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?
Serendipity – by definition good luck; coincidence; fortuity.
I also define it in my own loose way as a coming together, a falling into place. In the last week I had been thinking about a question posed in a book by secular Buddhists Stephen and Martine Batchelor – What is This? It’s a question that has drifted through my practice over the years, and one that is common in Zen. But I found myself thinking it quite out of the blue about something I was experiencing. The next morning I read an interview with poet Jane Hirshfield in which she talked about having a question to practice with when she first started out in Soto Zen – she mentioned What is This in passing.
A seed started to germinate. In the past I’ve had words to practice with, what would it be like to have a question. What if that question were What is This?
A day later I was curious about an Italian Zen priest I’d noticed amongst teachers I know and respect – I looked his page up on Facebook as was shocked to find that he held very strong political opinions, almost anarchistic, and was a supporter of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. I reacted but thankfully not with the keyboard. I then paused, took three sacred breaths of reflection, and asked myself What is This? That question covered all of it, his held views, my own views – also tightly held – my strong reaction.
I found that What is This went a long way to getting ‘Me’ out of the way, taking ‘My opinions’ with it. I could see the situation in its entirety, both of us holding onto views, through our own suffering and our suffering for others. What is This, while taking ‘Me’ out of the equation, also forced me to see myself not as ‘other’ but part of What This Is, both of us, all of us. This is the practice, this is the work, and What is This will now be a valuable part of my life’s toolbox
The other day I was on the phone to my mum and we touched upon the topics of gender identity. In particular, I was trying to explain the concept of non-binary to her. There was a lot of cross-cultural work going on of course – my mum was born and grew up in the Soviet Union, only to watch it break down and dissolve into chaos when I was very little still. She then had to adapt to the new Russia, a completely different entity yet again, never ceasing to go through rapid changes. I have only witnessed a part of this journey and trust me, it is quite hard to keep up!
As I was struggling to describe the non-binary concept in Russian, I suddenly realised that it wasn’t just the cultural barrier that I was experiencing – the language itself became a barrier and a constraint. Russian is in itself very gender-centric, similar to German and French but even to a stronger extreme; for example, we would assign genders to inanimate objects such as a table (“he”), a plate (“she”), but then a window would be “it”. It occurred to me that as we grow up within this linguistic environment, it must be having some kind of an effect on our psychology and our way of thinking. I know it from personal experience as I have learned a few languages and have observed just how much my barriers have expanded as a result. Being aware of this kind of constraint, I started thinking how hard must it be for a person to suddenly realise just how much they don’t fit within the environment they live in, if even the language itself refuses to give them any frame of reference to who they are and how they relate to the world around them. And how equally hard it can be to reach out of the cultural dogmas you grew up in and take a leap to accept a new concept or way of thinking – which is what my mum was trying to do on a call with me.
This conversation stuck in my head for a very long time; I remembered my own struggles when I was growing up and trying to find my place in the society that tended to be quite judgemental of that which is different and unusual. What is universal though, be it Russia or the UK, is our human nature and instinctive fear of something different. We like stability, we do not like our lives to be disrupted, we like to close our eyes and ears when the world around us is screaming change. But what we need to be is brave, what we need to be is kind and empathetic, what we need to be is accepting of the people as they are, without labelling or judgement. And also a bit curious and eager to learn, even if your own language tends to stand against you.
Recently I came up against a huge obstacle, one of those obstacles where you need to decide whether to run or confront it. The decision, in these situations, will likely depend on a third strand – that of faith and firm resolve. In this case, if choosing to follow faith and firm resolve, running isn’t an option – so fight it out I did. Fighting, in this case, was more about an internal struggle, a dealing with loud, difficult parts of myself, also known as ego states, or our karmic boundedness. This ugly situation made me think of Shan-Dao’s 7th century Chinese Pure Land Buddhist parable, of the river of fire and river of water, as can be seen hanging on the wall at the top of the stairwell, here in the temple. The wall hanging depicts a white path running between two shores from east to west and two rivers either side of it. A traveller is running away from bandits and fierce beasts on the east shore and wanting to make his way to the west shore, but notices that on one side of the path are high flames and on the other high waves. He can’t remain where he is, but he also can’t move further without fear of losing his life. On the east shore Shakyamuni ushers him on towards the west shore, where Amida is standing to welcome him to the Pure Land. My purpose is not to recite the parable, just my own authentic glimpse, but this wall hanging made me reflect on this deeply.
