Tag Archives: silence

On the Road Again and a New Photo Blog announcement

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Namaste friends

Welcome again to my blog. It’s always a good feeling when I sit at the keyboard to begin a new post to you.

And for this post,I have some news: this hermit is back on the road again. But, I hear you asking: aren’t you as a pilgrim always on the road, on the move? Yes all true; a pilgrimage like mine (life) is never-ending, permanent. Just a state of being you could say.

So, after a few months in the desert hermitage, we felt lead to move to Sydney, to another cave; another safe haven by the side of road.

This move has felt right and gone smoothly from the first thought, the initial feeling, to the actual trip here, right down to the comfort and contentment we feel in this new hermitage (in reality a small apartment beneath a house with a lovely garden, in a quiet street).

My second piece of news is that I have made another blog, one just for my pictures. Of course my posts here are always illustrated with my photos, but after deleting all my social media accounts (another bit of news I suppose) I felt the need for an alternate place to share my art. It’s on a different platform and it would be terrific if you could follow me there.

The blog is called Pictures from the Heart of a Pilgrim, and you are invited to visit, to follow, to comment. to connect. Just click on the link here.

There are only a handful of pictures on that site so far, but I’m working on expanding it, so please make sure you visit more than once. Better still, subscribe so you can be notified whenever I post.

I think that’s it. Maybe I will post about deleting social media accounts. But, somehow I don’t think I will: they’ve gone and I’m happy about that. I’m not alone I know in making that decision.

So, till next post, thank you for your support.

Love and Peace

Paul

Lessons from Butterflies

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Yesterday found me (for a couple of hours anyway) out on the suburban streets close to the hermitage. Camera in hand and trying to cultivate an attitude of Contemplation. Working for the moment my heart, my head, and my mind all came together to help my camera make a photograph.

Well, in terms of contemplative photography, the outing was a bit of a struggle: getting into the Zen Zone isn’t always easy. And come to think of it, it’s not always part of the plan is it?

I don’t mean the little plans and intentions the ego comes up with about how things are going to turn out. I’m talking here about The Plan: what the Divine has in the works for us.

Anyway back to my walk. I kept walking, sometimes making photos. As I said, it wasn’t easy getting in the zone. Suddenly my eyes were drawn to a particular house. As I looked through the viewfinder I noticed a butterfly on the wall. On the window actually.


Not a living, flying, being as you can see. More of a kind of garden ornament attached to the front of the house. It struck me as I continued looking, that I’d already seen – and photographed – several ‘butterflies’ so far in that walk.

Four actually. In the space of an hour, and within a couple of streets of home. I’d seen them on walls, windows, and on doors.

Through time and in many places around the world, various cultures have looked at butterflies as symbols of transformation, for change, and renewal.

And, it seems to me, that butterflies can appear to us almost lighter than air. They kind of float on the air currents. They’re also known for their darting way of flying in what might seem to us one random direction then another.

So, butterflies have also been seen as symbolic of the human mind with its tendency to dart all over the place from one thought to another. They are said to remind us that we can in fact control and direct the mind.

In that case then, were these repeated encounters with butterflies – albeit of the ornamental variety – some sort of message for me? Perhaps I was to slow down, stop taking myself so seriously and to make changes? And of course remembering that I’m perfectly able to deal with consequences of any changes I make.

A Window for Two

Well, here’s the funny thing. Literally not until I sat down to draft this blog did it occur to me that I have in the last couple of days made what for me seem monumental changes. Or to be more exact, I have put into motion changes that are yet to reveal what if any transformations they might lead to.

You see, over the last few days I have been systematically deleting all my social media accounts (with the exception of a messenger app to speak to my son). I’ve had most of these accounts for up to 15 years or more. So, while I’m absolutely certain that this act of detachment from some of the things in the world that don’t sit well with my nature, I’m still feeling a bit lost, a little empty.

Okay, the butterflies: what have they to do with any of this? Transformation? Change? Lightness? And the ability to float through changes in life? Yes all of these. And we all know very well that butterflies undergo some pretty tough transformations as they evolve into what they are to become.

Who Invited the Lady Bugs?

Something I read once said that if you see a butterfly you should look at what you’re thinking; ask yourself what’s next for me? What changes are in store? Although all those butterflies of yesterday were ornaments on walls and so on, I have actually at other times been privileged to photograph living and flying ones.

