Sitting Sculpture – Full Of Empty Spaces

Sukhi’s sculptures are intended to bridge the cultures of East and West. Embodying the peace and compositional balance of ancient devotional art, they represent complex philosophical ideas with a simplicity and clarity that renders them accessible to the Western viewer. Exploring themes of hidden potentials, and the transcendence of our limiting view of a solid reality, her work often represents the negative space as being as important as the material itself, implying the dance of form and spirit, a constant state of transformation. See and read more.

See also Sukhi Barber’s website.

Thanks to Julius for the link to these amazing and provocative images of meditating figures, full of empty spaces.

Home After-death Care

I’ve attended on a number of people who have been close to death or who have died and for whom I’ve cared for. Cared for their bodies and supported their friends and relatives. Grieving along with them. I’ve recited comforting words and performed ceremonies. There have been memorials, private and public funerals, ceremonies at a crematorium, the scattering and interment of ashes. There’s no claim here to being an expert though, I don’t feel like I’m a professional doing a job. No, each time I’ve attended or been involved around a death, as now, Zen Master Dogen’s words which come at the beginning of the Shushogi are with me. We sometimes read this paragraph at the start of a memorial. It points to faith, to practice and to sitting still in the midst of impermanence.

The most important question for all Buddhists is how to understand birth and death completely for then, should you be able to find the Buddha within birth and death, they both vanish. All you have to do is realise that birth and death, as such, should not be avoided and they will cease to exist for then, if you can understand that birth and death are Nirvana itself, there is not only no necessity to avoid them but also nothing to search for that is called Nirvana.

I buried both of my parents. The practicalities around the time of their death were different however when ever I could I tried to deal with everything personally rather than relying on the service of a funeral director. They both rode up the M6 to Throssel in the back of the monastery Volvo for example. In a coffin of course.

There is a movement towards home after-death care in America where people deal with their own dead. This article speaks of this. The Surprising Satisfactions of a Home Funeral – Smithsonian Magazine, March 2009.

While writing this post I remembered the following which brought on a smile: Once, early in my twenties, I remember racing around a P. & O. Liner grabbing bunches of flowers from public spaces. As the ship passed through Sydney Harbour Heads my employer threw the flowers overboard! (We were ships crew employed as photographers, but that’s another story). Ashes had been scattered at the ‘Heads’ on a previous voyage, the flowers were an act of remembrance. Obviously repeated at opportune times.

As Adrienne P. says at the end of her lovely piece of writing in the comment section of this post: …..lets live, lets remember, lets laugh, lets cry, lets enjoy the view from the rooftops.

Many thanks to Rebecca for the hint on the new approach to after-death care and to Adrienne and her comment
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The Compassion Of Animals

Edera of Little House In the Paddy continues her reflections. Today she remembers the hours immediately before and after her husbands death. The cat referred to below was, of course, Orlando (The Marmalade Cat)! Apparently he is actually a she! No matter. The compassion and tenderness of this creature is breath taking. I’m so glad she came across the road to sit vigil, early morning on the 14th July.

Around 3.30, with my heart racing, I waited outside our front door. Then a cat appeared from the dark and snuggled against my legs. When I sat down on the doorstep she jumped on my lap which was very comforting. She was purring softly and when I looked at her face, I thought she looked quite like our old cat Tora. At that moment I had a slight fear that Iain was visiting me to say good-bye.

I’d like to be able to say something about these reflections on Little House however I’m rather too close to the process to say anything useful. Or coherent.

Thank you for the notes encouraging me to write about Buddhist ceremonial and the steps needed to be taken generally following a death. I’ll do that when I can. Thank you for your messages of support too. All much appreciated.

Inherited

Hat_on_my_bed1.jpg
Cat Hat on my bed

My heart missed a beat this afternoon. For the world I thought for a moment a cat had found its way up to my bed. But no, this furry object is actually a civilian style Russian rabbit fur Ushanka (lit. ear hat). Inherited today.

I though it should go to a caring home, not so sure I’ll be wearing it in public though! In the mean time it can pretend to be a cat. Happy about that.

A Long Shadow

By the end of the day; ready to rest, relax, sit for a bit and then turn in. These summer nights the light doesn’t fade from the sky until nearly 10.00 pm. With skylights I can watch the grey/blue turn to navy blue, some nights the stars shine in. There is something about an attic room that can’t be matched, and at the moment my room is at the top of the house. Ah, attics! When the light has faded and all is still I’ve been inclined, these past days, to stay with the stars. If not the stars then deep sleep into the morning has become my habit.

I’ve been thinking about documenting what happens when a Buddhist dies. Specifically what happens to the body; the practicalities around disposal and the ceremonies we do in my particular Buddhist tradition to do that with due dignity. And I’ll hopefully get down to that now I’m rested and settled.

There is no doubt about it a sudden death is a shock to the system, what ever the circumstances of the death happen to have been. The shock, rather like an echo, reverberates for quite some time. Even after the last strains have faded, which to a large extent they have for me, there still remains a certain something. A long shadow perhaps, cast by a presence no longer there.

Edera continues to write for Little House, at the moment documenting the days leading up to her husband’s death. Some days she takes a break and writes about this day. I know already that these past weeks, as we sift and sort our way through our days together, will leave a deep impression on both of us. One grows close in adversity.