bookbird

Book Notes: The Mindful Carnivore

2012-01-08T08:36:00.002+11:00

Because I blog about books sometimes, I can access NetGalley, where you can request books that are about to be released. This can only be a good thing. A copy gets sent off to my kindle, where I sit myself down with a good coffee and read away. One of the greatest things about this is that there is far less hype. You don't get to see the fancy colour cover or the book jacket picture of the author. I don't even get the bio of the writer. I just get the text.

This is all a very good thing - because as I found out after I finished this book, there is a lot of online dialogue about Tovar Cerulli and his views. Of course! After all, the business of eating - what we should eat, where it comes from, who should be eating it - is one thing that is always guaranteed to set online forums, blogs and social media aflame.

This book is about one man who grows up with a family who are hunters and fishers. By the age of twenty however, he is a vegan. He eats this way for many years, marries a lovely wife, and lives happily. Then he begins to question his ethics around food. He begins to see hunting and fishing as an ethical possibility. So, he goes back to eating meat. At the same time he starts hunting and fishing again.

It is an uneasy book, and a brave one. Regardless of what we think of this man's decisions, his heart is on the page. I would urge to not to dismiss it because you feel your opinions are already fixed. In many ways the author is hard on himself, questioning every motivation in his journey, considering every consequence.

The Mindful Carnivore is a book about complacency. We are complacent and therefore complicit in the way that meat, and animal products make it to our tables. As a vegetarian, this book made me reflect, why am I on this path? What am I really supporting when I am drinking milk and eating eggs? I think the author would consider it a compliment to know that this book made me consider becoming vegan once more.

This book was also about what it means to be a man. The author has several significant relationships with male figures in the book - Uncles, friends, his Dad. These men are seen to hunt animals with an ethical perspective. They are seen to hunt in harmony with nature, and to hunt only what they wish to eat. It's a very manly activity, although the author points out that occasionally, hunters are women too.

It was also about the relationship that humans have with guns. In Australia, I don't know anyone with a gun, and I've never seen a real one, except for on the hips of Police. So the concept of taking a gun and killing a creature is pretty weird to me. Maybe this whole concept will read differently in America?

Over Christmas, my brother in law said to me across the table, "You've got those teeth you've got for a reason! You're supposed to eat meat." He smiled in satisfaction and leaned back in this chair. As everyone knows, and this book takes care to consider, it's a lot more complicated than that.

regrets, I've had a few (million)

2011-11-14T14:54:00.001+11:00

I am having that day where all I feel is embarrassment and regret.

Not just the kind of regret where I drank too many beers, became chatty about a world of personal things, and ended up revealing information to a person I will ~~never~~ almost certainly see again. Or the kind where the child runs around and around the house looking for that toy that makes all that noise but I have secretly put it in the bin because it gives me a headache.
I'm talking about the kind of feeling where you are walking along, and you take a sharp intake of breath as your brain hits upon a painful humiliation. You are practically wincing with the memory of what you did. You can't believe it! It doesn't fit with your view of yourself at all.

In fact, if people knew about that thing, they may really take a step back and say, whaaaa?!? Are you sure you did that?? That doesn't sound like you.

But secretly, it is you. It it is completely and utterly YOU.

I like to believe I am happy, friendly and completely, you know, awesome. Blogs help us feel that way. You can talk about yourself all day long and nobody gets to say ANYTHING!

But then you have a day like this, which knocks you back on your arse and makes you say, okay, alright, I'm not all that. I'm basically like Bender without the moral to the story. (Not that I don't love Bender, because I do. I'm only human.)

So what am I regretting? What is giving me this feeling?

So many fights with my stepdaughter where I was wrong. And acted wrongly.
The times in the past I slept with people that I shouldn't have and messed up their hearts. And I was not honourable.
The fact that I am sometimes horribly homophobic and hate myself, even as I am pretending its okay to make jokes about me being gay. And I participate in my own oppression. This makes it all the more difficult for others who are gay.
Sometimes I defend people and their opinions when really what I need to say is,
"just stop talking because what you are saying is not okay."

And many, many more. Sometimes I am so caught in these spirals I spend time saying under my breath, stopitstopitstopit! And mentally hitting myself with sticks.

So today I am instead trying to say breathebreathebreathe - these things happened, they were things. They were just things. It isn't happening right now. This is all just experiences. I am practicing the art of letting go.

And I guess the other thing to keep saying is, this is not final. Maybe by talking all of this through I will be able to loosen my grip and let go that idea of "this is me" and "I am like this" and maybe open new possibilities for who I could become.

It's a good time to remake myself, I guess. Now I just need to work out who I want to become, and hope its not like who I have been.

the post office dog

2011-11-04T13:02:00.000+11:00

this has nothing to do with anything except that dogs are excellent.

This is a little dog who lives at the local post office. She sleeps on the bottom shelves amongst the packages. Sometimes she moves a bit and will sleep in the recycling box!

the strangest dream

2011-10-28T07:43:00.000+11:00

Here's something weird. Last night I dreamt vividly.

I dreamt I approached huge wooden gates which were covered in gold designs. I was there because I somehow had the opportunity to meet Ani Pema Chodron, and I was so beside myself that I was fighting back tears. I was trying to call my friend, and leaving her these voicemail messages like, "ohmigodyouwon'tbelievewhatshappening" kind of thing. The amazing anticipation was thrilling through my body, and I remember thinking, I hope she doesn't mind I don't know how to bow properly, or anything! I hope she doesn't mind I am so new at everything!

A Nun met me at the gates and walked me through a beautiful garden. There were several large wooden buildings, and I looked around in awe. The trees were green and bright, and there were fir trees around. It was misty but not cold.

Finally we came to a low building, which was practically back at the start of the path, just near the gates. I was ushered in. I was ready to bow low, tears were in my eyes, I was in awe. When I looked up I was shocked to see a hospital bed. Ani Pema was dying.

She looked over at me. Her face was gaunt and pale. She smiled and said, "oh there you are!" I looked at the Nuns around her, who were attending her. I wasn't sure I should be there. But Ani Pema smiled again and I came close.

Suddenly she was in pain, and then she moved about in agony. Her frame was tiny in the bed, and she threw an arm around my neck, perhaps in panic? I whispered to her and spoke gently. I told her, I am going to do tonglen for you, and I held her and began to breathe for her. Her eyes opened, and she said, Tonglen! As if to say, yes, I remember now, and I will do that too.

She didn't see me any more after that, because she was going inside to die. Her eyes were open, and she looked about wildly, but did not see. I stayed with her, present, open and just being there.

As it was near the end different people began to come in. I thought to move away but she held me still. One young woman and her boyfriend came in. I wondered if the young woman was her daughter. The young man started to tell others nearby -what was the big deal, it was only one woman. A Nun who stood near Ani Pema rebuked him sharply, saying, don't you say that in this room! Don't you dare say that! I was angry as well, saying to the young man, have you even read any of her books?! The young man shrugged and looked away.

I continued to care for her. I didn't know what to do but I just started getting on with it. I was open. I felt that Ani Pema started reliving memories of her past, joyful ones, sad ones. I stayed there with her.

I woke up then. I don't know what it means. Except that of course, my mother died. And last night as I went to sleep I remembered that just after my Mother died her skin was still warm. Then even half an hour later, she was cooler, and cooler still.

My friend has a wonderful phrase. It is "what am I now called to do?" I ask myself that most days, through the fog of grief. Is it possible that this experience I have had might support me to help others? How can I be of benefit?

And also - what would it be like if we could treat every dying soul like they were our Teachers? Like they were our own Mothers?

the stories we tell ourselves

2011-10-10T07:13:00.001+11:00

I had a brilliant insight this morning that I have been a bit of a bastard to live with of late, and that the very thing that would support me is the very thing I have been avoiding. I skipped out on twitter, stopped hanging with my peeps in the Online Meditation Crew and didn't even one time check out some of the best blogs in town - the ones that usually settle my brain and allow me to reflect on what is actually happening (e.g. this one, this one, this one, and this one and others are linked on the side of the page to the left).

So I blitzed it today. I had to drive to Sydney and back, so I listened to Pema Chodron's From Fear To Fearlessness as I went. This was good, very good. I started to remember who I was. I really heard some of the big heart questions here - and the key message was, without truly experiencing fear, I cannot understand fearlessness. I need to stop running from what is happening to me. All I have been doing is trying to pretend I could tough it out, eat a bunch of crappy food, maybe numb out a while.

When I got home, I did housework. Cleaned the kitchen, put washing on - and then thought, screw this. I'm out of here. Tuppence the Amazing Dog of Awesomeness and I went for a walk in the bush, and I finished listening to the teaching on my ipod. As I walked I heard Pema talk about the soft spot in your heart, the wounded part of me. And how it awakens compassion. I trundled through the bush and came to a lovely gum that had come down in the windstorm. It lay felled across the track. I was gripped by sudden despair about how I would never talk to my Mum again, or see her, or touch her hand. I cried, but they were different tears. My heart was breaking, but I was letting it. It felt unfamiliar and a bit scary.

Back home again and I remembered that I had the mammoth task to sew up a blanket made of individual squares. My friends and I had knitted it for a friend who was unwell. So I sat on the floor, on my friendly zafu, the very zafu I had been ignoring, and began to sew all the squares together. As I sat there I listened to Pema Chodron's first talk The Myth of Freedom (get it for free here). She said something that struck me so completely. She said life is a creative process. Nothing is static. Everything is change. And I thought, this trauma has undone me. How shall I write my life from now on?

Then it was time for dinner. I made vege lasagne and salad for my family, who were watching TV. Then I went back to finish the blanket. As I sat and sewed, I listened to the excellent Vincent Horn speak with with the most wonderful Rev Danny Fisher in a Buddhist Geeks podcast. I am never lonely when I can access these podcasts.

These two fellas were talking about Buddhist stories and narratives in a podcast called The Stories We Tell Ourselves. I thought to myself how Bloggers create vital new narratives. We are writing ourselves a place to belong. We are all engaged in the endless process of rewriting and recreating our own identities and selves. Nothing is fixed in the Blogging world. You can't get attached to one post - by the time you visit the blog again six new ones have been posted. And as a writer, you are always saying something new - and maybe something that contradicts the other thing you said before! Change, always change. I am glad to be a little part of that new narrative too.

Tuppence

So now it's night. Tuppence the Amazing Dog of Awesomeness is napping near my feet. The blanket is all sewn together. Some of the washing got done, and the kitchen is somehow a mess again, but that's okay. I feel like I have spent all day with good teachers, with open heart.

Time to start again. Or keep starting. Or actually, maybe just keep going. Or work with the fact that everything is ending? Whatever. Maybe all of these things - all at once. Maybe.

we are all travellers there

2011-09-14T06:49:00.000+10:00

Let's not fuck about here. Whatever this feeling is that I am having, it is total. It is annihilation. It's not anything I know how to be with. I am a humbled broken thing. And yet, it does move. It does move.

Yesterday I was outside my house.The full moon was high, like a possibility of peace. I was shuddering with horror. I was trembling. My body was thin and pale, and the ice winds seemed to push against the outline of my Self. Bits of me were dissolving and breaking off. I was wailing.

Something in me was weeping. Huge, ungoverned sounds were forced out. I choked on them as they arrived. I could bite my tongue out and they would still come. I was shouting into the air, I was screaming, I was crying. My face in the cold air was wet and raw.

My partner was gently urging me inside. But my body was crumpled in a chair and I could not rise. I couldn't figure out how. Or why I would. I saw my hands in my lap and I thought of them as dead things, curled spiders, disjointed knuckles and flesh.

What brought me to that place? Small things, little hints, tiny triggers. An accumulation of moments. Till suddenly and without respite, I was falling apart.

We all know these places. We are all travellers there, and many come back as if from war, scarred and missing limbs. I am not unique.

I overheard a friend say yesterday to someone else, "Trauma makes you reinvent yourself." There is a truth to that - it happens without your permission. You don't get to go to the life coach and say, hey, my self esteem is low and I would like to take up hockey. Trauma just takes you by the neck and shakes you til you break. And then you get up, adjust your bones, and learn how to walk again. Or this is what I think so far. I'm not up to the walking part yet.

A friend asked me how I was on Monday, and I just sent her back this picture from Shaun Tan's The Red Tree. Shaun Tan is the best storyteller in the universe. He really is. if you don't know that yet you should go here and find out.

lettuce pray!

2011-09-12T15:46:00.002+10:00

Hello Universe,

I have been travelling through outer space. How surreal is grief, how unnerving, how brutal. How curious.

People have been anchors. I have had so much support, encouragement and hugs. People have delivered boxes of food to our door, complete with excellent snacks and hummous. Gorgeous flowers of every kind filled our home for what felt like weeks. A friend brought soup. Two good friends brought me a wonderful magnolia tree to plant. Today on my desk was a CD for me to listen to, complete with artwork by a small child called H. Little card and prayers have featured in my life. Some people have sent text messages and emails and tweets. And I have even recieved old school greeting cards in the mail.

I have felt loved. What else can be asked for? Not anything, really.

My buddy M has a farm in her backyard. It is awesome. When I was there the other day she gave me lettuce - to plant in my vege patch. It is humbling to recieve so much kindness. It is also hard! I have wanted to resist, to push back. But I am learning to let people love me.

I'll have you know that I cried over that gifted lettuce. I will post some pictures of my newly made vege garden soon.

Here is the lettuce:

when the call came

2011-08-29T07:48:00.000+10:00

My friend S said to me in a frank manner yesterday, "You're not the same person you were last week. Just understand that whatever has happened to you has changed you." That's why I love that friend of mine. She just tells it how it is. She says, "You're one of the motherless now, just like me."

Today is a big day. It's Monday. It's Monday. Can you believe it's Monday?

Last Wednesday, the 24th of August, I got the phone call at quarter past midnight. My Dad tells me in a choked voice that Mum has died. She had been transferred to hospital only hours before to take the last part of her journey. My brother, sister, Dad and I were so grateful to see her in the ambulance. The paramedics knew things we didn't know - how to lie her sideways to ease her breathing, how to administer the exact right medicine.

Until that moment my father had been doing the job of a hero, a 24/7 carer. It is incredible how much we can bear in the end. "Sometimes you just lift, don't you," he says to me, "You just find the strength to just do the things that have to be done."

When the call came, at 12:15 in the morning, I began to recite Om Mani Padme Hum over and over. I threw clothes on, I pulled back my hair. My partner got the car ready and we flew down the highway. Om Mani Padme Hum, I said in my mind. I lay my hands in my lap and settled my mind as my partner drove. I recited the mantra and visualised Mum's body. I thanked each muscle, each limb, each neurone for it's job. I release you and I thank you, I said. Thankyou for enabling my Mum to be on this earth. It is alright to let go.

At the hospital was her body. My father was there, and my sister. Grief was like a dark monster eating us alive. We were consumed by it. We wailed, our hearts destroyed. I stood by my mother and stroked her hair. I said, "Oh Mum, this old body of yours finally wore out. It's alright. It's alright." I smiled at that body, which had held my mother's spirit. That fragile web of flesh and bone that had once contained her. I smiled, and smiled, and my heart was smashed and I was bent with pain.

Today is another day to thank that body for it's service. It is her funeral day. Today I will thank her for her spirit and her wit and her merriment. I will tell the world that she loved me, and was my shelter. I will stand by my father's side and be proud and bold and strong. I will be the willow tree in the wind, and move with wild emotions.

On the day of her death, in the front garden at my mothers, a white magnolia flower opened. Just one flower, too early for spring, it curled open like a white miracle. It was my mother's favourite flower. My Dad tells me that this day is now White Magnolia Day. The day her suffering ended, her body let go, and her spirit burst forth like a flower.

Goodbye Mum

2011-08-17T05:40:00.003+10:00

It's 5:30am here in bookbird land. The last few days have been intense. Last night I had the revelation that anguish has many textures. Right now I am calm. But at some point last night the pain was so intense it was like colours in my brain - sharp knives of colours and surreal scenes. I didn't know that. I didn't know it could feel worse. And then it does.

I am writing this now because this blog has documented so much of this story for me. The process of saying goodbye to a parent is a little like saying goodbye to reality. She has always been there, the ground has always been there. In a few hours both will be gone.

In a few hours - at 9am, actually - my brother, my sister, my father and I will be at her bedside at home. And although nobody has been able to say this straight out, we are letting her go, and she will die.

Her breathing in the last few days has been brutal and her distress acute. My brother and sister and I come and go. We sit on the lounge nearby and read, or knit, or watch TV. My father is her full time carer now and we have been support crew. Just recently the camellias have been in full bloom, and Spring is threatening. In the midst of this she makes her graceful exit today.

If you can believe it, until last week she was blogging. If you are my friend, you might like to go there now and witness the miracle of a clear mind. Here is a recent entry in which she quotes this brilliant poem:

"The world of dew
A world of dew it is indeed
And yet, and yet..."

There is a picture of her there. I am told she looks a lot like me. Now I only wonder if I can grow to be half the woman she is.

So that's all I think for now. Many friends have held me through this time. My partner has been golden and my stepkids beautiful. What will i make of this time? What will it make of me?

Australians - you give me the shits

2011-08-08T20:49:00.003+10:00

Oh Australia. You give me the shits, frankly.

Tonight, across the nation, Australians juggle bits of paper in their hands, mark a few boxes, and consider their identities. Over the years the Census has become a fascinating and bizarre snapshot of the little lives of Australians. What does it add up to? Not a hill of beans, really.

An email has been circulating our fair shores. My good buddy Neighbourhood Boy has written about it too.

It says something like this:

IMPORTANT

AUSTRALIA WILL BE HOLDING A CENSUS IN AUGUST

DO NOT LEAVE THE “RELIGION” SECTION BLANK. BE SURE TO AT LEAST TICK CHRISTIAN (OR YOUR UPBRINGING FAITH).

1,000,000 MUSLIMS WILL TICK THEIR BOX.

