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The Seeker-Writer: A Rhyming Play
2007-12-10 20:00:00 This is a short play I wrote, based on a story by Sri Chinmoy, called The Seeker-Writer . It’s a humorous story with a spiritual lesson behind it. Hope you enjoy it! [Enter Writer] Narrator: Once there was a seeker who’d developed much sincerity. By writing books he’d also gained considerable prosperity. His first book was a comprehensive study of zoology, His second was a very famous tome on anthropology, His third one was his favourite: it was autobiographical, His fourth was his most lofty, and was largely theosophical. Animals, humans, self and God: each subject he’d applauded. So by the greatest in each realm he hoped to be rewarded. Writer: Each book that I have written, let me go and read aloud to the best in each field. They will certainly be proud! The first one I will offer to the king of beasts: the lion, The second to my country’s king: the highest human scion. The third unto the highest in myself I shall address, The last to God: my loftiest... More About: Play
Greyfriar’s Bobby: A Small Scottish Saint
2007-11-25 16:49:00 I’d put off visiting Scotland for over a year, even though York is inexcusably close, and even though a very kind open invitation stood since I moved north from Wales. That’s the trouble with open invitations, and things that are close: they hover just below the top of the list of things one may do, pipped to the post by others with deadlines and narrower windows of opportunity. Through the dinge of a train window hedges sprawled in intricate skeletal black, bothered only by crows, the sky of England thick and woolly, like something you’d find in an old ottoman. I entered then not just another country and culture; the hedge, the sky, the crows were identical, but carried the sense of an entirely different soul. Arthur’s Seat, a questioning hook-nose of a mountain, reared out of flat browns and greys. A manmade mountain reached beneath: dark blocks of stone just discernible as ancient dwellings. “EDINBURGH: Inspiring Capital”, sped past on a building sign.... More About: Small , Bobby , Saint , Scottish
Greyfriar’s Bobby: A Small Scottish Saint
2007-11-25 16:49:00 I’d put off visiting Scotland for over a year, even though York is inexcusably close, and even though a very kind open invitation stood since I moved north from Wales. That’s the trouble with open invitations, and things that are close: they hover just below the top of the list of things one may do, pipped to the post by others with deadlines and narrower windows of opportunity. Through the dinge of a train window, hedges sprawled in intricate skeletal black, bothered only by crows. The sky of England sat thick and woolly, like something you’d find in an old ottoman. I entered then not just another country and culture; the hedge, the sky, the crows were identical, but carried the sense of an entirely different soul. Arthur’s Seat, a questioning hook-nose of a mountain, reared out of flat browns and greys. A manmade mountain reached beneath: dark blocks of stone just discernible as ancient dwellings. “EDINBURGH: Inspiring Capital”, sped past on a building ... More About: Small , Bobby , Saint , Scottish
A Beginning, an End, and an Eternity
2007-11-11 14:18:00 Is there such a thing as a junkophobe? That’s me. I buy the same thing over and over because I keep throwing useful stuff away; I’m ruthless to the point of impracticality. I can’t tolerate anything old, broken, unlovely, unclean, or out of place. Then what is this old Cheese Doodles packet doing here? Cheap crinkly empty bag, garish primary print, “Made with real cheese” blaring from the top, like that would make it ok. It’s taped into a big silver book of handmade paper, Indian beads hand stitched onto the front. It sits beside seven others, now amongst my most precious possessions: one of raw silk in a rainbow weave and coloured pages, one embroidered with satin ribbons, one with my name across the face of a dog, and a felt-tip drawing of a bird. Words are scrawled inside: rough shapes of words, the pen hurried or tired, the phrases hackneyed and dull, but this content has held me stunned over the last two days; compelling as an elysian dream remembere... More About: Eternity
