The Accidental Buddhist

WHAT IS THE DHARMA?

2012-01-24T06:40:00.000-08:00

The Buddha-Dharma stems from the teachings and discourses given by Siddharta Gautama during the 40+ years of his life after becoming a fully enlightened Buddha.

After his enlightenment experience, the Buddha remained beneath the Bodhi tree for several days. He wondered how he could possibly communicate the extraordinary understanding he had realised. However, was always his intention to gain enlightenment for the benefit of all beings so he decided to seek out the group of five ascetics he has spent the past 7 years with. However, as he set out to find them he met a holy man, Ajivaka, walking the other way. They stopped and recognising a fellow seeker of the truth, he asked him, “Who is your teacher? Who’s dharma do you follow?” The Buddha tried to explain that he had awakened and discovered the truth for himself and would now teach his own dharma. Ajivaka smiled and nodded in a knowing way, and walked on unimpressed. The newly enlightened Buddha realised that he had to think carefully about how he was to present his Dharma.

He found the ascetics staying in a deer park in Saranath, near the ancient city of Benares. They were reluctant to listen at first but there was something distinctly different about their former colleague so they invited him to sit amongst them and listened to what he had to say. This was the Buddha’s famous discourse on the Four Noble Truths. It was later described as having ‘set the wheel of the dharma turning’ and is the bedrock on which all other teachings are mounted.

The Four Noble Truths
The first was the truth that dukkha is part of the human condition and is present in all our lives.
The second truth was that all dukkha has a root cause.
The third truth was that there was a way to reduce dukkha or even eliminate it altogether.
The fourth of the Four Noble Truths was the Noble Eightfold Path, the teaching that leads us away from dukkha

Dukkha is translated in many ways, with varying levels of emphasis, from simple unsatisfactoriness to out and out suffering.

The Nobel Eightfold Path was a sort of route map to enlightenment. In setting it out, the Buddha was suggesting an alternative to the long hard slog he had endured to reach his insight experience. By following the eight limbs of this suggested path, we too can achieve what he achieved. The eight limbs of the path are:

Perfect Vision
Perfect Emotion
Perfect Speech
Perfect Action
Perfect Livelihood
Perfect Effort
Perfect Awareness
Perfect Meditation or Concentration

During the following years the Buddha gave many hundreds, if not thousands of discourses to his followers and devotees. None of this was written down and recorded until hundreds of years after his death so how can we be sure that what we read in the accounts of his teachings are accurate and truly represent what he said?

We can’t be certain that what was eventually recorded was word-for-word exactly what the Buddha said, but we trust that the general tenor of the teaching was preserved. The main way to ensure the truth of these teachings was conveyed was by the common habit of listing things in numerical order and by repetition. Consequently, the written Buddha-Dharma is full of lists and often tedious repetitions and occasionally the Buddha summarised the teaching with a short rhythmical verse. All this can make for difficult reading but 2,500 years ago it enabled his followers to learn the Dharma by heart so that it could be handed on from generation to generation.

There was also another way the truth of the teachings was preserved. The Buddha’s most loyal and dedicated follower was his cousin, Ananda. Twelve years after the Buddha was enlightened Ananda joined him as his personal attendant. He had what we would call today, a photographic memory – or in his case perhaps, a tape recorder memory. During the followiurn are translatas always by the Buddha’Pali and Sanskrit words have no direct equivalent in our modern lexicon. The term ‘metta’ for example can be translated as love, kindness, empathy, compassion, etc. As we have seen, ‘Dukkha’ can be interpreted as anything from outright suffering to simple discontent. These translations can add different emphasis to the teachings so from tradition to tradition the understanding and interpretation of the Buddha-Dharma can vary widely. Over the centuries the Buddha’s teachings have been interpreted in many different ways with varying degrees of emphasis and, just like the Christian movement that was to follow half a millennium later, it led to schisms and the formation of various ‘schools’ of Buddhism.

Finally, at the age of 80, after 49 years of wandering and teaching, the Buddha grew ill and began to die and with his disciples and a number of villagers gathered round him, he uttered his last words, and passed away. What his words were will depend upon which school of Buddhism you follow or what translation you read. It coucient of surviving Buddhist scriptures, the Sutta Pitaka of the Pali Cannon. Typically Ananda’s recollections begin, “Thus I have heard…”

The scriptu completion by being heedful." Or, slightly more abridged, “With mindfulness, strive on”.

Even though the Buddha passed away over 2,500 years ago, the real magic of his Dharma is that it is just as pertinent to those of us who live in a modern western culture as it was to the lives of the monks, villagers, tribes-people and forest dwelling hermits he encountered in his lifetime.

Friendship

2011-09-19T02:24:00.000-07:00

When I log onto Facebook it tells me that I have ‘102 friends’. What that actually means is that I know 102 people well enough to be interested in seeing what they are doing and saying. If I had to reduce the list to those who were friends in a truer, more meaningful sense, I would have to pause and think carefully. What do I understand by the term ‘friend’ and what is’ friendship’? Is a real friend someone who you see regularly and spend time with? Or is it someone you think of regularly and try to stay in touch with; someone who you have a lot in common with and share ideals?

Once you attempt to categorise friendship it starts to become quite illusive. For example, some of my dearest friends are also my oldest friends, mostly dating back to my school days and even earlier. Some of them have ideas and principles so removed from my own, that it is almost certain that had I met them in more recent times, it is unlikely I would have formed a close friendship with them. Yet I think of them often, love it when I hear from them and on the occasions when we actually get to meet, enjoy their company with a warmth and affection that has remained undiminished over many decades.

I have been part of the same industry for many years and have come to know hundreds of people who work in the same field. If you asked me if I knew the Sales Director of a certain company I would almost certainly reply, “Oh yes, he’s a friend of mine; we’ve known each other for years”. We may attend the same functions, greet each other warmly and be genuinely pleased to see each other. We would exchange Christmas cards but we would never meet up, just for the pleasure of hanging out together, so was I correct in referring to them as a friend?
However, there would be the occasional work colleague, often one with much more experience, who would become a mentor. One such, John who was a proud Scot, taught me much of what I know today and although he retired to a small croft high above Aberdeen and is now in his early 80’s, we regularly keep in touch through phone calls and email.

When you share a flat with others, they see you at your best and at your worst and it is not uncommon to develop close and enduring friendships with former flat-mates.

So it seems that friendships can be formed in many ways and on several levels. In my personal experience, some of the most powerful and enduring friendships are those formed in the early years. These seem to thrive independently of ideological differences; without common religious or political affiliations. They are life long – I was introduced to one childhood friend before we were both old enough to walk. We are now both in our 70’s and our lives have travelled in distinctly different directions, yet we seem to be a close as we ever were.

As I grew older and my career progressed, I tended to meet more people but form fewer and fewer friendships. I have never really understood why that was. I met women and they became lovers and wives and whilst my relationship with them was as close and intimate as it is possible to be, it was distinctly different from the relationship I had with my ‘friends’. These were almost, but not entirely male. I had other, non sexual friendships with one or two women. I have heard it said that there’s no such thing as truly platonic friendship but that is not my experience.

So, there are long term friendships developed during my childhood or school-days; brief but intense friendship created by the need for mutual support in difficult or dangerous times. There were more remote friendships with work colleagues and business associates with the occasional closer relationships with senior mentors.
However, new friendships of a less casual kind were becoming increasingly rare.

Then, when I was distinctly middle aged, I discovered Buddhism and became a ‘Friend of the Western Buddhist Order’. I enjoyed meeting a large number of like-minded people and sharing my experience with them. We used the term ‘sangha’ a Sanskrit word for a group of people who follow the teaching of the Buddha. We met regularly and although the FWBO – now known as the Triratna Buddhist Community, set great store in friendship with an emphasis on mentoring and ‘kalyana mitrata’ or spiritual friendship, I was not particularly attracted to this. I was further distanced by the fact that 25 years ago the practice of forming kalyana mitra relationships was mostly popular amongst gay men. I was not in the least homophobic but felt uncomfortable with the idea that if I was to form a kalyana mitra relationship I may be regarded as gay (naively I thought this would affect my relationships with women). In any case, I had not yet met anyone who had impressed me sufficiently to a want them as a mentor.

Consequently my experience of ‘spiritual friendship’ was very limited. I was aware of Ananada’s observations when talking to the Buddha that ,”…friendship is half of the spiritual life” and the Buddha’s response, “Not so Ananda, it is all of the spiritual life” but I was concerned, rightly or wrongly, that many of the friendships I observed in the movement seemed slightly contrived.

I had been living abroad for some years and consequently was out of touch with fellow ‘Friends’ and ‘mitras’. On return to the South West after 11 years away I was invited to join a mitra study group. It was a gathering of more mature mitras, mostly far more experienced than myself. I was flattered to be invited and readily accepted. There were six of us in the group and with the exception of the oldest member, we all had families to support and were pursuing active careers. Apart from these common factors, we were entirely disparate; a chest consultant, a manager with a fostering agency, a local government facilitator, a successful osteopath, a sales manager (me) and a senior citizen who was not quite sure if he was a Buddhist or a catholic.

In had never heard of mitra study groups having names but somewhow, as we met on our regular Thursday nights, we came to refer to ourselves as The Dharma Bums after characters in a book of the same name by the ‘father of the beat generation’ Jack Kerouac. Maybe it was a reference to the fact that many of us had experienced moments where we were outside the mainstream of our movement and were regarded as slightly rebellious or at least non-conformist. Whatever the reason, a tradition developed that the Dharma Bums would always gather together for supper, mostly Indian, before our Thursday evening mitra group.

Time passed and there were some minor changes amongst the group and the remaining five became even closer – we had somehow transformed and become genuine ‘spiritual friends’. Several years and many curries later and it was obvious that some of us were likely to be invited for ordination sometime soon. However, the bond of friendship amongst the Dharma Bums had become so strong that we agreed that we would wait until we were all ready and could be ordained together. It was quite remarkable that in spite of working towards this point over many years, those who were ready were prepared to wait even longer not knowing how long their ordination would be deferred for.

As it happened, a short while later and much to the surprise of the entire group, the call came for all five of us to be ordained together. During our time in the mountain retreat centre high in the Spanish Sierras above Alicante, we agreed that now we ceased to be a mitra study group, the Dharma Bums would transform into a Chapter so our Thursday meetings could continue. A Chapter is an informal group of Order Members who meet on a regular basis to study the Dharma and enjoy each other’s company.

The Dharma Bums have now been meeting for over a decade and have recently grown to seven. We have eaten endless curries, meditated, run courses, taken retreats together, discussed hundreds of topics and even studied a little. It has not always been sweetness and light – it is only natural that from time to time we have a disagreement but there has always been a resolution and our continuing friendship has never been in doubt.

Our group ordination was not entirely unprecedented but it was rare enough and The Dharma Bums are occasionally referred to in the movement to as an example of what spiritual friendship can achieve. For my part, the friendships I have forged with my fellow ‘Bums’ are every bit as powerful as my continuing long standing childhood friendships but with the added spiritual dimension of a joint commitment to the Buddha Dharma. I doubt that I would ever have achieved ordination had I not been influenced and supported by the fellowship of the Dharma Bums. Of course, we acknowledge that all things are impermanent and it is inevitable that our group must change – as in deed it already has, but day by day, week by week, curry by curry we enjoy our brotherhood as it is right now, in the present moment , rejoicing in the bonds that have held us together over so many years.

THE MIDDLE WAY

2011-06-11T02:51:00.000-07:00

This talk was given to a beginner's group at the Bristol Buddhist Centre in May 2011.

One of the most basic of the Buddha’s teachings was delivered as part of his very first discourse after he had experienced what we have come to refer to as his ‘enlightenment’.

In his life up to that point, he had experienced two extremes. On one hand he had been brought up as the son of a Sudhadana, one of the wealthy ruling classes of the Shakya clan. He had led a privileged life of luxury and indulgence. He wore the finest clothes, ate the best food, and was trained in archery and other martial arts. His life was lived within the walls of the family’s three palaces sheltered from the harsh realities of life outside.

Later, he left his home to become a shramana, a wandering mendicant, owning nothing other than his course robes and alms bowl. Walking barefoot he visited all of the leading spiritual teachers of his time. Eventually he joined a group of forest dwelling ascetics. They lived in accordance with an extremely rigid code believing that by renouncing all bodily comfort they could achieve insight. Consequently they were virtually naked all year round apart from a simple loin cloth; they slept on the ground with no bedding or protection from the elements. They ate only sufficient food to prevent them from starving to death. Depictions of the Buddha during this time show him to be almost skeleton-like, with sunken stomach and all his ribs showing.

However, after several years of this practice he came to realise that neither of these two extremes brought him close to the insight he sought. Eventually he left the ascetics and sitting quietly beneath a shady tree, entered into a deep meditation. He sat there throughout the night achieving deeper and states of absorption until, in the early hours of the morning, he finally achieved the wisdom he had sought for so long. After this extraordinary experience, he saw everything in a totally new way. For a few weeks he sat and reflected on what he had experienced and thought about how he could help others to achieve the same insight. He set off to walk to Sarnat looking for the group of five ascetics he had spent the past few years with. Finding them he gave his first talk as a Buddha (one who has awakened). This first discourse later became known as the Four Noble. The truth of the existence of suffering, the cause of suffering, the ceasing of suffering and the path that leads away from suffering. This last truth became known as the Noble Eightfold Path. One of the limbs of this path concerns making the balanced effort as one moves along the path, known as The Middle Way.

