Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Musings on one Hermit's life & world

Just Passing Through … or Seeking Noble Truths: A Poetical Sharing

Posted on March 25, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Greetings friends

In my last post I mentioned I would share a poem with you in this one. And here it is!

Just Passing Through … or Seeking Noble Truths, is, like the previous post, concerned with passing through, how as I go through life, I am always in some sort of passing through place. Before we get to the poem, just let me fill you in on a bit of the back story.

First, I wrote the poem as I walked home to our hermitage at the time in a town called Moama on the Murray River in Australia. Now, the Murray is the biggest river in the country and the then little town of Moama sits across the river from its bigger city sized sibling: Echuca, the biggest inland port in Australia.

Anyway, I’d just crossed the river bridge and the words just started coming to me. Not exactly as you read it here, but close. I am very lucky that I had only a few minutes walk left to get home, otherwise the whole lot could have been lost to memory.

The longer back back story? Well, as the poem suggests, I’d spent a lot of time hitchhiking, in Australia and a few other places too. It’s true what it says in the first lines: I’d done a lot of trudging through a rather large number of towns unknown to me then, and only some of which are better known to me now in much later years.

Okay, that’s enough back story to last a while, so let’s just present the star of the show. I share this, as I do all my efforts, with heart.

JUST PASSING THROUGH … OR SEEKING NOBLE TRUTHS

Many have been the nights
I’ve trudged (and less often, strode)
past illuminated windows framing.
families sharing sit down meals.
Or huddled worshipfully before
flickering and silent (to my passing by ears)
picture boxes in corners of cosy family rooms.

I am just one more invisible (to most), anonymous
drifter. Just passing through
the empty nighttime streets of one more
anonymous town.
Longing to enter the illumined frame.
Longing to share one of those sit down meals.
Longing to worship at the alter of the flickering picture box.
Longing is loss.

The edge of town roadside summons
this lonesome bodhisattva begging rides.

It’s just one more quiet and cold
semi desert night. A high moon in a clear sky
casts ghostly shadows through Eucalypts:
my only company as the waiting game begins.
Waiting to see headlights coming and going my way.
Waiting to be rescued from this lonely edge of town roadside.
Waiting for another ride, to another anonymous town.
Waiting is wasteful

Better to be here, now, on this
edge of town roadside. A place as good
as any. Illumined by the moon,
the ghostly gums create the frame
in which this bodhisattva rests.
And worships.

Thank you for allowing me to share these words with you. The road, as many of you will know, can be a teacher, a guru. I don’t hitch-hike anymore, but the road is still teaching me. And I am grateful.

What’s ‘Ordinary’ Got to do With It?

Posted on March 24, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Perhaps shameful is too strong a word, but that’s kind of how it feels. You see, I’ve been thinking of giving up on the book I’m reading at the moment. And you are thinking, this is a big deal? If you don’t like it, put it aside and try something else.

Yes, excellent advice, thank you. And usually that’s what I would do. In fact now I think about it there was a time when I would force myself to complete a book, even if I wasn’t enjoying it or was bored with it. But I learned a long time ago that this is a waste of time, waste of mind, waste of energy, and unfair to me.

Yet, on this occasion, I started to have some thoughts that took it a bit deeper. It’s true to say that I’m a bit bored with this book; it’s as if I’m not overly interested in the story the author is telling, and in the way she’s telling it. As well I had this feeling that the book was ‘ordinary’: meaning that it was a kind of day to day telling of a segment of a life with its mundane and routine elements included along with the ‘good bits’.

And it was that feeling of being not so interested that got me thinking. The author’s vocation, thinking, activities, and the subject of the book itself, is exactly in line with areas I am very interested in reading about, not only for entertainment but for my learning, for my own spiritual journey and way of life.

The way she’s telling it? Now, this one got to me even more. The book was put together after the author’s death and is made up of extracts from the author’s journals and from the many letters she wrote to family and friends during the period of her life the book covers.

That’s what I do isn’t it? Keep a journal? Write letters? These and the many many blog posts (which in a way are a lot like letters, and even journal entries do you think?) I’ve written over many years, and the journal I’ve been keeping for most of my life, are the core of at least the personal writing I have done over my lifetime. By rejecting this book I started to feel that I was rejecting my own, for want of a better word, genres.