A Beginning, an End, and an Eternity
2007-11-11 14:18:00 Is there such a thing as a junkophobe? That’s me. I buy the same thing over and over because I keep throwing useful stuff away; I’m ruthless to the point of impracticality. I can’t tolerate anything old, broken, unlovely, unclean, or out of place. Then what is this old Cheese Doodles packet doing here? Cheap crinkly empty bag, garish primary print, “Made with real cheese” blaring from the top, like that would make it ok. It’s taped into a big silver book of handmade paper, Indian beads hand stitched onto the front. It sits beside seven others, now amongst my most precious possessions: one of raw silk in a rainbow weave and coloured pages, one embroidered with satin ribbons, one with my name across the face of a dog, and a felt-tip drawing of a bird. Words are scrawled inside: rough shapes of words, the pen hurried or tired, the phrases hackneyed and dull, but this content has held me stunned over the last two days; compelling as an elysian dream remembere... More About: Eternity
King’s College Chapel, Cambridge
2007-11-04 23:14:00 Alleluia: Qui timent Dominum “He healeth those that are broken in heart: and bindeth up their wounds.” This line shines from the page handed to me at the entrance of King’s College Chapel , part of a sung mass I am about to hear. I have been here once before, many years ago, in the company of my Spiritual Master, Sri Chinmoy. He had come to pay homage to his own Guru, Sri Aurobindo, once a student at Cambridge University. I sat in these very pews and heard a similar mass. So much has changed in me since then, but the chapel stands quite the same: a vote of integrity in a changing world. Almost everything reminds me of Sri Chinmoy, more now than when he was alive. The earthly loss of him, less than a month ago, is still raw in this fragile human heart. One thought is still enough to prick my eyes with tears. But just as the reminders of him come swift and hard from unexpected sources, so does solace to counter each blow. I am in Cambridge to meet with other students of Sri C...
King’s College Chapel, Cambridge
2007-11-04 23:14:00 Alleluia: Qui timent Dominum “He healeth those that are broken in heart: and bindeth up their wounds.” This line shines from the page handed to me at the entrance of King’s College Chapel , part of a sung mass I am about to hear. I have been here once before, many years ago, in the company of my Spiritual Master, Sri Chinmoy. He had come to pay homage to his own Guru, Sri Aurobindo, once a student at Cambridge University. I sat in these very pews and heard a similar mass. So much has changed in me since then, but the chapel stands quite the same: a vote of integrity in a changing world. Almost everything reminds me of Sri Chinmoy, more now than when he was alive. The earthly loss of him, less than a month ago, is still raw in this fragile human heart. One thought is still enough to prick my eyes with tears. But just as the reminders of him come swift and hard from unexpected sources, so does solace to counter each blow. I am in Cambridge to meet with other students of Sri C... More About: Apel
Sri Chinmoy: 1931-2007
2007-10-12 17:42:00 My beloved Guru, Sri Chinmoy , passed away yesterday at 7am, at his home in New York. Sri Chinmoy has been my meditation teacher — the inner and outer inspiration of my life — over the last decade. On a human level I am naturally shocked and sad at his sudden earthly parting, but inwardly I will never in this life fathom the inner gifts of inspiration he has given me through his teaching. More than human sadness, which will pass in time, I feel gratitude, gratitude, gratitude for spending these years in the balm of his wisdom. That gratitude will never end. His teachings will always be with me, and I hope only to make my own life — my actions, creations and interactions — a tribute to them. RECENT NEWS STORIES: The Independent: Sri Chinmoy, Spiritual Leader & Peace Activist The Scotsman: Sri Chinmoy, Peace campaigner and spiritual teacher who advocated running Sri Chinmoy 1931 - 2007 NEW YORK, NEW YORK–(Marketwire - Oct. 12, 2007) - Internationally renowned peace leade...
