About a week ago, on a whim, I took photos of all the sheds in the monastery, all thirteen of them. There is something about sheds that I like. They don't look much from the outside however they hold infinite treasure within. Perhaps a bit like you and me, when our interior is viewed with enlightened eyes.

Along with those lines from Zen Master Ryokans poem My Precepts, I'll post photos of the sheds. As with the pictures I published in May, please do not linger over long on trying to draw out some deep spiritual meaning to my linking particular photos to the text. Not worth loosing sleep over believe me.

Take care not to:

talk too much
talk too fast
talk without being asked to

My Precepts from Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf, Zen Master Ryokan

In Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf, Zen Poems of Ryokan I came across an entry titled My Precepts.

Zen Master Ryokan lists around forty points to remember about right speech. Such points as, not speak of things of which you have no knowledge and not to use sugary speech. The whole list contains good reminders, which I’ll be keeping in mind during this coming week.

When and if I have the time I’ll write down the list in instalments, for readers to contemplate each day.

Yesterday was vac consciousness raising and moving day, with the last one lugged up the lane and repositioned well after dark.

I oversee all of the vacuum cleaners in the monastery, a voluntary position I should add. It's a fairly benign task, taken on face value, which involves keeping them in reasonable fettle and with adequate spare dust bags to hand. Occasionally, as happened yesterday, a number of the machines need to be re-deployed. This occurs for a number of complex and intimately interconnected reasons, often involving the humans who drive them.

Today I passed a vacuum cleaner outside of its cupboard with no sign of its hose and power head. A small wave of concern flushed over me. Just why is it out? What's wrong with it? Where's the rest of it? It just shows how involved one can become with these critters, or any other thing for that matter.

Returning to the corridor after the evening meal I was slightly bemused to find a note of explanation fixed to the lone machine. SPIDER INSIDE (Hopefully making its way out!) Thank you.

Coalclough is at the top of our valley. Once a thriving lead mining community now just a couple of houses. I've passed the way marker many times and then noticed today that somebody had laid it bare and scratched out the moss from the lettering. I'm not sure what the 6 (miles) indicates, perhaps it's six miles from Allendale to Coalclough. Anyway, once again I'm reminded what an incredible location this is and how fortunate we are to be able to live here.

Looks like Coalclough was inhabited in the 1700's, and Australia looked like a good alternative for at least part of this ancient family.

Where is Mugo?
On a walk?
She's not signed out.
In her room?
Having breakfast?
No. She is nowhere to be found.

A small thought to move,
yet so engrossed.
In the library,
reading poems by Ryokan,
and Cold Mountain.
Lost, and eventually found.

You should know that the library is the last place anybody would think to
look for me

Here is Batty, a Beanie Baby given to me many years ago by a woman in Plymouth. It first inhabited the Bursary office and now hangs on the end of a hand rail in one of the residences. It's just hanging around.

Last evening after meditation it emerged that there had been a bat flying about in the hall. Yes, it swooped right in front of your row Mugo, didn't you see it? Err, no!

And then this morning, saying farewell to departing guests, it seems the bat visited them too. Hopefully it has left, or perhaps it is hanging around readying itself for another display of aero-batics!

The late and lovable Leo, Springer Spaniel from Idaho admiring himself.

One of the monks mentioned I'd not posted any photographs recently and so I'm taking this opportunity to show you this picture of a dog very dear to my heart. Here is an extract from an email I sent to his person today.

I was going to post a photo of Leo the other day. I’d come across a Cocker Spaniel tied up inside the bank. I got so hooked into it sitting there silently whining and then letting go a bit and straining to see her person at the teller, whining a bit like only Spaniels can do. When it came to my turn the teller had to call me three times before I realized it was my turn. I remember you or Linda telling me not to look at Leo or Lilly because then they kinda get you hooked into doing things for them. This dog wasn’t even looking at me, I just wanted it to! (So I'm still a sucker for a Spaniel and apparently still ready to serve.)

This foal popped its head over the wall giving me a pleasant surprise. Talking to a Sangha friend this afternoon she told me she was working towards getting her qualifications for doing Tellington Touch with horses. She already works wonders with camelids. To you and me that means Alpacas and Lamas. We share a love for all matters to do with horses and she already works wonders with horses without certificates.

Here is a response to a comment left on (was that) todays posting by a chap facing the sudden death of his father. Because the subject of grieving comes up a lot I thought I'd answer part of the comment in a posting.

One thing that has particularly troubled me is my lack of grief and it is interesting to read your comment about shock taking its time to work through.

I know it might seem odd however death, even a sudden death, may not be followed by grief. After both my mother and my father died I was surprised I was not finding myself 'falling apart'. I took council in a senior monk and was told not to expect to grieve and not to be concerned if I didn't. In addition a friend mentioned that perhaps I'd dealt with that which tied us together and I could simply accept the death and moving on. This lack of grief seemed a bit surreal at the time I must say. So perhaps the answer is to take life as it comes at you. What else is there to do?

Later, while resolving the family home and its contents, I did have loud howling sessions but gradually those spontaneous outbreaks became less. Then perhaps three years after my father died I noticed that the colours in nature where markedly brighter, and illuminated some how. I understood then that my senses had been dampened down somewhat, not depression exactly but close probably.

The compassion scriptures would be the Litany of the Great Compassionate one and the Scripture of Avalokiteshwara Bodhisattva. The words for both scriptures can be found on the Shasta Abbey web site.

The following is an extract from a note I sent to a chap in answer to his comment/questions following the sudden death of his father.

Dear Friend,

The very best thing you can do to help your father now is to simply sit when you have the time, and to do your best to keep a bright and positive mind throughout your day. He will be in your heart and since ultimately there is no separation or dividing up of existence, your hearts are identical. If the relationship with him has been troublesome this doesn't matter, let what ever is there be there without judgements.

You are right, we do not have a specific practice around death, or more correctly meditations focusing on the impermanence of the body. That all is fairly much covered in just sitting.

In terms of your own acceptance of his sudden death you will have to realize that there is a level of shock which will take time to work it's way through.

As for what you can do at home now. You can put his photograph on your altar and perhaps put some kind of non perishable food/drink which he would have liked there too. You can recite one of the compassion scriptures daily and offer the merit of the recitation for his benefit.

The advice above is fairly standard however it does assume an understanding of the practice of meditation and the Buddhist Precepts.