Tag Archives: right living

You Say You Want a Revolution, Well You Know …

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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.

William Ellery Channing (Public Domain)

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.

Gandhiji at his spinning wheel (thank you Wikimedia Commons)

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

Let Me Tell You About a Visitor I had This Morning

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Greeting and Welcome to you

Quite a long time ago now I half wrote a book. I mean to say, I wrote half the thing before giving up. The book was going to be called When a Pet Dies, and was about, well exactly what the title suggests. All the practical stuff that you’d expect, as well as ways to deal with the grief over the loss of a companion animal .

I thought at the time that the reason it was only half written is that, once I got through that practical stuff and was ready to tackle the grief and loss parts, some kind of lethargy set in, or I got lazy. Or perhaps, I was thinking also, the muse for that particular project had simply left and was gone. So it remains half written.

So, why am I musing over this half done, half forgotten project from long ago? Well, let me tell you about a visit I had this morning.

I was sitting, focusing on chanting my mantra. Suddenly I felt an absolutely overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. I don’t recall thinking of anything in particular beforehand, but the sense was overpowering. Flooded with grief is what they call it I think.

Lofi (on the right) with his sister Shanti

And then, just as powerfully, I sensed the presence of Lofi, my cat who died in my arms over ten years ago. Immense feeling of presence is what I wrote in my notebook. Now, I’m not saying he was literally there with me. I’m also not saying he wasn’t. All I can say is that it was among the most intense of similar experiences I’ve had over the years. Anyway, that’s most likely what got me thinking about my incomplete book.

Later this morning I was sitting with my partner on a benchseat overlooking the sea, the bit of the Pacific coast I’ll be leaving behind next week.

Actually, now I’ve mentioned that, you might remember from my last post how keen I am to get out there to the desert. That excitement and anticipation doesn’t mean for a second that I’m not feeling quite sad about leaving the coast.

Anyway, we were just sitting there and chatting on and off, when suddenly a thought seemed to push its way to the surface. I all of a sudden knew why I stopped where I did when writing that book. I realized in a strong and convincing way that you can’t build a structure to define what grief is or how or if it should be experienced, by whom and when.

I’m not talking about the ‘truism’ that one hears all the time that says that the ‘stages of grief’ are in a set order, until they’re not. Actually come to think about it, I’m not even sure this is true. I mean, I’m not sure it (grief) is a thing to be labelled, quantified, recorded, predicted, analysed.

I mean, who’s to ever say how any other individual, or even oneself, will feel about anything at all? Sure, there might be a ‘typical’ set of responses to any given circumstance, such as a loss, but even the proponents of such theories will tell you that none of us is typical.

Which kind of leads me back to my feeling of oneness with my Lofi earlier in the day. Obviously I’m not alone in having such feelings. How often has any one of us heard other people say, after they’ve lost a loved one:e, ‘S/he was really here. It was so real’.

Such experiences can occur anytime, even decades after the loved one has left. I’ve mentioned somewhere else that I’m reading (in little chunks) a great book by Joseph Campbell, the renowned scholar of myth. Let me share with you a quote from the section I’ve been reading today where he’s talking about how art in India seeks to portray the divine in all things:

This is the wonderful song that one hears when one reads the Bhagavad Gītā or any of the great texts of Eastern philosophy. This is the song of that immortal spirit that never was born and never die.

Of course this isn’t meant to be a consolation to myself or anyone else. After all, we are physical beings, living in a material, solid and apparently ‘real’ world. So, naturally, we experience loss, like everything else in that context.

Our bodies react (or don’t) as do our minds, creating physical sensations and emotional responses. Or not. These physical and emotional responses, or lack of them, are totally unpredictable, unexpected, and most definitely unclassifiable by anyone outside of oneself (myself)

Anyway, there are no rules. Even the grief and loss experts will tell you this. Mind you, I can and will only speak for myself, and my experience. Basically that experience has taught me that I have an intuitive resistance to ever thinking in terms of there being a ‘roadmap’ for grief.

Or a statistically valid ‘pattern’ or ‘process’, or that there are even such things as ‘stages of grief’.