10,000,000 AUSTRALIANS WILL LEAVE IT BLANK THEN WONDER WHY A MOSQUE IS BUILT IN THEIR NEIGHBOURHOOD!!!

PASS THIS ON TO ALL YOUR FRIENDS.

As I mentioned earlier, we are frickin' idiots.

Previous census data brought to light that Buddhism is the fastest-growing religion by percentage in Australia, having increased its number of adherents by 79 percent between the 1996 and 2001 censuses. Buddhism is also the second largest religion in the Australia, after Christianity.

However, Islam is seen as a "small minority religious grouping" in Australia. In the 2006 Census, approximately 340,392 people, or 1.71%of the total Australian population were Muslims. THAT'S NOT VERY MANY, PEOPLE.

Racism is all about fear. And it is horribly true that we are proud of being afraid. I saw a car in my neighbourhood with the bumper sticker: "Australia - Fuck Off We're Full". I wanted to kick it and throw some stones. Instead I just felt damn sad. At least it didn't have that other ugly sticker that I have seen: "Fat chicks: root 'em then shoot 'em".

I now bring your attention to this site - The AntiBogan. It takes comments that are made in public - and well, just lets them be public. Don't go there if you are feeling a bit fragile. It will rouse in you the feeling of a thousand kinds of cranky.

I know this is an angry post. That's because I'm angry. I got nothing else to say, really.

Dvd Preview - Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche returns to Thrangu Monastery

2011-07-21T09:56:00.002+10:00

Here is something interesting. There is a DVD coming out which tells the story of Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche and his return to Thrangu Monastery. I came across a preview, which has no commentary, but a series of fascinating moments and insights into what that must have been like. I like it without the commentary! In Australia, we only make this kind of fuss about Olympians. Not even leaders of our country would get such a parade. It's beautiful chaos.

Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche is President and Spiritual Director of Kagyu E-Vam Buddhist Institute in Melbourne and E-Vam Institute in the Upstate New York. He was born in 1955 in Nangchen, Eastern Tibet. According to his website, he was enthroned as the Supreme Abbott of Thrangu Monastery at age two by His Holiness Gyalwa Karmapa, but later had to flee his native land at the age of four and escaped with his party to Bhutan. From there he went to Rumtek, the headquarters of His Holiness the XVI Gyalwa Karmapa in Sikkim.

Rinpoche was educated by His Holiness with the other young tulkus in exile until he was nine, when he went to Sang-ngak Choling monastery near Darjeeling and studied under the guidance of His Eminence Thugsey Rinpoche. While there he was taught exclusively by Khenpo Noryang and Khenpo Sodar for many years. In order for Rinpoche to receive training in Karma Kagyu tantric ritual practice, His Holiness Karmapa sent Lama Ganga from Buxaduwar to train him. Thus Rinpoche received both Drukpa Kagyu and Karma Kagyu training at Thugsey Rinpoche's monastery.

In 1980, at twenty-five years of age, Rinpoche arrived in Australia and established Kagyu E-Vam Buddhist Institute two years later. That in itself must have been an experience, as we have a strong racist undercurrent in our society. I can only imagine what that must have felt like - and how it felt to go home to a place from his very early childhood.

Here is the clip below:

living in paradise

2011-07-17T08:58:00.003+10:00

I forget that I live in a place where other people go for holidays. Yesterday I saw a lyrebird as I was walking through the rainforest bit near my home. That's pretty incredible! I even found a lyrebird feather, which I have pinned to my noticeboard near my desk.

Here is someone else's short clip of a lyrebird:

And here are some photos from my recent bushwalks...

i forgot it was an adventure!

2011-06-30T08:27:00.000+10:00

They say people are like their pets. This may well be so. I ran into a buddy yesterday - he is bald, big and pretty friendly, and when I walked out the front door his new Sharpei dog was there. Zoe the dog was also pretty bald, big and friendly. They are both pretty happy and content beings, with a particular look of inward reflection.

It made me reflect how Tuppence and I - well, we have the same look about us. Namely, confusion.

Case in point. I have been walking Tuppence the puppy every day. We do the same walk, which is up the road, through the bush, through the park, then home. Every time we get to the steel steps which lead down to the waterfall, this happens:

You can't quite tell from the picture, but she got half way down and froze. Panic set in. Looking left and right frantically, she sat down on one step, put her paws on the next and that was it. No amount of coaxing, offering of treats, reassurance would move her. She was stuck.

This happens to me a lot too. I get someplace, it gets hard, and instead of figuring out what's happening, I just sit down. I get stuck in the Why Me mentality. I get caught up in feelings of helplessness, powerlessness and rage.

Driving home from my Mum's the other day, I became paralysed with grief. I realised I wasn't paying any attention to the road, I wasn't in my body, I was just subsumed with horror. I pulled over at a service station and ran the car up the gutter with a thud. I sat there, unable to see, or move, or even cry. I was absolutely gone into the feeling of loss. I had never felt anything like it. It was total, and it was almost like a madness. Time felt slippery and strange, and it was like I was there a millenium.

Eventually I came to - and cried a bucketload in the carpark of the service station. Grief broke me open and pulled me out of paralysis with pain. Ouch.

But nobody was coming to get me, and I was not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere (or a puppy stuck on steel steps) so I just waited and tried to be with what was happening to me. I kept saying to myself that it would move through me if I could wait. And then I would take the next action.

When Tuppence was stuck on the step, I eventually picked her up and carried her down. Her heart was beating like a wild thing, and she didn't make a noise. But within ten seconds she was gleeful again. She ran, and investigated, and was curious about the world. Her puppy mind was saying "This is so great! This is awesome! Can you believe this place! Wow, yeah! I think that was a lizard!" She is always excited about the world. No steel steps are final.

That is where I came to think about the fact that life is an adventure. I don't want to be stuck in my sadness. I want to remember how yesterday Mum and I sat together laughing, drawing funny captions on knitting patterns. I want more awareness that through this time I am learning how to be RIGHT HERE in the moment, dealing with the NOW. Truly valuing simple, beautiful things, like the bright camellias in her front yard, the new door my Dad built, the smile Mum gives me when I hold my scarf that I just finished making. I want to celebrate. I want the happiness of this time. I want to feel it as fully as I do everything else.

In a couple of hours I am heading down to Mum's again. We are knitting today, and watching a movie. It is my aspiration that I am stay open to whatever is happening. Joy, grief, contentment, anger. Whatever.

Dalai Lama - Day Two and Three

2011-06-16T15:42:00.000+10:00

Basically, it is now Thursday, I have been home from Melbourne since Tuesday night, and I am still trying to work out what hit me. So I haven't posted anything - not knowing entirely how to say it. Kinda like trying to translate clouds. There were over 30,000 people watching the talks live across the world…. That is kind of incredible!!

Melbourne Convention Centre - click to see article

It really is the first dharma talk I have attended. I am a long time podcast fan, and I listen to lots of dharma talks while I walk around in the world. But, excepting one morning two years ago, this is the first time I have sat and listened to a teacher.

Some of the things I scribbled down included thoughts about anger. It has never really hit me how, when I am angry, it also causes me pain. It just creates suffering all around. He used the metaphor of water - that our mind is like clear water, but coloured by emotions and perceptions. We can return to clear water mind, through single pointed focus and meditation.

Genuine unbiased compassion comes only through familiarisation and training of the mind. That is to say, practice compassion and non violence over and over, and it becomes easier to do. In this way compassion can become stronger than hatred.

It is also important to be less "self" centred. The text we studied over the three days was The Way of the Bodhisattva. A Bodhisattva is a servant of peace - a person who strives to improve the lives of all sentient beings. The Bodhisattva Vow includes a line that says, as long as time and space exist, I dedicate my practice to others. Otherwise, what is life for? To me this was a very powerful sentiment.

The greatest barrier to developing Bodhichitta is anger.
Tireless effort builds determination. If we have the aspiration to serve sentient beings, we must first understand how to serve ourselves. You will need tremendous willpower. You will need self confidence, a calm mind, inner strength to achieve this. Nobody can compel you to practice, you must do it for yourself.
To be isolated in this very realm is like a realm of hell. Practice humility, respect others and you will be loved. “We are social beings. We need friends. We need to smile. You must offer a smile first before you receive it.”

Samsara is very painful. Still, if we have a compassionate mind, we will find some relief. Develop a sense of questioning and introspection. Consider the interdependency of all beings, and realise that everything is a dream.

All of our emotions are based on the appearance of a thing – rather than the thing itself. This is how delusion arises. So when we develop strong anger or aversion with a person, consider that the appearance of a person is not the person themselves.

At another time I will tell you more. He offered the Bodhisattva Vow, which many people took. He also offered some basic meditation instructions, and answered specific questions from the audience.

At different times I just didn't know what he was talking about! He spoke at detail about emptiness and form, and different kinds of karma. But he also said that once you begin to learn about these difficult concepts, be prepared that it takes time to understand. At the beginning, you understand 1%. After 6 months, 2%. And so on - but over time, it is easier.

Dalai Lama - Day One

2011-06-12T06:58:00.000+10:00

I have to be quick to write as the dodgy computer I am using in this hotel lobby seems determined to undermine my every move and whim - but I wanted to quickly tell you that I am having an amazing time.

I am in Melbourne to see the Dalai Lama speak about the Way of the Bodhichitta. I'll have to link it all later - so have a google and check it out. (#$%$^^& computer in hotel lobby I shall kick you shortly)

Some notes that I have jotted down:

"What is Dharma? It is the practice of love." This struck me as I love the idea of compassion IN ACTION. I love the understanding that Buddhism does not have to involve simply sitting - but it is about ACTION in the world. How we bring affection and kindness to others. How we take a broader perspective on the Planet. He mentioned that the Copenhagen summit about climate change failed as everyone there thought only of their own country. It is up to us to now think globally, to put compassion into action on a global level.

The Dalia Lama spoke about that whatever path you have chosen, take it seriously and carefully. Whatever religon that is, practice with your whole heart. "Religion is medicine for the mind."

I witnessed the afternoon session with His Holiness - it was called Coversation With The Dalai Lama and the room was full to capacity, a couple of thousand people were there. People asked amazing questions. One young boy about twelve, hesitantly said to his Holiness, "Thankyou for taking my question. I am very afraid of death, and dying. Can you help me?" The answer was so gentle and kind - and full of good humour. From where we were sitting we could see the boys face nodding at the answer, engaged - hearing him. What was the answer? That he was young yet and should dedicate action to helping others. Perhaps become a teacher. Put off the question until he was an old man like himself! That is the time for contemplation of such things, and now is the time to live with happiness.

I am running out of time - its nearly 7am - so here are the other questions that were asked - i will have to fill in the rest later. "Both my parents are recently passed. Am I still connected to them?" "How can we remember our past lives and remember our past learnings?" "If at the point of death, a person dies in a traumatic manner, what does that mean for their next lifetime?" "How important is fame to you?" "What can we as individuals, and as a people do to impact on climate change?"

You can see I have a lot more to tell you. My final thing to say about yesterday is the one piece of information I am left with is the critical importance of meditation as a way of developing a single pointed focus, and a calm mind. This trains the mind to deal with any troubles that arise.

Blessings to you all - it is a miraculous time - after the last talk I could see laypeople, nuns, monks and others with tears in their eyes and open hearts. And its hard to be cynical about that, dear dharma buddies.

Tuppence the Magnificent

2011-06-06T09:13:00.004+10:00

All my friendly dreams have come true. Yesterday we adopted a little puppy called Tuppence. She is a rescue dog from the RSPCA.

She is three months old, and is a tibetan spaniel cross pug (not sure about the pug part!)

We brought her home and everyone is crazy in love with her even though she likes to steal socks.

She has warmed my heart tenfold! I think it extremely likely that you will hear more about her as she grows up. She probably won't grow much bigger in size though!

Yay for dogs!!

Shenanigans in Melbourne

2011-05-31T07:53:00.002+10:00

I have been harbouring some spectacular information, dear reader.

The Dalai Lama is coming to Melbourne, Australia - and I am travelling there to see him speak!

www.i-love-melbourne.com

Firstly I love Melbourne. It's arty and weird, has brilliant food from all cultures, and trillions of little shops selling strange things, handmade things, interesting things. My friend and I are staying in the CBD, and I am hoping I will get to walk around and see miraculous happenings.

I am also excited to hang out with my friend M, who is so much fun. We laugh a lot and have excellent conversations about dharma and the world. That in itself is a blessing.

But I am keen to hear the Dalai Lama speak. I am also keen to untangle for myself how I feel about him. He inspires devotion, but is he a guru? He is a great teacher, but does that really mean I should buy the tour tshirt? (I struggle that I am going to a talk that includes merchandising, I guess, but at the same time understand that the tour has to be paid for somehow)

I don't often invest financially in my dharma studies. In fact, I rarely do. That might have something to do with the fact that my roof is, as we speak, leaking in several places at once, my stepson has fees due for his studies, and the bills pile is so high that it could form a small brick. But that could be almost all of us, I bet! So this really is the first time my family has decided, yes, this would be good for you to go. How lucky!!

My Mum has been hilarious about it. When I told her I was going to see the Dalai Lama she said, "I bet he has a list of questions to ask you. He's probably worried which robe to wear in order to impress!"

Here is the link to the Australian teachings: http://www.dalailamainaustralia.org/

He is speaking about A Bodhisattva's Way of Life by Shantideva.

I will take my little laptop along, and will try and write as I go. I won't fill up the twitter streams with quotes or anything, but I may occaisonally say something or other.

Overall I am excited. I hope I meet fun people, and hear interesting concepts I haven't thought about before. I hope it helps me see that the path I am on is good and can reduce suffering. For me and for others.

looking for mustard seeds

2011-05-23T17:26:00.002+10:00

The internet is a wonderful place, really. Hard to imagine that a person experiencing a serious illness, which may be terminal, can put themselves in front of a computer and describe what is happening. I am additionally amazed when a person can turn that experience into a meditation on faith.

The first blog I want to share is from an Australian man who has motor neurone disease (known in some countries as ALS). He writes about the everyday and also about the miraculous, and he writes through the lens of his Christian faith. You can read his blog here: http://roderickmallen.wordpress.com/

The other is from a man called Santi who lives in Rochester (USA). In December last year he was diagnosed with cancer. To be specific he has lymphoma. He might be a famous person over in the USA - I'm not sure - but his blog is humble and lovely. Santi is a Buddhist. You can look at it here: http://liberationpark.org/blog/

Over the last while a shift has occurred for me about my Mum's illness. I have been thinking more about Buddha's story of the mustard seed.

The basic yarn of the mustard seed is that there was a woman who had a son who died. In desperation she asked the Buddha to bring her son back, as her grief was more than she could bear. The Buddha said that he wanted a handful of mustard seeds in return, but added that, "The mustard-seed must be taken from a house where no one has lost a child, husband, parent, or friend." The poor woman went from house to house looking for these seeds. But there was no house free from grief. She realised that suffering in this way was part of being human, and that all people must experience it, and that she was one of many.

The story goes that she buried her son in the forest. Then she went back to the Buddha, and took refuge with him, hoping to understand and develop compassion for all beings.

I work in a big building with hundreds of people. A while ago it occurred to me that a number of these people were probably feeling just like me. Maybe they had lost a mum, or a brother, or a son. Maybe their aging father has dementia, and the difficulty of losing someone slowly while they are still alive is pulling the ground out from under their feet. And maybe, just like me, someone was trying to cover their tears while looking for the stapler - just trying to get on with living while grief tore them apart.

I started listening more to the stories of other people. I started really appreciating the fact that Mum is still here, and that we love each other. That we have each other. And that we could afford to help her buy an Ipad so that she could communicate more effectively with us. We are very lucky here. I am very lucky here.

It doesn't mean that things aren't painful, and that her slow progression towards immobility and death isn't pretty much the Worst Thing Ever. It actually really is. But like the woman searching for the mustard seeds, I feel like I can see the suffering of others, and maybe lend an ear to hear those stories. I guess that's all I have to give. I hope that its enough.

bookbird vs the donut

2011-04-13T08:46:00.002+10:00

Over here is a beautiful and humble blog called Snow Branches. http://davidmashton.blogspot.com/
It has musings, poetry and little interesting things. I like it over there - so I spoke to David on twitter and we decided to do a blog swap! This means I set him a topic to write about, and he sets one for me. I was thinking to make him write about penguins or something - maybe penguins wearing hats - but then he set the topic for me as "Why Am I Doing This?"

This is a valid question. So I have set him the question, "Why Did I Do That?" Haha, my friend!! That's even harder. So there.

Driving to work this morning I felt I understood this question. This became perfectly clear as I ate my second donut for breakfast, while driving and thinking about twelve things at once. This isn't a regular occurrence - well actually now that I consider it - it probably is. My eating habits are bad, bad news. I am vegetarian, which is all well and good, except for the fact that potato chips are vegetarian and so is pizza. In fact, with a little creative thinking, all good food can be made into vegetarian food. . ...Yay.

I have no mindfulness when it comes to eating. It pushes me to a panic sometimes - I put snacks in my backpack "just in case" and start thinking about lunch about 10am. I think to myself, yes I could drive there and get that task done, because it's next door to the pie shop that I love. I rush my choices and eat bad things rather something that takes a while to prepare. It has led to me being overweight. It has also lead to me being tired, stressed and unhappy.

So as I ate that donut this morning I thought, "Why The HELL Am I Doing This?" Which means I had the awareness that what I was doing wasn't helping my body. But Did This Mean I Put Down The Donut? ALAS NO. I STILL ATE THE DONUT.

There is that split second moment where I can have power over what I am doing. Where I can recognise that by using food this way I am simply grasping and holding on to something - to avoid the feeling of uneasiness that I am harbouring. So I can identify that moment. Now I need to refrain buying in. I need to put the donut down.

PUT THE DONUT DOWN.