In fact just the day before yesterday I met a small white butterfly flitting from one white flower to flower. In the space of a very short time, this beautiful creature gifted me with a very small moment’s stillness, and it gave me a photograph. Here i share that one with you.

Early Christians associated the butterfly with the soul. So, yes, you could say that my meeting with that particular butterfly was a meeting of souls.

But what of the garden ornament, inanimate butterflies met yesterday?

Well, everything’s got soul don’t you think?

Peace and love

The Desert Called, and I Answered

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Eventually.

Greetings friends. I welcome you from my new hermitage in desert country.

You know, it’s an old idea, a cliché even, to say that we, all of us, are on a pilgrimage called life, a Hero’s Journey as it’s called by the Mythologists. And, on any such journey there is what those same scholars call a Call to Adventure.

They are the times when we are challenged by life to commit to an action that will stretch us somehow, take us out of our comfort zone, change our life; to make a move; take a risk; embark on a journey either internally or out in the physical world.

So, when I tell you I got a call to come out here to the desert, and that I answered it, why the necessity to add ‘eventually’? What happened to delay that journey? Well, that’s what our Mythologist friends call The Refusal of the Call.

They’re the times when, once we’ve heard the call, and when we’ve felt its rightness, we still say no. Not now. And we come up with all kinds of perfectly reasonable explanations for our refusal.

In my case, I said, hey, it’s fine here; I’m near the beach; I really have no reason to move; there are plenty of ‘other places’ to check out first. The excuses went on and on.

All along though, there was this place, this country, calling. Of course ‘the desert’ isn’t always or for everybody the literal sand covered land, that gets very hot, and is generally thought of as barren and even hostile. It can also be a metaphor for any place – or no place in particular – that is a place of retreat, a quiet place, a place for living apart from the mainstream of human life.

For some people inclined to a life of contemplation and solitude, this place might be a small hut in a forest or a wood, or a camp on a remote beach on an even more remote island. Then there are others who are called to an actual cave high in the mountains, or on the banks of some sacred river somewhere.

And, equally, the desert, the place of retreat, quiet, solitude, and living apart, may well be an apartment or house in a suburb, or even in the centre, of a big city.

Then there’s me: called to this desert town of Broken Hill, almost but not quite in the centre of the continent of Australia. It is deep in the arid zone: it’s very far out back here in the Outback, 1500 kilometres inland from the east coast to be precise.

Yes, well this is all well and good, but shouldn’t I be answering my own question: why eventually? Well, we’ve covered the excuses, but really isn’t that just plain old procrastination? Yes indeed. If we get back to our Mythologist friends once more, we learn there is a stage in this Hero’s Journey that follows on from the Refusal: The Supernatural Act.

These are the times when things happen that seem to come at us out of the blue, from no rational, logical, or explainable source. Something that we might find hard to beleive at first because it’s way out there; supernatural like it says.

But that supernatural bit doesn’t have to take a spooky form, it might be that the ‘supernatural act’ is an internal insight or realisation triggered by a perfectly natural occurance. That’s what happened for me. What was this non-spooky, natural event that prompted such internal insights and realisations in me and got me moving?

Rain. Yes, rain. It rained almost every day for over six months. I am very very blessed that I wasn’t affected by flooding as so many in nearby area were, and I am thankful for that. But it’s safe to say that rain, mud, no sun, and limited or no access to the outside for days or weeks at a time, soured my romance with the coastal lifestyle.

You could say that through the sound of rain on the roof, I could still hear the call of the desert. In fact it got so loud that, eventually, I could no longer ignore it.

So, eventually, I answered the call, and here I am. Here is a small miner’s cottage and my new hermitage, my new safe haven by the side of the road. The cottage is situated in a mining town that sprung up in the 1880s. So this cottage has been home to miners and their families for generations, including the current owners.

In a sense it’s quite likely that I am the first occupant who hasn’t been or isn’t a miner. Though you might say that my excavations, rather than being in the dark underworld beneath the surface of Mother Earth, are taking place in the equally dark, hidden interior places of Self. A mining of another sort you might say.

