Tag Archives: wise words

Tell Me: What is God? Dominus Est

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Welcome dear reader

Have I shared with you my Bhagavad Gita? Well, I know I’ve mentioned a few times that it’s one of, if not the primary resource for study and guidance for me.

As you’ve probably guessed, this is a quick photo of the inside of the front cover. And, again as you’ve noticed, I like to stick things in my books, especially this little one. (Actually now I mention it, this is the only book in the traditional format as in made of paper, I own). It’s an old practice and for me adds multiple dimensions and depths to what is already a treasure.

Sometime I’d like to go through and describe to you all that I have added, but for today, do you see the little green section with the words Dominus Est printed?

In the religious tradition I was raised in, these two words have a specific meaning and use. However, it’s only recently that I’ve come to think of this little Latin phrase (well technically it’s a sentence, but …) in the sense of the literal meaning of the words themselves: God is.

That’s it. Or the Lord is, or the Master is. If we change the Dominus, we can use this tiny sentence to define our conception of the divine, the holy, in any way that seems right: Truth is, Beauty is, Art is. For me, God is, sits right. As do the others in this list. Same same.

So, God Is. What else could possibly be said that would add to this already very emphatic and simple statement? Nothing at all. It’s stand-alone, complete in itself.

Like asking who or what is God, we can answer: ‘I am this’ or ‘I am not that’. Or we can realise what for me is becoming the only answer:
I am.

Why? Well, if we were to add anything at all to these two words, such as God is Truth, or God is Love, or God Resides in …, or God is called … , then we are in fact stating only a little of the truth. Sure, God is truth and love, and goes by many names and is found in many forms, but once we say what something is, we are actually making more of a statement about what it is not.

In the beginning there was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.

Mind you, it’s perfectly natural, and for many of us helpful, even necessary, to ascribe to God a name and or form. We are ourselves material beings, living in a material universe; it’s logical that we would choose (or need) to see God in a word, a physical object, or attribute some other kind of materiality to our notions of the divine.

I must say that I am one of those who find it difficult to envisage an invisible, non-physical, and impersonal ‘God’. Of course, our little statement, God is, does indeed say just this doesn’t it? Isness is pretty non-corporeal, certainly not in the least physical. And isn’t even a ‘spirit’ or ‘entity’ of any kind; Isness just is. The moment we label something (including ourselves) we miss that isness, that essence.

You see my picture of Krishna and Radha? This form, or forms, is one of the several that I feel right in having as a kind of focus, or centre of my devotion to and love for the divine; for love, for truth, and for it all.

You might be saying, this guy does believe in a personal God. He just told us. The truth is I don’t believe or not believe that Krishna (or any of the myriad names and forms we’ve invented) is God. God simply is. And my heart tells me that this is enough.

There are a pair of theological ideas known as Cataphatic Theology, and Apophatic Theology. Cataphatic describes or approaches the divine by stating what God is, while Apothatic (you guessed it) describes God by speaking only of what God is not.

My guess is that pretty much everybody, from whatever tradition, would approach the divine (and not only the divine) in one or other of these ways. But for me it was such a relief to realise that there was no need to go there at all. I could stop with the definitions and the descriptions, the what is and what is not. I have the freedom to not have to believe or not beleive. None of it matters. Dominus Est. God is.

Am I there yet? Have I let go of dualities? Hardly. Maybe the odd glimpse, but it’s rare. And it always will be for as long as I live in a physical body. But to paraphrase something Swami Ramdas said:

I’ve set my feet upon the path, so I am already at the goal.

Peace and love from me to you

ANSWERING THE CALL LEADS TO MORE QUESTIONS

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Greetings and Welcome after what feels like a gap of forever since my last post.

Two weeks today since I moved into a rented house way out here Outback in the mining town of Broken Hill, on the traditional lands of the Wilyakali people whose ongoing presence on this country I acknowledge and give thanks for.

And now, it is the location of my hermitage, my safe haven and refuge. But, no, therein lies the conundrum: I love it here; I know I’ve come to the right place to which I’ve been called. But after two weeks, I’m still not feeling grounded; I’m not really here yet.

Culture shock, fatigue, new environment, excitement; call it what you will; something has me not yet settled and in place. Yesterday a small poem came to me that I think expresses exactly the problem.

