Congratulations Toni!

One of the nicest parts about having this blog is being able to connect with other 'travellers on the journey'.  A few months ago one of these travellers - Toni Bernhard -  contacted me through this blog to say she was about to have a book published. 

 

Since then, Toni and I have become e-mail buddies and I'd like to send a big 'hurray!' out to her, because her book is now available.

 

 Toni's book is titled 'How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and Their Caregivers.'

 

I've had the privilege of reading several chapters of the book and highly recommend it.  It's wise, warm, practical - and very down-to-earth.  The chapters are short (so not too overwhelming for people energy problems), and you don't have to be a Buddhist to be able to relate to the topics she writes about.  

 

Toni has a website, where you can read more about her and the inspirations for her book.  You can buy her book from Amazon or the Book Depository. 

 

Congratulations Toni!

 

(I'm going to be giving away a copy of the book in the next few weeks, and Toni will be dropping in to write a guest post for this blog - so stay tuned!)

A morning of contrasts

It's Tuesday morning here in Australia, and I've been awake for about two hours working on a couple of different projects. 
 

The first is some volunteer work I'm doing for an asylum seeker from the Democratic Republic of Congo.  She has her asylum hearing in a few days, and I'm doing research into her case to try to support her claim.  My ex-partner is from the Congo, and we have a little charity that raises money for his brother who runs a medical clinic there.  So, the terrible human rights abuses and the absolutely horrific situation there - particularly for females - is not anything new to me. 
 

But, I'm finding this asylum research so distressing.  I don't want to go into details about it, but it involves almost every brutal element that the war in the DR Congo is known for. The other difficulty is that the asylum seeker in question is someone related to a friend of mine, and we're all very concerned about whether she'll get her refugee claim accepted. 

I am not convinced that her lawyers are going to put effort into researching her case (she is only meeting them for the first time today, and her hearing is on Friday). So, I'm worried that my very amateur volunteer efforts at research will be the only supporting evidence she has.   I'm finding that pressure very stressful.  I know I can only do my best, but I'm worried my best won't be good enough. 
 

In complete contrast, the other little project I've been working on is a portrait of a couple of boys from rural Queensland (in Australia).  The boys live on a farm, and are real 'farm blokes', so I'm trying to incorporate this part of their personality into the portrait. It's a lot of fun working on something like this, particularly as the boy's mother is a real pleasure to work with. 
 

Going back and forward between writing about brutalities in the Congo, and drawing wheat fields in the background of a portrait is doing my head in. The contrast between something that is sweet but ultimately not important, and a situation where a person's life may be in the balance, is just too much. 
 

And, that's all I really have to say.  I just wanted to write a post to say, 'this is doing my head in.' (And, if you are into prayer or sending metta...I wanted to ask if you could please spare a few moments for my Congolese friend.)

 

At two with nature

I’ve signed up for a daily ‘Peace Quote’ from a group called Living Compassion.  Every evening at around 8pm, a quote about meditation, mindfulness or peace drops into my in-box.

Tonight’s quote:

Barn's burned down, now I can see the moon. - Masahide

Usually I slide my Peace Quotes over into a little folder and save them. Tonight, with a flash of irritation, I immediately hit ‘delete.’

A few seconds later I paused.  I thought of the quote again – ‘barn’s burned down, now I can see the moon.’ What did it mean? Why did I delete it?

Well, I thought the meaning was fairly obvious. The guy was saying that everything material, everything he thought he needed and had built around him – had gone, and now he could...what?  Hear the birds singing in the trees?  Feel the breeze on his face?  See the flippin’ moon?

I started noting and naming my emotions.  ‘I feel angry.  I feel frustrated.’ Then it became clear, I felt pissed off and guilty. My barn had burnt down; my health had gone, fallen away around me leaving me exposed to the world.  There is no job, no husband, no child - just me. 

And, can I see the moon?  Do I pay extra attention to the kookaburra in the tree outside my window? No. I just feel angry and sad at what I’ve lost – and guilty that I can’t report that I’m a ‘better person’ because of it.

I sense that as a sick person I am somehow meant to find delight in the birds, or the way the sun makes dappled patterns on the wall.  I feel an enormous obligation  to report that, ‘I’m not well...but I appreciate the littlest things so much more because of this!’  I feel pressure to have ‘learnt’ from my situation.

And that’s why I felt frustration and anger at the quote.  I am not here to be inspiring to well people. I am here, for the moment, to be angry and sad that I am sick. Tonight, I cannot see the moon. I am, like Woody Allen, ‘At two with nature.’

Me being 'at two' with nature in a mountain 

village near the Thai/Burma border.

(The photo below shows the huts where I was staying.)

Where's the war?

During my meditation over the last few days I've started a little practice where I gently ask myself, 'where's the war?' and I'm finding it very enlightening. 
 

I've found that, almost always, there will be a war.  There will be somewhere where inside myself where I'm struggling, disagreeing, criticizing, or talking my way out of thoughts or feelings I am having.  Sometimes the 'war' appears as words and sometimes as a crunching feeling in my stomach, or a clenching feeling throughout my body. 
 

For example, I might notice that I have a pain in my back.  'Is there any war here?' I ask myself.  Then I notice a cramping feeling around the pain. It's a feeling that I don't want this pain but also feel like it's my fault that it's there. The text of the 'war' goes: 'If I was a better meditator I wouldn't have this pain. What am I doing wrong in my meditation?  Why can't I just get it?'
 

'Oh, OK,' I note to myself.  'There's the war.  I have this pain - I don't want it, and I blame myself for having it.'
 

Then, I try to bring some loving kindness to this war.  Not to make the war go away, but just to extend some compassion towards myself for having it.  'Wow...it sure is hard having this war going on.  I don't think this is my fault.  It's just hard - to see it, to feel it, to notice it.'
 

And I keep going like this - gently asking myself where the war is, and when I see it, bringing some loving kindness to it.
 

Bringing the loving kindness often attracts its own little war.  This little battle goes: 'You idiot!  You shouldn't be showing yourself kindness for having all these terrible, warring, criticizing feelings! You soft fool...you need to FIX this...'
 

If I notice this war, I just bring attention to it in the same way, 'Oh...a little war saying I shouldn't be feeling kindness towards myself.  Wow...it can be tough having these wars.  I'm sure this isn't my fault...'
 

And on it goes...I just follow the trail of thoughts and feelings.  Noticing the war...feeling lovingkindness...noticing the battle...bringing compassion. 

Always we hope...

Always we hope someone else has the answer, some other place will be better, some other time it will all turn out.

This is it; no one else has the answer, no other place will be better, and it has already turned out.
 

- Lao tzu

Plum Blossoms at Noon - Original Painting by Plastic Pumpkin