Many years later when the story of the Buddha’s enlightenment was written down, the scriptures were to illustrate this teaching with the following story:

One day the Buddha observed an over zealous monk called Sona, who had practised Walking Meditation so vigorously that the soles of his feet had become blistered and bleeding. The Buddha bade him sit down and reminded him that before he became a devotee, he had lived a normal life and had played a musical instrument called a veena – a member of the lute family.
He asked Sona, “When the strings of your veena were too taut, was your veena in tune and playable?"
“No lord” replied Sona.
The Buddha continued, “When the strings of your veena were too loose, was your veena in tune and playable?"
Once again Sona replied, “No lord”.
“When the strings of your veena were neither too taut nor too loose, but tuned to be right on pitch, was your veena in tune and playable”.
Sona shook his head in agreement, “Yes lord”.
"In the same way, Sona, too much effort leads to restlessness whilst overly slack effort leads to laziness. Thus you should determine the right pitch for your effort, re-tune the pitch of your faculties, and then pick up your theme."

In terms of our own spiritual life, the extremes are over zealousness on one hand and sluggardly indifference on the other. There is a balance to be struck between these two extremes. If we make no effort whatsoever, the likelihood is we will achieve little or nothing at all. On the other hand, there is a danger of becoming too dedicated to a position, too entrenched in our own version of ‘the truth’. We can see this extreme in most if the world’s great religions where their truth is the only truth. How much suffering and conflict has been caused over the centuries by religions attempting to impose their version of truth upon others who hold a different view? We don’t have to look very far to see examples of the suffering being caused today by these extreme types of fixed view (Catholic v Protestant, Muslim v Jew)

So we must be prepared to recognise any lack of balance in our own spiritual journey. For many years I found it difficult to accept the concept of re-birth. I also struggled to engage with certain Buddhist devotional practices. However, my teacher told me not to worry; to neither reject anything outright or blindly accept, just ‘set aside’ these difficulties, coming back to them at another time when my understanding may be greater. I was able to accept the middle way between rejection of that with which I had no emotional or intellectual connection, or simply ‘going along with it’ because of my desire to fit in with the group.

Many years later, I returned to find these problems had become mere ripples in the sand.

"DONT' COMPLAIN ABOUT GROWING OLD - ITS A PRIVILEGE DENIED TO MANY"

2011-04-15T06:44:00.000-07:00

As a young man, it never occurred to me that one day I may become old. Not that I was in denial, just that my father’s side of the family was not renowned for their longevity. Of his four brothers, only one made it into old age and my father was gone in his early 50s. I am therefore rather surprised to find myself in my 70’s; it was definitely not something I had expected or planned for.

So, what’s it like to be 70? I guess the answer depends on your health. If you are reasonably well, you feel pretty much the same as you did in your 40’s. Of course I am aware that my short term memory is not as good as it was. I can recall events that occurred in my teens with absolute clarity but find it hard to remember where I was last week. And there’s a little arthritis too. I try not to let it show but you may notice it sometimes takes me a while to get up from my stool after meditation. However, they say (whoever ‘they’ are) that 70 is the new 50 and to an extent that is true. I am certainly just as busy and active now as I was then.

Is there a plus side of being 70? Obviously being alive is one. Another is the fact that there is no longer any pressure to achieve. Whatever career I once had, has now reached an end. I can’t deny that I get a buzz when my 40 years of knowledge and experience is occasionally called upon. It seems that the one part of me that has not aged or weakened is my ego.

I bumped into the Dharma quite by chance when I was already middle aged and I simply can’t imagine what my life would have been like had I not done so. For the past 5 years it has been my great privilege to be part of the Tuesday night team teaching meditation and Buddhism to whoever walks through the door.

I guess everyone likes to think they leave some sort of legacy behind to mark their passing. Of course there are my children who all live wonderfully creative and exciting lives. But perhaps even more importantly, it is those strangers who crossed the threshold of the Bristol Buddhist Centre for the first time one Tuesday evening and encountered something so exciting and challenging that it set them off on a journey of discovery that will engage them until they too are in their 70’s.

During my 70 years I have learned several talents. I can paint watercolours reasonably well, play the banjo ukulele rather badly and balance a broom handle on my nose. Unfortunately I was never able to develop a talent for making money so I will not leave behind great riches. However, when my time comes, I will feel content that I have contributed in some small way to keeping the wheel of the Dharma turning.

That should be good enough for anyone.

ENCOUNTERING AKSHOBYA, THE BLUE, UNSHAKEABLE BUDDHA

2011-03-21T06:53:00.000-07:00

I recently gave this short talk on Akshobya Day describing my earliest encounter with this iconic figure:

Nearly five years ago I was invited to join an ordination retreat at Guhyaloka Retreat Centre high in the mountains above Alicante in Spain. I had been associated with the Friends of the Western Buddhist Order (now known as the Triratna Buddhist Order) for some 24 years. I had been attracted to Buddhism by its pragmatic, common sense approach and I found it answered questions that had been in my head for many years. In my enthusiasm I asked to be ordained into the Order. As time passed, any expectation I had of actually becoming an Order Member faded into the distance. So, when I received ‘the call’ nearly 20 years later, it took me very much by surprise and although I was excited by the prospect, I was more than a little unprepared.

With just days to go before we flew out from Bristol I was asked by one of the other guys who I had chosen for my yiddam. A yiddam is a Buddha or Bodhisatva who one finds inspirational and will play a central part in a visualisation practice – a meditation where you visualise his/her physical and spiritual attributes and aspire to follow them. You are invited to discuss this with the Preceptor conducting the ordination and unless he/she feels that your choice is significantly inappropriate, it is almost certain you will be receive the yiddam of your choice.

Knowing that I was going to be required to express a preference, I hastily reached for Meeting the Buddhas which rather fortunately, was written by Vessantara, the man who had agreed to ordain me. It is quite a thick book and there was not a lot of time so I rapidly scanned through the pages in the hope that something would leap out at me. Luckily, this is exactly what happened. Fortunately, the first of the Buddhas Vessantara described was Akshobya.

I learned that Akshobya was associated with the colour blue (in fact his body is actually glowing blue) and the water element. This immediately appealed as I have been so attracted to this colour, as a child my mother used to refer to me as “Little Boy Blue” because whenever I dressed myself, this was the colour I always chose.

I also love water. I was born within a short bicycle ride from the Thames at Kew and much of my early teens was spent cycling and picnicking on its riverside pathways. Latterly I have lived in Pill on the River Avon and Portishead on the Bristol Channel. More recently, my home was a narrowboat in Bristol City Docks and then a hill top cabin on the small island of Menorca, never more than 5 miles from the sea. Finally, for many years, my passion was dinghy racing.

In addition, I have always admired people who are able to remain calm in the face of adversity and have yearned to develop this trait in myself, unfortunately without much success.

So you can see that Akshobya ticked all the boxes. He is unshakable, immovable, steadfast. On his way to enlightenment he has conquered hatred and anger, transforming these negative emotions into ‘mirror wisdom’. So when I was asked who I would like as my yiddam I replied without hesitation – Akshobya, even though we had not really been introduced and I knew very little about him.

A few weeks later, high in the mountains above Alicante in Spain, I was given my new name, Bahiya, with a short explanation of why that name had been chosen for me. Then my yiddam was confirmed as Akshobya and for the first time I heard the Akshobia visualisation practice described. This is how Vessantra told it to me:

You are in the middle of an endless, clear blue sky. Nothing above or below you, just emptiness.

In the middle of this clear blue sky, slowly emerges a pale blue lotus. On the lotus, a bright white moon disk and on the moon disk is the symbol representing the bija-mantra HūM, deep blue in colour. The mantra slowly transforms into the figure of the Buddha Akshobya.

He sits on the bright white moon mat, on the blue lotus which is now supported by an elephant throne. His body is made of deep blue light. He is strongly built, wearing richly embroidered robes. He sits in the full lotus posture. With his right hand he makes the bhumisparsa mantra (earth touching); his left hand rests in his lap. On the palm of his left hand, standing upright, is a golden vajra. He has dark hair. His eyes are half open and his face has a smile of imperturbable compassion.

His head is surrounded by an aura of pale green light and his body by an aura of light red or pinkish light. In his heart is the deep blue symbol Hūm.

From Akshobia’s head, throat and heart centres come rays of pale blue light which fall on the crown of your head and enter the heart via the median nerve. Down the rays of pale blue light come the deep blue syllables of the mantra -

OM VAJRA AKSHOBYA HūM

- which are also absorbed into your heart. The mantra is recited at least 108 times. Having done so you should sit a while in Samadhi (concentration). The mantra and rays of light dissolve back into the figure of Akshobya. The elephant throne, the moon mat and the blue lotus slowly dissolve. The figure of Akshobya begins to fade. All that is left is the dark blue symbol, Hūm. Gradually this too dissolves and you are once again alone in a vast, unending blue sky.

Over the years, Akshobya and I have come to know each other well and not for one moment have I regretted my hastily made choice.

PERFECT EFFORT

2010-11-10T01:46:00.000-08:00

This talk was given to a drop-in meditation class as part of a series on the Noble Eightfold Path.

The term Effort is a reminder that living a spiritual life is an active thing – it can’t be conducted from and armchair. I subscribe to the on-line Triratna Newsletter and almost every day another issue pops into my in tray. Frequently it reports on Order Members in far flung parts of the globe doing amazing things; they may be establishing a new Centre somewhere in India, building an extension to a Retreat Centre up a mountain in Spain or off on a pilgrimage to the sacred sites. When I consider the small part I play in helping to run our Tuesday Drop-in Class it seems hopelessly mundane in contrast. However, Perfect Effort is not necessarily about travelling around the world doing wonderful things, although thank goodness it is exactly that for many members of our worldwide Sangha. None the less, Buddhism does require that you make an effort to engage with the spiritual life so it is not just something you think about, but becomes something you live. It will come as no great surprise to know that there is a list – this one is known as The Four Exertions.
1. Preventing
2. Eradicating
3. Developing
4. Maintaining
They are fairly self evident. Preventing refers to making an effort to prevent unskilfull mental states from arising; we are on our guard to recognise anger, hatred, craving, envy, etc. Having become aware of the possibility of these mental states lurking in the wings, we take steps to Eradicate them by Developing more skilful mental states such as generosity, equanimity, loving kindness and so on and once we have done so, we attempt to Maintain these more positive states of mind. As the TV Meercat would say, “Simples”

If only it was. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions” as someone once said. It is so easy to be overcome by inertia. Take meditation. We know we enjoy it when we do it. We know we benefit from it. We know we shouldn’t allow anything to deflect us from our practice. But somehow there is often something more pressing, more demanding of our time and yet another day passes without sitting on the cushion. So it is with the Four Exertions. We know they make sense, we know we would benefit from practising them but somehow, something gets in the way. We browse Maplin’s and become gripped by desire for the latest techno-widget, we watch the news and become enraged by some news item about social injustice. Someone passes a negative comment about the way we do our job and we either become apoplectic with indignation or see our self esteem go down the drain in an instant. By the end of the day we are in a mental mess having failed to prevent, eradicate, develop or maintain skilful mental states of any kind.

Buddhists list six senses, sight, sound, touch, taste, smell - and mind. Unskilfull mental states can worm their way into us through any one of them. I have been a vegetarian for over 20 years but just the aroma of frying bacon causes lust, desire, greed and ultimately frustration to arise. Hearing someone screaming at their children in a supermarket could give rise to feelings of prejudice, anger and intolerance. Watching East Enders almost compels me to hurl my boots at the telly. Sometimes all my senses can work together in unison to create a full-on attack of unskilfull mental states; the feel of a heavy lead crystal glass, the clinking sound of ice cubes, the aroma of the world’s most noble spirit being uncorked, the golden colour as it emerges and that wonderful glugging sound. Then the first sip of that peaty, creamy, smooth, 8 year old single malt could cause me to forget restraint, ignore the Fifth Precept and get completely intoxicated. And of course, in my mind I could justify this by citing how hard I had been working and how stressed I had become. “I deserve this treat every now and then”.

So, we must be honest with ourselves, guard the gates of our senses, recognise unskilfull mental states for what they are, gently shutting them out by using our meditation practices to develop metta, mindfulness and focus. However, we should also be aware that, as with most things, we can take it all too far, becoming over zealous, self righteous, censorious, critical and intolerant. The other week I mentioned ‘sandwich-gate’ when someone attending a mother and toddler’s group here left a ham sandwich behind in the fridge. From the righteous indignation that followed its discovery you would think this building was a Mosque or Synagogue rather than a Buddhist Centre. The over-reaction was somewhat out of proportion.

One day the Buddha observed an over zealous monk called Sona, who had practised Walking Meditation so vigorously that the soles of his feet had become blistered and bleeding. The Buddha bade him sit down and reminded him that before he became a devotee, he had lived a normal life and had played a musical instrument called a veena – a member of the lute family.
He asked Sona, “When the strings of your vina were too taut, was your veena in tune and playable?"
“No lord” replied Sona.
The Buddha continued, “When the strings of your veena were too loose, was your veena in tune and playable?"
Once again Sona replied, “No lord”.
“When the strings of your veena were neither too taut nor too loose, but tuned to be right on pitch, was your veena in tune and playable”.
Sona shook his head in agreement, “Yes lord”.
"In the same way, Sona, too much effort leads to restlessness whilst overly slack effort leads to laziness. Thus you should determine the right pitch for your effort, re-tune the pitch of your faculties, and then pick up your theme."

