I met a woman, her name was Tara. She was 85 years old. She took her time coming to the door. When she came she said: "I'm so sorry, I have no money for you" and: "I'm sorry, I took such a long time to get to the door". And then..."But I tell you, young woman, what you are doing is amazing, you are amazing!". Her eyes reach out to me, it is as if they are larger than life, they come out to me, envelope me. She pulls my hand to hers, and she says: "You are fabulous, you are amazing, you are amazing, the work that you do". And I am challenged to open to her love, her appreciation, her affection, and her compassion. She is radiant, much more present than I, and I am challenged to open to her love. I do and I feel myself soften and lean in. She grasps my hand in hers and says for a final time: "You are fabulous". I thank her, take in her love and compassion for a few more moments and bid her goodnight.
In years to come, people will ask me what happened when I went fundraising for Karuna during the Summer of 2008. I shall say I met Tara, and that is all I will need to say.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Batman and Robin
I meet a guy called Robin, he leans out of his bedroom window, he has no shirt on. I am getting used to a lot of people leaning out of their windows, usually I feel a bit like I'm in a game, a bit of a chase...a bit like cat and mouse. It's like they're saying, you've rung my door bell, I've opened the window, what will happen next? Usually I go casual, like I'm relaxed with craning my neck up and talking about the charity a bit to them - they are usually so far away from me, maybe there is a degree of ease about this, for them and for me. A lot of the time I say: "I'm calling from a charity", they say: "which one", I say: "The Karuna Trust": "Oh, I don't know that one, hang on a sec, I'm coming down". When they open the door, usually they are really open, it's like somehow we've done all the getting to know each other from afar.
And so it was with Robin, he said immediately: "Will you come in for a cup of tea?". I say: "Yes, that would be lovely". When we're inside he opens his cupboard door: "What kind of tea do you like?" I see some decaf Tetley tea lurking in the corner of the cupboard. I say: "Ah, you have decaf tea, not a lot of people do, I'll have that please". He is still reeling off tens of different herbal teas. He says everytime he has a new girlfriend they leave a different type of tea in his cupboard. I ask him if he's had many girlfriends, he says "not really, but tea keeps for a long time doesn't it?"
He has decaf too, so he can use the teapot he tells me, then he realises he doesn't have any milk. "Are you alright sitting there while I pop out and get some milk". "Sure, I'll sit and get acquainted with Bonnie the cat, isn't she beautiful?". "Yes, and I'll turn up the music, this piece is just exquisite he says, it moves me deeply". Splendid, I think, and think to myself, how lovely it is that this man trusts me enough to walk straight out of his house leaving me in it when he's only known me for two minutes.
Robin and I chat and have tea for half an hour. When I leave I feel refreshed and nurtured for the journey ahead. I have never refused an invitation to go into someone's home, it's like an act of spontaneous generosity from them, and it feels that I want to meet it and receive it.
I call around to Simon, the last call of my night. The door is bolted, the curtains are closed, it's 9.20pm but I can see that the lights are still on. When I called at Simon's three nights ago he said that he'd never been to India and hadn't heard of the untouchables, but he told me to come back in three night's time. He unbolts his door and opens the curtains. I greet him and wait for him to talk to me. He says straight away: "I've decided to support you". "That's great". "Do you have a form for me or something?". "Yes, I do". "Great, you best come in then". "I've been looking at your website, and your finances, I'm concerned about how much money you spend in order to make money..." We chat about this and several other things. He then says, I can't give you that much money I'm afraid, as I'm already supporting others. I wait patiently, he fills in the form. He's decided on £15 per month. £15 per month supports the education and accommodation for one child in a hostel. He has given the gift of a child's education. I am moved and amazed as I type this and take it in some more.
We chat about cycling, he is a big cyclist, as is his wife he tells me. We chat about where I live, in Bethnal Green, and about the Radiohead concert that's just been held in the park there for the last two days. He tells me that he went for the Anti-racism concert about six weeks ago there and tells me he really enjoyed it. I explain that I was just coming back from a retreat that day so missed it, but didn't miss the crowds of people, it looked great.
We chat about Buddhism and my spiritual practice, volunteering for Karuna and he asks some basic questions about Buddhist philosophy and belief. I ask him about his beliefs, he's a Christian and we chat about how he practices this. I ask him to use his toilet before I cycle back.
It's dark outside and he's worried about where I'm parked as it's raining and I have a twenty minute cycle ride back. I tell him not to worry that I'm only around the corner and I have waterproofs. He sees me to the door, and I think, actually, you have provided a young Tibetan girl an education that may well mean the difference between a life of hardship and toil and a life full of possibilities and choices.
