I looked around for other stuff by her and found this video talk by her. It’ll also provide some context to the work below which flowed as a stream of consciousness after watching the video. True scribbles.
I am posting this as a piece of artpoetryhaikuthematic.
The journey towards Eskdalemuir was made all the more pleasurable by the scenery along the way. Early morning mists sitting atop the hills, bathed in a serene kind of light, set the tone for the day for me. It was eminently peaceful, as if the land were whispering a good morning. On arrival at Samye Ling I was immediately drawn to the golden statue of Tara bathed in bright morning sunlight, sitting in the Medicine Garden.
It had obviously been situated there, facing East, to catch the early rising rays and it was animated by a glowing luminescence. Almost as if it were dancing. The Victory Stupa sat by a Zen like garden complete with curved bridge and still waters. It was impossible not to notice the serenity. I sat. Just sat.
Brings me to the Buddha Mind
There is only Now.
Afterwards I walked clockwise around the Stupa, mindful of the rhythms of the turning Prayer Wheels
Along from the Stupa lies another pond within which is a wonderful statue of Nagarjuna
Prayer flags flutter in the wind harmonising the elements in both person and environment.
A final stop at the Temple offered me an opportunity to hear the prayers and chants of the Monks and to sit in silence for some time once more. I am aware of a death in the community, one of the founders, and the brother of the sitting Abbot, was killed recently on a visit to China. The pointlessness of this act sits heavily on me as I observe my silence. Such is the world we live in.
The journey back to Wiston was also beautiful, as the dying sun bounced it’s last light of the hilltops, soft, warm and welcoming us home.
There is something about the play of light on the land that is very much about the present moment.
If you were to judge your favorite book by its cover, would you still read it?
First things first. Favourites. I hate trying to pick them. It’s almost impossible. Even if I break things into Genre specific groups , I still have a hard time picking just one.
It’s never that clear cut.
Favourite Album. Don’t even go there.
Sport is different. I can pick one team and stay with them through thick and thin but give me a bunch of stuff I own and ask me to pick my favourite.
So it is with some trepidation that I approach this Daily Prompt. There are, as you may have gathered now, a number of possible candidates for favourite book. Do I say a little about each out loud here in Blogland or mull quietly over my problem until the bath overflows with water?
Hmmmmmm. That’s the sound of me pondering just in case you were wondering. As a side note it is perhaps worth me pointing out that it was a fairly lengthy ponder. About a minute actually. For me to give you the reader a real sense of how long that ponder was I would have had to write about two pages of hmmmmmmmm. Well maybe one. But a lot of hmmmmmmmmm. Spellcheck is now trying to figure out for itself the specific length of a hmmmmmmmm. It is failing miserably as my fingers rest on the m key until I want to stop. I am not going back and counting m’s. No way.
So whilst I pondered I came to a decision. There is a book I can choose. Well there are in fact 6 of them but it is essentially one story so I am going to say it counts. The first book of the two Trilogies, The Duncton Chronicles and the Book of Silence, was called Duncton Wood. Below is the cover.
I can’t remember what drew me to the book in the first place but the cover obviously did not deter me and so by default I can say I did not, therefore make a negative judgement of it. Perhaps the view of two moles in conversation intrigued me.
Perhaps the setting illustrated on the cover, a quintessential English Beech woodland, called to the spirit of the outdoors that dwelled in me. Perhaps intuitively I knew it was a book I should read. Who knows? There is something gentle about the illustration. Something that whispers of times past, ancient times where secret knowledge was locked into the land by Druidic craft.
Am I saying that in some way my judgement was a good one? A sound one? I am indeed, but only with the hindsight of a story consumed and remembered, like a good meal and a full glass of wine.
This is a story of life, of death, of spirit and the eternal struggle between good and evil, between right and wrong. It is a story for all times. It is, I believe a story to be read and savoured by all.
The main protaganists are moles but in essence they are you and me. Once into the story you will forget you are human. You will see and think as a mole does, becoming one with that environment. It is when all is said and done a journey into self.
This is a blog about my life. It's about much more than living with cancer. It's about reading books, cold water swimming, mothering, eating. All that stuff that people who don't have cancer do. If you're looking for my poems you need to go to fmmewritespoems.wordpress.com