As is quite often the case with Andrew, and other who study with me, our thinking and insights run in tandam. This has happened with this most recent post from Andrew. We both recognise a certain shift has taken place.

I'm finding my retreat/reflection time has moved me on in a way I am not quite able to articulate at this moment. When, and if, something practical comes as an outcome, I'll let you know what it is.

I have recently found myself reflecting quite a lot on aspects of research into the brain which seem to show that we frequently make decisions in a relatively primitive part of our brain some time before our conscious reasoning part of the brain comes up with our explicit reasoned and rational account of the decision. It seems that somehow the decision is made before we are aware of having decided it. Many aspects of our spiritual training seem to follow this model too. Specifically, things often seem to change or shift in us some time before we have any real understanding of what is happening.

From Things Look Different - Something Has Changed by Andrew Taylor-Browne

I have recently found myself reflecting quite a lot on aspects of research into the brain which seem to show that we frequently make decisions in a relatively primitive part of our brain some time before our conscious reasoning part of the brain comes up with our explicit reasoned and rational account of the decision. It seems that somehow the decision is made before we are aware of having decided it. Many aspects of our spiritual training seem to follow this model too. Specifically, things often seem to change or shift in us some time before we have any real understanding of what is happening.

For the last two weeks of January and the first week of February, Julie and I went on holiday. This is not a particularly common event. It is certainly the case that this is a good time of year for us to take a holiday - there is generally less to do on the farm in the depth of winter. Having said this, leaving for any length of time is never easy. We have to arrange for a farm sitter who can come to look after everything, we need to ensure there is enough fuel, food for the animals, clear instructions and plans for all foreseeable contingencies. This year, in addition to everything else, we had an aged greyhound with severe heart failure to leave; and the weather has been the worst winter for at least 15 years. So, the emotional challenge of leaving the farm was astonishingly difficult.

And we did it, we went, and we had a wonderful time in Costa Rica; which was probably the most beautiful place I have ever visited. I have a particular affection for trees and woodland - and the Monteverde cloud forests were deeply and inexpressibly moving.

So now we are back and it is strange how different the farm looks - the familiar seems somehow strange. Our lives, or at least those parts of them that occupy most of our time, are presenting themselves to us almost as though they were someone else's. We have not been away that long and yet things seem very different.

This has been reminding me a lot of the effect of going on retreat. After spending time at the monastery or a temple for a week or more, returning to 'everyday life' and family can be strange. It is almost like seeing familiar things afresh, as though for the first time - strange and yet completely familiar. The first few times this happened I found myself wanting, quite deeply, to hold on to what I had found while on retreat, almost in fear of losing it. Subsequently I came to realise that, although they may fade from consciousness, those things found on retreat are not lost. It isn't that we can hold onto them even if we want to. Rather they effect a change; things are not the same after; a shift takes place - and sometimes we think we can notice what has changed, but usually not.

And so, this time at least, and against all expectation, it seems that a holiday on the other side of the ocean next to which we live has changed something; shifted things along. Things seem different even three weeks after being back. Everything on the farm is OK, even the greyhound is still hanging on somehow, and yet something has changed. And as yet it isn't clear what it is that has changed, and that's just fine.

Dying Meticulously, those two words together say so much don't they. Sorta connected to the post Giving It Up. This poem came in an email along with the sentiments at the end of this post. Published with permission.

BUSY WITH MANY JOBS

Busy with very urgent jobs
I forgot
one also has
to die

irresponsible
I kept neglecting that duty
or performed it
perfunctorily

as from tomorrow
things will be different

I’ll start dying meticulously
wisely optimistically
without wasting time

Tadeusz Rozewicz

Dying and being born WHILST doing urgent jobs very thoroughly is living I guess.

It’s really difficult. I struggle to sit regularly on my bench. I’m better at sitting in my head, in between doing urgent jobs - sometimes.

Dear Good Friend,
Very many thanks for the poem and the insight about living. Like it. I'm tempted to say give up the struggle and sit anyway - Uh! guess I said it.

