Sadness and Joy.

Along The Firebreak

I find it strange that more and more I recall the things my father said to me as I walked with him. Strange in the sense that I remember it so clearly now and yet I might not have remembered those words a few months ago or even during the majority of my youth. Somebody said it was an age thing, but I sure do not want to believe that. I think it may just be that I have been running a route I have not travelled in years, but walked regularly with my father.

This morning there was a light rain, the kind that makes the hedges and bushes smell fresh. The sounds of birds as they get back to a life of some normality as young fledglings begin to really leave the nest and venture forth. My father frequently said to me, ”Stop chattering and just listen and let nature give you some answers.”

As I write this I had a moment of clarity, I have said similar things to so many people down the years and never ever asked why.

This all reminds me of the story of the old man taking his daily walk.     

With bent shoulders he set out each day to walk his few miles. On the days when it rained he carried his furled umbrella, seldom if ever bothering to unfurl it, preferring to feel the rain on his balding head.

He came to a place in the road where there were a number of rocky stairs which he climbed with determination and care. At the top of the steps there was a carved pot with a cut bamboo pole to direct clear spring water into the pot. Here he would pause and enjoy the sweet taste of the spring.

Then he would pause for a moment, bending his ear, like an attentive student. He would listen, with joy on his face to the confluence of sounds; the pitter-patter of the rain on the leaves, the gurgle of the flowing water. There in the sounds was a sense, a precise mix of melancholy and joy that make life exquisite to live. “There is sadness and beauty in all around. When you can fully understand that and hear nature sign to you, you will no longer be a boy but a man my friend.”

It is this we artists try to capture.

This blog is linked to my other. Along The Firebreak

                                                                       

Silence is Golden, So They Say

I had many ideas in my youth, some I am proud to remember, some I look back on with some pride and some in which I did much learning. One such idea was to hold a twenty-four hour meditation of silence. I combined this with a week of sacrificial eating. The final aim was to raise funds and awareness of the worlds starving. The week began with the twenty-four hour meditation in silence. Members of the public were invited to join for any length of period they chose. I had provided sheets
that people could give thought to during the allotted time of silence they had chosen. I and one or two others did the full period.

For the rest of the week I ate only a cup of boiled rice each day. I drank ten cups of water. The project raised a fair sum of money which was given to charity.

The time of silence was short in comparison to the six months of silence I was going to experience later in my life due to voice problems. It was however long enough to allow me to experience way of the inner mind when deprived of the use of the voice. A lesson I have found useful in many ways since. Living on a cup of rice taught me empathy with those who had to live out their lives on such small amounts. It taught me never to complain about what I had or did not have but to make the best of what came my way.

It saddens me when I hear day in and day out people constantly wanting more and more, and when the luxuries of life so easily become the necessities. I was thinking of this yesterday as I walked in the beauty of this place where I am today. Surrounded by mountains and the wonderful colours of autumn. I am greatly blessed indeed. Now why should I have cause to complain.

On a lighter note, a good friend reminded me of a lovely story that made me start this day with the same message but with a grin and an inner smile.

It is the story of the girl who signed up to join a monastic order of silence. At the end of the first five
years she was told she could say two words. She thought for some time and said. "Hard bed.” She was told that it would be rectified.

At the end of ten years she was again permitted two words. She said, ”Food cold.”

At the end of fifteen years she was again permitted two words. She said, “I quit.”

The old sage said to her, “Maybe it is best you do. You have done nothing but complain since you came here.

I return home tomorrow and hope to catch up with your blogs I miss reading them.

I have not managed to change the other blog today

The Farmer and His Mule

Two weeks today will have been married for forty years. Any such event brings with it many questions. Yesterday I was being asked by my family what I wanted to do to celebrate the event. My initial thought was why not wait another ten years and see what happens. I have an amazing gift for procrastination. I did manage to avoid having to make a decision yesterday but the process makes you stop and wonder about the forty years and the ones spent prior to marriage. I found myself wondering about the memorable moments and what effects they had had.


I discovered a strange thing. The moments that had most changed my life were those moments that given a choice I might have avoided. An example, the time I was forced not to speak for six months. Six months when the silence brought isolation, almost. Being on the edge of most conversations, a listener, rather than an active participant. To then be told this might have to be the way it would be for the rest of my life, and all that meant.

Now in reflection I have discovered this was a turning point, but also a very deep and meaningful moment. It was a mule moment. Let me explain by sharing with you the story of the farmer and his mule.