It is hard to take this in again as I type. That this man's money can mean an exact end to suffering for one girl or boy or woman or man somewhere. Tonight as I take my leave from Simon he is the hero, I am the conduit, and that young girl has been given a gift of an education. This is a privilege that I had access to and that I somewhat take for granted.
As I leave Simon's house, I look up at the darkness and the shape of the trees, and the light shining from his door. Earlier on in the evening I asked him what moved him about our charity and he said it was the hideousness of caste, and the fact that people just can't change what they are born into. He waves goodbye to me and says cycle carefully and as I look back I swear I see a bat hanging from the tree, and I realise Simon has become Batman, a superhero for me and that little girl tonight.
And so it was with Robin, he said immediately: "Will you come in for a cup of tea?". I say: "Yes, that would be lovely". When we're inside he opens his cupboard door: "What kind of tea do you like?" I see some decaf Tetley tea lurking in the corner of the cupboard. I say: "Ah, you have decaf tea, not a lot of people do, I'll have that please". He is still reeling off tens of different herbal teas. He says everytime he has a new girlfriend they leave a different type of tea in his cupboard. I ask him if he's had many girlfriends, he says "not really, but tea keeps for a long time doesn't it?"
He has decaf too, so he can use the teapot he tells me, then he realises he doesn't have any milk. "Are you alright sitting there while I pop out and get some milk". "Sure, I'll sit and get acquainted with Bonnie the cat, isn't she beautiful?". "Yes, and I'll turn up the music, this piece is just exquisite he says, it moves me deeply". Splendid, I think, and think to myself, how lovely it is that this man trusts me enough to walk straight out of his house leaving me in it when he's only known me for two minutes.
Robin and I chat and have tea for half an hour. When I leave I feel refreshed and nurtured for the journey ahead. I have never refused an invitation to go into someone's home, it's like an act of spontaneous generosity from them, and it feels that I want to meet it and receive it.
I call around to Simon, the last call of my night. The door is bolted, the curtains are closed, it's 9.20pm but I can see that the lights are still on. When I called at Simon's three nights ago he said that he'd never been to India and hadn't heard of the untouchables, but he told me to come back in three night's time. He unbolts his door and opens the curtains. I greet him and wait for him to talk to me. He says straight away: "I've decided to support you". "That's great". "Do you have a form for me or something?". "Yes, I do". "Great, you best come in then". "I've been looking at your website, and your finances, I'm concerned about how much money you spend in order to make money..." We chat about this and several other things. He then says, I can't give you that much money I'm afraid, as I'm already supporting others. I wait patiently, he fills in the form. He's decided on £15 per month. £15 per month supports the education and accommodation for one child in a hostel. He has given the gift of a child's education. I am moved and amazed as I type this and take it in some more.
We chat about cycling, he is a big cyclist, as is his wife he tells me. We chat about where I live, in Bethnal Green, and about the Radiohead concert that's just been held in the park there for the last two days. He tells me that he went for the Anti-racism concert about six weeks ago there and tells me he really enjoyed it. I explain that I was just coming back from a retreat that day so missed it, but didn't miss the crowds of people, it looked great.
We chat about Buddhism and my spiritual practice, volunteering for Karuna and he asks some basic questions about Buddhist philosophy and belief. I ask him about his beliefs, he's a Christian and we chat about how he practices this. I ask him to use his toilet before I cycle back.
It's dark outside and he's worried about where I'm parked as it's raining and I have a twenty minute cycle ride back. I tell him not to worry that I'm only around the corner and I have waterproofs. He sees me to the door, and I think, actually, you have provided a young Tibetan girl an education that may well mean the difference between a life of hardship and toil and a life full of possibilities and choices.
It is hard to take this in again as I type. That this man's money can mean an exact end to suffering for one girl or boy or woman or man somewhere. Tonight as I take my leave from Simon he is the hero, I am the conduit, and that young girl has been given a gift of an education. This is a privilege that I had access to and that I somewhat take for granted.
