a fish out of water

19/12/2014

I’ve been spending all my time in cities for the last few weeks and, being a nature lover through and through, I feel like a fish out of water. I find my attention being drawn to every little tree or shrub, regardless of how pitiful and anaemic they all look. I gravitate towards the parks – those patches of fake countryside embedded in the city to help the urbanites forget, for a short while at least, the abject horror of dwelling in a concrete jungle, never knowing a moment of silence or stillness, squashed in with millions of other hapless souls.

The phrase ‘a fish out of water’ has reminded me of something more wondrous though. A few weeks ago I was in the Philippines and there, on a boat trip, I saw many flying fish. These little creatures, disturbed by the boat, would fly out of the water and skim the waves for ten metres or more before plunging back into their watery home. How amazing it must feel for them, to leave their familiar environment and move in a completely different way in a completely different medium!

The pioneering flying fish remind me of what it takes for us to find our essence. It is no use us sitting comfortably in our habitual world. We, like the flying fish, must leap into the unknown of another way of being and another dimension of life. Doubtlessly we will feel clumsy to begin with, flopping back into our habits in a split second. But with some patience and practice, we too can learn to skim over the waves of life, gracefully and effortlessly.

a hidden world

27/11/2014

I have just come from the Philippines where I was snorkelling and diving on the tropical reefs. It reminded me of the first time I found myself in tropical water, 22 years ago, in Barbados, at the beginning of my first round-the-world trip. To be in warm sea water was such a strange and pleasant experience, having grown up in the UK. The best thing, though, about that time in the Caribbean, was snorkelling out over the coral reef. Suddenly I was transported to a completely different world – the intricate corals, the colourful fish and all the other weird and wonderful sea creatures were a new experience for me. Of course I had seen pictures and television programmes about such things but seeing it for myself, it still came as a wonderful surprise. And even to this day, whenever I find myself above a tropical reef, there is something of that feeling of wonder in me. Who would suspect, looking at the water from land, that such a world exists beneath the waves?

All of this reminds me of the spiritual side of life. When we are living a materialistic life, looking around all we see is the material. We don’t suspect that there is another world there – a world of mystery and wonder, a world of amazing surprises. Yet there it is, waiting for us to take a look under the surface ripples of life. Let’s take the plunge!

well well well

28/10/2014

My mother died recently. I was with her much of the time, in the weeks leading up to her death. And I was curious as to how her final days would be. As it turned out, during the last five days, she seemed to be processing things from her past, sometimes painful, sometimes joyful. Around the clock she was in a half dream, half wakeful state. She didn’t speak much during these days – she mostly seemed to have withdrawn into a deep inner space – but I paid attention to the things she did say.

The utterance I liked most was simply, “Well, well, well!” This was said as an acknowledgement of surprise. I wonder what she had seen, what she had understood, that led her to this exclamation. I shall never know.

This simple statement also reminded me of words of Julian of Norwich:

…but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

I’ve always loved this quote. For me, it simply undoes centuries of burdensome moralising by the Christian church. It returns everything to its rightful place, to God. It allows us to breathe and to live and to smile. It liberates.

we can learn so much from children

01/08/2014

“I’m falling down!” the little girl exclaimed, as the bus started to move. She had not yet sat down and the movement caused her to half fall, grasping at a seat. “I’m falling down!” she repeated. But her voice was not alarmed. On the contrary, she was shrieking with joy, loving the unexpected moment, excited by the craziness of life.

I am reminded, by this little girl, of how much joy is to be found in life, if we only approach it with a positive attitude. Why be miserable just because things are not unfolding how we expected? Let’s celebrate life’s surprises, even those when everything seems to be going wrong. Then we, too, can feel excited and playful as we cry out “I’m falling down!”

the perfect chai

04/04/2014

I have just drunk the perfect chai. The mix of spices was ideally balanced. The quality and strength of tea was spot on. The flavour and sweetness of the jaggery was just right. The milkiness was optimal. The sun was shining, the air was warm and I sat in the shade with a gentle breeze blowing in off the ocean. This chai could not be surpassed. It was perfect.

Many factors came together in the chai. The most significant, though, was that I had made the chai myself. The preparation had been an unhurried affair – cracking the cardamom pods, crumbling the cinnamon, peeling and shredding the ginger. Then there was the prolonged simmering of the spices, the shaving of the jaggery, the blending in of the tea and milk powder. All of this was a simple pleasure in itself. That energy, of care, of love, was what really infused the chai. That meditation is what made the chai perfect.

Exactly the same is true of truth. We can learn something of truth from others, just as we can appreciate a chai made by someone else. Others can teach us how to seek truth for ourself, just as others can teach us how to make chai. Truth itself though – perfect truth – will only come in the wake of our own patient, caring, loving exploration.

a life of song and dance

01/04/2014

In the beach hut next door there is a family with a young girl. This girl is always singing. From morning to night, I hear her sweet voice creating a tune for every moment. I have not heard her talk at all. Whatever she has to say, it comes out as song. And when she has nothing to say, her song of life continues as musical scales.

She reminds me of a woman I once knew who was always dancing. Wherever she would go, she would dance, with flowers in hand. I never saw her walking, nor even standing still. Her whole life was a dance.

It feels to me that this girl whose life is a song, and that woman whose life is a dance, are living life beautifully, in tune with existence. For what is life if not a dance, if not a song from the heart?