THE THREE POISONS

2010-08-05T01:49:00.001-07:00

The Wheel of Life stems from the Tibetan tradition and is a complex representation of the constant circle of life, death and rebirth. The hub of any wheel is the part around which everything else revolves, In the hub of this well known Buddhist icon are three creatures, each biting the other’s tail, spinning round and round in a never ending circle. A cockerel, snake and a pig represent what are often referred to as The Three Poisons. The cockerel is greed, the snake is hatred and the pig delusion. Each on is driven in pursuit of the creature in front, but at the same time is being consumed by the one that follows. The Three Poisons are the root causes of all suffering. Everything that causes us dissatisfaction, pain or outright suffering stems from one of these three elements.

The first of the Three Poisons, Greed, can have many manifestations. Firstly it can be described as ‘clinging’, ‘grasping’ or attachment. I once read that you can trap a monkey but putting a delicacy into a heavy pot with a narrow opening. The monkey, attracted by the scent, puts his hand through the neck of the pot and grasps the contents. But now his balled fist containing will not pass back through the neck. Rather than release the delicasy, the monkey maintains its grasp and becomes trapped by it. This is an excellent metaphor for our modern human existence. We cling to our old ways, afraid to let go of established viewpoints. Unable to relax our grasp on our conditioned views, we cling on, “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t” and remain trapped, unable to move on or grow as individuals.

We frequently cling to the belief that we have a permanent ‘self’ which is fixed and unchanging. Yet if we take time to consider our mental states we will see that our thoughts and feelings constantly change from moment to moment. Our bodies also change – this becomes painfully aware when we look at old photo albums. Yet when we talk of ‘I’ or ‘me’ we are often seem to be referring to something constant and unchanging.

We may cling to sensual pleasures, constantly craving to satisfy our desires, ‘live now, die later’. This craving can sometimes represent itself as lust – constantly seeking to satisfy a demanding ego by the constant need for sex, money, excitement, conflict, celebrity, etc.

At some time or another, all of us are driven by greed, craving, desire, want, avarice, covetousness, need, etc., - unless we are enlightened beings, it is inevitable. The important thing is to recognise it for what it is and secondly, to understand that it is always going to be unsatisfactory. Even when you achieve the object of your neurotic craving, it will almost immediately be replaced by another.

However, it is important to acknowledge the natural will to progress, to make a life for ourselves, to develop as human beings. The problem arises when we are unable to be content or at ease until we have achieved the object of our desires. If our happiness is contingent upon acquiring whatever it is that drivrd us, then it has become a neurotic craving and is certain to bring suffering in its wake.

The antidote to this poison is to develop generosity and equanimity. Be content with what you have, not yearning after what you don’t have. That is not to say that you become indolent or lazy with no will to progress. Every Buddhists wants to move forward, to grow and gain insight but it is important not to mortgage your present happiness and contentment in the hope that you will achieve better things at some future time. Learn to think more about the needs of others rather than yourself.

The next poison is Hatred. This has many faces; abhorance, detestation, revulsion, disgust, extreme dislike, intolerance. Like love, the word hatred has become diminished in everyday use but it is the most destructive of all human emotions leading to anger, revenge, animosity, ill-will, aversion, abuse, racial prejudice, sexual and religious discrimination, homophobia, bullying and in its most extreme forms, violence, rape, murder and war.

If we look closely at what we ‘hate’, we may find that it is a conditioned response. Maybe it was someone else’s prejudiced view that has been foisted upon us by parents, peer group, politicians, teachers or journalists. We can all experience anger, frustration and intolerance somewhere within us. We rail because the world isn’t the way we want it to be. But ask, “What do we gain by holding on to these negative emotions? How do I benefit from all this angst?” The fact is that hatred consumes an immense amount of emotional energy but seldom gets us very far. Our lack of understanding fuels our desire for things to be different which in turn causes us to be frustrated and angry when the life continues to disappoint us.

However, there is an upside. That energy can be used for good. We can focus our anger on a world full of prejudice and social injustice, developing a determination to bring about change. We can transform those negative emotions, using that energy to battle inequality, the destruction of the environment, the causes of crime – a thousand and one things that need to be redressed.

The antidote of Hatred is Metta (loving kindness). By developing metta through meditation we learn to come to temper these emotions, transforming them into something more positive and accepting.

Finally, Delusion, ignorance, lack of understanding, false view, confusion, apathy. The reason the symbolic representations of the Three Poisons, the snake, the cockerel and the pig are all pursuing each other but at the same time being consumed by the creature behind them is that greed, hatred and ignorance all feed off each other. A lack of understanding leads to craving that can never be satisfied, inevitably leading to frustration, anger and hatred.

The antidote to delusion or ignorance is wisdom. Once we recognise and understand the root causes of our disappointment, frustration and anger we can begin to convert that negative energy to more positive uses. Of course we are not going to become saints overnight. But when you feel negative emotions rising, when you are experiencing anger or intense craving, ask yourself, “Which of the Three Poisons are causing me to feel like this?” Is it the cockerel, snake or pig?

THE FIFTH PRECEPT

2010-06-19T01:24:00.000-07:00

This was the final talk in a series on the Five Precepts given to the Tuesday night 'drop-in' group at the Bristol Buddhist Centre.

When we considered the previous four precepts, they seem fairly obvious on the face of it but as we look a little closer we began to see subtleties and grey areas that were not so apparent. So it is with the Fifth Precept, “I undertake to abstain from intoxicants’.

Firstly, let’s look at the obvious. This is a clear reference to alcohol and drugs. Does this mean a total abstention or do Buddhists tend to allow themselves a little license, imbibing in moderation? As usual, it depends on which tradition you follow and also your personal choice. Where do you draw the line in the light of your own experience?

Theravadan Buddhists tend to interpret this as total abstention from alcohol and recreational drugs. In Asia they usually call for bars to be closed on Buddhist festival days. Mahayana practitioners are more ambiguous although they consider that selling alcohol is not a ‘right livelihood’ occupation as described in the Noble Eightfold Path.

Zen teacher Reb Anderson says, "In the broadest sense, anything we ingest, inhale, or inject into our system … becomes an intoxicant”. He describes the act of intoxication as bringing something into yourself to manipulate your experience. This "something" can be "coffee, tea, chewing gum, sweets, sex, sleep, power, fame, and even food."

This doesn't mean we should prohibit ourselves from using coffee, tea, chewing gum, sweets, etc. It simply means to take care not to use them as intoxicants; as ways of soothing and distracting ourselves from the direct and intimate experience of life. In other words, whatever we use to distract ourselves into heedlessness is an intoxicant.

In the course of our lives most of us develop mental and physical habits that enable nice, cozy states of heedlessness. The challenge of working with the Fifth Precept is to identify what those are and deal with them. From this perspective, the question of whether to abstain from alcohol entirely or drink in moderation is an individual one that requires some spiritual maturity and self-honesty.

Of course we all understand the dangers present in the over consumption of alcohol, tobacco and other drugs. What is perhaps surprising is that the Buddha was equally aware.

The Buddha described addiction to intoxicants as one of the six causes of ruin. It brings about six main disadvantages: loss of wealth, quarrels and strife, a poor state of health (liability to diseases), a source of disgrace, shameless and indecent behavior, weakened intelligence and mental faculties. I think he nailed it pretty well.

Those of us who have an interest in meditation and Buddhism would tend to either abstain from drugs and alcohol or be moderate in our consumption. But have we considered Reb Anderson’s broader view. How about his view of “..coffee, tea, chewing gum, etc.” My experience of Buddhism is that if floats on a lake of tea and most of us would be reluctant to regard it as an ‘intoxicant’.

I guess it is like everything else – it comes down to a question of degree. Coffee is a stimulant. Some people get a caffeine ‘buzz’ when they drink coffee and they feel it necessary to exclude or reduce consumption to the minimum. For others, their consumption of tea has become compulsive, mindlessly putting the kettle on every hour or so although they are in no need of refreshment or hydration.

Reb Andersen goes on to say that his intoxicant is television and we know that TV can become addictive – particularly soaps. I suppose this cannot be truly considered an intoxicant unless we reach a point where the emotions revealed and expressed in TV dramas become a substitute for the real thing. We may watch East Enders and become concerned, angry, compassionate and sad as we empathise in the characters and scenarios being portrayed on the screen but can’t do we feel the same level of engagement with real life and real people.

Heedlessness seems to be the key word when considering what constitutes an intoxicant. Anything that we consume, engage with or participate in to the point where we are heedless of the affect on our mental states, our clarity of mind and our general wellbeing is an intoxicant.

MINDFULNESS
Mindfulness is the positive counterpart of this precept. Those of us who aspire to follow the teachings of the Buddha, or simply wish to develop a clearer vision of ourselves and the world that surrounds us, invest time and energy in meditation, retreats, discussion and study. We seek to become more mindful, more aware with a greater degree of clarity. The heedless use of any intoxicant whether it be alcohol, drugs, nicotine, coffee, internet sites, Twitter, salted peanuts (my personal obsession) soap operas, sex (Tiger Woods is currently being treated for sex addiction) runs counter to these aims and if ignored would render all the effort pointless.

So once again, Buddhism requires us to take responsibility for our own actions. We have to recognise our personal intoxicants, consider whether if our use of them is heedless and then decide where we draw the line. We have to make these judgements based on our own experience. Do we abstain totally or do we have sufficient self awareness to ensure moderation?

I use three intoxicants. The first two are good whisky and good coffee. There hasn’t been a bottle of whisky in my house since Christmas, but when it is there, I take a glass now and then, usually on a Friday night to mark the end of the week - and with a generous splash of water.

Coffee is a once-a-day habit. I have an espresso maker and my one extravagance is good quality coffee. However, I think that I am probably more addicted to the whole process of making my 11 o’clock ‘cortado’ (a Spanish version of an Italian macchiato) as I am to the actual coffee. It is time away from whatever I am working on plus the familiar noise as I steam the milk and the smell of the coffee rising as it dribbles into the cup, I enjoy as much as anything.

Is my consumption of whisky and coffee heedless? It certainly was in the past, but no longer.

The third intoxicant is food. During times of stress and anxiety, I ‘comfort eat’ and I definitely do so to ‘manipulate my experience’. I am still working on this one.

THE SECOND PRECEPT

2010-06-09T06:42:00.000-07:00

I recently gave this talk as part of a series on the Five Precepts at a Tuesday drop-in group:

When we considered the first precept: abstention from killing living beings, it quickly became apparent that this extended beyond not committing murder and led to many other ethical considerations. Similarly, the second precept is not constrained to simply undertaking not to steal. But before we broaden the context, let’s look at the most obvious implication of this precept.

Many years ago I used to be an RAF Policeman. During my training I had to learn the definition of stealing: ‘A person steals who takes and carries away any article capable of being stolen, with the intent at such time of taking, to permanently deprive the owner thereof.’

Intent is obviously important. If a friend visits your home and leaves their umbrella behind, you have obviously not stolen it. You intend to take it back to them but simply don’t get round to it. That’s not stealing, that’s procrastination. You friend doesn’t contact you and ask for it back so they don’t seem to miss it and meanwhile, you find it quite useful to have an umbrella so you now regard it as yours. You now have the intent to permanently deprive the owner of the umbrella. That’s stealing.

To take something from another person against their wishes is also an act of extreme egotism. The taker believes their need to possess an object is more important than the owner’s rights to their property. Taking the not given on a lesser scale can also be found closer to home. For example, failing to repay loans from friends and family within the agreed time limit.
Borrowing books that we fail to return once they are read is a common way to take that which is not given.

How many of us have added that little extra to our expenses claims? My favourite justification is, “Well I know I’m bound to have forgotten to claim something so I am entitled to add a bit to compensate”. Obviously I am no saint in these matters. I work from home and my company pays for any postage charges I incur. I used to mail out a great deal so I have a system whereby I can purchase credit from Royal Mail and print off stamps on my computer. These costs are claimed from my employer. Over the last 9 months, I have been mailing out much less but as I live miles away from the nearest Post Office, I have been known to print off stamps using my company’s credit for my personal mail. Once again, there is always justification, “They don’t realise how much extra time I work that I don’t get paid for…” Generosity is supposed to be the positive aspect of the Second Precept yet I use it to justify taking the not given.

Sadly we live in a society where moral judgements are often based on what we can get away with. Imagine what you would do if your employer made and error and paid you twice or you were reimbursed twice for a product you bought over the internet and returned because it was not suitable for use, Both these things have happened to me in the past 12 months. So, don’t be too quick to say, “Oh I never steal so this precept is easy”. Are we all as scrupulously honest as we like to think we are?

There are many other ways the not given can be taken and these are not so obvious. You wake up in the morning. You meditate. The sun is shining and you feel great. You are light on your feet, you look in the mirror when you clean your teeth and you see a happy person. Then your partner or someone at work or a person on the till in the supermarket, for whatever reason, is having a really bad day. They interact negatively with you and quite deliberately bring you down. They have deprived you of your good humour and spoilt your nice day. They have taken something from you that you were enjoying and you wished to keep.

More examples: you have had a row or a dispute of some kind. You are hurt and angry. You have a good friend who you know will understand and be sympathetic to the bruising you have been submitted to. So you call them on the phone. They answer, but they mention that they are just leaving go to the cinema. You ignore this and continue to pour your troubles down the line. Your friend is sympathetic but it is obvious from their voice that this is not the best time. You pretend you haven’t picked up this signal and continue to impose yourself. You are taking the not given.

Denying someone the space to hold their own views and opinions is another way we can take the not given. Parents can so easily do this to their children – usually with the best motives but it is a sensitive bit of tight-rope walking. You may want them to follow you into the family business, observe the same religion, vote the same way. You want them accept your point of view but do you want them to think for themselves, or do you want to remove any options to ensure that they will think like you?

GENREROSITY

This is the positive counterpart of the second precept. You could almost say it is the antidote.