I’ve been reflecting that sometimes, on the spiritual journey, along the White Path, obstacles can be encountered. Choosing to go back, is a tempting choice and would be immediately the easier option, although not the best in the long run. If reaching the other side, the Pure Land or Amida, then focusing on the White Path is important. However, it would seem to be a necessary part of the journey to fight, or confront, the water serpents, the fire dragons or the inner demons along the way. If confronting the demon or serpent, then death might follow, but there might also be the chance to deepen in resolve, in faith, to reach the far banks of the shore safely. I’ve also been reflecting that obstacles like serpents present themselves as a Great Test – a test of faith and commitment and a test of resilience, integrity and devotion. To face the test is also to ask whether the serpent is what it appears to be – it might seem big at the time of confronting it, but it can also have an illusory nature and only I can be responsible for what I see. I can survey dangers and test the territory. I need to test the boundaries and find out how safe I am. What will the serpent do or not do? How strong is the current? How high are the flames? I also take the risk of failing, confronting the fire or high waves or being eaten up! My immediate need would be to Feel Safe, but strength lies in the ability to deepen Trust and resolve to walk the White Path and survey the whole landscape, the Bigger Picture. If putting too much energy into fighting, or confronting, the sea monster, I only become more sucked into its lair. Choosing to confront the serpent, the water becomes unstable and rocky, the waves higher, but eventually it will calm down. It was necessary to confront the serpent, as the serpent was a part of the journey and once one challenge has been accomplished, the next won’t seem so bad.
I’ve Tested, I Know, I’ve Learnt.
It is only then that a deeper peace can pervade, when feeling held by the ocean….the ocean that leads back to the White Path. As long as the serpent is seen as the problem, the path becomes lost. The more the focus on the White Path, the easier it will get.
When facing a conflict, I could walk back away from it, or I might be devoured by it, but I need to have that encounter if I am to move on. I can run away when my parts get too much, or I can choose to enter into dialogue with them, so they can be reintegrated into the wholeness. The struggle is a necessary part of the journey. It’s not in the striving – it’s Through the striving that allows sinking into even greater depths of peace.
Some months back, as I was considering my next career move after an unexpected complication had uprooted me in my then current employment role, I experienced a moment of synchronistic alignment that influenced my decision about how to proceed.
The sudden interruption to my life plans had sent me into a panic. I didn’t feel ready to start a new job or venture into a new, or indeed, old and familiar line of work.
I was working long hours in the care industry, and had felt quite settled. Steady work, decent money and reasonably predictable working relationships.
On a regular night shift that I was working I would often listen to podcasts or watch videos of interesting spiritual teachers unpacking esoteric concepts and tying them into everyday living scenarios. On this particular night the speaker was making predictions about the near future effects of climate breakdown and when they might begin to seriously impact on our day to day lives.
As I was putting an entry into the company communications book and writing the time as 20.35, the speaker was making his prediction of the year 2035 being a tipping point, beyond which normal life would change unrecognizably. The exact moment that I wrote the time, was the exact moment that he said the date.
Now, this might not seem like a big deal on face value but, to me, this was quite a shock. I had had similar experiences in the past, whereby my attention had been drawn to something important in exactly this way. Like a poke in the back or a tap on the shoulder, intended to nudge me into a new train of thought. Which it certainly did.
I can’t really do justice to the moment here but can say that I felt inspired to investigate the significance of 2035. Eventually I found myself scouring the Bible, as I knew that scripture was organised in this numerical way in the Testaments, in fact I had some personally significant ones memorised for the purpose of spiritual sustenance.
Eventually, I put it into the search engine on my phone and it came up with a variety of different translations of the passage: Acts 20:35, which states:
I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, it is more blessed to give than to receive. (King James version)
This sent a shiver down my spine and even now gives me goosebumps, and a sense of warmth and comfort, like I’m being guided in quite a specific way, towards quite a specific purpose.
The instruction to “support the weak” could surely never be better fulfilled than in the day to day activities of a care worker, who helps elderly people do all the things that they can no longer do for themselves. And quite obviously, in this way, it surely is “better to give than to receive”.
This moment of religious inspiration informed my decision to remain in the care industry and I am now working for a different company, under more reliable conditions. I can’t say that I understand the deeper or wider meaning or reason for the shift that led from one care job to the next, but I definitely felt the hand of Amida at play here. And the importance of inter-faith resources has not entirely escaped my attention either. I do, and have always, drawn great nourishment from the teachings of other religions and faith systems, which invariably, in my experience, point us towards the same benign principles and a unified spiritual purpose.
As part of my job, I get to go out into the countryside and carry out ecological surveys. I get paid to look for bats, reptiles and dormice amongst other things. It’s a bit of a dream come true in some ways, but its not all skipping through meadows and sniffing flowers. The going can be really tough, you can be out in all weathers, sometimes in very inhospitable conditions and in tricky terrain.
