This little phrase may not only save your life, but can continue to make your life a lot easier. I’ve been slowing down a lot this year, saying “no” to many things, acknowledging that there is already enough on my plate. I’m taking time to simply be, to be in the moment, to stop the running around and to well and truly live.
Slowing down, physically, (and mentally, as a result – thoughts eventually stop racing around in your mind when your body slows down) can bring new joys in an otherwise missed-out world. Eat your breakfast mindfully, slowly. Drink your tea mindfully, slowly. Drive your car mindfully, slowly. Just try these three things for the first week and you will notice a distinct improvement in how you feel. It’s amazing how changing small habits can have such a grand effect.
Eating and drinking too quickly, unaware of your food, can lead to stomach upsets, food waste, and over-eating just to name a few things. Driving too quickly can result in loss of control of your car, and ultimately your life or the life of another. Taking the time to really be in the moment of these “little” things, these everyday things, can bring a new awareness and gratitude for the small pleasures in life.
Feel the consistency of your breakfast banana, really smell it, touch it, run your fingers over it before you even peel it and begin eating. Be thankful that you have that banana to eat. Savour each mouthful, chewing slowly, swallowing purposefully – it may sound silly, but just try it. Drink your tea in beautiful china cups, taking the time to brew it carefully in a teapot, aware of every movement of your body as you do so. Pour the tea with full awareness. Raise the cup, feel the smooth porcelain on your lips just before the warm liquid dances on your tongue. Be thankful that you have tea. Touch your car before getting into it. Sit down gracefully, feeling your body in the seat. Start the engine mindfully, and drive with total awareness of the steering wheel beneath your hands, the road beneath the tires. Be thankful that you have a car.
By slowing down you will may find yourself less stressed when you get to work, or when you arrive back home from work. We are not meant to live under the constant stress that our everyday lives present us when we live un-mindfully. By taking a few moments to slow down, to become aware of where we are and what we are doing, we can help heal and restore the balance in our lives.
Meditation and prayer are sometimes seen as the same thing. It depends on what tradition you belong to, what form of meditation you take, and how you define prayer. For some in the Christian tradition, prayer is about talking to God, meditation is about listening to God. Others see prayer as a form of magic, with words and thoughts sent out in the hopes of altering what seems to be a predetermined course. Others still see prayer as a moment to reflect on our lives, and develop gratitude and compassion. All of these things can be applied to meditation as well.
We meditate in order to create harmony in our lives, to work through a problem, to live a more authentic life filled with awareness. There is a goal in mind, even in Zen meditation, where we come across the conundrum of the goalless goal. Seeing our lives for the wonder that they are, we also raise compassion and empathy for all things within our souls. The lines between prayer and meditation often blur.
Where prayer and meditation meet is in that quiet stillness, like that moment at dusk, when the world is hushed and we can truly listen, not only with our ears but with our hearts. It is a moment of utter peace, in the here and now. It is life, plain and simple.
I have found this to be true on so many levels. When my heart is open with compassion, and I think loving thoughts, then I feel love in return. The gateway to the heart does not go in one direction only; it flows freely in and out, up and down, all the way around. I am free.
When I think hurtful, hateful thoughts, my heart constricts, causing me pain in return. The gates shut, letting no one in, keeping myself locked within. With these thoughts, I find I am trapped.
Witnessing a discussion on social media made me a little uneasy at the way people treat other people whom they believe are wrong, either in virtual or real life. I have seen this in the past many times; sometimes it is abuse, mockery, or belittling – yet each time it stops and makes me think about what I am doing to affect the world, looking at my reasoning, my motives, my intention. What I have been working on this past year is that those who disagree with us, those who challenge us, those who we absolutely hate, those we think are harmful to our world – all these people we need to accept.
Accept, you say?
Acceptance, yes, but in an egaged way. This is not passivism. Thich Naht Hanh coined the phrase “engaged Buddhism”, and this is active compassion in trying to create a better world. Essentially, we accept that there are people out there who are different from us; we accept the world for being the crazy, mixed up, sometimes awful, sometimes beautiful place that it is. We do not mock other’s beliefs, just as much as we do not condone the beliefs of others that we think are harmful and that cause suffering.
