Ashes and Snails

After hearing a talk by an eminent escargologist about the homing instincts of garden snails who said that putting a bucketful of them into a nearby field will not get rid of them (of course we wouldn't lob them over our neighbours fence, would we...?) I put an enormous (bigger than your hand) spider in the yard. I wonder if it will return to the kitchen?

Unfortunately all the carers are terrified of mice and spiders and one said, after a terrific scream and leap across the room, that a spider crawling over the top of the washing basket had nearly given her a heart attack! Mind you, I'm just the same with large moths. They may be my sisters and brothers in the dharma but when they are batting around a lampshade all that is forgotten. I try not to kill them, but sure don't like to co-habit with them.

If I were to live in Buddha Mind all the time, not that I can do anything else, how can I kill what is eternal? How can Buddha Nature (or God nature) ever die, it seems only to change form.

Firewood is not Ash as Master Dogen said. Firewood doesn't deter snails but ashes do. (So do broken eggshells by the way!)

Practice hard while the blogs away....

Sorry there haven't been any blogs for a while as I haven't been very well. Hope to write another one soon! Take care and practice hard,

Gassho to you all,

Genshin

World Cup and Wimbledon

World Cup and Wimbledon in the same week, not to mention the budget.

Horses panicking as flag-flying cars whizz past, and a drought in the North West. It all feels like Alice through the Looking Glass. The world's gan wud. We are more used to wellies than sandals in these parts. Farmers are complaining that grass does not grow and neither do crops.

This morning when I was sitting I remembered how the parable of the Prodigal Son was my favourite story from the bible. It's very similar to the a tale the Buddha told about a rich man looking for his long lost son. Only in my family I was the prodigal parent, never imagining that my spiritual home could be my ordinary, everyday home.

Oil & Vinegar.

An old friend sent me a lyric, part of which was a quotation from Catherine of Sienna which went roughly like this:

"One day when I was sad I asked an old monk what his remedy for sadness was."

"Sing a favorite song", he said. Then he added "Oil always comes to the top of the vinegar."

Clearly he had encountered one of the problems of salad dressing which persist to this day, when we try to mix them. (I guess *Newman had the answer.) Anyway, ordinary daily life is often a bit vinegary, spiritual things are often soothing like oil. But look at the trouble oil has been causing lately. Ordinary life is full of oil and vinegar but it makes a good dressing.

As the dying lettuce leaf said from the depth of its bowl "I like to be well dressed".

NB * "Newmans Own" is a brand of salad dressing created by Paul Newman.

Miscellaneous Thoughts

Hallo everybody. I need some help! In my kitchen there are some chrysophilla - like tiny flies that can't reach my wrapped up fruit. They came in with a houseplant a while ago and lived on the soil. Now in spite of being reduced too two gravel-planted cacti the little flies still appear. Does anyone know how I can get rid of them?

Years of tenzoing taught me to keep a clean kitchen so now that I apparently don't see very well, a blind friend told me once that she uses her sense of touch to feel if worktops and tables are clean...

I am so grateful to have had Zen training and a great teacher because I was shown how to live this short precious life. The Great Matter of Life and Death it's central to Zen. Sex, relationships, children, maturity and old age, sickness and death haven't changed much since the Buddha went AWOL with his friend. I met a glamorous death defying 80 year old in the States, who after many, many plastic surgeries was about to have the skin tightened on her hands to make them also look younger. Good luck to her, but it sounds like a losing game.

Big Day Out

Tomorrow is a Big Day. Shopping at Asda with my home-help, called by one of my carers for whom she also works "The Fairy Godmother". Pushing my trolley transformed by a green plastic shopping basket, I can walk tall and bump my way amongst so many others and each in a dwan, as they say in Scotland.

The highlight of the day is a latte at MacDonalds where the paper coffee cups have collectible stickers on them. Every 6 stickers gets you a free coffee. I guess it's a sign of the recession that stickers are hard to find now except from ones own cup! (Does recession mean stopping again and again?)

At the checkout all my difficulties become obvious-  the garbled speech and confusion, the inability to understand how to put my bank card into the machine and worst of all being shouted at. As though that would help!

l saw a soldier returned from Iraq with terrible spinal injuries. "It's not my disability but my abilities I look at." he said.

Teaspoons

" Life lives between coffee spoons" said TS Elliot in a poem (or something to that effect). Life was indeed like that between coffee spoons and cigarettes in the fifties. I still have a degree of independence but that will go at some point, it must for all of us if we live long enough to complete the circle of life span. Growing old is a gradual erosion of dignity and death is the interesting outcome of all this.

"Dead or alive?"asks the teacher knocking on the coffin lid.
"Don't ask me, I'm not dead yet" replies the master.

Seems to me - but I am just a stupid old grandma - that all our vows and esoteric beliefs are just a kind of life, or should I say death, insurance giving profound comfort and guarantees of survival. So best to put it all into practice this life-time. Must go and have a coffee but I gave up ciggies years ago!