Plum Village: remembering, part 3

We practice walking meditation in Hawaii and I quite enjoy it. However, in Plum Village they've expanded my concept of this very pleasurable exercise. The walk is really more of a very casual stroll. It begins with a song or two while the group is gathered under a large oak tree. The songs are sung first in English, then in French. When the singing is finished the group walks off in silence, down a gravel driveway and then onto a forest lane. The crunch of the gravel gives way to the rustling of the monk's robes and the wind in the trees. The crows caw overhead and the finches chirp amongst the trees. Initally we walk through a forest of scrub oak. Where there are breaks in the trees we look out over vineyards and orchards dotted with farm houses and barns. Eventually we pass into a meadow that glows golden in the sun. Walking on we are on the edge of a small growth of long-needle pines which yield a very sweet smell. All the time we are walking very slowly and deliberately, looking, listening, smelling. The sun passes in and out of the enormous white clouds floating above. Many times, when we are in the sun, the group stops, silent, just basking. We gradually skirt the circumference of the village and arrive back at the giant oak. When we've all gathered again under the tree, we stand silent for a moment and then quietly disperse, each moving into one's own thoughts.

Walking meditation occurred often during my time in Plum Village and each time I felt so refreshed. It is really the same thing I do on the farm when I check the fruit trees, but with a slightly different mindset. I'm going to change that. Any time you'd like to practice walking meditation, come walk with me among the fruit trees.

Plum Village: remembering, part 2

It was a mostly cloudy, cool morning. I was just standing and watching the monks get on with their day. Since I'd just arrived no one paid much attention to me. I noticed that, near the center of the village, a ring of bamboo had been planted. The bamboo had created a small secluded spot. In the middle of the circle was a large stone and next to the stone was a small wooden stool. I entered the circle through one of the four or five openings and sat on the stool. I felt very peaceful. The sun came from behind the clouds. Suddenly, all that I could hear was the wind rustling the bamboo and all that I could feel was the warmth of the sun. I leaned back against the rock and closed my eyes. I don't know how long I rested there but when the sun passed back behind the clouds it became cool again so I sat upright on the stool. I thought, why don't I ever listen to my bamboo at home? I must remember to do that when I return home. I began to feel chilly so I walked to the dining hall for a cup of tea.

While this was the most memorable, I had similar experiences at different places around the village. Everyone was encouraged to seek out "mindful" experiences like mine. Not a good way to run a business but a great way to run a life.

Plum Village: remembering, part 1

I have arrived at the Grand Barrail Hotel and Spa, just returned from a most amazing spa treatment, and am now prepared to begin recording my experiences of the past week.

Perched atop a wooded hill, mostly hidden from the surrounding vineyards and orchards, sets a truly unique place. Unique to me because I have never been to, let alone lived in, a monastic village. The founder of the monastic order and still its leader at over 80 years of age, Thich Nhat Hahn (called Thay by his followers) built this place in the Dordogne region of France. Its purpose is to teach and promote his Buddhist philosophy of mindful living. The monastic community of over 150 monks and nuns is predominately Vietnamese, but there is a sprinkling of various other nationalities from around the world (e.g., French, Italian, American, Indonesian, Spanish, etc.). Together they work within the confines of this small forest.

Their uniqueness isn't that they live within such a confined space but their style of life within that space. Each part of each of their lives, while extremely tranquil, is very focused (I.e.,very mindful of everything in their world). Life is orchestrated so skillfully that it might be a masterfully composed symphony.

The details of daily life are interesting but the string holding it together is amazing. Herein lies a real world experiment of how people of widely varied cultures and backgrounds can live together in harmony, buffered by kindness, understanding and compassion. While each individual searches for their own true nature, they reach out to help others find theirs.

If you would be interested in the details, I am happy to share them. If you would like to spend some time in a place that will, by its very nature, put your mind and body at rest, this might be the place for you.

