A message from the garden

For some 50 years  I lived in an attic flat in  Belsize Park Gardens, high above the tree tops. It had a balcony and often in the summer I would sleep out. At night I would  lie gazing up at the brilliance of stars, the moving pageant of clouds and the changing shapes of the moon. Sometimes very early in the morning I would be woken to hear and see a flight of birds crossing the sky like some calligraphy. .

In the West our relationship with Nature barely exists ,which is why the National Trust has launched a major scheme to encourage people to explore the countryside.  How few children today get to climb trees, kick up autumn leaves , or watch hares boxing. And while lockdown has encouraged more people to take long walks, how many actually stop to sit on a bench for say fifteen minutes, keeping very still,  being aware of the life around them.

Trees alone have so much to teach us as our forefathers and mothers knew in these maxims :

What is well rooted survives.

As the twig bends so the tree will grow.

Severed branches grow again. (to all who have been  wounded, emotionally or physical, such words bring reassurance.)

Every tree is known by its fruit.

A rotten tree bears rotten fruitful.

Trees are full of secrets.

It is as St. Bernard of Clairvaux wrote, ‘ What I know of the divine sciences and holy writ I learnt in the woods and fields. I have had no other masters than the beeches and the oaks. You will learn more in the woods than in books.  Trees,  stones  will teach you more than you can acquire from the mouth of a teacher.’

In Frances Hodgson Burnet’s The Secret Garden little Mary, the orphan, asks her guardian if she may have a piece of earth. ‘A piece of earth?’ kh repeats. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘to plant things in, to  make things grow.’ He replies ‘Child, when you see a piece of earth, take it and make it come alive!’

Which is exactly what Mary, aided by Dickon and Colin,  does when they discover the secret garden. They weed it, they plant it -and then what do they do?   They sit cross-legged and meditate!

And this reminds me of some words of Rumi ‘When we nurture the seeds of meditation in our inner garden we begin to come alive at a deeper level than that of mere happiness. Happiness is  elusive, it comes and goes. What grows and becomes evergreen in our innermost garden is contentment.’  

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The cloud of unknowing

In my bedroom hang two brush and ink drawings given to me by an American-Chinese artist. The first is of a Buddhist monk with a tall staff setting off on his journey into a thick wall of mist. This is an image of our journey in meditation. Day in, month in, patiently we persevere in this cloud of unknowing. The second picture shows the same monk seated cross-legged on a precipice, looking down at a storm raging in the valley below. And so, at times when we are meditating, hidden resentments, jealousies, lusts, distractions may assail us. Our task is not to try and repress them but to look them steadily in the face and then continue our silent meditation. Meditation is about letting go, emptying ourselves so that we may be filled with silence and all the richness that arises from our unconscious.

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At the cross-roads

Christians make the sign of the cross, thinking in terms of the Trinity, but this sign, this meeting of the opposites, is to be found in many cultures throughout history. We reach upwards for strength and draw it down deep into us. Having done that, we then make a horizontal line, from left to right, cutting across the vertical. And it is at the centre of this tension that we unite the opposites within us.

As Carl Jung wrote, ‘Collectively we cannot do anything; the only place where we can do anything is in ourselves.’ If we are in the place where all opposites are united, it has an inexplicable effect upon our surroundings. It is in this sense that I make the sign of the cross before meditating.

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