This will become my new mantra. PUT THE DONUT DOWN. I am going to try and increase my mindfulness about the way I eat. I am not expecting that everything will change. But I need to ask myself the question, "Will this bring me happiness - or short term relief instead?" I relate it to Pema Chodron's excellent teachings on shenpa. If you haven't heard about that concept, you can have a look here: Pema Chodron on Shenpa

So there it is. Even donuts have something to teach us. I'll keep you posted on what happens next!

Please check out David's lovely blogswap post here: When I Fell You won't regret it.

finding a teacher

2011-03-22T16:40:00.003+11:00

I want to find a meditation teacher. I have really enjoyed all the wonderful dharma teachings the web has to offer, but I have to admit, I think I need to connect to a teacher in real life. I want to talk to someone who has travelled this territory. I want to be able to ask questions, and think for myself about the answer they give.

So I asked my twitter friends, how did you find a teacher? Some very helpful responses came back.

One person said, "A good experienced teacher helps when things 'arise' that you don't understand." That feels exactly what I am after. Exactly!One friend recommended meeting lots of Buddhists from different traditions, and then see if their actions matched their words. Another said that I should try attending a range of different centres.

I was worried about shopping around - that didn't seem all that respectful! - but my friend said "Spending time worrying about what other people think = lost in illusion. Knowing what you actually think and feel is the first step." That seemed solid to me. My friend added, "If you are told how to behave then I would question their motive. Be fearless and try, otherwise doubt has you by the short and curlies!"

Another friend told me that they actually prayed for one. He used a visualisation that he got from a Vajrayana buddy of his. This made sense to me too - to set an intention clearly of what you need, rather than just drifting around hoping for the best.

He has given me permission to post it to my blog. It has come from Clare Cerullo. If you use it, send a message of thanks out to Clare across the airwaves. I get that this kind of thing doesnt resonate with everyone, but I am going to give it a shot! I'll let you know what happens.

Please - if you have a story about how you found your teacher, write it in the comment section. It helps everybody to share these things - so many of us are new on the path.

"First, set your intention. Generate compassion, and ask your teacher to come to you.

See your teacher sitting in front of you. Their body glows with a soft golden light. They are the most beautiful being you can imagine; their mind is all compassionate and all knowing; you can see the love that they have for you in their eyes. They want nothing more than to help you get out of suffering. They embody every quality you wish to have in yourself, and they can teach you how to be like them.

Just fill in all the details, kind of like a paint-by-number. You make them the perfect teacher for you.

Then you ask them for their blessing, which they happily agree to give. See them float up above your head, turning to face the same direction that you are facing. They rest on the crown of your head and shrink down to an inch in size. Their body is still glowing softly with golden light.

Then you see/feel them come down through the crown of your head and into your heart as golden nectar light. See this light purify all of your obstacles and mental afflictions, and transform your body, speech, and mind into that of an enlightened being—that of your teacher. Finally, see yourself as your teacher, and hold onto that feeling as long as you can.

You can close out your meditation by ending with a dedication. Dedicate the merit of your practice to meeting your perfect lama, and to all beings meeting their perfect lama."

I Am Cameron Frye

2011-03-16T18:24:00.001+11:00

Everybody knows that Ferris Beuller's Day Off is the finest creation in cinematic history.

Whenever I am sick, I watch this movie. And whenever the credits roll at the end of this movie, I experience an overwhelming urge to press play and watch it all again. At a recent trivia night I was heard to solemnly state in a loud and forthright voice, "I am pretty sure John Hughes is God." (This was, however, met with scepticism as I happened to be at a fundraiser for a Christian School - which is another story altogther)

However, I do not love this movie for Ferris Beuller, although he is a fine and handsome gent with a cleverness beyond my comprehension. I love this move because I Am Cameron Frye. See, usually in any story the main character goes on a journey. There is no real journey for Ferris. He is cool at the start, cool along the way, and ends up cool - and doesn't event get caught for ditching school. But for Cameron, this journey takes him from zero to hero.

Cameron Frye

Cameron is Ferris Beuller's best friend. At the start of the film, he is in bed, being sick. He isn't actually sick, but he is only happy when he feels like crap, so he is busy inventing an illness for himself. Cameron is a miserable, neglected guy, who lives with his very rich parents who don't care about him.

The adventure begins when Ferris convinces Cameron that they should "borrow" Cameron's Dad's Ferrari, and drive it to Chicago. At first, Cameron is the same as all of us when confronted with the world of risk. He is terrified. Things are out of control - what if something goes wrong - what if the car gets stolen - anything could happen. He is paralysed by fear. We are all like this. Sometimes I think we choose fear because it is a known quantity - and hope feels so dangerous.

Luckily for Cameron, Ferris is the agent of chaos. He sets out to show Cameron a brilliant time. Along the way they pick up Sloane, Ferris' girlfrien. With Ferris' lead, they impersonate millionaires to get into a fancy restaurant. They go to the baseball and visit the Seares Tower. Finally, they go the the Chicago Art Museum.

The scene is the Chicago Art Museum is one of the best of the film. There is a scene which perfectly expresses Cameron. He is standing there, looking at a particular painting, and the camera captures him then having a crisis. He realises, I am like that image in the painting. I am nothing but a collection of dots. When I first saw this film, I knew in my heart that this was right. We are just free floating atoms. This existential crisis for Cameron ends up being a critical part in his liberation.

After the Museum, Ferris tops it all off by performing impromptu in the Von Steuben Day Parade. Cameron admits that finally, yes, he is having fun! He feels good. But when they get back to the car they find that something is wrong - the garage attendants have taken the Ferrari for a long joyride, and the odomometer reflects it. All Cameron's nightmares are coming true. His Father will discover that he stole the car.

"This is where Cameron goes berserk." says Ferris, to us, the viewer, before Cameron emits a scream of terror, and actually becomes catatonic with fear. Nothing Ferris or Sloane can do can break through to him. He has hit rock bottom. In a crazy stunt, Cameron tips himself off a diving board, trying to kill himself. Ferris leaps in, and in the one moment where we see Ferris actually lose his cool, drags him from the bottom of the pool.

When Cameron opens his eyes after being rescued, something has changed for him. He realises that nobody can stay paralysed forever. You have to face your fear. You can't escape what the world is - a huge mess of joy and terror and craziness. Whatever happens, you can't avoid it - you still have to get out bed in the morning. Then his liberation really begins.

That's why I am like Cameron Frye. Maybe the message of this film is as much for me as anyone. As Ferris says, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

I think that's why I like Buddhism so much. Buddhism says, you know, life is just like this. Let's not pretend otherwise. If you can't deal with that essential fact - that First Noble Truth - then it will be like getting caught in a cage of your making, paralysed by fear. Get over it. You'll feel a whole lot better.

scenes from my garden

2011-03-14T13:03:00.000+11:00

Zucchini Flower

Friendly friend

Tomatoes

Pumpkins and corn and snow peas

this simple prayer

2011-02-11T14:42:00.000+11:00

When I was but a little thing, I believed in Prayer. I believed in everything. Everything felt safe, contained and known. There is a picture of me when I was about seven, holding up a handmade sign with the Australian flag on it. The sign says, "I Love Australia!" I am grinning, mad-eyed, happy and sure. What I think I was trying to say was, "I Love My Home! I Belong Somewhere! I am Happy!"

It had a lot to do with faith. I was brought up Christian, and I took to faith like a duck to water. It was me, it was everything about me. And everyone in my world was part of it. I went to youth groups, to girls groups, to bible camps, to weekly study sessions, to Christian leadership camps. And on Sundays all those people came together and I was there too, belonging.

So when I was in my late teens, something happened to my faith. I remember the very moment I looked around the church, and I saw the people singing. They were using terms like "washed in the blood of the lamb" and I thought, I don't think I know what that means, actually. A pit widened. I was on the edge of something I didn't want to confront. I thought, if I don't know what I am singing, I think I had better stop. Until I know. Otherwise, it isn't true. It's lying. And that's not who I am. So what do I know? Oh crap, maybe I don't know anything!

I wrote long questioning lists to other Christians. I read the Bible. I began to feel like just by asking the question I was putting myself away from God.

Little did I know at that time that any great faith involves doubt. An honest faith makes room for crises of the soul. A strong warrior in any faith walks along the edge of craziness all the time. It's the ones who say they know everything that you probably have to watch. But I didn't know that until later.

But these days there is something new happening. I have stopped punishing myself for not knowing. I have started to settle on the path of - what next? what now? what then?

Recently I went to Church. Actually, it was the day before yesterday. I was visiting this Chapel : Mary McKillop Chapel in North Sydney. I had a two day conference nearby, so I decided to stay in the Church grounds at the lodge. At the time I thought, this is cheap, and also, Mary McKillop was a powerful woman of faith who did things her own way. So I want to know more about that. She was excommunicated, thrown out of her diocese for her views, and worked for people experiencing horrible disadvantage.

It's a Catholic chapel, so I know hardly anything about that kind of Christianity, but after I went in, the hush was so great, and the energy so powerful, that I just sat in the front row and cried.

There wasn't many people in the Chapel. Some people were on a tour. I didn't want anybody to tell me anything. I didn't want any stories. I just wanted that moment of me, my eyes full of tears, connecting to something that I don't know what it was.

Then I thought about my Mum, another woman of tremendous faith. And with something like the feeling of a fish landing in a stream, I closed my eyes and said, please let these last days of my Mum be filled with joy and peace. Unbidden, it was a prayer. It wasn't to God. I don't know who it was to. I don't really know what it was.

But now I understanding something new. I don't have to know what I am saying before I say it. I don't have to understand. I just have to keep my heart open, to all the shaky tender feelings I can handle, and then place my palms upwards. And something will fall into them.

Book Notes: Floor Sample by Julia Cameron

2011-02-04T14:43:00.002+11:00

Julia Cameron is well known for her book "The Artist's Way". That book saved my creative life in my early twenties as it made me sit still and connect pen to paper in a way that was both gentle and disciplined. I have since recommended it to various people who are looking to live a creative life. For some people it was great - for others it didn't quite connect.

So when I saw this book in the Library, I was curious. Cameron's books (and there are many) all have a reassuring, stable, strong tone to them. She has a step by step method to a particular goal, and a path to sustained creativity. So I imagined this book to be just the same.

What I found was completely different - and honestly brilliant. This is a memoir of Julia's years from childhood to writer. The tone is rollicking, mad and sometimes beautiful. It has such a vulnerability to it that hooked me right in, and allowed me to engage completely with her world.

Cameron wrote this when she was 57, and it was published 2007. She details her marriage to Martin Scorsese, her alcoholism and increasing drug use. Then her hard won sobriety, and her focused dream to write and make music. But things don't end there.

One part of the book details an increasingly strange Cameron, falling into psychosis, living holed up in London. She doesn't eat, she feels allergic to electricity, and refuses all help. Her walls are plastered with scripts, songs, images and scribbles, all of which she is attempting to feed into a musical which she feels she must write. Birds and trees begin to hum and speak to her. The world becomes a surreal dream and nightmare all rolled into one. She is beset my unimaginable terrors and events, and finds herself hospitalised.

Even when she returns from overseas, she cannot settle, and seems to move compulsively from Chicago, to Taos, to Los Angeles, to New York. In every place she finds people who nuture her, and others who abuse her trust. Yet she tries and commits to living with an open heart, and a connection to God.

We who are writers and creative spirits know that sometimes we are close to the edge of realities. This can be terrifying and wonderful and heartbreaking. Although I will always love Julia Cameron's books about spirituality and creativity, it was this book that really showed me something about writing. Through all of her journeys, Julia did one true thing - she just kept going. And she is going still.

For Julia Cameron's website, please go here: The Artist's Way Website

my hair is on fire!

2011-01-21T00:27:00.001+11:00

Being premenstrual is like this. It's like one day, your hair catches on fire. At first, you don't know. You're walking around your house, thinking, something is strange right now. Something is slightly off. I don't know what that is. Then a few minutes pass. You start thinking, woah, this is uncomfortable, I feel like I hate everybody, I'm ugly, and I've wasted my life. That's strange. The next thing you know, you are screaming up and down the hallway shouting at every sentient being in a twenty mile proximity and wishing they would just fucking understand what the fuck you are trying to say - and then you realise - your hair is on fire. And your hormones hate you.

PMS is serious shit. Anyone who doesn't think that is probably a monk who lives with other monks who were all born biological men and never at any point had to deal with the problems of owning ovaries and losing your goddamn mind every 28 days.

Another example will illustrate my point. You are lying on the lounge. Everything is fine. The TV is on. A commercial comes on where a kitten leaps playfully on a patchwork quilt, darting around some quality product like toilet paper. The kitten is gently picked up, and it's little eyes stare at you, only at you, the woman, lying on the lounge, deep in surburbia, wearing your faded bedsocks that have a hole on the right toe. Tears are suddenly streaming down your face. Your gut is twisted to pieces. You think about the kitten. About the quilt. About the fact that these bedsocks will never be fixed.

At this moment your partner looks over, casually. A look of alarm crosses their face.

Partner: Honey? Are you okay?
You: Yes, yes, it's fine, I mean, its not fine, its never been fine, I just wish so much that I - I mean, it was just the fact that I --
(you laugh feebly, to disguise the fact that YOU YOURSELF HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHY YOU ARE CRYING, but just that you feel a pit of ridiculous and horrible despair opening up in your heart that will NOT DISSIPATE despite any quiet reasoning going on in your brain)
Partner: Uh, can I - what can I - is there anything that I can -
You: IT'S FINE. SOMETIMES PEOPLE CRY. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME.
(At this point a look of awareness and terror passes over your partner's face. Your partner looks down at the floor, then up at the blinds, then at the TV, then back at the floor)
You: I just can't help wondering why we never had children. (Or some kind of crazy, enormous statement of this kind that your partner never expected, and in truth, neither did you)
Partner: Uh honey, do you want me to get you anything from the kitchen? Like chocolate or something? Maybe juice? Or donuts? We have some leftover pie if you like?
You: Why? Why would I want that? (pause) Bring me the pie. I want a donut too. (pause) Bring me everything.

When a woman is premenstrual, the world is altered. Things seem sharper, more painful, crazier, more amazing. We can look back a few days afterwards and say, what the hell was that all about?? Jesus, it was a kitten on a quilt, whatever! We can be all groovy with our equanimity and shit. We are at peace with all beings.

But basically for a while there, the world is mad. Little buzzing atoms in our bodies push us right to whatever edge we don't want to visit. It's a tangible, difficult, bizarre feeling. Hormones mess with us, make us crazy. I wrote this poem once where I theorised that if all the women in the world could synchronise their ovaries, and we were all premenstrual at once, we could defeat patriarchy in four days. Easy.

And as for all those Buddhist blokes out there in robes who think that somehow you can't be enlightened in a female body and therefore its a waste to give you dharma teachings, I've got news for you. Any woman who manages three cycles without feeling true despair at least once is skipping three incarnations, and is guaranteed never to be born a cockroach again. And anybody who manages to navigate menopause at all - well they are just on a Bodhisattva fast-track, baby. Give me twelve lifetimes of that and I'll be shaking hands with the Buddha.

Book Notes: Zen Radicals, Rebels & Reformers

2011-01-06T14:01:00.002+11:00

This is the first time a publisher ever sent me a book to review, and I was actually freaking out that I wouldn’t like it, and then be forced into telling the truth publicly that it was no good! But luckily for all involved, as soon as I got into the guts of this book, I knew it was a little gem.

This book is a window into the world of Zen. I learnt from this book that disruption and questioning is at the heart of Zen practice. What a wonderful paradox to ponder – how to find equanimity and continue searching, whilst continually being turned upside down!

This book tells the stories of several Zen masters, showing us the historical context of their lives, the story of their childhood and their journey, and then describing what they learnt along the way. All of them encountered hardships, and defiance, and in some cases unbearable pain. Yet the common thread with all of these men is that they were determined to find wisdom for themselves. What a freaking awesome, heartening strategy. These men were not followers, but explorers. And they were largely unpopular most of the time. Yet they have voices that endure.

Not only this, but they were artists – poets, painters and storytellers. They had different ways of explaining the kernels of wisdom, and they understood that truth can be spoken many ways.

Teachers that are covered in this book include:

P’ang Yun: The Family Man of Zen

Rinzai: The Spiritual Storm

Bassui: The Lover of Sounds

Ikkyu: The Emperor of Renegades

Bankei: The Popular Preacher

Hakuin: The Old Heretic under the Sala Tree

Nyogen Senzaki: The Homeless Mushroom

Soen: The Master of Play

Hakuin

A special note about Hakuin Ekaku Zenji. Always when I pick up a book of this kind my first thought is always, okay how many women are profiled here? I think, where are all the women role models for me? And although there are no women teachers profiled, I was still made happy when I saw the words of Hakuin, who rebelled against popular thought by seeing women as equals. Little did he know we would still be having that argument now! Some of my favourite rebels, radicals and reformers are women. By the very nature of their gender they go against the grain. Let’s have more of them too.

It gave me excellent insight into a few Zen bloggers I know too, and why they behave in nutty ways. Perhaps they seek to unsettle, make us question, bring to the surface our difficult feelings. I love the blogosphere for that – many voices, many truths, many paths. So much to learn. This book truly added to the dialogue for me, and I was very grateful to read it.

Check it out here: Zen Radicals, Rebels and Reformers

Blogisattva Awards announced!

2011-01-02T21:30:00.002+11:00

This is a very belated post, but an important one! The Blogisattva Awards were recently celebrated over at this little website: Blogisattva Brilliance here

The Blogisattva Awards are not really about saying "this blogger is cooler than that one." Or about making the statement "this blogger is a waaaay better Buddhist than this other guy". Or suchlike.
It's more about saying, "this year this person made a difference, had something great to say, made a commitment to compassion, shone a light on practice." I loved the idea of the awards, I loved following the nominations and I was stoked to see that the Awards honored some awesome folks.