It’s a little hard to get the head around this concept. It’s taken me months to see where that balance point lies.
Thich Nhat Hanh wrote 14 principles of engaged Buddhism. The first one is the best.
“Do not be idolatrous about or bound to any doctrine, theory, or ideology, even Buddhist ones. Buddhist systems of thought are guiding means; they are not absolute truth.”
I personally love this. It reminds us that ideas are just that – ideas. It also demonstrates that everyone’s perception differs in slight or large ways, and that being bound up in our opinions can cause huge amounts of suffering. Our opinions are constantly changing – as we learn and grow, as we sacrifice ignorance, we change. This is reflected in the second principle –
“Do not think the knowledge you presently possess is changeless, absolute truth. Avoid being narrow minded and bound to present views. Learn and practice nonattachment from views in order to be open to receive others’ viewpoints. Truth is found in life and not merely in conceptual knowledge. Be ready to learn throughout your entire life and to observe reality in yourself and in the world at all times”.
Number three covers the area of engaged Buddhism, where we confront issues that we think could be harmful to others.
“Do not force others, including children, by any means whatsoever, to adopt your views, whether by authority, threat, money, propaganda, or even education. However, through compassionate dialogue, help others renounce fanaticism and narrow-mindedness.”
Note that here the key word is compassion – compassion is creating an understanding of all points of view and working respectfully with that new understanding to find a resolution if there is confrontation. Sometimes resolution cannot be found, but that does not mean we should stop trying, for who knows when the tides may turn? Thich Naht Hanh worked tirelessly during the Vietnam War, helping those who suffered from the tragedy that conflict brings. He never took a side, and was therefore looked upon with suspicion from both sides, eventually exiled from Vietnam after he went to speak in the United States about ending the suffering caused by war.
So often people think that the Buddhist notion of compassion is loving all things and allowing yourself to become a doormat. The ninth principle covers this neatly;
“Do not say untruthful things for the sake of personal interest or to impress people. Do not utter words that cause division and hatred. Do not spread news that you do not know to be certain. Do not criticize or condemn things of which you are not sure. Always speak truthfully and constructively. Have the courage to speak out about situations of injustice, even when doing so may threaten your own safety.”
It is possible to speak out against an injustice in the world, against something you believe is wrong, without using words that cause division and hatred. Thich Nhat Hanh has been doing this for over half a century. Using hateful terms, mockery and discredit of a person’s character are usually our first instincts in a confrontational situation. Stopping, pausing and truly thinking a situation out before you speak or act can result in much smoother and compassionate dialogue. Instead of instantly reacting to a situation, you are engaging with the other person, not seeing an “Us and Them” concept but one of a unified world, where we are all connected. I personally do truly believe that what we say, we are. Having studied the Buddhist principle of Right Speech on the Eightfold Path for a while now, it has changed my behaviour, how I act instead of reacting to a situation. It has really been an eye-opener.
These are but a few principles of this concept of engaged Buddhism – more can be found out through his book, ‘Interbeing’: Fourteen Guidelines for Engaged Buddhism, revised edition: Oct. l993 by Thich Nhat Hanh, published by Parallax Press, Berkeley, California.
May our hearts be open so that we can love those who challenge us, and in doing so create a world where harmony instead of discord is the song that we sing. It can be so tremendously difficult when those who challenge us are harming others with their actions. May we engage instead of reacting. May we speak from our hearts, with love, compassion and kindess.
(To see all fourteen precepts of engaged Buddhsim, you can read them here)
Can you remember the last time you were unkind to someone? Or thoughtless about something? Chances are, it doesn’t make you feel all that good – it probably makes you feel smaller, inside. When I remember acts of unkindness, either done by myself or done to myself, I feel a squirming inside, an uneasiness.
