Dharma Glimpse by Philip Wallbridge

I haven’t shared a Dharma Glimpse for a while.  It’s been on my mind for over a month now, along with a sense of guilt and uncomfortability. I have been busy with a university assignment which I handed in a couple of weeks ago so I have had a bit more internal space in my mind.  But nothing has come. No inspiration or wisdom. I think I have, at least for now, run out of deeper philosophical and spiritual topics to explore and share. These are more my comfort zone. And I don’t think if I share more everyday experiences and thoughts people will be interested, even though that’s something I’ve enjoyed hearing from others. From the beauty and calm of the Malvern Hills, compassion to cockroaches and moving house, I’ve loved hearing everything others have shared.   

I went out for a walk along the beach here in Morecambe this afternoon. I decided it was ok to write something about having nothing to say. As soon as I had decided that, I passed a small old rowing boat at the top of a short flight of steps up from the promenade that has been made into a flower bed. There seemed to be some new flowers I didn’t recognise.  Red ones with a multitude of intricate, overlapping petals. Wow. For a brief moment they took my breath away.   

By not seeking inspiration in my mind or in nature and, perhaps more importantly, by freeing myself from the self-imposed shackles of expectation and perfectionism something opened up. Like a portal into a kinder, more vivid and alive world.  If only briefly. Surrendering a tiny bit more of my ego. Surrendering to something wiser, more loving and accepting than I will ever be. That something which could be Amida Buddha.  Maybe I was seeing more with my heart than my mind or my eyes. Whatever it was, it was a beautiful moment I am grateful for. And I am grateful, however it is received, to be able to share it with you as the conduit through which a bit of beauty and dharma seemed to briefly flow. 

Namo Amida Bu.

Dharma Glimpse by Beth Hickey

Today I sneezed three times in a row and I knew it had began!

I had not long returned from a walk in the woods with the dasies, kicking fallen leaves, examining strange and bizarre fungi and generally feeling the wildlife and landscape slowly closing down. More leaves below than up above, acorn shells free of their nuts, squirrelled away somewhere secret and the smell of decaying matter being laid down ready in preparation for next year’s beginnings.

I sneezed three more times and my eyes smarted with the coming of the spore release. The twitching of the nose, the itching of the ears and feeling of tiny particles of damp migrating furry things on my body. Uck it all feels unpleasant.

But, this is life at its most incredible and most bizarre! Some truly magnificent creatures and plants are playing out their wondrous acts. Ugly, bizarre, stinky and pretty incredulously complicated sights to behold. 

Why is it that spring is seen as the bearing of beautiful things while autumn delivers hideous unforsaken sights?

Autumn is amazing and so enriching and enticing, a perfect example of bewitching and beguiling. Tricking us, scarring us and propelling us into the path of death and decay. 

Autumn is about preparing, looking ahead and closing down. For some dying.

So, I am experiencing an Autumn cleanse and I should be used to it by now. I kind of embrace the thought of a general cleansing of the body, riding itself of all the pollen and summer clutter accumulated through the warmer seasons, but actually I could face this unpleasant reality far better, if I too could snuggle down into a fern lined hideyhole, with sphagnum moss pillows to rest my head upon, with hazelnuts and chestnuts to munch on until springs release arrives again.

Namo Amida Bu.

A Dharma Glimpse by Dayamay Dunsby

I had been feeling frustrated with myself recently after a perceived failure on my part to master certain behaviours that can be destructive.

The tendency, for me, is to aim high and overwhelm myself with great expectations about becoming pure and perfect. Even though I know in my bones that it’s not possible.

I am perpetually fallible.

As I was inwardly beating myself I happened upon a teaching about “natural growth”.

Trees were used as an analogy for the process by which nature forms organic matter by providing the conditions that allow growth to happen. The tree has soil, water, sunlight and most importantly, time.

The tree doesn’t have to do anything. It is forged and shaped over decades of exposure to the elements, the harsh and bitter rain and wind and the warmth and nourishment of the sun. The result is a simple, natural radiance that stands tall as a testament to the life force from which we all originate.

This comforted me greatly. I knew that my need to feel in control of my own growth and healing was, to some extent impeding a deeper, perhaps more important thread of an overall process. Maybe there is a value in just being where I am with it all. Allowing myself to fail, while continuing to engage with the practice that feeds my roots and waters my leaves.

Namo Amida Bu.

Dharma glimpse by Helen Dakers

Over the last two years my family life has evolved and I have reached the stage where I am now the mother to a teenager and the daughter of an elderly parent. A member of the Sandwich Generation as I have discovered this is called.

These roles have posed an interesting headspace for me. They bring a sense of richness, an opportunity to learn and gain wisdom and resilience.

My teen in particular has gone through a lot in their young life and walking with them through it all has caused me to grapple with my own past and the hopes and fears I have for both of our futures.

