My mother asked me the other day for the email address of an old friend of the family that we had been out of touch with for some time. Turns out that my Mum, bless her heart, is trying to contact everyone that she has some kind of unfinished business with just in case she dies. This would be a very common practice amongst those who believe in rebirth and hence that our karma with others could follow us into our next life – yet this can be a very important thing for all of us to do. It is by resolving, as best we can, whatever hangs over us from the past that we can be at peace in the face of death. We could also say that this is another way such a threat can take our lives in a good direction, motivating us to get things resolved and lighten our load. Of course there will be things that are difficult to resolve. We could have regrets toward people who have died, for example, so we can only do our best – yet just our wholesome intention can be enough for us to find peace and let go.
Too far one way and we can think that the mind is independent. Too far the other way and we think the mind is dependent, bound up with reality. If we find the middle we find dependent origination: we see that the mind, although dependent, is something completely new. The mind is dependent but not bound up to the material world. The mind and the world exist in parallel.
I offer this for your reflection Ajahn Kalyāno http://www.openthesky.co.uk Playing dead can be a great way of escaping attack, especially useful at a time of crisis where there can be danger everywhere. The problem is that playing dead leaves one rather vulnerable. I would like to propose that a possible solution could be that instead of playing dead one plays extinct. In this way one retains the harmlessness of being dead while remaining alive. If one considers the ideal in this respect then I believe one will play dinosaur. Such creatures are far from vulnerable and yet, being extinct, remain harmless, as harmless even as one dead and gone. If this all seems a little strange then, to avoid embarrassment, one may need only to merely hint at playing dinosaur in order to at least unnerve the attacker. Placing the hand behind the back in the way illustrated in the picture below may serve as a ‘hinted stegosaurus’, for example. Or a snake-like gesture of the arm, flowing gracefully upwards and forwards, can serve as a 'hinted brontosaurus'. And if one cannot take this at all seriously then one will realise that making a joke is one way of coping when one finds oneself under attack and scared out of one’s wits. We all find ourselves in situations where we can no longer do anything and we have to let go. A forest monastery is a place all about learning how to let go, a refuge for those who, at any particular time, can do nothing more about their situation.
The reason why someone may become a monk or nun is that they realise that ultimately there is, in the long term, nothing we can do about anything, everything is impermanent. A monastic is one who sees the value of a whole life dedicated to letting go of attachment through the practice of meditation. Inner evolutionmind is quick
but matter is slow bound together they spin such is form life getting warm under a blanket of moss toss and turn form has its law and law has form they are One spark in the dark primordial dogs bark simplicity finds stable form complexity may falter as foundations alter rocking the deck on Noah’s Ark the law is within the heart within the law in the between within and the within between the nest the sky and the lark and what is outside the law shall perish for sure deep sea shark unable to make its mark and speaking from the heart not of the part but of the whole the breath is the voice of the soul in and out, life and death in every breath breathing in a song above birds held a gentle sway over dawn light a prayer beyond words a beginning for heaven trembled with delight and light blazed where beetles raised their wings breathing out light dims as the beetle gently swims and as the beetle gently dies the light cries tears from heavenly cloud for the beetle’s black shell holds the rainbow hidden so well the gods were so very proud thus feelings from heaven may descend to embrace the earth, my friend the feelings from earth remain in the sodden turf family album tea and cakes aunty slurps budgie chirps and the feelings in the mind middle remain between forever between like light and the swish of the fish in the deep stirs the proverbial sleep of the man who slumbers in a heap what a creep for the glorious fish in their own sweet time and in their own sweet way will have their day the feelings of the seen and the unseen and of the space between sweet ideas wrapped in goodness sticky in the angel’s pocket and the feelings between the seen and the unseen forever between where the heart no longer needs to be but may arise knowingly between all and everything continuously in this our sentient universe of monkly whispers veiled vespers in the night beetled rainbows and how, at dawn, shall the light meet the feeling air? when there is no wish in the prayer and where words question words that is where the light meets the air unspeaking and unspoken awoken light upon light salvation rainbowed beetles salvation in the singing wind and salvation in the rolling tear of lost