Still working on thoughts with compassion, exploring words and acts of unkindness has been an enlightening experience. Looking deeply at how it made me feel, what my reactions were, what others’ reactions were, what the outcome was, how it could have been prevented – all these I have meditated upon these last few months. What I’ve come to realise is that no one likes to be unkind. There is no joy from it; perhaps if you are mentally ill, or there is a function in the brain that is not working as it should, then maybe you don’t feel bad, but on the whole, unkind acts do not produce any joy, any feelings of wellness.
Through our connectivity to each other, we perhaps have a deep-rooted empathy that we can acknowledge, if only we allow our ego to fall away, to quiet down and listen to what others have to say above the racket in our own brain. We all share a life force; we all share a space on this planet, in this universe. We are all thinking and feeling animals – if you are an animist, you also acknowledge a consciousness and inherent value in all things. As humans, we all breathe the same air, air expelled from the lungs of others, turned into oxygen through various other life forms, breathing and sharing, breathing and sharing, the life breath that our ancestors breathed thousands of years ago, the life breath our lover breathes right now.
The word “kind” can mean a generous, benevolent, good person or deed, act or consideration. It can also mean to be of a like group of individuals or objects – being of the “same kind”. What I would posit is that the two meanings are entwined – kind thoughts, acts and deeds are a direct result of and inspired by being of the same kind.
Being unkind is distancing your self from others, making a distinct split in compassion from others, sometimes even diving into self-centredness in an anthropocentric world view. Yet this distance, this separation is false – we can never be other than another life form on this planet. Another life form – we are surrounded by others all the time. Some are seen, some unseen – some are natural forces that create and destroy with violence or beauty, others are microscopic and surreal in their manifestation. Yet we are never alone.
I think that the natural human tendency is to be kind towards others, for we have a specific consciousness that allows us to see and feel the repercussions of our actions. We have the capacity of forethought, yet we use it all too seldom. We are homo sapiens, the beings that are aware that we are aware. If we truly are aware, then unkind thoughts and deeds would not ring true in our heart of hearts. Awareness is a journey towards the cessation of suffering. If we are truly aware, then our suffering is eased.
Awareness comes in many forms, from simply being in the present moment to an understanding of the grander scheme of things, or seeing things from outside of your own personal perspective. For how often has our perspective been wrong? When we have been unkind to others, chances are it is because our perspective was skewed, and we reacted badly to a situation. If we remember compassion, and strive to see the bigger picture, then with a little discipline and a lot of love we can change or modify our behaviour to help ease the suffering of all beings.
Those people who are unkind are trapped, and it may be helpful to remember that. When someone is unkind to us, we can act with compassion. Sometimes that may mean seeing things from their point of view. Sometimes it may be walking away from a situation with honour and integrity. When we find ourselves being unkind, or remember past deeds that are less than glowing, we can remind ourselves that it is up to us to choose freedom over chains. We don’t have to let our behaviour rule us. We can be passionate and loving without allowing emotion to skew our perspective. Emotion is such a personal thing, that it’s no wonder our wires get crossed all the time. It’s all about perspective.
In all things, I try to remember two words: be kind. x
* Sparked by a conversation I had today with a lovely chap and artist (known as Bird Radio – do have a listen, there’s some really good stuff here! https://soundcloud.com/birdradio) about perceptions, connectivity and many other things, this blog post simply poured out of me, and reminded me of the serendipitous nature of life and reality when it comes to, well, life!
Druids aren’t associated with magic in the same way that other Pagan traditions, such as Wicca or Witchcraft seem to be. Yet I’ve found that in every spiritual path, there are elements of magic contained within that are often very similar in nature.
What is Druid magic? Do Druids cast spells? Have magical tools? Do we think of Gandalf, brandishing his staff and saying mightily “You Shall Not Pass!” or his mushroom-addled fellow, Radagast, who lives in the woods, talks to animals and, according to the latest Hobbit films, has a rabbit-powered all-terrain sleigh and brings hedgehogs back from the dead?