Plum Village: the morning ritual

I awake from a deep sleep and remain silently under the warm comforter.  I have no clock and so, have no idea of the time.  All I know is that I'm well rested.  After a time and as if from a far distant place, I hear the sonorous sound of the bell, the call to morning meditation.  As if by instinct, I flip back my cover and roll to sit on the side of the bed.  I wait, listening for the next deep sound of the bell.  Maybe the first had been a dream.  I hear the second call and rise quietly, get dressed and begin to make my way to the zendo.  Entering the cool morning air, I stop for a moment, looking up at the stars.  Yes, a restful moment well spent.  I begin the slow walk to meditation.  Each deliberate step sets my mind at ease.  I begin to notice others making their way silently to the zendo.  As I come closer to the meditation hall the bell sounds again but, this time I can hear a monk chanting as the bell's sound disappears into the morning air.  I arrive at the hall and wait outside for a time, listening to the bell and the chanting of the monk, looking up at the star filled sky.  I turn and enter the hall.  I remove my slippers, placing them on the rack in the hall's entry way.  Entering the zendo, I bow to the Buddha at the far end.  The meditation cushions are aligned and waiting.  A few monks have arrived before me.  Silently making my way to a cushion, I bow to it and then turn to bow again to the Buddha.  I sit and close my eyes.  I can hear the rustling of the monk's robes as they take their positions and then all is silent.  Again, as if from a far off place, a small bell sounds.  A monk begins to read a gatha, first in English and then in French.  The bell sounds again and the monk begins to chant in Vietnamese.  As the chanting nears its end the meditation group, en masse, responds three times to the chanting monk.  It is such a lovely sound, so melodious.  With the end of the chanting we begin our meditation, which lasts for 45 minutes.  It's easy to tell when the end of the meditation time is drawing near, people begin to shift their positions.  When sitting is finished another bell sounds.  Everyone stretches a bit and then stands.  Another bell and we bow to each other.  A final bell and we turn to bow to the Buddha.  We make out way silently out of the zendo and walk, without a word, toward breakfast.

On my way to breakfast I stop in my room and sit on my bed.  I prefer to wait here for the ringing of the bell that is the call to breakfast.  The bell sounds, I rise and walk the short distance to the dining hall.  Queues have already formed, each person serving his own breakfast.  This meal is always the same.  Large metal pots of gruel which are supplemented with grains and fresh fruit.  Toasted breads to be covered with jams made in the village.  A cup of tea.  Each takes a bowl for the gruel with grains and fruit.  Each takes a plate for the toasted bread.

I have prepared my breakfast and select a table at which to sit.  I place my dishes on the table and bow to the others already seated at the table.  Each returns my bow.  I take my seat and bow to my food, remembering to be thankful for all that has caused this food to be before me.  Thankful to nature for growing this food and thankful to all of those who worked to bring this food to this very spot.  Lastly, I hope that the way in which I conduct my life will be worthy of receiving the bounty of their toil.  I begin to very deliberately eat my breakfast.  I cut the bread into bite sized portions.  I take my first spoonful of gruel, being careful to place my spoon beside my bowl as a enjoy each bite.  Occassionally I take a piece of bread.  When I have finished eating I rest for a moment, drinking my tea.  Then I move to the end of the dining hall where I rinse my dished and place them in the drying racks.  As I exit the hall I see a roommate and say "Bon Jour", my first words of the day.  The sun is up now.  What a wonderful way to begin each day.

Returning Home

It's the final leg of this journey halfway around the world.  As the plane rises from the runway my eyes move easily across the turquoise waters, punctuated by frothy surf, over the golden beaches, over the skyline of Honolulu and to the lush green Pali Mountains.  It's a sunny day with just a few white, puffy clouds dotting the clear blue sky and a great day to come home.  Moving swiftly, we pass over the stark isles of Molokai and Lanai, skirt the lush mountain of Haleakula on the island of Maui, and finally descend onto the lava encased runway at Keahole Airport on the Kona side of the island of Hawaii.  As we approached the island my eyes followed the island base of moonscape-like lava blend into lush forests which in turn became barren mountain tops rising to over 14,000 feet above the turquoise and blue ocean.  Allowing these sights to pass over me reminds me of how wonderful it is to be home.

