A common man marvels at uncommon things. A wise man marvels at the commonplace. CONFUCIUS
Showing posts with label Ryokan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ryokan. Show all posts

Tuesday, 7 December 2010

The Simple Life

All the world's a stage, / And all the men and women merely players. / They have their exits and their entrances, / And one man in his time plays many parts. SHAKESPEARE As You Like It

Like lots of us I've had many jobs, played many roles and experienced many moods in my life. Jobs have included potato picker, hod carrier on a building site, mill-hand, farm labourer, postman, cleaner in a surgical instruments factory, computer programmer, mobile librarian, taxi driver, foreign language teaching assistant, encyclopedia salesman (I lasted one day at this) and publishing sales executive - which was my main, breadwinning career. Publishing sales meant travelling 40,000 miles a year round England's motorway network and attending innumerable sales conferences (95 per cent of which were a total waste of time). Roles have included helpless child, awkward adolescent, perpetual student, reluctant careerist, dutiful son, imperfect husband and, probably, undistinguished father. Moods have swung vertiginously from hopelessness and black depression to brimming joy and ecstatic happiness.

During my life I've often felt like a chameleon, ever changing my colour and mood, adapting to whatever scene I was acting in at the time. Or a river, constantly meandering, never in the same place twice.

In my time I've had years when I've earned heaps of money and years when I've earned very little at all. I've bought houses and furniture, cars and kitchens, clothes and musical instruments. I've bought music centres, mobile phones, cassette decks, DVD players, iPods. I've had expensive holidays and I've had holidays on a  shoestring. Sometimes I've dined in fancy restaurants and at other times I've not been able to afford to eat in even the humblest café.

I've never been hugely ambitious for money or material success. I was lucky enough to realise at an early age that money and material success do not bring lasting happiness. I'm so glad I had this insight when I was young. I've probably saved myself years of pointless struggle, anxiety and neurosis. Yet, of course, life's far from easy for anyone, whatever life-changing revelations one may have. I've had problems like the rest of us, and at times I've felt my feet hitting rock bottom.

What have I learnt after more than 50 years of negotiating the perilous, flint-strewn corniche that is our predestined human track? Well, a few things I hope - though there's still so much more I need to learn, I fear I've only just arrived at the outermost gateway of knowledge and wisdom. However, I do know this. The simple life is the good life, is the best life. Joy, happiness and fulfillment come from the innocent, simple, often freely bestowed pleasures of existence: a bracing cliff top walk on a blustery autumn day; the sound of bagpipes in a remote Scottish glen; crossing the Spanish meseta under a hot sun, then spending the night in a cheap albergue with other pilgrims; growing, preparing and cooking one's own food; the scent of fir tree sap; the cold grittiness of rock beneath the fingers; the tang of citrus; the cry of owls; the running of deer; eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, sleeping when tired; lovemaking.

Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.

RYOKAN

Thursday, 1 April 2010

No News Of The Affairs Of Men

Ryokan (1758-1831) is a Japanese poet of whom I'm very fond. A Buddhist monk, he trained 12 years with a Zen master. When his master died, he set off on a 5 year pilgrimage. Finally, at the age of 40, he settled down in a spartan hut on Mount Kugami and became a hermit for more than 30 years, living in absolute simplicity with very few possessions. This short, simple, yet for me profoundly resonant poem of his is quoted in Jon Kabat-Zinn's book Coming To Our Senses. It's the very essence of Zen:

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe.
When the moon comes out, I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report, my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after so many things.


RYOKAN

Friday, 26 March 2010

Just This! Just This!

In its outward manifestation, meditation appears to involve either stopping, by parking the body in a stillness that suspends activity, or giving oneself over to flowing movement. In either case, it is an embodiment of wise attention, an inward gesture undertaken for the most part in silence, a shift from doing to simply being. It is an act that may at first seem artificial but that we soon discover, if we keep at it, is ultimately one of pure love for the life unfolding within us and around us. From Coming To Our Senses by JON KABAT-ZINN

Of course you can meditate anywhere, but I've always thought long walks and pilgrimages provide a wonderful opportunity for mindfulness and meditation (Pilgrimpace, in much the same way, relates walking to prayer). Away from the demands of job and family, email and cell phone, the ever-accelerating rat race, there's time and space to explore your own mind and face up to who you really are. It's less easy to be distracted from appreciating, fully and with an open heart, the beauty and significance of the present moment. For the present moment - here, here, now here - is all we ever have. But far too often we don't recognize it or inhabit it at all, preoccupied as we are with regrets about the past and anxieties about the future.

Mindfulness is the act of becoming aware of awareness itself, standing back and watching our teeming thoughts (which seem to have a mind of their own) come and go, realizing we are more than our thoughts and ideas, our fears and hopes, our instincts and emotions. By observing and understanding these processes we can free ourselves from their tyranny over us, and be delivered back to our true selves.

First days of spring
the sky is bright blue, the sun huge and warm.
Everything is turning green.
I carry my monk’s bowl and walk to the village
to beg for my daily meal.
The children spot me at the temple gate
and happily crowd around,
dragging at my arms till I stop.
I put my bowl on a white rock,
hang my bag on a branch.
First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war,
then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air:
I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing.
Time is forgotten, the hours fly.
People passing by point at me and laugh:
“Why are you acting like such a fool?”
I nod my head and don’t answer.
I could say something, but why?
Do you want to know what’s in my heart?
From the beginning of time: just this! just this!
RYOKAN