Dharma Glimpse by Luna

I’ve been wandering & exploring for the past four years, since fleeing to Australia after a very long PhD. My spiritual connection has deepened through many practices & experiences during this time, & I feel like I’ve been on a long pilgrimage to come home to myself.
In the past few months, it landed for me; the magic I experience when I allow myself to feel held, supported by life/ God/ the Divine – (in whichever form they present themselves to us; whichever form feels supportive for us; whichever way/ language we can relate to) –
I started to feel more witnessed & encouraged to go to the places where I feel called to go – to follow my heart. Through this process, my values have been revealing themselves; at one point I thought I wanted to travel more, but when I really looked at what I was desiring – community, nature, to feel welcome & valued, & actually to put down roots & allow myself to build a nourishing life where I can feel connected, of service & aligned all year round, not just when visiting or traveling – I realised it was time to let myself surrender into the way that I have been paving; to trust in the Divine & in myself. To see the beauty & everything I desire is right here.
After a challenging experience this Christmas with multiple house moves & family tensions, following a very supportive year of living with my friend, I was humbled by the reminder that supportive conditions are really important, no matter where we are in our spiritual path. In my hour of need, all of the amazing connections in my life revealed themselves in a deeper way & everything felt like it got richer.
I know that I have this deep longing to be home & to be with the Divine. The idea of Devotion no longer causes resistance in me – my perceived capacity is no longer being judged through the lens of my ego, but feels like an opening in my heart & deep calling.
So now that my practice has brought that to life in me in a way that is accessible everyday, & is being woven through my everyday life, I am really excited to be exploring different language to bring me closer to that.
I just relocated to Devon, & have been reflecting on my practice & the practices that do bring me to this place – one of which has been the Gayatri mantra for the past few months. My friend who introduced me to it, tells me that this mantra is never not being chanted, as it is chanted throughout India. It feels really powerful for me to sense this interconnectedness & this collective desire to feel at home with the Divine, in ourselves & in the world when hearing/ chanting this.
When I practice this within, it is mirrored in my life. A deep sense of where feels like home for me, one particular place of which, I appreciate on a new level after a recent visit, is the temple in Malvern. As I stand in my new back garden, looking out over the River Dart for the first time since moving to Devon, feeling the sun on my face as I close my eyes & enjoy the patterns that appear behind my eyes, I chant Namo Amida Bu. I feel a wave of gratitude for the depth of connection I feel with people & in my external world, that are closer to home – the clarity that I needn’t search, the support is here. I feel the power & beauty of feeling connected to the Bright Earth Sangha & how I’ve always felt so supported, welcomed & accepted, just as I am. I feel very blessed to have this intentional community & teachings, to help me sense feeling at home with the Divine & help me live & serve from here. I remind myself daily, to connect to these feelings that feel like home; to choose to live from here, & let everything unfold from here.

May we all allow ourselves to come home & to have the conditions around us that support this. To allow ourselves to feel held & supported, by the warm sun on our face, the birdsong, the hills around us.

Namo Amida Bu

Dharma Glimpse by Paramita

I recently had to leave a job, as a combination of problems with it were making me ill, and so I did it quite suddenly and without securing anything else to fall back on.

I couldn’t afford to have too much time off and so, I started making job applications and went on the old familiar rounds of paperwork, interviews and waiting around to hear back.

I had applied for a carer job and it seemed to be going well but the process was complicated by the fact that it was happening so close to Christmas, and there was some uncertainty about my availability for the fixed rota patterns.

Not long after the first interview and in a state of ambiguity and anxiety around the outcome, I found myself overwhelmed in a social situation, when I was bombarded with career advice by my colleagues and friends about how to proceed with it. All well meaning input but communicated in, what felt like, quite an overpowering way, which didn’t seem to leave much room for my feelings about things. I sputtered out something defensive, angrily dismissed the advice and managed to steer the coversation away from the subject.

I immediately felt frustrated, as I struggle with expressing myself verbally and couldn’t manage to say what I wanted to say at the time. It all left me feeling a bit hurt and vulnerable. After sleeping on it I decided to clarify myself with a message to the community about my feelings and the reasons why I had been quite stubborn about my position. I made it clear that I understood the sentiment behind their intervention but that I had my reasons for maintaining my approach and apologised if my reaction had seemed harsh.

The message was met with understanding and grace from my friends. They appreciated the honesty and that I had taken the care and thought that went into the message.

