in the Garden of Eden

08/02/2018

I have just finished walking one of the many beautiful, multi-day tracks, here in New Zealand. At one point on this particular walk, my stride was interrupted by the incredible stillness of the moment. There was not a breath of wind and all was silent, save for the occasional call of a bird. I had to stop and let the stillness touch me more deeply.

I was deep in a forest. Strong patches of sunlight percolated through the foliage, alighting on mosses and ferns and all things green. And as I looked around, it seemed to me that this was a primordial forest: it might have been unchanged for millennia. Then the realisation came – more as a feeling than a thought – that I was in the Garden of Eden.

We humans have made such an ugly mess of so much of the planet, with our buildings and our cities and our roads, with our noisy, smelly vehicles and other machinery. The list is endless. It’s all ugly. Little wonder that, by and large, we go through our days without this feeling of being in the Garden of Eden. We are no longer surrounded by natural beauty. In the name of comfort and security, we have besmirched the garden.

The challenge, as I see it, is partly to return to a more natural way of being, more in tune with nature, as uncomfortable and insecure as that may be. However, the challenge is also to see the Garden of Eden even where we have created ugliness. I, for one, still have a long way to go with that!

a thousand episodes

31/01/2018

Today I published the thousandth audio episode at abeing.org – 108 hours worth in total! It brings a smile to my face, thinking about all that talk, because in day-to-day life I am a man of very few words.

Looking back, though, I realise that this material has been slowly accumulating over a seven year period or more, so I guess that I have still been quite frugal with my chatter.

It does show how a relatively modest amount of activity, if sustained over a long period, can create something substantial. It reminds me of the lovely little story The man who planted trees. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to do so, especially if (like me) you love trees. The story is of a single shepherd who, by planting a few nuts each day, eventually creates a forest.

I hope you are enjoying wandering through the forest of abeing audio!

an outlier

09/01/2018

A friend recently introduced me as ‘an outlier’. I rather like the designation.

My friend’s work involves organising and analysing large sets of data. In that arena, the term ‘outlier’ is used to refer to a datum that sits far from the main cluster of data – perhaps a point that doesn’t fit within an expected distribution. Often times, such outliers are merely disregarded, excluded from the analysis. When time permits, though, a curious soul will always want to know what is going on; what makes this outlier different to the rest?

It strikes me that this is one of the obstacles to spiritual liberation: One must be prepared to be an outlier. Most people, most of the time, are conforming. So much of our behaviour is dictated by societal norms, by what we believe others expect of us. To be free is to be oneself, whatever that might be in the moment, without any need to conform. However, this takes a tremendous courage, the courage to be alone, the courage to be an outlier.

And if one does manage to be oneself, we shouldn’t expect that others will be happy about it. Most will shun us, out of fear and suspicion, much as that lone datum is so often excluded from the analysis. Only a few curious souls will be drawn to us. Only a few will ask: what makes this outlier different to the rest?

But perhaps my friend called me an outlier merely because I so often sleep outside!

turning off the satnav

30/11/2017

‘Turn around when possible!’ came the instruction from the satnav. I switched it off.

I’m making a road trip in New Zealand. I’ve bought a van which I can sleep in. And I’m on the road.

Satellite navigation is an amazing technology. I have a device which can tell me where I am anywhere on the surface of the planet, with an accuracy of a few metres. It also has road maps for most countries of the world loaded into it. It’s very difficult to get lost with this satnav to hand.

However, there are times when I want to get lost. This morning, for example, I find myself lured onto a scenic, peaceful, back road. I don’t know where it will take me. It doesn’t matter. Birds are singing – some familiar to me, others exotic. The sun is shining on rolling hills, meadows and woods. In this moment, there is nothing amiss. Not a single iota is out of place.

And I am not out of place either. I don’t know what place I am at, nor where I am headed. This much I know though: I am not out of place.

So, satnav, I won’t be turning around when possible.

mortality

02/07/2017

I am sitting in a café by the sea. I know this place well and returning here calls forth memories of days gone by.

In particular, I remember a day, six years ago, when I was sitting in this café having breakfast. A woman walking down the street caught my attention and I invited her to join me for a coffee. Although we had little language in common, there was an immediate rapport between us. A day of closeness, of intimacy, followed on the beach. And a few more days of melting after that.

There was a reason this woman was so open to connection: she had breast cancer, which had already spread to her skin and elsewhere, despite her having had one breast removed. She was trying to maintain hope of recovery but, deep down, she knew that her time was limited.

I saw her once more, a couple of months later, when she invited me to visit her in her home town in Spain. It was clear to me that the cancer had spread. And knowing that death was coming, all she really wanted was to feel the intimacy of being with someone, of being touched by someone, of making love with someone.

She died four months later, at the age of forty-two.

Since that beautiful encounter, I have often wondered about the tendency most of us have to isolate ourselves; so many of us are quick to judge others, usually in a negative light.

I wonder how we would feel towards each other if we had some awareness of our mortality. Surely we would be more accepting of one another, more forgiving, more appreciative, more loving.

We would do well to remember, every day, that we are lucky enough to be here, that one day in the not-too-distant future, we no longer shall be.

arriving at Horizon

20/03/2017

The film Pirates of the Caribbean ends with Captain Jack Sparrow saying “Bring me that horizon!” I like the statement. For me it sums up what it is to be an explorer, the spirit of adventure. And to delve into the mysteries of life, we need that sense of adventure, that urge to explore beyond what we have seen hitherto. In a sense it is a never-ending journey, just as one can never actually reach that horizon.

However, here in Himachal Pradesh, I have just settled into the little “monk’s room” at the Horizon Guest House. And arriving here at Horizon, a little miracle is happening. Without doing anything, merely by being here, I feel the essence of the landscape seeping into me. There is a profound tranquility. It is entering me through the pores of my skin. I am breathing it in. My being is soaking it up like a sponge. And with that comes a deep relaxation into pure being.