Or, worse than that, I’m rejecting the invitation to share a life. And illogically I’m rejecting the life story and insights of a person whose own experience I actually value for my own quest and from whom I could learn a great deal.

And what about the feeling of boredom and that the book was too ‘ordinary’ and mundane? Well, to borrow a well-worn phrase, this really does take the cake. I mean if you were to look at much of my past writings and look at my photography blogs from times past, you would see that one of my main statements of belief was:

There are no ordinary moments, nor are there any ordinary people.

And I still believe this. Indeed, spiritual practice and study has only deepened my instincts that all there is is the moment; all there is is all the beings of the world experiencing that ongoing presence, that never-ending moment. There can be nothing in the least ordinary about that.

I’ve saved the best – or is it the worst? – for last: what the book is about. It tells the story of a three year period in the life of a person just out of university who looking for a deeper meaning to life and to finding a true course for her life, travels from her home to Japan and enters a Zen monastery to become a monk.

Her journals and letters give the reader an intimate and in-depth account of her experiences: what she learned; insights into the language, culture, and history of Japan and Zen itself; the people she met and knew, her own feelings and reactions to what was a huge shift in her life.

After three years the author left the monastery to travel slowly back to see family at home. Sadly she was killed in a bus crash along the way.

Pretty much everything that has to do with living a life. And here’s me rejecting it because it was ‘ordinary’ and some details were ‘boring’.

So, I’m going to stay with this book. It’s taught me a lot already, and I think there is more there for me. Perhaps, I can better put into practice by own so strongly held idea that there are no ordinary moments or ordinary people.

Peace and love from me to you

Talking About Sloth

Posted on March 23, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Sloth. Its a good word isn’t it? One of those words you don’t have to look up to know what it means. But if you do look it up, you’ll find it has a couple of meanings. One is: laziness, indolence and a reluctance to make an effort.

Is sloth a bad thing? Certainly it gets a bad rap; I mean: lazy? Indolent? Not willing to make an effort? Hardly words of praise. On the other hand we value words like busy, productive, efficient, hard working, and the rest. In our culture, these are definitely words of praise.

Go out and play; Read a book; Go to school; Study hard; Get a good job (whatever that means); How much do you make a year? When are up for promotion? Demands and questions like these are constants in all our lives, and they force us into defining ourselves by what we do whether we are a little kid at school, a teenager trying to sort life out, an adult trying to make our way in the world the best we can.

Yes, it’s true I think: it always seems to be a about defining ourselves by what we do, rather than who we are, or what we stand for. Always we have to be doing something. Ever heard that little identity joke, I’m a human being, not a human doing? I wonder how many of us would feel lost if we shifted from that need to be a doer to another definition of our identity, one less reliant on what we do or on what we’ve done in the past, or will do in the future.

Well, I hear you saying, this is all fine and dandy, but my boss won’t pay me unless I show up, there are meals to cook for the kids, I’m running late for an appointment, the lawn needs mowing and after that I have to write a report for my night class.

All very true, valid, and all of them things that do need to be done. We all have a life don’t we? But perhaps sometimes, even just now and again, and perhaps just for a few minutes at a time, you can stop. Just stop. Thats all. Stop and just do nothing, or rather stop and simply be.

Have I mentioned a favourite little two word sentence I really really like? Just sit. Don’t read, don’t think, don’t try to stop thinking, don’t ‘meditate’. All that’s required is to do nothing. Do No Thing. Actually, I think I’ve found a new favourite.

On, remember I said there are a couple of definitions of sloth? Well the other one tells us that a sloth is a slow moving nocturnal mammal noted for hanging upside down from tree branches. It lives entirely in the trees and is capable of only very slow movement on the ground.

So, I guess you should be very careful when you tell someone else I’m a sloth. Mind you, putting aside the hanging upside down bit, and the nocturnal requirement, it’s probably not such a bad way of being to emulate, do you think?

Have a lazy (slothful) day.

Silence. Could I have some more please?

Posted on March 22, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

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

Peace and love

Van Gogh: Mystic & Saint?