My grief for my Lofi is unique, just as everyone’s is. I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to define it, label it, ‘try to get closure’, ‘come to terms with my loss’. No. None of that. It’s like I’ve said someplace else, or at some other times:

Sometimes we make way too many words for something for which there are no words.

Thank you for allowing me to share these words with you. I pray that they are not ‘too many’

peace and love

Am I Here & Now or There & Then?

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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.

Back to Country

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.

If I’m in it, will I win it?

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

Quiet and Free (A Haiku of Sorts)

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Much speech leads to exhaustion;
guard your inner being.
And keep it free.
A bit of blue sky coming.

When a Day Off Isn’t a Day Off

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Namaste and welcome

You know by now that I study the Bhagavad Gita. I’ve been at it a few years now, and it gives me a great deal of joy and comfort, not to mention the help it is to me as I struggle to understand Self and life, the Universe and everything (to borrow a well-worn phrase).

Yes, I love this book which is the story of a warrior king and his charioteer getting ready for battle. Arjuna, the warrior, is us. Or rather he is our ego, our lower self, the us that lives as a material entity in the material world.

The charioteer is actually Krishna, and he represents our Higher Self, the Self that is what some people call God, or the Divine, spirit, universal consciousness. In other words, my Higher self is having a conversation with my lower self as I battle or struggle with living in the material world.

Anyway, it’s enough to say that I am very fond of this book, the lessons it holds, the guidance I sometimes glean from it. And I try to spend time with it as often as I can. Daily mostly, but not always. I have to admit that sometimes I just want to give it a break, leave the words alone, just be with Self for a bit.

Actually, there is a verse that I wrote down long ago that does in fact sanction the student (that’s me) to take a break.

Forgoing all religious injunctions, take exclusive refuge in me. I shall deliver you from all sinful reactions. Do not fear

Bhagavad Gita Ch 18:66

This is Krishna speaking, giving instructions to Arjuna. Essentially it’s the higher Self telling our little selves to ignore outside rules, regulations and all that, and rely instead on what comes from within the Self; in other words, what our hearts tell us.

Now, he’s not saying ignore laws of the world, that’s not what this story is about. He’s telling Arjuna, look, don’t take notice so much of what the religious leaders tell you, or what instructions you read in holy books.

Then, after more or less consistent study over years, I came across yet another verse quite recently that confirms this one, but that hadn’t ever spoken to me before:

When your mind is fixed and unmoved and not confused by scriptural injunctions you shall attain yogic samadhi

Bhagavad Gita Ch 2:53

This verse actually says: don’t confuse yourself with stuff you read in the scriptures; instead keep your mind fixed and unmoved by the outside world. And if you do that, you will achieve that level of peace, self-realisation, and happiness, that you’re after.

So, do we have here a book of scripture that is in fact telling me not to take any notice of what it says in that book? That doesn’t sound very likely does it? No, I think what both these verses are getting at is this: The first and primary thing to do if you want to achieve happiness, peace, self-realisation, is focus inwards, on the Self.

Or God, or spirit, the Universe. We all call it by different names. But the point being made is that we aren’t going to find all the answers only in a book, or in the instructions from ‘religious’ leaders; overdoing the books or the slavish following of teachers only causes us (sorry I mean me) confusion.

Higher Self here (in the guise of Krishna, who is in the guise of a charioteer) is advising us to look to our Selves, not to the words of others to reach union with that Self. At least, that’s how I’ve chosen to interpret it.

What’s interesting here is that these are two of the very few verses for which I haven’t looked at commentaries or interpretations by other people. What I’ve done in other words, is take the advice given in these verses and looked inwards.

I don’t mean to suggest that I use these verses as ‘have a day off’ cards; most likely the contrary is true. On days when I don’t look at the Bhagavad Gita, I like to think I spend more time ‘just sitting’, perhaps chanting mantra, and contemplating.

Of course it doesn’t always work out like that naturally. But, at least on those occasions there is the heart and mind space available for a more direct communication or connection with Self. With that part of me that is one with all.

Peace and love

Believe It or Not

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Welcome friend to another post. It’s good you are here.