Sri Chinmoy: 1931-2007
2007-10-12 17:42:00 My beloved Guru, Sri Chinmoy , passed away yesterday at 7am, at his home in New York. Sri Chinmoy has been my meditation teacher — the inner and outer inspiration of my life — over the last decade. On a human level I am naturally shocked and sad at his sudden earthly parting, but inwardly I will never in this life fathom the inner gifts of inspiration he has given me through his teaching. More than human sadness, which will pass in time, I feel gratitude, gratitude, gratitude for spending these years in the balm of his wisdom. That gratitude will never end. His teachings will always be with me, and I hope only to make my own life — my actions, creations and interactions — a tribute to them. RECENT NEWS STORIES: Sri Chinmoy 1931 - 2007 NEW YORK, NEW YORK–(Marketwire - Oct. 12, 2007) - Internationally renowned peace leader and spiritual teacher Sri Chinmoy passed away yesterday morning in his home in Queens, New York. The cause of death was a heart attack. Respected and love...
Read Your Own Bedtime Story: Oscar Wilde
2007-10-02 12:16:00 English was secretly my favourite subject at school. I say secretly because as a teen it’s only considered proper to laugh at those stuffy poets in tights and ruffs or Brylcreem and cravats, puffing on long pipes in leather chairs. The fact is I, (and maybe secretly everyone) found them brilliantly riveting. I still do, but now I think I can safely admit to it. Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde are my favourite comedians. I knew Oscar Wilde from a younger age, through his fairytales, opulently illustrated by Charles Robinson. Snuggoled under an eiderdown with my mother and brother with mugs of hot cocoa I would travel through other times and climes on the wings of his words. He was a welcome relief from the dark grimness of the Brothers Grimm, or the fascinating strangeness of Dr Seuss, and AA Milne must sometimes have been ragged and tired from over-use. I knew and loved Oscar Wilde’s words later at school through his plays, but I love them all the more now, the ... More About: Story , Read
Read Your Own Bedtime Story: Oscar Wilde
2007-10-02 12:16:00 English was secretly my favourite subject at school. I say secretly because as a teen it’s only considered proper to laugh at those stuffy poets in tights and ruffs or Brylcreem and cravats, puffing on long pipes in leather chairs. The fact is I, (and maybe secretly everyone) found them brilliantly riveting. I still do, but now I think I can safely admit to it. Shakespeare, Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde are my favourite comedians. I knew Oscar Wilde from a younger age, through his fairytales, opulently illustrated by Charles Robinson. Snuggoled under an eiderdown with my mother and brother with mugs of hot cocoa I would travel through other times and climes on the wings of his words. He was a welcome relief from the dark grimness of the Brothers Grimm, or the fascinating strangeness of Dr Seuss, and AA Milne must sometimes have been ragged and tired from over-use. I knew and loved Oscar Wilde’s words later at school through his plays, but I love them all the more now, the ... More About: Story , Read
Mouse & Mortality: A Small Poem On Being Small
2007-09-30 23:01:00 Beeches shook their auburn curls like closely clustered giddy girls chattering to pose and tease whispering jokes into the breeze Peaceably beneath I trod an early dark and dewy sod wondering that all was good deeply in the wandering wood A fungus there, a cobweb here a brown birdsong above my ear every sense at once obedient yet drunk on every sweet ingredient The dog a dizzy blur of mania in a squirrel-scent arcadia while above her quarry peers twitching grey and tufted ears Taunt her more, nut-loving friends! On your guile a life depends! A patch of silver in the roots! In my heart a shudder shoots! A tiny child in velveteen by all others yet unseen much too young to be abroad a loss a mother can’t afford! Beneath perhaps in rooty rooms she paced and sighed imagined dooms pressing to his empty nest as if to hold him to her breast Above he clawed and clung and stretched his little tracks in soil etched the tiny traveler damp and grey with what eyes knew he his way? Somnambul... More About: Small , Poem , Mouse , Mortal , Ality
Mouse & Mortality: A Small Poem On Being Small