And now I’m sharing it with you as a way of explaining why the gap, why the block.

Peace and love from me to you.



The call to the desert
has been answered.
And now, I am here.
No, to tell the truth, I’m not actually. Here I mean.
So, where am I?

Not there, back there
where I came from.
Not even sure if ‘there’ really exists,
if you know what I mean.

Mind you, when I said ‘here now”
I meant it’s been a short now:
Now that I’m here. Just.
A short stretch – so far.

Here; there; now; so far;
it’s all too much.
And you know what?
It’s all in my head.
In my mind I mean.
                                             

A wise teacher once taught:
First thought, best thought.
But for here and now?
As in being here now?
No thought, more like,
is best thought.

Lord Buddha graces the hermitage front garden

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.

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

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.

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?

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

The Ananda Mart is Closed Today

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Hello and welcome dear reader

Almost four years ago now, we spent a couple of months in Bali. For a big portion of that time we based ourselves in a town called Ubud, on a street called Gautama. Yes, indeed, most auspicious.

Anyway, one day I was walking down the street, going somewhere, and for a change without my camera. I passed a small shop that somehow looked unusual. and I stopped to make a photo with my phone.

That’s it: The Ananda Mart is closed today, I remember thinking. In the few weeks we’d been there, I don’t think I’d ever seen it closed before. On most days the man who runs the shop could be found sitting on the front steps. And mostly he’d have his dog for company.

In the early days of our time on Gautama Street, we’d buy bottles of water at the Ananda Mart. Each time I would smile, say hello, and enquire after the shopkeeper’s health. And while he always responded, it was never with what you’d call a friendly smile or a cheery wave. Probably grumpy grunt would be a more accurate way to describe his replies.

You know you’re on Gautama Street when you see the man himself at the corner

And each time I passed the shop, I would say hello. Again on a lucky day I’d get a grunt, but mostly he would say nothing and ignore me. Just as he ignored everyone who passed him and his dog. Eventually after a particularly rude response to me trying to purchase water, I, as they say, took my custom elsewhere.

Often in such situations I have been known to become irritable, angry even, and end up being just as rude (or ruder) than the other person. For some reason, this time I didn’t react that way. Instead I was interested in figuring out why the shopkeeper acted in this way and seemed to be in a world of his own which, from what I could see, he shared only with his dog.

Of course, being the overthinking speculator champion of the galaxy, I made many guesses: he is the owner of the Ananda Mart and is totally over people; being I thought in his 60s, maybe he’s just hanging out till he can retire. Given that the Ananda Mart is only one component of what looks to be a multi-armed business this could be a good guess. He’s one of the family elders, doing his part.

Above the door beneath the name it reads ‘cheap and friendly’. And it’s interesting to check the meaning of Ananda. In Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism it refers to extreme happiness, one of the highest states of being. In Sanatana Dharma philosophy for example, God is sat-chit-ananda or existence, consciousness, bliss.

Now, before I ramble on too long, I will just say that really and truly ‘the real story’ is absolutely none of my business. I suppose what I’m getting at is, rather than dismiss him as a grumpy man in a shop, My reaction to our, shall we call it, our relationship was one of compassion and curiosity. Let’s just say my sense was that the Ananda Mart shopkeeper is perhaps not a happy man.

You see what I mean? I tell you that it’s none of my business, then I tell you how I kept sticking my mind in where it doesn’t belong. Makes me human I guess!

Paramhansa Yogananda, one of the first teachers to bring Yogic philosophy to the so-called West, and the author of Autobiography of a Yogi, says in that book that Ananda is different from the temporary happiness that comes from sense pleasures such as eating and other ‘material pursuits’. He said , too, that Ananda is not the kind of joy that we’d call monotonous and that always stays the same.

Yogananda wrote in Finding the Joy in Life, that Ananda refers to a joy that ‘changes and dances itself in many ways to enthral your mind and keep your attention occupied forever’.

It’s anybody’s guess really isn’t it? Whether our seemingly unhappy and not so friendly shopkeeper, has that kind of joy in his life. And perhaps his aloofness and ‘grumpiness’ is merely an expression of his weariness of the temporary joys of the material word with its emphasis on pleasures of the senses.

Anyway, as I say, it’s none of my business.

Peace to you from the Hermit

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