You can give in obvious ways; make a standing order to Amnesty International or the Bristol Buddhist Centre; sponsor a friend who is riding from Lands End to John O’Groats to raise money for a favourite charity. You can buy a copy of Big Issue, telling the vendor to keep the change. If you have had an enjoyable Tuesday evening at the Centre, you could put a little bonus in the Dana Bowl. But this is to imply that generosity is always about giving money.

You can also put in a few extra hours at work, even though you know that you won’t get paid for it but recognise it will make life easier for others. You could offer the book your friend wishes to borrow and tell them, “It’s a great book, don’t give it back, pass it on to someone else”. You may be a little broke and not have much to put in the Dana Bowl but you are happy to give a little time to stay behind and wash the cups at the end of the evening.

When your friend rings just as you are going out of the door, don’t allow them to impose but recognise that this is something they need to talk about and promise them you will call them later – then ensure that you do.

Sometimes giving generously can cost nothing at all. More years ago than I wish to remember, I was being trained as a salesman for J Lyons, Tea & Coffee Division. I was to practice my salesmanship in the field whilst being observed by the Training Manager, a grey haired Scotsman who had been in the business for many years. I was calling on hard-nosed supermarket managers in South London. The morning had not gone well and I had taken a bit of bruising. We stopped for lunch and in spite of the Training Manager’s gentle encouragement I was beginning to feel quite low. As we parked and walked to the next store, we both needed a pee break. We came to one of those Victorian conveniences set underground. As we descended the steps there was a long brass rail which gleamed like gold. Similarly, all the brass fittings in the toilets were freshly polished. The attendant sat in a small room reading Sporting Life. On the way out, the Training Manager put his head round the door.
“Are you the guy that polishes all this brass-work?”
The man looked up and nodded.
“It must take you hours – I’ve never seen a toilet look so sparkling”
The man’s face broke out in a broad smile, “Oh, thanks a lot”
As we ascended the stairs I said, “What was all that about?”
“Oh nothing really, it’s a rotten job so I just gave the guy a nice day”.

To summarise; there are as many ways to give generously as there are ways to take that which is not given. Find a little time to look inwards; see if you recognise ways that you may sometimes take that which is not given but perhaps have never recognised before. You may even spot ways that you can act with generosity that you have never previously considered.

“Remember that the happiest people are not those getting more, but those giving more.”
Jackson Brown

THE FIRST PRECEPT

2010-05-24T12:07:00.000-07:00

These are my notes for a talk given to to a beginner's class at the Bristol Buddhist Centre

The first time you read or hear of the Five Precepts you may be struck by their similarity to some of the Christian Commandments. However, there are a number of clear distinctions. Firstly, the Precepts are not ‘commandments’. They are principals for living an ethical life, voluntarily undertaken by those interested in living their lives in accordance with the Buddha Dharma – the teaching of the Buddha. Secondly, they tend to be much broader than the Commandments and in addition, and most importantly, each has a positive counterpart:

Abstention from killing living beings Kindness
Abstention from taking the not given Generosity
Abstention from sexual misconduct Equanimity
Abstention from false speech Truthfulness
Abstention from intoxicants Mindfulness

Generally these five precepts are observed by lay people. When you become ordained into the Western Buddhist Order, we are invited to observe a further five precepts – rather oddly the fifth precept – abstention from intoxicants – is dropped in favour of several more speech precepts. Over the following four Tuesday evenings, we are going to be looking at these Five Precepts and in particular, their positive counterparts.

After a few weeks or months attending these drop-in classes, you may develop an interest in Buddhism and wish to know more. You may eventually consider moving to our Monday ‘Friend’s Nights’. Whilst these evenings also include meditation, there is a greater emphasis on other Buddhist practices including chanting and ritual. Inevitably you will be invited to recite the Five Precepts in call and response. The Precepts will be chanted in Pali, one of the ancient languages of Buddhism, followed by the positive counterpart chanted in English.

The first Precept is ‘I undertake to abstain from killing living beings’ and it is chanted as follows:

Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami

The positive counterpart follows:

With deeds of loving kindness, I purify my body.

On the face of it the first precept is so obvious, that it can sometimes be overlooked or quickly passed over. You may think, “OK, I’m not planning to kill anyone in the immediate future, so let’s move on to the next one”. We may not kill living beings, but there are those that do so in our name. In

Afghanistan

, in Iraq British servicemen are killing and being killed on behalf of the British Government who represent the will of the people they serve – that’s you and me. We may proclaim ourselves to be non- violent but this does little to stop violence being perpetrated on our behalf as British citizens. As is nearly always the case when considering ethical behaviour, it is seldom that things are black and white – indeed the shades of grey seem infinite.

Those of us that live in the country frequently find ourselves overrun with mice, usually driven indoors by severe weather. As Buddhists, should we be using Little Nipper mouse traps to kill them or should we be catching them and taking them a couple of miles away in the boot of a car so we can release them without fear that they will come back. If an infestation of vermin became a health hazard would we be justified in bringing in the council’s rodent exterminator?

Those of us who eat meat are seldom required to kill a pig or ring the neck of a chicken, but someone has to do so if we are to have our Sunday joint on the table. Slugs are destroying your garden. You can buy organic slug pellets but should you be killing them at all?

How green are we? Could our lack of awareness of green issues be contributing towards the destruction of the environment, thereby leading the death of thousands of creatures, perhaps threatening the livelihoods of many distant tribes-people or even putting their lives a risk?

There is the much bigger question of abortion. If we abstain from killing living beings, should we be against abortion? What about the grey area of stem cell research?

There are no easy answers to some of these questions and sometimes one is tempted to wish that we didn’t have to face these choices; that we would be better off if Buddhists had someone like to the Pope or Archbishop of Canterbury to tell us what is right and what is wrong. It would be a relief if someone else made these difficult decisions for us. For the moment, let us put aside these contentious issues and consider the positive precept, “With deeds of loving kindness I purify my body”. This seems to suggest that with the best will in the world, we are somehow going to be involved in killing living beings whether directly or indirectly but if we make a conscious effort to develop loving kindness we may not be absolved of responsibility but we can in some way prepare ourselves and perhaps even counteract the effects of violence in the world and in ourselves.

If you were here a couple of weeks ago, you will have heard Suhada introducing the Metta Bhavana meditation. For those unfamiliar with this practice this meditation is designed to assist us in overcoming negative emotions such as aversion, jealousy, greed, hatred and ignorance by developing ‘metta’. Metta may be translated in various ways but we generally like to describe it as ‘unconditional loving kindness’.

Of course, it would be naïve to expect that just by practicing Metta Bhavana we will eradicate all the violence and killing in the world. However, it may influence the way we vote or indeed encourage those of us who usually don’t vote, to do so. We may feel encouraged to participate in protest marches or join groups opposed to war and violence. There are a hundred ways we could manifest our desire to see a less violent world.

Regular metta practice will heighten our own capacity for compassion; little by little we may become aware of our increased desire to work towards a less violent, more compassionate society. We may slowly come to question the need for animals to suffer in order to feed us. Why should someone in a slaughterhouse be expected to accept the karmic consequences of killing living beings on our behalf? We may be prompted to review the harm we are doing to our environment and seek less damaging ways to live. Like the story of the 100 Monkeys, the more of us that practice, the greater the possibility that one day society may change.

By now you may realise that the first precept, Abstaining from Killing Living Beings, is not as obvious or as simple as you first thought and it is much wider in scope than ‘Thou Shall Not Kill’ demanding a greater level of consideration; possibly bringing your everyday practice of Metta Bhavana into a totally new focus and perspective. Abstaining from killing living beings and developing loving kindness, requires a great deal of consideration and demands a much higher level of awareness than we may have originally thought necessary.

THE WORLDLY WINDS

2010-05-08T01:29:00.000-07:00

For many years my great passion was dinghy racing. I learned to sail in Bristol City Docks and then joined the Portishead Yacht and Sailing Club. The Bristol Channel is not the best bit of water to sail on. As the tide ebbs and flows, it creates one of the greatest tidal rises in the world. Consequently the strength of the tide limits sailing to just a brief hour or so either side of high water. So, in order to succeed in racing dinghies in these unfavourable conditions you not only have to understand the tides you also have to develop an affinity with the wind and quickly understand its fickle nature. One minute it is blasting at force 5 or 6 you need all your strength and knowledge just to stay afloat. The next minute it has swung round 90 degrees, fallen away to a dead calm and you are drifting backwards.

Riding a big blow on a broad reach can be breath-taking but if you fail to treat it with respect, you will find yourself in the water, all hopes of success dashed. It can be spooky too. You can be ghosting along on the merest breath of wind, the sails flapping like laundry on a washing line. Fifty yards away is the next boat, the skipper similarly using all his cunning to coax some movement out of the slightest zephyr. Then, out of nowhere, a boat trailing far behind, picks up the wind and sails straight between the two of you as if the gods had extended an invisible finger whilst the other boats sit there helpless. So, anyone who has spent any time messing about in boats, will recognise that the wind is a perfect metaphor for those things in life that one moment carry you towards victory and then in an instance, the other way towards disaster.

In traditional Buddhist terms, there are Eight Worldly Winds or rather, four pairs of Worldly Winds. One takes you where you wish to be and the other moves you the opposite direction. Some attract us whilst others repel us. The pairs are:

Praise Blame
Success Failure (also referred to as Gain and Loss)
Pleasure Pain
Fame Disrepute (also referred to as Honour and Disgrace).

PRAISE & BLAME
We all respond well to praise. If someone appreciates what we do and gives us a pat on the back, we feel happy – that’s a normal reaction. However, if we hear praise too often we can become swollen headed and begin to expect praise as our due. This can lead to arrogance and false pride – and we all know what pride comes before.

I had been sailing for a year of two at the PYSC and sailed with Dave who had an Osprey. This was a fast trapeze-crewed boat, solid and well suited to the strong tides and big seas of the Bristol Channel. We had been getting on well and slowly moving up the fleet usually finishing in the top half dozen or so. One day we sailed a particularly well and crossed the line first. We had never won a race before and the spectators on the clubhouse balcony and the crowds on the shore were applauding as we approached the slipway and I swelled with pride. My helmsman called for a quick tack and I swiftly detached my harness clip, swung across the boat, ducked under the boom, sat out on the opposite side and leaned back into the harness as I acknowledged the tributes. Unfortunately I had forgotten to reconnect my harness and executed a perfect backwards summersault as I toppled out of the boat into the water. Without me there to take the bow and hold the boat steady, the hull ground onto the concrete slip. Praise quickly turned to blame as he accused me of being responsible for the big gouge in the bow.

SUCCESS AND FAILURE
There’s an old saying, “Be nice to the people you meet on the way up because you are going to meet them again on the way down.”

PLEASURE AND PAIN
Most of us learn this lesson the hard way. How many of us have childhood memories of wonderful days on the beach, running in and out of the sea, making sand castles, searching for crabs in rock pools? Many have further memories of the pain as we lay face down on the bed covered with a pink crust of calamine lotion, shivering from sunstroke.

FAME AND DISREPUTE
I had a close friend who was an actress. She had mostly been making a living from small walk-on parts in soaps and hospital dramas. Then she secured a leading role in a play running at the Savoy, her name was quite literally in lights. As a West End star she was invited to all the glittering showbiz parties and first night receptions. Visiting her in her dressing room one day I was surprised how calmly she had taken the sudden fame. She told me that it was all an illusion. She had been in the acting profession long enough to know that it could all disappear as quickly as it came. She refused to allow her head to be turned. When the production came to an end and she found herself ‘resting’ between jobs as a waitress at the Hard Rock Cafe, it came as no surprise. She returned to her relative obscurity without complaint or bitterness – she understood the cruel nature of celebrity. My admiration was boundless.

So, what can we do to cope with the worldly winds that blow us first one way and then the other? How can we prepare ourselves for the swings in fortune and misfortune? The answer is to develop equanimity.
The Seven Supports that lead to Equanimity:

1. Virtue or integrity
2. Faith or confidence
3. Mindfulness
4. A sense of well-being
5. Understanding or wisdom
6. Insight
7. Freedom or letting go.

VIRTUE/INTEGRETY/ETHICS
When we live and act ethically and with integrity, we become confident in our actions and words, leading to the equanimity of blamelessness. The ancient Buddhist texts speak of being able to go into any assembly of people and feel blameless.

FAITH/CONFIDENCE
The Pali word for faith, saddha, is also translated as conviction or confidence. If we have confidence in the Dharma and our engagement in a spiritual practice, then we are more likely to meet life’s challenges with equanimity.

MINDFULNESS
Meditation develops concentration and mindfulness. When the mind is focused and calm, we are less likely to be blown about by the worldly winds.

WELL BEING
By developing metta (loving kindness) towards ourselves as well as others we are more able to enjoy the world around us. Free from self doubt we are able to engage more fully with life and accept what we have without craving that which we have not.

UNDERSTANDING/WISDOM
Wisdom is an important factor in developing an accepting awareness; to be present for whatever is happening without the mind or heart contracting or resisting. We understand that our thoughts and impulses are often the result of external conditioning. Recognising this we learn to be more open and able to think for ourselves.

INSIGHT
One of the primary insights is the nature of impermanence. By recognising impermanence we see that things change so quickly we simply can’t hold onto anything for long. When you really engage with this on an emotional level the mind will let go of clinging. Letting go brings equanimity; the greater the letting go, the deeper the equanimity.

FREEDOM
Letting go of our conditioned responses and our reactive tendencies, brings freedom from bigotry, prejudice and discrimination. Being open to experience is liberating and leads to equanimity. As mindfulness becomes stronger, so does our equanimity. We see with greater independence and freedom. Equanimity becomes an inner strength that keeps us balanced.