So share the love. Visit these folks and see what all the fuss is about, my friends.

✍ Best Achievement with Humor in a Blog or Blog Post
✓ Sweep the dust, Push the dirt - Blogger: John Pappas
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✍ Best Achievement in Wide Range of Topic Interests Blogging

✓ Buddhist Geeks - Blogger: Group Blog

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✍ Best Achievement in Design

✓ 21awake - Blogger: Rohan Gunatillake
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✍ Best Achievement Blogging Opinion Pieces or Political Issues

✓ Dangerous Harvests - Blogger: Nathan Thompson
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✍ Best Achievement in Kind and Compassionate Blogging

✓ Discovering the Divine Connection - Blogger: Emily Horn

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✍ Best Blogging on Matters Philosophical, Psychological or Scientific

✓ Wandering Dhamma - Blogger: Brooke Schedneck
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✍ Best “Life” Blog

✓ Cheerio Road - Blogger: Karen Maezen Miller

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✍ Best Buddhist Practice Blog

✓ Mind Deep - Blogger: Marguerite Manteau-Rao
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✍ Best Achievement Blogging on Buddhist Practice or Dharma

✓ The Meditative Gardener - Blogger: Cheryl Wilfong
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✍ Best Achievement in Skilled Writing

✓ Wandering Dhamma - Blogger: Brooke Schedneck
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✍ Post of the Year!

✓Sweep the dust, Push the dirt - Post: Point of Contact - John Pappas

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✍ Blog of the year, Svaha!

✓ The Jizo Chronicles - Blogger: Maia Duerr

tip your driver

2011-01-01T09:24:00.002+11:00

So there was this boy. Okay so he was my boyfriend. He was sweet, funny, and a black belt in karate. We used to call him turtle - because he was a quiet guy, but when he poked his head up to say something it was always hilarious. I was nineteen. I had real affection for this guy - but I didn't treat him all that great. I guess I kept thinking, something is wrong here. It must be me that's wrong. And then proceed to act like an oddball.

I thought I was indestructible. I was addicted to the drama of drama. I wrote notebooks full of poems about death and related happenings. I was losing faith in my religion - God had stepped onto a floating barge somewhere and had headed off into the sunset. This was disorientating to say the least. Don't go, God! I wanted to shout, as the barge headed west. Too late. Elvis had left the building.

In addition, I had made an artform of despair and self-hatred. Man, was I good at that. I was freaking awesome at that! Now I am in my thirties and have to undo all those patterns. Thanks, teenage self. Nice one.

So one night we are all out, my mates and I - and there was a big party at a friends place. My memory is my boyfriend was supposed to drive me home. His car was a wild creation - we had to tie the passenger door on with a rope, and the whole thing was only held together on a wing and a prayer. It helped that there was a constantly rolling mixtape of Tupac. Maybe a bit of Ice Cube for good measure.

At this party I got very messy. I wanted to go home. But my boyfriend didn't want to. There was a big, spectacular fight. I left the party on my own, angry and hurt, and just really, really messy.

Walking the streets to get to the train station - which was a fair distance away - I remember the total darkness of the night. The fact that when I got to the station I only had $4.25 for a train. It was cold. I was dumb. I was wearing a dress I hated. Shoes that hurt. I was going back to a flat that I was barely affording rent for.

When I got to the station, there were no trains for five hours because it was the middle of the night. I was cactus. I sat on the kerb and cried.

It was at that moment that kindness came my way. A taxi driver pulled up. I said to him, I have $4.25. Can you drive me as far as that would take me?

He looked at me, dishevelled, beaten down, and probably thin as a matchstick. I hopped in the taxi. It was warm. It felt safe. I spilled out all my woes and worries. I told him everything. And then as we were driving I realised we had spent more than what I could afford. I was clutching my $4.25 and urging him to let me out on the highway. I could walk for a few towns. It would be fine.

He politely and firmly told me to keep my money. He drove my all the way home. Right to my doorstep. My gratitude was enormous. It filled my heart, my head, my universe. I couldn't stop thanking him.

I'm telling you this story today because today is New Year's Day. And my theme for this year is gratitude. I am so grateful for that simple act by that one man. Something that took him half an hour, about fourteen years ago, still swells my heart today. So this year I have my heart open to saying thankyou.

Plus I want to tell you - always tip your taxi driver. You never know when you might need one.

overwhelm and doubt

2010-12-03T10:50:00.000+11:00

Truthfully, it has been a wacky time of late in my brain.

I guess that once a person begins to connect with mindfullness, it means that all the strange and weird things we have spent our whole lives habitually thinking float to the surface in a rather obvious and earth shattering manner. All of a sudden I have begun to realise how much energy I put into making myself small. And now that I am working with big emotions, I realise how often I am afraid, panicked and just plain shut down.

I meet big emotions and I freak out. I know Pema Chodron asks us to smile at fear, but my inclination just at the moment is to stab it in the eyeball. With a freaking icepick.

I hear around the traps that feeling overwhelmed is not uncommon. But for me it is really -- well -- overwhelming. And disorientating. And and scary.

The other interesting thing I am experiencing is doubt. I had coffee with a good friend a while ago who is Christian. I was coming down with the flu at the time, and barely coherent, although I was hiding it pretty well. (I think.) I was trying to explain my concept of faith and spirituality. We always have good conversations about these things, she and I.

Case in Point - Happy Fat Smiley Buddha

So at some point, amongst my flailing explanations, she said, "So, Buddha is just that big smiling fat guy? And Buddhism is about him?" And I said, "Uh, yeah, that's true... it sure is... it's just that... he also had a lot to say about ... you know, love, and stuff... and working with difficulty..."

She looked puzzled, and frankly kind of, well... bewildered. And at that moment, so was I. I thought, oh no, I really have no idea what I am talking about here. How can I identify with a spiritual path but know so little about it? What the hell am I saying? How can I walk in the world without feeling like a doofus? How can I be writing a blog about this stuff, but only possess a thimbleful of understanding? How does everyone else manage to sound so confident? Serious doubt began to creep in.

So yesterday I had a breakthrough on this. That's why I am writing again, to tell you about it. I was listening to Pema Chodron's Pure Meditation, and she told the story of a Buddhist who had been meditating for over eight years. One day he realised that the reason he had been meditating all that time was so people would think he was a good Buddhist. Then, he started from scratch, and began to learn again.

My path at the moment is to be okay with always being at the beginning. That everything is surrender. Even though right now I am walking in the shadow of the valley of death, I am still walking. What I would like to learn is gentleness on that journey.

People who are beginners are not small. I am not small. I am infinite. I am open hearted. Still exploring and challenging and searching. This has such a nutty feeling attached to it. Like when Bugs Bunny is walking cheerfully along, through the fog, only to find that he has walked off a cliff and is just walking through the air instead. Bugs looks at us, in panic, and then falls and falls and SPLAT.

Yet somehow Bugs Bunny, just like me, lives to fight another day.

breathing, still.

2010-11-10T07:49:00.000+11:00

The gong sounds and I am stuck already. It echoes out across the silent hall, and my eyes are downcast. The noise drains away, the hollow sound, and now here I am breathing, breathing breathing. My voice is in my head and motors constantly.

Focus on the breath.

The breath goes in, the breath goes out. It is like the ocean. Like the tide, like the sea, onward onward. It is pulled by the moon, and thrown over and over.

The breath the breath the breath.

Be still, I say. Be the surface of the lake. Let the clouds of the sky move over you. They are your thoughts.

Next to me sits a woman with legwarmers. I begin to think, what kind of person still wears legwarmers? Are your legs always cold? Who knits legwarmers anymore? I am flooded with silent desire to knit them, in reams of colours.

The breath the breath the breath.

There is shuffling in the room but I will not look up to see who it is. There is perhaps twenty of us here, all of us, and I remember that if you don’t wear socks to the Zendo sometimes you can walk away with tinea. Do I now have tinea? What if I do have tinea? Maybe that’s what the legwarmers are for?

The breath, moving. In and out. Focus the mind with single focus. Be still. Be still and know.

The theme song to the A Team springs into my mind unbidden and I almost jump. Buff men in uniforms hurtling across the desert at unheard of speeds.

I bet The A Team never meditated. “I pity the fool,” says Mr T in my head.

The breath! Godfuckingmotherfuckingdamnit the breath!

Return to the breath.

In my mind I imagine the lake, the surface of the lake like glass, and there is my mother, ice-skating, laughing, her voice is whole, her body is mended, and she is looping in the air, like a dandelion seed, loose and free and she is shouting, here I am! Here I am!

She is like a bird then, and she is singing, like she used to, oh god her voice is clear and crystal like mountain air, and she is happy. Sweet god, she is happy.

She is calling to me. She has not forgotten me. She calls me by my childhood nickname and I tremble with loss.

There are tears on my face and I feel the big emotion move through me like Hitler in the old war. It is storming me. It is barrelling me. I need the A Team. I have nothing.

I try and surrender, so that it does not hold me hostage, but my grief peaks like waves, like waves, like the breath.

Like the breath. Let the grief move like waves and move like sunshine across the yard, let it become the golden twilight of sorrow, the way that syrup luminous light hits the stand of eucalypts near my house. The trees that stand grounded and unmoved, that I circle at times when lonely.

I am too lonely. I am too alone. To this I must also surrender.

Oh yes, the breath, the breath, but the emotion stays with me like a fire in my skull. The tears are all over my face and I wonder suddenly who can see me, sitting here. If I opened my eyes, would all twenty people be looking at me, solemn as soldiers?

I resist the urge to open my eyes. I watch the way my chest rises and falls and I think, no one ever died from this feeling. I train my mind to be with this, to stay with this, to feel this terror but not be terrified.

This too shall pass, like the breath, like her life, like my life, like our hope. This will pass the way that all things must, the way that no doctor need tell us, it will be soon. And sooner than we think.

I push the breath from my chest, I send it out. I expel it. I stay.

I think then of how she cannot breathe well anymore, how she has a neck brace to hold up her dear head, so that she can see us, so that she can sit upright now, and I know that time will steal her from me, my mother, my friend, my life.

The gong sounds, a long, mournful noise, and my eyes open.

Still breathing. Just.

NaNoWriMo! What the hell am I thinking?!

2010-11-04T14:23:00.001+11:00

Peeps,

The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of many things...

I am jumping on the bandwagon, and just like Return to Rural I am signed up to NaNoWriMo.

This means I am committing to writing a 50,000 word novel in November.

Is this Madness? Potentially!

Utter disregard for my own human capacity? Almost certainly!

Freaking exciting? A resounding YES!

And so off I go. Please cheer me along and send me imaginary cupcakes. I will also accept real ones.

I might go quiet for a bit over here. Don't mind me. Just wave heartily from a distance.

eleven places to get rad Buddhist podcasts

2010-10-19T20:40:00.002+11:00

Like all of us in this funny world, I am always on the lookout for answers, guidance and bits of wisdom. Out of anything though, I am on the lookout for stories. I like stories. They help me understand how other people have done things, or would like to. Or how people have gone about things the complete wrong way and ended up somewhere entirely new. That sounds like me.

yes i am as cool as this person

In a recent post I mentioned how much I love podcasts and audio teachings. They are dharma-on-tap. They are a confluence of voices, all with different aspects and melodies and ideas. Sometimes there is heaps to hear and it flips me out a little. Sometimes I have no idea what people are talking about - and other times it feels like the person is talking straight to my heart.

Anyway in my humble travels I have come across many teachers who are sitting under virtual trees and saying different things. Sometimes I have gotten things from them and other times not. But here is a list of podcasts that people on the merry path of mindfulness might like.

Of course, dear dharmalings, they are in no particular order. And I don't know if anyone on my list is a pretender or a charlatan. Some I haven't tried yet but know that I will. But as the Buddha himself apparently said: see for yourself, mate! Give it a red hot go! So here are some links to check out.

Lam Rim - Tibetan Buddhist Internet Radio isn't really a radio station. It's a collection of downloadable talks from various excellent teachers, including HH Dalai Lama, Lama Thubten Yeshe, Lama Zopa Rinpoche, Ven Sarah Thresher, Ven Tenzin Palmo (super yay), Ven Thubten Chodron and Ven Robina Courtin. It obviously hasn't been updated in a long time, and the quality is a bit hit and miss - but there are some great talks here.

Dharma Seed Talks - okay I can't vouch for anything on this site because I haven't got around to listening to things from here yet - but there are some wonderful teachers such as Jack Kornfield, Rinchen Khandro Rinpoche, Barbara Kaufman, Phagyab Rinpoche and others. I have bookmarked it because it looks pretty cool.

Sounds True - y'all know I love this podcast. Varied topics, up to date interviews and fascinating ideas. Not always about Buddhism - but the bits that are have been wonderful so far. The other day I heard an early Sharon Saltzberg talk this way and it was just luminous and so helpful.

Buddhist Geeks - what's not to love about this podcast? The answer is nothing. There is nothing NOT TO LOVE. Weird and quirky folks with interesting ideas. Features folks such as Lama Surya Das and Bodhipaksa.

Unfettered Mind and Unfettered Questions - these are resources by Ken McLeod. I have really been enjoying the quick soundbites of Unfettered Questions, where a student asks something and Ken gives a short answer. He has a slow thoughful style which I am enjoying so far. Haven't tried the talks as yet. You can download some meditation timers from here. (But the ones from Treeleaf are much nicer)

Audio Dharma - with Gil Fronsdal. Someone recommended this to me but I haven't listened yet. They have guest speakers - so that sounds pretty good to me.

Against the Stream - I have been getting so much benefit from this podcast lately. The one called Healing the Heart by Noah Levine was really something - really, really something. So much vulnerability and strength at once. And a wonderful sense of humour. Also here are teachers Vinny Ferraro and Matthew Brensliver. Another special mention of the podcast called "A Nun's Story" by Ajahn Thanasanti - just listen to it. Seriously. Wow.

but i am not as cool as this person

Bad Buddhist Radio - another recommendation I haven't gotten to yet - but I will. Recommended to me by a nice chap called Daniel. Has an awesome 80s shot of the bad buddhist himself - wicked cool glasses. Check it!

Shambala Sunspace Audio - Heaps and heaps of wonderful things. If you go here, be prepared to spend some time, look around at more than just the audio things. But this link will take you to talks from Brad Superstar Warner, Toni Bernhard, Noah Levine, Thich Nhat Hanh, Steve Silberman and others.

Tricycle Magazine podcasts - As far as I can see, nothing new has been added since end of 2009, but I have heard some wonderful things from this podcast. Features Sharon Saltzberg and Roshi Pat Enkyo O'Hara.

The Interdependence project - this is a new one for me and recommended to me by Jess. I tried listening to these guys about a year ago and was completely lost - but looking at the website today I can see some new nifty stuff there that definitely gets my attention. Features Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, Ethan Nictern, and Johnathan Kaplan.

So there you go - that's the story so far. If you have a podcast, or know a good one, post it below so that other people can get benefit as well.

my queer heart is breaking

2010-10-11T13:15:00.001+11:00

To be honest with you, the stories about the recent suicides of young gay men in the USA is hurting me.

Please click here to read about Asher, a young Buddhist man who took his own life after experiencing violence and bullying. And click here to read about a young man who took his life in Oklahoma a couple of days ago. (Be careful of the comments written after this article - mostly they are full of hate.) There are many more stories like this one - all around the globe.

Other people’s blogs have echoed my feelings. All of us that have a heart think about the death of these young people and something in our guts twists and churns and eats at us. Whatever we think of people of diverse sexualities, whether or not we agree with someone being gay - at some level we get that a death has occurred where it need not have happened.

But yes, let’s be clear, it is our world in which this occurred. In someone’s house right now, in a refuge or a shelter somewhere, young people sit in misery wishing they were something that they aren't. They know the world for what it is. And somehow they still get up in the morning, and try again. Try to be the same as other people, to put on our shiny faces and be happy.

Let’s not generalise here. Sexuality, like gender, is a beautiful spectrum. Sexuality is fluid and gorgeous and a serene back and forth. We can love this one, then this one, then another. This is our wonderful opportunity, and a gift. How can we see it as anything else?

But that is not our world.

Other blogs have placed focus on the bullies who were part of this tangled, brutal tragedy. I don’t want to talk about that. Mostly because my anger is so thick in my throat I can’t be trusted to speak without screaming. But my focus is on us – our teachers – on you – on me – on our online community.

Consider a recent example of an argument on the net between a student and a teacher. (I won’t link to it because it is some months ago, and I have NO WISH to reignite that ugly situation.) The student is quarrelsome and unpleasant. The teacher bites the hook and becomes equally as nutty. Both are Westerners. A flamewar ensues and all around it bloggers chip in to urge the two stop fighting, or else to variously take sides. Horrible and regrettable things are said from all sides.

As a new Buddhist my heart was breaking watching this craziness unfold, but I tried to stay clear. Until the teacher levels a particular criticism at the student. “You and your butt buddies...” he begins. Yes, yes, yes... his insult is to call this student gay. My heart fell into pieces, and tears leaked from my eyes.

Who are we? What do we stand for? And more than this, by our silence, what do we permit? What do we condone?

And did that teacher know that those words, said in haste, said in anger, would continue to bite at people? That words written in this way extend homophobia again, and tell me that my identified sexuality is just a joke to throw at people we dislike? That his comments would breed self hatred in some of our most vulnerable people? That I would read this comment and again wonder, how welcome am I in this community?

So to the Buddhist community I would like to say – make the link. Make the link between our everyday actions to the hurt that stays with others. Our words can become so casual when we are continually talking – commenting on blogs, tweeting, chatting on forums. But those words stay – and people who come after us will read what we say, and will think about the way we have said it.

Here on the interwebs we are our own nation. We can be citizens of another world. That is why here in this strange space we are powerful, and special, and full of possibilities. We can make different rules here. I can tell you that I will never be the one to be silent on these things, these twists of the heart. In my strange, befuddled and circular way I will try in earnest to do this. And I also know with clarity that the blogging community that I love, my sangha on twitter, my Online Meditation Crew – we too can stand together on this one.