A few days later a friend who was present at the social event, mentioned the incident and that they’d seen me being pressured and were so impressed and inspired by my message response, that they took a similar approach to an ongoing issue that they were struggling with at the time. My example helped them to muster up the courage to open up and say what was really on their mind, even after the initial event had passed, which made them feel lighter and more at ease.

I thought about what had happened. How my initial reaction was restricted and unclear because of my social frozenness, and how reflection on my part in the situation had produced a more balanced response. It struck me that the active ingredients in this transmission were vulnerability and humility. My honesty and willingness to expose my feelings like that showed a kind of softness that was interpreted, on some level, as a permission to be vulnerable, on the part of my friend.

It really showed me the power of openness and how authenticity can spread in a good way, even when we’re attempting to clear up the mess after the fact.

I felt this as a kind of sharing between friends, colleagues and practitioners.
The softness that happens when we practice Buddhism is a kind of transmission between us and the Buddha. We catch a bit of love and compassion and then, in turn, pass that on to others around us, who hopefully will do the same as they walk their respective paths.

We can’t always be in control of our behaviours – we are, after all, inescapably Human. But we will  transmit what is in our hearts and minds, and if we stay close to Amida, it might just be enough to cut through the misunderstandings that happen between us, and help to bring us closer together.

Namo Amida Bu.

A Dharma Glimpse by Mat Osmond

This is a glimpse that arrived in two halves.

The first half came a few weeks ago as I was giving my daughter Zoe a driving lesson. We had the Sat Nav on, but for some reason we kept turning aside from the route it offered back to where we’d started out from. If you’ve used a Sat Nav you’ll know what happens next. The App just reorients, and begins directing you again from whatever way you’re now facing.

Sometimes a moment lingers in the memory like an odd little question mark waiting to be understood. I think this is what a ‘dharma glimpse’ means to me, but maybe koan would be nearer the mark. The Sat Nav’s patient recalibration, over and over as we failed to follow its advice, felt like one of these moments. No opinion offered – and no reproach. And where we’re making our way back to, regardless of how often we turn aside from it, hasn’t moved or changed, has it? It just happens to be in this direction now, instead of that.

The second half happened when I was praying silent nembutsu a week or so later.

At some point I must have slipped without noticing it from saying Namo Amida bu to saying Maranatha, an Aramaic version of the Prayer of the Heart which I learned from the Benedictine teacher Fr John Main, and have come back to many times over the years. 

It must have been a good ten minutes before I even realised what had happened , and when I did, it seemed oddly funny. As if for once I’d been accidentally honest with Amida, and with myself. As if, the most honest way I could say nembutsu was in fact to forget the correct words, to muddle them up and get them wrong.

This isn’t about advocating a mix-and-match approach to prayer though. Trying to find the right blend sounds quite … tiring. It smells of calculating mind to me – which is to say, mixing and matching different approaches until I finally hit on the right formula basically leaves this whole finding the way home business up to me. Like I said, tiring. 

But whatever it means to open the defended heart to measureless, un-measuring Life, I suppose coming to Amida ‘just as I am’ has to include, then, this curious inability to settle on a given name.

If I were to call myself a Pureland Buddhist it would be in exactly this sense, I think. After decades of putting on one form of prayer after another like so many borrowed shirts, it seems I’ve failed at even this simplest of bombu practices: calling the name.  And it’s right here in this obscure inability to settle that Amida finds me as I am, irrespective of how often I veer off one way or another. 

I’ve no idea what comes next, to be honest – but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe that’s the point.

To be continued. Namo Amida bu.

Dharma Glimpse by Kusuma

As part of a multi-faith open day I recently visited a children’s hospice for the first time in a number of years.

There is a heavy price to pay for working in a palliative care environment with Compassion Fatigue a major contributing factor in staff being off sick or leaving the profession. After listening to the staff I came away with a little fire burning inside me! There must be a way to remain a compassionate carer and not burnout? Metta I thought might just be the answer.

Metta comes from the word ‘Mitta’ meaning friend and is used to describe a practice in meditation known as ‘loving kindness’ or ‘loving friendliness’. With Metta practice we send loving energy inwards to ourselves, and with time and practice, we can then radiate this love out to others.

