~~~Seaside Dip ~ English Summer~~~

That's me with the hat on, drifting by in the background.

Sandown Isle of Wight August 2014

_~~~Seaside Dip _~o~ English Summer_~~~

 

 Standing staring freezing

Thigh high choking

Bravely stepping wading

Waist water closing


Crooked elbows bracing


Finger tips testing


Eying swells encroaching


Bouncing joking grimacing

Chuckling ducking bobbing

Still standing looking…..

August-flipping cold!

That final dunking

Put off ever-lasting

Over trunks and trunking

Now fast chilling

Down forward dropping

Tipping falling toppling 


No way backing

Shocking submerging


Flat under smirking

Head-up holding

_~o~


Ahhrghh! I'm in!!

Waaaaayyyyy!!!

Log floating


Slight un-stiffening

Possibly relaxing

Gliding swaying


Swaythe waving


Not so chilling


Broad grin dashing

_~o~

Turning noticing

 Ooops…. disappearing!

_~~~Distant specs (do not) ashore_~~~


Bottom touching?

Nope, far out manning


Below water lining

Delicious dawning


Fear arising


No returning

Sensing daring


Flirting skirting

Somewhat hurting

Life endangering

Beyond the pale

Ah well returning

Back a-lying

Feet churning

Sky burning

Arms turning

Shore’s rim reaching

Seaweed clinging

Sand stone lapping

Semi-surfing

Cool arriving

_~~~Laying_~~~staying_~~~resting_~~~peace_~~~

 (Back on the Beach)

Sh-sh-shivering

Towels wrapping

Drinking coughing

Teeth chattering

Chips fattening

Salty sanding

Hypo-therming

Lolling laughing

Happy happening

Family sharing

_~~~Seeing_~~~enjoying_~~~belonging_~~~being_~~~

_~~~Living_~~~

<sub>~o~o~o~o~o~


Colin Eveleigh</sub>

A Mindful Day Out

Beautiful day out with my wife, daughter and the grand kids. Lunch at a café under the railway arches in Southsea on the Hard. Bit dubious about eating here because the sign on the wall didn’t look very welcoming for vegetarians. Noticed myself not being able to read the menu very well. I think it was because I expected everything to be burgers, so I was kind of distracted. As I settled a little, several veggie options came into focus. They had been there all the time but my mind wouldn’t see them. And it was a great lunch enjoyed by all, with the added dimension of the low roar and bumpy vibrations of the trains going overhead! 

Afterwards, me and the kids went to the dockyard on the water in a little electric ‘nee-naw’ boat. My grandson calls anything with a flashing blue light a nee-naw, and this was a Police boat. There was a wheel to steer and a switch to control the speed of the engine and a switch for the light. Both kids wanted to steer, and I said I would see how it went and then they could have a go. There were several other little boats in the water basin, mostly being driven by grown-ups. It was interesting! I felt pretty confident as we set off. ‘Steer….. steady, straight, straight, steady, steady …….’turning a little’….. ‘out of control; out of control’……‘Steer….. steady, straight, straight, steady, steady……‘ ‘turning a little…… ‘out of control; out of control’. That’s how it went!!  You had to have the experience of a seasoned sea captain of a huge ocean-going tanker to be able to anticipate what would actually happen when you steered a little to the left or a little to the right, or put on or took off any speed or cut the engine altogether. Oh and we did have reverse too, but we never tried reverse—everything was a bit too hectic and too complicated for that.  

