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English as a Fecund Language
2008-06-08 11:19:00
A Chicken and Egg Situation I spent a while teaching English as a second language in Thailand many years ago, and had a splendid time. Not only did I find the language (especially the written characters) more beautiful than my own English equivalent; the culture, the etiquette, the people, the weather, the food, everything beguiled me and I felt entirely at home, as if remembering a Heaven where I once belonged. I’ll tell you more about it another time, but I will say two things for now: My grasp of the Thai language extended barely beyond the basic pleasantries and the buying of food. This was mainly due to the importance of inflections and polite appendages, which English has no care for. The word “khai” could sound from me at random as the verb “to sell” or the noun “egg” or the noun “chicken” depending on its delivery. Vegetarian as I am, my linguistic state was precarious. Explaining English to other people made me extremely glad that it is my first language,...
More About: Language

Digging For Victory: Sky Farmers and Guerrilla Gardeners
2008-06-01 11:13:00
Old News: Gardening is In Once again in the UK it has been suggested that we are behind the eco-friendly times, now caught red-faced and red-handed with basket-full of imported vegetables. The production and transportation of food is responsible for 23% of our carbon footprint; above home energy, personal travel, and running shared services like hospitals and schools. [source] China, Japan and Cuba are way ahead of us in their responsible actions, but being a tiny, densely populated island with horrible weather is no excuse, according to the more heroic amongst gardeners. No, gardening, especially growing vegetables, is not just for your granddad, a left-over habit from the War. It’s possibly the coolest pastime of now. To be caught with compost under your fingernails and a faint whiff of Brussels sprouts, rather than an air-freighted fistful of Zimbabwean mangetout, may be your ticket to unimaginable kudos. The Urban Farmer Take Fritz Haeg for example. The architect and design ac...
More About: Victory , Guerrilla , Gardeners , Farmers

Boris Purushottama Grebenshikov
2008-05-25 13:16:00
The Song-Bird of St Petersburg pays tribute to Sri Chinmoy at the Royal Albert Hall Boris Purushottama Grebenshikov is a living paradigm in the world of music and poetry, justly lauded in his Russian homeland and throughout the world. Tapping the ‘infinite silence’ within as a source of his prolific creativity, his songs are his direct interpretation of the universal musical consciousness. No wonder then that he found in Sri Chinmoy a profound inspiration. With almost 1600 books to his name and over 21000 songs, here was a Spiritual Master who shaped his own life’s service from the very fibre of music and poetry, singing the songs of Heaven into the ears of the earth. Sri Chinmoy was born in East Bengal, 1931. Following an inner calling he moved to New York in 1964, to be of spiritual service and inspiration to the west. From then until his passing in October last year, his meditation brought forth a wellspring of creativity in many fields. Sri Chinmoy met Grebenshikov in 2005...

A Lot of Hot Air
2008-05-15 20:15:00
It’s been hot in England. That’s newsworthy enough, but you know how we Brits love to talk about the weather. It seems like summer is just around the corner, (perhaps somewhere in Spain or Portugal). The tulips are big as goblets, the birds compose new rhapsodies until bedtime, and new-mown lawns send out their familiar green perfume, which itself acts like a happy pheremone on me. All these triggers lay forgotten in my mind through winter, as they always do, to be rediscovered like a perennial gift each year, never losing their thrill. Another sure sign of summer is the flight of hot air balloons in the morning. The long roar followed by soft silence tells me they are coming near, and I rush to the window to find them in the sky. I have never flown in one, but so love to watch them, strangely fast and graceful for their imposing dimensions. I lived in Bristol for a few years, and always looked forward to the annual Balloon Fiesta. Up to 100 balloons gather together from around ...

The Spirituality of Emily Dickinson
2008-05-10 19:25:00
Emily Dickinson referred to herself as a pagan. Some biographers would go so far as to label her a druid for her worship of nature. But was this apparently stubborn heathen life really built on atheism? On the surface what seems a blatant rebellion against the Christian reforms sweeping New England in the 19th Century could be misinterpreted as a lack of spiritual inclination. If we look beneath even a single veneer we will undoubtedly find true spirituality at the heart of her endeavour; far from snubbing God, but simply insisting on no less than a first-hand experience of Him. The poet shunned religious doctrine, but did she shun religion? Certainly not as a whole, and even then it may be merely a matter of syntax. The words ‘religion’ and ‘spirituality’ may at times be used interchangeably, and at others a fine distinction must be made. Charles Anderson chooses to make no distinction, using the word ‘religion’ in its broadest, and perhaps most primal sense: “The fin...
More About: Spirituality , Emily , Emily Dickinson

