Waiting

A few weeks ago DC and I visited his dad and stepmother. DC's dad has dementia and is thus somewhat confused and appears to confabulate. Yet I wonder just what the relationship between his experience and 'reality' might be. It's quite a question if one stops to consider it. As he has no real purpose there is a sense of waiting about him. Waiting for the next thing to happen, be it say a meal or time for bed. The comings and goings of people seem to exercise him greatly. Most of these people appear to be in his imagination. Again our passing through space and time both in the physical world and in our imagination is perhaps more of a question than we might realise. All this seems to point to our construction of self and its dispersion in dementia. Yet what is it that remains? Our Buddha nature, life energy, ongoing relationship with others? I would say a resounding yes! In a way I can see DC's dad slipping away and yet in another only the form has changed, there is no 'slipping away'. The visit made clear to me just how 'married' DC and I are and how his dad and I are without doubt bonded through that. As we left, DC's dad kissed me goodbye (he's not done that before) and I was moved to tears. I think (before 'enlightenment') we are all waiting in one way or another. And what we are waiting for is the acceptance found in unconditional love. Visible to me in our departure was the connection between the four of us, a connection which at root is this love. Like views up the mountain this love can be seen with degrees of clarity (and sameness). I once directly experienced it as God's love (though it is perhaps better not to try to speak of such things). And I'm quite convinced that our everyday experience of the bonds of a family are of the same love if a different view. I've experienced my own self being somewhat shattered by stress and ill health and yet the glass is not wet by the water, the mirror reflecting experience is not shattered though it does reveal the shattering. Will I wonder, 'I' ever experience that love and the mirror together as my True Self? Not one glimpsed in the other but the unbounded. Paper does not refuse ink, it accepts all, like the mirror, like unconditional love. My experience still contains this duality of loved and lover yet it feels cut through with one. Yet not (yet) One.

Refreshed!

Although I find libidinal desire much diminished from those younger days when, in hindsight, it was almost a kind of madness, every now and then I see someone who I find so attractive that I'm reminded once again of just what it is to be gay. It's not so much that they are a turn on, so much as that they are the very raw embodiment of whatever it is that gives rise to the turn on. And in that moment of perceiving there is the visceral understanding of something quite at the root of one's self. Today DC and I saw such a man. We both had the same response; a sort of stunned humorous joy. There was humour in it due to the absurdity, the absurd being the sublime and the everyday colliding together; one needs time to recover and is amused at having been so affected. I mused afterwards that my response to this man's body showed something of the way my attitude towards my own body has changed over the years. In my twenties I was so concerned with my slightness of build that I'd have found this man's musculature intimidating and would have likely been thrown into a bit of a storm of negative emotion. Now, more comfortable in my skin, I'm free to admire and be amused at my response. There's some peace in not being 'dragged about' by one's libedo and there's ammusement at this very enjoyable desire thankfully still residing within us, quite refreshed! How nice to enjoy desire without being overcome by it.

Between Heaven and Earth

Last  night DC and I traveled out to the Stonehaugh stargazing pavilion to watch the Perseids meteor shower. We took tea and plenty of warm layers - even in summer it can be chilly out there. Located on the edge of a small relatively remote forestry village the pavilion was a good destination away from the street lights of the city. It was about 11pm when we arrived and it was still, quiet and peaceful. The moonless sky clear but not fully dark; at this time of year in these parts a vestige of sunlight remains. The air perhaps slightly hazy. The night had a sanctity which imparted a natural respect for and willingness / need to remain in silence. In the starry, still, quiet night there was almost nothing but now. Under this benevolent firmament past and future started to slip away out of mind. DC enjoyed the adventure with a certain child like wonder. A family with children joined us and there was a lovely warmth. Time passes at a different rate for children and one soon asked in a natural and innocent voice 'mum, when are we going back?' Meteors were to be seen, some quite impressive but I guess he may have been a bit underwhelmed. I was feeling that sense of our being both spiritually at and away from home that such nights afford so 'back' had its own resonance for me. Suspended between Heaven and Earth we live our lives as best we can. We each seem to have two drives within us; the one to come out of unity, to experience and the other to return home. Nights like this one help us merge with the experience, we feel a resonance within the sky and within us, we feel still and yet vibrantly alive. Whatever all too human desires and associated grasping we get caught up in, taking us away from ourselves, we do have our times of returning home.