As I deplane I feel the light trade winds on my face and smile.  Leaving the airport, I drive along Queen Kaahumanu Highway, turn up Hina Lani Street, departing the lava landscape and turning into the lush green forests of home.  A couple of miles down Mamalahoa Highway, I turn up Keopu Mauka, move up the green slope of Hualalai Mountain, finally arriving at Chez Marquis Farm.  While it's only a 15 minute drive from the airport, it's another world.

Before unloading my things, I opt for a stroll around the farm.  It was great to see that the lemon trees were full of fruit, the limes were ready to pick, the figs were coming along nicely, and there were several new stalks of bananas.  I was excited that the fennel I had planted before I began my trip had already broken ground.  I was amazed at the new growth on many of the trees and at how the flowers had grown.  The sweet smell of the Kahili ginger waffed across the field.  Many Kana Lillies were blooming, the red being the most spectacular.  The Blue Ginger flower was beautiful.

As I took stock of the farm and the work that was to be done, it occurred to me that this was my transition from traveler to farmer, from marquishungrybuddha to westhawaiifoodie.  Well, it's time to get to work, time to work off a bit of the weight a brought home with me.  I hope that you've enjoyed the log of my travels.  I can assure you that there are many more trip to come.  A hui hou.

A changing of seasons

The Changing of Seasons.

During the middle of each year I decide to rise from the comfort of my bed when the sun climbs over the shoulder of Hualalai Mountain and lights the branches of the Lychee Tree outside my bedroom window.  As the cool season comes and the sunrise drifts to the south, the early morning sun is blocked from the Lychee Tree by a giant Podocarpus Tree and a large stand of Blue Bamboo.  I lounge in my warm bed a bit longer, knowing that when there is no sun to beckon me that the morning air is cooler.  I cherish the extended lounging but eventually rise to greet the clear blue sky.  The day is wasting away.

After preparing breakfast for Pua and myself, I go to the front stoop and sit overlooking the orchard.  I place Pua’s bowl on the ground below me and whistle for her to join me.   We have our meal while enjoying the gentle breeze coming off the mountain and the myriad bird songs.  There are few other noises.  Pua eats quickly.  She is anxious for her morning walk.   She stares at me as I finish my breakfast, her tail wagging wildly.  I return our dishes to the kitchen and grab a handful of doggie treats.  The purpose of the treats is to coax Pua along during our walk.  She loves to languish over this smell or that and often falls well behind me.  It is always interesting to me that as soon as I place my hand in my pocket for a treat she races to my side, sitting attentively, awaiting her snack.  Day after day, year after year we have gone through this same ritual.  It has formed an excellent anchor for our lives together.

I arrive outside the front door with the treats where she is waiting for the first offering.  She consumes it quickly, then swivels and races down the driveway and onto the street below, tail wagging in giant circles the entire way.  I stroll behind her, noticing what new things nature has brought with the coming of the cool season.  The fig trees, which are cut to the stump each spring, are now quite large.  I don’t see many new fruit.  I wonder if the drought of the past two seasons isn’t have an impact.  The branches of the lemon trees are bowed under the weight of so many fruit.  It’s amazing the branches don’t break.  A few of the fruit are beginning to yellow.  Hopefully, the drought won’t cause them to not be juicy.

As I reach the bottom of the driveway and turn onto the street I notice my neighbor’s coffee trees, red with ripe coffee beans.  Although it is quiet now, soon I will hear the songs of the coffee pickers and the laughter of their children as they race about the coffee field.  It always brings a smile to my face when I hear the children’s voices, as they run through what they must think is a coffee forest.

