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.
Welcome to another post. Just a little note before we get into it: This one picks up where the last one left off. Kind of. No need to read that one first, unless you want to.
And that’s the whole thing in one sentence, or at least in part of a sentence: unless you want to: none of it is any of my business. What do I mean when I say ‘none of it’? Just that. None of it. Or we can say it in another way: the only thing that is your business is you.
But, all of us are bound to ask, how can I simply mind my own business in a world torn by endless war? How can I ignore the environment I live in and that it’s dying before my eyes? How can I turn away from the evils of racism, injustice, greed, and cruelty?
Well, the simple answer is we can’t and we shouldn’t. Of course, in order to reconcile this apparent contradiction, it would be helpful to clarify exactly what we mean by minding our own business.
In essence my business (or yours or anyone’s) is anything that has to do with me: what I do; how I behave; what I think, feel, and believe; my behaviour and attitudes towards others; and—and this is the key—how I interact with and respond to the world as I experience it as I go about living my life.
So, it isn’t completely accurate to say that the wars, racism, injustice, and the killing of the environment (and everything else) is none of my business; my business is limited to my interaction with and response to all of it. And that has to be determined by a range of factors like my nature, my abilities, my circumstances, and so on.
Above all, and as Susan Sontag, American writer, philosopher, and political activist, said in a speech in 2004:
To be a moral human being is to pay, be obliged to pay, certain kinds of attention.
While the theme of that speech had to do with the writer’s responsibility to truth, I think her assertion applies here and may provide a solution to the seeming contradiction between minding our own business while at the same time stating that our business can, should, and does indeed include what goes on outside of ourselves (actually as we shall see, in reality there is no outside or inside)
How we utilise our own personal resources is in the end for each of us to decide. In the sense of our engagement with the world, the most precious of these resources are arguably time and attention.
Each of us possesses these things in our own unique quantities, just as we all have our own unique qualities, so each of us has the opportunity to decide how we use our time, and what we pay attention to.
It is so very easy to be overwhelmed by the constant torrent of information detailing the horrors threatening to consume and destroy our poor Earth and the life she supports. It is so very tempting to throw up our hands in defeat, and shrug our shoulders as we turn away exclaiming ‘It’s none of my business’.
While none of us would blame anyone for retreating in this way, a great many of us realise that for us this is not an option. Well, as the Buddha taught, there is a middle way. A way that allows us to avoid this kind of ‘none of my business’ denial, at the same time as protecting us from being overwhelmed and beaten down by the scale of it all.
The first step involves surrender. Surrender to the idea that there is no ‘me’; there is no ‘you’. There is no ‘them’, no ‘us’. There is only ‘I’. Surrender to the notion that not only is all life ‘connected’ or linked, but to the thought that all life—human, other animals, plant, mineral — everything — is one. There is no separation.
Easy eh? Hardly. But this is where the paying attention thing comes in. Rather than being swamped by the never-ending tsunami, choose where to put your attention. Ask yourself, where am I able to place my attention? How can I—how am I able to—use my time so that I avoid drowning yet still contribute to the well-being of the whole of which I am a part?
Obviously, as I hinted at above, the answers will be different for each and every one of us. For some, the kind of attention they pay will involve being on the literal front lines, working in the political field, or with activist groups working for social justice.
Then there will be those whose nature compels them to choose to put their attention on a life of prayer, meditation, and contemplation.
For these people this requires the quiet and solitude of monastery, ashram, or cave (whether it be in forest, mountain, or suburban home). And along the huge spectrum in between, there is a a unique spot for every one of us.
Each of us is a part of the whole. Everything we do affects the whole. Remember that saying that goes something like: A butterfly flutters it’s wings in the forest and the sun rises? Okay, maybe I’m pushing it a bit, but you know what I mean.
Never underestimate what (you perceive of as the little) you’re able to do; no one can say what impact it will have. All that is required of you is that you mind your own business.
Many years ago now, a wise person I know used these words to remind me of a fact of life that, even now, I sometimes (to be honest, this should read very often) forget: we are – all of us – only passing through. For me, the words have extra resonance beyond what you might call that overarching reality of the temporary nature of our time in this world: I was, born and still am, a nomad.
Even though I very much see myself as being on a never-ending pilgrimage, I do often get anxious about should I move? should I do this? Should I do that? Existential and other kinds of angst are common to all of us I think. So, now and again it’s a good idea to hit the refresh button and click the reminder that I am always in a passing through place.
I often find myself singing (usually very quietly or in my mind) the chorus from Passing Through, a very special Leonard Cohen:
Passing through, passing through. Sometimes happy, sometimes blue, Glad that I ran into you. Tell the people that you saw me passing through
Leonard Cohen – Passing Through
And that’s the refresh: It is literally true to say – both in terms of my internal life journey and where I might be geographically speaking at any given time – that I am only passing through.
Change is constant, that’s the message here. Being sometimes happy, sometimes blue are just facts of life Leonard’s song tells us. But putting the whole chorus together you can see it’s about presence. It’s about being in the ongoing present moment; the moment that just keeps on keeping on. It’s about living in and being conscious of that ongoingness, whether we’re happy or blue.