Literally returning home (to our house) we rinsed the tea flask and prepared for bed. But the sight in passing of young lovers as we set off to leave had triggered an old wound in me. They were blissfully loosing and finding  themselves in each other and in their youth. Those years did not grant me such routes to unity; I was lonely and fragmented. This night I remained capacious enough to observe this old wound; cast into this night of stillness and being came samsaric teaching. Although there was pain there was pleasure too; I was feeling the sense of having missed out yet was I not also aware of some pleasure of which I missed. Had anything been missed? To know it sufficiently to recognise it was it not as much within me? And the sanctity of the night did not become wiped out by this wound. It was time for bed. This morning DC brought me tea in bed. How lovely to live in each other like this, the everyday reality of interdependence in the joy of giving and receiving.

Returning to nature

I'm delighted at just how well the camomile I planted has taken in the gaps between the paving slabs of the patio. It's flowering now. The garden is looking lovely now and I'm considering getting some bees too. It's late in the season so this may not be the best time as a small nucleus colony may not have time to establish sufficient numbers before the autumn. I enjoy a 'potter' in the garden and I have enjoyed starting to get into beekeeping even though as luck would have it things have been stressful during the time I took the beekeeping course. The stressor has as ever been around work. Redundancy (having only just got the job), getting a job but feeling I needed to leave it and the further search... Now another opportunity has arisen and whilst I await details I've accepted an offer of employment. Being with what is and seeing my own mind search for structure and goodness knows what during protracted periods of non-working either whilst in or out of employment I can resonate with comments made here in Ajahn Sucitto's post. Incidentally I also resonate to some extent with his tale of eye contact with a tiger. Not in my case a tiger I would add! But a moment of... well, raw seeing and being seen, nature recognising its self. A moment which unfolded into an experience I prefer to honor by leaving it without crude attempt at explanation. _/\_ . Returning to chopping wood and carrying water I only hope this latest job (which is likely to involve a lot of travel) is both as successful and potentially calming as the camomile! Certainly not working pulls me into a most unnatural state of mind.

Altar unfolding

In the autumn of 2013 I posted this post about alters. Since then my physical sitting place has changed, the altar of one's life continues to unfold and the home to which all this points remains immanent and transcendent.

At the end of one of my bookshelves. The soft (cashmere) toy was a gift; see this post to see who made it. The little painted stone a gift from the same person. The little red book is plain and blank inside. It came from a Christmas cracker. I (laughingly) think of it as a little book of emptiness. Note the confetti angels too. 

My formal sitting place. I love the way this room is so calm and is used for meditation, clothes drying and spare bedroom. The picture on the wall is of a landscape with a bare tree in the foreground and the moon and a star in a twilight sky. To me it points to home. 

This Buddha is made from cement and was probably intended to sit in the garden. He was a gift from my mother. One or two of his toes were a bit damaged so I repaired them before spraying him gold. The frog reminds me to sit like him - bright and wide awareness. Thanks to Shunryu Suzuki for that.

But let's not forget the altar is not just a set up of forms, it's the interplay of the forms of life and the intent behind our actions. The merit of this post is offered to the (physically) homeless person I saw sleeping by the fire escape of my ex employer's office on the morning of my resignation.

  

DC

I remember driving to work the morning after the first night with DC. I felt great and thought to myself 'it feels like I'll feel great forever even though I know I won't'. We were never crazy in love but it felt right from the start. There were, as ever in life, complications but somehow we started to become a couple and the weeks grew into months and the months into years. Now in our twenty fourth year together I love him more than ever. He has been and remains one of the most influential people in my life and I know that his wisdom and kind heart spread a light in the world that touches many. We've had our difficulties and life continues to throw up challenges but his love continues to guide me. Thank you for being you my love, may we continue our journey growing old together sailing both outward and homeward and (sometimes) knowing we are home.

Spring

It's spring and all around life is starting to burst out. From the kitchen window the cherry blossom is poetic and to the distance is a haze of green and copper chocolate as the leaves open on the trees. It's gently beautiful and laced with exquisite agony. I'm tired and I want to go home (to the source).

The karma that I am is struggling with itself; myself. It comes from various angles and there is little capacity for self forgiveness.

Yet the water doesn't wet the glass, the mirror is not coloured by what is reflected. What is reflected colours only itself. I'm tired and I want to go home.

And yet there are people like this in the world.