Before flying out here, I was thinking about what was actually calling me to the desert (putting aside the rain for a moment). After all, I lived in a small cabin in a park like setting literally five minutes walk to a pristine Pacific Coast beach; I had trees and forest like spaces all round, as well as a small river two minutes walk. And that’s not even thinking about the abundance of wildlife.

And it occured to me that it is the stillness of the desert that was calling to me. This town of Broken Hill is a mid size town (actually a small city with about 15000 people), with the usual shops, cars, people, and the rest.

Yet there is a stillness. No longer can I hear the constant sound of seawaves crashing. No longer can I sense the never stopping coming in and going out of sea tides. And out here, it seems like even the people are moving quite a bit slower too. I’ve yet to see a single person rushing about. And they seem to smile a lot as well.

The street I live on is extremely quiet, and even on the so-called ‘busy streets’ there isn’t the mad acceleration and braking we’d see everywhere on the coast. Of course there is the odd driver who thinks every car is a racecar, but where don’t you get that?

But, actually it’s more than this. There is, beyond the actual literal quietness, a silence that seems to exist as an entity or state of being in its own right.

A stillness that is a solid thing, just as on the coast there was (is I suppose) a constant frenetic atmosphere that seemed to overlay everything. People rushing – on foot or in cars – even when there seems to be no reason for hurry (though of course you can never tell can you?). And not so many smiles either.

Contemplative people, those seeking solitude, and peace and quiet in which to pray, to live slowily, and to explore the divine, have been drawn or called to deserts (in all its forms) for thousands of years or longer. And I am fortunate enough to have finally (eventually) heeded the call myself.

Here, away from the incessant acceleration and braking (I do like this expresion), and in that stillness that envelops this land, perhaps I can dig a little deeper, uncover a bit of quiet, and discover a piece of solitude.

Out here, in the Outback, life can be harsh for all living beings, often dangerous in its aridity and isolation. It’s a long way from major cities, food and supply chains are extended to extreme limits, and the human hold on the land is precarious at best.

Yet, the paradox exists: out here far from the fertile coasts, the soft sandy beaches, the major urban centres where the mainstream of (human) life goes on, there is a quiet, a peace, a stillness that seems to pervade the very air one breathes.

A wise person wrote something short and sweet that sums all this up for me:

There is a stillness in the wildness.

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.

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.

Is Life Too Short for Perfect Writing?

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Greetings and welcome friends

Let me share a little secret with you: I have and always have had, atrocious handwriting. And it’s always been a major frustration (but a huge incentive to learn to type, which is one of the best things I’ve ever done).

Perhaps it’s because I had some sort of learning difficulty, maybe it happened because every state in Australia has a different way of teaching kids handwriting, or maybe its just that I was and am lazy. Actually, scratch this last one: I am not nor have I ever been lazy.

Anyway, it appears to be a fact of life, yet I do still get frustrated from time to time. But then there are times when I decide not to care, that it isn’t important, doesn’t matter. Being in one of those indifferent phases right now, has reminded me of an incident that should have taught me this lesson once and for all.

A while back I was gifted a small painting. The artist wasn’t satisfied with it as a background of a planned piece, and gave it to me thinking I might like to ‘do something with it’. I happened to think it quite a lovely painting in its own right actually, and as I was looking at it, I thought of a leaf I had collected a couple of weeks previously. A beautiful very soft and pliable purple leaf from a lovely shrub.

So, right away I just got to sticking that leaf onto the painting. As I pressed it down, a little tear appeared in the leaf. Immediately a lyric from Leonard Cohen‘s Anthem came into mind:

There is a crack, a crack in everything. Thats how the light gets in.

So, I began writing bits of the lyric onto the painting. Untidy, irregular and typically atrocious the hand writing, or printing, is. But then it struck me: that’s the point! I mean the point of Mr C’s sublime words:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything
Thats how the light gets in.

Here’s how I thought about what I’d written on the painting and how I’d written it: I rang a bell that I can still ring: I thought of and wrote down those beautiful lyrics to compliment the accident (is there any such thing as accident?) of tearing a leaf on a painting that ‘didn’t work’ for the artist, but that was working for me.

Therefore, the painting, the torn leaf and my handwriting was not a perfect offering in any kind of conventional sense as the world would view it. In other words there is a crack, both literal as in the tear in the leaf, and metaphorical as in the imperfections of the whole piece.

