Yesterday I splashed out on a new pair of cream coloured pants and a green shirt in order to be a little more presentable than normal at an upcoming wedding in two weeks. (My wardrobe of well worn, mostly work clothes, has now been increased by about 20%). Driving home from Hobart with my fresh purchases folded neatly in a stylish Rivers clothing bag, I began to wonder how long it would be before what was so new in the bag would become just another thread bare cloth that carried more dirt than fashion on its sleeves.

The photo shows where some rotten boards were replaced this past week. We constantly build, make new, repair and then throw away. The cells in our bodies do it daily; my wardrobe gets madeover every few years; the house Sally and I live in gets mended somewhere in-between.

Just like the constantly changing physical dimensions happening within and around us, can the same be said of our emotional or spiritual lives? Have any of those fond, happy memories of the past become too faded to keep around anymore and should they be discarded? Are there any emotional decking boards, once solid, now rotten, that need to be replaced? Those spiritual teachings I wrap myself in, are they still giving me warmth or protection from whatever lurks out there?  Do I really want to be so green in my life that I “recycle” and “reuse” whatever emotional baggage I have been hauling around? Probably not.

Looking now at the bag containing my new shirt and pants, I cast my mind back to the time when I sat next to a young girl on a train in Germany in 1990. The Berlin Wall had just come down and I was travelling from the former, more affluent West Berlin to the more impoverished East German town of Potsdam.

On the train were many East Germans who had just been, probably for the first time ever, into West Berlin to visit relatives and to purchase whatever they could afford of the many consumer goods available there. The girl was about fifteen, not poorly dressed, but definitely poor. She held a brown paper bag on her lap. Held it tightly, as though holding onto a treasure; possibly fearful that someone might take it from her. I imagined that she had spent whatever little money she had on whatever it was that was hidden in the bag.

She travelled alone. Never spoke a word. But every few minutes the girl would carefully unfold the rolled down top of the paper bag and take a peek at her secret. Then a smile would spread across her face. A very sweet, happy smile. And my heart opened and I felt happy for her too; happy that the Wall had come tumbling down and that the East could once again move freely into and out of the West.

No longer content to just look at her treasure, the girl started to reach in and hold the object for a short while before pulling her hand back out and refolding the bag. And all the while wearing her smile.

My curiosity got the better of me and I began to lean into her a little whenever she opened the bag in an attempt to see what was down there. Every jerky train movement would have my head and eyes fall nearly on top of her, but to no avail. Whatever was in there was tiny and impossible to see.

Finally, she reached in with both hands and pulled it out. It was a little jar of “Ponds Beauty Cream”. She opened it and with eyes closed put the slightest dab on her young face. She was glowing with joy and, although I was happy for her present happiness, I also felt a touch of sadness for this young girl because, to me, she had taken that first slippery step along the path towards living in our “western” seductive consumerist society where advertising dictates whether or not you have the right goods to be loveable. After she went through that first jar of “expensive” cream to make herself more beautiful and nothing happened, what next?

This was 18 years ago. The young girl of then would now be in her mid 30’s. I wonder if she still has managed to keep that sweet smile on her face? Does she do it by walking in the forests near her home or by yet another train trip, but this time to Paris, Amsterdam or London?

I look into my own bag and do feel a little guilty for spending money on some new clothes. But then, I think of the wedding for which I bought them. I think of the young girl again, close my eyes and imagine being at my own wedding someday (I hope). A sweet smile comes across my face and I feel an urge to dance, and dance and dance.

We are travelers on a cosmic journey—stardust, swirling and dancing in the eddies and whirlpools of infinity. Life is eternal. But the expressions of life are ephemeral, momentary, transient.

Gautama Buddha, the founder of Buddhism, once said,

This existence of ours is as transient as autumn clouds.
To watch the birth and death of beings is like looking at the movements of a dance.
A lifetime is like a flash of lightning in the sky,
Rushing by like a torrent down a steep mountain.

We have stopped for a moment to encounter each other, to meet, to love, to share. This is a precious moment, but it is transient. It is a little parenthesis in eternity. If we share with caring, lightheartedness, and love, we will create abundance and joy for each other. And then this moment will have been worthwhile.

Deepak Chopra

In last week’s blog, we read that the poet, Kabir, found god in a ceramic vase. In this week’s newspapers, we read that Paris Hilton has found god in jail. The “bearded one” certainly abides in mysterious places.

What about a lump of wood?  Why not? To say that someone is “as thick as two planks of wood” usually connotes a high degree of stupidity. But, if one regards wood as having special characteristics, such as intrinsic value or that God resides within, well, then, just possibly, we could be giving the “two planks” person a fairly high compliment; a compliment usually reserved for the pope or the Dalai Lama.

