People can be surprised at how they find themselves when afraid or otherwise under major stress. Perhaps we have an idea, born of repeated experience, that when faced with fear (impending death?) we will let ourselves down. That’s to not be able to cope well and fall apart in ways we have feared we might. I for one was very surprised how together I was in the face of my fathers sudden death on a railway platform. And a friend of mine having physical difficulties was, he reported Perfectly calm when he would have anticipated himself to be otherwise. This sentence from the article referenced below says it all really. When you’ve practiced something enough, it becomes instinct, and then you know what to do automatically. The author is referring to responding to fear in a visceral way, which is needed – thus his point about ‘being afraid’. As meditators we practice sitting still within conditions. Not losing ones sitting place in the midst of life and death circumstances gives witness to those hours spent sitting still with nothing much going on. It is then that we build the habit which reflexively comes into play in certain circumstances.
It was still half an hour before midnight, but the road was already deserted – which was perfectly normal for a Sunday night on the outskirts of a small, coastal fishing town in the north east of Scotland. The year was probably 1989, but I can no longer be entirely sure. I had more pressing concerns than the date. I was ten years old, I was alone, I was on a BMX bike, and I was cycling for my life.
From article, Being Afraid.
This is a really engaging piece of writing and thanks to Julius for sending the link.
A guest post by Adrienne Hodges, click on her name above to view other posts by her. See also my comment. Mugo Walking – In Derbyshire
Yesterday I caught a train from Nottingham to Cromford and walked along (actually up then down) the High Peak trail to the Hepton Tunnel. Very cold, very snowy and so beautiful it made me cry. I was meant to walk with my friend but she had to cancel at the last-minute to wait for a phone call from the plumber to come and fix her boiler. I almost didn’t go but I had my backpack ready with a flask of tea and sandwiches made, I was already wearing my salopettes, boots on so just gave myself a bit of a mental push to get myself going (oh, and thanks for the lift to the station, Nigel!).
View from Black Rocks
The walk was very tough, there being two very steep and long inclines. I had intended to circle round the local quarry back to Cromford but the snow was too deep, I couldn’t see the path well enough and I had left my trekking pole at the station. Back on the Trail a couple of walkers asked me ‘have you made it to the tunnel? It is beautiful!’. I hadn’t intended to go that far but, after a chilly picnic sat on my rucksack to avoid sitting in the snow, I pressed on.
Chandeliers of icicles…photo doesn’t do them justice.
The photo of the tunnel with its chandeliers of icicles do not do the experience I had of seeing them justice. It was simply magical. Being there on my own, my feet crunching through the fallen icicles, with the snow still coming down outside, was worth all the effort of getting there.
I missed my friend and thought about how she would be fed up, not being able to join me. And it was OK on my own too. I walked mindfully, and I could contemplate, imagine, notice my anxieties, keep dropping those thoughts and carry on, walking and training.
Reflecting – On Being With Dying What is this all about? This plan to walk all that way in Wales? I am quite sure it has a lot to do with my dad’s death last year. He died quite suddenly, not unexpectedly and from the phone call from the paramedic to his bedside as we watched him die it was… intense; distressing, painful, exhausting and very, very draining. Dad knew what had happened to him was likely to end in his death. He must have realised when the aneurism burst and started to have a catastrophic effect on his body. He certainly knew when the doctor at casualty in Lincoln said ‘Mr Hodges, if you do not have this operation, you will die’.
They couldn’t do the operation in Lincoln; they do these operations in Boston, a sick-making, crazy, drive through the night in an ambulance, with the siren blaring as the driver overtook traffic around blind bends and took corners at a speed only someone with the kind of experience he must have had could do. Despite how close to death dad was at this point and the urgent need to get him to Boston for the op, we stopped. Dad was in pain, and this became the priority. Pain sorted, we set off again and arrived into the hospital.
There was a brief, very brief, moment when I was with him before he was taken to theatre. I thought afterwards could I have said something more? This was actually the last time he was conscious while I was with him. He never regained consciousness after the 6 hour operation to try to fix his heart. Relatives arrived, decisions had to be made. The loss of blood that had occurred over the time it had taken, from the emergency call he made, the journey to Lincoln then Boston, had taken its catastrophic toll on his body. We were told he had probably suffered brain damage, a stroke, his kidneys had failed, it was a miracle he survived the operation. He was being kept alive by a plethora of machines, medication and the gentle, but sometimes necessarily brutal, care of the medical team.