On my own—he says confidently—I’m sure I could have mastered it with some panache pretty quickly, but with an 8 and a 2 and half year old, it was a little tricky to say the least. Trying to avoid going into a wall or another family boat, or a buoy or a blow-up tunnel was fun though—especially when we bumped into the lighthouse—they thought that was hilarious. ‘Let me have a go Gaga!’, says Romily.’ ‘Let Romily have a go’, says me to Dexter. ‘No!!’ says Dexter, ‘Don’t want to!’…… ‘OK then…..’After a while, I went aft as it were, and got an agreement that we could work together as a crew. Romily moved the engine lever up and down by clicks, and Dexter held the wheel, with me trying to anticipate and turn it when we needed to.   

Amazingly, there were no upsets—I was very mindful of the potential for upsets, and tried as best I could to prevent things from kicking-off (and I didn’t get upset once!). 

What I noticed mostly was the strong urge I had to want to control everything and just do it all…… and letting go of that, so I had the space to be mindful, and so they could see what would happen when they did something or forgot to do things…. And I didn’t turn it into a lesson either—it was just a bit of fun. We did get pretty smooth running in the end and anyhow, now we’ve got our sea legs, I think we’ll do it again! It is great fun and there is a lot to be mindful of in quite an amusing way.

I'm Old ~ It's Official!!

Whenever you tell him where something is—predictably—my grandson says, ‘I can’t see it!’. If it’s not immediately visible to him, and he can’t see it, he can’t believe it exists—he’s two and a half. I’m a bit older and I'm still inclined to the same way of ‘seeing is believing’. 

Some things we don’t want to see or hear at all. 

Like the ophthalmologist has just told me I have age-related cataracts. Apparently, you can get cataracts at a young age too, but I will soon be (gulp!!) 65, and that’s when they could become a nuisance. I can mostly see fog from my right eye—a bit like this…... 

‘You can get it fixed—it depends on your ‘Life Style’—the ophthalmologist said drily. I thought, ‘What kind of life style would I need to have where it didn’t matter that I could only see fog?!’ Perhaps I could become a weather man spotting fog. Any fog I spotted that was worse than mine would immediately warrant an alert! 

To be honest, I ummed and ahhed about posting this note to you all and wondered why. It’s kind of obvious really. Vanity(?) and the mind doesn’t want to be associated with its failing host—the body. Put it another way, the Self—‘I’—don’t want to admit to getting older. Or, let’s be truthful, getting old—but it’s a fact. One that’s quite hard to sit with and face. But it is true. My eyes tell me that and my aches and pains give me little reminders too. Mostly I’m alright with it—and in any case what can I do about these facts of life anyway?

I suppose it helps that at present for me it’s a gradual decline. That way maybe the mind and body hopefully will slowly adjust to one another. But I don’t know what it would be like if things were a bit more sudden though, as they are for some people. Maybe I’ll find out—maybe not—all in good time. And how long will that be? I don’t know. So I’d better get on with it—including the uncertainty of whenever or whatever it is—and make the most of what I’ve got now. I like the idea of ‘getting on’ with things—it’s what we say when we’re getting busy, and it can also mean ‘getting along’ with, as in having a good relationship with, let’s say ‘others’ or ‘myself’. 

It reminds me..... I do need to be a friend to myself, and there are so many things I can give thanks for.

The Best of Both Worlds

I’ve just returned from a very special bike ride. It was an interesting trip and as part of it I stayed for a night and a day at a monastery for Retreat.  I was there before some 44 years previously on Retreat with a friend. It seems an impossibly long time ago, and I remember the week with great fondness. One day after a big summer storm, we were down at the monastery’s private beach and I found a washed up huge wicker elliptically-shaped boat-fender attached to a rope.

On a whim (or should that be on a limb?) I tied it to a dead tree which hung over the water and with my shoes and socks off and jeans rolled up over my knees, splashing around, digging up handfuls of clay, I found myself slapping the clay joyfully on to the hanging fender, where pretty soon a large face began to form. As I remember it, as far as human faces go it was quite grotesque, but fun anyway. I really enjoyed myself and each day after that I went back to the beach to see how the face had weathered. By the end of the week it had completely transformed and was sagging somewhat (especially the mouth) with the weight of water and clumps of seaweed—it became ‘out of this world’ and I loved it.