Take the above close up photo of a piece of split firewood, for instance. With its nice rippling waves and golden color it makes me think of the curly hairs of the goddess, Venus. Definitely sensuous. Lots of places to hide in; certainly better than jail. Moreover, this piece of wood can be inhabited by whomever or whatever I want. This is the artist’s prerogative. Or, the poet’s. Or, the shaman’s. Or…. the child’s.

As a kid, my understanding of God was defined in the basement Sunday school class beneath the Christian Science church (not to be confused with Scientology). Here, the “Father/Mother” god of founder, Mary Baker Eddy, was gently hammered into our formative brains as being, along with Truth and Love, “Mind”.

God as mind. Very abstract; very Buddhist.

As a creation story, taking a bit of dust and blowing one’s breath/spirit onto it and creating something that can walk is, to my way of thinking, rather impressive. So, seeing as how kids play with sticks, dolls and anything else and can animate them—i.e., bring them to life in the Biblical sense—it would appear that to be godlike one has to have the mind of a child. Or, at least, the imagination of one; a mind that can easily connect with the greater, sacred whole. Therefore, as adults, since we all have minds, we’re also capable of transforming objects into subjects, nouns into verbs. All it takes is a bit of imagination.

It might be considered child’s play, but to imbue life into the inanimate is certainly the work of a great mind.

Life here at Windgrove gives many opportunities to practice using one’s imagination to see the inner reality of seemingly lifeless objects. Trees do have tongues, stones exude wisdom and teddy bears are compassionate. Grass, clouds, firewood, vases, whatever…… they all hide fantastic personalities within and they all speak from the one Mind.

And, they can be a great comfort in times of loneliness.

I came across an article this week that talked about a proposal before the English parliament for a 4,000 km continuous corridor of clear and well managed public access along the entire length of England’s coast. Such a great idea. Sir Martin Doughty, Chair of Natural England said: “The principle is clear: the public should have consistent and secure access around their coastline.”

I couldn’t agree more. “Power to the feet”, I say.

Ever since reading Rebecca Solnit’s, Wanderlust: a history of walking, I have been fascinated with, and desirous of, creating paths for people to walk along. Surely, the two kilometre Peace Walk is a working statement of this fact.

However, as beautiful and inspiring as it might be, the Peace Walk is still on private land and the public has no legal access to it. This I don’t intend to change.

But, in total agreement with the English proposal above, I have been working with my local council to create a public footpath along Windgrove’s northern boundary (a distance of around half a kilometre) and all legal hurdles were recently completed after I “sold” a six foot strip of land to the council for $1. This now allows my neighbours and the general public legal access to the Roaring Beach Conservation Area.

As well, I am creating and maintaining a continuation of this path along the western boundary (adjacent with the RBCA) and connecting it to an existing path to the beach.

Some would argue that I am giving up control and privacy; that hooligans and trouble makers will descend like vultures onto the land; that the selling value of the land might even be lessened.

I would argue back that, as an owner of a coastal headland, I am morally obligated to provide this access. Growing up in America where wealthy land owners slowly closed off the public’s access to the coastal areas by building “gated communities”, I have seen how the average citizen can be locked out of experiencing the beauty of such areas.

In a way my motive is selfish. I want the earth’s natural treasures to be preserved. The more paths there are for people to walk or bike along the earth’s body, the more they will come to love her and, hence, protect her.

Instead of hooligans, I see kids with surf boards walking along the path, neighbours out for a stroll and gladdening hearts everywhere.

When I wake up in the morning, I want to wake up feeling kindness to all.

My little red wheelbarrow. Over the past several years I have used it to haul many things. Needless to say, it has lightened my load considerably.

On Monday, however, as I was cleaning the ashes out of the pit containing the Peace Fire, an ember fell next to the wheelbarrow’s tire and “pshsssss” the tire blew. Try as I might to continue to use the wheelbarrow (to finish the job at hand), it couldn’t be done. The barrow held the ash, I held the barrow, but the little wheel was flat, thereby, throwing the whole operation out the window (so to speak).

It got me thinking. Isn’t a chain only as strong as its weakest link? Doesn’t life itself require all its various components to be well oiled and well maintained to function properly? Neglect any one part and the ability to move from A to B is decidedly more difficult.

The question I want to ask is: How do we move the world towards peaceful coexistence when the spiritual wheel needed to carry us there is flat?  Politicians and world leaders seem to be more “religious” these days, but, gosh, their religion seems debased.

Bush Administration’s “pro-life” stance appears to be limited to the unborn and the brain-dead. Despite being panned by critics everywhere, the Iraqi Horror Picture Show continues its run, as thousands and thousands of born foetuses – ours and theirs—lose their right to life.