Posted on March 18, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

A few weeks ago I finished one of the most extraordinary books I have ever read. Yes, I know: we live in the days of hype and the redundant superlative. Everything is the best, biggest, greatest. Or, conversely, the worst, most tragic, saddest; it goes on and on.

In this case however I am not exaggerating. This book was amazing. It’s Learning from Henry Nouwen and Vincent Van Gogh: A portrait of a compassionate Life, by Carol A. Berry. From this book I’ve learned as much and more about Van Gogh’s motivations, his vision, his art, and yes, his very nature and soul, than in everything I’ve read, seen or heard about Vincent until now put together. And that includes from several visits to the magnificent Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam.

The book had its genesis in a course the author sat in on in the 1970s put on by Henry Nouwen for Theology students. The course aimed at helping future ministers and pastors learn to connect with their future parishioners. Basically it was about accessing the compassionate sides of their own natures so they might better help others. Nouwen used Van Gogh as a the model of a person who had lived a life built on compassion for others.

The author has mined Vincent’s letters (mostly to his brother Theo) and studied deeply his paintings and drawings, in order to understand and demonstrate what it means to live a life of compassion, and to highlight the artist’s mission in life. For me that mission is summed up very nicely in a quote from one of Van Gogh’s letters:

Art is to console those who are broken by life.
Vincent Van Gogh to his brother Theo

I had a vague sense of Vincent’s spiritual leanings (I knew he’d been a missionary living among poor miners and their families to better understand and help them), and he’d tried to become a preacher. But, before finding this book my thinking hadn’t gone much deeper than that.

But, through reading this book I discovered Vincent was really what many of us might call a mystic. The author goes further and after what i’ve learned, I tend to agree with her: she thinks Van Gogh is a saint.

A mystic in the sense that he tried to live a holy and compassionate life. He viewed all nature (of which he concluded humans are simply one equal part) as being expressions of the divine. And a saint in that he dedicated his life to making art that would inject light and colour into the darkness of people’s lives.

As I mentioned, Vincent had been a missionary for a time. But his radical way of living among the poor and sharing their lives in order to know and love them better was shocking and way too extreme for his bosses, and he had to move on.

So, he finally settled on full-on immersion in his art. His mission was to make paintings that offered comfort and consolation to those who are suffering. And that’s all of us to one degree or another isn’t it?

You can see by now that this supremely accessible (and pleasurable to read) work has had a profound impact on me. This book isn’t only for artists, nor is it a religious book; it is as I have said an inspiration and guide to living a compassionate and loving life.

I don’t want to just say ‘I can’t recommend highly enough that you read this book’; I want to say instead Please, please read this book. Then obviously act on what you have read!

I’ve always admired – loved – Vincent, now I think I know why. Or as Don McLean says in one of the most profound love songs (Vincent) in history (remember, I never exaggerate):

Now, I understand, what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they’ll listen now

Perhaps.

Love and Peace from me to you

Dear Diary: The Story of Your Birth

Posted on March 16, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Namaste friends and Welcome

I wrote this little remembrance about the birth of my journaling life some time ago. I thought it might be nice to share it here on my new Notes from the Hermit’s Cave blog as keeping a journal has been such an important aid to my own ongoing healing, and has been key to my spiritual journey.

See the fascinating update at the end!

For many of us keeping a journal is a key element in our efforts to live a good life, or even to have a life: it can be a tool for healing, a means to bring some order to the chaos in our hearts and heads, and a venue for reflections on life, the Universe, and everything. For me, it’s been all of these things and more.

I guess for most people Henry David Thoreau is best known for the book he wrote about his time living alone in a small cabin on Walden Pond in Massachusetts, titled funnily enough Walden. And I suppose most people would have no idea that all, or pretty much all, his writings, lectures and so on, came from his Journal. Note the capital: he himself called it The Journal.

A few years ago I read a very cool book called The Book of Concord: Thoreau’s Life as a Writer, which is an examination of, yes you guessed it, his life as a writer. What made it extra interesting was the way the author (William Howarth) used The Journal as his way into Thoreau’s writing and life.

Let me tell you one of the many things that jumped out at me from this fascinating book: the reason Thoreau started keeping The Journal in the first place. It seems that one of his neighbours in Concord was Ralph Waldo Emerson (imagine that if you can). Anyway, one day Emerson says to Thoreau,

‘What are you doing? Do you keep a journal?’