The point of the story is, the other day I wanted to spend some quiet time on this same beach just to see if I could experience the memory and the joy again—to rekindle the feelings.  In the process, I nearly missed the here and now real-life opportunity to experience directly everything there was to experience right there and then. In fact as it turned out, I got the best of both worlds. Not only was there the joyful memory, but also there was the joy of actually being there and being able to see, hear, touch, taste and smell everything that was there on the beach, that was happening as it happened.  And the truth is that that particular direct experience was amazing and terrific too. I’m really glad I was able to recall and let go of the previous memory, and at the same time be present to experience all the other stuff too, to make a new memory. This time amongst many other things, I had the joy of making something else to leave on the beach—an arrangement of a few stones to sit on. To sit on and reflect. Which I did a lot.

At the end of my Retreat when I was leaving, one of the monks said to me ‘You’ll come back and see us again?’  ‘Hmm…’ I replied. And then with a wry smile he added, ‘Maybe in another 44 years?!’ There’s a lesson in that too.

Drilling Deep

It was all going so well putting up the shelf—I like a bit of DIY—and then my ancient electric drill decided to give up the ghost. I didn’t mind the forced pause though and got to work immediately researching how I might repair the fault and finding out what new and better drill I might get if a repair was not feasible. Finally, after much deliberation, I decided to treat myself to a new drill which I found as a great deal online. It was perfect and I was all set and excited to buy it, when....... my daughter kindly offered the loan of her drills saying very sensibly that we could share them.

My mind was not prepared for this turn of events at all and instantly rebelled with ‘Nooooo!! I want my own new drill!’ What can you do with a childish mind like that? It eventually calmed down (luckily the offer was sent to me by text, so my reaction apart from lamentably sharing my feelings with my wife who famously gets all this stuff—sorry Christina—was largely an internal one) and I was then able to accept the drills reasonably graciously. Phew!! 

By the way, these drills that I’m talking about and now using are great..... and even older than my broken one!! 

There’s a lot to be said for allowing time for the mind to settle before always doing straight away what it wants you to.

“Oh no, not my bell!!”

In the 12 years that I’ve been involved in exploring and coming to personal understandings about mindfulness, I admit I have not had a great attachment to the conventions of Buddhist practice. Like many others, I have been on Retreat, attended conferences, and trainings, joined several classes and groups, sat a fair amount and read a lot, but I have never felt really comfortable with actions and symbols like, chanting, mantras, prayers, icons, rituals, gestures, bowing and so on. I can see the beauty—the purpose—and I realise how helpful these are to some of us in identifying with a religious belief or particular movement, and I understand the way they may assist our intentions and efforts to sustain the habit of practice; I have nothing against them at all—they’re just not for me. However, although I tend to eschew these historic and deeply meaningful ways, I have to admit……….. I love my bell! 

It is a proper Buddhist bell that I bought whilst on Retreat in Nottingham with the Vietnamese Zen Master, Thich Nhat Hanh. Like him, the bell is wonderful, many people admire it and ask me where they can get one, it has a beautiful sound to my ear, and we use the bell as a way of marking the beginning and ending of practice—the passage of time. In the spirit of everyday mindfulness, I have experimented in the past by using non-Buddhist bells, (even a school bell a bicycle bell, and an hotel reception bell on various occasions) and I have used other everyday recorded sounds, but have always come back to this one; my bell. However, until recently, I had not realised the full power of the bell—not only to delight—but also to disturb.