It’s true, many people still feel that the affairs of the world should be left to the bolder and badder among us. But look what that leaves us with: Are you satisfied choosing between Saddam Hussein and George Who’s-Not-Sane? Now I know those “God, guns and guts” Old Testament Christians might have forgotten, but Jesus did say that the meek shall inherit the earth. In all undue immodesty, maybe it’s time for us meek folks to boldly step forth and accept our inheritance.

For just as 2000 years ago Jesus stood up to a class that placed the rule of gold above the Golden Rule, today we face the modern version of the Pharisees—the Phallusees, I think they are called. They cynically cloak themselves in religious robes, but the only power they trust is the power of the stick. Well, there’s another old saying: It doesn’t matter how big your stick is, if you stick your stick where it doesn’t belong, you’re stuck.

Another sign of the up-wising and coming evolution is that people are growing dissatisfied with the positionality of “my side vs. your side,” and are seeing the whole issue of sides from a new angle:  Maybe we’re all on the same side. For example, this argument between creationism and evolution is just another way for duelling dualisms to steal our energy. I believe in both. I believe the Creator created us to evolve, otherwise Jesus would have said, “Now don’t do a thing till I return.” I have it on good authority that the Creator is pulling for us: “Come on, you children of God. Time to grow up and become adults of God instead.”

You are probably familiar with the story of the Native American grandfather who tells his grandson that there are two wolves fighting inside all of us: The wolf of fear and anger, and the wolf of love and peace.

“Which wolf will win?” asks the young boy.
“Whichever one we feed,” replies the grandfather.

As my guru Harry Cohen Baba has said, “Life is like a good deli. Even if something isn’t on the menu, if enough people order it they have to make it.” So what kind of new world order are we ordering up? Do we feed the wolf of fear and buy into the “it’s every man for himself” story? Or do we nourish the wolf of love and evolve into the “we’re all in it together” story?

Release the old story—been there, done that—and speak the new story into the world. Dare to imagine what we could be doing if we weren’t spending so much of our livelihood on weapons of deadlihood. Think about it … think tanks where they think about something other than tanks. Young people living for their country instead of dying for it. Health and education fully funded, and the Air Force having to run a bake sale so they can buy a new bomber.

I don’t know who actually wrote the above quote, but I like it. He/she goes by the name of Swami Beyondananda.

Time for me to patch the tire (tyre, elsewhere).

I find it interesting that when I focus my attention on one thing, it reappears in another form elsewhere.

For the past few days I have been painting steel pickets with a white paint. In the full sun they are bright. Painting them forces me to squint. Painting them also forces me to think.

The white stakes were made to mark out the new boundaries of the land being sold. As I was punching them into the ground a few hundred meters apart, not only did the “whiteness” of the stakes stand out strongly against the background, I also began to think of the color “white” as synonymous with “territory”.

Walking home, “white” and “territory” popped up everywhere.

The blossoming native currant bush with its hundreds of tiny white flags beckoned the busy bees to enter into their territorial space.

Out of the blue green ocean the white flag of the cascading wave emerged to beckon surfers into its territorial waters.

After having seen more white in one day than I would normally see in a week (even though the white was always there), I began to think that how a person views the world influences what they see in the world.

Today my focus was on white pickets and marking territory; hence, I saw more of this everywhere than I normally would. Likewise, when a fireman goes home, his senses are more in tune to see fire (or its potential) than mine would be. A police officer has better antenna to notice crime. Lawyers see defamation in every word (and money).

The Dali Lama? Because he meditates on loving kindness constantly, is he more capable than others in finding the love that resides in everyone and everything?

In other words, given that there is probably an equal amount of joy and suffering in the world, to have more joy in our lives it is not a matter of inventing it or working desperately to create it. We don’t have to do much more than just start seeing it. It is there already. Instead of focusing on the pain of life, squint your eyes and learn to see the abundant beauty that is everywhere, now, calling out to us to come suckle on the sweetness of its nectar.

And one last thing on things white.

Walking out onto my deck lately, I have noticed the beautiful white, painterly markings left by the tenant kookaburras marking out their territory in the branch above.

It never ceases to amaze me when I think about rainbows. They’ll only ever happen when there is both sun and rain. Such a great analogy for understanding how one’s life is most magical only when it has both sunny days and stormy days.

People who prefer to have the nightly weather forecast read “Fine and sunny for tomorrow and for the rest of the week” just haven’t a clue to the importance of a bit of turbulence. And, I bet their lives remain, for the most part, passionless.

The term “fine and perfect” when describing the weather should actually mean “a bit of sun, a bit of rain, a bit of wind, a bit of heat, even a bit of hail thrown in for good measure”.

Come to think of it, this is exactly how the weather has been around here this past week; therefore, fine and perfect.

(And speaking of the passion of weather, my girlfriend arrives next week from Melbourne. We get along just fine and perfect.)