Like so many other people I like documentaries on, well, all kinds of topics. I sort of go through phases and a while back I was on an historical/archaeological kick. And if it involved adventurous journeying, then so much the better.

Anyway, one I watched has stuck with me. In this show, an Indiana Jones type went in search of an ancient religious artifact. After a sombre pilgrimage across a stunning but arid landscape, a number of adventures and fascinating tours of interesting historic sites, he was forced to conclude that nobody could know for sure that this particular artifact actually existed.

This was especially the case given the fact that several hundred individual churches across a vast area claimed to possess said artifact, according to our intrepid guide. Then there was a doco I’d seen a few days prior that suggested this artifact was in fact hidden in Southern France.

Or perhaps it was destroyed in 800BC as some other ‘experts’ suggest. In any case, our fearless explorer came to the conclusion that, at the end of the day, whether the artifact still exists (or ever did exist) isn’t the point. He told us that what mattered was that people believed it existed, and that its power existed through that belief and was a force for good in people’s lives.

Actually I think even this misses the real point: I don’t think we are necessarily meant to have a belief one way or the other when it comes to the historical accuracy of myth. Myths tell us stories about truth, about our place in the Universe, and how to behave and live a good life. The facts or lack of them aren’t important.

Every culture throughout human history has had its myths: about creation, about their pasts, their gods, their futures, and how to conduct one’s life so that society can continue to function. Some will say that we in the so-called West are lacking our own myths and stories.

Well, I also believe that our myths are in many respects largely forgotten, or perhaps are only held by this group or that within our societies.

I think we all have our own myths, whether they are ones received from our society either consciously or unconsciously learned, or from our own personal life experience. Then of course there are the so called ‘modern mythmakers’: the media, politicians, and marketeers, all advertising their own ‘truths’. But that’s not what I’m talking about today.

So, moving right along. Hands up if you’ve ever owned or been given a St Christopher medal? Ah, just as I thought. Huge numbers of people out there have at one time or another had a St Christopher around their neck, or hanging from their car’s rear vision mirror, or perhaps tucked securely in their bags. And really one doesn’t have to be ‘religious’ to admit to ownership of such an artifact.

He’s an interesting character this Christopher. He is a saint of the Roman Catholic Church and here we start already to get into the myths and legends around our friend Chris. It’s widely known that he was stripped of sainthood and declared to have never existed after the reforms of the late 60s in the Catholic Church. Myth number one.

He is still a saint, and all that happened was the church found itself with an overly crowded calender of saints’ days and decided that some could be cut off because they weren’t necessarily of ‘universal importance’, and besides, he may not have actually ever existed.

Poor old Christopher was thus unceremoniously dumped. No saint’s day, but he did keep his sainthood. As for the minor question of his existence, the church said that wasn’t their decision to make.

Not much is known about the possibly historical figure of Christopher. First up (myth number two) his name wasn’t Christopher: he was a seven foot five inch (may or may not be a myth) called Reprobus. He was a Canaanite who while working for the king suddenly decided to go off on a spiritual quest to find an even greater king.

Like all good heroes, Reprobus has all kinds of adventures, until one day he meets a wise old hermit who tells him that if he wants to serve the greatest king of all then he has to help people cross a treacherous river where many drowned trying to get across.

So, Reprobus started to carry people safely across the raging river. One day he lifted a small child onto his broad shoulders and carried him safely to the other side. Reprobus told the child that he’d never carried such a heavy weight before, and so they had both been in grave danger.

The child then told Reprobus that he had not only carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but also the one who made the world. In other words our friend was informed that he was indeed serving the greatest King of all.

And that’s how good old Reprobus got the name Christopher: the name means Christ bearer. Later, Christopher is martyred for his faith and the rest, as they say, is history. Because of his splendid lifesaving deeds serving people crossing the river, our hero over time became the patron saint of travellers. And his fame spread beyond the confines of the Catholic Church and all sorts of people have looked to him for protection for themselves or loved ones when travelling.

I have a confession to make: I love and always have loved (venerated isn’t too strong a word) St Christopher.

Mind you, I’d always had some issues around the lack of evidence for his having ever existed. Not to mention the small detail of a miraculous appearance of the Christ as a child who was as heavy as the whole planet.