I found this out the other day at the beginning of a 6-week ‘Introduction to Mindfulness In Everyday Life’ course that I run at a local library. I soon discovered that one of the people on the course had a serious problem with the bell and could not tolerate the sound or the resonance—this was because she has a condition called hyperacusis, which means she has difficulty tolerating everyday sounds, some of which may seem unpleasantly or painfully loud. On top of that she also has tinnitus, which apparently was being aggravated by the sound sensitivity to the bell. Her immediate and very strong negative reaction to the sound of the bell was to find that it actually increased the suffering she experienced—it was not soothing or pleasant at all. Even if I sounded the bell as quietly as possible, not only was she unable to listen to it before and after each guided awareness session, she found she couldn’t even bear the sound of the same bell when she listened at home to the recordings of practices I gave her. It became clear pretty quickly that she would not be able to continue with the course and something would have to give. This was a conundrum for me and it came quite out of the blue. Should I give up the bell for one person when everyone else (I assumed) likes and appreciates it so much? Or should she be encouraged, as a part of turning towards her own suffering, to learn to be mindful of her reactions and let them take their rightful place alongside all her other awareness so that she could get used to the sounds and not suffer such extreme reactions?

I have worked with people suffering in this way before, but never had the suffering quite so directly associated with the bell—and clearly in this case, it makes perfect sense. So I sat with it to allow some insight and compassion to arrive and as a resolution I came back and offered two things—modified recordings of the practices with no bell sounds at all, and a promise not to use the bell in our weekly sessions. I understood that she might feel she had to drop out anyway, but she was very grateful for these offers, and knowing she would be relieved of the pain of the bell, was happy to continue and very determined to get on with the course and the homework.
 

It’s not exactly a popular idea, but there is a lot to be said for turning towards suffering, and I’m sure, because we’ve honestly looked at the effects of the bell on the course, it will open doors and allow us to venture into new places. In the end, I decided that we would all gain much more by being able to stay together as a group, experiencing whatever came up for us during the course (the course without the bell for goodness sake!) and having the added possibility that each of us would be able to share these experiences and reach deeper understandings. Rather than have the lady leave, the decision to offer the no-bell options felt right. It seemed to be kind, and I felt more congruent and at ease with myself as a result.

And of course, this post is not about hyperacusis or tinnitus or the sound of the bell, it is really about letting go of attachments—or ‘craving and desire’ as the Buddha put it.

I have been letting go of so many things lately……. I have let go of my mindfulness books to charity so other people can read them. I have let go of the need to be quite so well prepared when I facilitate mindfulness events for others. I did this partly because it was suggested to me by one helpful person in another one of my groups, and I thought I would give it a try. It fits very well with the notion of being able to trust in myself and others and also it means that I’m not striving so hard to achieve desirable outcomes—which is mindful, right? In theory, it also has the effect of enabling me to be more present and available too. I have so much more to let go of every day—often over and over—a lifetimes worth of thoughts, feelings and sensations to accept and let go of. “Dying to every moment”, as Krishnamurti so dramatically tells us.
 

All this reminds me that there is something here to re-learn and to re-member to be mindful of—and admittedly, it is a recognition of the obvious; we are all different, and others have a lifetime of their own thoughts, feelings and sensations to accept and let go of too! We are different in our perceptions and needs, and well…. we are different in just about every way—except for the fact that we have the same kind of mind that always causes and adds to our suffering by making more of an experience than is actually there. And that’s why I’m letting go of as many attachments as I can—yes, even the bell—because then maybe there’s a chance I might be just a little more present, a little more aware, a little more available—to be able, truly to be with, rather than separate from others.
 

No-bell no-Self? Well.... just another little bit of Self I let go of anyway!

The Paperboy

It’s a very long time since I stood on the decks of the Royal Yacht Brittania—50 years to be precise! I’m standing here now, because we’ve taken a few days break in Edinburgh and this is where she now lies as a major visitor-attraction in Leith, Scotland. Back in 1963-4, the 14 year old paperboy that I was then, lived in Stamshaw, Portsmouth and when—in between her many World Tours and State Visits—she was in her Portsmouth Dockyard berth just off Whale Island, close to our house, I would cycle off each morning from the Newsagents to sell papers and magazines to the crew. Not many people know this!