Of course it’s none of these things. It would be pretty cool if it were. But Druid magic, like all magic, is subtler than what we see on the screen or read in books. There isn’t lightning shooting from fingertips or fire balls sparking from one’s eyes. In fact, many modern Druids don’t use magic at all, or don’t call it magic.
So what is magic? It has often been quoted these days as manipulating the natural forces of energy within nature to provide a desired result. This could have many interpretations. Flicking a switch and having my living room lit up at night could fall within this category, but I’m being a bit facetious. It is also often said that magic should be the last recourse after having tried all mundane means of solving a problem. So how do Druids use magic, if at all?
There is a growing trend of blending Wicca and Druidry, as in Philip Carr-Gomm’s new book, Druidcraft. This is a lovely way of expressing the divide between two very similar paths; kind of bridging the gap that lies between. I thought the book, especially the audio book, was brilliant, and yet I’m still not one to perform spells on a regular basis. Why is that?
As stated previously, magic is often the last recourse to a situation. If all other means have been tried, and I’m plum run out of ideas, then I might turn to magic. I might equally turn to prayer. Praying for some guidance, asking the gods, the spirits, the ancestors for a little advice when I’m stuck could be called a spell – it could also be called a prayer. Lighting a candle and some incense, meditating and then seeking some clarification or inspiration from the ancestors could indeed look like the workings of a magical spell. I think perhaps the difference is in the intention – in both magic and prayer, we are hoping for a result, but the results are often different.
In prayer, asking for the gods to solve a problem for us rarely, if ever, works in my own experience. I prefer to ask them for inspiration on how to get through this, or my spirit guides on where to go to next in order to resolve and issue. Casting a spell bypasses the question, in a way, and seeks to get an answer to a question not asked. Perhaps this is why I resort to magic so little, I always like to ask the input of others to seek out different perspectives on a situation. Again, this is only my own personal views, and others may have other ways of both prayer and spell-casting that are vastly different to my own.
For me, as a Druid I am always questing the awen – for me, awen is the Grail. Inspiration, flowing spirit – it is such a beautiful word from the Welsh language that has so many different meanings. To me, awen is magic, though perhaps not in the spellcaster’s sense of the word. It is energy, it is flowing, it is the Tao and The Force of the Jedi Knight. It is something to be tapped into in order to gain a new perspective, to see the bigger picture, to obtain compassion. Awen is Buddhist enlightenment. It is the Christian “God is Love”.
Instead of performing a magic spell, I might wander the heathland or forest, looking for inspiration around me. I might find a place to pray, using that inspiration to guide my prayers to better understanding of myself, the situation, the world. When all other recourses have failed, then I might try magic – the last recourse.
I feel that magic is something special, something not to be abused or overused. We often hear the term “god-bothering” and magic may indeed be another form of “bothering” – whether it is the elements, the energy of nature, or something else entirely. I feel that Druids on the whole would turn to awen rather than magic, but perhaps with the blending of Druidry and other traditions this could indeed change, or maybe even change back to the way Druidry used to be – who knows?
Perhaps my quest for awen is my magic. Magic includes transformation, and questing the awen will indeed change someone. None of the knights on the Grail quest were ever the same. None who seek enlightenment will ever be the same person they were before. We are constantly changing anyways, living a life of impermanence and fluidity, of change and flux.
Perhaps just tapping into that idea is magic, is awen.
Blending Buddhist and Zen principles into my Druidry is integral to helping me find my personal spiritual path. There is no monopoly on wisdom, and I find the teachings of both Buddhism and Druidry are universal.
One aspect of Buddhism that I find is often misquoted or misinterpreted is the idea that you push away your feelings, in order to function with a clear mind. What I have found is that within Buddhist training and discipline, you not only feel your feelings more, you also learn more from the feeling itself.
