Your Passing

I would write a poem
A-string-of-words
to say goodbye.
But you are the poet.

What say you?
now as you pass
onwards yet remain.
In our heart.

I hear only
silence
See only
brightness.

The spark that
you are will
never die
For me at least.

For Jill who died last evening. And for her husband and family and sangha friends too.

Famine!

Just in case you regular readers are wondering if I will ever get back at it and write again please take a look at this post, Feast and Famine on the Field of Merit site.

Everything on Offer

image

Phew!! Down in deepest Cornwall and now in Delightful Devon. Exeter.

Each day I think of Jade and you all. Each day, by the end of the day, my brain is dry and my lids need to slide down over my eyes. What is there to offer?

Everything.

Recollection

Reclining Buddha
Reclining Buddha

Sitting here this evening later than I’d like. Recollecting my day. Sitting here in the same room where twenty years ago I sat giving talks, working at this very same desk, doing the monthly accounts, writing out checks, sticking on stamps. Recollecting the people sitting on the couch where now there is a bed. One chap who came then is reading this blog now! We have remained in touch. And today I met up with a woman I gave meditation instruction to, back then. We have kept in touch.

But best of all was the neighbour, always ready for some good-natured banter across the garden fence, who this afternoon guided me up the too narrow drive so I could load the car with logs. Apple logs from the tree in the back garden, now pollarded with spiky new growth. The neighbour still ready for the banter but more mellow now.

Now looking up to meet the gaze of the reclining Buddha I bought at Macro the local cash-and-carry store. Bought for Rev. Mildred, now deceased, as a reminded for her to be the reclining Buddha. A positive reminder to rest while she worked on regaining her strength and health.

This post is in memory of Rev. Mildred and for all those who, all those years ago, supported us. When I think about it there are others from that time reading this blog. Thank you all.

Travelling – A Severer, more Girt-up Way.

Gleaming boots, bright morning.
Gleaming boots, bright morning.

So proud am I. My boots have not looked so good in years. Cleaned and polished ready to take me along the towpath beside the Thames in Reading, Berkshire. From north to south the whole feel of the country changes. The buzz and bustle of humanity is notched up considerably down here in the south and so close to London. North Eastern Cumbria is a backwater by comparison. The major buzz up there is sheep getting ready to lamb. Barrrr! Transplanting oneself, traveling, involves *girt*ing up to leave the known and step into that vulnerable place of being-on-the-road.

And it isn’t just traveling that has one vulnerable and in need of finding refuge from the buzz and bustle of life. Where do you go to for safety and comfort? On a radio program last Saturday one of the precentors posed that question. As a child he would climb into his built-in wardrobe. Really! And then listeners phoned in with their revelations. One grown woman said she climbs under her office desk so she can’t be seen or found. Others take refuge in wardrobes, airing cupboards, under a bed etc. One could think this is a sign of mental/emotional instability however I am thinking maybe such behaviour is not so strange. Small confined spaces are where we can feel physically secure providing the opportunity to let the buzz, settle. A space which facilitates the call to turn within oneself and reflect on big questions, without distraction.

Yesterday, emerging from the car at the priory here in Reading I realized how the confined space of the car insulates and holds secure and safe. Relatively safe I have to say considering how physically vulnerable one actually is in a vehicle traveling in fast-moving traffic! So there is an illusory element to that safety pod on wheels, as also with that cupboard or favorite hidy-hole of childhood. We know the temporary/ethereal nature of these secret spaces and perhaps that is what draws us back.

Our girt-up way of living, our on-the-road severer and constantly active way, is balanced by answering the often subtle call to return within ourselves. The mediation cushion or bench, or chair is the answer to that call. Or it might a hidy-hole…

*Girt up*; prepared or equipped, as for a journey or for work, an allusion to the ancient custom of gathering the long flowing garments into the girdle and tightening it before any exertion; hence, adjectively, eagerly or constantly active; strenuous; striving. “A severer, more girt-up way of living.” J. C. Shairp.