One day the mule fell into the farmer’s well. The farmer heard the mule making a terrible noise in its fear and desperation. After carefully assessing the situation, he sympathized with the mule, but decided that neither the mule nor the well was worth the trouble of saving. Instead, he called his neighbours together, told them what had happened, and enlisted them to help haul dirt to bury the old mule in the well and put him out of his misery.

Initially the old mule was hysterical! But as the farmer and his neighbors continued shoveling and the dirt hit his back, a thought struck him. It suddenly dawned on him that every time a shovel load of dirt landed on his back, He would shake it off and step up!

This he did, blow after blow. “Shake it off and step up…shake it off and step up…shake it off and step up!” He repeated to encourage himself. No matter how painful the blows, or how distressing the situation seemed, the old mule fought panic and just kept right on and on shaking it off and stepping up!

It wasn’t long before the old mule, battered and exhausted, stepped triumphantly over the wall of that well!

What seemed like it would bury him actually helped him . . . all because of the manner in which he handled his adversity.

This is the way of Tao!

Face our problems and respond to them positively, and refuse to give in to panic, bitterness, or self-pity. Find that inner being. From that six months I realize I had my first taste of art, and much more.

This blog is linked to my other;  The Coastal Path

Say Nothing

There is the story of the nephew who had inherited the wealth of his father. As soon as he did he began to spend freely in wild living. His uncle, the master, heard of this and decided to visit him. When he arrived he was made most welcome by his nephew. He could see that the stories he had heard were true. He said nothing simply meditated as usual and spoke kindly to him. The next morning the master called his nephew.” I am getting very frail and shaky,” he said “Can you help me tie the lace of my sandal?” The nephew you did just that. The old man then said to him, “Old age comes to us all, I am so glad I lived a good life or things might have been so much worse.” He said no more, thanked him for his hospitality and left.


Although he in fact said nothing, the nephew changed his ways and the uncle grew to be proud of him as well as very fond.

I spoke the other day of my inflicted term of silence. Six months of being unable to speak is a frightening experience for one who uses their voice to provide for his family. It was for me a time to think and to assess. Nobody needed to say anything to me about my life. I had all the time in the world to say it to myself. It is often easily misunderstood

I have often said before that I can be guilty of putting the mouth into action without first engaging the brain. This is true but nearly as often as prior to my time of silence.

Like the nephew it is good to take stock now and then. To ask, “Where is it I am heading, where am I going?” This need not be as drastic as it was for the nephew, or for that matter for me. Nevertheless, we cannot just go on and on doing the same thing day in and day out. Or can WE?



This blog is linked to my other blog where I discuss the artwork used:- From a Distance

The Sound of One Hand

We have just had a general election in the United Kingdom. I do not know about anybody else but on such nights I cannot sleep, I stay awake and watch as the results pore in. It was an interesting night in many ways, one of the most interesting it is difficult to look at the results and talk in the same breath of a United Kingdom.


But, let’s have no more of that. I was intrigued to read all the comments yesterday, your thoughts on the sound of silence. Jerry had two bites of the cherry and got us thinking of Simon and Garfunkel. All in all it gave me a very interesting day of thinking. I thank you all, it took me back in so many ways.

I remember when I began teaching philosophy and world religions. I used to tell the following tale to my students and set them a task. Some of them got really involved in the attempt others gave up very quickly, thinking it was all nonsense. These were the ones I knew I was going to have to challenge if they were to get the awards they wanted.

Let me tell you the tale, then let you think on it. Sherry, those little thoughts that buzz round in the silence have a go at this in those sounds.

A young monk went to his master asking for help with his meditation. The master sat him down and said to him, “Clap your hands together please.” The young lad did as he was asked. “Now I want you to go and remembering the sound of two hands I want you to discover the sound of one hand clapping.”

As the lad meditated he heard the soft music of the geishas. H asked the master if this was the sound but was told no. As the weeks stretched on he returned to the master often with different ideas. He discovered that it was not the gentle sound of water, or the sound of the gentle breeze. Neither was it the hum of the buzzards.

More then ten times he returned over the course of a year. The he discovered the answer.

As I go off to contemplate the back of my eyelids I leave you the riddle. “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” I will tell you something I never ever told my students. Every artist knows the answer.

I am not sure if I will be able to post a blog over the weekend but will make every effort to do so if not see you next week.



This blog is linked to my other where the artwork used is discussed:- Cape Lilly