This morning. Half awake. Half asleep. Caught in that in between time. Half formed thoughts flowing on from a conversation yesterday. We were talking of the difference between giving up in the way one does which is looking down. And giving up in the way of giving up while looking up. Give it up. That's what I came to, half awake/half asleep this morning. Give it up means giving up while looking up.

My early training would be full of instructions to let it go, offer it up. To be honest such instructions seemed to paralyze rather than move me on. Now give it up speaks more clearly of how it is. Not the giving up of despair more....let me think now.....more that giving is center stage, gratitude is center stage. Not that I think grateful thoughts all day long. Such thoughts hardly come up at all. Giving it up has a powerful connotation, for me, of release. Of release into activity. No namby pamby (which was the younger me) will I won't I. Ought to. Should do.

Increasingly I find myself at a loss. Lost in the labyrinths of words when words, bless 'em, are what we have. Lost without them, lost with them. But let's not get into that trap. The lost, tired, where am I and what's to do thoughts are common to all. They, such thoughts, are the trap. Or can become so. They call out, come wrap yourself up in what you know, wrap yourself up so warm and cozy so even your eyes can no longer see, your ears can no longer hear. And you can no longer move or speak.

If all you think you know
Is all you know
And that uncomfortable/comfortable knowing
Has you wrapped up all warm and cozy...

Then, literally
Open your eyes
Allow what is there
To be there
Literally.

Beyond your eyeballs
Behind your eyeballs
Where is the boundry?
Give up - look up!

There is then, nothing more than this...it is enough.

Well, this might work for a handful of readers. And if it does great, and if it doesn't don't worry. Look out for your wisdom as it races past you. Follow it knowing it is not yours to hold and keep. Give it up!

I thought this short correspondence would be of interest to others. Published with permission. There is the question that is asked and the question that is behind the question. And then there is the question one doesn't even know is there. I attempted to answer the third level question.

Dear Rev. Mugo
Why is life inherently special? If nothing permanent exists, and everything exists only relative to other things, what's the difference between a person and a rock?

Dear Friend,
In response to your email:
At the heart of Buddhist practice is Compassion. One can understand that word as unconditional acceptance of what is this - here and now. This is not a theory. Compassion is known (and understood) to be the fundamental nature of existence. And so the answer to your question is Compassion. And the only person who can really and truly appreciate, and fully understand this is you, in your depths. Compassion by the way starts with deep acceptance of oneself, with all that one is and has been. It is here that formal meditation comes into it's own. Sitting still, within compassion, is the heart of it

Living calls forth a response from us and in our lives there is an imperative to act, appropriately and with honour and integrity. So, living within the heart of compassion means one is more likely to take action that honours and respects the conditions that are constantly presenting themselves.

I know this is not a direct answer your question. Perhaps it might spark some recognition in yourself of the bases of your question.

Dear Rev. Mugo
I think I understand your answer. Compassion is acceptance of what is. Living creatures are as they are, so living compassionately means you accept them as they are, and wouldn't wish to do anything to hurt them. I guess in this same way, you also would not want to dynamite a mountainside, even though it wouldn't be violence against a living creature?

You said that Compassion is the nature of existence. Does that go back to the principle of non-duality? There is no real subject or object, meaning everything just is, and if you understand that, there is no reason not to be compassionate, since, by hurting something else, you are just hurting yourself. Let me know if I'm on the right track.

Adrienne has been mardy. A friend (gosh who could that be?) has been, apparently, applying pressure on her to write. So she has written, about responding to pressure, in a post titled Too Much Pressure?

Don't worry, I am no pushover. When this pressure was being applied I didn't just cave in and comply. I recognise an attempt to undermine my status quo when I see/hear one. I had an immediate up-rush of resistance to defend my position. If anyone out there understands the term Mardy then I was the embodiment of being in that state. Internally I was stamping my feet, good and proper!

Now I happen to know that Jim has an animal rescue story up his sleeve and Andrew is bound to have something cooking, literally or figuratively.

No pressure!