When I lived in Spain, I crewed an 8 meter yacht designed for racing and day cruising. We had a crew of 6; five Englishmen and a Spanish skipper, Manuel. Manuel loved to race but was pretty hopeless at it. In spite of his passion he had little natural ability. We would spot wind-shifts and call out suggestions for changes of course to improve our position, but Manuel dithered. By the time he made a decision it would be too late and the advantage gone. Slowly we would slip back to our usual position at the tail end of the fleet. Eventually Manuel, realising that all was lost, would ask one of the others to take the helm whilst he went below. He would emerge moments later with a large tortilla, a roast chicken, bags of crisps, cool San Miguel beers and a giant flask of hot black coffee generously laced with brandy. We never won a single race in all the time I sailed with him, but we were the happiest, most contented crew in the entire Mediterranean.

There was a well-known scholar who practiced Buddhism and befriended a Chan Master. Thinking that he had made great strides in his spiritual practice, he wrote a poem and asked his attendant to deliver it to the Master who lived across the river. The Master opened the letter and read the short poem aloud:
"Unmoved by the eight worldly winds, *
Serenely, I sit on the purplish gold terrace."
A smile broke up on the lips of the Master. Picking up an ink brush, he scribbled the word "fart" across the letter and asked that it be delivered back to the scholar.
The scholar was upset and went across the river right away to reprimand the Master for being so rude. The Master laughed as he said, "You said you are no longer moved by the eight worldly winds and yet with just one 'fart', you ran across the river like a rat!"

LETTING GO

2010-04-17T02:49:00.000-07:00

I gave this talk to a beginner's medtiation group recently:

Walking along the coast in the dark, a man lost his footing, slipped down a cliff face, managed to grab hold of a branch and is dangling there, desperately hanging on as it slowly begins to give way...

He shouts at the top of his voice,” Is there anyone up there who can help me!?”

A calm voice calls back from an unseen passer-by who is aware that the cliff is just a few feet tall and the man’s feet are just 6 inches from the beach below. “Don’t worry, everything is going to be OK, all you have to do is let go. Everything will be fine – don’t panic, just let go…”

There’s a short pause and the man’s voice now risen to a scream, yells “Isn’t there anyone else up there who can help me!!!???”

Letting go can sometimes be the hardest thing to do. If we know anything at all about the Buddha’s teaching, it is that everything is impermanent. There is nothing in the world or in the universe that is unchanging - except perhaps the truth that everything changes. The Buddha went on to say that all our pain, unsatisfactoryness and suffering stems from craving for or clinging to things that are impermanent.

I have been a parent to five girls and one boy and I know that the hardest thing for a parent is to see their children grow up, recognising that sometime, they are going to move away. They will move away not just physically but they are also going to become of independent mind with their own thoughts and ideas – inevitably some are going diverge from our own values and concepts. Knowing when and how to let them go is one of the toughest decisions parents have to make. If you are an avid Archer’s listener, you will be aware that Tony Archer’s daughter Pip is eighteen, living at home whilst studying at college. She has met Jude, a man well into his 20’s and naturally her parents are worried that she is being exploited by this older man. Whilst her mother is unhappy and uncomfortable with the situation, she recognises that Pip is no longer a child and although she sees danger in the relationship, she knows that she has to allow her daughter the freedom to learn from her own mistakes. Her father, on the other hand, refuses to recognise that Pip is no longer ‘daddies little girl’ and his open hostility towards Jude causes his daughter to rebel, which in turn causes him more anger and suffering. He is caught in a typical parental dilemma – he feels the need to protect his daughter from harm but does not recognise that it is time to step back - to let go – at least in part.

Experiencing unrequited love can be extremely painful particularly where you once had a close personal relationship but your partner now wishes to move on. It is natural that you should do all you can to retain the relationship but if you don’t succeed you will have to accept at some stage that you must let them go There are even songs about it, “If you love somebody – let them go…” The longer you cling on, the more painful it will be.

When a loved one dies grieving is natural – we have lost someone who was dear to us and we miss them but if we don’t eventually acknowledge that they have gone and let them go, the suffering and unhappiness is going to continue. There is a Buddhist funeral ceremony that I feel is particularly beneficial although undeniably emotional. A long white silk ribbon is held by all the mourners. They are asked to meditate on their memory of the loved one who has died; celebrating and rejoicing in their good times together. At an appropriate point, they are asked to hold on to their memories but ‘let go’ of their loved one’s presence. As they recognise and accept that life must go on without them, the ribbon is gently and slowly pulled through their hands until it is released.

On a more mundane level, we can get very attached to ‘things’ and possessions. When they are lost, broken or even stolen we can get very upset or angry – this is a natural reaction and is perfectly harmless as long as we quickly accept that that thing has gone – and get over it. If you have listened to me talk on this subject before you may have heard me refer to a particular type of car I had lusted after for years. Eventually I had an opportunity to own one and because it was the exact model I wanted and at a price I could just about afford, I was determined to have it. So determined, that I didn’t take care to check it out as thoroughly as I should have done. In spite of 20+ years of studying the Buddha Dharma, I allowed my craving to blind me to the suffering that would inevitably follow such a strong attachment to something as decidedly impermanent as a second hand car. Before a year was out, the engine blew up on the way back home from this Tuesday class. It was beyond repair, towed away to the scrap yard in return for £200. It was a tough and painful reminder of the dangers of attachment.

I am not saying that we must remain detached and unemotional regarding our relationships with the people we love or the things we have worked so hard for. That’s not the case. What I am saying is that you should never forget that all things are impermanent. Eventually you have to let go whether it be a loved one, a valued possession, your youth, beauty, a career, even life itself. Last year I was asked if I would visit a man who just had a few days to live. He was dying of cancer and had said he would like to meet a Buddhist. He was not a Buddhist himself but he had travelled very widely and often in Buddhist countries and felt a strong affinity with Buddhism. His wife believed in re-birth and he wanted to talk to a Buddhist about their view of this. I was a little nervous of the visit as I expected it to be harrowing. The man was several years younger than me. He lay in his bed breathing oxygen and looking very frail. Before I could speak, he greeted me by saying that he wanted to make it clear at the outset that he was not angry about dying. He had enjoyed a wonderful life, travelling all over the world as an IT specialist. He had a wonderful wife and beautiful, loving children. His home was set in lovely rural parkland and even as he lay in his bed he could look out of the window and still enjoy it. If he felt anything at all, it was just a sense of disappointment that it was coming to an end. We sat together for over an hour during which we talked easily and laughed a great deal. I hope he enjoyed meeting me as much as I enjoyed meeting him. Afterwards I felt inspired and privileged to have spent time together. I had seen a man with so much that he could have clung to but he was prepared to ‘let go’. Consequently there was no anguish, no anger, no ‘why me?’ It was a significant event in my life and I hope that when my time comes, I will be able to emulate both his equanimity and courage.

The man clinging to the tree branch just inches from safety could have let go and brought his fear and suffering to an end but preferred to ignore the wise voice, clung even more tightly to impermanence and continued to suffer.

Some Thoughts on Mindfulness

2010-02-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

If you were a Buddhist monk or nun you would spend a great deal of time developing mindfulness or awareness, constantly keeping your mind alert to phenomena that affect your body and mind, striving to be deliberate, making sure not to act or speak due to inattention or forgetfulness. It is described by a Theravadan monk as follows:

“The mind is trained to remain in the present, open, quiet, and alert, contemplating the present event. All judgments and interpretations have to be suspended, or if they occur, just registered and dropped.”

However, we are not monks or nuns so what benefit would we experience in our everyday lives by developing more awareness and how can we encourage it? Firstly, let us make it clear that, in the same way that you don’t have to be a Buddhist to meditate, neither do you have to be a Buddhist to practice and benefit from increased mindfulness/awareness.

So what exactly is ‘mindfulness’? Well, perhaps the best way to understand what it is and how we benefit from becoming more mindful or aware, is to consider what it is like when we act without being mindful or aware. We have all experienced what happens when we are not in the present moment, when we are distracted by thoughts of what has passed or what is to come.

When we travel on the Underground, we are told to “mind the gap” as we step on or off the platform. The consequences of not being mindful are obvious, but what about when we speak to someone without being mindful or aware of what we are saying or the tone we are using as we speak? Politicians have to be hyper-aware of every word they utter and the manner in which they utter it – one moment of inattention and their political career can be ruined. But what about lesser mortals? There’s an old saying, “engage brain before operating mouth” and I am sure we could all recall times when we have said something without awareness and have regretted the consequences.

When we are mindful, we are said to be ‘in the present moment’. To live in the present moment is to be ‘alive’ in the truest sense of the word. To be aware of everything that is going on around you. To recognise your own emotional state, to pick up on the nuances indicating other people’s states of mind; to act in a conscious way and recognise what is taking place around you. But you do this without constantly analysing and interpreting. This instinctive state is sometimes referred to as ‘unproliferated sensing’. This almost seems contradictory. I am suggesting that you find the middle way between being unthinkingly robotic on one hand and constantly using your brain to analyse everything you see and sense on the other extreme.

Here’s an alternative to Mindfulness of Breathing meditation. Take a walk in the country or through a park. Be alone. As you walk, don’t think, “there’s a Labrador having a poo, I wonder if they owner will pick it up”, or “That bird is probably a dunnock” or “I think it is going to rain soon”. Instead, just be aware of everything your senses are telling you but without proliferation. Don’t analyse. Feel the wind on your face, experience the soil under your feet. Observe the flight of a bird. Hear the rustle of the autumn leaves. Become engaged with the rhythm of your footfall in the same way you become engrossed in the in and out of your breath.

Dr Jon Kabat-Zinn (the founder of MBSR and MBCT) describes mindfulness as ‘a particular way of paying attention; on purpose, in the present moment and non-judgementally’

‘Non-judgementally’ seems to me to mean pretty much the same as ‘un-proliferated’. We are observing things as they actually are without automatically making judgements or analysing what it is we perceive.

In her new book Living Well With Pain and Illness, Vidyalmala expresses the opinion, “We all spend much of our time dwelling on the past and imagining the future, but what we can affect directly is what’s happening right now. If you are awake to each unfolding moment rather than lost in regrets and fantasies, you can be fully alive to everything in yourself, other people and the world around you”.

How can you recognise when you are being mindful and fully aware – what does if feel like? Well, you already know the answer. If you recall a time when you were totally absorbed in an activity, painting, listening to music, reading a novel, watching a sunset. There was nothing in your mind other than the enjoyment of the experience. You were in a timeless present moment, your mind, your body, your senses were all in harmony. I once walked around a small lake with Ananda, one of longest serving Order Members. It started to rain so we sheltered under a tree. As we stood there, we became aware of an angler on the other side. He was sitting totally still, watching his float. He was completely absorbed in what he was doing, absolutely focussed. Ananda said, “If you were to ask him what he is doing, he would tell you that he is fishing, but what he is actually doing is practicing mindfulness”.

So, when I wonder what it feels like to experience awareness in its purest form, I remind myself of a time when I was commissioned to paint a picture of the great sax player, Charlie Parker. As I painted I played Charlie Parker on the stereo. Until then I had been struggling to paint his dark skin tones but as I became deeply absorbed in the music and the painting, I stopped thinking about my lack of experience, ceased worrying about my own limited capabilities. I just painted. I stopped when it was dark and time to go to bed. The next morning I came downstairs and saw the painting on the easel. It was complete and perfect – it almost felt as though someone else had painted it. Today it hangs on the owner’s wall and is his most precious possession.

Taking up the Brush Once More

2009-12-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

Many years ago, I decided it was time to recognise a dream. I had long wondered if I could support myself as an artist. All my life I had drawn and painted things but I wanted to know if I was good enough to make a living doing so. Just as importantly, I also wanted to do it somewhere warm and sunny.

Eventually, with much encouragement and support from my partner, I resigned my job, bought an old campervan and set off for a new life in Menorca in the Balearic Islands. We rented a small house way out in the middle of nowhere and I began to paint. For a while I was living the dream, but of course it was only a matter of time before reality kicked in. When you depend on your art to pay for the groceries, you soon learn that you have to paint subjects that sell rather than those you would chose to paint for your own enjoyment. However, I didn't really mind as long as I had a paintbrush in my hand so I was prepared to try whatever was necessary. This included painting murals on the walls of holiday villas; learning signwriting, painting watercolours of gardens and pets and even stencilling pictures on t-shirts. My biggest success however was a series of large watercolours of black singers and musicians but it was still very much a hand to mouth existence. If we sold a picture we could eat, and if we didn't sell a picture we worried. Eventually I was offered an opportunity to earn a slightly more reliable living running a bar and restaurant. I accepted and I put away my paints and brushes.

They stayed that way for the next 18 years. Several times I had the urge to paint once more but after such a long time I lacked the confidence I once had. I got as far as putting the paper on the drawing board, putting the board on the easel and surrounding myself with brushes, tubes of paint and all the other paraphernalia you need before you can paint. And then I put it all away again.

But this winter I resolved to start painting once again and eventually, I made the first brush stroke for 18 years. Once again it was a black musician. It wasn't the best painting I have ever done, but it was a start and it was good to know that with practice I could regain my old skills.

Gaining Wisdom

2009-12-08T08:20:00.001-08:00

I hesitate to lead a discussion on Wisdom. I left school at 15 with two GCE O levels. I have had scores of different jobs and have been married 4 times. I am now well past retirement age – is it possible that simply surviving for 69 years can make one wise? I don’t think so, but wisdom does not necessarily equate with education or academic success, it is more a matter of learning to see the world around you in a different way.