loves for love is lost between heaven and earth and between between and love is found on the ground so simply seen the trees stood waiting for the beetles until, opening at their feet in the ecstasy of decay, they finally won the sky life goes back and forth for all it is worth and goes high and low above and below our inner measure and these dimensions meet at the humble heart with its humble feet standing so still so simply still like God… silver sword secrets symbols wrapped in broaches clasping cloaks the Winter servant crouches and points a trembling finger there they shall return just as the prayers of the dead linger on the lips of living men they shall return such is their dispensation the women wait without such words wiser from the passing seasons over the granary floor and from the honesty of children until they return strangers to the land they left so long and to the land they now leave behind until they return to the hearth of the heart... flint spark in the dark eye window glint inner mark remembered only the ‘why’ widow unmoved, dismembered denied there was life in that summer night fire her grief finally honoured by the lesser warmth of a hazy Autumn sun where the wind rocked trees and branches waved without meaning a gentle between time discarding memories like fallen leaves nevertheless season’s feelings are reasons enough for some ‘Spring will come,’ she said and sure enough, my friend Winter’s end brought new life life of truth a bride of beginnings of eternal youth where only the prayers meet in the true home of truth to be wrapped in children and blessed for the journey by the humble ‘why’ widow... hope, the nearer prayer was felt before the open door he knelt knowing not what lay ahead as dawn crept across the floor nothing had been said by the living or the dead ‘where must I head?’ he said this further prayer whispered by the wind bore a familiar scent he placed his palms together and out of the door he went flower familiar over many an hour lovingly grown yet never really known rose in the heart the garden rose, the dancer the double meaning was already his answer ‘there is nowhere to go’ he said ‘the rose inside is nearer than any prayer’ he said his heart would graze the salmon grass and fly lizard clouds to little bird stars before bed his inner children as useless as babies nipples and slowly, slowly as sweet as their toes as tingling as fingers inwardly refining quick silver lining soldered-silk-sky-train kite-string-ribbon pain of glass hope over wet bar of soap over graves of calipers and crutches over everything on the journey of inner evolution One time my mother came to stay with me at Amaravati monastery in England. I had returned home from abroad because she was going blind and needed more support from me and my brother. It was early summer and the bluebells were out in the woods opposite the main gate. I took her over one afternoon in a wheelchair and left her to enjoy the scene with the little sight she had left. She remembers it as a precious day, and as her last memory of seeing bluebells. One of the monks at Amaravati called her the other day. She urged him to go to that piece of forest and enjoy the bluebells in her place as an act of remembrance. She asked him to pick one of the bluebells and put it on the monastery shrine as an act of veneration. She could practice sympathetic joy (muditā) for him as he did so, she said. In doing so she enjoyed those bluebells again with a heart as pure as snow and renewed her hope in this time of crisis. I offer this for your reflection Ajahn Kalyāno http://www.openthesky.co.uk our goodbye nature is deep inside our goodbye nature can never be tied our goodbye nature is as free as a bird our goodbye nature knows the absurd for it is our goodbye nature that says hello that lives and loves with nowhere else to go Video versionThis is part 4 of the "Nature Series". 1. A walk in nature 2. Finding our place in nature 3. Hello nature 4. Our goodbye nature 5. It's never too late to love the world 6. True love for the world When we come back home from a peaceful walk in the forest and we begin to feel stressed again we can begin to question, ‘do I really need all this stuff?’ In my family it was a tradition to get together sometimes and have a big purge of the house to get rid of anything we did not need or want anymore and create some space. The cupboards and drawers would start to overflow with stuff and we would know it was time. It was always difficult at the beginning. There would be so many memories associated with everything,
‘Aunty Dorrie gave us this’ or ‘do you remember the day...’ As the purge went on, however, we would begin to see the space and order we were creating and start to enjoy the process. There was a great relief to being free of all the clutter. If we let go of things more and more this sense of relief, of freedom can become paramount and we get bolder and bolder in what we get rid of or give away. We can start to incline towards simplicity, our living room goes Zen. We start painting everything white. We build a tree house in the garden. We delete our Facebook account. We look at the stars at night. We have space in our life. We are happy in a completely new way. This is the joy of renunciation. It goes a very, very long way… |
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