Peter Clothier's Blog, page 15
March 21, 2020
LOVE
It is healthy, I suppose, but deeply painful, to be confronted with this irreducible truth: that everything we normally rely on to define our lives and offer us what sense of security we enjoy turns out to be nothing more than illusion. The ground we thought we could stand on forever can be snatched out from under our feet in a moment. Source of income, financial security, social stability, material well-being, relationships--everything that constitutes what we think of as the foundation of our lives is exposed at moments such as these to be radically unstable.
All the more reason, then, to keep looking within, to be working as best we can to build the inner strength and resilience we need to withstand what Hamlet so memorably described as "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Outrageous indeed, the onslaught of this global pandemic that threatens not only human lives but everything we have constructed to sustain them. We are left to contemplate the radical insecurity of our tenuous existence, and offer to each other the only solace we know to calm the fear and heal the pain in our hearts: the power of selfless love.
All the more reason, then, to keep looking within, to be working as best we can to build the inner strength and resilience we need to withstand what Hamlet so memorably described as "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." Outrageous indeed, the onslaught of this global pandemic that threatens not only human lives but everything we have constructed to sustain them. We are left to contemplate the radical insecurity of our tenuous existence, and offer to each other the only solace we know to calm the fear and heal the pain in our hearts: the power of selfless love.
March 20, 2020
SHELTER IN PLACE
This morning we Californians woke up to find ourselves under the order of our Governor to "shelter in place." In my 80-plus years I never thought to imagine such a thing. Even the strictures of World War II imposed by the scarcity of resources in my native England, including that most basic of all resources, food, fell short of what is required of us today in terms of the surrender of our individual liberties. If we had petrol in those days, we could travel. We could visit family and neighbors. We could assemble in church or the village hall, or--not as children, of course--in our local pub.
And yet clearly the Governor's restrictions make sense. The "enemy" is not a squadron of bombers passing over our heads in the night sky. It's not the unseen, underwater menace of U-boats. It's not legions of men armed with lethal weapons in distant places. The enemy from which we are now required to protect ourselves is ubiquitous as well as unseen, a malicious lurker on potentially every surface we touch, from the handle of the cart in the grocery store to the package delivered to our door by Fedex. It lurks, so it seems, on the hands of strangers, and lingers in the air when they do no more than cough or sneeze.
No matter how infinitesimally tiny or invisible its disguises, it's an enemy that threatens potentially more human lives than all of our wars. And it threatens us all, indiscriminately, not because we are enemies, not because of the nation of our origin or the color of our skin or the nature of our belief--those foolish, old reasons for mutual destruction--but simply because we are convenient carriers for the germ that cares not a whit for human affairs.
It's humbling to acknowledge our powerlessness against this invader. We have built and equipped enormous armies, fleets of high-tech warships and military aircraft. We are more "powerful" than any humans before in the entire history of our species, and yet we are scrambling in fearful disorder when confronted by an enemy whose power we should have been able to predict but for which we are as yet no match.
Once our human ingenuity has found a way past this current catastrophe, as it will, shall we have finally learned the humility we need as a species to avoid being mired in unfounded--and so frequently disproved--delusions about the superiority of our intelligence and its ability to understand and control every aspect of the natural world that tolerates our existence? And for which we are, after all, no more nor less important than the virus that afflicts us. Shall we have learned to "know our place", with the respect that entails for other species, for the environment, for the planet?
It's an outcome devoutly to be wished. Let's be ready not to declare victory at the end of this "war" but rather to learn from the wounds it inflicts.
And yet clearly the Governor's restrictions make sense. The "enemy" is not a squadron of bombers passing over our heads in the night sky. It's not the unseen, underwater menace of U-boats. It's not legions of men armed with lethal weapons in distant places. The enemy from which we are now required to protect ourselves is ubiquitous as well as unseen, a malicious lurker on potentially every surface we touch, from the handle of the cart in the grocery store to the package delivered to our door by Fedex. It lurks, so it seems, on the hands of strangers, and lingers in the air when they do no more than cough or sneeze.