We are not taught to suppress our feelings within Buddhist teachings. Letting go of attachments is what is at the heart of Buddhism. That includes attachments to your feelings. So, we feel our anger, our pain, our grief acutely – we give ourselves some time and space to truly feel these feelings, to express them if we need to with honour and compassion, and then to let go. It’s not easy to do at first, but not many things in life are…
I can be very quick to anger. But I have learned to try to not to act or react on that anger without truly feeling it first. In some situations, yes, you may have to make a immediate decisions. If you see an animal being abused, you act right away to stop it. However, you can feel your anger but not allow it to control you, thereby allowing you to act appropriately. Anger can often to lead violence, physical or verbal, which only elevates the suffering in both parties and which resolves nothing. We should act to help each other and all other living beings on the planet.
When I get angry, if I feel I cannot react to a situation respectfully or honourably and I have the opportunity to take a moment, I do. Taking a walk, or sitting and meditating with the anger is a great tool to use in order to gain a deeper understanding of it. Learning how your mind works is an invaluable asset to living a life with greater understanding, or compassion. If I can, I sit with my anger, or grief, pain, suffering and really feel it. I look it over from all sides. I try to find root causes of it. I see that anger reflected in others around me. I then place myself in the situation of the person that I am angry with. Why am I angry with them? What has caused the anger within me?
Buddhism teaches that anger comes from within – it is not something that is bestowed from without. This is seen in the famous Zen story of the monk and the warrior:
The old monk sat by the side of the road. With his eyes closed, his legs crossed and his hands folded in his lap, he sat. In deep meditation, he sat.
Suddenly his zazen was interrupted by the harsh and demanding voice of a samurai warrior. “Old man! Teach me about heaven and hell!”
At first, as though he had not heard, there was no perceptible response from the monk. But gradually he began to open his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile playing around the corners of his mouth as the samurai stood there, waiting impatiently, growing more and more agitated with each passing second.
“You wish to know the secrets of heaven and hell?” replied the monk at last. “You who are so unkempt. You whose hands and feet are covered with dirt. You whose hair is uncombed, whose breath is foul, whose sword is all rusty and neglected. You who are ugly and whose mother dresses you funny. You would ask me of heaven and hell?”
The samurai uttered a vile curse. He drew his sword and raised it high above his head. His face turned to crimson and the veins on his neck stood out in bold relief as he prepared to sever the monk’s head from its shoulders.
“That is hell,” said the old monk gently, just as the sword began its descent. In that fraction of a second, the samurai was overcome with amazement, awe, compassion and love for this gentle being who had dared to risk his very life to give him such a teaching. He stopped his sword in mid-flight and his eyes filled with grateful tears.
When our emotions control us, when they are the ones that are raising the sword and not our true minds, that is when we are in hell. When we are aware of what we are doing, and in that awareness come to understand the nature of all beings, ourselves included, then we are in heaven. Acting with intention, instead of reactionary living, is what can make this world a better place.
My anger can fuel my fire to fight against injustices in the world. It is kept in check, it is a sheathed sword. I know it is there, but I choose not to use it, instead working with compassion. It is a conscious choice. Sometimes I fail, and when I do I notice where and how I have failed, and see the opportunity to work with that. I cannot blame others for my anger. Their behaviour is nothing that I can control. What I can work on is my own behaviour towards them and to making the world a better place. Giving like for like can be a very damaging thing to do. When someone hurts us, our first reaction, our first desire is often to hurt them back. It takes a lot of work to come out of this mindset, a lot of practice.
They say that practice makes perfect. So every time I let my anger rule me, as Thich Naht Hanh said, I am practicing being angry. Every time I practice awareness, mindfulness and compassion, I get better at those ways of being and living. I know which I would rather aim towards!
I’ve recently watched Dan Snow’s latest expedition, to travel down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in three boats from the late 19th century, just as Powell did. It was a really interesting show (not just because of the equally gorgeous and intelligent Mr Snow) that not only demonstrated the awesome power of the elements, but also those of human nature.
