Life on the Edge

"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

Deer live deep in the forest
surviving on water and grass
stretching out under trees to sleep
how wonderful having no cares
but tie them up in a fancy hall
and give them the richest of foods
they won’t eat a bite all day
and soon their loveliness fades
-- Chinese poet Han Shan c. 800 AD --

It might appear strange to couple the above poem and photo together, but there are two comparisons to be found: appropriate giving and the importance of nature on our emotional, physical and spiritual health.

The best gift we can give anyone, including ourselves, is a natural world left vibrant and healthy for all ages and all species. Whatever is lovely in our life fades a bit each time the earth’s natural heritage is diminished. Nothing can make up for this loss. No fancy home, no gourmet meals, no nothing. We, like the deer, do best in wild nature. Take us away from nature and we slowly, imperceptibly fade away, shopping mall by shopping mall.

Baby Tama is having a New Zealand flowering Pahutakawa planted in her honour with the baby’s placenta placed first in the hole. The little girl standing, Arora, had a similar tree planted just behind this one three years ago. These children are directly bearing witness to the supreme importance of making a physical and spiritual connection to the living earth.

Along with each tree’s special birth significance, the parents Janine and Hape wanted to plant these trees here at Windgrove because, for them, the land itself is special. And why is it so special? I strongly suspect that it is the many people over the years who have contributed in so many ways that have made Windgrove what it is today. The $1,000 that went into the fencing of last week’s blog was donation money from people in America, Australia and Korea. Other people have given of their time to help build gardens and maintain the grounds. Today, a visiting person left behind a candle and three of her chooks’ eggs. Delicious.

A greedy man who piles up wealth
is like an owl who loves her chicks
the chicks grow up and eat their mother
wealth eventually swallows its owner
spread it around and blessings grow
hoard it and disaster arises
no wealth no disaster
flap your wings in the blue
Han Shan (known as Cold Mountain)

Footnote to poem. The belief that owl chicks eat their mother is an ancient myth in China.

I thought the day was going to be fairly straight forward, easy and relatively light-hearted. Just use the Subaru to carry fencing material out near the cliff where Glenn, Sally and I would build a protective barrier against the wallabies. The sun was shining, the wind non existent. Perfect. I hadn’t, however, accounted for the soft earth to sink the vehicle down to its axles. Especially a four wheel drive vehicle. Frustrating? Yes. Tiring? Yes. Time consuming? Yes. Ultimately defeating? No.

Every farmer or person who works the land has days like this. Unexpected floods, droughts, mechanical breakdowns or other events that plague the agenda of any day. The struggle is always there.

When struggle comes, as struggle does to every life, it’s never easy to go on. It often seems that not going on at all would be the better thing. The easier thing. The only possible thing. Pressures from outside us, pressures from within, hang heavy on our shoulders, weigh us down, and dampen our hearts. Then the spirit is taxed beyond belief. Then all the pious little nosegays we’ve ever learned turn to sand. Then we begin to question: What is the use of all this pain? What is the purpose of all this struggle?.....  And yet we sense that the way we deal with struggle has something to do with the very measure of the self, with the whole issue of what it is to be a spiritual person.

I could go on and talk about the bigger struggles I have with the world or of Tasmanian politics or with my own dark demons. But I also face a form of struggle with every tree planted at Windgrove and how I deal with this struggle is also a lesson in dealing with life’s other struggles.

For the past 17 years an effort is made every August to reforest those areas of land that were stripped clear of vegetation during the time Windgrove’s land was used for sheep grazing. It has never been as easy as in “plant a tree and watch it grow”. It’s been more like: “Let’s put in 500 trees, see how they do and then try to do better”. Well, this year “doing better” is bringing in 300 metres of chicken wire and 60 two metre long steel “star pickets”. About $1,000 worth. Since 1992 I have been trying to plant out this cliff face with the hope that it would create a windbreak for other trees on its leeward side. The trees planted—boobyalla and she-oaks—do grow, but the ever hungry wallabies have always outwitted any previous attempt to curtail their access to the young seedlings’ succulent leaves.