2007-09-30 23:01:00 Beeches shook their auburn curls like closely clustered giddy girls chattering to pose and tease whispering jokes into the breeze Peaceably beneath I trod an early dark and dewy sod wondering that all was good deeply in the wandering wood A fungus there, a cobweb here a brown birdsong above my ear every sense at once obedient yet drunk on every sweet ingredient The dog a dizzy blur of mania in a squirrel-scent arcadia while above her quarry peers twitching grey and tufted ears Taunt her more, nut-loving friends! On your guile a life depends! A patch of silver in the roots! In my heart a shudder shoots! A tiny child in velveteen by all others yet unseen much too young to be abroad a loss a mother can’t afford! Beneath perhaps in rooty rooms she paced and sighed imagined dooms pressing to his empty nest as if to hold him to her breast Above he clawed and clung and stretched his little tracks in soil etched the tiny traveler damp and grey with what eyes knew he his way? Somnambul... More About: Small , Poem , Mouse
A Foreign Tourist At Home: York Minster
2007-09-23 23:05:00 I was brought up as an atheist, so it may count as rebellion that I went to church today: a Sunday… perhaps… until you hear I went as a tourist. I am not an atheist, far from it. I must get that straight. Straight away. I never have been. I am not a Christian either. My path is the path of meditation. My spiritual teacher Sri Chinmoy believes in embracing all sincere religions and other spiritual paths as paths to one God. This is something I have always felt in my heart as true. I know surprisingly little about Christianity for someone who was born and brought up in a Christian country. It is as if I tried to read Christ’s Words but they are in a language I do not know… yet I feel them in my heart as good and true. So I entered my local church today, overwhelmed like a foreigner, yet somehow at home. York Minster is very big, and very old; too big and old for my mind to comprehend, thus to express or even appreciate. For a thousand years York has been a s... More About: Home , Foreign , Tourist , Reign
A Foreign Tourist At Home: York Minster
2007-09-23 23:05:00 I was brought up as an atheist, so it may count as rebellion that I went to church today: a Sunday… perhaps… until you hear I went as a tourist. I am not an atheist, far from it. I must get that straight. Straight away. I never have been. I am not a Christian either. My path is the path of meditation. My spiritual teacher Sri Chinmoy believes in embracing all sincere religions and other spiritual paths as paths to one God. This is something I have always felt in my heart as true. I know surprisingly little about Christianity for someone who was born and brought up in a Christian country. It is as if I tried to read Christ’s Words but they are in a language I do not know… yet I feel them in my heart as good and true. So I entered my local church today, overwhelmed like a foreigner, yet somehow at home. York Minster is very big, and very old; too big and old for my mind to comprehend, thus to express or even appreciate. For a thousand years York has been a s... More About: Home , Foreign , Tourist
Not-In-The-Cave: Concert in the Lake District
2007-09-18 09:40:00 I creep in at the back five minutes early, but my shoes squeak on polished wood, damp from the squalls outside. A stillness has arrived before me and sits like a living presence in the room; the arching roof higher, the golden wood warmer, the white walls purer because of it. Many have followed its silent lead and sit within it, hems soaking above boots from their assorted journeys. The stage is in the air, it seems, or is it in a tree? The churchyard yew cradles a view to absorb my eyes for the next hour and a half, through a wide bay of glass. A half-dome of starry blue lights pressed into the ceiling above hangs like a child’s dream of Heaven. But we are asked by our host to close our eyes first, immersing ourselves in a flow of breath, emptying the hubbub of our thoughts from the waiting universe within. Then the music comes—a warm familiar joy—and I jump headlong into the ocean of it. Each of Sri Chinmoy’s songs is a fond friend, but each dressed in bright newne... More About: Concert , District , Lake , Cave , Strict
Journey: A Circular Route To Happiness
2007-09-12 08:25:00 After eleven years alive, I had lost all thoughts of calling somewhere home. Like a dry leaf on the wind of life, I went where it went, ever poised for the transport of its next gust. It pointed to Yorkshire, so we went north. I was determined not to like it there.My cat spoke my thoughts that day, so I stayed silent. Her metal-lined box sounded more full of banshee than cat, and after an hour of teeth and claws it succumbed to her wrath. She flew about, heedless of windows or steering wheel, finally to settle groaning for hours under the passenger seat. She and I felt the same way about long journeys, and seemed equally pleased to move house. The house seemed to have narrowly survived a brunt of exceptional hatred from its last owners. The woodwork had paint thrown at it in a spite of bright violet or pink, the walls asphyxial yellow from nicotine. Names were carved into windowsills, carpets more thrashed than trodden. Without human umpire, plants and trees were left to throttle on... More About: Journey , Happiness , Route , Circular
