Thursday 5 July 2012

Buddha's Garden

I’ve just completed a 2 week course in permaculture at Ragman’s Farm, Gloucestershire. The course is designed and delivered by Patrick Whitefield and his wife Cathy-Melissa, a great team, full of knowledge, love and priceless experience that they share openly and warmly.
During one of the many fascinating sessions, extraordinary speaker and bee expert Bridgette Strawbridge described how re-reading her own blog entries made her realise where her areas of greatest interest seemed to lie. I thought this a great way of exploring what lines of enquiry and action I should perhaps pursue, as I have been confused about this for some time. So, having re-read lots of bits of my blog, I realise that what I tend to write about a lot and what I enjoy re-reading most are the entries describing my personal journey, and mainly the unseen journeys of my mind and spirit.
So, I could sit here for hours trying to explain the content of the course, attempting to describe complex issues of garden design, energy efficiency and wind-break construction but I know there are other people and books and websites that can do that so much more effectively than I can (see links!).
What I prefer to do is to describe my own permaculture trip, what the concept means to me now and how the course has made shifts inside my heart and mind that have already started to affect me and that I’m sure will continue to do so in the future.
Since I started studying the teachings of Gautama the Buddha and practising the techniques of meditation he passed on to us, I’ve seen the teachings reflected in so many areas of life: to me these days, Ayurvedic medicine is a dhammic medicine which gives us techniques with which to balance our natural physical states;  yoga involves the observation of the dhamma of the human body and mind. Dhamma is the nature of things, as they are. Ayurveda and yoga work with nature to bring about harmony to body, mind and spirit.
Similarly, from what I’ve recently learned of permaculture, it too is dhamma in action- dhammic design. Designing the home and garden, for example, by mimicking the patterns of Mother Nature and adapting our habits and routines to live in harmony with nature, rather than fighting against her. Most importantly, taking the time to observe the land, with its shapes and plants, its flow and patterns, colours and temperatures, in all facets of its reality, in order to benefit ourselves and our surroundings equally.
“Protracted thought followed by minimal action, rather than precipitate action followed by protracted regrets.”
Permaculture works on three main principles and it is from these 3 principles that I will describe the processes of my thinking and understanding during and after the course:
Earthcare- What does it mean to me to truly care for the earth?
For me truly caring for our Mother Earth means not only acting as a custodian of her treasures or as a sensitive manipulator of her cycles and yields but actually feeling part of her, unable to survive separated from all that she encompasses.  Not just to love her but to be the love that she is.
 How can I get back this state of being? This is the question of my meditation. This is the answer to all I’ve been seeking. From the beginning of my search I knew I would find my answers in nature.  Part of the answer, paradoxically, is to stop looking, to stop trying (so tiringly hard!) and to simply be.  In nature.  As nature.
This understanding is so familiar to me that I know that the theories of the permaculture teachings are already part of our folk memories but what the course provides so well is a vivid reminder of this and the practical means by which dreamers like we can actually live this truth.
People care- As an extension of the above, if I am one with all that is in nature then all people are inextricably connected with our Earth. And that in turn must mean that we people are all connected to one another. This is the teaching of many (if not all) of the major religions, and it’s easy enough to understand and agree with this in theory, but for those of us who have lived in isolated family groups, without a steady community for much of our lives, how do we assimilate this understanding in practical ways into our everyday lives? How do we avoid letting ourselves slip into the emptiness and isolation of our fortress homes and fenced off gardens?  One of the things that the Whitefields’ course illustrated so beautifully and with so much heart was that it’s a beautiful thing to live and share with others. At the very least we cannot survive alone and, selfishly, we need and will need others in order to survive in these changing and challenging times. But much more than that was the example of people care provided by the wonderful group with whom I shared the teaching room, the kitchen and the fire pit; men and women who became brothers and sisters in the process.  They are a perfect illustration of how all sentient beings are my family and this makes me cry tears of joy.
Constraints/limitations-This design concept is often applied to resources such as money, energy, climate and time but could also be about being realistic with oneself. One of the most challenging and yet rewarding aspects of this course was that it made me face my own limitations. It made me face reality as it is, not as my romantic soul would like it to be. Without this course, I could have gone on for months, dreaming of a field in France, of sunny slopes and a herd of goats. Fantasising a dream that had no chance of ever coming true because I wasn’t facing the real practical needs I have of community, knowledge and skills and the necessary confidence to manifest it. Like all the best  periods of development, I had to endure a few days of ego pain, taking in the steep contour of the learning curve I am on. But, having faced the fear a little and shared these thoughts with friends who truly listened, I know much better how I can prepare myself practically with the skills I need to get this project off the ground- flying- but not so high that it loses sight of the earthly truth.
Thank you once more to Patrick and Cathy-Melissa and to my brothers and sisters on the course.
May all beings be liberated.


No me, no mine, no hair


http://www.zwakalaretreat.co.za/new_album1/general_pics_(11).jpg
January 2012. Year of the pole shift.
I’m sitting in meditation. There’s a shawl around my shoulders. Early mornings are cold in Hanaertsburg. I’m trying to observe my breathing but one precise thought interrupts. For many mornings now I’ve been obsessed.
I stand and walk to the bathroom where I have a pair of nail scissors in my travel set.
And I start to cut my hair. All over. To a centimetre’s length.
The first set of feelings I have, after it’s all gone- just an untidy wispy pile on the borrowed bathroom floor- are an immense sense of joy and freedom as I run down to the little river nearby and launch myself into its earthy but cleansing flow. Washing away the last remnants of the hair I so earnestly wished to be rid of.
And that’s how I explain it now, to myself and curious others: just to get rid of the hair. At one point there seemed to be so many reasons to shave my head that I was no longer sure of the root cause:
Perhaps it was a physical manifestation of the grief I felt for the loss of both my parents over such a short span of time. In many parts of the world people do shave their heads after the death of a loved one and perhaps I wanted some kind of recognition of my pain. That, in spite of my ability to act just fine, acting that I feel is required of the grief-stricken in our society, underneath, not so far from the surface, my sorrow felt itself keenly and needed an outlet.
Maybe, after so many hours of meditation packed into a period of 4 years, and having closely witnessed some of the characteristics of my ego, I needed to see myself differently, more pared down, without the trappings of external identity. Indeed I have explored the questions of who I really am and my appearance was beginning to feel like a distraction from what is.
My reasoning was not merely practical but, at times, during my 5 years travelling and living out of a backpack, long hair has been nothing more or less than an annoyance. 5 years of salt and chlorine water and Indian shampoo had wrecked havoc on my once luscious locks. And yet more years of spending money I didn’t have on hairdressers and conditioners. Picking up the split ends of expensive broken promises, I had started to feel resentful. There was no way back but the razor.
5 years of exploring the differences between heart and mind, 5 years of spiritual practice. 5 years of doubting that a person like me, a person so identified with her mind, with her brain-centred work, her culture of intellectual dominance, could possibly ever live from the heart centre.
How refreshing and reassuring that, in this case, even though I did still think, imagine and weigh up, divide, dissect and analyse the consequences, in the end I cut my hair off one sunny morning in Limpopo because of a feeling.
And now- 7 months on- tempting as it is to allow the mind to re-tread its familiar and comforting paths of enquiry about what has been learned, about what can be deduced and decided and described about such an experience, I gently but persistently bring myself back to the sensations, the feelings and messages of what is now, in this moment. Allowing myself to feel, allowing my heart to continue its opening. To follow its nature, its dhamma.
May all beings be happy.