Anyway, while I was never quite convinced that St Christopher was a real historical figure anyway, I agree with what our friend the Indiana Jones look-a-like says: it doesn’t matter.

And for me there is still a truth at the heart of all this: Our pal St Christopher is me. He is you; he is each of us. We all have the strength to carry the soul of Self, the heart of ourselves, across the raging rivers, through the wild storms, and across the sometimes very rocky ground that make up each of our lives here on Earth.

Do I wear a St Christopher medal? I most certainly do. Belief or non-belief in his historical existence is beside the point for me. It’s the myth I resonate with, the symbolism.

My medal shows a big, strong guy wading through knee high water carrying a small child on his shoulder. Both of them are me. Both of them are you.

Peace and Love
Paul

Allow Me to Introduce My Mask

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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.

I Live On a Big Round Ball

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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.

Just For Today

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There is a song by George Harrison that I like very much. Actually there are many songs of his that mean a great deal to me. He’s been a kind of mentor or teacher for me since the early 70s. But, having said that, there is something about Just for Today that really does resonate deeply within me. It’s not even one of his ‘biggies’, and was released in 1987 on the album Cloud Nine

In fact, if you read the lyrics of the song. Or even better, listen to George actually doing the song himself, you’ll most likely agree that this is more than a song. This is a refrain, a plea, even a prayer. No ordinary pop song anyway.

If just (for) today
I could try to live through this day only
Not deal with all life’s problems
Just for today

Then, the other verse (there are only two):

If just for tonight
I could feel not sad and lonely
Not be my own life’s problems
Just for one night

How many times have I made these same pleas? I don’t think I’d be able to count them. Of course I’d guess we all have at some time or other (or even quite often, all the time, every day, ahhhhh!!!!!!) wished or prayed for the problems (whatever they may be) to just go away, even for just a day. No, not even a whole day. How about just for a few minutes?

So, I’m not alone then. Still, it’s no consolation is it, to know that we all go through the same wishful thinking to be rid of the same or similar problems? I think, though, in this song George has given us a clue to what we can do to bring ourselves a little more into the present when it comes to the angst we weigh ourselves down with over ‘all life’s problems’.

And actually, he’s suggesting not that we focus fully on the present moment, the micro if you like, which can be tricky at the best of times. He’s given us a bit of a an easier task: Just look at this day only. Perhaps we can better look at a whole day than this ‘moment’ or ‘second’. A day is sort of a macro moment, a bit easier to get hold of.

But, that last little question, about always me being my own life’s problem, that’s what I really try to get to grips with. I am my own life’s problem. The problem is not the family I was born into. It’s not the less than idyllic childhood I endured. It’s not even the bullies I seem to have attracted to myself over many years in far-off school days.

The problem is not even the anxiety that I seem to have been born with, or that’s evolved over time. Nature vs nurture?

And I can’t even say that the problem is the kinds of choices I’ve made about life, work, thinking, and all the rest, over the years.

No. None of this. The problem is me. And, let’s get really trippy here: the problem isn’t even me. It’s the physical manifestation that thinks it’s me and which exists in relationship to the physical world.

So, who is the real me? Who am I? Ah, well, these are the really big questions. Asking these questions is called Self Enquiry. And I think it’s helping me.

Bhagavan Sri Ramana Maharshi

Whenever one of those life’s problems, or anxieties pops up I try to remember to ask: ‘To whom is this feeling/thought/memory occuring?’ That answer is (obviously) to me. And then I ask, ‘Who is this me? Who am I?’ Then, for the minutest of tiny moments, it all stops. Sometimes.

You see, I’m not really able to answer that Who am I question. The best I can come up with is a never-ending list of who I’m not, or what I’m not. It’s called Neti Neti: not this, not that. So, if I keep returning to who am I every time one of those ‘I’m not …’ comes up, what happens?

Well, in theory, nothing.  The idea is that asking Who am I stops the mind. It can’t answer. If a mind can’t answer, there can be no thought. And if there is no thought, then mind ceases to exist. (I’m not talking of brain here, but mind. It seems to me that the mind has no existence as a distinct entity of its own. It is more what we could say a ‘place’ that comes into being when thought happens. No thought, no mind.)