As a chronic overthinker I find myself regularly churning over choices made, paths followed and rejected and asking the eternal mother for answers; a chance to peer into the future and at once bring comfort and a guarantee that all of our most optimistic dreams have come to fruition without having had to endure too much suffering along the way. I know that The Eternal is not some celestial Genie, but carn’t She make an exception? Just this once?

And then I come to a place of silence and meditation. There the mind is quieted and is if by the thinnest whisper of silken thread I am connected to a soft, creamy knowing smile.

It doesn’t bring answers or certainty. No cleverly worded life hack or pithy advice carefully constructed into 140 characters.

It simply is as it has always been. A knowing. A Timelessness.

Everything is as it is supposed to be, right here in the silence, inviting me to sit, for a while.

Namo Amida Bu.

Dharma Glimpse by Maria Trotter

Steve (my husband) and I went away to Snowdonia for a few days last week. The weather unexpectedly dried up and we braved to go hiking up Snowdon itself. After about halfway up Steve got worried about his poorly back and stayed behind, while I carried on a bit further on my own. Eventually I got to a ridge overlooking the inner lake and the main summit behind it – gorgeous view – and sat down to meditate.

I was finding it hard to focus at first, everything seemed to distract me – the passing hikers, seagulls, even the changing brightness of the scenery depending on the thickness of the clouds. Eventually this gave me the idea for my meditation – impermanence. Yes, the very same I’ve been reading a lot about in the books recently. Impermanence comes in so many varieties – sudden changes to our jobs, health, relationships, death of loved ones, political turmoil – even as unexpected as the new Prime Minister and the new King within the space of a week. I’ve been musing on the “great resignation” of lockdown, when so many people suddenly realised they were not happy with the way their lives were and found the stimulus to change in these bizarre circumstances. Now the “great unretirement” – the circumstances change yet again as the cost of living bites. Perhaps this country hasn’t seen quite this level of impermanence in a long while!

I was looking at the timeless Snowdon, quietly counting my breath and the beautiful garnet beads of my mala. Garnet is meant to represent fire and self-confidence and aid us in times of crisis, also connect us with spiritual awareness of rebirth. At that time I felt the need to focus on the Queen’s passing, and as I was I saw a glimpse of a baby girl being born in an Indian family. I then saw a young Indian woman wearing a sari, with a firm, brave look in her eyes, astute and sure of herself – maybe the next Indira Gandhi, Malala or Greta. Could this be a glimpse of the Queen’s next life? It would make some karmic sense for her to be reborn in India. Whether there is any truth in this or not, this image reminded me of the endless circle of life and death, that with each passing there are new, wonderful lives being brought into this world. It gave me a sense of great peace and contentment.

After coming back I also made a little change to our house – I brought my harp down to the living room from the little study where it was hidden away from the two curious kittens of ours. The kittens – now cats – were then let into the study for the first time, so they rushed to the Buddhist shrine I made on the windowsill. As I was watching Cassie play with the dried autumn leaves on the shrine, I could think of no better way to illustrate that life always carries on and there is always joy to be found in this world.

Dharma Glimpse by Katie Bow

I was on the train back from work in London. It had been a long, hard day, well in fact a long hard few weeks. I was desperately trying to get something sorted to meet an urgent deadline by working with my laptop purchased on the pull-down table on the train, but patchy 4G meant that this was proving frustratingly impossible.

I sat there getting more and more frustrated and could feel my body starting to vibrate with stress and anxiety.

In a split moment of resignation, I snapped the laptop shut with a heavy heart and knew I would have to finish the work once I got home.

Aware of my tension, I put on some soothing “zen” music in my headphones to reset and looked up for the first time on the journey. Through the window, the rolling fields and trees of the Cotswolds were trundling past lit by the golden twilight, and in that second…I felt at peace. All that mattered was watching the clouds and the light and the trees, in the ever changing landscape.

I felt a deep feeling of understanding for the first time of the light of Amitabha and the notion that the buddha is always moving towards me.

Namo Amida Bu

Dharma Glimpse by Frankie Carboni

One of my perpetual struggles is with posture during sitting meditation. Zen has very precise and detailed instructions about sitting posture that come from the Japanese monastic tradition and while they aren’t meant to create an endurance test of sitting, that’s exactly how it can sometimes feel.

I can still just about get down onto the floor to sit ( getting up again is another matter!) and luckily I don’t have problems with my knees or legs – my nemesis is my lower back which can be anything from uncomfortable to so painful I can’t think of anything else. This is entirely down to me and my lack of core strength but I’ve also realised that my trickster mind can play its part, both in good and bad ways.

So I was pleased earlier this week that I was finding daily sitting comfortable enough to maintain posture and the correct position of my hands, left palm up on the right palm with thumbs touching.