But—and here is the vital thing—this little painting, despite its initial rejection by the artist, and with its imperfections, its sloppiness, and its flaws, has provided a channel for light to get in. Into my life, into the piece itself, and now, through this sharing, into your life.

So, who cares if my handwriting is not conventionally perfect or is untidy, uneven, and even a bit tricky to read? I love the message in those lyrics; I felt that this lovely painting with its torn leaf to be the way to put that message in a concrete form. I mean, really, isn’t life too short for perfect (hand)writing?

PS I no longer collect leaves and trap them in this way. I may collect them, but after a time, I return them to their natural environment. Fallen leaves have their function in the cycles of nature too.

You Can’t Chase Happiness: You Can Only Be Happy

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Sitting down just now at the keyboard (actually to be honest it was 30 minutes ago) I thought I had an idea for a blog post. But, sure enough, the moment I opened a new document, fingers poised on the keys, it went. As in vanished from my mind, disappeared. And what remnant that was left seemed to be taunting me with ‘Why on Earth did you ever think this was a good idea?’

So, what do you think this hermit pilgrim, living the serene monkish life who goes on and on about presence did? Relaxed my poised fingers, closed my eyes, and whispered my mantra as I waited for inspiration to revisit?

Hardly. What I actually did was begin having unhappy thoughts, frustration boiling up: I had really been looking forward to writing that post, and now it’s gone. And all that’s left is this annoying frustration and growing desperation to do something.

Nevertheless, I did in the end manage to calm myself at least a little. I just stopped. Took my hands off the keyboard and just sat. Just sitting is a go to strategy for me as you know.

Thoughts emerged, wandered around my mind, crashed together, one pushing another out of the way.

‘Just typical,’ one of those thoughts ran. ‘I try to do something to make me happy and nothing happens except I make myself miserable’. Next thought: don’t I have a quote somewhere about this? Sure enough, there it was, at the other end of a search of my quote files (I’ve got lots!).

You do not become happy by pursuing happiness.  You become happy by living a life that means something.

Then a quick online search revealed literally dozens of articles, books, similar quotes, podcasts, on and on, telling me the exact same thing. I didn’t know where to start, so I just closed the searches after scanning a few headlines, then sat thinking for a bit on my own, at the keyboard yes, but not poised. More like, well just thinking.

I read somewhere a long time ago that some say the word happiness comes from the verb to happen. Or put another way, happiness is living life so that we are in touch with what’s happening, when it’s happening.

Have you ever noticed that the happiest, most content people are often those who simply get on with whatever life puts before them? Whether it looks to be good or bad?

It seems to me that the pursuit of happiness has become so much more than a lofty turn of phrase; its become an almost obligatory activity to fill ones life with. All this despite those many dozens of articles etc advising against it. (Just as an aside: This says to me that we are swamped by so much information that we hardly have time, energy, or mental space to turn most of that information into knowledge we can use)

So. How do we get past this obligation? How do we get back in touch with what’s happening right now? How do we just get happy from what happens? And, then, how do we get to live a life that means something?

Let me say that I can’t give you the answers: what is meaningful to me might not be for you and vice versa.  But the process is the same for us all.  And it is this:  ask the questions (the ones above).

It’s that simple.  It is enough to ask the questions.  We don’t have to worry about the answers.  The answers will come when the time’s right; its just that sometimes we don’t always notice their arrival.  They sort of sneak up on us!

Whatever answers we come up with, we need to remember that living life fully means living each moment, each thing that happens, as it happens.  It means not being too concerned about what will happen next week or in five minutes time.

This doesn’t mean we don’t make plans or think about the consequences of our actions.  In fact just the opposite is true:  it is by living fully in the moment that we best prepare for the future precisely because the moment is not something that comes and is gone: it’s a flowing thing. The moment is continuous always. No past present future (well except when you have to write stuff, then there’s grammar) Only now.

So, thinking about all this I decided: don’t worry. If no idea for a blog post works, then that’s just what’s happening. Be happy, be content with that, and just move with the ever-flowing moment.

And I’m going to try to remember that everything I do, no matter how mundane it seems, has its own meaning.  There’s no rush to get onto some mythical ‘next thing’. Meanwhile, blog post ideas come when they’re ready, not because I’m chasing them.

peace

An Aspiration. A Prayer

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Hello friends and welcome

The last couple of posts have had me thinking about what I actually do to contribute to the world, to life, to making changes that could bring peace, a safe environment, and a better life for all.