Cowfish Out Of Water
2008-05-03 18:18:00
I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already magnificent ocean, and all was bathed in lucid unearthly beauty below. I was very fond of cowfish. They were like cartoons, little horns like raised eyebrows, boxy bodies puffing happily in and out as in a fit of laughter, big dark eyes, two arms fluttering—seemingly too small to do for anything but decoration. They always looked young, with childlike curiosity, as if so sure their own cuteness would keep them out of danger. Their colours varied like all things in the sea, wearing different shades even when a cloud passed overhead. They were always brilliant, as if generating their own light, and always in such complex detail as if embroidered with a very fine needle and silk. Someone caught one in one hand. The hand broke the surface and there she lay on the broad of the palm, in the raw blades of the sun, with no significant fins or tail to flip her bac...
More About: Water

The Eye of the Beholder
2008-04-27 09:46:00
I don’t mind admitting that beauty is crucial for my inspiration: in itself, and as a context for other experiences. Beauty owns a door through which I reach the vestibule of love for God, from which I can (potentially) access doors to other spiritual qualities: service, patience, trust, carefulness, willingness, (et al, ad infinitum). If I return through the door to beauty having experienced love for God in that central vestibule, that beauty is augmented. Colours are nutrients. I crave them and forage for them. When I see a new combination or ingenious use, I gorge and am replete. A visual clash or lack of care unnerves me like an ugly noise. Like sounds or scents colours harbour harmony or dissonance; they breathe or bleed life and energy. On the balance of my life’s priorities, it was the relative weight of beauty that enticed me to study art. It was not glamorous. Socks, books, hair, fingernails all betrayed my occupation. Everything I owned was ink-smirched or bore a stray...

Sumangali.org On Holiday
2008-04-06 14:39:00
I’m taking a short break, but I’ll be back by the end of the April. Thanks to all visitors for dropping by. See you again soon…
More About: Holiday

The Railway People
2008-03-25 20:17:00
There was an earthquake in England last month. It was a small one, but our biggest in a quarter century, so it caused due commotion. It woke my friend in town, and in her half-sleep she thought the wind had got up and was buffeting her house. It woke me too, I remembered later. “It’s just a train,” I told myself, but was troubled by how long it was, and how very silent. My semi-conscious decided it must be a ghost train, and (most disturbingly of all) I went back to sleep. Funny how the mind takes pains to account for unusual things, but only in familiar terms, however implausible. I almost didn’t arrange a viewing for my current home when I was house hunting; on the map it’s practically on the railway. I think it was always meant to be mine though, and the trains have become my fond neighbours. Rusted bunkers of coal squeak and trundle by, fringed with graffiti, open to all weather. InterCities slither past in festival colours. They all grind on the railway s...
More About: People

Good For Your Health: 7 Surprises
2008-03-21 20:16:00
MOZART IS GOOD FOR YOUR HEALTH Mozart’s music lowers stress, heightens intelligence and relieves heart disease. It could even improve your eyesight, and doctors may soon prescribe it for epilepsy. According to Roger Dobson in The Independent, Mozart is a Medical Maestro: “Mozart soothes the beating heart. A study at Oberwalliser Hospital in Switzerland on the effects of music on heart-rate variability in 23 adolescents showed that listening to music may be helpful in heart disease. The study showed that listening to Mozart or Bach resulted in reductions of heart rate and variability.” [source] It seems the benefits are not only available to connoisseurs of classical music, indeed it’s not even necessary to be conscious of the music for it to work its magic. Proof comes from the Agricultural University of Athens where scientists played Eine Kleine Nachtmusik to carp for 30 minutes at a time. The fish grew more and showed fewer signs of stress. You might not recognise...
More About: Health , Good

Plumbing The Deep
2008-03-18 19:51:00
By far my greatest fear when I was younger was one of deep water. I suppose as fears go that’s quite a rational one. It was perpetuated by Jaws—a movie surely unavoidable by anyone alive in the late 1970s. At the time, Jaws served as confirmation that fear of the sea was absolutely justified and almost constituted common sense. Those who ventured beyond the shallow end of a pool I crowned in my mind as heroes, and as veritable demigods those who would dive head first from a board. Those who would wade out far enough to lose their footing in the ocean however, I labeled as reckless dolts who did not properly value the life they had been given. When harboured and reinforced for twenty years, even the most rational fear can reach irrational proportions and formidable strength. It seemed God had to carefully engineer an opportunity for its final dismantling, starting with a phone call from a friend—out of the blue so to speak. My friend had planned and paid for a scuba diving holi...
More About: Deep , Plumbing