A few weeks ago I had to travel down to Somerset to check some nest tubes that I had put out earlier in the year to see if any dormice had made nests in them. I think it was April when I put them out, I had placed them along the hedgerows bordering an agricultural field which is going to be turned into a quarry at some point in the future.
It was during one of our mini heatwaves that I was carrying out this check and the vegetation had grown up quite considerably since April. What was once an empty field, had now become a tall crop of corn, and the headland between the corn and the hedgerow was waist high or higher with grasses, nettles, brambles and thistles. I was struggling to travel from one nest tube to the next, and having great difficulty finding them in the overgrown and bramble covered hedges, which had earlier in the year been easily accessible.
As it was so hot, I was dressed in a T shirt and light trousers in an attempt to keep cool, unfortunately this did not give me much protection from the stinging nettles and thistles that I was literally surrounded by. To add to this, I was being bombarded with midges and other small flying insects that seemed to be attracted to my sweaty head.
I was hot and bothered and getting quite annoyed, desperately trying to avoid getting scratched and stung, weaving my way in and out of the aggressive vegetation flinching at every sting and scratch. After a while it dawned on me, the futility of trying to avoid this situation, if I was going to do my job I would just have to put up with it and wade in. Once I had accepted this reality and stopped worrying about my discomfort everything changed.
To be honest the pain was not actually that bad, and as my focus shifted from avoiding my relatively minor suffering, I began to look around and take in my surroundings with a calmer perspective. As well as the annoying midges and other flying insects that I mentioned previously, there were bumble bees, honey bees, hoverflies and dragonflies, and as I got deeper into the midst of the thistles, there were more and more butterflies. Dozens of them, big ones, little ones, about six or seven different species, all brightly coloured flitting from thistle to thistle and flying around my head. Purple flower heads and butterflies for as far as I could see. Once my perspective and focus had changed I was transported from my minor personal hell into paradise!
Buddhist teachings tell us that it is often our reaction to suffering that cause us the most distress, a secondary suffering of our own making. This was clearly brought home to me on this beautiful sunny day in my field full of butterflies.
I spend a lot of time driving around as part of my work.
Driving through towns and cities can be quite stressful especially if you have a deadline to keep to. I always try to leave ten minutes early to allow for hold ups and unexpected roadworks. This takes the pressure off, and I have found that I am more inclined to keep a decent distance from the car in front of me rather than tail gating which I sometimes find myself doing if I am late.
When I am late, and following the car in front of me too closely, I tend to spend the journey berating myself for not letting people out at junctions or for not being courteous enough. This happens because I don’t have the time to react quickly enough, and stopping to let someone out would require me braking suddenly causing everyone behind me to do the same, spreading anger and frustration.
When I leave in good time and leave a sensible distance, I can see cars waiting at junctions and people trying to cross the road from a long way off and I happily wave them all on without even having to slow down. Everyone smiles and waves back, everyone is happy including myself. I really enjoy driving around merrily letting people go in front of me and causing a sea of smiles and gratitude.
I have also noticed that courteous driving causes a positive traffic karma. Often when I have let someone out they will give way at the next opportunity and let someone else out in front of them. This could be a coincidence I suppose but I’m sure it happens more often when I’m not late for work.
I’m not sure if the title of this dharma glimpse works. Bear with me. It is a play on the word ‘transdecendence’; a concept I have been mulling over this year. Transdecendence is about going downwards into something, in comparison to transcendence which is about going upwards, above, over. At least as I understand it. Transcendence is also apparently a film with Johnny Depp. It only has a 19% rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Maybe I’ll give that a miss…….
Anyway, here goes. I went to the beach here in Morecambe late yesterday evening with my yoga mat. It felt like the first fairly nice day in a while up here. The sun was starting to go down, partially obscured by a blanket of clouds across the horizon giving it a more ethereal feel to me, the sea was about half the way out so the waves could still be heard lapping on the shore, and a near full silvery moon was gently glowing in the sky behind my left shoulder. It felt good. My brain and nervous system have been a bit frazzled recently you see. Largely self-imposed stress and First World problems. Feeling emotionally overwhelmed by interactions with family and friends recently, and decisions and changes looming ever closer. But I’m learning not to amplify and extend the internal vortexes swirling inside by trying to just let it be. Not judging and criticising myself. Or encouraging the ever ready, willing and able shame and guilt to come to the party. It will pass. Impermanence. Just as new difficulties, confusions and suffering will come in the future.