And perhaps this is the lesson of rightful speech? To be not silenced by ignorance, hate or cruelty – but to speak with the considered voice of the warrior?

Finally, I want to say this to myself. For the benefit of all sentient beings, may I learn this lesson for the rest of my goddamned life. May I keep my integrity and hold my head high. May I be proud of who I am and unafraid to be visible. And by taking this action mindfully, may it allow others to stand by my side.

stuck in the middle with you

2010-10-07T08:45:00.002+11:00

At four a.m. this morning I had the horrible realisation that I am stuck with myself.

Have you ever had that experience where you are working on a project, a project that you are really invested in, and by circumstances out of your control are teamed up with someone who just pushes your buttons? Rubs you up the wrong way? Completely has all the wrong ideas? Soon, everytime this person opens their mouth you are cringing, expecting something that is irritating, emotion driven, judgemental and lunatic in every way.

You know you are being irrational about this person. You know that this person who you are working with is just a human being. But you just want to kick them in the shins repeatedly - and you also can't wait for the project to be over.

Well I have realised that my worst partner in the world is me. And I am stuck with myself. For The Rest Of My Life.

But then, I have always been skilled at self harm, at hating myself into small corners. That is something I do very well.

Me as a little person with my dear Granny

When I was a small child I remember thinking about death all the time. I would walk into a room with my friends and think, where is the best place for me to sit in the classroom? If the roof collapsed, where am I most likely to escape damage? I would look up at the heavy beams and consider their weight. Would I die if one fell on top of this chair? Would I just suffer an injury? If I died, my parents would be devastated and miserable so I had better not die. It would just cause them harm. But if my friend dies, how would I feel then? Am I genuinely feeling that my life is worth more than my friends?

In the end I would subtely navigate my friend so she was sitting away from a beam, and I was under it. I would spend the day haunted and fearful that it was my last. Picturing the funeral over and over. This is not so good at about ten years old.

The other day I was having a conversation with my lovely partner. I was saying that I genuinely wished it was me dying right now, and not my mother. That would feel right to me. She looked at me, concerned, and said, but think of the fact that we would all be so upset to lose you. And I thought, oh yes, my family would be devastated and miserable if I died so I better not die.

So little changes. These patterns I have given myself are harsh and feel unyeilding. I value myself so little - and I am used to it. I don't know how to move away from that.

But as I write this I wonder if I have been moving after all. Gently, slowly towards kindness and compassion towards myself. I have several very good friends right now who hold my heart. I have a partner that I am vulnerable and real with, and that loves me beyond reason. I have family that love me. None of that love is about obligation - its about really knowing me and loving me because of it. I think this is the first time in my life I can really see that.

I want to make that crazy project partner my best friend. I need patience to see the things I have done and said and forgive myself over and over. I need to really see the First Noble Truth - that there is suffering - but also value the other Three Truths. That is to say: yes, there is suffering, but seeing how I cause myself suffering can lead me to relief from this pain. It can give me tools to work with it. And then maybe, teach me how to help others.

I don't know where any of this leads me but maybe its a start.

Lama Surya Das - pith instructions

2010-09-28T18:51:00.002+10:00

Being new to Buddhism, I get most of my dharma teachings via the wonderful interwebs. Therefore I have to say, I love the invention of the podcast.

This dog appreciates Tami as much as I do

Witness now the Bookbird, strolling down her street on a Sunday, meandering along, contemplating Fractal Time. Or running on the treadmill at the gym, getting a bit pissed off with the sharp talking dude from Against the Stream but also liking him a little bit too. Consider her, her little feet tapping along as she walks to work, contemplating the dubious fellow who is talking about non-meditation. And look - there she goes - trying to do the grocery shopping and listen to a fantastic talk about the movie Unmistaken Child (Do a search for Tricycle Magazine on iTunes for this last one).

So I recently heard a podcast from Sounds True with Lama Surya Das. I had never heard of him. But actually I really liked it! Tami is a great interviewer and is funny as well. She also often asks the question that is floating through my mind at the time. If you look at the iTunes list of Sounds True podcasts, you will find this one with Lama Surya Das on the 18th of August.

Lama Surya Das is talking about pith instructions. Instructions that are designed to be given in ten words or less - very suitable for our fast talking, quick thinking generations. He also talked a lot about his history as a teacher and concepts he had found helpful.

Here is an example of a pith instruction: "As It Is."

That's it - that's the whole thing. But bam! It really got me! Yes! That is what I am trying to do - where I am trying to go - how I am trying to sit. Yay! I am thinking to talk to The Kamikazen about incorporating it into one of his wicked cool designs - and then getting a tattoo. Yeah!

Another one: "Everything Is Transition." The idea that we are all in liminal spaces - in between - where things are neither here nor there - completely liminal - like bardo, I guess.

Lama Surya Das also gives some nifty instructions for Tibetan Dream Yoga - which I haven't tried as yet so can't vouch for their entire niftiness. However it seemed kind of cool.

I liked the humanness of Lama Surya Das as at one point he gives a little weary pause and says, yes it is very hard to bring Bodhisattva principles to dealing with "hormone ridden" teenagers. It is hard to be wise, kind and centred. That was a moment of celebration for me. If even this guy has trouble with teenagers, well then maybe my struggles are okay as well.

You know, we are kind of everywhere

My heart sunk a little at one comment he makes. He does say that it is better for children to have two parents. To that I say - no bloody way. I know many kids with one parent who are happy, healthy beings. I also know many families who have three or more caregivers - which just means more love for them. It's pretty regular for kids whose parents/ carers are in a same sex relationship to have a range of peeps around them to love them and tell them they are awesome.

I'm so over these kinds of generalisations! The diversity of families are myriad and beautiful. There is no need for a prescriptive formula. Come on Lama Surya Das! Move towards enlightenment on this one!

But in all this was a great interview and fun to hear. I really liked the statement that we should try and mingle our lives with the dharma. That was good! And something even I can work towards.

So roll on podcasts! If anyone out there has one to recommend, please post it below!

today's fashion brought to you by bookbird

2010-09-24T11:53:00.000+10:00

You are trapped. There is no way out. Endless colours, shapes and people swirl in a giant eddy of terror. You are spun hideously around and around, until you realise with a shudder that this is the true nature of the existence of this place.

The true nature of THE SHOPPING MALL.

Oh the terror, the complete mind altering terror

For some reason unknown to man, you have decided to buy new jeans today, thus entering the portal of the carpark, fighting your way to the surface and finally emerging into the many layers of THE MALL.

Around you, gorgeous and hideous beings drift. Endless prams spin their wheels as parents beg children to just behave, oh god, please behave. Nothing brings a person to their knees, babbling in terror, like trying to buy jeans in a place like this. Let alone the bizzare incongruity of listening to a talk by Pema Chodron on my ipod at the same time.

I know I have erred but it is too late. I have been wearing two pairs of jeans over and over for too long and they are becoming frayed and disenchanted. I also harbour the illusion that by coming here I will somehow hunt down and capture that elusive thing called "style". What is "style"? How can it be that at the age of 33 I still do not have my own "style"? How is it that friends eye me with pity, kindness and occasional alarm when I try out something new? And how is it that the clothes I wore as an adolescent are almost identical to what I wear now?

When I was a teenager I strayed into the dangerous and daft world of reading Dolly Magazine. It was there that I read an "article" which was to shape my life forever. "Blue Jeans and A Black Tshirt!" screamed the article. "You Can't Go Wrong!" And thus, my "style" was born. I own many pairs of black t-shirts. But jeans is the key in this ensemble. Therefore I need the frigging jeans to make this work.

So I go into various stores in search of things to make me instantly acceptable, sexy and beautiful. I would also like items that make me look ethical, smart and down to earth. I want things that let me have my androgyny, whilst at the same time illustrating that I am a girl. I don't want anything that anyone else is wearing. And I would like my sizable, curvaceous and generally large arse to fit into the said items.

This last point proves to be the challenge. Witness me contemplating how to express to a tiny, excitable sales assistant that my beautiful buttocks are too enormous to fit into any item she has.

From my time in this shop I would like to also inform you that floral is somehow the new black. Hideous "vintage" floral, teamed with lime green and a shade of yuck. Ethics are somehow "fashionable", as illustrated by the fucking awful tragedy of a discount shop selling shirts by the World Wildlife Fund, which I am guessing are all made in China in an overcrowded factory. I briefly look at the shirt, examining the print of a lion wearing sunglasses, but decide there are other ways to save the world. I just don't know what they are anymore. I have been in THE MALL for too long.

I also want to tell the Sales Assistant that despite the endless remixes of Lady Gaga and Katy Perry music, everything here is dog ugly. You would have to be in a nightclub, on an eclipse, when the power went out for anyone to wear anything that is in this shop. Which is of course when I realise that the Sales Assistant is wearing the exact blouse that is on a clothes rack to my left.

This is when the criminal stuff begins. My mind says,"Actually it doesn't look too bad on her. Maybe if I just lost ten kilos, I could... Then maybe I would... They people would certainly think that I was... Hmm."

Is it good? Is it bad? I don't know!

It is around about this time that I leave the shop, having bought a mutherfucking blouse. Which I will never wear. Which I despise. Which I will replace almost instantly by a black tshirt.

Anyway - the Jeans Conundrum. I stumble into a Store of Immense Funkiness and find a bargain bin of last seasons jeans. After trying on a pair I note that they can zip up, they are blue, they appear to be denim, and they are $15. Yes. The price is right, and the need to escape is pressing. I buy the jeans and a five dollar hat. Why the hat? It was there. IT WAS THERE GODDAMNIT IT.

So here I am, having lurched to freedom at a nearby cafe. I have two shirts, one of which I hate, and a pair of jeans that may be ill advised.

But I have reckoned all of this with my Impeccable Bookbird Logic, which is as follows... I am sure I can lose ten kilos in the next month or two, and then I will be back. I know I have said this for the last ten years, but believe me when I tell you - I will be back.

Oh yes. And next time, "Style", your arse is mine.

book notes: Grace and Grit

2010-09-23T11:36:00.001+10:00

A few people who read my blog will know that I have, of late, been grappling with the concept of death. Specifically, the idea that people I love will actually die. Probably before me. And it will hurt - more than I know what to do with.

So I came to this book really wanting to know how people manage this thing. And do they manage this thing? Or does it just manhandle them, push them around and kick them a lot?

Before I read Grace and Grit, I also had very little idea about Buddhism, Ken Wilbur, or anything. A friend lent it to me, saying, "Just skip the confusing philosophy stuff and read the bits by Treya."

Grace and Grit
(plus an unintentional fern)

So that's not a bad way to come to a book, really. And there was so much about this book that I just loved, loved, loved.

The basic story of this book is that two people called Ken and Treya find each other and fall crazy in love. They click completely and make each other happy. Then Treya discovers she has breast cancer. She is sick and becomes more unwell. The book charts the five years of this journey, the painful illness and her eventual death.

What it also charts is the luminous nature of Treya. The profound and vulnerable letters she writes to her friends and loved ones. The incredible honesty. The surrender - the dark and painful surrender she makes - which in turn brings her light and joy.

For me one of the most brilliant parts of this book is the honest retelling of the disintegration of the relationship between Treya and Ken. For a time there, they lose each other. They lose themselves and they lose direction. Everything is messy and nothing is kind. And nothing in this retelling is a Hallmark Card ... everything feels completely real. I have to pay that, really.

The other fascinating part of this book is the journey of Ken. He is the carer and the intellectual. For me it felt like for much of the experience he is just trying to process things in his own way, by joining the dots between this and that, and finding knowledge where he can. I didn't mind reading his philosophical stuff, actually. I don't know that it was intentional, but over the course of the book his voice changes as well. The final chapter written by Ken completely undid me - left me bawling and happy and sad all at once. His voice is on the page, as raw as a person can get. There wasn't much philosophy or dense text. There was just simple descriptions of the transformative power of love and breath and living.

I took many lessons from this book. Firstly, in times of stress, all relationships can get a bit fucked up. But that doesn't mean there is nowhere to go from that. Or, that two people aren't supposed to make it through.

Secondly, Treya has a wonderful revelation that resonated for me. At some point she decides to move from "doing" to just "being". Oh yes, that sounds very simple, but for me it was like a sunrise.

So although this book is credited to Ken Wilber solely, I would suggest that you keep in mind it is written by them both. Treya's journal entries are fascinating and heartfelt - just as much as Ken's words are descriptive and insightful. And I know Ken Wilber is now quite the dude in Buddhism circles - and there are lots of passionate points of view about him - but I don't think anyone can deny that this book is quite a wonderful piece of work.

This book was first printed in 1991, which is nineteen years ago. But as far as I am concerned, it could have been written yesterday. That is the way that it talked to my heart.

me and Homer compare notes

2010-09-10T09:32:00.000+10:00

As many folks know, I'm a Buddhist n00b.

I'm so new on the path I don't know how to pronouce anything, bow properly, address monks and nuns appropriately or what tradition I really belong to. I haven't taken refuge yet because I don't really know how. I don't know what happens if you are standing there, attempting to take refuge and forget the words. Does Buddha have a sense of humour? I hope so. Do I get hit with a stick sometimes? And by who? Or is that only cranky zen folk that do the hitting with a stick? How many bowls of water are there supposed to be? Why is it water? What direction do we fill them in? How do I use the mala - do I even use the mala? Is it just for special people? If you pick a tradition to belong to and then decide you don't like the stick thing, can you swap? And so on.

from elephantjournal.com

I have a brother in law who is a Buddhist. He is very different to me. He likes to tell me the answers to questions I'm not very interested in without me asking him anything first. He doesnt like certain other traditions of Buddhists. He calls them rude names. It's kind of confusing. I guess he's human. Sometimes I really want to kick him.

I stopped writing this blog for a week or so because I suddenly felt like a dust mote on top of the speck that sits in the corner of the dark end of the meditation centre, probably facing the wrong way.

D'oh!

I feel like Homer Simpson, walking into walls and shouting D'oh! That is me. I kind of wondered to myself, what business is it of mine to have anything to say here? I dont know anything!

About a year ago I was talking to my friend M, and we were saying what a bummer it was to realise life was a delusion and that we were creating our own suffering. Now that I am woken up in this way I CAN NEVER GO BACK. I want to, sometimes. I want to get mad at people and blame them and eat cookies and reinforce that it was completely the fault of my childhood. I don't want to remember that if I am mindful I can work with my anger, and my cookie addiction.

And more to the point, now that I have a glimpse of mindfulness, I feel sensitive to everything. I am trying to stay in my body and feel what is happening when I get mad. How some anger makes me lightheaded, and some anger sits in my guts. And what happens when I try and ventilate this feeling, breathing into it, settling into it. It makes me accountable for my actions -- gives me an understanding of cause and effect. And it tells me that without doubt I am responsible for how I am in this world.

Last night I was thinking about all of this, tucked up in my little bed, warm and snug. And I thought, it can't be just me that is confused and feeling dumb. It can't be just me that starts every question with, 'This is going to sound silly, but..." So I thought, why not blog about this feeling.

Maybe lots of people started out like me - a Homer Simpson in the room full of Bodhisattvas. I have to think that it is better to keep writing, and reveal myself as a vulnerable, bumbling bookbird - than pretend I know what the hell I am doing.

You know, I like Homer though. He is eternally optimistic. He gets scared. He tries new things. He looks like an idiot. He laughs a lot. He feels things deeply but can also let things go. He's not afraid to be himself. He loves people. .... Maybe it's not so bad to be Homer afterall. ;)

why blog?

2010-08-28T08:07:00.001+10:00

I have been inspired to jot this down because of a recent piece from The Reformed Buddhist, where it's total squirrel thug life over there. His piece is called The Dukkha of Blogging, and I have seen a couple of bloggers asking these questions of late. Why blog? What's the point? People misunderstand us, get cranky, hook in to different aspects of our lives and having various things to say which can be hurtful. Or! They can say various things to us which stroke our ego, make us feel superhuman and like we have stumbled onto some kind of Buddhist motherload. For myself I can really feel buoyed by these comments! It's hard not to get attached to that. It's interesting watching myself try.

Well isn't that just the point? Why blogging is part of my practice? Because man oh man do I get sucked in by the Eight Worldly Dharmas- Praise and Blame (we want the praise, but not the blame), Loss and Gain (we just want the gain part) and Fame and Defame (ok so that's maybe why I sometimes feel happy when I get over fifty hits on a blog post) and Pleasure and Pain.

Here's a great and helpful post from Nathan over at Dangerous Harvests about this - except he calls it the Eight Worldly Winds. I like that - it does feel like winds that throw us all over the place.

The thing is, from what I understand, we can't control any of this. We can't control when we will get blamed, or when we feel pain. We also can't really control when pleasure comes our way, when someone looks at our blog and says, "oh that's awesome and has made my day" - or when someone looks and says, "that mofo I should kick his/ her arse".

I don't want to make light of what others are feeling. It is NOT okay for someone to attack you personally for whatever reason. Getting negative or upsetting comments on your blog would be a crap and awful feeling. I personally think - delete them when they come in - why not? It's your personal space. It's not okay for someone to write hateful things on your bedroom walls, so why leave them on your blog? Who does it help to leave them there? It does show them up to be a bully and a nitwit - but if it feels yuck, then get rid of them.

But why do I blog? Well, a lucky and lovely friend of mine is a student of Venerable Pema Chodron. One of Pema's first requests to my friend was that she begin to keep a practice journal. I was inspired by that - so this is mine.

Dharma may be my map, but this blog aims to chart the territory. I blog to connect with people and to learn more. It helps me think about new concepts, and gives me a place to ask questions. It makes me reflect - do I really feel this? Was it really like that? Am I trying to portray myself as someone else and not myself? Why am I afraid to write this? Why does it matter to me if people comment or not? And so on.