Further along our course I notice the giant Tulip Trees, full of beautiful orange flowers.  I reach our halfway point, giving Pua her much expected treat.  I turn and notice how beautiful the morning sun is on a distant stand of giant Golden Bamboo.  A bit further along our path I stop at my usual place, the place where I have a panoramic view of the ocean.  The cool season sky seems to be clearer, the sights below more crisp.  Today the ocean looks beautiful and serene.  The distant ocean has a few bobbing white dots, fishing boats, and it has lines sculpted across it by the currents, as the ocean is want to do.  I don’t know why the lines appear but they vary the water’s tone, always making an interesting montage of blues.  As I stand, mellow in the warmth of the morning sun, the enormity of the picture before me comes into view.  To the right is the Golden Bamboo, bright in the sun.  Across the bottom are the dark green coffee trees peppered with red coffee beans.  To the left are a handful of large Tulip Trees, full of orange flower.  The middle is the blue of the ocean dotted with fishing boats.  But, the most amazing thing of all is the clear, crisp horizon, bending across the sky.  I am always awed at seeing the curvature of the earth and there it is, framed in nature’s beauty, spread before me.  I take a deep breath and turn to head home.  While I could rest here for too long, there is work to do and doggie treats to dispense.  After all, with good luck, it’ll be here again tomorrow morning.  So, different flowers, different fruits and slightly different temperature signal the changing seasons.  Watching nature at work is a wondrous thing

Canada: Salt Spring Island: an odyssey

I awake and sit on the edge of the bed, looking out over the Strait of Georgia at the dark purple Canadian mountains being crested by the morning sun.  I think of waking up at home when the sun pulls itself over Hualalai Mountain.  I remember when life was so wonderful.  I would awake in the morning and I would smile and mentally note that I had a wonderful day before me.  I would vow to live each moment of this day fully and to treat all with kindness and compassion.  Today has the possibility of being a wonderful day.

I begin early and catch the second Crofton ferry to Salt Spring Island, a short 20 minute boat trip.  I drive across the island to a tasty little breakfast at Barb's Buns in the rustic little hamlet of Ganges.  Ganges and its folks look interesting, sort of like old hippies.  I decide to find out a bit about this place and these people.  To get my information I head for the local bookstore.  Where better to determine the tone of a village than by what they read.  The visit to the store and the talk with the owner is quite enlightening.  It seems that my destination, the Buddhist Retreat located near here, had had some political controversy.  It's interesting gossip but I'm headed there anyhow.  I thank the bookstore owner and head on down the road.

So, I'm off to visit Kunzang Dechen Osel Ling (KDOL) operated by the Kagyu Kunkhyab Chuling sect of Vajrayana Buddhism.  It's a Buddhist retreat that my friends suggested that I might want to visit.  After a quite long drive down what can best be described as a logging road at speeds of 10-15 mph I arrive at their compound.

I drive up to the group of rather dilapidated buildings and saw nary a person.  I park and warily enter the largest building.  There I find a man preparing the lunch I knew I would be getting.  The kitchen was quite rustic but the food looked good and smelled great.  He was expecting me and sends me out and around the building to find Robi, my hostess and guide.

Robi and I have a very nice chat and a look around.  She shows me the male and the female retreat compounds, also very rundown.  Then we visit what might best be described as one of the primo meditation spot in the world.  I could see myself perched upon one of these giant boulders overlooking the ocean, without a manmade noise for miles, being serenaded only by the sounds of nature.  Robi said she spends many hours here in her meditation practice.  I can see myself in this place, except.

We return at the bell, the bell of mindfulness,  for a fine outdoor lunch and an interesting talk with the Lama, who happens to be from Nepal and speaks little English.  As it turns out, the Lama has little interest in teaching anyone about his Buddhism but it happy to live here in peace, with occassional retreat visitors.  If my goal is to come here to learn of Vajrayana Buddhism, that's not likely to happen.  It appears that I'm headed for the exit.  As I expected, the lunch was delicious.  The only part of the meal that was not freshly picked was the wok-fried tofu.  The fresh veggies couched in mild spices were so good.  What man can do with no electric gadgets is amazing.