It’s a very strange feeling to be back on board. I’m excited and a little bit perturbed and disorientated as I try to find the exact spot where I stood on those icy-cold early mornings before going off bleary-eyed to school. Unlike this visit, where I am free to go absolutely anywhere I like—even (shock-horror) to see the Queen’s bedroom—I never actually got to be any place on board in those days, except to ‘man’ a small undercover bit towards the stern, having left my bike on the quayside and lugged my massively heavy papers and equally huge cash bag up the gangway with me. And of course sadly, I never met the Queen.

As we walk up and down, deck-by-deck with all the other enthralled multi-national visitors looking at the memorabilia, artifacts, fabulous collections and history of the ship and her esteemed Royal Family, who travelled over a million miles in her across far flung seas, enjoying their privacy and also entertaining many famous dignitaries and wealthy guests for over 60 years—I’m not sure what or how I’m feeling. Such a long time has gone by so quickly and so many things have happened in my life—was this really a part of it? Did it shape or influence who I am or what I went on to do?

'Amongst his wares, the paperboy had been given several men’s magazines to sell, and he remembers with quite a lot of embarrassment, the sailors laughing about the ‘tame’ nature of what was on show. They tried to make him blush by showing pictures they had of eye-popping and seemingly impossible things.'

I did blush…. and I’m still blushing now!

'Also, he remembers after one of these trips, cycling back to the shop with his much lighter newspapers and magazines bag and very much heavier cash bag. Approaching the bridge, he had to slow down and come to a wobbly stop because of traffic lights. He waited for them to change and scooted along to get back on his bike again. Cocking his leg confidently over the saddle—yes, you’ve guessed it—he proceeded to empty all over the road the complete contents of his cash bag as it tipped off his shoulder.'

I couldn’t believe it!! Traffic came to a standstill as I scrabbled around trying to pick up the money and several people came to help—at least I think they were helping.

Anyway, funny memories….. and I’m wondering if embarrassment is etched deep in my soul, and whatever else there might be there from the past. 

Recollecting and reflecting on the past. 

Ah well, the past….. the past….. all is past, except for now, remembering. Nothing profound, nothing important—not now anyway. Remembering and letting go of the past.

Lost and Found

I’ve come here on my bike to the natural burial ground to sit with my daughter Annabel in the woods for a while. It’s almost 9 years to the day she died and my wife and I return here all the time, usually together. Today on this bright September Sunday morning I’m alone. Well….. I am for a little while, until in the distance I hear the tap-tap-tap of a walking stick and the chat-chat-chat of approaching voices—an elderly man and woman slow-stepping the narrow path. I shut my eyes in a slight involuntary grimace and inwardly groan, hoping they will pass by. He notices my bike in the bushes. I think I’m unseen to their left, and they do pass by—but only going on for a few yards—where they stop, and, as if rehearsing for a play, they continue their ad-libbed echoing vocals. Mostly it drifts by, over and beyond me, but I have to say it’s hard to ignore. “I didn’t shave this morning”, “Will I break the camera?” he jokes. “I see no ships!”..... “only hardships” he quips again. After a while, someone they know joins them. They say hello, ask how she is and talk to her about her loss. For a few brief moments there is respite, and the levity subsides. This awareness gradually drifts from mind and I relax a little, thankfully noticing as the volume fades that they are walking away.

 

Settling into stillness—it’s as if the channels have changed—and here, sitting on the wooden bench which has been placed by someone in memory of another person, I hear and see clearly again. The way it is—the pigeon calling; the bee buzzing; the cool breeze; rustling leaves and wisps of grass; dappled light bathing the summer scene in golden splendour; the butterfly pausing; the body and mind resting—all is flowing, changing—I breathe again. Of course, this is the way it was all along, but the mind is very partial to words and people, so for a time I was caught up and unaware of all this and probably much more.