No matter how infinitesimally tiny or invisible its disguises, it's an enemy that threatens potentially more human lives than all of our wars. And it threatens us all, indiscriminately, not because we are enemies, not because of the nation of our origin or the color of our skin or the nature of our belief--those foolish, old reasons for mutual destruction--but simply because we are convenient carriers for the germ that cares not a whit for human affairs.
It's humbling to acknowledge our powerlessness against this invader. We have built and equipped enormous armies, fleets of high-tech warships and military aircraft. We are more "powerful" than any humans before in the entire history of our species, and yet we are scrambling in fearful disorder when confronted by an enemy whose power we should have been able to predict but for which we are as yet no match.
Once our human ingenuity has found a way past this current catastrophe, as it will, shall we have finally learned the humility we need as a species to avoid being mired in unfounded--and so frequently disproved--delusions about the superiority of our intelligence and its ability to understand and control every aspect of the natural world that tolerates our existence? And for which we are, after all, no more nor less important than the virus that afflicts us. Shall we have learned to "know our place", with the respect that entails for other species, for the environment, for the planet?
It's an outcome devoutly to be wished. Let's be ready not to declare victory at the end of this "war" but rather to learn from the wounds it inflicts.
March 19, 2020
A VIRTUAL SIT
Well, a few members of our sitting group joined in with our experiment yesterday, and their emailed responses suggest that it was at least the start of a great idea. There were a couple of suggestions, too, as to how it could be more skillfully done, by using a program like Zoom or setting up a Facebook Room. I have no idea how either of these work, but am committed to investigating further.
We humans need connection. As a life-long writer, I am used to the experience of solitude. I need that, too, and feel comfortable with the isolation that is universally recommended at a time when the coronavirus rules the world. One welcome and perhaps paradoxical side effect of isolation, however, is the increasing awareness of the need for connection, and we are fortunate to have devised the means to make it possible, remotely, through online communications like this one.
I have also noticed in myself a greater desire to be in touch with family and old friends, and have been reaching out with emails and telephone calls, some of them to people with whom I have been out of touch for a long while.
It was a long time ago that I learned the concept of the "gift wrapped in shit." I even forget who it was that introduced me to the phrase, but I used it often, back then, to describe that other cliche, the silver lining that can accompany even the darkest of clouds. We have been handed, in this virus, the ultimate gift wrapped in shit. No matter how unwelcome the opportunity it affords us, we are left with the obligation to use it with consciousness, skillfulness, and compassion.
We humans need connection. As a life-long writer, I am used to the experience of solitude. I need that, too, and feel comfortable with the isolation that is universally recommended at a time when the coronavirus rules the world. One welcome and perhaps paradoxical side effect of isolation, however, is the increasing awareness of the need for connection, and we are fortunate to have devised the means to make it possible, remotely, through online communications like this one.
I have also noticed in myself a greater desire to be in touch with family and old friends, and have been reaching out with emails and telephone calls, some of them to people with whom I have been out of touch for a long while.
It was a long time ago that I learned the concept of the "gift wrapped in shit." I even forget who it was that introduced me to the phrase, but I used it often, back then, to describe that other cliche, the silver lining that can accompany even the darkest of clouds. We have been handed, in this virus, the ultimate gift wrapped in shit. No matter how unwelcome the opportunity it affords us, we are left with the obligation to use it with consciousness, skillfulness, and compassion.
March 18, 2020
A VIRTUAL SITTING GROUP
For some years now--since December, 2015, I remind myself!--Ellie and I have been hosting a neighborhood sitting group in our home. I don't presume to "teach", but I do offer a guided meditation, and it has become one of the great pleasures of lives. Now that we must observe "social distancing" rules to slow the spread of the corona virus, I've proposed to our group that those who so choose can continue our practice in their own homes. We start this evening. READERS OF THE BUDDHA DIARIES WOULD BE WELCOME TO PARTICIPATE, WHEREVER THEY MAY BE. Here's the email I sent out:
So, welcome everyone who chooses to join us. It’s a good moment to practice. Here’s the plan:
Set some form of reminder to alert you before our 6:30 start time this evening. I will send out an email reminder at 6:15. Take a few minutes to prepare and get comfortable.