Walking On Walls: York, New & Old
2007-09-04 23:30:00 After moving to York , spending 2 months taking apart a squalid apartment and putting it back together in a more habitable state, I am glad to get back to the cleaner, calmer and somewhat safer sport of blogging. The best way to get one’s bearings in York is to walk along the city walls. I hadn’t done this since I was about 12, but the wonderment was the same, if not more profound, after 25 years. York’s are said to be the most complete city or town walls in Britain. Their foundations are Roman, built around 1900 years ago, with the most visible parts, such as the ornate gates, or bars dating back to Medieval times. It’s tempting to get caught up with the fascinating facts about the city’s history. The walls and the spectacular Minster (deserving of its own post), draw tourists all year round, and the plaques dotted about are full of bizarre information for the curious to feast upon. It is not so much the historical facts that fascinate me, as a lot of... More About: Walking , Walls
Real Life Juggling
2007-06-27 22:30:00 The serendipitous Pavitrata Taylor is one of my favourite photographers, so I thought I’d show you some of his art. This is called “A Job Of Work” I could go on, but I know nothing of photography other than my immense enjoyment of it… There is a little slideshow on my homepage if you want to see more, or you can see even more at The Sri Chinmoy Centre Gallery. I’m including this one because I’ve just bought a flat that needs renovating, and I feel like this chap in the photo juggling various tasks and aspects of life… hence my relative quietude… (choose bath taps)… (pick up tiles)… (cup of tea)… (book the joiner)… (walk the dog)… (eat?)… (buy food)… (eat)… (more tea)… (carpet grippers)… (ouch)… (buy plasters)… (breathe in)… (breathe out)… (meditate)… … … (work? maybe)… (sleep? yes)… (meditate)… (start a... More About: Life , Real , Real Life , Juggling
Into Great Silence — Film Review
2007-06-18 09:55:00 I watched an illumining and interesting film last week. Into Great Silence is surely one of the bravest films ever made. Almost three hours long, no script, no score, no commentary. I was compelled to see such a daring feat of minimalism. Over 20 years before the film’s release, German director Philip Groening applied for permission to film at the Carthusian monastery of Grande Chartreuse in a far corner of the French Alps. He was told it was too early, perhaps in 10-13 years it would be the right time. 16 years later his request was accepted. You can read the rest of my review at WriteSpirit.net (a beautiful and fascinating site “sharing ancient wisdom and modern inspiration”). If you watch it, or if you’ve already seen it, let me know what you thought… More About: Film , Review , Film Review
Bee Positive
2007-06-08 20:53:00 Continuing the theme of selfless insects… My mother told me the other day (after watching BBC Springwatch) that if there were suddenly no bees, humans would survive only another 4-6 years. Yes. … It certainly took me a while to recover from that small but gobsmacking addition to my knowledge. How come I never knew that? What amazed me even more than the fact itself (I can’t find anything in print to support it, but as it came from Auntie Beeb via my Mum there’s a good chance it’s a fact), is that it must have been a fact from the dawn of our species… or any species… anywhere in the world. This makes the news that bees are struggling to survive all the more alarming. I read an article recently in Celsias about Colony Collapse Disorder, and again in Science Daily. I’m not about to dwell on the magnitude of these findings (or if I do, I’ll do it on my own time, not yours, and not in this serendipitous blog). Instead I’d ra... More About: Positive , Posi
The Smallness and Greatness of Ants
2007-05-29 21:15:00 I am no stranger to the inspirations of nature. The loyalty of dogs, the industry of bees, the humility of grass; do they not far surpass our own? Today I read an article in The Independent about the incredible selflessness of ants. Researchers put planks of wood along the feeding route of a colony of army ants, with different sized holes drilled at intervals. The sizes of the ants varied from 2-10mm. Bristol University biologist Dr Scott Powell noticed: “When the ants bump into a hole they cannot cross, they edge their way around it and then spread their legs and wobble back and forth to check their fit… If they are too big, then they carry on and another ant will come along and measure itself in the same way. This carries on until an appropriately sized ant plugs the hole.” The ants acting as living plugs may stay in place for hours at a time while thousands of their teammates walk across their backs to fetch food. If that’s not amazing then I don’t know wha... More About: Ants
