it never rains but it pours

01/12/2010

I awoke this morning to heavy grey skies, thunder and rain worthy of a monsoon. After indulging in a reiki self-treatment in bed, then sitting for a while, the rain was still falling unabated. My stomach was calling for action though, so I waded to the café, a hundred metres down the road, through ankle deep water, wearing only bathing shorts. A dry bag allowed me to bring a towel and shirt, for a modicum of decency, and a laptop so that I can write this blog entry!

There is an expression in English, “It never rains but it pours.” So it often feels with our troubles. Everything can be going just nicely, when suddenly a heap of problems burst upon us in quick succession. Why is that? Is it the alignment of the planets? Or perhaps the mind, when under pressure, tends to feel everything as a problem? Or perhaps there is a genuine clustering phenomenon, like the stars forming galaxies? Your guess is as good as mine.

In case you think that enlightenment will make life go the way you want it, I will share with you what happened to me in Hampi one evening, a few days ago. Watching sunset with a lovely companion and enjoying an excellent chai atop a hill, courtesy of an enterprising young chai wallah, aged about 12, everything seemed to be wonderful. We hopped on the rented motorbike and drove to the river crossing downstream, where battered coracles ferry people and bikes to and fro, during daylight hours. In the fading light, we saw the little boat reaching the far shore and then came the call of the ferryman, “Finished for today, come in the morning!”

We sat in the dark for a while, weighing up our options. We were on one side of a river, which was in spate, and our cosy guest house room, together with our toothbrushes, was on the other side. We jumped on the bike and started to head back to Hampi Bazaar. Halfway there though, in the middle of nowhere, the engine began to cut out: we were running out of fuel. I managed to coax the machine to the next village, where the local store had sold out of petrol.

We continued for a few hundred metres more before the engine finally died into an emphatic silence. My companion got off and started to walk whilst I pushed the bike. It was then that my companion was caught out by an unexpected moment of diarrhoea. It never rains but it pours.

If you think that enlightenment will make life go the way you want it to, then think again. That is not my experience, at least. Enlightenment, for me, means that I can accept what is actually happening and not pay much attention to what the mind was expecting or hoping to happen. And that change of attitude means that unexpected things are not felt as problems. Instead, there is a curiosity in the mind at such times.

And now that I have written enough, the pouring has stopped.

the butterfly

25/11/2010

At first I thought it a hummingbird: Its wings, with the full span of an open hand, were beating continuously as it hovered, sucking nectar from delicate pink flowers in the forest. Yet it was a butterfly. For the most part, its large wings were pale, almost transparent, with strong black markings. They were working hard. The rear part of the wings, though, were separated from the main part and were barely moving, seeming to act as a tail, to stabilise the magnificent creature as it performed its intricate operations with the flowers. This tail was the most striking aspect of the butterfly. It was yellow; a shocking, unashamed yellow which cried out to all “I am here! I am not afraid of life!” It was glorious.

I had never seen this type of butterfly before. Having dwelt some forty-seven years on this beautiful planet, I still see something new every day. And when I am at my most sensitive, I feel something new in every moment. Life is bountiful indeed!

the blue bowl

20/11/2010

Does this happen to you, or is it only me? When I acquire a new material possession, for a few weeks it has the status of a “new toy”. During this period, I am overly possessive towards the object. It doesn’t much matter whether it is something large and expensive, a new car say, or something small and cheap, like the blue bowl in the picture.

I bought the blue bowl about eighteen months ago, prior to going walkabout in Italy and Greece in 2009. For three months or so, I was walking and, for the most part, sleeping out in my little bivouac tent. I used the blue bowl for dipping bread in olive oil, my staple diet during the period. I noticed that I had an attachment to the bowl. If, for a moment, I couldn’t find the bowl, I was worried that I might have lost it.

After some weeks though, this sort of attachment seems to wear off, and I am relaxed about the possibility of being without the object. I could easily give it away or even throw it away if it becomes a burden. The possibility of losing the object is no longer of any concern. It no more has the feeling of a new toy.

There is a third stage which can come in relationship to an object, though. This does not always happen, only with some things: After some time, usually at least a year, a different sort of attachment begins to come into being. This is the feeling of an “old friend”. This is a warmer, softer, deeper attachment than the “new toy” feeling.

Drinking chai from the blue bowl, here on the beach, I realise it is so with the bowl. I have shared enough adventures with it, in enough exotic locations, that it has become an old friend. I would be sad to lose the bowl. I could give it away but in doing so, I would be giving a treasured item to someone who I feel would appreciate it.

Perhaps you laugh at my attachment, to a cheap, mass produced blue bowl. Is it only me? Or does this sort of thing happen to you, too?

It is laughable enough that these stages of attachment can happen with material things. Rather sadder, though, is that I sometimes notice similar stages with friends, particularly with lovers. When an intimacy begins with someone new in my life, there is a honeymoon period. During this time, I am overly possessive, wanting to spend much time alone with the person, wanting them for myself, rather jealous if they are sharing their energy with others.