If possible, use the “Insight Timer” app on your phone (if that’s not workable, use the regular timer feature on your phone and choose a pleasant, quiet ending sound). On the Insight Timer home page, choose “timer” and select “duration”. Set the duration for our usual 40 minutes (or less, if you choose) and an “ending bell” whose sound pleases you. While on “duration” you can also choose a “warm up” time to allow you to get comfortable before the start bell—15 seconds works for me. (If you have problems, you could always call me ahead of time on my cell phone…)
To start, don’t forget to silence your cell phone! Now imagine yourself arriving and getting settled into our group in your mind’s eye. Visualize a few faces. Send out thoughts of welcome and wishes for good health and well-being.
Once settled into our circle, you already know the rest: move on into a few deep, whole body, awakening breaths: "I am" (with energy, on the inbreath)…” awake" (resting in awareness with the outbreath).
Next, thoughts of goodwill: for yourself, for those you hold close… and so on.
And move on into directed, concentrated breath, starting with the area around the navel, the lower belly, upper belly, and so on (you know the route!) If you find areas of tension or distress, use the breath to allow them to dissipate.
(YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH DISTRACTIONS! KEEP RETURNING TO THE BREATH!)
Once your scan is complete, you can choose to repeat it; or move on into whole body breathing, fingertip to fingertip, top of the head to the tips of the toes; or choose one area for further, deeper concentration. Try to widen your awareness with each breath. As you become more relaxed, be sure to become also more AWAKE. (No snoozing!)
As you approach the end of meditation, return to thoughts of goodwill. Spread them out in all directions, north, south, east and west, above and below, all the way out to infinity….
****NOTE: Afterwards, please return to the email and check in with a brief (or lengthy!) report on your sit, to encourage our awareness of each other****
So, welcome everyone who chooses to join us. It’s a good moment to practice. Here’s the plan:
Set some form of reminder to alert you before our 6:30 start time this evening. I will send out an email reminder at 6:15. Take a few minutes to prepare and get comfortable.
If possible, use the “Insight Timer” app on your phone (if that’s not workable, use the regular timer feature on your phone and choose a pleasant, quiet ending sound). On the Insight Timer home page, choose “timer” and select “duration”. Set the duration for our usual 40 minutes (or less, if you choose) and an “ending bell” whose sound pleases you. While on “duration” you can also choose a “warm up” time to allow you to get comfortable before the start bell—15 seconds works for me. (If you have problems, you could always call me ahead of time on my cell phone…)
To start, don’t forget to silence your cell phone! Now imagine yourself arriving and getting settled into our group in your mind’s eye. Visualize a few faces. Send out thoughts of welcome and wishes for good health and well-being.
Once settled into our circle, you already know the rest: move on into a few deep, whole body, awakening breaths: "I am" (with energy, on the inbreath)…” awake" (resting in awareness with the outbreath).
Next, thoughts of goodwill: for yourself, for those you hold close… and so on.
And move on into directed, concentrated breath, starting with the area around the navel, the lower belly, upper belly, and so on (you know the route!) If you find areas of tension or distress, use the breath to allow them to dissipate.
(YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH DISTRACTIONS! KEEP RETURNING TO THE BREATH!)
Once your scan is complete, you can choose to repeat it; or move on into whole body breathing, fingertip to fingertip, top of the head to the tips of the toes; or choose one area for further, deeper concentration. Try to widen your awareness with each breath. As you become more relaxed, be sure to become also more AWAKE. (No snoozing!)
As you approach the end of meditation, return to thoughts of goodwill. Spread them out in all directions, north, south, east and west, above and below, all the way out to infinity….
****NOTE: Afterwards, please return to the email and check in with a brief (or lengthy!) report on your sit, to encourage our awareness of each other****
March 17, 2020
TIME/SPACE
With the coronavirus now occupying the better part of our daily consciousness, I have been noticing a significant shift in my perception of time and space. The familiar rhythm of my life has at once expanded and slowed down, leaving me in a persistent state of disorientation.
In normal circumstances, my brain keeps me pretty much informed as to what time of day it is, but I have been finding a strange kind of fluidity in that perception: any particular time of day--or night, when I wake up--has begun to feel like almost any other time. I notice a bewildering absence of that sense of time's progression from one hour to the next.