For a man of his age, 86, he was very fit. Of course he was. He still rode his bike around the village where he lived and my love of walking is definitely inherited. So he remained breathing and living.
After much intense consultation and discussion, a wait of a further 24 hours to see if there was any sign of improvement, we were in agreement that it was time to allow my father to die. I absolutely know and knew then that it was the right decision. In some ways it would have been better had he not survived the aneurism.
But survive he did, for those few days. And during all of that time I was acutely aware of…, not sure I can put it into words, not sure I want to pin it down in words.
So I sat with dad; from the moment I received the phone call. I was sitting with him while Nigel drove me to Lincoln hospital. I sat while we careered through the countryside to Boston; sitting, breathing, being with my father, whether conscious or unconscious. I sat with him, not clinging on, not loading him with any desires or my own selfish wishes. And when things became tricky, when difficult decisions were having to be made, when the emotions and distress of others around me became more magnified, in the middle of this, within my own emotions and distress, I went to a place that was very still. A place that training had helped me to find. It seems a simplification to say that it helped me to get through the experience of seeing my father die. I had a sense that I wasn’t trying to get through anything. I knew that all that I was doing was being there and that everything was OK.
Everything – OK.
So, this walk is about a desire to achieve, it is about sangha building, it is about raising awareness of the Field of Merit and it is in recognition of training and the deep sense of gratitude I feel.
Homage to the Buddha,
Homage to the Dharma,
Homage to the Sangha.
It is the anniversary of my mothers death today. She died 1994. Such a very long time ago and still like yesterday, in a certain way. My dad and I had been visiting her in the Cottage Hospital in Lynton and while it was touch and go whether she would make it through the night we decided to drive home. Later that evening the hospital phoned to say she had passed away. She was alone, no nurse beside her bed, no loving relative holding her hand or there to wave her off. But somehow I feel that is what she wanted. To be alone, to glide away with nothing holding her back. She was ready to go.
Some people leave a public legacy; music, art, literature, the development of thought, a major contributions to science, a remarkable career – or an infamous one for that matter. My mother left a private legacy, living on in me now. It’s the same for all of us shaped and formed as we are by those around us. Even now. Lets exit in good shape. And let the public record left behind be in good shape too.
The first post on the original Jade Mountains site remembered my mother. I guess she inspired the site when I think of it.
Sometimes which ever way one looks it’s not clear which direction to move in. And moving seems to be what’s called for. There is a sense of being stuck, unable to move. This is not an uncommon dilemma and the standard advice is to just take a step. And possibly this might mean it’s a step in in a direction that one ends up not ultimately going in, but at least it’s a step.
What comes to mind are stepping stones across a river or stream. The stream needs to be crossed and there are so many options. Too many options. Stepping out onto the nearest rock, landing there and then looking around for the next best rock is a way to progress. And on and on. Sometimes retracing ones steps is necessary and even going back to the bank and finding another crossing point. At least there is forward movement even if it’s a three steps forwards and two back.
Another way to deal with that stuck feeling is to do nothing! Wait, be patient. Conditions around and within each of us are constantly changing and it has been my experience that the next stable rock to step out onto presents itself in a timely way. I’d say at the right time.
Here’s a post that talks about getting unstuck. Personally I don’t hold with his advice to go down the wrong path because that implies there is a right path when in practice there are multiple choices opening up, constantly.
All eyes are turned towards the East coast of North America as the hurricane rages and rants through. And up there, thirty feet in the air, is an amazing project. The High Line. A creative development on a decommissioned railway track in the heart of the city. A public park! Simply amazing. A bow to resourcefulness and vision.
The High Line was built in the 1930s, as part of a massive public-private infrastructure project called the West Side Improvement. It lifted freight traffic 30 feet in the air, removing dangerous trains from the streets of Manhattan’s largest industrial district. No trains have run on the High Line since 1980. Friends of the High Line, a community-based non-profit group, formed in 1999 when the historic structure was under threat of demolition. Friends of the High Line works in partnership with the City of New York to preserve and maintain the structure as an elevated public park.
This is a merit post. Spare a thought for the hardship and suffering brought about by the extreme weather.
Practice Within The Order of Buddhist Contemplatives