Since my visit to the hospice, Metta has become an all consuming passion; researching, writing, and talking about Metta. As a neurodivergent person, it’s not hard to find focus for the things that put a fire in my belly. But writing about Metta is not the same as really living with Metta and it takes courage to step in to a Metta practice and give yourself permission to trust the process.

But how does sending love inward to ourselves help us to become compassionate carers you might ask? People often choose caring professions out of a desire to make a difference in society. The process of caring for another human being can help us to feel better about ourselves, but this kind of care and compassion is exhausting. Too much of yourself is invested in this type of compassion and you are left constantly feeling like you should do more.

When we practice Metta and develop a healthy, loving, unconditional relationship with ourselves, we no longer feel the desire to do more, or be more for others. As love radiates from within, the compassionate care flows from our true nature and not from our ego self. Cultivating kindness creates the opportunity for the heart to be more open; this of course is not without its challenges in a world where people tend not to talk about feelings.

I have been an unpaid Carer for 13 years and in that time I have had my fair share of compassion fatigue. Sometimes I long for a duvet day but for me everyday is a work day. The pressure of keeping another human being healthy and alive is immense and there are times when I have been hard on my self; for example if an infection seemingly appears out of no where or when the side effects of a medicine take their tole on an already fragile body. “I could have done more” becomes the running negative narrative at times like this. Metta does not come easy to me, if I soften my heart, can I really become a more compassion carer? Inviting Metta in might mean that I have to give myself a break! And as any carer will tell you, we rarely think of ourselves.

This week I returned to Metta for the first time in a long time. I chose the safe space of our beloved shrine room at Bright Earth to share the experience of Metta Meditation. Myself and a Dharma friend sat together and worked on bringing Metta in to our own hearts. The words circled around us, be gentle, be peaceful, hold a tender heart. I felt my chest become warmer as I gave myself permission to be loved unconditionally. Metta meditation invites us to become free from anxiety, fear, worry and restlessness, these are all emotions that most Carers, paid or unpaid feel with great intensity on a daily basis.

This first Metta experience in a while, left me with tears in my eyes, there was no hiding from the fact that I felt something shift inside me and I heard the words “Stop being so hard on yourself”.

Metta feeds the heart and soul, it creeps inside and brings forth an awareness of the emotions you need to learn from or let go of. I have heard Metta described as “the nature of the universe and our true nature”. My Metta practice feels like a homecoming to a place I had thought impossible to reach yet it is right here, in my heart.

Dharma Glimpse by Frankie

This isn’t a meditation on death and my preparedness or otherwise for it, but about the lessons I am taught as I go about my every day mundane life. Shopping!

I do a lot of my shopping on Amazon. Yes I know for many people this is objectionable but perhaps those people live in priviliged areas, near big cities in privileged countries and have access to big one stop supermarkets, enormous discount white goods retailers, all manner and style of household accessory suppliers, furniture shops, internation food stores, art supply discount stores, chainstores for just about everything – not to mention the infrastructure of public and private transport to access them. Blessed are they.

However not having much of any of the above by choosing to live on a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean with barely functioning public transport and no car, I thank every deity there is for Amazon.
The one-click button is a wonderful thing – when I’ve finished a book on my Kindle at 2.00am, I can access the Kindle shop immediately and buy the follow up – but there’s also a great lesson to be learned from putting stuff in the trolley. And leaving it there.

I have a rule. I leave it at least three days before I proceed to the checkout. And what happens? At my leisure I can look at the contents of the trolley again and what I find is that after that three days of a sort of sacred shopping pause, I am better able discern the difference between want and need. What is in that trolley thanks to dissatisfaction and grasping, monkey mind, someone else’s greener grass? What is there as a result of windowshopping, fleeting pleasure, fantasy? What do I really need? And what do I already have that I am not making use of?

I’d say that at least 90% of what I might have accumulated goes back on the shelf. Some of it will go in the ‘save for later’ pile, which will also eventually get weeded through in the same way.
I see this not so much as an exercise of willpower or a triumph over capriciousness, but dharma in action right there in the midst of life. It’s about response rather than reaction. It’s about that sacred pause; those three days are like the three sacred breaths we can take before speaking or acting carelessly or in anger. It’s about discernment and clarity. It’s about grasping and dukkha. It’s about learning to be content with what I have. It’s about everything!