As for space, I have noticed that the groundlessness I sometimes come to experience in meditation is now more likely to manifest itself in daily life. My sense of place no longer feels reliable or secure, as though my mind had somehow weighed anchor and left me drifting without coordination or direction.
These are not unpleasant sensations but they are, as I said, disorienting. The virus has detached me--as I suspect many others--from the sense of "reality" that keeps me oriented in my daily life. If I'm patient and observant, I have much to learn about the illusory nature of experience and my attachment to it.
In normal circumstances, my brain keeps me pretty much informed as to what time of day it is, but I have been finding a strange kind of fluidity in that perception: any particular time of day--or night, when I wake up--has begun to feel like almost any other time. I notice a bewildering absence of that sense of time's progression from one hour to the next.
As for space, I have noticed that the groundlessness I sometimes come to experience in meditation is now more likely to manifest itself in daily life. My sense of place no longer feels reliable or secure, as though my mind had somehow weighed anchor and left me drifting without coordination or direction.
These are not unpleasant sensations but they are, as I said, disorienting. The virus has detached me--as I suspect many others--from the sense of "reality" that keeps me oriented in my daily life. If I'm patient and observant, I have much to learn about the illusory nature of experience and my attachment to it.
March 16, 2020
A LETTER...
... to a friend on the other side of the world...
Hello again, from a shut-down Los Angeles!
I hope you got my quick thank you for your email a couple of days ago. I’m now finally trying to catch up after some bewildering days. There’s plenty of time right now because Ellie and I are now at home on lockdown, at the strong urging of everyone who speaks with a voice of authority. What we hear from our “president” is ridiculous, of course, but his voice has become largely irrelevant now that more serious people have superseded it. There are a number of people speaking out from the nation's capital with wisdom, knowledge and experience, and we believe we must listen to them. We are particularly circumspect because we belong to the most vulnerable age group, the older Americans. I’m guessing that the same is true for you in Australia. There seems to be no place in the world that’s unaffected as this thing continues to spread.
While we’re limiting our exposure now, we were not so careful last week, before the full extent of the problem became clear. Our grandson (8 years old) goes to school close by, and we usually pick him up from school at least once a week and keep him overnight. As a single mother, our daughter is always grateful for the break, and we are delighted to have him with us. Last week was no exception: he stayed over for a couple of nights, and who knows what he might have brought home with him, after being in touch with hundreds of other kids all day? Children, it seems, may not be symptomatic, but can be excellent carriers nonetheless. And of course we had to go shopping at the weekend, to stock up.
You mentioned the shortage of toilet paper in your email! It has also been flying off the shelves this side of the Pacific, along with hand sanitizer—now impossible to find. Even online, the delivery dates of such things are being pushed way back for months to come. We made our own, with a mix of rubbing alcohol and aloe vera, and a splash of essential lavender oil. Soap and water, though, it seems, are equally effective. Otherwise, we tried to stock up—without going completely crazy, as many seem to be doing!—with some of the essentials for the kitchen: soup and pasta, some other canned goods, bread for the freezer, and the dairy basics.
Since last night, Sunday evening, state governors and city mayors have been popping up everywhere on TV screens (and telephones!) with new orders and restrictions. Here in Los Angeles, it’s not only cinemas, theaters and sports venues that are closed for business, but also yoga studios and gyms--and now even restaurants, except for take-out or delivery. The people in charge at the federal level have just announced a ban on gatherings of more than 50 people—parties, weddings, funerals!. But you have to wonder, why 50? Couldn’t 25 be just as risky? 20? 10?
I woke this morning thinking of Candide’s itinerant professor, Pangloss: "All is for the best," he insisted, "in this best of all possible worlds." That was Voltaire at his satirical best, of course, having fun at the expense of the Enlightenment philosopher Leibniz. But what a mess this world is in! I heard last week that America’s favorite Mr. Nice Guy, the actor Tom Hanks, and his wife came down with the coronavirus down under. If even Tom Hanks is vulnerable, what does that say for the rest of us?