Maybe this makes me a bit naive. Actually yes it probably does. But this blog is a touchstone of authenticity for me - a place where the rubber hits the road. And all I hope for is that people see that autheticity and through that, see me.

Pema Chodron and the dentist

2010-08-27T15:04:00.000+10:00

As I type, I am reflecting on the fact that I still can't feel my chin.

Nobody in this world likes the dentist - and this week I had my wisdom teeth out. Two on Tuesday, and one today - about two hours ago. My mouth is full of gauze right now.

It was ouchy. It was interesting how frightened I was. On Tuesday I took my mala so that I could just try and remember that everything was going to be okay. I kept internally chanting "may I be safe" etc but my breathing got so ragged they had to stop for a bit. The nurse and the dentist kept saying - just keep breathing, just keep breathing. I thought this was excellent advice, and finally just concentrated on breath going in, breath going out. Not on the sharp pointy things that were in my mouth or the crunchy noises that were happening.

Time stretched out in an awful elastic manner. Then I had the revelation to just be present with every second, rather than anticipating the next feeling. Okay, I said to myself. Here is the needle entering the roof of my mouth. Here is my body, lying quietly. I was shaking like a leaf - so pay attention to the tremors. Consider the myriad of people all over the globe who are having this experience as well, right now, with no pain killers.

In the end there was no thought - there was nothing - just me, breathing. In and out. Waiting for the end.

Today when I went I forgot my mala. This was not good. I was lying there, trying to clasp my fingers and not run away. The nurse and the dentist had a minor disagreement about the choice of music to play - the nurse wanted Genesis. As if things could get any worse! I closed my eyes rather than see the needle this time. I tried to be curious but I was terrified. I paid attention to my breathing. He gave me extra needles to make sure I couldn't feel anything when the tooth was removed. He bickered over the forceps - which look like shiny pliers - and said they weren't quite the right size.

My god, there is nothing like enforced surrender. A person who makes you lie there, and you have to trust them completely, utterly. You don't get to say when, or how, or what is going to happen. You just have to lie down and hope for the best.

Anyway, there I was in the chair, and he was wiggling around with the forceps and trying to wrench out the tooth. I was breathing, breathing. And then out of nowhere I pictured Ven Pema Chodron there with me. Standing with me. Simply saying breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. And I held on to that very tightly.

And then with a pull, the tooth was out, and the nurse was saying, well done, well done. I wanted to cry badly but I had to concentrate on not passing out. The dentist was saying this and that, but I was thinking, holy crap, I DON'T LIKE THIS.

Anyway, I was paying at the front counter afterwards, and the receptionist goes, "How did you go - are you okay?" I answer with a thumbs up and I say, "I just feel so lucky to live here. Where we can afford this. We are so lucky." She nods and smiles and I think, I bet she knows some horror stories... and then I feel even gladder that she doesn't tell them to me.

So thanks again to Pema Chodron. I bet she doesn't think of me having visions of her when I am at the Dentist. But you know it really helped.

Here is a picture of a dog with the expression that was on my face (my face is not as furry):

old grief but fresh tears

2010-08-20T08:40:00.002+10:00

I am finding an interesting thing happening with my practice. When I say interesting, I mean terrifying, alarming and fearful. But what I wish I meant was... well, interesting. I wish I knew how to stay curious with what is happening on the cushion. But I just feel freaked out and completely adrift.

I keep getting swept away in grief. The tears begin and I can't breathe so good. I keep repeating this to myself (with thanks to Sharon Salzberg):
"May I be safe
May I have mental happiness
May I have physical happiness
May I live in ease"

But all I feel is wild, unfathomable sadness.

Today I responded to the #OMC callout on twitter and sat for fifteen minutes. The tears began and I could feel them falling into my hands. I imagined my twitter Sangha sitting with me, breathing, breathing. The idea of compassion flowing towards me made me cry harder. Don't laugh about the idea of an online crew - it is keeping me afloat and I am showing up to the cushion more than I ever have in my life. Those peeps don't know how much they mean to me.

For me this is the hardest and most wonderful time in my life, and all my emotions are just under my skin, and anything can happen and I am so full of grief or anger or fear or anything - I feel like a paper boat in big oceans - and I don't know how to do this.

Last year my Mum, my dear and lovely Mum, was diagnosed with motor neurone disease, which as anyone knows is a real fucker of a thing. She is about fifty six now - she is pretty young. What is wonderful is that she is still here now. Not everyone gets a heads up that someone they love in the same way they love the sun is going to leave them soon. I feel blessed to have that karma, that I can see her and we connect. We enrolled together in a Masters in Writing, by distance education. We knit together and I made my first tea cosy a while back. I spend time with my wonderful Dad and we bushwalk together, and talk. How blessed I am.

But how long does she have? Nobody knows. It's a horrible disease and nobody really understands anything about it. It affects everyone differently. We do know that the doctors don't understand why she is still alive and functioning so well. She can't talk anymore, or eat all that much, and she gets very tired fast. And yes, oh god yes, she is suffering. And I am finding it unbearable to watch her suffer and not know how to save her from it.

My dear friend J said to me a couple of weeks ago, "I don't think I like this dying thing. Realising that everyone I love, my kids, my partner, my friends, my parents, will all die." I have to agree. I don't like it and the feeling of groundlessness is beyond hard.

I know the map is not the territory. In the past I have spent time talking to friends who lose someone. But there is nothing like this feeling of knowing she is leaving me, leaving us. How will I help my Dad through this? My stepkids? How honestly can I live on this planet without her?

Today on the cushion with the #OMC I hit upon something very raw. Something shifted and I began to repeat this with my Mum in mind:
"May she be safe
May she have mental happiness
May she have physical happiness
May she live in ease"

And I just wept. I just broke.

I don't want to face this fear. I don't know how to take the warrior's stance, with my sword of mindfulness in hand. I don't know how. I have a loving partner and wonderful friends about me. But sometimes I just feel so alone.

But the sun is bright today. Outside my big window the tall gumtrees are shaking their branches in the wind. A bright red camellia flower is lifting its head to the day, and from where I sit a photo of Pema Chodron smiles at me. I hold on to gratitude for these things.

But still, but still, I don't want to let her go.

holidays with a bookbird

2010-08-18T06:49:00.001+10:00

my partner W and i went away on holiday last week - for a whole week! It was pretty wonderful. We live in the Mountains, so this time we headed for the ocean... and the river...

My partner took these photos! We went to Byron Bay, Bellingen and Port Macquarie.

panic! with a houseplant

2010-08-15T07:50:00.001+10:00

Today I am utterly beset by panic. From past experience I know that for me, panic leads to inaction.

Or actually, it leads to unfocused and random actions - such as suddenly deciding it is CRITICAL to rearrange the pantry, or buy myself a new desk chair. Or perhaps spend an hour or so obsessing about ways I can actually get my teenage stepdaughter to clean her room without being asked. In all, meaningless things.

I am living in Panic Town because a month or so ago I did a dangerous thing and decided to enact a dream of mine - an old cherished, well handled but only mildly examined dream -- that I was a Writer and should do my Masters in Writing. Yes Indeedy. By distance education, in fact. (Like all the cool kids are doing these days)

So I filled in some paperwork, sent off some forms, submitted a merry portfolio of half finished whatsits and things, and felt great. I told my friends, sent out a tweet, updated my facebook status. And Proceeded Not To Write A Damn Thing. I told myself that there was Plenty of Time for That Later and all would be well.

Ahahaha.

And then I was accepted.

That's fine, I told myself, no worries. I'm sure I will set myself time to write and such. At some point. Just not now. I really want to teach myself how to make cannelloni. That seems critical and people will love me if I can just do that. In the meantime I will rearrange my desk a few times. I will buy a Houseplant! Yes! Everyone loves a writer with a Houseplant!

Weeks pass and gentle panic sets in. Just gently at the borders of things. I can feel it nibbling away as I water the Houseplant. I continue, blithely. I drink more coffee.

Then last night I check my online enrolment etc and find that by next weekend I need to have 2,000 words of something that will be discussed by the class. Holy Meatballs, Batman! I have been avoiding looking at the course knowing it might tell me something that I have to do - and now it really is telling me that I Should Have Been Doing The Whole Writing Thing For Some Time Now.

So last night I really panicked. I fought with my partner and was quick to anger with my stepdaughter. I went into denial and read a book. I looked at the course again and thought about what a moron I was for applying in the first place. I told myself I was a git and what was I thinking and should I give up now.

Then lying in bed last night, Still Not Having Written A Damn Word, I couldn't relax or settle. I thought about getting up - but to do what? What if I sat down in front of the screen and came to the bitter and brutal realisation that I WAS NO GOOD AT THIS STUPID WRITING THING IN THE FIRST PLACE.

This morning I woke up at Stupid O'Clock. I rolled out of bed and thought -- how about I apply principles of meditation to this conundrum. What about the idea of just Start Where You Are. Put pen to paper. Don't water the Houseplant. Just begin.

So today I am going to work this way. Just begin and see what happens. Of course, many will read this post and say - isn't your addiction to blogs and blog related activity something of an avoidance technique? Hmmm?

Well I am looking at this as more of a Pep Talk. Hopefully I listen to myself. Come on bookbird, don't push the button marked panic in large friendly letters. Just sit and begin!

fearless and shameless

2010-08-05T19:26:00.000+10:00

This is my year to live FEARLESSLY and FEROCIOUSLY! And goddamnit, to live without shame.

When I was in my mid-twenties I wrote a play that came from something deep inside me. I think it was a bit wild, really. It wasn't all that well crafted but it was raw and weird and strange... and it was me. I wasn't afraid to write it. It was hard, and it was creepy, but it all went on the page.

I wrote that play to the soundtrack of one album - Living In Clip by Ani Difranco. It is a freaky, brave, bold album. When I hear it, I am fearless again.

Here is that wonderful song: Shameless.

And if anyone wants to comment below, can you tell me-- what music makes you fearless?

twelve buddhist blogs worth getting out of bed for

2010-08-04T08:53:00.001+10:00

Well one thing I have noticed is that Buddhists love a good list. Four Noble Truths, three jewels, Noble Eightfold path and so on.

So here is a little list of Twelve Blogs of Helpfulness. (in no particular order)

This Diabolical City is the blog belonging to T_Y. She is an ordained western Buddhist nun and student of Venerable Thubten Tenzin. T_Y has a 7 year old daughter (Cutie Kid) They radically unschool, live in a nun's community and work for all living beings. The reason I love this blog is that it has heart. And it's Australian! Sometimes it even has pictures!

Big Girl Buddha Pants is another good one. This blogger talks a lot about living with integrity and walking with truth. It can be very tender at times and i really enjoy being let into her world. Plus she is funny. Her page says: "I'm the girl next door in motorcycle boots. Invite me to dinner and I'll bring the homemade cookies and conversation about Buddhism, Voltaire and why I'd like to be a mother in France. Then the next day I'll send you a thank you note on Kate Spade stationary." I mean, come on. What's not to love.

Sweep the Dust, Push the Dirt I really love this guy's blog. Plus, its a place where loads of other interesting bloggers say things. Which means you find other people's blogs this way. And then, as we know about the interwebs, you have fallen down the rabbit hole completely and have learnt six impossible things before breakfast. He is a Zen practitioner, so that's new to me. Check out the Forums bit - that has some cool stuff.

The Reformed Buddhist A great blog - and not just because of the squirrels. I mean, I appreciate squirrels as much as the next person, but the mix of irreverence and interesting analytical thought is really engaging. And seriously fun. Plus, it's another great place to read good comments from other people.

Dangerous Harvests Here is a blogger who has brains as well as heart and is not afraid to weigh into a debate if he knows it's not okay to stay silent. I like his thoughtful posts very much. An excellent name for a blog, because really, it's the dangerous stuff which has so much to teach us.

Smiling Buddha Cabaret this is a very brainy blog. If i want some serious sit-down-and-think-about-this time, I will go here with a cup of coffee and do some reading. As a newbie in the Buddhist universe, I like learning a lot. And I have learnt heaps from this blog. And there is a kazillion links to look at.

Wake Up and Laugh Oh gorgeous pictures, lovely stories, thoughtful words and six different contributors. Always something interesting to see and consider. A real gem.

Dukkha Girl is also subtitled One Woman's Search for Everything Here and Now in Her Own Backyard. That is because it is broad and beautiful and fascinating and funny and interesting. And you have to know I love the retro stuff - complete awesomeness. Check out the Zencessories.

Out of the Lotus a very fascinating and quirky read. I haven't entirely wrapped my head around it yet, but I do find myself going back for more. Has an interesting writing style.

Mind Deep this woman is wonderful. This blog is focused on mindfulness. She has lots of good lists as well - twenty great female Buddhist teachers living in America - that kind of thing. Just fantastic.

An Appropriate Response A thoughtful and wise blog from a questioning person. An excellent combination of things! I am very fond of looking all over this blog and thinking about things afterwards. Plus Irisha has a strong good heart and is not afraid to use it.

Beginners Mind here is a simple little blog - not fancy or wacky or anything - but an engaging read from a female zen practitioner. She writes about things that I like to know about - how the everyday can be an excellent teaching. And she likes animals, so I like that as well.

If you have a blog you want to recommend, put a link in a comment below! I am always looking for new people to read and see. I have never actually met any of these bloggers except over the interwebs.

By the way, if you like these blogs and want to recommend them for an award - go here: Blogisattva Awards You will find more blogs than you can poke a stick at. And some are just freaking awesome!

With metta and a deep bow to all these writers! :)

i don't do cute.

2010-07-31T11:19:00.003+10:00

Okay. Once I was living in a very strange house on a hill. It had in the past been an old maternity hospital - very old. It became a sharehouse, filled with strange people with various spiritualities and beliefs. It was kind of awesome but also very creepy. For many years it had been home to a new age cult type group who had painted all the walls bright colours and communicated with a spaceship which still hovered above the building. For reals. I didn't know any of these things when I first moved in!

However, you know, I did show up to look at the room wearing my black cloak and a couple of odd talismans. So its not surprising they thought I would fit in. But then, living in the town I was living in, this kind of thing is still remarkably common.

The lovely man living in the central room there tried to talk to me about his spiritual beliefs. There were certain numbers that we were assigned from birth which showed how advanced we were in this incarnation. This also led us to see what colour we were most attuned to. He himself made the most amazing outfits that he would wear about the place - all in the most brilliant shade of blue.

The walls had lots of charts and illustrations about these ideas and concepts. The problem is that something in me just kept saying -- uh, well, I just don't think so, man. I think because there was no acknowledgment that these stories we spin around ourselves are somehow just distractions from the main event.

And often, in all of these "spiritual" stories, a dominant story is just reinforced over and over - that women are supposed to be these cute, nurturing, silent types who get along really well with kids and animals. That we should all just embrace our inner goddess and trust the goodness of the main (generally male) teacher. And then we should make some hash brownies and smile heaps.

Erm..... No. I don't buy it.

I don't like it when people just insist we should all just hold hands and sway in a circle until our universes are attuned and bliss comes out our mofo ears -- when in reality we actually need to have a real, genuine conversation that perhaps our spiritual Teacher keeps sleeping with the students. (Not to be topical, or anything.) Or that we need to really address the fact that thousands of people are sleeping rough in our streets, or that women escaping from domestic violence sometimes can't feed their kids or find a place to stay.

I don't want to avoid the world. I want to live in it. I want to have eyes open. I don't want to be cute.

I'm not saying that I always know how to do this. I don't. But goddamnit I will die trying.

a dog called millie

2010-07-31T10:25:00.001+10:00

My folks bought this puppy from a pet shop. She had been stuck there for quite a while, getting more and more freaked out by life, the universe and everything. Only recently has she let anyone pick her up or pat her. She's a bit of a neurotic mess. I can identify! :)

karma and rebirth - Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche IX

2010-07-28T20:27:00.002+10:00

Last weekend I went to my first real Dharma Talk. This is true: most of my learning has been done via podcast, dharma friends, audio books (thankyou forever Ani Pema Chodron) and books. Lots of books. That has not been a bad thing, but I was keen to sit with a teacher in person and hear what they had to say.

So actually it was with trepidation that I went to the Buddhist Library in Sydney, took off my little shoes awkwardly at the top of the stairs and sat down to listen to Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche IX.

Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche IX is the spiritual director of Yeshe Nyima. Rinpoche was recognised as the ninth incarnation of the Traleg lineage at the age of two and was enthroned as Abbot of Tra'gu Monastary in Kham, Tibet. He is also a pretty funny guy! He was very friendly, patient, and thoughtful. I didn't always understand what he was saying, because I am still learning. But as someone behind me said, "I was just glad to be in his presence!"

This talk was titled "Karma and Rebirth - Everything Is In Relationship". Just from the title I was intrigued. I can see that we are all interwoven stories - all sentient beings are interdependent- but how does karma inform that? I really wanted to know. Also, turns out that Rinpoche was writing a book which will be published by Shambala on the subject. So he was very knowledgeable.

Here are a couple of things that Rinpoche had to say:

"One becomes what one is... due to what one is doing."
"Karma creates me, and I create karma."
"Our past has lead us to where we are, but we don't have to remain there."
"There is no permanent self."
"Nowhere does it say that a person 'deserves' pain or suffering."
"We can use our past for our own good - to move through difficult karma. We can benefit our present circumstances this way."

It was pretty encouraging stuff, really. I couldn't stay for the whole weekend - I couldn't afford it this time - but the two sessions on the Saturday were interesting. I also thought he was very generous. People asked all kinds of questions and he thought about it and then he answered each one to the fullest. I really appreciated that!

I was there with my friends M and K. They both got more from it I think - because they already knew so much about Buddhism. I was still catching up with key concepts!