Today I have two items in my trolley – I’ve just removed one to the save for later list, and I’ve also removed two items from that list. The one remaining item is a book on Japanese Calligraphy, I’ll let it stay just a little while longer…

By Elizabeth

Some of you know that my daughter was found to have a shopping addiction this year, with its attendant lying, stealing and gaslighting.

It was an effort to get over the shock and disbelief at first and then how to practice?

It took time and hence my gratitude for the Dharma seal of impermanence, because it slowly did change.
In those early days I threw that second arrow at myself many times, wanting my anger, mistrust and unforgivingness to be over already!

Practices like the one I copied to you helped in the dark days, giving my pain to the Buddha, ancestors and Mother Earth. As I got lighter, I was then able to do practices on self-compassion, self-forgiveness and then compassion and forgiveness for Lena.

I do these practices regularly as I see how easily I can get caught up in doing and lose the tender open connection with myself. If I lose it towards myself, I lose it towards everyone and I so want to learn who this new daughter is now! I watch my expectations, Buddhism calling this my attachment to having it a certain way.

Self-compassion, befriending myself when I make mistakes in communication, seeing my goodness and that of my daughter’s. These have been my keys.

Dharma Glimpse by Paramita

Last weekend I missed out on the Bright Earth Pureland Buddhist Convention, which was held in my hometown and hosted by my home Temple.
It was not my fault and neither can I blame anybody else for this unfortunate state of affairs.
I suffer with Fibromyalgia, which is classed as a “chronic illness” and can prove to be extremely debilitating. Especially while trying to manage low energy levels and high vulnerability to illness in the cold and flu season. In the end I had to choose between spending my energy earning much needed money, or hanging out with my friends and colleagues and discussing important faith related topics.
My condition also inhibits my capacity for being around large crowds of people, especially when they’re all highly competent and successful, which can trigger my sense of lack and intensify the psychosomatic symptoms that come along with lifelong trauma issues.
I’m aware that this all sounds quite heavy and tragic, but I am these days quite well trained in spotting and nurturing the positive embers that glow warm and bright amid the darkness of misfortune and loss.
I knew that my presence here in the Temple could potentially be more of a burden than it usually is, in the give and take sense, or, I could attempt to engage in the communal  activities as much as possible, whilst looking after myself compassionately and managing my depleted energy levels realistically.
I was due to cook for the community and so put my heart and soul into the task of feeding my fellow Buddhists as well as I could manage. This was, as usual, partly enjoyable and partly stressful, as I wrestled with the usual obstacles of timing and quantity, which, in my experience, as well as being the most tricky parts, also present the key to a successful meal and happy, well fed people!
I instantly felt better when the meal was received gracefully and gratefully by all, and my guilt and shame about not being able to attend the convention receded somewhat.
The next day I was pretty poorly and barely managed to finish my shift at work before collapsing in a heap and spending the rest of the day horizontal – reading and watching depressing youtube content(I do not recommend the latter!).
I managed to get out for a walk with a friend later that evening, which proved to be just what I had needed.
In the morning I managed to muster up the energy to get to the special Sunday practice session, where I acted as Bellmaster and then took part in reciting a key Pureland text with the Sangha, which once again made me feel connected and, in some way, functional.
The point is that there is always something that we can do to contribute towards the unfolding of the Dharma in and around the drama of our lives. Buddhism is a causative power! Our hearts and minds are intricately embedded in complex systems, which we will influence in one way or another, regardless of our perceived place within them. The attitude that we take towards our suffering can determine the experience that we have with it and also the effect that it has on others.
In Pureland Buddhism we partake of a Great Love, that emanates from and through us, just as a result of being connected to Amitabha Buddha. This means that we all have a place in the great enlightenment experience that constitutes the Pure Land. Whether we’re expounding the wisdom of the Sutras and texts, or making the dinner for our hungry friends!
Namo Amida Bu!

Glimpse by Philip Wallbridge

I’ve learnt sometimes things fall apart in life.  It happened to me recently.  Things built up I couldn’t let go of or process, so there was an inevitable falling apart. 

A few days later, as I was piecing myself back together, I was walking towards the Malvern hills.  I was more present now.  Things felt fresher and more vibrant.  As I walked on to a wooded path, I noticed how many leaves were lying gently there in a beautiful mosaic.  I realised a tree is always shedding its leaves each year.  It does it quietly and gracefully.  It doesn’t seem to cling on to its leaves.  And those leaves are essential for the ecosystem.  The system needs things to fall apart and be let go of.  Just as, perhaps, we do.  Things are impermanent.  By letting go and opening up, new things can enter and grow.  The wound is where the light enters as Rumi said.  I used to think it sounded clever so I would say it.  The depth of its meaning is starting to dawn on me more and more. 