Commuting Meditation
2007-05-24 12:11:00 An interesting article called A Commute To Inner Peace by Trushar Barot caught my eye earlier this month at BBC.co.uk. It’s about meditating while commuting to work; making the most of time seemingly wasted, waiting for the bus, or even sitting at the wheel in a traffic jam. Tim Malnick, founder of Meditation at Work says: “A lot of people think it’s all about sitting down cross-legged and closing your eyes. But if you look at the meditation traditions from the East, they clearly demonstrate the importance of transferring this state of mind into all your daily activity. It’s about becoming more aware of the environment around you and feeling comfortable with it.” Trushar Barot tries it out while getting the bus, and notes: “My heart-rate drops almost instantly, but jolts on hearing the dulcet tones of 50 Cent, which a kindly school boy at the back is treating his fellow travellers to. Too much of a coward to ask him to lower the volume, I realise this is the... More About: Commuting
Ramayana Bridge Seen From Space
2007-05-18 15:15:00 I first became acquainted with the Ramayana when someone lent me a translation many years ago, written in rhyming couplets. It was originally written in rhyming couplets, but in Sanskrit, by the sage Valmiki. I wish I had taken note of the translator, as I have never found a more charming version. The beauty of the writing alone made tears obscure my view of the pages. The story itself is in turns intensely moving and jaw-droppingly thrilling, studded with spiritual lessons which have endured their journey through time. The heart it warms is broken on the next page, and on the next made whole again. Passages of the sweetest purest devotion sit beside almost shocking displays of heroism. Rama was a virtuous and spiritually evolved Indian prince, forced into exile by his jealous stepmother so her younger son might take the throne. Luckily that son was quite spiritually evolved himself and wouldn’t take the throne from its rightful heir, but that didn’t stop Rama dutifully ... More About: Space , Bridge , Amaya , Maya
Living Outside The Box
2007-05-15 15:22:00 Browsing through GoodNewsNetwork today I found this article about shipping container housing. “Inexpensive and abundant, old shipping containers are turning into good looking affordable housing,” so it claims. Further research brought me to similar programmes around the world, including the UK’s Container City. The second development (pictured) comprises 22 studios over 5 floors and took a mere 8 days to install, plus it comes with the fuzzy feel-good factor of recycling on a gargantuan scale. I laughed at the predictability of this item standing out amongst the rest, as I myself am currently trying to resolve the Affordable Living Conundrum. Increasingly challenging in the UK, and yet more so in the ancient and picturesque city of York, which seems to have adopted me or at least to have captured my heart. Thank God I was born into a family of engineers. They are all happily chipping in with ideas for space-saving contraptions, involving the use of ropes, pulleys and ladde...
Training for the Olimpicks
More articles from this author:2007-05-08 22:26:00 If you missed (as I did) the National Worm Charming Championships on Sunday, and you have a soft spot for silly British sports, don’t worry, there’s still time to train for the Olimpicks. If you don’t (as I don’t) fancy the competitive Shin Kicking, there’s “the traditional sackrace where the sack is tied round the neck. Straw bales provide handicaps and water is spread liberally.” …or you could maybe just practise your Worm Charming after all. You might think this (highly entertaining) article in the Independent on Sunday would make me a little sheepish about being British, but as eccentricity is simply part of our heritage, I may as well just celebrate it. Stiff upper lip? Not in my back yard. As Cole Moreton writes, the worm charming takes place: ‘in the “secret field” that hosts the event (it’s always the same one, so there’s no secret at all). When a whistle blows they will have 15 minutes to get worms out of a square ... More About: Training , The O , TRAI , Raining 1, 2, 3 |
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