And, ah yes, the primaries, to decide who's best to challenge the current occupant of our "people's house"--I cannot bring myself to write his name!--and throw him out of office.There was another debate last night, the Democratic candidates now reduced to just two, and I think Vice President Biden came out ahead. I'm glad about that. I like many of Senator Sanders’ ideas but I'm not keen on a “revolution” at the moment, thanks very much; and I find his irascibility hard to take. Biden’s an old geezer, to be sure, with a sometimes questionable political record and prone to gaffes, but I think most Democrats agree that what we need right now is a steady, experienced hand at the wheel, along with the basic decency and compassion Biden has come to represent. He has certainly lived through great pain in his life and pain, if nothing else, can be a great teacher. It seems to me that the whole world needs a lesson right now in basic humanity. Perhaps, who knows, that could prove to be the silver lining of the coronavirus pandemic.
And then there are the current rains—unusual for Los Angeles so late in the rainy season. It has been raining on and off for days, and the forecast predicts that it wll continue for more days to come. So strange. We welcome it, even though it can be an inconvenience.
All done for now. Thinking of you and sending good thoughts for your health, and your family’s. Let's stay as close in touch as time and space allow.
Love, Peter
March 9, 2020
THE OAK TREE AND THE REED
I was thinking this morning about Aesop's fable of The Oak Tree and the Reed, and of the later version by the French fabulist Jean de la Fontaine. The proud oak talks down to the poor, modest reed (oh, I know: oak trees can't talk; neither can reeds. But this is a fable!), pitying its lack of strength and grandeur. Comes a great wind, of course, and the tree is uprooted and blown down, while the reed simply bows before the storm, bending its head to accommodate the powerful wind... and survives. The moral is that it's better to be flexible like the reed than rigid like the oak.
I am sometimes derided, online, for hewing to the Middle Path--especially when it comes to politics. In our fervor we tend to forget the value of subtle distinctions and are led off easily to the extremes. Yet it remains important, in my view, to bear in mind the difference between being judicious and being judgmental, between exercising appropriate discrimination and indulging in thoughtless prejudice, between the need to engage ideas with an open mind and resorting to the uncompromising rigidity of the ideologue.
We are beset from multiple quarters, in our current political and cultural environment, not just by a storm but by a tempest. If we follow the example of the boastful oak tree, we risk succumbing to our own rigidity. The persistence of our democratic heritage may depend on the wisdom to act more like the reed.
I am sometimes derided, online, for hewing to the Middle Path--especially when it comes to politics. In our fervor we tend to forget the value of subtle distinctions and are led off easily to the extremes. Yet it remains important, in my view, to bear in mind the difference between being judicious and being judgmental, between exercising appropriate discrimination and indulging in thoughtless prejudice, between the need to engage ideas with an open mind and resorting to the uncompromising rigidity of the ideologue.
We are beset from multiple quarters, in our current political and cultural environment, not just by a storm but by a tempest. If we follow the example of the boastful oak tree, we risk succumbing to our own rigidity. The persistence of our democratic heritage may depend on the wisdom to act more like the reed.
March 8, 2020
NATURE
I posted an overly casual remark on my Facebook page the other day, and was not unjustly chided for my idle pronouncement. I wrote that I woke that morning "wondering whether Nature is not trying to tell us something with this [corona]virus" that is currently spreading its disease through much of the world and causing such alarm. My critic, if I may quote him, was quick to remind me that what I wrote was "just a wishy-washy way of invoking superstition (angry gods) into a medical emergency that has nothing--nothing--to do with some supernatural entity dispensing lessons for humankind."
Fair enough. My lapse, as I see it, was in suggesting that nature was "trying" to tell us something, implying intention that I myself do not subscribe to. I do, however, believe that we have something to learn from this natural--yes, it's natural--occurrence. The virus, as I understand it, originated with bats, and was passed on to humans. It is now spreading in ways we do not fully understand and have been unable to control. We have a lot to learn, and nature, even without intention, is perforce our teacher. We need to understand it better.
Things to be learned: the nature of the virus and how it is communicated; what we must do to find a cure for those affected; and what we as human beings can do to prevent it from causing untold damage to our health and, not less, to the economic and societal underpinnings of our global civilization.