Now, it seems that Thoreau had been running around telling everyone he was a writer and that he was examining nature and studying the life of the town. All that writerly kind of stuff. But he hadn’t been keeping a journal.

So, he answered Emerson’s challenge by beginning The Journal. And, as I said, all his writing from then on came right out of that journal. Sometimes, believe it or not, he literally ‘cut and pasted’ from The Journal; he actually tore out pages or cut up passages and stuck them together to form the final manuscripts. Now, that is called having supreme confidence in your own work.

Anyway, after I read that, it got me thinking about my own journal and how I came to begin it. As I sit typing this, my journal is safely stored away in a trunk in my sister’s garage. (See the update at the end. Strange syncronicity indeed)

There are close to one hundred separate volumes, mostly school type notebooks (called exercise books in Australia), some exotic volumes from travel in India and a few odd looking specimens of varying shapes and sizes. Hard to believe really: so many words.

This is my personal journal; my art journals are another matter. Just wanted to make that distinction, though oftentimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

In late 1980, I returned to Australia after a few months in New Zealand. I wasn’t in great shape and was hanging around at my parents’ house and feeling like a ‘wet week in a thunderstorm’ (if you get my meaning). One day, my mother out of the blue said,

‘Why don’t you start keeping a diary?’

Of course you don’t know my mother, but believe me when I say that this is most definitely not the kind of thing I’d have ever expected her to suggest to her son as a way for him to deal with his very poorly mental condition.

But, just like Thoreau after his chat with Emerson, I headed to the shops without delay, bought a school exercise book, and began my diary (I often interchange the terms diary and journal). And I’m still at it, as I’ve said.

And you know what? Thinking about my journal now, I feel a sense of pride. I don’t mean arrogant, ego driven ‘pride’: my heart is glad. I have consistently for over forty years kept a record of my life which goes deep into my psyche and beyond. Well that’s what it often feels like.

Sometimes it’s been an extremely detailed account and written every day; other times there have been gaps with just scant little notes to record my doings, thoughts, feelings, and so on. But, at least it is there. I have a profound sense of achievement when I think of my journal. Maybe I need to adopt the capital like Thoreau: My Journal.

My final words must be then, thanks Mum. I know I thanked you when you were still in this world with us, but it can’t hurt to announce my thanks to the world (as much of it as reads this blog anyway) can it?

Update

The trunk containing The Journal has left my sister’s garage (thank you little sister) and is as I type this update, on a truck heading this way and will arrive late tonight or early tomorrow.

The timing is completely serendipitous: By ‘chance’ I came across the above piece of writing today as I was looking for other things, then a little while later got a call from the shipping company with the news! Pickup wasn’t scheduled for a few more days.

Of course I still regularly spend time with The Journal, perhaps more than ever, and it will be very nice indeed to have the whole thing with me once again.

Yet Another Update

Yes indeed, it certainly is, nice I mean. Here is The Journal in its full glory (one volume missing but will be here soon)

I love the Now. When else is there?

Posted on March 15, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Over the last couple of months or so I’ve been listening on and off to Jimmy Buffett. I like Jimmy’s music, and I have liked it since the late 70s. I have at least ten of his albums in my Music folder.

Anyway, Buffett is an American singer/songwriter who writes and performs songs about beach life, sailing, exotic island paradises, and generally having a good time down at the beach and in and on the water. And preferably in sunny climes.

Yes. Hedonistic is a word that’s been used to describe his music and the lifestyle he celebrates. Still, I’ve liked him for a very long while now, and every so often I get into his ‘escapism’ and his relaxing in paradise kind of vibe.

Something a little rebellious about many of his lyrics too. But let’s not go there just now. What I want to talk about is a song I’ve listened to dozens of times, but when I played it again the other night, it got my attention in a way it never had before.

What I mean to say, is that for the first time I actually heard the song (Love the Now. Have a listen, you won’t regret it). I got what the writer was saying with his lyrics.

All the pain and the pleasure
I love the now
All the blood and the treasure

Then another verse:

The whole damn world’s gone crazy
The moon is jumping over the cow
How can you help
But not love the now?

