On the 'plane I watched The Bucket List in which Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman play the lead roles.

A billionaire and a mechanic who meet in a hospital ward for terminally ill patients decide to make an escape and set out on one last trip to fulfill all of their dying wishes.

While the two men wait for news of their flight to Everest, climbing Everest was on their Bucket List, they are shown visiting a Buddhist monastery. It was all gloom, flickering lights and incense smoke. The Jack Nicholson character, ever the skeptic, ponders on the concept of karma and rebirth. I just don’t get it, he says. I mean, what does a slug have to do to get a good rebirth, leave a perfect slime trail? This is fairly typical of the popular view of karma and rebirth. And of Buddhist monasteries too! That view runs fairly much along the lines of, be good and you will be reborn into better circumstances. Lead a bad life and you’ll end up a short lived, squashed, fly. Truth is bigger, and more compassionate, than this.

I liked this film. It brought the subject of action (and that’s what karma translates as) into the realm of action, and out of the world of speculation and popular interpretations. There was reflection on past actions and the seeing into the unwisdom's of those actions. There were scenes depicting the struggle to see those actions for what they were and then scenes which looked at what that means, right now. In short the two men were brought to look at the consequences of their actions and come to an understanding and acceptance of their lives. Find joy in your life, were the dying mans words to the Jack Nicholson character. He could have said, Live life, forget the ideal of perfection, of leaving a perfect trail of slime behind you!

Written for Kevin. This, in part, is my answer to your question. I hope you get the gist of what I'm pointing out. Other teachers in our Order might well see this film and interpret it differently. So be it, there's no argument.

A number of nuns from the Forest Tradition came to visit yesterday afternoon.

After a morning roped to my computer I'd climbed up the hill to sit in the sun and drink in the valley readying myself for tomorrows adventures in the sky. Seeing a monk waving me down, a small figure in the landscape at that distance, I extracted myself from my perch and made my way to meet the nuns. They were already tucking into tea, chocolate and conversation in the common room.

This is a picture of our side of the valley where I was sitting. The monastery is in the center of the picture, more or less.

....I would just like to wish you 'rruga e mbare' for your journey; loosely this is Albanian for bon voyage but better translated as 'may your way go properly' (rruga = way, mbare = properly), an expression I like and that is my wish for your travels.

From Tim. Thanks for keeping in touch. Keep on writing your blog.

Our phone conversation was coming to a close. She asked, 'Is there anything you can suggest I do to help myself during the day'? I asked, 'Well, is there anything that you can think of? There was a long pause and then the answer came. 'This might sound strange, given all that I've spoken about, however everything is well'.

Light House, South Shields Northumberland.

"Those who, either now or after I am dead, shall be lamps unto themselves, relying upon themselves only and not relying upon any external help, but holding fast to the truth as their lamp, and seeking their salvation in the truth alone, and shall not look for assistance to any one besides themselves,..."
The Buddha's Farewell.

Seeking help is not a problem, overly 'relying' on or depending upon external help is.

Be a lamp unto yourself...because you are that lamp.

The beach at Wells, North Norfolk coast. Land of ace huts.
I'll be stepping out into the great blue yonder on Wednesday bound for Vancouver Canada and then onwards to Edmonton. My itinerary is taking shape under the Schedule tab.
 

Tomorrow we celebrate the Birth and Enlightenment of the Buddha termed Wesak and the monastery is suitably dressed for celebration. Each year during Wesak week-end parents, together with their off spring, are welcomed into the monastery to mingle and to play. The atmosphere is informal, creative and very active. There was football on the lawn at 4.00 pm, a music workshop all afternoon in the library and a picnic to round off the day. Earlier a crowd did some dry stone walling while others did map making.

Meet Miles, veteran reader and comment sender. He and his partner and 8 month old son were here today. It was a great joy to meet them all together.
 

Two Jade readers, both called Anne, have articles in the Spring edition of our Order's Journal. The first Anne speaks of the benefits of staying at Throssel outside of retreat times.

And now, after more times spent there when no retreats are running, the (admittedly, self imposed) lines between Throssel and my home have started to blur as the amount of more 'ordinary' experiences at the Abbey interweave with my life in my town, and Throssel seems not only my spiritual home--as it always was--but just like where I live day to day--my home.