One achieves wisdom when one experiences insight into the way things really are. But what is meant by ‘insight’? What is meant by ‘seeing things as they really are’? We see things as they really are when we rise above our normal mundane, conditioned existence to see things in a new, transcendent, unconditioned way.

CONDITIONED EXISTENCE

This gives rise to another question. What do we mean by unconditioned? The process of conditioning starts almost from the moment we emerge from the womb. The vast majority is useful and intended to help us to grow up in a way that allows us to live in harmony with our society. Our behaviour is conditioned by our parents. From them we learn good manners. As best they can, they teach us what is ‘right’ and what is ‘wrong’. However, they may also condition our belief in God or our social order. Our school teachers continue this process, often reinforcing our parent’s ideas of the divine and class loyalties. More importantly, this whole mass of conditioning is inclined to cause us to believe that the way we see the world is the ‘right’ way, indeed we are often asked to believe it is the only way.

By the time we are in our teens and struggling to think for ourselves, we frequently find we are caught in the conflict between our received wisdom and emerging doubts about the true order of things. So, how can we untangle ourselves from this web of conditioning, rise above it and experience insight into the way things really are?

My parents were atheists but they sent me to Sunday school. This was not because they thought Jesus wanted me for a sunbeam, but because it got me out of the house on a Sunday morning so they could have a lay in. One Sunday I was shown the power of sin. A large reel of cotton was produced and it was wrapped around me just once. I was told that this single strand was a sin. I was asked to break free – which I obviously could. Then the children took turns in running the cotton round and round me until I was in a web of sin that held me as tight as a straight jacket. Although I was only 8 or 9 years old I was already having my doubts about the whole God thing, but the image stayed with me and perhaps it is a good metaphor for how conditioning works. Each subsequent thread of conditioning binds us closer and closer to our own view of reality until we become convinced that we are the centre of our own universe, solid, permanent and unchanging.

TRANSCENDING CONDITIONED EXISTENCE

So, how can we rise above this conditioned view of existence and perhaps see it as it really is? The Buddha to be, Siddhartha Gautama was so determined to see beyond the mundane, obscured view of reality, that he left home and for many years devoted himself entirely to that pursuit. Eventually, having made very little real progress, he sat down to meditate. As he was absorbed deeper and deeper in his meditation, many things were revealed to him until, after many hours, the veil feel away and he saw everything with stunning clarity. He had obtained a view of reality that was now so clear that it was as if his previous life had been lived within a dream and now, for the first time, he was wholly awake. His followers recognising this transition, called him Buddha – ‘he who is awakened’.

As a Buddhist, my hope is not necessarily that I am going to achieve the same total experience as the Buddha, although he himself said that this was possible, but I do hope that I will at least acquire some measure of insight, perhaps just a fleeting glance of the true nature of things.

Over time we come to understand that there is no permanent unchanging self, no eternal soul, no unchanging divine spark. For those who do experience insight, there is no returning, no turning back from the desire to understand and achieve complete understanding.

DEPENDENT ORIGINATION

It is said that the teaching that separated the enlightened teaching of the Buddha from all other contemporary holy men and spiritual leaders was his explanation of dependent origination. It takes a little while to absorb but even someone like me with just two O level GCEs can get there eventually. The Buddha taught that phenomena only exist because of the existence of other phenomena in a complex web of cause and effect. This is what he said:

When this is, that is.

From the arising of this, comes the arising of that.

When this isn’t, that isn’t

From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.

In other words, nothing can exist entirely independent of everything else. Everything that arises, does so in dependence on certain conditions. When those conditions cease, the arising ceases also/ Let us take a simple example. A flower rises in dependence upon certain conditions. Firstly there must be a seed. That seed needs certain conditions to germinate. It must have light, soil, nutrients and moisture. It requires certain climatic conditions to signal when it should start growing and it is dependent upon genetic programming to ensure that it grows into a flower and not a stick of rhubarb. When all these conditions exist, so does the flower. If any of these elements cease to exist, so will the flower. Buddhists remind themselves of ‘conditioned co-production by placing flowers on every shrine. We understand that everything must be transient and therefore impermanent. When we can grasp this and connect with it with our hearts as well as our heads, insight will arise. It is said that the Buddha once gave a teaching to a group of followers. The Buddha took his place but instead of speaking, he remained silent for some time. Then he held up a single flower and someone in the audience immediately gained insight and attained enlightenment.

Our very existence is contingent upon a whole series of connected phenomena going all the way back to the time sentient beings began to emerge from the primordial swamp. Everything you do is contingent upon a mass of other phenomena. The moment you opened your eyes this morning your existence was contingent upon a web of events so complex as to be almost beyond description.

To enable us to understand this concept we can reflect on the beautiful metaphor of Indra’s web:

Far away in the heavenly abode of the great god Indra, there is a wonderful net which has been hung buy some cunning artificer in such a manner that it stretches out infinitely in all directions. In accordance with the extravagant tastes of deities, the artificer has hung a single glittering jewel in each ‘eye’ of the net, and since the net itself is infinite in dimension, the jewels are infinite in number. There hang the jewels, glittering like stars in the first magnitude, a wonderful sight to behold. If we now arbitrarily select one of these jewels for inspection and look closely at it, we will discover that it its polished surface there are reflected all the other jewels in the net, infinite in number. Not only that, but each of the jewels reflected in this one jewel is also reflecting all the other jewels, so there is an infinite reflecting process occurring.

With growing concern for global warming and climate change, we are beginning to grasp exactly how complex and interconnected this web is. We learn that unless we do something to redress the damage we are all doing to the environment, the planet we always thought of as the ultimate in permanence, is nothing of the sort. Unchecked, it is possible that the human race will destroy it. Conditioned co-production teaches that every one of us has a role to play in ensuring this does not happen. We are interconnected with every other human being on Earth and our contribution, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, is vital to our survival.

Wisdom arises when we glimpse the true nature of things as they really are.

Flotsam Faces

2009-11-14T10:13:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago, we were spending a day with friends who had access to a waterfront villa at Calla Rata on the opposite side of Mahon harbour in Menorca. Whilst the others were fishing, I idled away the time arranging bits of flotsam and jetsam to create a caricature. I continued and over the course of the next hour or so I had created three of them.

My friends were so taken by the result that they urged me to take one of them home and permanently fix the bits together. On my return to Wells at the end of our holiday, I spent an afternoon collecting rubbish off the beaches at Burnham on Sea to make some more caricatures. These 'Flotsam Faces' are now displayed on the walls of our cottage. I enjoy creating something amusing out of rubbish and I hope you like them too.

Pratītya Samutpāda

2009-11-14T01:09:00.000-08:00

The concept of Pratitya Samutpada or dependent origination is common to all schools of Buddhism and is a fundamental cornerstone of the Buddha’s teaching. In short, it states that all phenomena arise together in a mutually interdependent web of cause and effect. A Wikipedia entry describes it as follows:

“A human being's existence in any given moment is dependent on the condition of everything else in the world at that moment, but in an equally significant way, the condition of everything in the world in that moment depends conversely on the character and condition of that human being. This sounds as though it is unbelievably complex and indeed it is”.

The Buddha described it more pragmatically:

When this is, that is.
From the arising of this comes the arising of that.
When this isn't, that isn't.
From the cessation of this comes the cessation of that.

They say that the best way to eat an elephant is a little bit at a time, so maybe we could start by nibbling at one tiny corner of this massive cardinal doctrine. The Buddha urged us to test his teachings in the light of our own experience and I have always taken this advice to heart. If I can see the truth of a concept represented in my own life and in the world around me, I find it much easier to understand. So here’s an example of something that seemed relatively insignificant at the time but because of dependant origination, it changed my past, my present and my future.

I joined the RAF in my late teens. I loved the life but was not too keen on my job as an RAF Policeman. I was due to be released at the end of my enlistment period but felt inclined to stay on if I could change my trade to something more interesting. The RAF had just introduced a new flying trade of Air Quarter Master. I met the criteria so I applied. I was then advised that all applicants must have a minimum of 9 years unexpired service. As I was at the point of being released, I would have to sign up for the full term. However, if I failed the selection process or did not complete the training, I would have to serve out the 9 years as a policeman. I quickly withdrew my application and was released a few weeks later.

I decided against returning to my home town of Ealing and settled in Bristol. Here I met new friends including Bob, a jazz musician and sandwich bar owner,

Meanwhile, unbeknown to me, another story was unfolding. Two teenage girls, Jan and Mandy, had become close friends at school in Bristol. They were now both working and decided to take a holiday together. It would be their first time abroad and they eagerly poured over the holiday brochures. They chose a reasonably priced 10 day holiday in Menorca in the Spanish Balearic Islands.

The adventure was everything they hoped it would be and Mandy had the bonus of a holiday romance with Jose, a handsome Spanish waiter. Unlike most holiday romances this one endured. Mandy and Jose continued to write to each other. Eventually Jose saved enough to fly to Bristol to find Mandy and seek employment. They married and returned to Menorca together where they started a family. Jan would fly out to visit them as often as she could. Eventually Jan also married but her husband wasn’t keen on foreign holidays, but she still kept in contact with Mandy and Jose as best she could.

Tragedy struck and Jan’s husband was killed in a motoring accident. Some years later she bumped into my friend Bob in a jazz club. They fell in love, married and had a honeymoon in Menorca with Mandy and Jose. Bob loved the island and couldn’t wait to move out and start a business there. Naturally I was keen to visit Bob and took my new partner Chrissie with me. She too was enchanted by the island and we agreed to sell up and emigrate there.

Chrissie’s son Will came with us, went to a local Spanish school and on to Art College. Years later, when Chrissie and I moved away from the island, he decided to stay behind. Today he works in one of the island’s big tourist attractions, Los Covas den Xoroi, a night club situated in caves set high in the side of a massive cliff face. His partner is pregnant and in a few months Chrissie and I will have a grandchild who will be part Spanish. I doubt that they will every wish to live in the UK so we will have a family line stretching far into the future and linked to this small Mediterranean island.

Had the RAF not imposed the 9 year rule, I would have stayed on as an Air Quarter Master, living an entirely different life flying around the world taking supplies to air bases. I would never have met Bob or known anything about Jan, Mandy or Jose. I would not have met my wife Chrissie or lived in Menorca. I would not have had a stepson called Will or a Spanish grandchild. My past, present and future turned on a simple decision to return to civilian life.

Through our own experience we are able to understand and appreciate the amazingly complex web of cause and effect that connects us all. Today it is considered to be new science and ‘the butterfly effect’ is often used as a metaphor. 2,500 years ago in Northern India a fully enlightened Buddha understood it all perfectly. He called it Pratītya Samutpāda.

Sliding Doors

2009-11-04T06:57:00.001-08:00

In the film Sliding Doors, Gwyneth Paltrow portrays two versions of a young New Yorker’s life. They are separated by the closing of the doors of a tube train. In one version she catches the train and her life is taken in a particular direction. In the other version the doors shut before she can board and her life is totally different.

It is the fact that our lives can turn on such seemingly insignificant events that excites me so much. No matter how we plan or structure our lives, they can suddenly alter in the blinking of an eye, for the better or for the worse. We may turn a corner and meet the person we are going to spend the rest of our lives with or fall down an unattended beer cellar and carry the scars forever. When we open our eyes each morning, we have no idea if the dawn is going to bring an encounter that will significantly alter the direction of our lives or if it is going to be just like any other day.

Some years ago I was a security surveyor working in London. One day, I was working in London’s West End when I received a pager message asking me to visit Group Sales Box Office, a company located down a side street off Haymarket: I was to ask for the Director, Gillian Guy.

I caught the lift to the second floor which opened into an incredibly busy office. Phones rang, telex machines chattered. People were ran back and forth carrying files and waving pieces of paper. I was led to the far corner where Gillian sat behind a desk shielded from the chaos by shoulder-high screens. She was on a transatlantic telephone call. No sooner had she put the receiver down than it rang again. I sat patiently until she finished and pressed the Do Not Disturb button.

She was an imposing figure. In her late 50’s, confident and authorative. Her accent was middle class and slightly theatrical. I needed to engage in a little small talk so that I could be sure of her attention, so I commented on the high stress environment and suggested it must be a very difficult to wind down at the end of the day.

She became quite animated. “Oh you wouldn’t believe it darling. It is so difficult. I’ve tried everything, alcohol, yoga, exercise. I am even thinking of trying meditation”.

At that time I was supporting the beginners’ drop-in class at the London Buddhist Centre, so I mentioned this. Gillian’s eyes lit up and she asked me when and where the classes took place. I explained that they were at a Buddhist centre in Bethnal Green and expected this would put her off. Not so. Gillian grabbed a Post-it note and scribbled down the details. I suggested that if she ever wished to come along, she should try the vegetarian restaurant next door as I usually ate there at 7.00 before the class started at 7.30 and would be pleased to introduce her. With that we moved on to discuss the security of the offices and when I left the building an hour later, I did not expect to see Gillian Guy again.

Several weeks later, I wandered into the Cherry Tree Vegetarian Café one evening for a bowl of soup and home made bread before entering the adjacent London Buddhist Centre for the beginner’s meditation class. Someone waved vigorously in my direction and it took a moment to recognise Gillian Guy, sitting in a corner wearing a genuine fur coat, oblivious to the fact that the vegetarian diners were looking daggers at her. We renewed our acquaintance and spent the evening at the class. Gillian took to meditation like a duck to water and we continued to meet regularly as she became a frequent visitor to the Centre.

