Daily Life

Mental Capacity?

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Here is an extract from a post by Iain of Little House In The Paddy. How I appreciate what he is talking about. Losing ones grip, so to speak, ends up not being such a very bad thing. Causes one to appreciate what having a mental grip actually is.

I always notice in periods like this how much my brain feels as if it has been reduced to scrambled eggs. Vocabulary slips away and the ability to concentrate and think sequentially evaporates. It doesn’t take much to undermine conventional mental processes and that illusion of ‘having a grip’. It is that Freudian distinction between ‘I’ and ‘me’ I suppose, all the ‘I’ functions become undermined as your capacity to concentrate is lost due to fever and with it goes the possibility of keeping a short leash on anxiety, you just have to sit there with who you are and feel rough.

Under The Weather @ Little House In The Paddy.

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Uncategorised

The Buddha’s Birth Day

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Wesak1.jpg

We celebrated the Buddha’s Birth today at Throssel and it has been Family Week-end too with lots of activities for all ages. There was a photography competition and one lad, Simon, took the picture I had in mind to take on the theme of The Universe Is As the Boundless Sky. When I get hold of his picture I’ll publish it here. This picture by Max, one of the dads, caught my eye. I can’t put words to it but somehow this image speaks. Thanks dad Max.

Well, I’d like to speak up for the fathers on duty this week-end. What a great bunch! Uh! nappy needs changing. Uh! Sarah is throwing stones. Frisbee Golf? Sure I’m up for it. Fatherhood has changed and that gladdens the heart. But why exactly? Perhaps it is because I can sense and see the gladness in the hearts of the men who tend there small babies, infants, children, grandchildren. There is a pride. A natural pride in being a dad.

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Teachings

Friendship – What Endures?

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Here I am thinking of old friends, again. Remembering old friends in the sangha. This prompted by a long phone call yesterday. Through much thick, and some thin, the sangha endures. But what is it that endures? Conditions endure. The push/pull of cause/effect endure. Is it inertia or familiarity that keeps us coming back for more of others company. Well yes, all of that and something deeper. How I’d put it is thusly; What endures is that which is not bound by time or place and is not afraid of all that is contained in time and place.
Now it’s time for that song, that is so tender:

Old friends, old friends sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blowin’ through the grass
Falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun
The sounds of the city sifting through trees
Settles like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends, memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fears

Simon and Garfunkel

It is late. My ‘day job’ is taking up a whole lot of my time and energy. And still I love to write here, when I can. And to speak on the phone as I have this evening and yesterday and the day before that. To walk with my walking companion(s) here on the road below Throssel. And to launch myself off across the Atlantic to visit old friends. I’ll post my schedule when I know what it is. Berkeley Buddhist Priory first, then Shasta Abbey.

What endures is a love
which asks for nothing.

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Daily Life, Teachings

Give Birth To The Unknown

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Bluebell woods

Just five days and I’ll be back on the road, again! This morning I felt like a heavy rock, one not so easy to move. A walk before breakfast with spring tweeting and life getting on and living itself has me moved on. Somewhat.

Down by the river ducklings. Each squatting on a small rock imitating their grown up mother, much like a Tai Chi class. Doing that bird wing thing; twisting their head around, beak under wing, lift up and back and then return head to neutral. Only to repeat the whole move, to ‘do’ the other wing. It’s a après-swim routine I think. There they were, each on their own small rock. Uh! Now one adept is standing on one foot and extending the free leg backwards. Streeeeeetch. Another fancy duck maneuver.

But what of the heavy rock feeling when it’s spring time? A time when the world is opening it’s windows, eating salads and wearing much less. A time to explore, travel, take wing. Give birth.

Spring is attractive for the springy and the streeeeeetchy. Perhaps less so for those with less spring. This is not about age so much, although springiness can diminish with age. More to do with how one regards oneself within time (limited by time?) together with the particular conditions one functions within (limited by conditions?).

Seen as just a fixed point moving through time and conditions we are obviously limited by them. However we are not a fixed point. What is, has already gone. We know , I know that there is a depth from which….we spring! Constantly. The next step into the unknown gives birth to itself. Neat!

Small stone,
big rock,
with or without
wings.

Whatever the
conditions,
there is movement.

What is
has
already gone.


A thought for those who know this truth only too well. After shocks since March 11th earthquake in Japan have been constant.

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