all is beautiful

21/12/2010

Do you have days when everything appears beautiful? When everywhere you look, you see beauty? When everyone’s face seems sublimely beautiful?

Today is such a day, here in Tiruvannamalai. Last night tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of pilgrims walked around the sacred mountain of Arunachala, barefoot in the light of the full moon; Mooji’s ten day silent retreat reached its finale; The stormy, windy weather passed and the sun is shining in its full brilliance.

On days such as this, godliness is visible everywhere, in everybody. What a pity that we sometimes lose sight of this holiness!

May the solstice bring you the gift of ubiquitous beauty!

the hammering

16/12/2010

The satsang series which I have been giving here in Tiruvannamalai has now been running for one week. A part of me wants to assess: How is it going? I guess this is a very unenlightened question but if it comes into the mind, what to do?

Firstly, I have been completely relaxed during the satsangs, that’s a good sign. And as I didn’t know what to expect, I have not been feeling any frustration, there have been no feelings of disappointment.

Existence has a quirky sense of humour though. On the one hand, it gave me a large terrace, with the best view possible of the mountain Arunachala, on which to hold the satsangs: Perfect! Then, a day or two in, the construction work started. The bangings and hammerings have been getting steadily louder, day by day, ever since. The loudest of it comes from some sort of cold welding, where pieces of metal are hit with a big hammer to fuse them together, to make grilled panels which in any other country would be bought off the shelf. India is certainly unique!

So, the satsangs have not been taking place in a peaceful environment: Imperfect?

For me, the challenge in such situations is to remain total, unfragmented. Of course, I could look for another venue, which would be fine if I felt to do so with all my being. But I don’t because I still like the view and anyway, I am a lazy fellow. So the alternatives are to change the time of the satsangs; No, I’m not totally into that option; Or to cancel the satsangs; No; Or to carry on, living with the noise. Yes. That feels right to me, so far at least. And having “decided” such, can I live it, with totality, without any feeling of antagonism arising in me when the noise is present? In other words, can the feeling of imperfection disappear, once the “decision” has arisen? So far, it would seem so, thank heavens.

But a part of me can’t help wondering: How hard and loud is the hammering going to get?

the passing of a squall

11/12/2010

I was never a yachtsman. Nevertheless, I remember a time, many years ago, when I found myself at the helm of a yacht in the Solent, off the south coast of England. It was a fine day with a light wind, perfect conditions to allow a novice like me to steer the craft. The squall hit without warning. Suddenly the wind was howling, waves were being thrown over the deck and the yacht was leaning over at an alarming angle, the mast was closer to horizontal than vertical. The skipper was on deck in a flash, shouting orders, trying to get some of the crew tied onto things and then seeing about taking in a reef (making the sail smaller). The whole episode lasted but a few minutes. The squall passed as suddenly as it had come and life returned to gentle tranquility.

Something like this squall happens to me from time to time, perhaps once every two or three months: A squall passes through my inner being, lasting a few days. My inner calm and joy is disturbed by a moody squall deep within, for no apparent reason.

I know now that nothing needs to be done about such a squall. I withdraw a little from social interaction, I take in a reef in my activities. And I sit. After three or four days I wake up and the squall has passed, life has returned once more to gentle tranquility.

do buddhas stub their toes?

07/12/2010

The other day I stubbed two toes, the little toe on my left foot and the big toe on my right foot, in separate incidents. Do buddhas stub their toes, I ask? In so far as I am a buddha, it would seem that it must be possible. The stubbing of a toe does suggest a lack of present moment awareness though. So perhaps I am a unique buddha: an absent-minded buddha.

My actual day-to-day experience of life includes moments of tremendous presence, with something of that serenity and grace which you might expect of a buddha. Frankly, though, such moments are in the minority. Most of the time I am bumbling along much like anyone else. The only difference, if there is any difference at all, is that I am not really believing the stories my mind is creating about myself, or about anything else come to that.

So, this buddha does stub his toes once in a while, or even twice in a while. As for other buddhas, you will have to ask them, starting with yourself.

the feather

05/12/2010

The feather drifted to the table directly in front of me. It stopped my thoughts in their tracks, drawing my full attention. It was a tiny, downy feather; half black, half white, a balance of yin and yang. For a few seconds, or perhaps a minute or more, my whole consciousness became the feeling of beauty. There was no “me” in that time, only the feather-beauty-feeling existed.

What a wonderful gift!

can we risk everything for a cup of tea?

03/12/2010

When travelling, I often carry with me a tin mug and a pair of little immersion heaters. These simple electrical devices sit in a mug of water and heat it to boiling point, allowing me to make chai and satisfy my addiction to tea.

However, through faulty manufacture, or perhaps by design, when the heaters are plugged in, everything becomes live: The mug itself is connected to the electricity supply. Touching it results in a mains-voltage electric shock. So, far it has happened to me three times.

The first shock was completely unexpected. Having grown up in a part of the world where everything is made safe, or at least as safe as possible, my awareness of potential dangers has been dulled. It did not occur to me that I could receive an electric shock from using the heaters, it was not in my consciousness at all.

After the first shock, I became very careful when using the heaters. Nevertheless, a second shock came when I tried to stir the tea. I was using a metal spoon. Chai conducts electricity very well, I discovered.

The third shock came with a moment of inattention, when my arm brushed against the handle of the mug.

Once is happenstance, twice is circumstance, three times and life is trying to tell me something. The making of chai has become a meditation for me, demanding total awareness of what I am doing, in the moment.

Seeing all this, one companion commented, “Somehow this is very Andy: risking life for a cup of tea!”