How this Buddhist is bringing delight to the web in lockdown

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‘Reality is always already the case.’ Adi Da Samraj

I don’t know much about nuns.

In my 58-year span, there’s only been two of any note. One was a confessor at the tail-end of a six-week stint in rehab where I had just turned 27.

The other appeared through the mists of lockdown on the web, less than a year ago, when I had decided to make the most of our shared inwardness by taking it seriously.

If ever there has been a time when the divine held up a neon placard to the world exhorting us to turn within…


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‘Staying in the Self by one’s efforts is like training a raging bull by offering him luscious grass and tempting him from straying.’ Ramana Maharshi

How is the world made and remade? By winning hearts and minds.

The fork is in the road, the bend right at the edge of the river. Many are those apparent souls who make choices, each incomprehensible or at least puzzling to the other. Karmic accounts have reached a full stop, each one a mirror to themselves. ‘This is where I am now at the turning of the tide.’ So be it.

Perhaps the true…


The gift of Thomas Hardy, but you might have to read his books

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There is an irony, probably forever lost on all but a few, that to really gain insight into what The Fourth Industrial Revolution is now forcing upon us, we could do worse than return to the novels and poetry of Thomas Hardy, famed West Country author.

In his Wessex novels, particularly (Tess, The Mayor of Casterbridge, Far from the Madding Crowd and Jude the Obscure), we are witness to history in motion, the slow yet inevitable cleaving of people from land; the decimation of a way of life.

The death throes of the 19th century marked the beginning of the…


For the super rich, technocracy is the forerunner to immortality

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Freddie.

A wraith hallowed by spotlight, noticeably thinning a year before his HIV diagnosis, descends the stairs to the stage.

It is not quite a swansong, more a foreshadow.

Death is coming and an ambivalent question floats through the air; a question that gives pause, is worthy of thought.

Noah got to be 930 after all, Methuselah, his grandfather surpassed him at 969 as the oldest character in quite a pantheon.

Adam and Eve were created to live forever but, as we all know, ‘the wages of sin are death’ so, unfortunately, they didn’t make it to the cloud where…


The clock is ticking on the human race to rediscover itself

It is hard to remember when the internet first came online.

Looking back always bears with it the elasticity of time. Is it really that long since Elvis died? John Lennon? That movie came out in which year?!

Everyone will know what I mean. What I do recall — although with no particular date in mind — was the shock of looking at threads on mainstream sites and witnessing the sudden descent of human beings into madness.

Strangers attacked and vilified for one comment; the complete inability on the part of many to accept others might have a different view…


THE EYE OF THE NEEDLE BECKONS RIGHT NOW

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‘A wilful ego hinders your being. A witness must enter on the scene enabling you to see the ego for what it is — an object.’ Jean Klein

It is the worst of times and the best of times, each individual consciousness perfectly reflected by the current crisis, the net accumulation of many lifetimes, catching the wild swimmer downstream exactly where they are and no further.

The veiled opportunity lies not in the world but within, the way to the narrow gate ajar, the price of admission the purification of all that is not, but attributed from the time we…


(Prompt: Speak To Me)

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We ache in the mornings,
this storm of inflammation
and ageing creeping toward us
like a returning vow.
It is long broken. I take solace
from your eyelashes moving on the pillow,
and comfort from your dreaming.

Yet I cannot help but wonder if we are cursed,
this the penalty for our departure.
I watch in the midnight hours -
your frown, the way you clench
teeth and fingers, the different ways
we feel it, how two atone together.

He comes for us at night like a stalker, surreptitious but howling through dawn while I lie or kneel to pay…


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Once upon a time, around 35 years ago, when I was wrestling the serpent that is alcohol in a life or death struggle, life put in my path an ageing Zen Buddhist. Pamela was 67, an aristocrat, had herself spent many years sliding down that particular snake.

An existence as the wife of a wealthy tea planter in India had been supplanted and stripped by a self-replenishing bottle that finally landed her in a one-bed council flat in Worcestershire.

She lived almost entirely in kimonos, shone with the light of Truth and was perhaps the happiest person I have ever…

Simon Heathcote

Psychotherapist writing on the human journey for some; irreverently for others; and poetry for myself; former newspaper editor. Heathcosim@aol.com

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