It’s like he’s saying, ‘yeah, it’s all good.’ Not just hedonistic but nihilistic as well. Like he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to know. But, then, in another verse he writes:

It’s the only place I’ve ever been
It’s the only way that I know how

It is. That’s what he’s saying. ‘All the ranting and Ravin’ and ‘All the cussin’ and cravin’‘ are there for sure. Or, rather, they are all here. And now. But, dig a little deeper, read between the lines (so to speak).

Listen to this:

Don’t talk about your superstitions
Don’t talk about your cats meow
But don’t talk about tomorrow tonight
I Love The Now

You see? He doesn’t want to hear about your belief systems imposed on you by others. He doesn’t want to hear about your fears that have been manufactured by someone else to keep you in line. And he is not the slightest bit interested in your fancy material toys and other stuff (cat’s meow: a great expression coined in the 1920s meaning fancy, flashy, cool, awesome and other similar epiphets).

And don’t talk about some far off distant future (okay tomorrow night may sometimes seem awfully close to now, but you get the meaning).

The bottom line (literally and figuratively): he loves the now. And that’s because that’s all there is: the now.

So, on the face of it hedonistic, nihilistic even, as if he’s shrugging his shoulders in a ‘so what?’ kind of way. But he’s not doing that at all; he’s actually offering a solution to the overwhelming tidal wave of ‘things that are wrong with the world’, and about which many of us feel helpless and sometimes even hopeless.
The Now. It really is the only thing you’ve ever known, the only time and place you can ever hope to be. So why not love it? Why not just live it?

This is not resignation; it is not fatalism or a giving up (or in). In fact it is a courageous engagement with the total reality of life as it is right now.
Jimmy writes that:

Tomorrow’s right around the corner
I’ll get there somehow
But I’m stuck in [the] meantime

And, then, most importantly he says:

And I Love The Now

The Function of Faith

Posted on March 15, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

See the Tenderness

Posted on March 11, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Over the years I’ve tried many types of meditation. But I always come back to the same method. I call it The Third Eye technique.

Once I’ve settled quietly, perhaps having taken a few deep breaths to relax a little, I bring my awareness to the centre of my forehead, the spot between my eyes. Traditionally, this is where the Third – or spiritual – eye is located.

(Actually that particular spot is in line with the Pineal gland which is located in the centre of the brain between the hemispheres, and its function is to help regulate sleep patterns.)

And then? Well, I know I’m not alone when I say that, no matter how hard I try, it seems a lot of the time nothing happens. Well, thoughts happen. Anxieties and memories intrude their pesky (and sometimes ugly) presence. So much for emptying the mind and having transcendental experiences.

Well, in fact despite evidence to the contrary, I – along with all of you who ‘try to meditate’ – do sometimes achieve a state of no thought, of total quiet. The problem is, of course, in a state where there is no thought it’s impossible to think: ‘Hey, I’m having no thoughts.’

As for the (rare) transcendent experience referred to: on those occasions something other than a thought, memory, anxiety, comes up; something that transcends those mundane ‘normal’ things.

See the tenderness. See the tenderness. See the tenderness.

These words seemed to come right after I’d thought for the millionth time ‘nothing’s happening’ while I tried to meditate one day a while ago.

Not spoken by a voice exactly, yet heard with my internal or mental ear. Clear and distinct; the same fully formed injunction repeated three times.

But, see the tenderness? I’m not sure where these words came from. The truth is I am a gentle person by nature; I am not naturally ‘tough’ or ‘aggressive’ or anything like that. But it’s also true that I’ve been all those things over long periods of my life. Nature vs nurture you see.

Anyway, what tenderness? Where? Does it refer to the tenderness that exists in the world?

Perhaps it’s to do with what I am supposed to be reading or otherwise taking in? Books, movies, and other story sources that speak of tender things and people?

Or might it be an injunction for me to redouble my efforts to turn away from the wold? To turn away from the horrors and the nastiness of Maya or the material and essentially illusory world?

And by this turning away from the world, perhaps tenderness is to be found and seen in a turning to the interior world, in the spaces of contemplation within Self.

This injunction (repeated emphatically three times. Sorry I already said that didn’t I?) does seem to have come from some part of my Self that longs for a gentler way to be, for a more tender way to relate to others and to Self.