Dolphin Saves the Whales
2008-03-15 21:20:00
While I’m on the subject of life-saving miracles, the BBC reported this week that it’s not just humans who take an interest in whale conservation. A bottlenose dolphin, known in her local neighbourhood as Moko, is taking it as seriously as any dolphin can. Mr Smith and his team of humans were getting nowhere fast in their attempt to save a pair of beached whales from the north east coast of New Zealand. Moko sped to the rescue just in time (maybe in a waterproof cape), uttered a few carefully chosen instructions to the whales (maybe in a Whalish accent), and they made it safely home in time for tea (or maybe a krill tisane). “I don’t speak whale and I don’t speak dolphin,” Mr Smith told the BBC, “but there was obviously something that went on because the two whales changed their attitude from being quite distressed to following the dolphin quite willingly and directly along the beach and straight out to sea.” He added: “The dolph...
More About: Dolphin , Whales

Meditation Saves Life
2008-03-10 21:26:00
It was an ordinary day in Ningbo, China, but an extraordinary miracle took place in a muddy 5-metre ditch. Was it really a miracle, or simply the wise employment of a meditation technique? Maybe a combination of the two. The Times reports: “Wang Jianxin was working at a construction site in the booming city. The job that day for the 52-year-old worker was to dig a five-metre ditch… “Without warning, a wall of the ditch collapsed, burying Mr Wang under a huge pile of earth. Like most construction workers in China, he had little in the way of protective equipment except for his tough plastic safety helmet. It was to be enough to save his life.” [original article] The peak of his hat trapped a small amount of air in front of his face, which doctors said would usually have been enough to keep someone alive for five minutes. It was two hours before he was rescued. Mr Wang survived by practising Buddhist meditation techniques to stay calm, and minimise his use of oxygen. Ther...
More About: Life , Meditation

Perchance To Dream
2008-03-07 20:16:00
Do you ever wonder why we have to sleep? I’ve always thought that spending a third of my life unconscious is a spectacular waste of time. But of course I must be mistaken, otherwise God wouldn’t have made us like this. Not only does sleep give the body a break and a chance to recover, sleep gives us a chance to dream. But… Why Do We Dream ? The Dream World, is it really so Heavenly, or just an escape from reality like watching too much TV? Were my own dreams to come true, at least the few I remember, my waking life would probably be less interesting than usual, and maybe a bit more stressful. So what’s the big deal about dreams? Apparently, even if they’re ordinary, they prevent psychosis. So sleep is obviously a wise investment rather than an indulgent squandering of time. “In a recent sleep study, students who were awakened at the beginning of each dream, but still allowed their 8 hours of sleep, all experienced difficulty in concentration, irritabi...

Pure Web Designs
2008-02-25 20:33:00
Time for a commercial break… or a cloudburst of shameless self-promotion. My web design site has just had surgery. It’s recovering nicely at Pure WebDesigns .co.uk, and I’m sure it would be very happy to receive a visit from you. No need to bring flowers.

Keyword Haiku
2008-02-19 10:06:00
Anyone for a word game (or a nerd game really)? I was just looking at the stats for this blog. I usually only read the top 10 search phrases, but glanced at the top 25 keywords, and noticed they almost make sense if read in order, perhaps the opening credits and scene setting of a very strange play? (Caps and punctuation added): * * * THE LUCKY THINGS OF SUMANGALI MILTON a John Peach Story [SPACE] Ramayana words in poem (Chinese) Shou home (origin: container) By Lao (and… what… God?) * * * Want to play? Just take a look at your 25 top keywords. No cheating, but you can put them in a different order if you like. I just happen to like the order mine came in. * * * You can learn how to write Haiku for real at haiku.insouthsea.co.uk. Their site header reads “In the moonlight a worm… silently drills through a chestnut.” Bet you want to find out what happened next… * * * “Do or do not, there is no try. ” —Yoda * * * Title Image: Sparrow, Moon and P...
More About: Keyword

Mr Magorium, Pipe Organ Pizza, and the Mighty Wurlitzer
2008-02-17 21:22:00
Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium The heart in this film is undeniable, and it’s definitely not just for children. As the film’s motto goes: “You have to believe it to see it.” (It’s alone worth watching for a cameo appearance by Kermit the Frog, out shopping, dodging stares from the public). Mr Magorium (Dustin Hoffman) is a 243-year-old owner of a magical toy shop. Although he has been inventing toys since the mid-1770s, and is perfectly healthy, he has decided that the time has come for him to leave the world, so he bequeaths the shop to its manager, Molly Mahoney (Natalie Portman). With his imminent departure the emporium itself shows signs of sadness. “We must face tomorrow, whatever it may bring,” says Magorium, to the very soul of the shop, “with determination, joy and bravery”. Mahoney lacks the necessary faith in herself that she can continue without its magical owner. “Unlikely adventures require unlikely tools,” says Mr. Magorium, and i...
More About: Pizza , Pipe , Mighty , Organ

