morning ride

28/11/2015

For once I had awoken early, to the howls of monkeys at first light, as they welcomed the new day. My morning reiki meditation was just finishing when sounds of love making wafted in from the neighbouring hut, followed by the music of morning prayers from the temple across the river. It was an auspicious start to the day and, after a tasty breakfast, I hopped on the motorbike.

The roads were empty and the air was clear, not yet filled with the dust and pollution of a busy humanity. The machine was in its element, purring smoothly, and a slight lean was all that was needed to take it through the curves. As I zoomed along with the wind in my hair, everything looked brighter and crisper, the colours more saturated. Existence was smiling at me. And I was smiling right back.

It strikes me that the mind is rather like the roads of India. When empty and undisturbed, we see everything so clearly and there is a great joy in the beholding; life flows effortlessly. On the other hand, when the mind is busy, we stir up so much dust and pollution that everything becomes dulled, obscure and, if Indian roads are anything to go by, very noisy indeed!

the goal is not the goal

23/11/2015

This afternoon I went exploring up the river, here in this mysterious, ancient landscape.

I had been up the river before: Ten years ago I was here with a lover and took a beautiful photograph of her, emerging from a chasm between two boulders on an island in the river. When I first saw the photograph on my computer screen, I knew that for me it was the perfect photograph. With that, I felt a huge relaxation, a feeling that I could put my camera down now, now that perfection had been realised.

Today I wanted to go back to the spot where that perfect photograph had been created – a little pilgrimage. I set off up the riverbank, squeezing between boulders and worming my way between clumps of elephant grass. The wide river is dotted with boulder-strewn islands and I set about visiting each in turn, wading through the fast flowing water, slithering around on submerged rocks and sometimes swimming. The water was only half of the challenge. On the islands I found myself clambering about on the large boulders, oftentimes resorting to my rusty rock climbing skills.

I visited every island in the river and I never found the place of the perfect photograph. I can only guess that the monsoon floods of a decade have shifted even these huge boulders. The place is no more. But though I didn’t achieve my goal, I had a beautiful adventure. And, if the truth be known, that is the sole purpose of a goal, the sole purpose of life.

conditional love

21/11/2015

Earlier today I took a walk to visit an old friend – a frangipani tree, which stands alone on top of a nearby hill. In the past, whenever I have visited her, she has been resplendent with flowers and surrounded by a veritable carpet of fallen blossoms. I would feel intoxicated by the fragrance and in awe of such a living embodiment of abundance.

As I approached on this occasion, though, I noticed that there was not a single flower to be seen nor smelled. I was disappointed. And whilst I still gave her a hug, I could feel that my love for her was a touch diminished.

And now I am wondering whether my love for people is similarly conditional. It is easy to love someone when they are radiant, emitting a sweet fragrance. But do we love that person as much on those days when the sweetness has gone, in its place a dark heaviness? Only when our love is unwavering can we claim to love unconditionally.

a place to retreat

22/08/2015

Today I feel like writing a little advertisement.

Every now and again it is well worth taking time out from our normal life, making space to meditate or contemplate in peace and quiet. For such a retreat, the key is to find a suitable place, away from the environment we are accustomed to being busy in, and away from too much hustle and bustle.

As it happens, my brother and I recently inherited just such a place: a cottage deep within the Dartmoor National Park, in Devon, UK. We’ve had the beautiful thatched cottage refurbished to a high standard and it is now available for holiday use – or better still, for a retreat!

For more information, please visit: Thorn Cottage

soggo

16/08/2015

I was recently staying with a companion in the cottage which my brother and I have inherited from our parents. In one of the drawers we came across an old board game called Sorry. This brought back memories of childhood for me – my family often played this game during holidays. Of course, my companion and I had to play.

The aim of the game is to move four pieces around the board from one’s ‘start’ to one’s ‘home’ place. The moves are controlled by cards, so it is mostly a game of chance. In various ways, though, one can knock the opponent’s pieces back to their starting place. When this happens, the rules of the game require one to say ‘sorry'.

Playing this game again reminded me of two things. Firstly, one’s fortunes can turn very rapidly and unexpectedly. One might be almost home and dry and then find oneself right back at the start. Conversely, things can be going very badly, and seem utterly hopeless, when a short run of good luck lands one in a much better situation… A good lesson for life!

The other reminder has to do with happiness and remorse and authenticity. When one knocks an opponent’s piece back to their start, usually advancing one’s own piece in the process, one does not tend to feel sorry at all. This is a woeful consequence of living life in a relative way, always comparing oneself with others. One’s happiness is also measured in a relative way, so there is not much remorse when one gains at another’s expense. And there is a subtle satisfaction at seeing someone else suffering. It takes a lot of inner work to get beyond this macabre aspect of our personalities…

As children, my brothers and I were too authentic to be able to say sorry when we were overflowing with glee. So, in our family, we instead said ‘soggo’, and that has become the name of the game to this day.

freewheeling

27/07/2015

I find myself, as often I do at this time of year, on the island of Corfu, in Greece. I spent a few days walking, backpack and all, through the hilly terrain, sleeping out in the idyllic olive groves. The climate is hot, though, and I have succumbed to the convenience of a moped.

The moped has a noisy engine, which whines away mercilessly, especially as the long suffering machine carries me up the steep roads hereabouts. When it comes to descent though, I simply turn off the ignition and coast silently down, enjoying the tranquility and the cool breeze as the wheels spin effortlessly beneath me.

It strikes me that this little moped is an apt analogy for the two modes of being that we humans can experience. One way is the uphill way – a noisy, restless struggle, knowing no peace, driven by the merciless ego. The other way is the enlightened way – an effortless ride, full of tranquility and joy, freewheeling through life.

Namaste.

blue-green-silver-grey

29/04/2015

It was one of those moments when the mystery and majesty of life were impossible to overlook. I had driven to the clifftop a few moments before sunset. The panorama out over the Atlantic Ocean was like a Turner paining, hazy colours blending one into the next, a beautiful sunset. As I gazed at the scene, I noticed the rare colour of some of the patches of sea. They were a particular shade of blue-green-silver-grey which I have only seen once before in my life.

Several years ago I was looking out to sea at St. Ives, in Cornwall, England, and there was this colour in the water. A blue-green-silver-grey that I had never seen before. Imagine living for four decades or more and then seeing a colour that had never been revealed before. I was astounded at the time, that such novelty was still on offer for a veteran like myself. Perhaps, though, we are being offered new experiences in every moment and it is only our lazy, habitual mind that likes to think that it has seen it all before.

Today it was clear to me that I had not seen a sunset quite like this one before. But that blue-green-silver-grey was familiar to me, from that one sighting, years ago.

The oddness of this evening did not stop with the blue-green-silver-grey water. I wandered along the beach, drawn by some impressive cliffs at the far end. There I could see that layers of sedimentary rock had been tilted to a near-vertical orientation. How unlikely is that, I thought to myself. It seemed outrageously improbable, even though I have seen such formations countless times before.

Looking at the cliffs, I noticed some steps leading steeply up next to one of the big slabs of rock. A sign at the bottom warned of danger from falling rocks and added words to the effect of, “only go up the steps if you want to see the dinosaur footprints.” Of course, that made it irresistible and up I went. Sure enough, with only a hint of imagination required, there were huge dinosaur footprints embedded in the near-vertical slab of rock.

It was all a bit too much for my poor rational mind, that likes so much to predict things. It simply gave up for a while and let me gaze out to sea in peace and wonder. Thank you life for the unexpected!