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?

Dharma Glimpse by Frankie

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

By Maria Trotter

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.

A Dharma Glimpse by Alison

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.

Namu Amida Butsu