Learning To Live
2008-02-11 11:11:00
I met my second nephew for the first time last week, eight days after his arrival on earth (that’s me on the right, at a similar age). His expressions changed fast, as if dreaming. What could he dream so soon? Memories of other worlds or other lives perhaps. I wondered what his dreams would be in later life, hoped we would be friends, collect beetles in a jar, laugh together over a late lemonade in his grandmother’s garden. He is huge for a newborn, with hot fists and a determined frown, but I was a little afraid for him. It seems brave to me to be born at all, to be human, to live on earth. Despite its intensity, nobody remembers being born. Everyone uses their first breath to cry. Raw sound, cold, movement, pain, exhaustion, separation from the source, are too much to bear at once. There is no strength of one’s own to call upon, and nothing certain or familiar on which to depend. Julius Caeser, Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, Muhammad Ali, however mighty they b...
More About: Live , Learning

Life’s a Peach, Love is Immortality
2008-01-27 16:15:00
When I was little, my mum had a penchant for Chinese antiquities. Along with a glossy rosewood coffee table, my favourite was a painted statue of Shou Lao, the god of longevity. He held a long twisted staff of many twining branches in one hand, and a peach (of unlikely proportions) in the other. Although he looked at least 200 years old, he smiled as if mid-chuckle, and his cheeks had a crimson glow like the peach. We were told that the peach came from a tree that bore fruit every 3 millennia, and anyone who took a bite from it could live as long as they wanted. Researchers say that by 2060 people living in the country with the highest life expectancy will live to an average age of 100. The average lifespan globally is double that of 200 years ago. But, say researchers Jim Oeppen and Dr James Vaupel “This is far from eternity: modest annual increments in life expectancy will never lead to immortality.” (Source: BBC) Physical immortality is yet further off in some countries. Ther...
More About: Love , Immortality , Peach

Life’s a Peach, Love is Immortality
2008-01-27 16:15:00
When I was little, my mum had a penchant for Chinese antiquities. Along with a glossy rosewood coffee table, my favourite was a painted statue of Shou Lao, the god of longevity. He held a long twisted staff of many twining branches in one hand, and a peach (of unlikely proportions) in the other. Although he looked at least 200 years old, he smiled as if mid-chuckle, and his cheeks had a crimson glow like the peach. We were told that the peach came from a tree that bore fruit every 3 millennia, and anyone who took a bite from it could live as long as they wanted. Researchers say that by 2060 people living in the country with the highest life expectancy will live to an average age of 100. The average lifespan globally is double that of 200 years ago. But, say researchers Jim Oeppen and Dr James Vaupel “This is far from eternity: modest annual increments in life expectancy will never lead to immortality.” (Source: BBC) Physical immortality is yet further off in some countries. Ther...
More About: Love , Immortality , Peach

John Milton and The Origin Of Space
2008-01-13 18:53:00
“With thee conversing I forget all time, All seasons and thir change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest Birds; pleasant the Sun When first on this delightful Land he spreads His orient Beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flour, Glistring with dew; fragrant the fertil earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Eevning milde, then silent Night With this her solemn Bird and this fair Moon, And these the Gemms of Heav’n, her starrie train: But neither breath of Morn when she ascends With charm of earliest Birds, nor rising Sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, floure, Glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night With this her solemn Bird, nor walk by Moon, Or glittering Starr-light without thee is sweet. But wherfore all night long shine these, for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?” —John Milton , Paradise Lost Book IV This is my...
More About: Space , John Milton , Origin

John Milton and The Origin Of Space
2008-01-13 18:53:00
“With thee conversing I forget all time, All seasons and thir change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest Birds; pleasant the Sun When first on this delightful Land he spreads His orient Beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flour, Glistring with dew; fragrant the fertil earth After soft showers; and sweet the coming on Of grateful Eevning milde, then silent Night With this her solemn Bird and this fair Moon, And these the Gemms of Heav’n, her starrie train: But neither breath of Morn when she ascends With charm of earliest Birds, nor rising Sun On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, floure, Glistring with dew, nor fragrance after showers, Nor grateful Evening mild, nor silent Night With this her solemn Bird, nor walk by Moon, Or glittering Starr-light without thee is sweet. But wherfore all night long shine these, for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?” —John Milton , Paradise Lost Book IV This is my...
More About: Space , John Milton , Origin

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

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 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

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

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...
More About: Apel

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...