Each boat has three people in it – an experienced helmsman, an experienced boatman and a novice. The three novices were Dan, Mike (you may know him from Springwwatch) and another chap whose name eludes me – historian, ecologist and geologist respectively. They all had to work together as a team to see it through to the end – 18 days of incredible physical and mental challenge amidst one of the world’s most beautiful and dangerous environments.
Each person had to pull their own weight, despite their experience, and each person did so without fail. They all tried their hardest and it was inspiring to see. What was not so inspiring was another aspect of human nature that arose from one of the boats – namely, the blame game.
In one of the three boats, Mike was having a harder time than the other novices. Whether that was simply his lack of skill and learning, or insufficient support and teaching from his colleagues, is up for debate – we could not see everything that happened in this edited television show. What I did see however, was an aspect of human nature that really opened up my eyes not only to how other people treat each other, but how I’ve treated others in the past as well.
It started with the “expert whitewater kayaker” beginning to complain to the camera about Mike and his lack of ability. It would seem that instead of taking extra time to help the novice and support him, he would rather complain to the camera away from the group. He blamed Mike for the difficulty their boat was having in the rapids. However, what we all saw was at the first set of rapids, the kayaker falling out of his seat pretty much at the first bump. Whether this started off something in his mind that needed to help him save face, changing the focus from his own inability, mistake or accident, and blaming someone else for it we can never know for certain. It certainly appeared that way to me.
Since then, he complained on several occasions to the camera in isolation. Then his helmsman made a mistake, taking the boat down backwards in the hopes of having better steering in one section of rapids. The boat that went through before managed it. I’m not an experienced boatman, but I could see in those churning waters that the oar would snap like a twig if caught on a rock, which it did. After that, the helmsman began to complain to the camera as well about Mike, who was simply doing his best to row and keep the boat going straight and bail when he needed to – there really was nothing else he could do. At one point we saw the helmsman shout at Mike to bail, and Mike’s pail got caught up in part of the boat’s rigging – not that it would have mattered, for bailing in the middle of those rapids was, to me, pointless – the boat was already full at and the mercy of the river. Mike began bailing as fast as he could, but another wave just crashed right in. He would have been better off rowing, but he still got yelled at.
This all made me very uncomfortable. I hate seeing people getting picked on when they are trying their best. But I was also inspired by Dan’s boat, which seemed to have some sort of Zen Master at the helm. This chap was brilliant – he was so calm, so peaceful, never shouting orders and seeming at one with the river – when he took his boat down the rapids, he steered it down the path of least resistance, without effort. A beautiful thing to witness. Soft spoken and mild-mannered, and an accomplished musician, his calming influence was a gentle reminder to me to keep my Zen on and have compassion, even for those who were irritating the hell out of me on the show.
That’s not to say that the Zen Master Helmsman’s boat didn’t make any mistakes. His boat came the closest to capsizing in one of the most difficult rapids. They didn’t make the line they were going for down between the rocks, and got swept away down a fast sluice heading straight towards the canyon’s rock walls. His oar got ripped from his hands in the roiling water, and they were at the mercy of the river. The other helmsman would have shouted his head off at this point, but Zen Master Helmsman kept his cool – it was a beautiful thing to behold. He had lost his oar, all manner of steering, and the boat swept into the curve of the canyon (you can see it on the video). The boat kept to the curve, the water sweeping it close but not up against the canyon wall. Then the boat began to tip over on its right side. Dan lost his seat and fell into the right side wall, nearly out of the boat. ZMH calmly reached for the left side of the boat, push against it with his body weight, counterbalancing the tipping boat, and it righted itself. You can’t hear it on the video, but he was also calmly talking and encouraging his fellow crewman throughout, saying “Stay calm, just stay in the boat, take it easy”. They made it through, without yelling, without panic, without blame.
Everyone makes mistakes. With three people in a boat, you cannot blame one person for the boat going wrong. Everyone is in it, working together to try and go in the same direction. There are so many variables that to blame one person it pointless. Staying calm, looking out for your crew members and acting with compassion is the way forward. By observing this, the three simply followed the river’s flow. There was nothing else they could do, so why increase suffering?