On Tuesday evening, our 11 month old pup decided he’d like to join me. At first he sat slightly behind me, but gradually he crept his away around me so that first he was sitting in front of my legs, then gradually laying his head across them. We sat like that very briefly, but inevitably he started to push at my hands with his head – he wanted attention, he wanted his ears fondled and his neck rubbed. Ringo knows that if he insists he usually gets his way, but what about my proper zen posture? Moving is not allowed unless your leg is about to drop off or some such medical emergency, and even then movement should be swift, subtle and silent.

What to do? Wavering, I wondered – what would Buddha do? Right in front of me was my shrine, Buddha, Quan Yin looking down benevolently and between them small card with The Bright Earth liturgy’s closing verse written on it.

Blessed by Amitabha’s light
May we care for all living things
And the holy earth.

All living things…I spend the rest of my sitting time with my hands not in the perfect zen mudra, but stroking the silky chestnut ears of my little pup, both of us blessed by Amitabha’s light. Of course my dog has Buddha nature, how can he not have when he’s such a great Dharma teacher?

Namo Amida Bu.

A Dharma Glimpse by Imogen

I’ve been considering all day what I might write for my dharma glimpse and nothing quite felt right. I found myself reading through other glimpses and wondering what I am supposed to write.

In my journal, these things come so easily to me, but there is something about writing the glimpse for other people to read that makes me freeze up a bit and try to bend and contort things to some idea of how it “should be”.

So after much pondering, this process in itself became my glimpse.

In trying so hard
I was missing my heart.
My mind tried to push
And created the “shoulds”.
The reality is, my truth as it is.
No need to conform
allowing
brings wisdom
into form.

So often, I want there to be a “right way”, some clear path to follow. Perhaps it is certainty I look for in a world, and a me, that is always changing. And yet this is where life itself sits. In a constant ebb and flow of change. I want a button to press to make it all more solid, more predictable in some way. I feel myself wanting something to hold on to and in some way this came through in my struggle to think about what I wanted to write for my glimpse today, because actually I found that when I sat down to write, the words came. All I needed to do was trust that they would come and that they would be exactly what was needed. The I that is my mind, didn’t have a plan, no. But the words came just the same.

Namo Amida Bu

Dharma Glimpse by Kaspa

I was sitting in the garden. Next to me was a half empty mug of strong coffee; a stainless steel cafetiere with the rest of the coffee in, ready for topping up the mug; a pair of secateurs; and a pair of garden shears. 

I drained the last of the coffee from the mug, picked up the secateurs and started trimming the bottom edge of our silver weeping pear tree. It was probably the wrong time of year for pruning, but I had some time and a little bit of energy, and I was feeling sorry for the flower bed underneath the tree. The weeping branches made a thick curtain and completely shielded the bed from sight.

It’s one of my favourite flower beds. In spring time there are hellebores and lungwort and later in the year the wild geranium flowers. They all do well enough in the half shade.

I started to clip the branches, creating light for the plants underneath. The flower bed revealed itself to me. It was full of nettles, brambles and ground elder. 

“Oh”, I thought, “perhaps I’d have been better leaving all of this covered up. Now I’ve created more work for myself.”

Sometimes it’s like this with my Buddhist practice. There is a period of letting go of old habits, beliefs and unhelpful patterns and then a moment of relief, and then I look more closely and what was underneath all of that? More of the same. Here we go again.

These days I trust that I’m not here to clear everything away. Sometimes pure space does appear and I can see all the way through my stuff to the emptiness on the other side. And then more stuff bubbles up to fill the space. So I tend to what comes up, trusting that it’s helpful to look after what’s in front of me. Trusting that that’s enough.

Even if I don’t manage to weed the flower bed, the tree still looks better.

Dharma Glimpse by Sheila Maund

I feel very aware of the seasons changing this week and the approach of September, which always heralds s time of new beginnings and bigger changes.

I went to Colwall Orchard Group to pick my husband up from a community meeting and arrived a little early.

Initially I sat on a large stone outside the shed and took out my phone- to check messages and generally scroll-a bad habit.

I noticed a bat, flying past and put my phone away. I watched as 2 bats, I have no idea what kind, flew in clockwise circles, around where I was sitting and in wider circles taking in the edge of the allotments.

I noticed how quiet it was, only a very distant sound of a car somewhere, and the quiet tick ticking of the bats. I felt completely at peace and fascinated by the bats living life on the wing, gaining their sustenance as part of a dance, living their lives in perfect balance. Simply part of the natural ecosystem . It reminded me of the teachings of simplicity, in awareness and naturally.

I felt so lucky to have caught a glimpse of these beautiful creatures, just getting on with their lives and reflected on the need to put aside distractions and remember to focus on this moment.

Namo Amida Bu.