This cessation of thought is only a momentary thing. Thoughts soon come barging back (it also seems to me that while mind might not actually exist, it has a way of making its presence known in no uncertain terms). One thing I try to remember that causes me no end of extra thinking, is the fact that if we are not having a thought, then we can’t ever know it. You can’t have a conscious thought that says ‘hey, I’m not thinking now’

I see this Self Enquiry as a way (in a long term, lifetime kind of way) to rid myself of my incessant thinking and the confused (confusing too) and useless thoughts that arise all the time. For me it is, in a sense, a way to become mindless.

In that moment, when thought ceases, there is no pain. There are no questions, and there is no anxiety. There is no dread; no hope even. Basically you can say there is nothing for that tiny moment.

And that’s me, the real me. In that little moment (who can measure the length of a moment?), there is presence, as in I (the real I) am present, right here, right now.

Actually there is no time, as we measure it in the world, in that little moment (or whatever we choose to call it). Perhaps it’s more accurate to call it a state of being.

And it’s a state I’d like to be in more often. Not, as I say, that I’d know I was in it. Only by what you might call the spin-off effects of more calm, more clarity, less anxiety, all that sort of thing. In a way I would call that a state of grace.

All I can say is that it is exactly where and when and how I want to be.

Just for today.

I’ll Try Not to Pass Them By

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So, anyway, here I am. Just sitting. It’s what I do, when I can, when I’m able. Well, to be completely accurate, here I am sitting and typing. Writing yes.

But every day, I sit. I try to sit. On a comfortable chair or bed. Here is where I commune with the Divine. It’s where I say my prayers, empty my mind, try to be silent, sometimes read holy books.

Whatever I do when I am just sitting, the sitting bit isn’t always easy; it requires effort and patience. Just being still can be hard; everyone knows that. But it’s part of the practice, part of the sadhana, the way to liberation. All that.

Of course I’m not the only one you might find just sitting. Why, just today on my way home from buying fruit I saw some other people sitting. One had his eyes fixed, completely transfixed on his phone’s flickering screen; head bowed, the world around him shut out.

The other sat, head bent forward, arms crossed; I couldn’t see her eyes. Perhaps she was sleeping, perhaps feigning sleep, perhaps trying for sleep. Whatever, resting it looked like.

These two were a lot like me I thought: just sitting, being quiet, resting even. Mind you, they were younger than me. Though of course what’s age got to do with it? I carried shopping bags; they sat beside a very full shopping trolley.

But, wait, my bags held fresh fruits to top up our supply. Their trolley overflowed with, what shall we call them? All their worldly goods? Personal effects? All they own?

And another difference? I’m going home with my bags. They have no home to house those effects; no soft bed to rest upon or commune at leisure with the divine.

Whereas I sit under a roof, in a room, on a soft bed, they sit in a bus shelter. Sure, there’s a roof but it offers scant protection from the approaching storm, and none at all from the incessant wind that will soon be full of rain blowing.

It’s no use asking why am I in a comfortable house, and they are in a bus shelter, just as I was and they were, the last time I saw them. There’s nothing for me to say that will mean anything to them, to anyone else, or even to myself.

I suppose I or you or someone else might remind me (remind all of us) that the world can be hard, is hard: bad things happen to all of us. Of course that’s true. I actually truly believe that the world by its very being in existence is hard. What did The Buddha say? Life is suffering?

But, as they say, that just doesn’t cut it, does it? All just words don’t you think? It’s what I think today anyhow. Oh yes, I’ve been praying since I passed them by (and I did pass them by with no words, no smile or greeting, my face turned away. I am ashamed).

I thought of them as angels there to remind me of my own advantages and privilege. Even those very thoughts themselves prove my own failing to understand, to actually get it.

But, yes: all just words. Meaning very little. I suppose after all that perhaps all I can do is pray.

For all of us.

Peace

Not as if I don’t bloody live here is it?
Yeah. I know, I know. Its a bloody bus stop.
But, geez, a fella’s gotta live
somewhere. Don’t he?