But so much about the experience was terrific. Watching all the different people in the crowd was cool. Some knew lots, some didn't. One person asked if it was true that birds who live near monasteries attain better karma, and are more likely to be reborn human. Another person asked if you get bonked on the head by a brick, can you attain enlightenment just like that? Some people asked about the karma of eating meat, and some people asked questions about regretting things at the moment of death. Great questions! Great people!

In all I am finding my biggest asset to be unending curiosity. I am good at that! I don't know much... about much at all. But I can stay searching and curious.

Also - it was the first time I have sat with a bunch of people and meditated. What a thing! What a strange and powerful sensation! Many minds all at once, trying for single pointed focus. Wow!

I might just be hooked.

what if i was romeo in black jeans?

2010-07-27T08:01:00.000+10:00

I heard this song on the radio yesterday and my heart was instantly hooked. I had visions of my teenage, angsty self... my awkward wacky ways... and of a young girl living in complete denial that I was as gay as a party hat.

Here's the thing. I really, really wanted to be Romeo. In black jeans. Probably in a tight black t-shirt. Certainly slim, althletic, poetic, and dashing. I wanted persons of all genders to acknowlegde that I was in fact the sauciest thing around.

Alas, instead I was lumpy, confused and a bit of a loose canon. I refused to wear shoes around school. I was in the drama class and was suitably... well... dramatic. I wandered about quoting Keats to people, and thought about Waiting for Godot more than I should. I had poetry mates and swapped poems with them. I was passionate, eccentric, and frankly a fair bit nuts.

This was made worse by being cast as Juliet in the high school production of "Romeo and Juliet". Gah! All Juliet does is hang about!! Die a bit, come back to life, and die some more. Bloody hell. But Romeo.... he gets in sword fights, loves it up and dashes away.... Romeo. What a dude. Despite the fact that Romeo was in tights, I loved him. I wanted to be him.

You may not be surprised that during this time, I even broke up with a boy by quoting Shakspeare at him. Poor lad. He was probably glad to see me go.

In fact, I still love Shakespeare. Shakespeare is brutal, bitter, wild and damaging. Shakespeare, done properly, hurts like a mofo. Madness underlies so much of its brilliance. He was a gender-bending, codpiece wearing, loopy guy. What's not to love? I ask you! Shakespeare is undeniably a double rainbow all the way.

Here is that wonderful song, for no other reason than the fact that this is my blog and I am the boss of it so I can do whatever I want.

in memoriam

2010-07-23T09:50:00.001+10:00

This is a blog about books, dharma .... and dogs. That's because dogs are wise, gentle and eccentric beings. They have a wonderful sense of humour, they know how to be joyful, and they know when we are sad. They know when we are missing - and run to the door when the sound of the key is in the lock. They are compassionate, creative and smart.

They are the closest thing I have ever come to receiving unconditional love. And, when I think of someone that I have loved unconditionally, I think of my dog Nahla.

So it was with incredible grief that I said goodbye to her in May this year. And I didn't blog about it. I think I just lost all my words for a while.

At the time there were many griefs in my life, and a lot of difficult circumstances. But something about the loss of her was so sharp and irretrievably brutal that all my pain became focused on that moment when her breath left her body, and she was still in my arms.

She was an old dog, and when we rescued her from the RSPCA (called the Pound in the USA, I think) she was in the Save Our Seniors club. She needed a home badly, as she had been surrendered a month previously and was incredibly depressed. The woman working there explained that Nahla's depression would probably be the reason she would be put down, because her quality of life would be so low. I remember that my partner and I looked at each other at that moment and knew she was the one for us. She also had a graze on her nose, which we know now is because when she gets anxious she scratches it on the concrete to show her distress.

This is Nahla on her first day home at our house:

And here she is on a walk near the lake:

She was such a playful, funny old thing. She loved being wherever the people were, and was a constant shadow to whoever was home. If you got up to get a cup of tea, she would get up too, and walk with you to the kitchen. And when you had made it, walk back with you to the lounge.

Some dogs are obsessed with food - but Nahla was obsessed with patting. She loved being patted so much that if your feet were on the floor she would rest her head on them just to have the physical contact. If you had your legs on the footstool, she would walk underneath them, just so that your legs would brush along her back. She just wanted to know you were still there.

My partner nursed her through her final night as her breathing was ragged and distressed. In the morning Nahla went to the vets, and by the afternoon tests confirmed that her poor old body was full of cancers and that she was dying. We then had to make the difficult choice - should we take her home and let her live out her final days with us? Or should we let her go now?

I am sure you could literally hear our hearts breaking, knowing that the compassionate choice was to let her go. The vet let us decide. So we stayed with her for an hour or so, at the vets, patting her and talking to her. She was worried but also excited to see us, so kept trying to get up. But her back legs wouldn't work and she would fall down again. We sat on the floor with her, tears running down our faces. We had to wait until after closing time so that the vet had time to help us. So finally it was after five when the vet came into the back room with the medicine that would take our dear Nahla from this world to the next.

Nahla yelped as the needle went in. We spoke to her, my partner, the vet and I. The vet told her to let go, it was okay. We told her we loved her and that she was a good girl. We stroked her fur. Then she was gone.

When my partner and I got up I had the strong feeling that I couldn't leave her there - on the cold floor - I couldn't walk away - but when I turned back to see her, I could see that she was gone. I really wept then - we wept together - and I just kept saying over and over, "She's gone. She's gone." Something quite painful broke inside me just then.

So I didn't want to write this post for a long time. But yesterday I found myself driving to the RSPCA again, this time to volunteer to walk the dogs once a week. I felt Nahla with me. Sometimes when I am walking in the bush or along the road I feel her presence with me, like a shadow, by my side. I thought to myself that we will find each other in the next lifetime. I hope so.

Here is a post I wrote about my dog last year, with some pictures: Walk the Dog

Goodbye dear friend and thankyou for your kindness. You were wonderful and I love you.

With metta.... goodbye.

nobody has to know that i'm a bad buddhist

2010-07-20T06:28:00.003+10:00

It's Winter where I am. The dead of Winter. It's cold where I live. When the alarm on my mobile goes off at 5:30am, like it did this morning, my first emotion is always anger. Or maybe a mild cousin of anger - irritation, say, or extreme discontent.

My thought process generally goes like this:

What-the-fuck-am-I-doing-getting-up-at-this-fucking-fucker-of-an-hour. Who the hell am I kidding? I'm not Buddhist. I'm just some fad-loving wannabe with aspirations of fame.Yes, mofo, it's dark. Yes your little warm slippers are in the other room and your cold toesies might get colder on the wooden floors. For Godsake woman! Okay how about just for today you sleep in. Just this one time. Then you can get up tomorrow and start again. Why have a daily practice anyway? You could just TELL people that you practice meditation every day but not REALLY do it. I know that Nuns get up at 4am. I'm no nun. I don't have anything to prove. I could just practice throughout the day, anyway. What difference would it make if I don't show up to the cushion this one time? You know you're just gonna sit there and not even catch a single breath. You will have crazy monkey mind and it might be so bad that you cry. NOBODY HAS TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE A BAD BUDDHIST. Anyway, you've been sick. Nobody would judge you for that.

Then my mind pauses. The room is dark and my partner is happily sleeping in the bed beside me. I listen to the familiar arguments that my mind makes. I feel warm and a bit contented after all - I remember all these thoughts and I agree with them. It's true, I am no good. It's not worth it. I think, I might just stay right here til 6:30am. Then my brain says :

If you do get up, you'll feel like a hero. You do want to practice. You want to develop an everyday sitting practice because you KNOW in your HEART it will support you to live through suffering. You KNOW in your HEART it will help setient beings. You KNOW that each sitting is a flagstone in your path, and that path is your practice. You know that it won't kill you to get up, and sit in front of your beautiful altar for twenty minutes. Even ten breaths is good. You will live through the experience. And then tomorrow, when the alarm goes off, maybe you will be in the habit and it will be easier again. You know you WON'T regret sitting. But you might regret staying in bed.

All of this inner conversation happens over the space of about five minutes. Only five minutes!

But for me, those five minutes are a battlefield where I really have to stand my ground. That's the time when my mind is most critical of me, most angry with me. How can I cultivate gentleness at that moment?? How can I encourage my bruised heart to trust me -- to help me get up out of that bed and find the cushion?

For me I am trying to remake a habit - a habit I have cultivated for many many years of self hatred and self denial. Of general distress when it comes to looking closely at my own crap. Of expecting people to hate me, to laugh at me. Of expecting people to judge me, to measure me, and find me desperately below the mark. Sitting practice for me is about meeting that head on and saying, quietly but with gentle certainty - that is ENOUGH.

So I got up. I got up. I got up. I got up and met the cushion. I got up and bowed with respect to those thousands of Buddhists and friends who were sitting with me across the world. I bowed with respect to Venerable Ani Pema Chodron, whose teachings have allowed me access to my own mind and to lovingkindness.

Then I sat down. And I started again.

how i stopped worrying and learned to love the flu

2010-07-18T09:55:00.000+10:00

Arrggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ... hideous. Every atom in my being is cranky. Not angry, really, not sad, but just really really irritated. I hate having the flu. And yes, it brings out the worst in me.

I like to think that for me, the flu has three distinct stages.

Whiny stage: In which I stumble about the house, groaning a bit and complaining that I am feeling sick, probably coming down with something, do I look unwell? I feel my throat a lot, snap at people, and buy tissues that may or may not get used in the long run. I generally feel pissed off.

Crying stage: During which I find myself actually feeling sick. This was last week. I lay on the lounge looking bleakly upwards at the ceiling. Tissues strewn all over the floor. My nostrils were blocked and my head ached. My body ached. However, I could still get about the house. I successfully made myself a vege burger for lunch. As I returned to the refuge of the couch the burger slipped from my plate and elegantly landed on the floor, landing in a messy mess. And then... I cried. That's when I knew I had reached the second stage, when I felt really sorry for myself. I needed help, and the realisation brought me crashing down. Boo! Also during this stage, I really hate needing help from others. I apologise a lot for needing someone to bring me medicine. I hate this stage.

Immobility Stage: The final stage is something of a surrender. In this stage, you fall to pieces. Someone says, do you want some medicine? And you are so sick that your answer can only be... I have no idea. The person offers you food - and you think, is this a good idea? Do I eat now? I don't know. You realise in the fibre of your being that there is NOTHING YOU CAN DO BUT WAIT until the virus works its way through your now defenceless body. You don't really even know that "this too shall pass". You don't know much. And, in a kind of blessing, you don't feel angry. There is no energy for anger! I did reach this stage - but not for long. Maybe a day?

Of course I go from Stage three to Stage two... and back again. Today I woke up, and felt pissed off. This was my first indication that I am back to Stage One! I still feel a bit weak and whiny. I have proximity to painkillers. I want someone to give me sympathy. But overall... I am on the mend.

Having the flu was my lesson in surrender. A tangible (and tissue-strewn) lesson in letting go. I have to let go - everything is beyond my control. My face is full of pain. Nothing to be done! Vegeburger is on the floor - that's okay!

So today I am working on letting the storyline go as well - letting go of the irritation that goes with being sick, the hostility I feel towards my own body. Someone said to me recently that everything is the dharma - this is the dharma. This is the lesson. To love the flu for the lesson it is teaching me. Ah yes, today the Flu is my Guru.

wordless wednesday

2010-07-14T13:23:00.000+10:00

summer of lovingkindness invitational

2010-07-13T09:54:00.000+10:00

Ok so I am lucky number sixteen in the SOLI - Summer of lovingkindness invitational project. I didn't even know that Invitational was a word - but I like the concept - so I am jumping in with friendly and positive intention.

This is an online project for people to focus two months on creative expressions of lovingkindness - to the self, to others, to all sentient beings. This of course includes dogs! So you know I will be happy with that. You can twitter, blog or create online art. Anything you fancy. I like the idea because really, you can't have too much lovingkindess. And I aint talking the kind of malarkey you can find in Twilight or a Hallmark Card. I'm saying the kind of love that comes when your teenage stepdaughter is yelling down the hallway at you "Why should I do ANYTHING for you!" and your gut is churning but you just KEEP BREATHING and remembering that she is someone that you LOVE ferociously. You LOVE her. You REALLY DO. She pushes all your buttons but she is still a precious jewel of a person. Yes indeed.

That's what I mean by serious lovingkindness.

So if you want to get on board the SOLI Train, go here: I want me some lovingkindness and pronto Join up and get posting. There are lots of prompts there for people so you don't have to just leap into the deep end. SOLI ends on August 31st. I really wanna hear your stories!!

Blogisattva Awards!

2010-07-12T16:47:00.000+10:00

Too exciting! I have just stumbled on this wonderful site- these awards are abouy honouring excellence in English language Buddhist blogs. Wow!

Just check out the wonderful directory listing - blogs from all over the place - enough blogs to keep me reading for hours and hours and hours....!

If you write a blog about buddhism, why not add your site to the directory? And nominations don't close til November 1st 2010... so there is lots of time to look through the wonderful list of blogs and find who you want to nominate.

I have posted the Award Guidelines below... but you really should go straight to the source at the Blogisattva Awards and check it out.

Awards Guidelines

The 2010 Blogisattva Awards - To recognize and honor excellence within the Buddho-blogosphere

Just as in years past, these awards are about recognizing excellence in blogging about Buddhism, to introduce blogs that many may not know about to others and to help build a sense of community. Like many other online blogging genres that have their way of recognizing and fostering a better sense of community through recognition, so do us Buddhists. This is about blogging, and is only about Buddhism in so far as that is what flavors how we blog and what we write about. Here are a list of the categories and some of the guidelines.

Categories:
Blog of the year, Svaha!
Best Post of the Year
Best Achievement in Skilled Writing
Best Achievement Blogging on Buddhist Practice or Dharma
Best Buddhist Practice Blog
Best "Life" Blog
Best Blogging on Matters Philosophical, Psychological or Scientific
Best Achievement in Kind and Compassionate Blogging
Best Achievement Blogging Opinion Pieces or about Political Issues
Best Engage-the-World Blog
Best Achievement in Design
Best Achievement in Wide Range of Topic Interests Blogging
Best Achievement with Humor in a Blog Post

Guidelines:

The nominations are open to Buddhist blogging done between Dec 1, 2009 and Nov 1, 2010.

Once the nominations are complete, the panel of judges will choose the top 5 nominees for each category. (We are still determining how the final voting will be decided.)

For the "post" awards multiple posts for the same blogger may be submitted, but when the finalists are announced, they can have up to only 1 finalist spot.

The Administrators as well as the panel of judges for the Blogisattvas are ineligible for any awards.

For blogs to be considered for an award they have to be nominated. We encourage all bloggers, who may not be known to a larger audience yet, to nominate themselves if they so choose. Also, a nomination is not a vote, so adding a site once is enough to enter them into the nomination database.

The blog directory and the nominations have nothing to do with each other. The directory is a simple link list to Buddhist sites, and being added there does not mean that the site was nominated for an award.

A few "professional sites" will be excluded for the awards, in order to give the smaller known voices a chance to be recognized. We currently don't have a list, but it isn't very many.

The site doesn't have to necessarily be all about Buddhism, in fact it is encouraging to see people blog about there everyday lives, and how Buddhism and their world view fits in.

Learning to Breathe

2010-07-09T09:17:00.000+10:00

Alison Wright - "Learning to Breathe"

I was telling a friend about this book the other day and I realised again why I loved it.

You know, I'm all for cheesy books which tell us how someone survived something, and then almost didn't, and then did. Heartwarming, empowered ... yada yada. I support their existence in the world of books, but sometimes I just can't get into them. Maybe it's just really hard to tell a story of complete heartbreak without descending into cliched territory.

That is a true challenge for any writer - to speak the unspeakable but somehow tell the truth about it.

So I was sceptical about this book from Day One. But what I do love is that it comes straight from the heart - undoubtedly and completely real. Her heart is right there - the story is breathtaking - and her tenacity is incredible.

The story is her own - Alison Wright is an award winning photojournalist, who travels through third world countries to capture stories and conflict. One afternoon she is careering around a dangerous bend in a bus in Laos, when it suddenly collided head on with a logging truck. She lay on the side of the road, in complete agony, as bodies lay everywhere. So she drew on meditation practice to stay alive, to keep breathing. Her story then is just unbelievable - mostly because somehow she did stay alive. And then went on to accomplish things that you and I could only dream.

So I recommend this book to you. Wholeheartedly, without reserve I recommend it. It even has pictures! And for those of you interested in such things, the quote by the Dalai Lama sums it up for me on the front cover: "Alison's story makes it clear that if you have courage you can achieve what others consider to be impossible."

You can look at her website and her amazing photos here: http://www.alisonwright.com/

death to facebook!

2010-07-07T08:23:00.000+10:00

Yes, the stories are all true, I have killed off my facebook page. It was strangely liberating! I wrote messages to lots of friends and told them my email address, my skype, my twitter... and then pressed delete.

Facebook tried to change my mind. Emotionally manipulated me into hesitation and anxiety. It told me "your friends will miss you!" Like hell they will - I will make more time to see people, to skype people. And i will make more time for my actual life.

Reasons why Facebook is of the devil:
1)    Time wasting, energy sucking distraction
2)    Seeing people in real life is far more useful - and has actual connection involved
3)    Walking away gives me time for writing
4)    I was completely addicted to stupid games. I spent more time on a virtual farm than I have in the past year in my real garden. I served hundreds of friends in my virtual cafe when I could have been feeding them canneloni at my house. I pined over whether or not I would catch the mouse that held the key to the next level, and I trawled through posts to see who was doing what and when and to whom.
5) I realised that when I am online I am completely focused on the page. An hour can pass without much struggle. Yet when I am on the cushion meditating, I cannot train my mind to sit still for five minutes. That is why I should use my powers for good (mindfulness meditation) and not for evil (facebook facebook facebook!).