Then (would you believe it!?) voices are approaching from the right and behind me. It’s very busy here this morning in this wide wild expanse, with acres of woodland, and within this space, all these people have decided to come close to me. They don’t have to be near me, do they? Well…. they just are, because like me, they have come to be with lost loved-ones. Seems like a family this time—a man, woman, child, an older woman. The man makes jokes like the other man did—often in poor taste—and he adds frequent chuckles. I tell myself he’s uneasy because of the situation. I wonder if they can see me and I’m pretty sure they can—they are very close by. I hope I don’t put them off….. and then I notice a strange sense of disappointment when they carry on chatting away as if I’m not there at all! Am I really here?! I think to myself.

Eventually, these people too go on their way, hardly breaking-step in their discourse—and with another sigh of relief, nature returns. It never went away.

 

In peace again, leaving the bench, I wander a few soft steps to Annabel’s place, passing and greeting the little metallic grey Buddha that someone has carefully chosen to watch over another. As I always do, squatting down on my heels to be close to earth, I put my hands flat on the green-cool moss and feel the cushioned impression being formed by my gentle warming touch. There is a sea of wild strawberry leaves here and a grand display in miniature of the living countryside. A little vole scurries in my direction, catches sight of me—or senses my presence in some way—has second thoughts and quickly runs back the way he came! We are never alone; there are always others present.

The fact is, we often put our lost loved ones in a special place, either physically or in mind, I guess to help us to remember—to commemorate and celebrate their having existed. ‘Thank you for being in my life’. Of course no-one wants to lose anyone, so if they’re in a special place, they’re not really lost—we can easily go there and find them. Then we can become aware that others naturally do the same—it hasn’t just happened to us—death and loss are natural and inevitable facts of life. I say ‘can become aware’, because recognising, accepting and being at one with this is hard and we want to deny and fight against it for all we're worth. We are very clever at turning away from and avoiding facing the truth—the mind wants to possess and hang on to things any way it can (space and people) and to have everything just so and in control. “Go away, this is my place—special to me!” “Don’t you know how important this time is?!” I smile to myself about this thought-realisation—this indignation and frustration that I feel at having to share my space and time with others—and I give this smile to Annabel. She had and still has a lovely sweet smile. A smile that lives in my heart—which it’s true is another special place—but it’s not an escape from reality. I know that. And I won’t ever lose her smile and I don’t have far to go to find it—and the sadness or happiness or whatever it is that’s there in that moment as well. 

Letting go of anniversaries—there are none solely belonging to me—there is only now, which is there for all of us, and all is changing and unfolding just as it will.

So now I go steadily in awareness on my way with my bike, sharing the air we breathe and the ground we touch.
 

[I wrote a little book for Annabel, and anyone who has lost a loved one ~ 'Bella's Way']

Mindfully non-Pitching

Yesterday was a day of Mindfulness like no other I can remember—7 hours standing and sitting in a street promoting our group’s monthly meeting for everyday mindfulness. At my town’s Summer Festival, I am surrounded by people setting up their gazebo’s and selling their wares—baskets, beers, hats, t-shirts, a jobs around the home network, a bouncy castle and face-painting for kids, exotic foods, garlic…. and that’s just what I can see from my pitch—there is much more beyond; an explosion of delights and intrigue for the senses. The smells and sounds grow, the weather is kind and people are coming. I feel excited, exposed, and yes….. a bit embarrassed. There’s no way this is going to go well!

Waiting…… being still…… waiting…… being still…… waiting…… there are lots of people here, and as the day warms up, steadily, more and more wander by.  In my allocated spot on the shady side of the street, I have a table, a couple of chairs and I have some laminated sheets with big coloured letters—strung out like bunting—flapping like flags in the breeze. ‘N O W’ the one in front says, and on the table-top there are the words, ‘Noticing, Observing, Witnessing’, and ‘Patient, Open-Minded, Trusting, Non-Striving, Accepting, Letting Go, Non Judging’—the seven pillars of Mindfulness—plus a small leaflet to give to people or let them take, which explains about the group. Not exactly a classy get-up, but a presence of sorts anyway.