Compassion is all about reducing your suffering. The two complainers in the other boat did not seem to grasp this. Instead of helping they made things worse. I hate to think what would have happened had it been their boat that nearly capsized. However, their boat did not escape unscathed of a terrifying experience.
On the next section of these last, and most dangerous rapids, Mike’s boat lost their helmsman as he was washed away in a giant wall of water that hit the boat. No one’s fault – you cannot blame crew or wave or river any more than you can blame the sun for shining. The helmsman managed to hang onto his oar under the water, and pull himself back to the boat, floating down the rest of the rapids with it, finally being pulled back into the boat at the first opportunity. This was the changing point for that crew.
The fragility of human existence hits hard when confronted with the very sudden realisation that you or someone you know could have died in a certain experience or circumstance. This realisation did indeed hit Mike hard, as we saw when the camera was on him when they were on the beach after these rapids – he was brought to tears by the whole experience. It also brought the crew together – the kayaker who originally tried to blame Mike for everything saw Mike’s suffering, and came up to give him a hug. Petty blame games mean nothing when you realise just how precious and precarious life really is. Alleviating suffering is much more conducive to peace than creating more suffering in this lifetime.
What I realised from this show is that blaming people does not solve anything. It does not even make you feel better – it increases your own suffering, because everything that person does upsets or annoys you from then on. Also, when you blame someone, you instantly block out any form of objectiveness in the situation. You have established a truth for yourself that blinds you to seeing the bigger picture. Believing in this truth is dangerous. Believing that one person is wrong and that you are right is what has caused innumerable amounts of suffering in the world. Opening your heart and mind in compassion, in trying to see the bigger picture and in trying to make the world a better place would be far more beneficial to all.
I looked back at the times in my life when I had played the blame game, making others the culprit for everything that had gone wrong. Like those boats in the river, there were so many variables that one person could not be responsible for everything. The only thing we can be responsible for is ourselves in this life. If we try to help others instead of break them down, if we see our own failings before we blame others, we might change our behaviour into something that is more compassionate.
Driving to the RSPCA today to visit a cat that I am adopting, I was cut off by a car speeding in a residential area. My reaction to it was simply to keep driving, and hope that the person in the speeding car finds peace within him or herself that could be reflected in their driving. Getting mad at the other driver would not solve anything except to make me suffer. (On the way home, I did see that they are now installing speed cameras along that stretch of road, for which I am glad).
We all make mistakes. We can blame others for what we perceive to have gone wrong with our lives. Or we can simply get on with making this world a better place, communicating with compassion towards everyone, even our enemies. We may then realise that we do not have enemies in the first place. We can even wallow in guilt, blaming ourselves for everything that has gone wrong instead of working out best to improve the situation – I know which I would rather engage with. We stand strong, we act responsibly – like ZMH we have the ability to respond to a crisis situation with calmness and grace, even when faced by enormous odds and potential life-threatening situations. We are all simply boats on a river, either working together or alone to stay afloat, at the mercy of the elements and each other.
I am taking a leaf out of Zen Master Helmsman’s book. He was a total dude.
I haven’t sung for a while now. Sometimes when you’re sad or grieving, your body and soul just don’t want to sing.
Thankfully, I have friends and family who have been wonderful, who make me laugh and cry with tears of laughter alongside my tears of unhappiness. Both forms of tears are equally valid, and equally necessary during the time that you grieve.
Having spent the last few weeks thinking about death, I felt that I could now share some ideas with you that I have had about it. I have been terribly upset at the loss of a very good friend, whom I will never see again. There is a hole in my life where she used to be, and I still find myself looking for her after all these weeks. Good friends are deeply treasured, and a true blessing.
Meditating upon the nature of death, I have come to the same realisation that Alanis Morrissette came to in her song, “Thank You”. At one point in the lyrics she states “How about not equating death with stopping”. I have taken comfort in these words over the last few decades, but never really considered them deeply within my own soul – they were a kind hand on my shoulder from someone who empathises. Now I see the totality of the statement, with a little insight from the Buddhist notion of impermanence and the Druid views of both awen and animism.