So let's see what happens. In the first instance, here's hoping that I spend more time on my blog, which makes me happy anyway. ;)

big sky

2010-01-22T06:51:00.002+11:00

Yesterday I was at home, trying to focus my energy on writing a job application. In the other room nearby, my teenage stepson and his mate are mucking about and making lots of noise. Chaos. Madness. (Albeit normal teenage behaviour ;) )

My Dad rang to talk to me about how Mum is doing in the hospital. We had initially thought that she might have as little as six months to live - we have been dealing with this diagnosis for about a year. But now from nowhere Dad tells me that the specialist has re-evaluated Mum's condition - and feels reasonably sure that Mum has a particularly rare version of this horrible disease. And because of this, Mum will probably live longer than a year. In fact, she might even live for a few!

At this point my body began floating - my perceptions of reality shifted - and my heart opened. Groundlessness. My Mum has been given extra years. And I have been given extra years with her! Instead of a death sentence - this is a life sentence!

After I got off the phone I barely knew my surroundings. I was on automatic pilot. The colours of everything seemed so sharp but so distant. I walked over to my stepson, J, and asked if he had dinner organised for himself and his friend, and as he didn't, I jumped in the car and went out to get it. And as I drove, I put on the new talk by Ani Pema Chodron. In her introduction she says to get a sense of spaciousness as you live. To do this, why not just look up at the sky?

When I got out of the car, I looked up. I really looked, I really felt, I really saw the sky. It opened up above me. Unknowable, bright hot blue, and completely open. I cried and cried - with a deep wisdom that something that I had lost ... has come back to me. The life of my mother.

All these months I have been learning the lesson of impermanence. The hard way. (Is there any other?) I know that death is inevitable for us all. We must all lose those people that we love. But yesterday to be told that I will have a little more time with her... well then that is cause for joy!

Ouija This!

2010-01-03T08:53:00.000+11:00

Without a Ouija Board, it's hard to tell the future. But I have put a lot of thought into how to manage the next year.
It comes down to a simple concept - to not be a pushover.
To me this means standing in what I believe in - rather than backing down, or softening what I think, or deferring to someone else when I know that I know what I am talking about. It also means not putting myself down constantly and making other people laugh by playing the fool.

the redemptive qualites of Adam Sandler

2009-12-29T16:50:00.000+11:00

... are there any?
My first thought is no. I have spent years and substantial energy successfully avoiding any movie that features this man. Yes, I know, everyone tells me that Punch-Drunk Love is the exception. But until today I couldn't go there. Something about the dick jokes, the airheaded women who inhabit the films, and maybe something about his cranky face have made me strangely ambivalent about the fellow. That and the fact that every movie he makes can be brought down to "what it means to be a real man". Grr.
Luckily for me one of my step-kids got his DVD for Christmas. And today on a whim I put on Anger Management, so I could clean the house and listen to something at the same time. And although the movie wasn't great, the funniest part of the film was how much the main character was like... well... was like me.
The basic story is that a man who claims to have no anger issues finds himself in anger management therapy classes. The therapist (Nicholson) pushes him and pushes him -- doing things that will deliberately enrage him and make him crazy. Nicholson moves in with him, sleeps naked in his bed, tries to marry his girlfriend, and gets him into fights. Over time the Adam Sandler character is pushed to the brink and eventually snaps.
So now onto me. I am like this man. Early in the film Nicholson asks him, who are you? Not what do you do, or what are your hobbies, but who are you really? The man doesn't know. He aims to be compliant in all things. To not be rattled or rebellious. His eventual answer is that he is "an easy going guy". Which is another way of saying, repressed as all hell. This is like me. I want to be an easy going guy too.
I do my best to ensure everyone is happy. I do my best to make sure nobody knows when I am angry or upset or frustrated. In my mind, I am following dharma teachings and trying to breathe through it. But to the outside world, I look like someone about to lose their mind.
The kids tell me this. Something happens, and I say I am not angry, but one look at me and they know I am furious. I put all my energy into speaking quietly, but on the occasional time when I do go off, I am so enraged that I do not know myself. Later I am ashamed and a mess. I don't do healthy anger. I don't know how.
Another thing about this film is the idea that people who provoke you are really your teachers. In this film the Nicholson character is infuriating and destructive without logic. He does things simply to upset. This happens every day to everyone all the time. It's not all that funny. It's painful, actually, and distressing. There are people who as soon as they walk into a room, upset you. I like the Buddhist idea that this person is actually your greatest ally. They have a lot to show you about yourself. I like the idea - but when it comes to living it I freak out. Teenagers can do this. You love them, they are wonderful human beings, but they are skilled at infuriating you in ways you cannot conceive. They have long showers, scowl at you and fly off the handle. They demand stuff from you and are not always grateful. They push hard - they are busy forming an identity and they need someone to push against to do it. I am learning a lot from living with teenagers.
By the way this does not mean I think this film was good - it still had a Hollywood ending of a guy getting a girl, and kissing her in front of everyone. Plus, the message of the film is that anger can be good, and that calling your boss a dickhead and smashing up his desk is a positive thing. I'm not so much a fan of that. But what I do like about it is the idea that I should relax - not repress so much.
On top of all this I want to add that I still hate Adam Sandler. But not in a repressed way.

my corner of the world

2009-12-16T07:22:00.001+11:00

I have said before that I would post a picture of my little meditation space. I say little because it's located kind of behind a door! I have chosen the things on it because they are meaningful to me. All of these items were given to me by people who have made a difference to my spirituality - a picture of Pema Chodron from my friend M, a beautiful candleholder from my partner, a candle from a dear friend T, a stone that says "love" from my stepdaughter. I also have a poem of hers that has been printed on a bookmark - about a rainforest. The yellow cloth I bought recently when I was in Sydney listening to a talk by the Dalai Lama. The little table itself was made by my Dad! There is also an article by Pema on meditation.

warrior mind

2009-12-07T06:24:00.001+11:00

I need to record what has been working for me this week. It seems important! I have been looking around at other people's blogs and I am feeling like I am so new on my path. And I feel like I am getting nowhere -- or that the steps I am taking are so small that they seem a shuffle.
There again I have always wanted to move at the speed of light. Maybe this path is about learning to move slowly, and patiently. I have a friend at work who says, "Slowly Does the Snail go" and I like that phrase. At the moment I am the snail.
Five reasons to say yay:
1. I have meditated five days in a row, every morning. I have risen at what is commonly known as "Stupid O'Clock" -- which is about 5:35am. I like the quiet before everyone else is up. Although it's been hard I have managed it, and even on Saturday and Sunday - which was crazy tough.
2. I have three spiritual friends which frequently talk to me about my mediation practice. Having one is great, but three is super special!! So yay for T, M and J. When I am sitting, I imagine that they are sitting with me. It realigns me and gives me energy.
3. Small goal of twenty minutes. For a while I was trying to sit for ten minutes - but my mind was a haze! I didn't realise that meditation is the same as going for a fourteen kilometre walk - for the first little while you are conscious of every step and stumble, but after a while your feet just take you where you need to go. So now I am sitting for twenty minutes - and it is much better. In a couple of weeks I might try for half an hour...?
4. I have a little shrine in the study room. I have carefully designed it - it has a picture of Pema Chodron, a candle that is made by Buddhist monks near where I live, a beautiful little meditating Buddha that has space for incense sticks, and a stone that my step daughter gave me that says "love". It also has a cloth that I bought when I went to see the Dalai Lama last week ( but more about that in another blog). I should take a photo of this shrine and post it! Might do this afternoon.
5. When I sit, I say to myself that I have brothers and sisters all over the world who are sitting at this moment with me. I also concentrate on the phrase "warrior mind." That is the kind of mind I want to develop. Strong, flexible, calm, and enquiring always.

Of all these things my greatest ally is my ability to show up to the cushion - the same as a writer just has to show up to the page. I may be travelling slow but I am still travelling!

yay for bookbird!

2009-11-29T08:23:00.000+11:00

Not often that I have something so nice to tell you... but two of my poems have had recent features on my favourite arts & writing site redbubble.
I love this site. I have been a member for over a year, and over time I have gotten to know a few people, made a few friends, and received feedback on my work which has honestly kept me going. Kept me connecting pen to paper, and then shaping and reshaping my work. And by commenting on other people's work it has given me a way to support other people in their journeys too.
One of the best things about the site is the wonderful groups you can belong to -- I say groups, but sometimes they are like little communities. My poem frailty has been featured in one of these groups. I haven't been doing much writing lately, but this one really came from a place of real vulnerability for me. I am proud of this poem.
The other one that has had a feature is poem for pema. This was featured in the Nirvana group. Yay for bookbird!
If I could have anything I wanted, I would work three days a week in the wonderful job that I have, write for two days a week, and spend two whole days with my family and friends doing fun things. No housework or logistical stuff! But balance is everything - and mortgages are kind of important too - so I need to work full time. But when these little things happen, like being featured in a group, I remember how I need to make time for my writing. Just like meditation. Just like connecting with the kids, with my partner. Is there anybody in this world who knows how to do this?? And if so, leave a message below and tell me how!
In the meantime I will keep trying for this balance - and today I realise I need to not sacrifice writing as I go about it.

If you click here you will be taken to one of my favourite writing groups on redbubble - The Red Writing Room. I hope you like it. And here is a link to one of my favourite writers, and now my friend: biographyofred8

obstacles to meditation

2009-11-13T10:21:00.000+11:00

You may be familiar with my conundrum. I have read a lot of books about meditation. I have talked a lot about it to friends, and occasionally to my dog. I imagine meditation to look a lot like this...
Placid by Claire McAdams

But it doesn't. It is far more like putting my feet into muddy shoes that are still wet and maybe a slimy frog lives in one of the toes. It's uncomfortable. It's strange. And its not really very fun. There, so far, has never been a moment of enlightenment or feeling of utter bliss. There has been a few moments of thinking that my cushion is too close to the sleeping dog who smells bad... and there have been a gazillion moments where my mind demonstrates its talent for generating anxiety where before there was none.

Plus, I want to be honest with you, it makes me feel afraid. Afraid of what my mind might say if I stopped and listened. Afraid of how vast and wild that quietness is.

But I want more. I want to sit in that space and live - and allow myself gentleness and warmth. I want to give compassion to myself like a big bowl of lilies. Fragrant and grand. I don't want to give myself any more excuses - the floor is dirty, the sun is too bright, the dog could use a walk, and if I don't do that thing right now it will never get done.

So my friend and I have made a commitment to check in once a week about our practice. We have decided that exercise and meditation go hand in hand - and we are going to give energy and time to both this next week.

So... back to the muddy boots for me!

i loves me a travel blog!

2009-11-03T08:12:00.000+11:00

just a quick post - I love a good travel blog. It's a good way for me to pretend I am out and about seeing and doing extraordinary things in other nations. My friend Kevin is travelling right now in Cambodia and Laos... you might like to follow his travels here: Kevin's travel blog

If you have a good travel blog to share, please post it here! I would love to check it out.

feets don't fail me now!

2009-11-02T15:14:00.000+11:00

Below is a great picture by Rachmat Lianda... how I want my feet to feel!

Ah yes, sometimes the Universe just teaches you something by giving you a royal smack over the head. For the two weeks or so I have been hobbling about on sore feet. Turns out I have acute tendinitis - which translates to a serious case of the ouch. I have strict instructions not to walk around - not to run anywhere - or do any kind of exercise that involves feet.

Now for a person such as myself this was immediately not good news. I walk everywhere - to the station, to the shops, with the dog, with my friends, through the bush.... everywhere. It's the thing I do when I think I'm about to flip out over something.

So I have really had to learn to "stay" in what is happening. This has meant learning to be okay with taking time off work. I felt like I was letting everyone down at a crucial moment - and I felt like a jerk when people were doing housework all around me and I was lying down with icepacks taped to my ankles. No way around it - I have had to accept help from others.

And the pain has been grounding. If I do too much, my feet feel like they are on fire. I have been feeling completely gutted with emotional pain of late, but this pain of a different quality. It has been important perspective. It has been important to stop and listen to myself. I have caught up on a book I wanted to read and I have updated my portfolio on RedBubble.

So I am looking forward to getting my feet back - I'll keep you posted!

for the love of dog!

2009-11-02T09:10:00.000+11:00

Just lately I have stumbled across this great artist on redbubble. What a genius! His name is Matt Mawson and his work is fabulous and fun. Check it out here: Matt Mawson on RedBubble

You can also watch him create his work on youtube here:
The Making of Tilly

retreating

2009-10-17T18:22:00.000+11:00

For many years now I have been drawn to the concept of going on retreat. Despite this yearning I have never been. I think it's because I am afraid - afraid that I will hate it, and equally afraid that I will love it and then have to figure out what to do about that.

I have a dear friend who told me once that she knows that if she went on retreat for a long period of time she knows in her heart she might not return. So she holds back for that reason - not wanting to take that step - not knowing what it would cost her to leave behind people and things that she loves. Because once she was there - ah! She would fit in like a missing piece in the jigsaw.

I have really been drawn to one retreat in particular - a vipassana retreat centre in Blackheath, Blue Mountains. Dhamma Bhumi Each course goes for ten days, and I have been reading about it online for about ten years! It seems like a crash course in dealing with yourself - learning how to relax into yourself - and to stay still. There is no food after midday, and students must respect Noble Silence. This means not talking to other students, not writing and not approaching teachers unnecessarily. It is also important that students don't contact anyone during their stay - no communication in or out.

That would be the hardest one for me - and the hardest habit to break! All I do is worry about people I love. How would I go not hearing from them?

Other than that - and even including that - I want to go. I really want to go.

Here is the timetable for the average day - what do you think?

The following timetable for the course has been designed to maintain the continuity of practice. For best results students are advised to follow it as closely as possible.

4:00 am		Morning wake-up bell
4:30-6:30 am		Meditate in the hall or in your room
6:30-8:00 am		Breakfast break
8:00-9:00 am		Group meditation in the hall
9:00-11:00 am		Meditate in the hall or in your room according to the teacher's instructions
11:00-12:00		Lunch break
12-1:00 pm		Rest and interviews with the teacher
1:00-2:30 pm		Meditate in the hall or in your room
2:30-3:30 pm		Group meditation in the hall
3:30-5:00 pm		Meditate in the hall or in your own room according to the teacher's instructions
5:00-6:00 pm		Tea break
6:00-7:00 pm		Group meditation in the hall
7:00-8:15 pm		Teacher's Discourse in the hall
8:15-9:00 pm		Group meditation in the hall
9:00-9:30 pm		Question time in the hall
9:30 pm		Retire to your own room--Lights out

poem for pema

2009-10-15T06:42:00.001+11:00

this is a little poem i wrote for pema chodron. everytime i hear her words I feel a little better.

"poem for pema"

your words are flowers underneath my skin
they bloom, and fade, and bloom again
thrown by old emotions, tumbled by guilt
i come again to your quiet inscriptions
your gentle insistence to just let go

today i hear again your teaching
to let everything fall apart
and I falter, afraid; but moved somehow
to let this chaos strike me, move through me
and pass without harm beyond me

i am living by your words, your smile
and things are falling apart
with blood, and tears, and mindless grief they fall
with horror and yet with surrender
til finally one day I will be left naked: raw, and broken

but unmistakeably: still breathing

FFFFound!

2009-10-11T09:29:00.000+11:00

I love fantastic images -- creative images that spark your brain! Here is a wonderful site that is like a constantly changing exhibition... bring it on! Instant bookmark from me! Found Website

slowly does a snail go

2009-10-08T07:24:00.000+11:00

That old definition of insanity is very helpful... the one that says, "insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result."

What I can't seem to manage is to break free of certain patterns. For instance, the pattern of worry. The pattern of hearing someone's challenges in the world and then incorporating them into my own worry. This is not helpful! Especially not helpful for the other person!

I am returning again to the practice of tonglen to try and move beyond these patterns. It has been liberating in the past -- it can be a formal or informal practice of managing difficult emotions that are both within me and outside of me. If I don't have a practical strategy of this kind I find it difficult not to get overwhelmed and stuck!

And in reality, I am a happy person. My nature is to be content! But as my friend said to me yesterday with a worried look - "Your blog is kind of... well... deep." So over the next day or two I will be talking about more buoyant things.

Tonglen information here:Tonglen Teachings

don't look so shocked

2009-10-06T21:57:00.000+11:00

"the poets"

don’t look so shocked
we were invited

we are on your threshold
our spilling guts in our hands
our bellies open
soft twisting intestines looped
around our crooked fingers

is it not what you had hoped?
did you wish for greeting card wisdom
little homilies of home-sweet-home
the laughter of children untainted
tiny pastel sweet wishes?

No – we are not that kind
we stand witness, we
with our hands spread in horror
and the blood in sheets falling
on your pristine floorboards

I for one, am in this army
this poet army, yes
you can see me now, smiling
haunting your quiet sleep
your cowards slumber, yes

you are clutching your ignorance like a shroud
but we are standing by your bedposts
our eyelids cut away
bitten by insomnia and angry lies
we watch, we see so much

yet when our deaths come to us
in bitter pills we swallow, in slow decay
in solitary sorrow
or in rolling ecstasies
we will not be sorry

that we did what you had asked of us
because you could not
we told the truth of this time
of these our battered hearts
of these your handmade warzones

because fear holds your tongues
with pinching grip
your lips with terror sewn shut
you need us now, you do
though even now you turn away from it

so don’t look so shocked
we were invited
this poet army, this
shadow tribe of speaking soldiers
don’t shy away now

no, don’t be coy
lean closer
yes closer, open your fragile ears
and we will whisper you a story
the story you are dying to hear, to understand

but don’t know where to begin

-- by bookbird

walk the dog

2009-10-05T16:52:00.001+11:00

Misty mornings up here where I live at the moment.

Feeling blue and contemplative, Nahla and I went for a walk in the bushland behind my house.

the world where i live

2009-10-04T09:42:00.000+11:00

Where my family had Father's Day

About fifteen minutes up the road from us

About five minutes up the road from us