Encounters at Buddhafield III


healing areaQueuing is wonderful. I stood in the queue for the hot shower, and got chatting to a woman who had just arrived the night before. She will check out the twelve-step tent later. I tell her how unsatisfying I find alcohol, and she said it’s not giving up, because there is nothing to give up– it is embracing sobriety. Next day by the cold shower I found myself discussing original sin and Bishop Berkeley’s Idealism.

-You know, Bishop Berkeley, the Idealist philosopher?

I quoted Boswell. I never shall forget the alacrity with which Johnson answered, striking his foot with mighty force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it — “I refute it thus.”

Except actually, I said, “Didn’t Dr Johnson say he would refute Berkeley by kicking his backside, or something?” Oh well. I imagine someone being irritated by Doctor Who fans talking of The Doctor, and meaning an alien.

In that cold shower, in the shade at 8am, I went in thinking it would be difficult and resisting, tensing up, and then I consciously relaxed: yes it is cold, but not more than I can bear. Staying in long enough to rinse properly became much easier. Or in that workshop. What do you sense now? I sense my thigh telling me that sitting on the ground in this posture is uncomfortable, and it is OK now but not bearable indefinitely. Relax into the pose. It is OK. Oh, that workshop was heart-opening, moving in the tent to the promptings of emotions and sensations.

wicker buddhaThis is something I have noticed- relax into the pose, relax into the difficult situation, and would like to notice more. Relax into the human encounter? Yes, oh, yes- yet that is far more complex. “What do you sense now?” I sense the beauty of the man I am paired with, I smile.

I am a little embarrassed, cleaning my teeth, spitting into the long grass at the edge of the site. What if everyone did that? thunders my Inner Critic. Well, I am not walking all the way to the single handwash-basin by the loos. So when a man passes from the tents under the trees I flinch away, ready for an argument about it. “Hello,” he says, then notices my attitude- “Oh, you’re cleaning your teeth-” perhaps anyone would not want disturbed at ablutions. I notice it is the beautiful man from that exercise, and am abashed at my confrontational attitude. Yet I am nervous of human encounters, expecting judgment: like a puppy, wanting to play but expecting a kick.

Breakfast again. Oh, it’s Paul! I go over for a hug. I have not seen him since March last year, and it was his suggestion of the Cuddle Workshop that got me into camping at, well, this sort of thing in the widest sense, anything even vaguely hippyish. And if you go to this sort of thing you will meet lots of people you have met at this sort of thing before. I had a longer conversation with R, of queer sensibilities and her experience of herself as queer even though she is in a relationship with a man. He finds her inner male a bit frightening.

4 thoughts on “Encounters at Buddhafield III

    • “Come see my blog! My blog’s wonderful!” Harrumph. Comments here are supposed to be about my blog. Mmmmmm. Doodles on non-duality. Light verse with profound purpose, and strange capital Ys (why Ys? Wise?) Rhymes and wordplays, and Y-dly varying pictures.


      Yes of course I am delighted to have your link here. What do you think of my blog? If you and I are one not two, you must think it gorgeous, and agree with all of it!


All comments welcome.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.