I went further, in my post, to suggest that nature was using this virus as a kind of revenge for the damage we ourselves, as a species, are wreaking on our natural environment. Which is, as my critic kindly pointed out, absurd. But I still hold to the notion that this epi- or pandemic, call it what you will, does offer us the opportunity to learn more about the way in which inhabit the earth that is our only home and how we can exercise our stewardship with greater wisdom and mutual responsibility.
It's not superstition I intended to invoke, but science. Not "angry gods", but conscience and consciousness. We need to learn to do a better job of living in the world. We have the capability to render it uninhabitable, and ourselves extinct.
Fair enough. My lapse, as I see it, was in suggesting that nature was "trying" to tell us something, implying intention that I myself do not subscribe to. I do, however, believe that we have something to learn from this natural--yes, it's natural--occurrence. The virus, as I understand it, originated with bats, and was passed on to humans. It is now spreading in ways we do not fully understand and have been unable to control. We have a lot to learn, and nature, even without intention, is perforce our teacher. We need to understand it better.
Things to be learned: the nature of the virus and how it is communicated; what we must do to find a cure for those affected; and what we as human beings can do to prevent it from causing untold damage to our health and, not less, to the economic and societal underpinnings of our global civilization.
I went further, in my post, to suggest that nature was using this virus as a kind of revenge for the damage we ourselves, as a species, are wreaking on our natural environment. Which is, as my critic kindly pointed out, absurd. But I still hold to the notion that this epi- or pandemic, call it what you will, does offer us the opportunity to learn more about the way in which inhabit the earth that is our only home and how we can exercise our stewardship with greater wisdom and mutual responsibility.
It's not superstition I intended to invoke, but science. Not "angry gods", but conscience and consciousness. We need to learn to do a better job of living in the world. We have the capability to render it uninhabitable, and ourselves extinct.
March 4, 2020
A DISTURBING DISCOVERY
One of my most vivid, lasting childhood memories concerns the young women from Bletchley Park who were billeted to our big old Rectory during the war years. Bletchley, remember, was the center of important ultra hush-hush activities that were revealed only decades later to be the decoding of German High Command messages thanks to the capture of the so-called Enigma machine. I discovered online today, wandering in that strange maze of information that is the Internet, a book about Bletchley Park in which my father appears in a somewhat unflattering cameo role. The book is "The Hidden History of Bletchley Park: A Social and Orgainizational History" by C. Smith. Here's the excerpt:
"That said, while most residents appear to have been incurious, there were some locals, intrigued by the arrival of a military installation in their town, who attempted to discover what was going on. One such example was reported to CG&CS’s (Government Code and Cypher School) security staff, who recorded the incident in some detail:
There is a parson in this neighborhood whose name is the Rev. Harry L. Clothier, The Rectory, Aspley Guise. We have had a number of people billeted there from time t time and as a host he is very kind. He has, however, apparently acquired a good deal of information about Bletchley Park, some of which gets rather close to the knuckle. The four girls who are billeted there now are getting a good deal disturbed about hm because he not only seems to try and catch them out with the idea of obtaining a little more information, but he repeats what he knows to everyone that comes to the house and seems to take a quite unchristian delight in getting the girls into an awkward position when introducing strangers.
The result of Reverend Clothier’s interest in the activities of his tenants was an issue which the agency’s security took seriously. However, there was some concern regarding how to deal with the problem of outsiders learning too much about CG&CS. Just as the agency was keen to avoid the unwanted attention that might be generated if it prosecuted those staff members who breached security regulations, it also took a measured stance against local gossip: if the agency was too heavy handed with offenders then that, in and of itself, would have been revealing. As a result, CG&CS appears to have taken a policy of trying to frighten offenders into silence as opposed to resorting to legal action. In the case of Reverend Clothier, it was decided that the best course of action was that he be ‘officially warned to keep his mouth shut.’ Rather ominously, the security official suggested that what the Reverend required was ‘a thorough frightening.’”
Those "girls" were a constant presence in our household. One memorable Christmas Eve, adorned in their fur coats, they were the "reindeer" that pulled Santa's sleigh (a big old baby carriage) along the upstairs corridor to the nursery door. At five, six, seven years old, I was in awe of them, their seductive, feminine mystery, and even at that age I knew that we should never, never ask about their work. But it seems my father did.