On my bookshelf there is a well read anthology of poems, ‘The Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart’. In section #2 of this book, “Fathers’ Prayers for Sons and Daughters”, there is an excerpt from a poem by William Butler Yeats.

This poem seems apt for today’s blog, because recently I have had several conversations with friends about the precariousness of watching their children, in today’s crazy world, grow from tiny bundles of joy into an adult mixture of seemingly contradictory dualisms.

Every parent wants their child to enter into the fullness of life with wisdom, courage, skill, compassion and grace. Most would want their child to have many friends and to choose a decent partner based on heart love. Most will fret for many years; possibly, many more years than at first seemed necessary.

How does the rainbow magic of a child’s presence stay whole through the storm?

For a bit of clarification, near the end of his poem, Yeats writes about “Helen” and the “Great Queen”. These would be Helen of Troy, who chose to abandon her husband and child for an affair with Paris (resulting in the Trojan War), and, Aphrodite, who, although married to the great blacksmith/craftsman Hephaestus, had many, many lovers.

Interesting to note that the “bandy-legs” of Hephaestus were the result of his parents (Zeus and Hera) tossing him outside the family home because he was an ugly baby.

A Prayer for my Daughter

Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory’s wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack— and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.

I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come,
Dancing to a frenzied drum,
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.

May she be granted beauty and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger’s eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.

Helen being chosen found life flat and dull
And later had much trouble from a fool,
While that Great Queen, that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless could have her way
Yet chose a bandy-legged smith for man.
It’s certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.

William Butler Yeats

Parts of a Rilke poem, translated by Coleman Barks, read:

“…whoever you are: some evening take a step out of your house which you know so well…..

… with your eyes slowly, slowly, lift one black tree up, so it stands against the sky: slender, alone…

…tenderly your eyes let it go…”

What Rilke is asking is for each of us to find the courage to leave the safety and comfort of our daily lives and begin the journey to connect to the whole of life.

In a different translation by Joanna Macy/Anita Barrows there is the added line:

“Now the immense loneliness begins”

The people for whom I have the greatest admiration are those very people Rilke is imploring. It is never easy to move towards the light. Instead of unconditional support, parents, partners and society in general make this journey even more difficult. Instead of being the bow and releasing the pilgrim like an arrow into the world (Kahil Gibran’s analogy), they tend to impede and cling. What advice they offer is couched in fear.

Therefore, to those brave souls willing to seek answers beyond the known, I offer a gracious love to your well being in the coming New Year.

To those left behind tending the home fires, I offer a gracious support and will pray with you that those travelling on the great journey will be kept out of harm’s way.

To all pilgrims everywhere, if temporary refuge is needed, Windgrove is available.

Sometimes a man stands up during supper
and walks outdoors, and keeps on walking,
because of a church that stands somewhere in the East.

And his children say blessings on him as if he were dead.

And another man, who remains inside his own house,
dies there, inside the dishes and in the glasses,
so that his children have to go far out into the world
toward that same church, which he forgot.

Rilke (translation, Robert Bly)

I have a TV in my house. A Sony Trinitron, in fact. I even have a DVD player.

But they sit on the floor of a closet. Not so much hidden away out of disgust or abhorrence of their addictive qualities, but simply that I have no real desire to use them. In the last ten years the total hours watched would most likely equal what the average child in Australia and America views in ten days. Maybe an exaggeration, but closer to my reality than reality TV.

Might I suggest that people, just as an experiment, put their TV in a closet for a month, or perhaps a week, at least? Not that the news and one’s favourite program aren’t informative or entertaining, but it could prove interesting. So, telephone your partner or a friend and say invitingly: “Guess who’s coming home to dinner tonight” and have a different type of TV dinner. What type of TV dinner you ask?

For me, this means sitting down with a glass of organic wine, munching on a stir fry and…. gazing into the intricate face of a sun flower so stunning in its format that my plate of food gets cold. The pixels of this screen — around 50 seeds per square inch — shine with a clarity and depth not found in any plasma screen that I know of.

When I am in town visiting with my city friends, what I find most disturbing is the phrase: “I’m going home tonight and veg out in front of the TV”. This statement, “veg out”, does a great injustice to the integrity and stature of vegetables. They do not sit around remaining idle and sloth like. They are constantly growing inside and out, never resting; developing into their fullest potential. Besides this, they are in constant search of a “grand coupling”.

Their sole mission is to sink roots deep into the fertile soil, spread out luscious, searching tendrils of communication, burst forth in gorgeous displays of flower, fornicate copiously and then bear the most mouth watering succulent fruit.

Therefore, the next time a friend says they are spending the night vegging out, give them a wink, a knowing smile and remind them to practice safe sex.