Daily blog - Tidying up the garden

The path up to Corrain - the Buddhist Centre
 at the top of the hill.

Happening

The alarm clock went off at six for Lily to do some yoga and for me to do some writing: the ideal routine.

"Is it five or six?" I asked. I'd been ripped from a dream and felt heavy and deep in the middle of sleep.

"Six."

Lily got up and I think made herself a cup of tea rather than sit in lotus. I think it was what they call "English yoga."



I got up more slowly, but then wrote eight pages, mostly just a record of the dream, and also a discussion of how to find that space of strength and respect in dealing with memories, which is something that has already come up in some of the classes and conversations.

Mark is doing a ten day silent retreat soon. Often called simply "a Vipassana"after the guy who founded and popularised the practice, these retreats can be challenging. There are early mornings, limited food, no talking and as little eye-contact as possible so that everyone can maintain their equilibrium, or focus. It's Mark's third or fourth retreat, so he's looking forward to the challenge of lots of meditation without distraction, to getting back into the groove of heightened sensitivity and awareness.

According to Chime - the Lama running The Origins Centre, who has also worked in mental health - these things can be disastrous for people with unresolved issues that come racing to the surface for someone who isn't ready who is in a setting that isn't designed to cope with it. Chime says that when mental health practitioners hear about people doing intense meditation courses, they just roll their eyes, sigh and slap their foreheads. Oh no. Here we go.

They don't offer that kind of retreat here.

They do suggest having the ability to be like a good aikido student, who can say to a more powerful opponent (which this or that memory may be some days): "Thanks. You're too strong for me today. I'm going to respectfully withdraw. but I will be back." (In person it sounds less like Arnold Schwarzenegger and more David Carradine.) The "I will be back" is a bit cheeky. Humble about today but confident that eventually I will come back and be the master of that memory and get to a point where it is incapable of driving me - or making me react in ways I don't want to. As Miss Piggy says: "Hiiiiiii-Ya!"

The garden.

After breakfast I walked up the hill and spent the morning clearing fire breaks and tidying up the forest behind the centre. I can't help it: "tidying up the forest" is the best description I have for it. It was burned last year, so most of the fire risk is gone. They cleared a massive amount of blackberry last year - did an amazing job - but most of what they're burning this year is kindling-sized twigs and branches. It's natural native forest debris. So what we're doing isn't weed management. It's just tidying up, treating the forest like a garden. I find it a bit confusing and confronting. I feel as if I have a permaculture hat (brand new and I don't really know how to wear it yet) and an environmental conservation/Landcare/biodiversity hat (is a bit older, but has Victorian badges on it so looks a bit weird in WA)... but I've never really had a tidy-garden hat. At least, not in relation to an area of native bush. So this morning was challenging, just in terms of trying to find a way to approach the job that made sense to me.

Gradually, the idea of making a beautiful native garden with walking tracks and places to meditate and watch the birds twitter and the butterflies flitter about started to make some sense to me. But it still seems an artificial thing to do. To create a space that to me is so obviously artificial (and yet not a man-made thing -shrine or temple, altar or church, gallery or work of art, say) in order to get in touch with one's authentic or deeper or truer self sits uneasily with me. And I count myself as not really much of a nature person. I don't really bird watch and can't name many trees and don't wear hippy clothes or campaign for the forests. I do, however, like them.

The afternoon was spent buying fruit and veg from a great little shop in a tiny little town called Kirup: Newy's. Their produce was fresher, more local and even cheaper than a normal supermarket. Yay!

Wandered up and down Balingup, had a passionfruit and banana smoothie, checked out both of the local bookstores and read the local newspaper. They need volunteer proofreaders and journalists. I may write my "What's your perfect day?" series yet. (Keep an eye on the Profiles section of this site).

Did a bit more writing. Had dinner. Spent time and saw a few connections get a little stronger. Lily has arranged to practice yoga with Keri. We chatted with Marcus. It's not a place to rush, but when things unfold it's lovely.

Observing

To be chopped.

Today Chim, Brian and I talked about chopping the big beautiful trees down. They're tall enough and close enough that they are capable of falling and destroying the little cabin we live in, but the idea of taking them down is a bit sickening. They're a lot older than I am, and I think a lot more attractive, too. Their log posts aren't as interesting as my blog posts...

Anyway, it's one of those situations where once you ask the questions: "Are those trees dangerous?" "Could they fall on the house?" "Could someone get hurt if they fell over or dropped a limb?" or "Would it be safer if I had them chopped down?" you are on the path which has no exits: yes. Occupational Health and Safety - the force of law and the fear of litigation, says "Yes, you should chop them down."

No one asks what would happen if a building falls down and then decides to level all buildings as a precautionary measure. But (1) trees aren't as useful as buildings (arguable but obvious if viewed from the dominant "logical" mode of productivity and utility) and (2) trees aren't built by engineers. They're magical and mysterious and subject to unpredictable events like winds and droughts and infestations and sudden weariness. So no one can say that this bit of concrete and steel has such-and-such tensile strength and won't fall on me and kill me for at least twenty years. The end result. Chop 'em down.

But for all that, they are beautiful. Magnificent. And the idea that they have to go is, as I said, a little bit sickening. That's the observation for today: not the tree, but the little nauseating feeling of loss.

When did you last feel it? I'd love to hear about the beautiful things that moved you to say, in your body, "No. I'd really like to keep that."

Things I'm grateful for

Dinner. Easy and yummy. Cous cous with tomato and cheese, topped with broccolini, pesto and almonds.

Local newspapers.

Chocolate milk!

The van - got us to the shop and back and still running well even though it's almost 12,000kms overdue for a service!

Bed.