The friendly (and they are friendly) stall-holders around me start trading straight away and they use all the ancient tools and techniques of selling. They are jolly, chatty, smiley, they walk up to people, they make a lot of eye and body-contact, they call out, they make jokes and bustle around—and money flows. In the past, I’ve done my fair share of pitching, but not today. Today I’m just (non)doing; being what it says on the Mindful tin—as best I can—and noticing. Noticing the families, babies, children, friends, lovers, infirmity, beauty, athleticism, shy, bold, loud….. train of colourful people drifting by, back and forth—all diversity of life is here—including a lot of other amazing animals of the ‘pet’ variety too! I am dazzled by it all and now, just about beginning to relax and enjoy the festivities.

Mostly, people go by looking quizzically and with polite curiosity at the N O W and me. If I see more than a passing flicker of interest, I move in a little bit towards them asking ‘Hi, are you local?’ Not in a predatory way I hope—more like a horse-whisperer than a salesman! It surprises me to learn how many people already know about our group and Mindfulness, and say they haven’t gotten round to doing anything about it, but that they really should. So it’s a chance for me to describe a bit about what we do and don’t do and for them to see and meet the one who ‘guides’ the group (not just meeting me, because thankfully, there is another group member with me at the stand some of the time and that’s really helpful for them to see her friendly presence and talk to her too).

And the stories, the heart-rending stories; ‘I’ve left my wife and kids—it was for the best’; ‘If we don’t get more mindful soon we’ll get dragged into another war’; ‘I’ve been depressed, my doctor says mindfulness would help’; ‘It’s hard being a single parent and having the responsibility for everything’. They don’t ask much about, ‘What do you do in the group?’—they hungrily want to express and share their special stories of lived-lives. One person I meet tells me she has recently lost her husband—she is in tears right away, and full of apology. I am there. I listen. I’m present with her—and all my own stuff too.

So many people associating Mindfulness with therapy and getting ‘fixed’. I gently tell them we don’t do therapy, we turn towards and reflect on the ‘What Is’ of life and we learn to accept and let go. And it’s not all about the practice either, which many of them say they do or have lapsed from. It’s not what they expect and probably disappoints them, but somehow they seem comforted and reassured and want carefully to check the details of coming to the group’s next meeting.  I wonder how many of these people will join us—could be standing-room only next time! It doesn’t matter.

This has been a humbling experience and reminder for me. So many people want to have Mindfulness in their life and still there is much misunderstanding and suffering which we add to with the mind. I wonder about the difference between our stall and cause, which doesn’t ask for money and the other stall-holders who do. I guess regardless of whether money, goods and services exchanges hands, everyone is a potential customer for all of the stall-holders, and we’re all potential customers for each other. At the start of the day, I felt like I was the sore thumb in this collection of humanity, but now I see there is no difference between us—it’s about survival—we all need each other. Wouldn’t it be good though if there were a few more Mindful stall-holders out there, sharing what we know about the mind—not pitching—just being there in everyday life?

The Display Team

As a part of a display team, I have been helping to set up our annual arts and crafts summer exhibition, with over 600 exhibits on show this year – paintings, sculptures, and many varieties of ceramic and craft work. There is no selection process, so everyone can put in more or less whatever they like. One entry was a huge Wallace and Gromit-type sheep made out of cardboard tubes for legs, plastic bottles for a head and a white plastic sheet wrapped around soft material for a body.  One senior member of my team, nearly tried to remove the plastic sheet because she thought it was a wrapper when in fact it was actually meant to be the main part of the sheep’s body! I alerted her to this fact and just managed to prevent the inadvertent destruction of the piece in the nick of time. That was a funny moment.  Other works were literally more weighty, including a 25Kg horse’s head made of Portland stone which I and another guy helped to lift and it nearly did my back in, some amazing paintings and pots and ceramic sculptures of all kinds.

