Monthly Archives: August 2009

Daily Life, Teachings

Finding Buddha

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As I mentioned when introducing myself to the readers of Jade Mountains I feel that Buddhism has been calling to me for a long time. When I was about 8 or 9 years old I was given a silver charm bracelet by my Aunt and Uncle. They usually gave good presents and I was especially pleased to receive this lovely piece of jewellery. There were four charms on it: a couple of coins, a little pagoda and a Buddha. I anticipated adding to it with charms given to me (if I asked nicely) at future Christmas’s and Birthdays.

When I started a regular meditation practice with the OBC I took the Buddha from the bracelet and wore it on a chain around my neck. Having it there was a helpful way of grounding myself during the day as I held it and perhaps recited a short Scripture.

Two years ago I could not find it. I searched high and low, turning first my bedroom, then the rest of the house upside-down; without success. I was upset. Over the months I kept my eye out for it and mourned my loss.

Last week, having finally decided to decorate our bedroom, Nigel and I moved a chest of drawers in order to start stripping the wallpaper. And yes, there, in the dust by the skirting board, was my little silver Buddha. I was so happy and relieved to see it again. I thought I would write and tell my Aunt (Uncle died many years ago) about the losing of it, the finding of it, and what it meant to me. Two weeks after finding my little silver Buddha I wore it to her funeral; she had died the same night that I found it.

My Aunt had reached the very great age of 94 so her death was not entirely unexpected. Finding the silver Buddha in that way and at that time now simply makes me feel thankful.

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Lizard in the Lane – On Retreat

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Today marks the start of a week-long intensive retreat. A sesshin. There are a lot of people here and, yes, it’s raining. I consulted our unofficial weather monk and, yes, the 24 hour forecast predicts – more rain.

Here’s an excerpt from a chap who’s anticipating his second week-long retreat in the Vipassana tradition. He’s reflecting on the last retreat he attended. Along with the lizard, mentioned here, he changed his appreciation of (so called) weeds!

And as long as we’re on the subject of crazy, there was my moment of bonding with a lizard. I looked at this lizard and watched it react to local stimuli and thought: I’m in the same boat as that lizard — born without asking to be born, trying to make sense of things, and far from getting the whole picture.

I mean, sure, I know more than the lizard — like the fact that I exist and the fact that I evolved by natural selection. But my knowledge is, like the lizard’s, hemmed in by the fact that my brain is a product of evolution, designed to perform mundane tasks, to react to local stimuli, not to understand the true nature of things. And — here’s the crazy part — I kind of loved that lizard. A little bit, for a little while.

From an article in the New York Times by Robert Wright titled: Self, Meditating.

Many thanks to Dave for the link.

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Exciting Times – More From the Alpaca Front

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Improvised ambulance.

More from the alpaca front! Checking for birthing alpacas at 7.00am and yes, there is one going into labour. Unfortunately there is another – a 6 week old female – who is lying down when she usually jumps up when I go past. I go to check her and she jumps up but looks a little strange – as though her leg has gone to sleep. Closer inspection reveals a broken leg hanging from halfway down.

So – all hands to decks. Baby lifted into farm buggy and driven to barn. Following consultation on phone with vet it is baby into back of car and off to vet’s surgery. Left with vet while back to check birthing alpaca…

I used to look forward to excitement, now I am not so sure.

But the abiding memory of the day was the deep trust that the injured alpaca had in us. She lay across Julie in the back seat of the car on the way to the vet and across me on the way back. She was perfectly capable of jumping and twisting and wasn’t in shock – she just chose to trust us.

I am finding that the interaction with animals can be a deep teaching. I have no expectations of animals; I am more a ‘people person’. And it seems that the absence of such expectations can leave us open to them sneaking in and catching us.

By the way, all are doing well – though how do you keep a plaster cast on a lively young alpaca clean and dry??

Overcome Difficulties, Teachings

There Is Always An ‘And…’

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Bilberry a recent addition to the alpaca family.

A few years ago I wrote a piece for the local BBC Radio Cornwall which was about how sometimes when we want to help it is best to just do nothing – be there, but don’t rush in and try to make things, as we would see them, better. I illustrated this with the example of the best prescription for helping an alpaca to give birth. An authority on alpacas suggests we need two crucial items of equipment for helping at an alpaca birth – binoculars and a length of rope. The rope is to tie yourself to a fence a suitable distance away from the alpaca, the binoculars are so you can watch what is happening from a safe distance.

Well, this seemed to be a good point to make back then, and it does seem to be the case that with our expectations of how things should be we can often cause problems by jumping in and ‘helping’ when supportive and attentive inaction could be a wiser course.

Anyway, it is alpaca birthing season again here on the farm, and this year has been a fine teaching in how sometimes it is good to help.

We had four alpaca babies (technically known as cria) in four days – one a day in the short sunny spells between downpours. Unfortunately Julie (the real expert on our alpacas – I am not an animal person) was bedridden at this time having been thrown by a horse. So it was up to me to oversee birthing. The first cria made it out before I even knew anything was happening. The second needed membrane and fluid removing from over its mouth before it suffocated, the third presented with head and only one leg so needed a quick intervention to flip the other foot out in the right direction so the cria could make it out. All needed drying out and coats to cope with the challenging weather.

Which doesn’t mean the original advice about doing nothing was wrong – its just there is always an ‘and…’ Fortunately, in these alpaca births it seemed that if I was just calm and quiet, then when something needed doing it was pretty clear what it was that was needed. I’m not an animal person, so I’m not going to say the alpacas told me what needed doing, and yet…

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Two week old Bilberry.

Films/Books, Teachings

‘Weather’ Patterns

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Here’s a snippet overheard in the mill of monks in the cloister after morning service this morning:

…it depends on which side of the divide we are on.

That’s our unofficial weather monk at work. Here in the middle of the country we can catch the weather coming from the West, from the East, or from all-directions-at-once! Our weather monks’ authoritative forecasts, gleaned from the BBC, have me assured that somebody knows what might happen.

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Turning to the East…

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turning to the West…

Coming back from shopping in Hexham or Newcastle, or latterly coming from the west, with the valley rounding into sight our weather is all our own. Sun glancing across the folds, walls and farms with the high moors raining. Or, and I believe this happens more often than we know, our valley is beset with a storm while all around – sunshine. Did you see the hail Rev. Mugo! and I think having just returned: Yep like golf balls, and only here in the West Allen Valley too!

Nobody wants to think, or believe, they live in severe weather conditions. It can drag one down, mentally, emotionally and physically too. (There is an informal understanding here that we don’t complain about the wind, or that’s what I remember and endeavor to refrain from complaining – at the very least, out loud.)

As a young monk my Master, during informal teas, would have a chuckle about The Beverly Hillbillies and the permanent storm cloud which hovered over their truck where ever they went. The teaching, intended or not, was obvious and memorable. It had most of us privately checking ourselves for personal clouds!

I’ve a book beside me, Time by Andy Goldsworthy. The following is from the first chapter, Time, Change, Place:

Time and change are connected to place. Real change is best understood by staying in one place. When I travel, I see differences rather than change. I resent travelling south in early spring in case I am away from home when I see my first tree coming into leaf. If this happens, I see the leaves, but not the growth or change.

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…returning here.

Our minds tend to make that which is impermanent, and therefore changing, into something permanent. Andy Goldsworthy‘s book of photographs is about, time…and change. The images are oddly disturbing.