A side note here. If I was hearing someone else share this, particularly a few years ago, my jealous, striving and cynical parts would probably be popping up. Doing (predominately physical) yoga on the beach would sound respectively virtuous, impressive and a bit showy and pretentious to them. Indeed, when I started trying to learn some yoga there was some of that involved. And probably something like ‘spiritual bypassing’ too i.e. trying to do something seemingly spiritual to avoid really go into my own stuff and ‘bombu’ nature. Nowadays, yoga has become more of a necessity than an idealism. I’ve realised there is quite a lot of stagnant and easily retriggered trauma in my system (i.e. my body and mind). I can feel anxious, trapped and frozen quite easily. Yoga really helps to shake up the toxins and trauma, rebalance my energy, and get me more back in touch with body and the world. That, in all honesty, is a blessing when I can get myself on to the mat. I can’t always.
Back to the beach. I could get myself on the mat. I am doing some moving and stretching. There are some children playing to my left. Dog walkers pass by. Some have a look. Some make a comment. I’ve got used to this. It’s ok. I probably would in their position. Sometimes the dogs come up to me and have a sniff around. One dog did a natural excavation, if you see what I mean, right next to me the other day. I don’t know if it was some sort of silent protest. His ‘owner’ (I don’t really like that term or notion of ownership) apologised. I didn’t really mind. I found it mildly amusing. We had a nice chat. I now go from a standing position to all fours, ‘threading the needle’ to put one arm under my torso and lowering my ear to the ground. I notice my sense of the waves have changed. Not just the sound, but the sense of them. They suddenly feel more intimately connected to me, more a part of them. Without having to brave their lower temperature by going in them.
I was suddenly, spontaneously reminded about transdecendence. The idea of going downwards into the world – into all its pain, suffering and bombu nature, for spiritual growth and enlightenment. Rather than trying to extricate oneself from, and transcend, the world around us. I still don’t know which approach – transcendence or transdecendence – is right. Maybe there is no ‘right’. Maybe it is a false dichotomy or an oversimplified binary decision when the reality is something less clear and more fuzzy. Such is life. But, with my ear on my yoga mat and more connected to the beauty and calmness of the sea, it felt nice. And maybe that in itself is all I need to know for now.
Denial can be a very powerful thing. At times my mind edits out important aspects of reality in order to protect me from painful truths, or to keep me engaged in behaviours that numb me out, so that I can survive the waves of tumult that flare up so frequently in the ocean of Samsaric existence.
My sister is dying. I can feel the detachment and dissociation even as I write that – which is probably a positive sign – better than feeling nothing. Unfortunately, she isn’t as lucky as me, in that she doesn’t currently possess the lucidity with which to make such observations, or engage with such processes.
I don’t know how long she’s got, but I’m pretty sure it’s not long.
And I’m not always numb. Sometimes when I look at her, the reality of our tragic history floods over me, leaving me, at times, ashamed, distraught and very angry. But who am I angry with? I know that myself is in there somewhere. Why couldn’t I have been a better brother? How much did my own chaotic behaviour feed into her sense of despair when we were young?
And, as I consider this, my faith kicks in.
Where does the blame lie? What I am looking at is the end result of an unimaginably long chain of abuse, neglect, ignorance and disease, handed down many generations with minimal resistance, culminating in acute illness and widespread heartbreak. Blame doesn’t really come into it, because in every direction I turn as I seek the truth, confusion and denial prevail over sanity and responsibility.
So instead of anger and spite, my mind is turned more readily to understanding and compassion. “the consequences of karma are difficult to conceive” as the Buddha Shakyamuni tells Ananda in the Larger Pureland Sutra.
So far, and unless a miracle happens in the very near future, which I never completely rule out, my sister’s karmic streams have not aligned her with recovery in this lifetime. I cannot possibly begin to understand the complexities of how they might somehow direct her towards a better life, more conducive conditions in future incarnations, but I do trust that this is slowly happening.
One of the mantras that I have found very useful in the midst of times of extreme disarray such as this, is “I accept this karma”. I acknowledge that I don’t know. I look at my own journey and my mind boggles at how my life has turned around and presented me with a different path. Why me? Why now?
I know that I can’t change the past and I have a minimal influence in the present. The power in my life comes exactly from accepting that I don’t know, I am not in charge. The law of cause and effect is greater and more mysterious than I will ever know. But I do feel the support that is promised from the “other side”. Amida and Quan Yin answering my call for their presence in impossibly trying times. Showing up to remind me that no matter how good or bad I think I am, I am not alone, and neither is my sister.
In the end I have to detach with love. I’m not wise enough or clever enough to do battle with the forces that are locking her into her demise. And I know that I have a responsibility to not expose myself to too much of the poison that made me sick so many years ago. I don’t know how this all turns out, but I trust Amida and I accept this Karma!