Ideas and questions to contemplate and to reflect upon. Meanwhile, it’s a good start to know that even if my mind tells me otherwise, when I meditate, something is happening. Sometimes.

Peace

With These Words … Part 3

Posted on March 9, 2022 by Notes from the Hermit's Cave

Well here we are at Part 3 of the mini series in which we’re looking at whether or not my ‘philosophy of life’ might be well described by living according to the vows used by many contemporary nuns and monks and that are a reinterpretation or evolution of the traditional vows.

As I’ve mentioned, I haven’t taken these vows, but when I learned about them (Simplicity, Purity, Accountability, and for some, Presence.) I thought I’d look at how well I live up to the life they dictate.

So, welcome. And if you haven’t yet seen the first two parts, please feel free to have a look at them. Part 1 is a sort of introduction and overview, while in Part 2 I asked whether or not I actually do manage to live a simple life.

Well, do I? To be honest, it was a nice challenge looking at that question; I mean it got me thinking about the reality of my life (like the rest of these posts will as well, obviously) and I would say yes, I think I do live a quite simple life, especially in the context of the dominant culture we live in, and society’s demands and pressures.

Anyway, time to get on with the next part of our little exploration.

Purity

Purity. It’s one of those words isn’t it? I mean, probably all of us think we know what it means, but it’s not a word we use on a day-to-basis is it? It’s a word we’d use rarely if ever to describe our behaviour or approach to life. So, what words do I use then?

Which reminds me: purity gets a bit of a bad rap I think. It’s often used to describe standards imposed by some group, or authority, a moral code thrust upon us, from someone or something outside of ourselves.

For me, Purity is really about my approach to life, to myself and other living beings, to the world, to everything actually.

So, with your permission I will try for the rest of this post to use words and ideas that actually mean something to me in my daily life and in the way I try to live.

Clean is a word that comes to mind. It sounds strange (and redundent) to say, but I try to live a clean life. Obviously I bathe regularly, wear clean cloths and try to not spill stuff too often. But, you might not know this, but clumsy is my middle name, so, yes spilling stuff is a curse I live with! (I just had an orange and I think more juice ended up on my shirt than in my mouth).

Now, actually that’s a good start: I mean to say, we’re all fallible beings; we all have things we can’t quite get right all the time: Pu … oops … the P word is a concept to hold on to in an aspirational way; it’s not a hard and fast set of rules or standards where I’m in a I am either, or I am not, scenario. Actually it’s very much to do with the present, but that literally is a story for another day isn’t it?

How else do I try to live clean? Thinking. I try, consciously, and all the time, to practise clean or we can say right thinking. Right thoughts about others, whether I like what they do or not. Right attitudes to others too are important aspirations for me as well.

To be truthful I’m not yet at the stage where I could say that having right attitudes to others has freed me to neither like or dislike people, situations, or whatever. Perhaps now and again, but certainly not all the time. Like everyone else I’m attached to my likes and dislikes, to my prejudices, and biases. As I said, it’s aspirational, something to work on continually.

Part of that right attitude, as well as living clean, is having a compassionate approach to other living beings. Meaning that with my actions, thoughts or behaviour I try to do as little harm as possible. Actually, it’s more than that: compassion for me must be an active thing, not just a vague feeling or intention informing my life.

In other words, I have designed my life (diet, clothing, transport, thinking, and the rest) so that I cause no more death or harm to any living thing than I can possibly manage.

Of course I realise we human beings are simply one more species among the many millions sharing this planet. Nothing any of us do in any sphere of life (our actions in the world, our thinking) can be accomplished without an impact on our fellow dwellers on Earth. All we can do is what we can do.

Aspiration. That’s what it boils down to for me. Did I mention it (you know … P) isn’t a you are or you are not kind of thing? Like the other P word, presence, it has at its main characteristic an ongoingness; there is no time when we can say I am P … .

Nor will there ever be a time when we can say in a way that that’s actually truth, ‘I give up, It’s too hard. I’m never going to be P… .

Which leads very nicely to Accountability, the next of our words to live by. But let’s get into that next time! Thank you sharing this time with me.

Peace and love