The Buddhist view of life is that everything is impermanent, therefore we should try to not cling to anything, even our sense of self, with too much energy. Looking closer at this idea, we see that we are constantly changing, in our ideas, our opinions, our way of life, and we are not the same person we were, say 10 years ago. On a more physical level, we are also constantly changing, sloughing off old skin, our hair growing, our bodies changing shape as we grow older. Clinging to one thing leads to suffering – if we simply accept that change is a part of life then our suffering will be reduced.
Meditating up on this over the last week, some core truths have sprung up for me that have helped with my suffering.
We are all made up of energy, energy that is in constant motion. This energy did not spring out into being – you cannot get something from nothing. This energy is in constant change and flux, according to the environment and circumstances it finds itself in. Therefore, a Zen koan suddenly made sense to me: “What was the face you wore, before you were born?”
I realised that had never been born. When we think of being born, we think of suddenly coming into being, but we have already been existing since the dawn of time. It is only our form that has changed with the millennia. Can we really pinpoint the time we were born, or created? Is creation when egg meets sperm? I am contained in the blood of my father’s fathers and my mother’s mothers as well – can there be a cut-off point? I am the genetic result of thousands of ancestors – where do they end and I begin? Thinking more laterally as well, I am made up of some of the minerals found in stars and galaxies far away. My blood contains water that I have drunk from all over the world in my lifetime. In this water is life and death of legion of beings. Where do I begin?
In Druidry, many Druids are also animists, believing in the inherent value of all things, whatever their form. Nothing is more valid or worth more than another thing – they are simply existing in various forms that we perceive throughout our lifetime. This worldview incorporates the smallest atom to the largest mountain.
If I cannot pinpoint the time when I began to exist, then there cannot be a point in time when I die. I shall simply change form, the energy running on different currents and in different patterns. Thinking about my friend, I was blessed to know her in her most recent physical form for years, which was always changing anyway. She has not died, per se – energy cannot simply cease to be. We often think of death as annihilation. It cannot be so – energy moves but cannot be destroyed. And so, her current form is undergoing a different process of change. The accepted concept of birth may find its opposite in death, but the term life has no opposite.
What happens to our souls when we die, if we believe in souls, is still the great mystery. But what I’ve come to realise is that at the very least, we can take inspiration from the physical and perhaps also apply that to the idea of the soul as well. The physical form has now been returned to the earth, decomposing through the process of bacteria and other creatures that are working to change the physical form. But the energy is still there, being changed into millions of different forms in the circumstance. Flesh is being eaten by worms and turned into rich soil. That rich soil will feed the plants atop her grave. Those plants will release oxygen into the atmosphere. That oxygen will be breathed by all manner of creatures, or even combine with hydrogen to form water. So, my friend is there, in her grave, but she is also in the plants, in the air, in the clouds, in the water, and inside me. Her physical form has changed, but it was always changing anyway. Impermanence.
Once I gained this insight, my suffering was eased somewhat. Not only for the loss of her in my life, but also my own fears of death. There is no such thing as stopping. Death is not annihilation. It is simply a process, like birth is, into a different and ever-changing physical form. Whether the soul follows some parts in this process is up for question – I like to think so.
Perhaps this is what reincarnation is all about. The nature of change, the nature of being. Perhaps I have simply been looking at reincarnation too literally. Reincarnation is simply the new physical form something takes when the circumstances are favourable to its existence. Myself included.
My friend is still here, for she can never go away. All that has ever been is still here, in some form or another. We can take comfort in that and ease our own suffering. We can take inspiration from that and live our lives in accordance with it, allowing us to not just to go with the flow, but to be the flow itself, whether that is of the river, the wind, our bloodlines, the Tao or the awen itself.
Thank you, dear friend, for the inspiration and the teaching. You have taught me so much over the years, and I look forward to still many lessons to come.
Slow down.
Down the Forest Path 