He came in the ceremony hall this morning close to the end of morning service. Saw him out of the corner of my eye as his form flitted past the back of the altar. He purred his way loudly up the line of monks then threw himself on the carpet, right beside the celebrants large ceremonial mat. Extended long, from claw to claw, front to back paw. Contented cat, relaxed and happy to be in with his friends.

The ceremony ends with a procession lead by a monk with a small hand gong. Uh, slight kink in the procession to avoid Smudge thus disported. We hold our collective breath. Phew! Nope, Smudge was not in the mood for play, no swiping at robes as they swish by nor a more athletic leap for tassels dangling from a ceremonial item.

They come to teach and test our patience and our ability to remain still in the midst of circumstances, not to mention our inner strength not to laugh during inappropriate moments!

Does a newly dead person, or one dead for many years, regard their remains as them? We attach ourselves to our form and then carry that on, in our imaginations at least, into the grave. Are we our form? Dead, or alive? I think not.

Yes, this skull in Manchester has raised some questions and caused me to question my own sensibilities around how I regard human relics. How I regard what's left behind after my physical death.

See King Milinda’s questions to Nagasena on the nature of self.

This is part of a comment I've submitted to The Manchester Hermit's blog post You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. In it I make a case for keeping a human skull, and other human bones, in circulation rather disposing of them. If it comes to that, a decent burial I'd have hoped. There's an interesting exchange of thoughts connected to this post. The tide is turning towards finding the skull a new, and more appropriate home.

Here is the first part of the comment submitted for moderation, and accepted:

As a Buddhist contemplative of some years I find myself joining with the Manchester Hermit and his task and see merit in what is being pointed to through this project. The skull was, in my view, an important first choice. This form brings home, in a disturbing way, the ever present truth of impermanence. A truth we encounter moment to moment yet only when faced with loss, a death perhaps, does it come home to us personally. Bobbing along, as we do, on the river of changeableness there is the ever present matter of choice. On what do we base our choices? Does the contemplation of the crumbling moment show us something helpful about ourselves, and the way we live? Well yes: and then we make wise choices.

I'd like to make a case for keeping the skull, and other human bones in the museum, to be then given into the guardianship of those who have a legitimate claim to their continuing life. A creative impulse has come upon me in the form of a personal letter to the skull. Please understand it's offered with the greatest reverence and respect.

The letter not published here...yet.

You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.

Although objects will be revealed one by one, the fate of each object will remain open until a clear consensus is reached. The most beautiful appreciation or cogent argument will be chosen by general agreement. Stewardship of the object will then be transferred to the respondent who may decide to return it to the Manchester Museum or some other place.

The Manchester Hermit is about his work. Must be hot in that tower today.

There is a stunning photo of a skull...todays object for consideration.

I tried to run the usual update for the content management system this afternoon and everything blew up!

From John in Houston

Yes there were a few hours of off-line time for Jade yesterday. And now you can see, everything is back to normal. Interestingly it is sometimes easier to say good by to something big like the whole site, potentially for ever, than a single post I've lost in the middle of writing it.

Thanks to John, your steady presence as web mentor is much appreciated.
(Uh, not quite out of the woods yet. I see a note about one or two problems with the instalation...)

Crowding into my mind are images and snippets of conversations and faces and laughter and stories and old friends, not seen for years, and...so many ands when I think about this morning. When the guest here for the weeks sesshin, left.

Last words, the slam of a door, a van glides down the drive, break lights blinking on, before disappear out of sight. Gone. Once more the shining lights move off into the wider world. Sesshin is a time of looking deeply within. Allowing the surface chatter and concerns and worries to slip away. People come with a question of themselves. It just seems to work like that. Rather as if one brings a truth to test out, sit with, return to over and over again. Don't hang on and don't push away, anything. Let go of everything! Over the years, or said at the right time, this simple teaching has a profound impact. Oh! Everything. This is a step by step and in the moment kind of thing. (Don't try to figure that out please.)

At the start of the week I met up with a woman and we talked. We know each other very well and over very many years. Leaving her I noticed an almost mantra like saying playing in my head. Your truth is shot through with holes. Now the rain can get in, the sun can shine through, your truth is shot through with holes. Over and over for several days this played in my mind. I thought it was the start of a post, a poem perhaps. The post didn't happen.

Having tea this morning, talking back and forth about nothing of much consequence, she suddenly drew breath. Oh, I must tell you something really strange, she said. Over the past four days I've completely forgotten something and I can't remember what it is...because I've forgotten it! It's about something I've been doing for years. And now? Well it's gone! Can't remember what it was. I don't particularly want to remember anyway. I didn't need to ask, because it showed so clearly. The rain had got in and the sun was shine peacefully.

What can I say? Lovely to see people.