strong word isn’t it? On the face of it, it simply means run away or escape. But it seems to suggest something more urgent, as if the one doing the fleeing needs to get away as quickly as possible; sticking around could be (or actually is) dangerous.
And that, as I said, is where I stopped to think. Sorry, I mean contemplate. I was so struck by the concept: in its essence, it is exactly the life I am attempting to live. Anyway, since reading it I’ve been thinking a lot about the three imperatives given to Arsenius in that very succinct answer he received to his question.
In fact, looking the word up just now I see that some slang terms for flee are: bolt, scram, schedaddle, or get the heck of out Dodge (or in the case of Arsenius, Rome). Let’s just say, to flee means to run away as quickly as you can, to escape imminent danger of some kind, real or metaphorical.
I read once of a woman who had the debilitating Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. In an attempt to recover and heal, she moved to a remote cottage in a tiny town ‘in the middle of nowhere’. Why such a drastic move? Surely if she is ill she should stay near to doctors and other resources?
Well, for her being in a city was the problem. Noise, crowds, pollution, pressure to conform and consume, interaction on so many levels all the time with other people, trying to meet daily needs in a complex, crowded and hectic environment was precisely what was making her ill.
Not to mention the effects on mental health that living in such conditions has on a lot of people, and I think we can all relate to some degree to this idea. We’ve all felt sometimes (or even very often) how we would like to just get away from it all.
For me it was about the gross materialism, the lack of ethical and moral thinking in the running of businesses, governments, and the rest; I longed also for a deeper connection with what one might call the sacred; more time and space for contemplation and just a simpler, slower, less rushed, less complex life.
Now, I hear you saying: ‘not everyone can or should just give up everything and take off to live in a cave’. (or desert, wherever). And you are right, of course. In fact, we can say the cave is a metaphor for all sorts of spaces one might feel drawn to when fleeing and seeking separation from the world. Actually, we’ll be talking more about this later when we get to the be silent bit.
For these Hermit Pilgrims ‘fleeing from the world’ has meant a nomadic lifestyle, few possessions and material needs, a hermit life where our engagement or entanglement with the world is kept to a minimum, and in which we feel less of a pressure to conform, to ‘be shaped’ by the world around us’).
The reality is of course, at the end of the day for most of us and for most of our lives we have to make money to feed and clothe ourselves and our families. And for that we need to work. And in order to work we need a house to live in, and to have a house to live in we (perhaps) have to get a mortgage, and to get a mortgage … . Well I guess you get the point.
But, for a moment ask yourself: What would it look like for me to ‘flee’? For each person it’s going to take on its own unique meaning. I suppose the easiest way to put it is to say that fleeing for all of us essentially means laying aside those things (or people, places, behaviours) that we look at as ‘dangerous’ , ‘bad for us’, or from which we constantly feel the need to escape. Sometimes they’re little things, sometimes more serious.
It might be that we’ve taken on too many social media ‘obligations’ that are swallowing up any precious spare moments we have, that we’d like to be free of. Or it could be our compulsion for bringing our work home that we are desperate to give up (the bringing work home, though of course it might be the job too), so we can actually make some more free moments.
Perhaps it’s our drive to ‘know what’s going on’ by watching the news every night that’s doing our head in. These are some of the so-called minor things that we know are shaping who we are, and often against our own wishes too. Now I think about it, maybe none of it’s ‘minor’ after all.
Oh dear, I’ve done it again: word count is very nearly 1000. Too many words is another thing people try to flee from: we’re flooded, overwhelmed by words. And as much as I personally love words, I get the point and I will leave our contemplation on what was actually a message of very few words, till the next post.
The previous post on this blog was about the notion of Kora, or the circumambulation of a sacred site or object on foot as a kind of pilgrimage. If you missed it, you can find that post here.
While researching for that blog, I came across an old file in a forgotten folder which also touched on Kora as a topic. I’d forgotten all about it as it was really only a first draft of a proposed post that, at the time didn’t go any further.
Reading it again, I right away realized it was a great theme for its own post and would follow on quite nicely. So, before I share that with you, allow me a minute to set the context.
In early 2020 we had just arrived in a small outback town in central NSW. We’d planned our arrival to coincide with the onset of the very first lockdown put in effect as a response to the outbreak of Covid 19. Our hermitage remained there for about six months before that first (of several as it turned out, though we didn’t know it at the time) lockdown eased and we moved on.
As with that last post, this one features a sports ground, and my adoption of it for the purposes of my own circular pilgrimage practice.
Thank you for your patience
Across the road from the little apartment in which we took refuge a few months ago as fear of the Corona virus spread and travel was restricted, is a sports ground. In freer, safer times, they play cricket, and – in the winter – football there.
That ground, or rather the oval shaped fenceline surrounding it, has become a Kora for us. A Kora is a kind of pilgrimage in the form of a mindful and meditative Circumambulation.
Kora is a Tibetan word, but the concept of pilgrimages circling sacred sites is common to most religious traditions. I guess you might say, we’ve kind of adapted the practice to suit our purposes.
Anyway, a few days ago I noticed that markings had been painted on the grass: a set of giant squares and other lines. I realized that football must soon be returning, along with the reopening of cafes, restaurants, and so on in the town.
As I continued on my Kora that day, I began to notice that many leaves had been painted along with the grass. It occurred to me that these blue-hued leaves could be seen as a kind of symbol for at least one aspect of the current ‘crisis’ that I’d been thinking about already.
Since first adopting this ground as my own Kora, I’d often seen – and sometimes collected – leaves blown from neighbouring trees by winter winds. I’m always doing stuff like that. Sort of my way of connecting with nature.
Then, on the day in question, I saw the return of human activity to that grassy leaf-strewn space.
I make no comment here, no judgements about rights and wrongs. Life must go on. And with life, the cultural activities of all human communities must resume.
I simply point out that it seemed to me that blue paint on winter-blown leaves is an apt metaphor for the impacts that we, the human species, have on the world we live in.
Also, as you can see from my photo, that impact isn’t always ugly, or bad. In this case, I think it’s actually quite beautiful.
The other thing to say is (as I read on a sign taped to the fence on the same sports ground) please remember to social distance. (note: the pandemic is officially no longer with us, but when you think about it, it might be seen as a wise precaution at any time. There are always germs around waiting to spread!)
Oh okay, one more thing. In a time – in a world – where social distance has become a verb, remember that the only distance between any of us is purely physical and an invented mental construct. All life, despite seemingly unlimited names and forms, is one. There is no separation.
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.
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.’
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
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 