Curiosity, of course, is a natural and healthy quality. When it reaches to top secret military information and the apparent compromising and embarrassment of the young women I remember so fondly from my childhood years, that's something else again.
"That said, while most residents appear to have been incurious, there were some locals, intrigued by the arrival of a military installation in their town, who attempted to discover what was going on. One such example was reported to CG&CS’s (Government Code and Cypher School) security staff, who recorded the incident in some detail:
There is a parson in this neighborhood whose name is the Rev. Harry L. Clothier, The Rectory, Aspley Guise. We have had a number of people billeted there from time t time and as a host he is very kind. He has, however, apparently acquired a good deal of information about Bletchley Park, some of which gets rather close to the knuckle. The four girls who are billeted there now are getting a good deal disturbed about hm because he not only seems to try and catch them out with the idea of obtaining a little more information, but he repeats what he knows to everyone that comes to the house and seems to take a quite unchristian delight in getting the girls into an awkward position when introducing strangers.
The result of Reverend Clothier’s interest in the activities of his tenants was an issue which the agency’s security took seriously. However, there was some concern regarding how to deal with the problem of outsiders learning too much about CG&CS. Just as the agency was keen to avoid the unwanted attention that might be generated if it prosecuted those staff members who breached security regulations, it also took a measured stance against local gossip: if the agency was too heavy handed with offenders then that, in and of itself, would have been revealing. As a result, CG&CS appears to have taken a policy of trying to frighten offenders into silence as opposed to resorting to legal action. In the case of Reverend Clothier, it was decided that the best course of action was that he be ‘officially warned to keep his mouth shut.’ Rather ominously, the security official suggested that what the Reverend required was ‘a thorough frightening.’”
Those "girls" were a constant presence in our household. One memorable Christmas Eve, adorned in their fur coats, they were the "reindeer" that pulled Santa's sleigh (a big old baby carriage) along the upstairs corridor to the nursery door. At five, six, seven years old, I was in awe of them, their seductive, feminine mystery, and even at that age I knew that we should never, never ask about their work. But it seems my father did.
Curiosity, of course, is a natural and healthy quality. When it reaches to top secret military information and the apparent compromising and embarrassment of the young women I remember so fondly from my childhood years, that's something else again.
March 2, 2020
THE LIFE FORCE
I'm no music critic, nor do I play an instrument, nor do I have any serious knowledge of musical history or theory. I do go to concerts fairly regularly, however, and do my best to pay attention--as I encourage people to pay rapt attention to a painting when they come to one of my "One Hour/One Painting" sessions. What comes more naturally for me with the visual experience is hard when it comes to the aural. I assume it's different for the trained ear, but my attention wanders easily and rapidly at a concert, and I have to keep reminding myself to bring it back to what I'm supposed to be listening to. It's easy for me to allow the attention to slip off into looking rather than listening. I actually find that I can listen best with closed eyes.
The two activities came together quite delightfully for me this past Saturday evening, at an intimate concert in a private home here in Laguna Beach. There were perhaps two dozen of us in the audience, and only three performers--on cello, piano, and violin. The featured artist, Eiline Tai (seen here at the age of 10), is now an eleven year-old girl--you could scarcely call her even a young woman yet, though she is certainly mature and poised beyond her years--whose instrument, the cello, rivals her small stature. The bond between them, though, transcends scale. It seems sometimes as though she is not playing her instrument, but that they are playing each other.
I found that visual image so compelling, I could not keep my eyes off her as I listened. Forget the virtuosity... no, correct that, don't forget it: the dexterity of her fingering and her masterly command of the bow are astonishing, especially when she played a movement from a daunting, emotionally punchy and wide-ranging cello concerto by Dvorak, accompanied by the piano. (The pianist for the occasion was Kevin Weed, himself a composer. The concert also featured two vibrant violin pieces played by the concertmaster of the Southern California Philharmonic orchestra, Jessica Haddy). But beyond that virtuosity, already so accomplished, the depth and range of emotional understanding that flows effortlessly from every note is miraculously in advance of Eiline's eleven years.