Well, with patience and the collective effort of six hands, three brains and four hearts, the car made it out of the mud and the fence got built. My fingers are crossed that this latest defensive effort will work. If not, I figure I still have a few more plans up my sleeve. 

The great secret of life is how to survive struggle without succumbing to it, how to bear struggle without being defeated by it, how to come out of great struggle better than when we found ourselves in the midst of it.

The essence of struggle is neither endurance nor denial. The essence of struggle is the decision to become new rather than simply to become older. It is the opportunity to grow either smaller or larger in the process.

All quotes from Joan D. Chittister’s book, Scarred by Struggle, Transformed by Hope

Gabi Mocatta, a freelance photo journalist, came by yesterday to gather information for an upcoming story about Windgrove. Even though it had been a month since I had last walked the land, I didn’t want to confine myself to the house for the interview as it is easier for me to talk more articulately and passionately while actually out on the land, i.e., the stories reveal themselves while the feet traverse the “song lines” (so to speak). I, therefore, took a punt and walked the whole two kilometre Peace Path—the first time since my operation.

I could go on and tell you what we talked about as we slowly walked this great headland, but I would rather retell the following story that took place some six years ago about a man who “accidentally” visited Windgrove.

His name was Chris and he was one of the carpenters who, in l986, helped build the house I designed and lived in near Hobart until it burned down in a bush fire in 1991. He happened to be driving through Nubeena and, when he drove past the Roaring Beach road sign he felt, he said, “a strong urge to turn down the road and see the beach”. Then, when he saw my name posted at our driveway entrance, he felt compelled again to turn in to see if this “Peter Adams” was the man he worked with in 1986.

When Chris, along with his wife June, knocked on the door I invited them in, but first asked that they remove their shoes as there is a “no shoes” policy. Chris laughingly said he would do this, but only if he was allowed to remove his leg as well—he had lost his foot and half a leg in a motorbike accident and the shoe was screwed onto the wooden leg.

Over tea we began sharing what each of us had been up to over the years. When Chris asked about the spiral he saw driving in, I described the various concepts behind the Windgrove Garden, especially the one concerning the need for each individual to personally find an inner peace, as Chris and I were both painfully aware that our mutual friend Phil, who had supervised the construction of the house, had committed suicide a few years earlier.

Chris turned to me and calmly said: “You know, Peter, I died twice in the past year and I know what it means to lose all faith in life and then have the courage to find it again. A year ago I had a quadruple heart bypass and for awhile in the hospital I was clinically dead. Afterward, for months on end I was in such physical pain with my leg, broken rib cage and fused spinal column, that I set about planning my own suicide and was within days of carrying it out when June found out about it. Through her committed love, she brought me around to life again. Today, I still have to struggle with the physical and emotional traumas of life, but I also have a much deeper love for life, my family and my friends and I am willing to engage in this process, this journey I am on. My concerns are not about any ultimate destination, but just being present today of where my feet are on the path of discovery.”

After so much talking, it seemed important to, at least, take Chris over to the Peace Garden and maybe do a portion of the Peace Walk. None of us were sure whether Chris would have the physical strength to make the full two kilometres, so we just agreed to go from bench to bench, willing to turn back if necessary.

Over and over again, Chris kept exclaiming how utterly beautiful everything was. There were pockets of fog and mist in the valleys, on the hill tops and up the cliff faces. The sun broke through constantly creating glistening water diamonds on the leaves and needles of the trees and magic rainbows appeared everywhere. At the Point, a sea eagle perched on a nearby branch and a wedge tail eagle spiralled up from the middle circle. Chris was so enraptured by the vista and his own growing sense of well being that he kept pushing on. Slowly, we walked and talked and, eventually, we did the whole circuit in around three hours. When we said our good-byes, Chris added: “You have no idea how special this day has been. What you have done here is create a healing environment.”

And that took place six years ago. Yesterday, with the photo journalist Gabi and her partner Phil, I also walked slowly around the whole path and, at the end, felt renewed and “truly on the mend”. This land is a powerful, healing place. This single aspect is what I hope Gabi both felt and will write about.