I won’t be the same as I was a few weeks ago.  Maybe I’m never the same as I was a few weeks ago.  And things falling apart sometimes can, perhaps, be a positive thing.  It reminds us we aren’t infallible and inviolate.  We are vulnerable, constantly changing creatures with bombu (“ordinary person”) nature. Perhaps I’m learning to embrace that vulnerability and ordinary nature, rather than fight it.  It’s ok to fall apart sometimes.

Namo Amida Bu   

(23 Oct 2023)

By Bobby Ahlander

So far this year I have experienced the death of three people that were fully integrated into my life in one way or another.

In March, my dad passed away from natural causes, just one day shy of his 80th birthday.

In April, one of my closest friends died from heart failure, just a few days before he and I were going to be seeing each other for the first time in several years.

And two Saturdays ago, my neighbor, a young man whom I’ve known for twenty years (since he was 13 yrs old), took his own life.

The cause of each of these deaths was vastly different, but the result was the same.

For a variety of reasons (that are far too numerous to name right now), over the past couple of years I have experienced a lot of grief. I’ve grown quite accustomed to what it feels like. It has become somewhat of a constant companion. And so in some ways these recent losses maybe haven’t had quite the impact on me that they might have in a previous season of my life.

That’s not to say that I’m numb to it, it’s just that I am keenly aware of it. And as a sort of peculiar side effect, it has made me much more aware of it in others.

I have learned, though, that just like everything else, grief is not permanent. It ebbs and flows, like the waves of the sea. In and out. If I try to push it away, the more it tends to cling to me (or I to it?). The more I sit with it, examine it, and be curious about it, the less it seems to sink me under its weight.

One of my teachers says, “There is a divine intention behind every experience.” From a buddhist perspective, I would restate this as “There is a dharma truth revealed in every experience.” For me, the dharma truth I learn from grief is that even in suffering, there can be peace. And that peace comes when we loosen our grip on the suffering associated with the grief, allowing it to flow in and out, as it needs.

A few weeks ago, my oven broke. It came with the house where I have lived for seven and a half years now. The oven had been here much longer. And it had chugged along well enough for that time. I don’t know what the little gold knobs were supposed to do, one was a mysterious timer that would go off every few months at a time of its own choosing. I don’t know what it was timing. It must have been important because when it went off it was insistent and a nightmare to switch off. The other doesn’t seem to have a function. Most of the settings never worked, but it got hot and cooked things. And also, it was dark green, so you know, that’s nice.

I’ve spent the last seven and a half years thinking about getting a new one, maybe it would be nice to have a grill function, or to know exactly what temperature it’s on at, or to not be startled by the random ringing. But, it felt kind of wasteful to consider a new one, because ultimately it got hot and cooked things. And it was dark green.
When it finally broke, I contemplated getting it fixed. The fan still works. It probably just needs a new element. But the seal would have needed replacing too, and there would still be that high pitched noise to deal with… I gave in and bought a new oven.

The installation guys said ‘Wow, that is old!’ I was pleased to impress them with my ancient electric oven. It’s gone now. My new one has a light so you can see what’s happening in there, a special pizza setting and a digital timer. It is not dark green, but a standard, clinical silver. It has an impressive booklet to tell you which settings and shelves to use for particular foods including Viennese whirls.

I’m sorry for talking for so long about my oven. I’ve actually been talking about it for seven and a half years, so this is the short version. I can’t pretend that making this oven last til the last was ethically motivated and to avoid being a consumer of new shiny things. Honestly, I think I just have trouble letting go. It’s easier to stay with the status quo, it’s easier to carry on doing what I’ve always done. Even when it no longer serves. Jobs, people, activities, responsibilities – I’ll just cling on, keep going, even though I’m too tired and know that I want to stop. I’ll let go when circumstances force me to, not because I reach any insight or show compassion for myself. Attachment shows up in all sorts of ways, harmful ways, and some innocuous ways too (it was dark green).

Since my oven broke, I’ve made my peace with giving up a few things – responsibilities and roles I was starting to resent, and even relationships that have run their natural course. I know that I am making space for new things. Did I mention this one has a pizza setting?