The concert came, for me, at an opportune moment. I had been directing my meditations during the previous week to an encounter with that part of our being that remains constant through all the stages of our physical existence here on earth, no matter the impermanence manifest in its changes. We know that our bodies change not only from year to year but even from moment to moment. But there is some part of us--call it what you will, a flame, an energy, a life force, what the Chinese call the "chi"--that accompanies us from the moment of our birth to the moment of our death; and perhaps, who knows, from before birth until after death. In my attempt to identify and sit with this peculiar energy, I have been trying to visualize, even to re-experience my own life from the moment of its conception through all its various progressions and, projecting, to the as yet uncertain moment of the death of this physical body I am given to travel in.
So it came to me yesterday, in one of those lovely moments when perceptions seem to come together with great, pleasing clarity, that what I was experiencing through that young woman's performance was precisely the manifestation of a life force like the one I had been looking for; and that, if not identical, it is a close cousin to the spirit of creativity. As artists, writers, musicians, and so on, we are at our best when we step back from our selves and allow that energy to flow unimpeded--by thought, intentions or ambitions, even by the skills we have acquired, or virtuosity; when everything comes together in the act of creation, the immediate realization and expression of what-is, right now, in the singular moment of its arising. It's the same pure being-in-the-moment that I can find sometimes in meditation, at those rare moments when I manage to sweep away all the trash of circumstance and ego.
And it's good to remember that, strive as I might, it's only when I stop striving that it happens.
The two activities came together quite delightfully for me this past Saturday evening, at an intimate concert in a private home here in Laguna Beach. There were perhaps two dozen of us in the audience, and only three performers--on cello, piano, and violin. The featured artist, Eiline Tai (seen here at the age of 10), is now an eleven year-old girl--you could scarcely call her even a young woman yet, though she is certainly mature and poised beyond her years--whose instrument, the cello, rivals her small stature. The bond between them, though, transcends scale. It seems sometimes as though she is not playing her instrument, but that they are playing each other.
I found that visual image so compelling, I could not keep my eyes off her as I listened. Forget the virtuosity... no, correct that, don't forget it: the dexterity of her fingering and her masterly command of the bow are astonishing, especially when she played a movement from a daunting, emotionally punchy and wide-ranging cello concerto by Dvorak, accompanied by the piano. (The pianist for the occasion was Kevin Weed, himself a composer. The concert also featured two vibrant violin pieces played by the concertmaster of the Southern California Philharmonic orchestra, Jessica Haddy). But beyond that virtuosity, already so accomplished, the depth and range of emotional understanding that flows effortlessly from every note is miraculously in advance of Eiline's eleven years.
The concert came, for me, at an opportune moment. I had been directing my meditations during the previous week to an encounter with that part of our being that remains constant through all the stages of our physical existence here on earth, no matter the impermanence manifest in its changes. We know that our bodies change not only from year to year but even from moment to moment. But there is some part of us--call it what you will, a flame, an energy, a life force, what the Chinese call the "chi"--that accompanies us from the moment of our birth to the moment of our death; and perhaps, who knows, from before birth until after death. In my attempt to identify and sit with this peculiar energy, I have been trying to visualize, even to re-experience my own life from the moment of its conception through all its various progressions and, projecting, to the as yet uncertain moment of the death of this physical body I am given to travel in.
So it came to me yesterday, in one of those lovely moments when perceptions seem to come together with great, pleasing clarity, that what I was experiencing through that young woman's performance was precisely the manifestation of a life force like the one I had been looking for; and that, if not identical, it is a close cousin to the spirit of creativity. As artists, writers, musicians, and so on, we are at our best when we step back from our selves and allow that energy to flow unimpeded--by thought, intentions or ambitions, even by the skills we have acquired, or virtuosity; when everything comes together in the act of creation, the immediate realization and expression of what-is, right now, in the singular moment of its arising. It's the same pure being-in-the-moment that I can find sometimes in meditation, at those rare moments when I manage to sweep away all the trash of circumstance and ego.
And it's good to remember that, strive as I might, it's only when I stop striving that it happens.