I have to say my commitment to my life as a hermit, as a pilgrim aspiring to live a life apart from ‘the world’ all the while dedicating myself to what we might call Self or God Realisation, has been strengthened.

I have once again come to the conclusion that living a life focused on spiritual development, on art, on prayer, and on contemplation, is the most valuable way I personally can contribute to change, to love, to the good of all. My true nature, my inclinations, my faith, my life experience, all these equip me for this life that has chosen me.

And at the same time, these same factors have left me ill-equipped for life ‘in the world’

In those last two posts, I talked about how so few of us think we have anything to offer a world teetering on the edge. But of course, as I pointed out, the opposite is true. I think I made the point that there is some unique role for each and every one of us in the continued unfolding, upliftment, protection and prospering of all life in this world.

Having said all that, I have to say that for me it’s not always easy to actually realise this in my heart. Intellectually it’s an easy concept to explain (well sort of anyway), but on that deeper heart level, well it’s tricky. Guilt rears its ugly head: ‘It’s all falling apart; I have to do more; But what can I do? It’s useless. I’m useless’.

As I mentioned in one of those posts I think, people have turned away from the horror, injustice, cruelty, and murderous greed and lust for power, for as long as these things have existed – which is obviously for as long as our species has been around. At certain times in history this move away from ‘the world’ has accelerated and intensified. And we are living in one of those periods now.

In the last century so many people have taken up the contemplative life, and many have chosen to make that life one of complete or partial solitude in order that they may be free from distraction in their prayer, study, and contemplative life.

But, many will say, ‘You are in denial. Now is the time you are needed out there. The world and all of life is in danger. You can’t escape and hide in a cave’.(read here stop watching the news, ignore politics, stop spending, become a literal or metaphorical hermit, go traveling, shirk your responsibility to the rest of the world).

Again guilt trips us up and we just keep on trying to find ways to at least rid ourselves of the guilt over our perception that we can do nothing.

But many such people, and that includes me, rather than being in denial, rather than shirking responsibility, have looked at the material world with its horrors, and said, ‘This isn’t right’, and have started to look at other ways to live and, seeing that continuing to struggle against the weight of the world on the world’s terms is pointless, seek to find other ways they can contribute to change. Ways that don’t perpetuate the playing of the game.

And rather than escaping these people (including me, I say with humility) face the world head on, dedicating their lives to the world through creativity, through prayer and meditation, and through the expression of freedom in their choice of lifestyle. They are, as Mahatma Gandhi is supposed to have said, being the change they want to see in the world.

While Gandhiji didn’t actually say those words, (Actually there’s a post coming in a couple of weeks in which I share the full text this quote is apparently derived from. Stay tuned for the link here), he certainly lived his life being the change he wanted to see.

But sadly, this ‘quote’ has come to be seen as a kind of feel good cliché, something the privileged are accused of mouthing while not actually even thinking about changing their lives. Just one more platitude you might say.

But for many, like me in my own way, it is much more: it is a call to action, a respectful and heartfelt request that I embark upon the quest for a more authentic way of living that has love, compassion, service, and truth at the centre of all I do.

This is my aspiration. This is my prayer.

Peace from me to you

Put Me in My Place. Please

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Reverence the place and learn from what you see


Coming across this note last night, I was stumped. I coudln’t think where it had come from, where I’d seen it; nothing at all came to mind. And an online search just now failed to turn up anything either. I mean I must have read it somewhere. Or is it possible it came from me?

Of course it’s all the same: there is only one source. At any rate, it’s an injunction one can relate to anywhere, any place. It’s surely about presence?

And about learning from all that is to be seen (heard, felt, intuited, known) in whatever place one is in now. I mean, the place I’m in now. I am here and it is now.

I’m reminded of the faith affirmation (is it a prayer?) that seems to have been written for this particular hermit pilgrim:

As a a hermit, I am a pilgrim dependent on a pure faith that I am exactly where God wold have me be now.

Sometimes I think that too much thinking about and angst over places other than the one I’m actually in right now, is a sure and certain way to resist and reject any reverencing of the place I’m in, not to mention what’s to be learned or gifted from the experience of being here.

