A 100 Squadron plane flew low over the Methodist cemetery just as the minister was committing the body. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The timing was impeccable but who could have planned the weather? After the pass the plane shot vertically into the sky disappearing into the clouds. ‘To get away from the weather’ his son said. What a send off!

The Squadron Leader, the newly departed one and neighbour, was greatly honoured in our small valley. He served as a Royal Air Force pilot most of his working life. His son, also an RAF man, had arranged the fly past.

Five of us had trouped along the bottom road to the cemetery, just a couple of minutes walk away. The clouds were readying for rain, a small group of mourners gathered on the side of the narrow road. We were invited to the burial by the widow, one time receptionist at our local doctors surgery. One way or another we get to know the neighbours.

As one of the monks remarked, We grew up with Mr. A. Indeed, most of us would have stopped to pass the time of day while out for a walk. My conversations in the early 1990’s with him were about re building dry stone walls, which he did rather expertly. Rather more testing were the irate phone calls I’d receive from him while the Guest Master. Your people are on my land, again! For the Wing Commander, straying guests were stray stock to be chased off with much hulewing. He was a force to be reckoned with. Frightened and confused the guests would scramble back over the fallen down wall. Later we put up large signs to deter the guests from inadvertently wandering off the monastery property.

I’ll not forget the the sight of the plane rising vertically into the sky this afternoon; any more than I’ll forget the cloud of golden leaves whipped up into the air by a stray breeze as the late Head of our Order entered the cremation oven. That was back in April 2003.

The Universe has perfect timing and this is true for everything.

Well done Squadron Leader, you did well and have a good ‘flight’ into the clear blue sky.

See how naughty, and muddy, I can be?

See how attentive and cute I can be?

This is Tom the rescued, and apparently seriously abused, Golden Retriever out in the forest near Apeldoorn. The Reverend, who is now his ‘person’, senses Tom didn’t have a chance to play in his early life and feels it is important for him to now catch up on puppy activities. Here Tom is doing the ‘look at me’ routine before going down for more mud-fest fun. Later he cavorted in a stream and then kept out of puddles, with strong encouragement from his person!

It is touching to witness the development of trust. Both dog and man need to grow the mutual trust. A nip can set the process back, but not for long. The desire to be loved overcomes the fear very quickly. I found myself having to learn dog language and dog training too. On occasion Tom would emit a low dull rumbling sound as I entered the house. On such occasions my instruction was to ignore him. By not making eye contact and talking to him I was not rewarding him. Apparently one of the hardest things for a dog is for the pack to ignore it. I was number two in the pack and the Reverend definitely number one, none the less matters did not go past a growl. The best pack leaders are hero’s, worthy of being looked up to. Tom definately looks up to his person, and well he might. I do too. To rule by fear does not last for long.

As with dogs so with us humans.

I drink coffee at my peril, my physical peril that is. But, but, but…I like the taste. So I drink coffee, just now and again, and suffer the consequences. Unfortunately the consequences are getting more severe. My gallbladder tells me all about it for weeks after a cup or three, not just hours or days afterwards. A mild addiction perhaps? And self deception in operation? Just one cup won’t do any harm. Or, more delusive still, I’ll just have one cup, to prove I am free to choose. The writing is now on the wall. I quit!

A documentary film making in America made a film in 2004 called Super Size Me. Probably everybody but me knows about this film. Anyway, part way through his 30 day experiment of eating nothing but MacDonalds food he is seen talking to a nutritionist. By this time Morgan, the film maker, is suffering seriously from the effects of his fat and sugar rich diet. He has gone from an above average healthy and active man to a depressed and lethargic shadow of his former self. He reports that the one thing that makes him feel better is to eat another MacDonald meal, even though afterwards he feels ill. The nutritionist remarked casually, Oh, you’re now addicted.

Well, I’m not about to take a stance on coffee or fast food, or any other matter for that matter. However it is interesting to note the architecture of addiction, is it not? Too easy to spot the addict on the street and miss the one gazing out from the mirror.

Here is part of a letter from a reader:
Hi, Something in your blog reminded me of when I lived in the boonies. While walking in (from the road) one day, the snow was just starting to melt, I noticed something beautiful off in the brush. It was a soda can someone had tossed. What was interesting was my reaction. The beauty was still there and it was a soda can. At the time it reminded me of a peacocks feather. To this day, for some reason, (the sight of) discarded cans can bring on a certain appreciation.

In a similar vein I remember well one winter afternoon going into the parking lot at Shasta Abbey. The snow was melting and turning to slush. My usual way would have been to pick across this unpleasant sea with revulsion. Not so this particular time. To my great amazement what I saw was perfection, an icy beauty in the grey ugliness! Yes, and coming upon slushy streets has not been the same since.

It would seem that this ‘seeing with new eyes’ comes unbidden and is probably not an uncommon experience or particularly Buddhist or ‘spiritual’. It just happens.