The other Anne writes about her journey from the onset of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME) through to her life in Mt. Shasta and her association with Shasta Abbey.

Sometimes I just go over to the Abbey grounds, walk down to the stupa and sit. Or I do some little inconsequential errand that takes me over there, so can feel the difference between the silence of living alone in town and the deep quiet of a spiritual community training together. Underneath my surface unrest, a part of me is deeply content with what is, when self is willing to acknowledge it. "Separate," one of the monks once said, "but not alone."

Spare a thought for Anne in America who is having a nasty flare up of symptoms at the moment. A thought for her dog Lily too is appreciated.

...In this place of being, mountains are no longer mountains and rivers are no longer rivers. This is the place in which mountains flow and rivers are as diamond, the place where the life of the river is the mountain, and the expression of the mountain is the river, the place the scriptures describe when they say that the wooden figure sings and the stone maiden dances.
By Rev. Master Daizui McPhillamy, Former Head of The Order of Buddhist Contemplatives.

From an article titled When Mountains are Mountains

More links to O.B.C. Resources. The list of links grows daily.

On the monastic schedule the time between the end of meditation and morning service and breakfast is Temple Clean-up. As a young monk, under the direction of the Head Novice, one moved briskly from the meditation hall to ones clean-up assignment, there to scrub and polish. There were no gaps between activities, for tea or a chat for example, and no choice of assignment either. Early in the morning cold and hungry I'd sometimes weep, tears splashing into the sink or toilet I was cleaning. More often than not I'd long for the sound of the breakfast bell to bring the comfort of food and the warmth of the dining hall.

As a Senior the external pressure is off. There's no Head Novice assigning tasks just my fellow seniors slipping the cleaning card behind the name tag on my door. (I just wish I could remember who it is I pass it on to!) Within the confines of the daily schedule one is responsible for planning ones own time. Even writing that makes me smile. Planning! Own time? Even finishing cleaning the bathroom has eluded me today.

9.15 am Cleaning toilet. 9.20 am Toilet half cleaned, remember to make a phone call and send emergency e-mail. 9.40 am Finish cleaning the toilet, hurry to Brunch. 4.15 pm Clean the bathroom sink, floor and ledges. Empty the rubbish bins. Need to do something else, can't remember what now. The shower will have to wait until I next have one...

If there are tears nowadays they are either an allergic reaction to the cleanser or ones of gratitude. To bend and squat, to rub, scrub and polish are gifts. However the greatest gifts are the gaps, or more accurately the lack of them. Early training, lay or monastic, is learning to move from one activity to another seamlessly, constantly choosing to say Yes when the bell rings. Switching from one thing to another to another to another becomes reflexive action over time. The one who does fades in and out of awareness, as needed. Personal wishes and desires are there but not with such a loud voice, they too have a place.

For me and for those of you who read this the bell rings constantly not just for meals, meditation and work periods. Phone calls-emails-meetings-driving duties-town trip-classes-tea appointments-chats in the lane-walks on the bottom road-chats over the hedge-evening meditation-evening tea-seeking lost belongings-having a nap.

Could this be living Zen?

Atttention regulation and monitoring in meditation.

Thanks to Ed for finding the article. I'd certainly not come across this kind of study on my own...

Go anywhere in Britain and sooner rather than later you will bump into the bizarre. We seem to thrive on it. I've included the three silver birch tree trunks as my own contribution. I've title that legs hundred and eleven If you have never played bingo you wouldn't understand.

One man and his sheep.

Legs hundred and eleven.

Don't ask!

These pictures were taken on Friday in the grounds of an old Abbey close to Nottingham. This afternoon a small group of us visited Kirkstall Abbey a Cistercian house close to Leeds built by the monks from Fountains Abbey.

For reasons that make no sense somebody had the idea to route the main road into Leeds right up the length of the nave of the abbey church. Those on foot, with time on their hands, carved their names in the pillars for posterity. Normal then, rather bizarre now.

(Thankfully the road now runs beside the church.)