Group Sales Box Office specialised in booking large blocks of theatre seats for visiting parties of tourists. In fact her company sold more West End theatre tickets than any other agency in London. Consequently, much of her spare time was taken up attending opening nights of plays and shows so she could assess their suitability for her groups.

She told me that her husband had been a senior manager with the Daily Telegraph but had died nearly two years previously. To compensate for the void left by his death she filled her spare time with the theatre and voluntary work as a part time magistrate. However, she didn’t like to go to the theatre unaccompanied and would invite friends and even ‘borrowed’ their husbands for a few hours to act as escorts. She asked if I liked the theatre and I replied that I liked it very much, although I didn’t go too often. Gillian asked if I would be prepared to escort her one evening and I said that it would be a great pleasure.

A few days later my pager instructed me to ring Gillian Guy.
“Are you free this evening” she enquired. I was.
“I don’t suppose you have a dinner jacket with you?” I assured her that it was not an essential part of a security surveyor’s equipment but I was wearing a dark blue suit.
“Could you buy a dickie-bow somewhere and then meet me at the Haymarket Theatre at 7.15? It’s the first night of a new musical”.

I was not too keen on musicals but it was a free night out and soon sported a criminally over-priced black bow tie. I hurried to the Haymarket. I turned the corner to see a heaving mass of people thronging around the Haymarket Theatre. There were flood lights, TV cameras and autograph hunters waving books. A fleet of sleek limousines queued at the curb-side waiting to discharge celebrity passengers. Policemen linked arms to hold back the crowds. And there, standing calmly on the other side of the police cordon, wearing her genuine fur coat, was Gillian Guy. She waved; instructed the police to let me through and quickly whisked me inside. She took a seat in the stalls bar whilst I elbowed aside Melvyn Bragg to order a couple of gin and tonics for the intermission. Gillian explained that this was the first night of Phantom of the Opera, a new musical by Andrew Lloyd-Webber and Tim Rice starring Michael Crawford who was a major star following his television success as Frank Spencer in Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em.

It was a glittering occasion and we were surrounded by well known faces. Gillian pushed through the crowds to speak to Stephen Fry. They obviously new each other well and she explained that they had once been neighbours when she lived on Clapham Common. We took our seats and the lights dimmed.

Back at the bar during the interval, Gillian asked me what I thought of it. Anxious not to reveal that musicals were not my thing, I praised the amazing sets. I was blithely unaware that I was witnessing the birth of a worldwide theatrical phenomenon; the most successful West End musical of all time.

When the curtain calls finally ended, we fought out way out into the fresh air once more.
“Come along darling, I’ve got a ticket to the Lloyd-Webber’s party at Limelight”. Gillian showed me the single gold edged invitation.
“I will walk you there and then I’ll go home” I said. I have had a truly incredible evening”
Gillian was having none of it. “Just stick close to me and we’ll be fine”

As we approached Limelight we could see a menacing team of bouncers guarding the door. I feared the worst but at that moment a number of taxis pulled up disgorging a crowd of dinner-jacketed men with their cocktail-dressed partners. We were surrounded on all sides. Cameras flashed, invitations were waved in the air. Somehow in the melee we were suddenly found ourselves inside and being offered chilled champagne by tall transvestites in fishnet stockings.

When we emerged at 2.00 in the morning, an argument was taking place on the pavement. Singer George Michael was being denied entry by bouncers because he had not got an invitation.

A throw-away remark about the need to unwind after a stressful had taken me to another world; one I would otherwise have only dreamed about. For the next three years I was to escort Gillian to every first night in both London and the provinces; attend every award ceremony and be invited to all the major theatrical parties.

Far more importantly, I forged a very special friendship that endures to this very day.

Long Journey Home

2009-10-26T06:13:00.000-07:00

I related this story during a talk at the recent East Down Centre Beginner's Retreat in Devon (see below).

Some years ago, I was eking out a living as a water-colourist on the Mediterranean island of Menorca in the Spanish Balearics. I had been asked by my ex-employer to assist with a new project and was flying to the UK via Barcelona. As I sat in the departure lounge some passengers were transferring from an inbound Ibiza flight. One of them, a rangy middle-aged hippy, staggered under the influence of alcohol or drugs, as he searched vainly for a seat. He cussied and shouted at no one in particular. I had a sinking feeling that if he was allowed to board, he would end up sitting next to me.

The flight embarked and sure enough, he came tottering down the aisle towards me. To my intense relief he continued past me, disappearing to the far end of the cabin. Instead the empty seat next to me was taken by an elderly lady, short and rather dumpy, with a startlingly severe haircut and a shapeless, long-sleeved dress. I relaxed; at least I would be able to shut my eyes for a while during the 2 hour flight to Gatwick.

It soon became obvious that she was not going to be ignored and once airborne, eagerly engaged me in conversation. She asked if I had been on holiday in Spain and I explained that I was fortunate to live in Menorca and worked as an artist. Her face lit up as she twisted in her seat to look at me directly. She wanted to know what medium I worked in and I replied that I was a water-colourist. At this she issued a snort and became intensely animated.
“Watercolours are for women!” she exclaimed loudly, “Men should work in oils or acrylics”.
Now she was in full flow. “I use oils but I paint with my hands, I push the paint like this, and like this!” As demonstrated, waving her arms about in a dramatic manner, attracting glances from other passengers. I began to wonder if the Ibizan hippy may have been a better travelling companion.

As she became excited, her accent became an odd mix of something strongly Slavic combined with a slight tinge of Scots.

I asked her what subjects she painted. “I paint abstracts to express all the suffering I have seen in my life” She replied, her voice lowering. I enquired if she had a market for them and she explained that she lived in a retirement home for artistic Jews. They provided the canvasses and paint and sold her pictures to cover the cost of her accommodation. He voice became conspiratorial, “But I get up in the night when they are all asleep and paint pictures that I hide under my bed. Then I sell them privately”.

I wanted to know if she got good prices for her abstracts. “It’s better than writing books” she said with another snort. By now I couldn’t stop myself.
“You’ve written a book?”
“Yes” she replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“What about?”
“My years in the Russian gulag”
I sat up in my seat. “You were in the gulags?” I said incredulously.
“Yes, for many years,”
For the next hour she told me of her nightmare imprisonment in Stalin’s labour camps. Several times I felt my eye brim with tears. I could hardly breathe as her story unfolded.

I was desperate to know more but we were now being instructed to fasten our seat belts as we were starting our descent.
“Was the book published?”
“Oh yes, but after agents fees and public relations and marketing, I got nothing”.
She didn’t seem keen to continue discussion of her book but I pressed her.
“What was it called?”
“Long Journey Home”
“Is it still in print?”
“Oh yes”.
“What name did you write it under?”
“My name, Flora Leipman”.

The conversation was over. She caught a passing air hostess by the arm. “I would like a wheel chair to meet me at the steps, I am too old to walk all the way to the terminal”. The hostess explained that if she had not booked it before departure, it would not be possible. With that Flora Leipman simply repeated her request, slowly, quietly and assertively. “I would like a wheel chair to meet me at the steps.” Shaking her head, the hostess walked away.

The aircraft landed and Flora Leipman remained seated. “I am waiting for my wheel chair” she stated flatly. I wished her well and left the aircraft. As I waited at the baggage reclaim I heard a triumphant shout, “Goodbye Mr Watercolour”. Flora Leipman waved me farewell as she was pushed through the arrivals hall in her wheelchair.

At the weekend, I enquired at my local Waterstone's. I asked if they had heard of a book called, Lone Journey Home by a Flora Leipman. Yes they had. It had been on their best seller list but was sold out and they were waiting for the re-print to be delivered next week. I ordered a copy and collected it the following Tuesday. I urge you to find a used copy on Amazon - there are plenty there costing little more than the postage, I guarantee you will be moved.

In 1999 I read her obituary in the Independent.

In the 1930s Flora Leipman left the Glasgow of her childhood for Leningrad, expecting to help build a socialist paradise: instead, her whole family fell victim to Stalin's purges. Her strange, sad life was documented in a book by her, The Long Journey Home, which was also the subject of a BBC documentary....just before she died she explained: "Painting helps me forget . . . losing my girlhood, not having shoes, never having enough food, the rage, the waste of all our lives.”

I have learned that there is no such thing as an ‘ordinary’ person. No matter how ordinary a person may think they are or how ordinary they may appear to be at first sight, everyone, but everyone has a story to tell. Maybe not quite as chilling as Flora Leipman’s but an interesting tale nonetheless. All you need to do is listen.

A Beginner's Retreat

2009-10-26T03:04:00.000-07:00

A Beginners’ Meditation Retreat took place at the beautiful East Down Centre deep in rural Devon over the weekend of 23 to 25 October. There were 14 retreatants including the team. The theme was 'The Heart' and was co-led by Amaladevi and Bahiya. Organisation and catering support was very generously provided by Padmapala and Kumada releasing the co-leaders to concentrate on the programme of dharma talks and meditation.

Saturday was wet and miserable with the gloom added to by the sound of gunfire as a pheasant shoot took place on the neighbouring estate. But on Sunday the sun shone. The sight of dozens of surviving pheasants raised everyone’s spirits and the glorious contryside was transformed as the sun drove away the mist and clouds. Taking advantage of the unexpected good weather,the team was able to introduce a walking meditation into the programme. It was so warm that many were able to walk in bare feet, enjoying the sensation of the grass between their toes and the sun on their faces - a memorable introduction to this form of meditation

Amaladevi introduced the beginners to a 3-fold puja on Saturday evening and led the final metta bhavana meditation on Sunday afternoon during which each individual attending the retreat was named and sent metta by the group.

Padmapala and Kumada, having provided food of the highest standard and more than ample quantity, ensured that everyone left clutching apples and bananas for their journey back to Bristol on Sunday evening at the conclusion of what everyone agreed was a thoroughly enjoyable and inspiring weekend. My heart-felt thanks to everyone who made it happen.

In God's Waiting Room

2009-10-12T01:39:00.000-07:00

There’s a dilemma when considering when one should accept that one is officially ‘old’. Getting a bus pass and a state pension didn’t seem to do it for me and until now I have steadfastly refused to describe myself as ‘old’. Next year I will be 70, there will be no argument – I will be old and that’s that. I could last another 10 years or more, but there is no disguising the fact that I am now, in ‘God’s Waiting Room’.

It is perfectly natural, once you reach your 60’s, that you should begin to think a bit more carefully about death. During last winter’s damp, cold weather my creaking and painful joints nudged my consciousness, reminding me that time was marching on. I needed to consider what was most likely; would I would die, be reborn and start all over again from scratch, or I would simply enter into the ‘Big Sleep’. Of course my Christian friends would suggest that I would find myself standing before my maker as he considered my CV. I thought carefully about the ,Big Sleep.

"I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it."
Mark Twain

When insight came to me it was not on the meditation stool, not on retreat, but from that other great source of spiritual inspiration – Google. I Googled ‘death’ and started following some strange and rather spooky threads until I somehow came across a reference to Dr Ian Stevenson.

Dr Ian Stevenson had acquired a medical degree at McGill University in Montreal in 1943, graduating at the top of his class. Following some early work in biochemistry he decided to specialise in psychiatry. He became head of the Department of Psychiatry at the University of Virginia at the age of just 39. Somewhere along the way he developed an interest in reports of children who seemed to remember past lives. He became so attracted by this research that he was granted a professorial chair, becoming a full time researcher into paranormal phenomena.

His chosen subject was probably considered extremely flaky by fellow scientists and in spite of his research being published in lofty but somewhat dry publications such as The Journal of American Society for Psychical Research and The Journal of Scientific Exploration; he was totally ignored by the mainstream scientific community and of course to the larger non academic community. Until he came to the attention of the Washington Post journalist and best selling author, Tom Schroder.

Like me, Schroder had been looking around for possible evidence of reincarnation when he came across and article written by Prof. Ian Stevenson. It featured the results of his research into the previous life memories of young children. The amazing thing was that Prof Stevenson hadn’t just investigated a handful of cases, he had researched literally thousands. Schroeder was impressed by his calm, slightly dry academic approach to his research, meticulously checking and substantiating all claims.

Stevenson was now 80 years old but still conducting research. Schroder contacted him, requested an interview and was invited to visit him at the University of Virginia’s Department of Personality Studies. Filing cabinets in his office were stuffed with transcripts from over 2,500 cased he had investigated during the past 40 years. He was tall and lean with a full head of silver hair and a slightly formal air. Schroder asked him if his research had proven reincarnation. Stevenson’s response was typically measured, “Of the cases we know now – at least for some – reincarnation is the best explanation we have been able to come up with”.

At the end of his visit, Schroder asked if he could accompany him during one of his research projects. Stevenson said that he was nearing retirement but had plans for two final field trips, one to Lebanon and the other to India. Eventually, Stevenson rather bravely agreed to allow this Washington Post journalist to travel with him on his final tour. The result was an amazing book entitled Old Souls. I found a copy on Amazon and sent off for it.

Tom Schroder freely admits that he had no preconceptions at all when he began his travels with Professor Stevenson but by the time he had written the book, he had been totally won over. There is no time this evening to relate any of the case studies Stevenson revisited during this tour but the details are jaw-dropping. From the moment these children could talk they spoke of people and events from the past with details of specifically identifiable individuals who may have died just months, weeks or even hours before the birth of the child in question. Very often their previous persona had died from a significant trauma, a car accident, a shotgun blast, etc. In many cases the child has a birthmark, skin blemishes or deformities that coincided with the injuries received in their previous life.