Our job was to decide where each piece of pottery, ceramic work and sculpture was to be displayed and in what manner. Not an easy task, and I don’t think I contributed very much, partly because every time I suggested something could go here or there it was kind of ignored, as my other team colleagues seemed to know exactly where things should go! So I had plenty of things to notice going on with the mind, including thoughts such as, ‘What’s the point!?’ ‘This is a bit of a waste of time’, ‘I’m only here as the token bloke to do some lifting now and again’, ‘I don’t really fit in – they are all in the same branch of the society and I’m not’, ‘Why was I volunteered for this?’…. and so on. All thoughts that were a bit negative and down on myself.

There didn’t seem to be much by way of collaboration – things just seemed to end up where they were meant to be and I got a bit bored.  I found myself playing with the idea that each piece could be displayed completely differently, almost randomly, and that would be just as OK too.  In my mind I indulged my obsessive eye and mentally nudged pieces an inch here and an inch there just for fun. Then I even started doing that humourously for real, and actually, it was OK with the others – they didn’t frown on me anyway.

Then to break up this reverie, a man from the press came and asked us if we would pose for a few shots as if we were discussing various pieces of work. I immediately went to grab my sculpture which had been lying on a table behind us waiting for placement in the hall. I always seem to make stuff which doesn’t quite fit the bill. In this case, a sculpture which I made to hang from a wall, instead of free-standing on a plinth. Consequently, as usual, no-one quite knew what to do with it.  So anyway, the photographer loved it and was so impressed he wanted me to stand in front holding the piece to camera with the others gathered around me. I was really embarrassed and kind of pleased at the same time, and he kept asking me questions about the work which only made matters worse, because then I enthusiastically told him some of the story of the piece and described its construction which just fascinated him more…. “It’s made of a welder’s mask found on a beach and given to me by a friend, a uniselector telephone relay switch from 1940, the same as those used at Bletchley Park in the first computers for code breaking; also given by a friend, a glass reflector in a box I bought from an antiques fair, with a mirror behind - I use mirrors a lot in my work….. and it’s called ‘LOS (letting go)’, LOS standing for loss of signal, which is a computing term…..‘  Talk about self-promotion! I went from a hang-back slightly on- the-edge person to centre-stage in an instant. I could see this happening and I wondered at the same time what was going through my colleagues minds and it all happened so quickly.  I also noticed that what the photographer was writing in his notebook bore little or no resemblance to what I was saying.  Ah well, at least the photo would be an accurate rendition wouldn’t it?

On reflection, through each person’s art work, I guess we are all there to promote and display the Self. What you notice is how different all these Selves are and underneath it all there may be the common purpose of ‘Look at me!?’  The whole point of the exhibition is for people to exhibit their work for all sorts of reasons I guess, sometimes monetary, but mostly I imagine because they want to be seen and appreciated for something they have made - we even get awards and presentations for doing this. (PS I got a ‘Highly Commended’ but who cares? What does it matter? Well… I guess I do a little bit!)

I can say for myself, that I produce what I make because of a creative urge to express my feelings and convey ideas about Mindfulness, but that’s not exactly letting go of Self is it? In fact, the truth is, I become so attached to the works I make, that I find it hard to let go of them at all. Fortunately, no-one so far has said they want to buy any of them anyway, and in any case the ‘LOS (letting go)’ piece is definitely ‘NFS’! The work has deeply personal meaning for me and I think I will never be able to let it go even though the title would suggest I am letting go of stuff inside and around it. The object of the mind remains firmly attached to the objects themselves as assembled.  - There’s attachment for you - Maybe one day I’ll let go of it all.

Working with a group of people I didn’t or don’t really know? It’s a strange experience because there are some folks I don’t see at any other time of the year, and it’s as if we never really get beyond the awkward start-up phase of conversation. Does it matter that I don’t really know them or that I may never really know anyone properly including myself? It feels as though it does, but I suppose what really matters is that we connect in some way. Whereas before, I felt a huge distance and sense of being an outsider, (a feeling I often experience), in this moment, as I write this, I feel a great surge of gratitude and closeness towards others. Maybe we’re not as different and distant as my mind would have me think.

[For those of you who might be around to see the exhibition, it's open until next Tuesday -  http://petersfieldartsandcrafts.org.uk/]