As I typed that last sentence, about states of happiness and blueness, I suddenly thought of a poem I wrote quite a while ago now. Just Passing Through. Or Seeking Noble Truths. It, too, is about presence, about the attachment to outcomes (like being happy, or not being blue) being the cause of our suffering. Of course this isn’t my idea: it’s one of the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths.
I think I would like to share that poem with you. But let’s do it next time shall we? Because, while there might be no time like the present, as we’ve just seen, the present is ongoing.
Silence isn’t my strong suit. Or I should say, keeping quiet isn’t what I’m known for. One of the main reasons l live the life I do is because I am very sensitive to noise, but my problems start when I seem to forget that other people, and my own peace of mind, are affected by excessive noise created by me too.
And noise includes talking too much. Of course there are any number of reasons a person talks too much. Some people even believe they talk so much because it quietens the mind. No, afraid not. Been there. Not for me anyway.
Insecurity, nervousness, fear, low confidence, compulsive behaviours. The list could go on and on. When you think about it, the why isn’t always so important as the how to fix it question.
I spend a lot of time alone, in solitude, that gives other people and on rare occasions my mind, a break. I spend a lot of time listening to music to which I always listen intently. Of course that works on a number of levels, and is uplifting most of the time.
Speaking of listening to music, I usually use headphones like a lot of people. And I am blessed, absolutely and truly blessed, to have really good noise cancelling on my headphones. Anyone who uses ANC knows that it’s almost a miracle and makes the experiencing of music even better than it already is.
But I have discovered another use for the noise cancelling. I don’t always want to listen to anything: sometimes even I want some quiet, some silence. So, probably not the first person to do this, but I use ANC just by itself, just to shut out external noise. But I’ve found it does more than this. Turning it on somehow creates another space. I actually feel like I’m enclosed in a space, or place. I hope that makes sense.
We tend to think of quiet and silence as meaning the same thing, and obviously they are similar and we use them interchangeably a lot of the time. But, sometimes they seem to be two distinct concepts. Quiet is an absence of noise. Whereas silence often seems to me to be a kind of solid state, an entity that comes into being for a short while (or longer hopefully) and encloses one in something like a cocoon or protected space.
Of course this state can be attained in different ways. For me lately I find with ANC on for itself alone, I can relax more quickly; I feel sort of ‘protected’ and safer somehow. Anyway, enough for this little tip from me. Perhaps headphone makers should change the label from Active Noise Cancelling, to Active Silence Creation
At this early stage in the life of this blog, no doubt most visitors will really have only seen the Welcome and the About Me pages. The question I’m asking myself is what else can I tell you about myself and my life that you can’t see for yourself on those pages?
Well, I realized that I’d already, on another blog, shared some insights in a kind of miniseries of posts that speak about my philosophy of life as I call it. So, join me as I get into Part 1.
By now you probably worked out that I call myself a hermit. Perhaps I have explained what I mean by this somewhere else on this blog, but in a nutshell being a hermit to me means living a quiet life, without a lot of physical contact with other people; I visit shops and other businesses and so on, as little as I can manage. For example, I haven’t been to a cafe, restaurant, or other social gatherings for several years.
Just one of many hermitages we’ve found by the side of the road. This one way out in the desert country in Australia’s Outback (Painting by my partner hermit Pauline)
Of course there are more esoteric or spiritual aspects to being a hermit, and I’m very much aware that it’s this spiritual quest side of things that is really the driver for the way I live. A quiet life lived apart from the world, means less distractions, more quiet, more time. All are great helps.
Obviously given the times we are living in right now, I’m far from the only one living a hermit life. At least I am blessed in that my way of living is by choice. At the same time, I’m actually quite excited to watch as the people of the world begin to slowly get back out there and into life again.
As no doubt I’m mentioned somewhere else, I was born with a nomadic nature and soul. So in a real sense it’s a pilgrimage I’ve always been on anyway. So perhaps I might be back out there on the road sometime soon
In the truest sense of the word, I aspire to live like a monk: A monk in (sort of), but not of the world you might say. However monks (and nuns) usually live in community, in a monastery or convent. It’s true to say that life with my partner has me living in community, though it’s only the two of us. Then there are the few places in cyberspace where I encounter and interact with others.
It’s well known that many monks and nuns take a number of vows when they join their communities. Traditionally these vows are: Poverty, Chastity, and Obedience. In many cases the additional vow of Stability is added, binding the monk or nun to a particular community in a particular place.
I’ve never been comfortable with those vows, so I’ve never made them. But as I have progressed in my spiritual journey, I have taken vows of various kinds. Mind you my vow to silence is having a hard time of it with me! As for the love part of this vow: well, that’s also a work in progress.
Anyway, recently I’ve been reading about communities (some religious, some secular, but always made up of people sharing the same or similar values, goals, and missions) who, also uncomfortable with those traditional vows, have reinterpreted them in a way that sits more comfortably.
That renewed version is : Simplicity, Purity, and Accountability. In the place of the vow to stability, there is now what you could say is a more precise concept: Presence.
While I can’t say I have formally taken these vows, it has occurred to me that, put together, they do make up a fairly precise set of principles that could be said to apply already as I attempt to live authentically as hermit, monk, and pilgrim!
Please join me in Part 2 (appearing soon) when I will put this theory to the test.
Notes from the Hermit's Cave 