After a few weeks, this type of attachment fades away, leaving a more indifferent attitude. Typically there is a feeling of fondness towards the person, yet the possessive aspect has evaporated. I am not bothered by the possibility of the friend disappearing from my life. I am not touched if they are sharing their energy with others.

As with the material things, a third stage of relating can come, not with everyone, only with some. Having known someone, off and on, for a longer period, perhaps a year or a couple of years or more, the feeling of an old friend can gradually come into being. As with objects, this attachment feels softer, warmer, deeper and more healthy than the honeymoon period. It is not possessive in the same way. If the friend is sharing energy with another, I feel joy for them. If it seems I am not to meet them again, I feel some sadness, yet also a joy that their life is unfolding in a new direction.

Does this happen to you, or is it only me?

I love trees!

17/11/2010

You may have noticed that the first few exercises in the Things to Try audio series all relate to trees. This is no coincidence. For me, the energy of trees feels very special. During my journey so far, trees have been amongst my greatest teachers. For me, they hold a deep wisdom, an ancient wisdom which we humans are unlikely to fathom. It feels as if trees can root themselves in one place because they have reached such a total acceptance of existence, of what existence brings to them, that they no longer need to move in search of anything, nor to avoid something.

I remember the years of intense seeking, questioning everything, a profound dissatisfaction burning within me. Especially during that period of my life, trees were a godsend. Whenever I had a question, either mundane and practical, or ethereal, I would find a tree to talk to. Holding the question in my mind, with my hands resting on the trunk of a tree, a response would come, flooding into my mind like water from a bursting dam. And the “answers” which came were invariably surprising, the epitome of lateral thinking, beyond what my rational mind would have encompassed.

Here I felt to share with you something of the special place trees hold in my heart. I honour the part they have played in my growth and I give thanks for their existence.

And once in a while, I still like to climb a tree!

relaxing on the beach

12/11/2010

Sitting here, on a beach in Goa, watching the sun sink into the ocean, I feel very relaxed. My body feels warm and soft, almost fluid on the inside, after a day of floating in the sea, basking in the sun and making love. My mind, too, feels relaxed, free from anxiety, light and untroubled.

My feeling is that total relaxation is one the keys to spiritual growth. When we are relaxed with life, with what is around us, we can afford to drop our defences, the very defences that ordinarily keep us feeling separated and isolated. Furthermore, when we are in a relaxed frame of mind, not disturbed by worries, our energy can sink deeper into our being and, with luck, we can come to rest in our very essence.

Of course, all this is easy to say when watching a sunset from a tropical beach!

sleep

07/11/2010

Sleep is a mysterious business. It seems like time out from life, time when not much is happening. Yet my feeling is that growth and healing really take place during sleep. It is a time when the controlling mind is out of the picture and processes which we know not of can take their course, unhindered by the inefficient bumbling of the thinking mind. It is during sleep that we integrate the day’s experiences into our being. It is through sleep that we are revitalised, rejuvenated, ready for a new day.

I used to sleep a solid eight hours or more every night but something changed, about a year ago. Since then, I have been sleeping perhaps four or five hours each night. After that I awaken, yet the physical body feels in need of a little more rest, so I lie contentedly in bed. Sometimes my consciousness enters a state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Then strange, lucid dreams come to me. These dreams are as implausible as ordinary dreams, yet I am fully aware that I am dreaming. Furthermore, I am never in the dream, I am always observing it as one would watch a movie.

I mention all this because, whilst staffing on the Path of Love, one night my sleep was normal: For the first time in a year, I slept for about eight hours and I had a normal dream. By that I mean that I was an actor in the dream and I was not aware that I was dreaming. It was a dark and disturbing dream. Even in the dream I felt disturbed. Yet in the morning I felt refreshed and later that day I had the “holy shit” realisation which I wrote about in the previous blog entry.

Since the Path of Love, I have been sleeping all night, without any dreams as far as I know. It feels like my being is absorbing and integrating the energy and experiences from that intense week. It is a reminder that after intensely transformative experiences, we need to have some quiet time, time to digest, time to sleep.

Sweet dreams!

holy shit!

04/11/2010

Following on from yesterday’s blog entry, there is one more gift from the days staffing thePath of Love which I would like to share with you. This one came as a deep realisation from within: One of the things I love about the spiritual journey is when an insight comes this way, without warning, unasked for, exploding into the consciousness, shattering long-held beliefs...

Part of the Path of Love process is about exploring our dark side, our shadow. It gives us a chance to plunge into and expose our deepest anger and hatred, our fears, our guilt and shame. At one point during the week, it felt to me like all this mud had been squeezed out of the participants and distilled, concentrated. I felt like I was looking at this distillation of the negative. I was completely dispassionate about it, as if I were watching dirty bath water disappear down the plug hole, no more.

And then it happened: Suddenly I knew that even this mud is sacred. It came from the infinite space of nowhere, this realisation, bursting into the mind as a volcanic eruption. I was left in awe.

Even our shit is sacred. It too comes from existence, from God. It is holy shit!