It is not that often we are forced to face our collective mortality. These past weeks have been testing for most of us on many levels locally, nationally and internationally. Anyone else talking about the weather? I have taken to routinely adding a weather report to the end of emails. I know of no other way than to ‘sit this out’. One thing is certain, ‘This too will change’.
Living high up on the Northumbrian moors there is little danger of flooding but the standing water on the roads is lake-like! My thoughts are with those whose homes and business have been flooded repeatedly and for those who await the order to evacuate.
For anybody who is warm and indoors here is this weeks nature video from the US magazine program. Sunday Morning.
Letchworth State Park south of Rochester, New York.
May the merit of our days of meditation and training be offered to all beings and the Great Earth.
Oh goodness! What a treat to see Rev. Master Berwyn giving his talk in the Ceremony Hall at Throssel.
The Buddha’s Parinirvana ceremony revolves around light and dark and encourages us to look at how we deal with ‘darkness.’ This is different for all of us, but for most of us, darkness is associated with a drawing within, a time perhaps of loss and facing our own impermanence, a time when we wait for the coming of spring.
Perhaps the ceremony is more a celebration of darkness than a celebration of light, for without the darkness there can be no understanding of the light, and this is the main theme of this talk: the intimate relationship between light and dark.
Copied from Throssel Hole Buddhist Abbey Dharma Talks page.
The poem below speaks of a love (of the universe) that doesn’t love us back. Unrequited love? Yet, and still, we love. Giving with open hands, a 1000 times blessed.
THE MORE LOVING ONE
by W.H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.
How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.
Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.
This evening we celebrated the Buddha’s Parainirvana marking the death and entering into Nirvana of the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni. The retreat this (long) weekend will end tomorrow and there may well be, in due course, a video or just audio talk posted on the Throssel website. In the meantime here is a bit of Krishnamurti to be going on with.
Here below is the late Krishnamurti addressing the question of what happens after death. He talks in his particular way; challenging, enquiring and with that naughty twinkle of a sense of humour. I went to his talks at Brockwood Park Hampshire in the late 1960s. My family on my father’s side followed him and he was a huge influence on my thinking. It was probably his teaching that kept me at a distance from ‘organized religion’, which on reflection was probably a good thing. Anyway if you haven’t ever tasted Krishnamurti, here he is.
Here’s a wonderful observation from Henrey Miller. I subscribe to the thought of not taking things too seriously. My response to a seeming disaster is ‘nobody has died, been maimed, abused or needs to be taken to hospital’! Let’s be grateful’. Often I’ll laugh with the thought, ‘how human’. Of course, we all do have to take responsibility for when things go wrong or a mistake is made but getting all worked up about it doesn’t help the situation. Retraining a sense of humour helps to maintain a sense of proportion. A saving grace.
Perhaps the most comforting thing about growing old gracefully is the increasing ability not to take things too seriously. One of the big differences between a genuine sage and a preacher is gaiety. When the sage laughs it is a belly laugh; when the preacher laughs, which is all too seldom, it is on the wrong side of the face.
Henry Miller, (December 26, 1891–June 7, 1980)
Practice Within The Order of Buddhist Contemplatives