However, this is an intrguing place with much potential.  If any of you are interested in a rewarding project in an especially cerebral place, it might be for you.  But, it's not for me.  I bid my farewell and head back down that long, dusty road .  Next stop, Victoria.

Solitude: one dimension

Ideal Solitude

As I have considered and reconsidered the thought of ideal solitude it has come to me as an interesting concept to lessen the suffering often evident in all social constructs but not as a panacea for dealing with social difficulties in one’s everyday life.  It is not a strategy one may use to avoid the realities of life.  For a time one may retreat into ideal solitude to buffer the foul winds often pushing the sails of every social construct but one must still seek the smooth waters of kindness and compassion to enjoy a harmonious life.

But what is this “ideal solitude” of which I speak?  Ayya Khema, in her book “All of Us Beset by Birth, Decay and Death” has placed this concept before us.  Ideal Solitude is solitude of the mind (citta-viveka).  Her belief is that if we cannot “arouse mental solitude in ourselves, we will not be able to be introspective, to find out what changes within ourselves.”  This mental solitude means not to be dependent upon others for approval.  It means to be mentally independent.  It means to place oneself apart from the actions of all others.  It means to be spiritually self-sufficient.  It means that one must be unaffected by the difficulties of others.  In essence, one must become “detached.”

By achieving separation from the suffering of others one might place their mind at ease.  When one can place their mind at ease then one may be introspective and contemplative.  One may discover what is happening within oneself.  One may discover what is going on in their mind and why those thoughts are occurring.  The understanding of oneself can create a strong mind, a mind that can stand still and observe.  The strong mind can yield clear comprehension.  When clear comprehension is joined with mindfulness one can achieve greater purpose and clearer direction.

So, therein lies the goal of “ideal solitude.”  According to Khema, “the secluded mind has two attributes: one is mindfulness, full attention and clear comprehension; and the other is introspection and contemplation.  Both of them bring the mind to unification.  Only in togetherness lies strength; unification brings power.”  The underlying question is does such internal strength come at the expense of a harmonious life?

Beyond Middle Age

Can There Be Life Beyond Middle Age?

“Whether life has a future for you beyond middle age depends, in the end, not on poetry but on the values of your life.  If your values are supremely those of body and sense, you may as well resign yourself to the fact that life after youth may be downhill.  If worldly achievement and the exercise of power are what you value most, middle age will be your life’s apex.  But if vision and self-understanding carry rewards equal to or surpassing these others, old age has its own opportunities and you can come to happiness at the time when the rivers of our lives flow gently.

A Facet

Now that I have decided to add the ocean to my life, when the weather doesn't permit me to work on the farm I head to the water.  Today the mountain rains began just before noon so I mounted my trusty steed and headed for the shore.  I arrived to discover that a giant storm must be raging in some distant clime for the ocean was a bit agitated.  I walked over the white sands and onto the black lava shelf running out to the water.  I strode to a high point and stood marveling at the power of the surf.  The ocean would rise up to challenge the invading darkness and then retreat to reveal deep fissures in the lava.  As the water rose up it became black like the lava and as it retreated it would flash turquoise in the fissures.  What a beautiful rhythm.  I stood for a time, my mind totally enthralled by the grace of nature.  What a nice new facet to have in my life.

Renunciation Revisited: Letting Go or Giving Up?

Renunciation can mean letting go of one's preconceptions.
Renunciation can mean letting go of one's expectations.
Renunciation can relate to "non-clinging" or "diminished desires/non-wanting" or "refusing temptation".

Is the solution to our search for inner peace the discarding of everything (i.e., renunciation)?

Does renunciation of preconceptions and expectations lead one to the truth?

Can meditation happen without renunciation/letting go?

A basic question: Who knows that person who knows?