I began to reflect on my own childhood. What were my earliest memories? I remembered a recurrent nightmare I used to have. I would dream that I was being crushed by something massive, dark and unstoppable. It was bearing down on me relentlessly and silently. I would wake screaming and it would take my parents ages to calm me down. One evening I had gone to bed relatively early and had woken screaming with terror at the same dream. My father asked me what it was and I tried to describe the massive thing, like a cloud but not a cloud that was coming down on top of me. I couldn’t stop it.

With that my father went to a cupboard and came back with a ceremonial sword he had acquired as an officer in the RAF. He unsheathed it with a flourish, jabbed the point in the ceiling and wedged the handle on top of a small wardrobe. “That’s fixed it!” he shouted, “It won’t come down on you any more” and that was it – I went to sleep and never had that dream ever again - I was 6 years old.

This made me think about an odd phenomenon that I had almost taken for granted. My wife calls it my ‘stigmata’. It is a small jagged, bright red mark that occasionally appears on my face. It can do so once a year, or several times in succession. It looks like I have been struck by a small shard of glass. It is never in the same place and usually on the right side of my face, but not always. It doesn’t hurt and it fades after a couple of days. It appears in the night, sometimes after I have had a particularly stressful or tiring time.

I was born in London on 24th September 1940. The Luftwaffe began their blitz of London on the 11th September and continued every night until the 27th. Many homes were bombed and hundreds of lives were lost. Survivors described how they were deafened by the blast and buried under rubble. I imagined how they must have died, trapped, their eardrums burst, cut and bleeding, crushed by their collapsing homes. Viewed in light of the experiences described by the children in Professor Stephenson’s research, the nightmares and the stigmata began to take on a new significance.

This gave rise to another memory. Some years ago, my ex-wife Jane and I had hired a VW Camper and taken our three young children on holiday to France and Spain. One early evening we had arrived at a campsite at a mediaeval walled town of Peniscola on the south coast of Spain where they had filmed El Cid with Charlton Heston and Sophia Loren. We had just parked the camper when a Citroen van pulled up along side – one of those old fashioned ones with the corrugated sides. The driver, a middle aged man wearing a very large black beret, clambered out and aided by his wife, began to erect a very large tent. As they did so, it was obvious that a storm was about to break. The sky had darkened and the wind was becoming progressively stronger. Being experience campers, we all agreed that we should give them a hand. As we did so, the rain began to fall and the wind was reaching gale force. As we struggled with the unfamiliar canvass the beret wearing man began shouting instructions to us in a language I didn’t understand. Jane raised her voice over the wind and shouted “He says peg out the main guy ropes first”. Then another instruction from the foreigner interpreted by Jane, “Stand on the edge to stop it flapping whilst he gets the pegs in”.

Quickly, the tent was erected and we returned to the camper to dry off. The consensus of opinion was that they were Basques and I asked Jane how she knew what the guy was saying. She said that she couldn’t explain it - somehow she just knew. An hour later there was a knock on the door of the camper and it was our Basque neighbour. Jane interpreted, “He would like us to join them for aperitifs”. For the next hour or so we sat and chatted in a convivial sort of way. He spoke and Jane interpreted. We spoke and Jane used body language to get our points across.

It has always puzzled me that Jane was so clearly able to understand what our Basque friend was saying and I began to wonder if there was something in her family background. Her grandfather on her mother’s side was 100% pure Romany. He was a gipsy horse trader travelling the country for months at a time visiting the various county fairs. By all accounts he did rather well and when he retired he bought a large piece of land in Hanham, then just green fields in the country surrounding Bristol, where he settled down, built a row of terraced cottages for all the members of his family, and bred horses.

I Googled ‘Romany gipsies’ and discovered that they originated in India. Over centuries they travelled through North Africa; crossed the Straights into Spain and travelled northwards towards the Pyrenees where they came to a halt in the land of the Spanish Basques. During the hundreds of years of their steady migration westwards they had absorbed or adapted to local languages. Over time the small group of that remained resident in the Basque country developed Erromintxela, a mixture of Romany and Basque, a language now vanished into obscurity, that both could understand.

Xenoglossy describes the phenomena where someone finds they are able to talk or understand a language they are not familiar with and have never been taught. Perhaps somewhere in Jane’s past life memories she has a vestige of the ancient Erromintxela tongue.

Finally, there is an internet blog strictly controlled and maintained by past life therapist, Carol Bowman, where people discuss what appear to be their children’s past life experiences. It is interesting to note that there have already been a small handful of reports of very young children referring to experiences relating directly to those who perished in the collapse of the Twin Towers.

The evidence seems overwhelming and my mind is clear. Of course I have no idea how the process works and there are hundreds of unanswered questions - to which one day, we will all have the answers.

The Accidental Buddhist

2009-10-12T00:43:00.000-07:00

I was brought up in a home where God was never mentioned. My parents didn’t go to church or express any interest in religion. I was sent to Sunday school purely so they could enjoy a peaceful morning in bed with the papers. Later, in my early teens my parents separated and my mother had a mental breakdown. The usual teenage angst was added to by my distress at losing my father (he had moved 100 miles away) and my concerns for my mothers health. If I thought of God at all, it was to regard him as malevolent.

In 1981 I was in my mid 40’s and had been divorced twice and married three times. I was living in Bristol but travelling all over the country as National Sales Manger for a security company specialising in safes and vaults. One early autumn afternoon I was working in London SW1, somewhere near Victoria Station. I had two domestic security interviews to conduct. Having found a parking meter I fed it to the maximum before setting off for my first interview. It was over sooner than I expected and as it was unlikely that I would find another meter, I decided to walk to the next call. As I did so it began to rain. Without an umbrella or raincoat I was anxious to shelter until it passed and looked around for a pub or café. There was nothing but a long terrace of large Victorian houses. My pace quickened. Still no shelter. Then I saw a brass plaque above a short flight of stairs, “The Buddhist Society”. The door stood open and just inside I could see the entrance to a library with an “All Welcome” sign.

I entered the library and watched the continuing rain through the window as I pretended to browse the books. A small lady with oriental features approached me and asked if I needed assistance. Slightly embarrassed I asked if she had any leaflets on Buddhism, with the certain knowledge that all religious organisations always have leaflets and are just dying to give them away. She apologised, the only leaflet they had was one they give to children when they visit schools. “Perfect”, I lied, “I was looking for something for my children”.

The rain ceased, the second survey was conducted and I drove back up the M4 to my home just outside Bristol. That evening after supper, I took off my suit and discovered the leaflet in my inside pocket. It was Xeroxed on a single sheet of orange paper, printed both sides and folded to make 4 pages, A5. On the front was a line drawing of two children looking up at a statue of the Buddha. Inside, in language designed to be understood by 10 year olds, it briefly described the life of the Buddha, the Four Noble Truths and the Nobel Eightfold Path. As I read, a tingly feeling crept up my spine.

Without any formal religion I had developed my own personal ethical values over the years and considered them to be uniquely mine. As I read this children’s tract, I was struck by their similarity with Buddhist values. For much of my life I had been a bit of a loner, through circumstances rather than choice and the sudden feeling that I may share something with millions of other like-minded people around the world caused me a shiver of excitement.

The next day I rang the Buddhist Society to ask if they had any centres elsewhere, hoping there may be something in the West of England. “No, we don’t, but there is a Buddhist organisation based outside Bristol. Do you have transport?” I replied that I had a car so that was no problem.
“Do you know the village of Long Ashton?” Slightly stunned, I said that I actually lived in Long Ashton. “Well, do you know Western Road?” My voice went up an octave. “I live in Western Road!” They explained that there was a small community of Friends of the Western Buddhist Order in Western Road, gave me their number and suggested I contact them.

I rang the number and was answered by a man with a strong northern accent. I asked if they ever ran courses for people with absolutely no previous knowledge of Buddhism. “Yes mate, we run a couple of Beginners’ Weekends each year”. I requested he make a note of my number and give me a ring next time a course was planned. “No need mate, there’s one this weekend…”

Twenty-two years later, when a whole ocean of water had passed under my particular bridge, I was ordained into the Western Buddhist Order and given the name Bāhiya.

The Buddha's Teaching to Bahiya

2009-10-11T10:47:00.000-07:00

The tale of Bāhiya of the Bark Garment appears in one of the oldest of the Buddhist scriptures, the Udana, a rich collection of short stories of the Pali Canon.

Apparently, Bāhiya was a merchant who travelled to far off lands. He is said to have successfully crossed the great oceans seven times, but on his eighth voyage, he was shipwrecked and washed ashore naked.

He found himself on the beaches of Supparaka, a once great port on the west coast of India, just north of the present-day Mumbai. Covering his nakedness with flotsam from the beach, he tied a piece of bark around his waist. The villagers, seeing his eccentric dress, thought he must be a holy man and gave him alms; food, drink and shelter.

Time passed and Bāhiya became highly regarded amongst the local residents. They came to him for advice and spiritual teachings. Although not a monk, he became revered as a holy man and gathered a large number of followers, some of whom regarded him as an arahant (Pali - someone who has reached nirvana, the ultimate goal of the spiritual life where all suffering and all attachment ceases). After a while, Bahiya was beginning to believe in his own press, and wondered if he may actually have become an arahant.

In the traditional texts, it is claimed that in a previous life, Bāhiya had been one of a number of monks who had been so determined to achieve enlightenment through meditation, they had scaled a high mountain using a series of ladders. Once they reached the highest point, they threw their ladders down the mountain so there could be no return without achieving Buddhahood. As a result, most of them died. However, one of them somehow survived, and became a Non-returner.
He appeared to Bāhiya as a deva (Pali/Sanskrit - a supernatural being with special powers). He reprimanded him for his arrogance and told him that if he wanted to meet a real arahant, he should travel to Savatthi, the capital of Kosala in the far North where he would find Siddhartha Gautama, known to his followers as the Buddha.

This fired Bāhiya with such enthusiasm to receive a teaching from a real arahant, he set off immediately. India is a large continent and it was a long way from the west coast of Supparaka to the grove in Anathapindinka’s monastery in Savatthi where the Buddha and his followers were on their rainy season retreat (this was one of the Buddha’s favourite places. He used if for 20 years before eventually making it his permanent base). It is said that in his eagerness, Bāhiya only rested for one night.

When he eventually found Anathapindinka’s Monastery, the monks told him that the Buddha was not there, he was in the nearby town receiving alms. If he waited, the Buddha would return later in the day and grant him an audience. But Bāhiya became greatly concerned that something could happen to prevent him meeting the Buddha and receiving the teaching for which he had travelled so far. He decided not to wait but to follow him into town and seek him out.

Bāhiya eventually located the Buddha in the nearby village. He was standing very quietly, gracefully holding his alms bowl. Bāhiya approached, introduced himself and told the Buddha how he had travelled from way down south to receive a teaching from him. However, it was the Buddha’s practice to remain completely silent when seeking alms, so he did not reply. Bāhiya was so desperate for a teaching from a genuine arahant that he begged him once again. For a second time the Buddha remained silent. In desperation, Bāhiya flung himself at the Buddha’s feet, grasping his ankles, explaining that he must have a teaching right now. He said that no one knew what life had in store, he was afraid that something may happen to him or the Buddha and he may never have another chance to receive a personal teaching from a genuine arahant (a prophetic observation as it turns out).

It had become a practice, that if you asked the Buddha a question three times, he would always respond on the third time of asking. So, at this point, he turned to Bāhiya and gave him one of the shortest, and certainly the pithiest teachings in all of the Buddhist scriptures.

Bāhiya, you should train yourself thus: in the seen only the seen; in the heard only heard; in the sensed1 only the sensed; in the cognised only cognised.

Practicing in this way, Bāhiya, you will not be “with that.” When you are not “with that,” you will not be “in that.” And when you are not “in that,” then you will be neither here nor there nor in between the two.

Just this is the end of suffering.

Hearing this teaching, Bāhiya immediately recognised the deepest significance of the Buddha’s words and instantly gained insight. Thanking the Buddha profusely, he left him to continue his alms round. Unfortunately, a little later the same day, Bāhiya was involved in an accident with an enraged cow that was protecting its calf. He was gored so severely that he died from his wounds. When the Buddha returned to the monastery and learned of the sad fate that had befallen Bahiya, he instructed the monks to prepare his body and cremate him with all the respect and ceremony that is due to a true arahant. They should then build a stupa for his ashes and treat them with great reverence as befitting an enlightened person.

THE MEANING OF THE BUDDHA’S TEACHING TO BĀHIYA

This teaching is interpreted in many ways but on Free Buddhist Audio, you can hear Padmavajra’s talk ‘The Sound of Reality’. He tells the tale of Bāhiya of the Bark Garment and describing the meaning of the Buddha’s teaching he refers to “pure sensing” or “seeing without mental proliferation”.

Normally, when we sense something by seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting or perceiving, we almost immediately ‘claim’ it by stamping our interpretation on it, thereby button-holing our experience. This is rather like a tourist who can only experience what he is seeing through the lens of a camera. The experience can only be ‘real’ if he/she can take a picture of the experience home with them. The picture stakes their claim, proving that they have grasped the experience and, to use a photographic term, have ‘captured it’ on film. Consequently, the experience has now been divided into ‘self’ and ‘other’; into ‘grasper’ and ‘grasped’. The moment we claim an experience as ‘ours’ the essence of that moment is lost.

We have probably all encountered ‘unproliferated sensing’ or ‘pure awareness’ at some time or another although it may only have been for the briefest of moments. Walking past someone’s garden at dusk and we suddenly catch the scent of a flower. In that nano-second we respond with pure awareness. Our sense of smell engages and we have that “Aaaahhh” moment before we immediately move on to define the experience so that we can re-experience it again the next time.