And of course that angst, worry, wishful thinking, or whatever, comes with its own issues of distraction, and of a taking away of one’s Self from the present, the notion that here and now is the only time and place that exists.

A poem of mine I came across the other day while looking for something else says it all quite nicely. This poem is called Transcendental Injunctions, and it’s a rap on presence, about being here, and being now.

The central action describes how my senses can take me away from that here and now: I describe my habit of smelling my Bhagavad Gita (yes, as in putting my nose into the pages of the little book and inhaling the aroma of those pages) and how that takes me back to the shores of the River Ganges; another place, another time.

Anyway, allow me to share the final verse, which speaks of one such occasion:

Then, there is a voice:
I hear it with the ear of my heart:
There is no place to go.
What you seek is within.
There’s nothing to find:
God’s kingdom is within.

I suppose there is nothing left to say. I am here, and it is now

Peace to you from me

Seeking Justice: Commitments

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This morning I was just sitting, or at least trying to just sit. You know, being quiet, relaxing the mind. All that kind of thing. And of course, an idea sprung into that not so cooperative mind, so I grabbed my notebook. Just as I went to put this latest brainwave on paper I noticed a very extraordinary note I must have made I don’t know when:

I’ve just looked it up: It’s a slight paraphrase of a verse from the Old Testament, from the prophet Micah. Where I read it, I can’t say (the note is at least several weeks old). But to quote another little note from some unknown source, I always like to:

Let the noble thoughts come to me from all corners of the universe.

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I’m just like everyone else, always wanting the easy solutions and you can tell that can’t you? ‘How to live the good life? Simple!’. I mean really; hardly humble in my approach in that note was I? Well, let’s talk about what Micah says, not my own lack of humility.

Seek justice; practise kindness; and walk humbly with [your] God.

There are numerous versions online of this verse (Micah, 6:8), so I will leave it to you to check those out for yourself. I’ve added the word your because all those versions do say ‘your God’. But even in this paraphrase it’s easy to see there is nothing at all simple about any of these injunctions.

I discovered that this verse is often invoked in times of grave injustice, or crisis. I think it goes without saying that we would be hard pressed to think of a time that was not a time of grave injustice or crisis. Certainly, we are living in one of those times of injustice and crisis.

There’s no need to or purpose served by getting into how ‘grave’ injustice is now compared to some other time; there’s no need or point to weighing up the relative severity of one crisis versus another. Injustice is injustice; a crisis is a crisis.

In other words, the present is always the time to heed the injunctions of this verse.

So, what do we do if we are to seek justice? Running the risk of sounding flippant, I would say that there are as many answers to this question as there are people to answer it. Now, you would think this would make the task impossible; too many cooks and all that. But actually it’s perfect. Why? Because it means that whoever you are, whatever your situation, you can actively seek justice.

Or, I am sorry: I should say I, me. Not you. I can actively seek justice. But, you say, you are a hermit; you live in a cave (not literally but I know what you mean); you hardly ever even talk to people in ‘real life’. Yes, all true. And I would say that the action I take is by no means at the level I know I want it to be. I’m doing nowhere enough.

Does that mean I’m leaving the cave? Going out into the world, onto the streets to join other brave souls seeking justice? Believe me, I ask myself such questions constantly. But to speak truth to you now, I will say that I know absolutely, in my heart, that my role is something different.

If anything, I need to go deeper into the cave; I need to go deeper into the inner world of my own Self. I know that in this way I will join with so many others in what I’ve come to call the Invisible Community of people all over the world living lives of contemplation and prayer. Or, speaking for me personally, trying to live a life of contemplation and prayer.

By so doing I am at least in a tiny way supporting those millions of others out there on the streets, in the aid groups, running campaigns, writing letters, helping the victims of injustice, in all kinds of miraculous, brave, and innovative ways.

So that’s my commitment to you. To deepen my prayer; to intensify my contemplation; to more fully realise my union with all living beings; and to really join with the invisible community in its efforts.

And, you ask, this blog? What’s it about then? Well, notes, musings, thoughts and reflections all aimed at reminding me of my responsibilities. And hopefully along the way, solidifying my union with you and the rest of creation, just a bit.

Peace and love

PS I haven’t forgotten ‘practise kindness’ or ‘walk humbly with your God’. Maybe another time.