As I leave Simon's house, I look up at the darkness and the shape of the trees, and the light shining from his door. Earlier on in the evening I asked him what moved him about our charity and he said it was the hideousness of caste, and the fact that people just can't change what they are born into. He waves goodbye to me and says cycle carefully and as I look back I swear I see a bat hanging from the tree, and I realise Simon has become Batman, a superhero for me and that little girl tonight.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I walk down a different street
I meditate at 8am with the team. In the stillness of my being arises a great sadness, and I am able to unfold a bit more into grief which suddenly strikes as if from nowhere about my grandmother. Who knows what strands of our psyche are interwoven and from where they come to the fore. So it is with grief, emotions come and you don't really know what's going on. I phone a good friend, Sarah, who I used to work in the Evolution shop with. I catch her before their regular Wednesday morning team meeting and she says she has ten minutes and would really like to give me her full attention for ten minutes, and for me to tell her what's going on. I really appreciate her directness, she's been on retreat the week before and we were in contact and she knew I was struggling. Sarah lost her brother around a year and a half ago now. It happened while we were working together in the shop. I am comforted by her presence, she seems very present with me, and I'm able to lean on her and ask for her help. I don't find this easy and she knows that about me. I am so grateful to have friends that really know me and have stuck by me inspite of our ups and downs.
I make a habit of reaching out for help when I need it today, it seems like the kindest thing that I can do for myself. I am lucky, surrounded by family and friends.
I go out on the doors in the evening. Before I begin I sit on a bench (my regular bench). After a couple of minutes a man arrives and announces that there's enough room for both of us on the bench. He squeezes in beside me, his leg almost on top of mine. I say to him that actually it's all a bit tight for me and I get up. He gives me no eye contact and I am left standing while he sits. A woman rolling a cigarette across on the other side of the bench says to me: "Oh, don't worry, would you like my seat, I can go sit somewhere else". I thank her and we nod and make eye contact, she smiles at me. I think, how kind of her, and she seems genuinely pleased to be giving up her seat for me.
Before I'm able to sit down in the space she left, the guy has started to put all his food out where she was sitting. I make a beeline for the end of the bench beside his food, and he shuffles it back a little bit into his rather large orbit that his "being" seems to need tonight. Inside I feel hurt, angry and sensitive. The stories in my head say: "How are you feeling Jo? Ah, hurt, ah, angry". Can you say something to this man, how can you meet his energy? You should stick up for yourself Jo, tell him how unpleasant you've found the last few minutes, how insensitive he's been. I mull it all over, and close my eyes. I think NVC language..."I'm feeling hurt, because I'm needing connection, empathy, kindness, ease...respect, sensitivity". Is there a request I want to make to this man? Nope. Is there a request I want to make to myself, yes, "would you be willing to talk to this man, Jo?" - Nope, I'm too angry. "Would you be willing to give yourself some love and metta in this situation? - Yes, I sit and try to soothe my hurt feelings. After 5 minutes I get up and walk away, leaving the man on the bench.
As I approach the road I've decided to knock doors on this evening, I walk down the street taking it all in and trying to recover from the bench incident and the man. I feel freer of it now that I'm connecting with my fundraising street. I knock on door 47, no answer, but a car pulls up. In it a woman is pointing her finger at me and mouthing something, almost shouting through the passenger seat. She looks so angry and she is wagging her finger at me screaming "No, No, No, No!". I am standing at her door with my booklets. I think to myself, gosh, she's angry, and gosh, I bet she thinks I'm selling something. And afterwards I think about her mental state and realise I have no idea what her day has been like and what might have happened in her life to put her in that mental state. I mouth to her and point to her house, and say "Is this your house?" - I know that she can't hear me through the car window. She is incensed with anger, and I feel the only thing I know I must do is try to hold her gaze, but in a soft way, so as not to exacerbate her anxiety. She slowly looks away and keeps looking straight ahead away from me. She's not getting out of the car, and I realise it is time for me to walk away from this woman, this other human being out there. I feel like I've shown her my humanness, and hopefully softened around her anger.
As I walk away I realise I'm in no fit state to knock another door straight away. I walk down the street slowly and tears come to my eyes. I think, what a world, and what are those two encounters all about, one after the other? Our minds create our worlds I think, and I think of karma. I realise how interconnected we all are and how much I still have to learn and practice. I have let both these beings state of minds affect mine, and I realise that my conditions for this evening so far have been pretty challenging. I look for somewhere to sit down and have a proper cry. The tears feel like tears for my grandmother and they need a resting place. I find a quiet street that I've never been on before. There is nowhere to sit down, but I can breathe more easily here. My tears dry and I take a look around. I think about giving up for the evening, then I remember Manjusvara saying to us earlier on today, the worst thing a fundraiser can do is give up. I look around, the houses don't look that bad on this street even though its not marked up on my map. I decide to warm up on this street, and give it a go. Part of the street is a great Karuna street, lots of people take booklets, I get into the swing of it. Afterall, I've walked down a different street.
After a while I realise I must go back and face my demons on the original street. I go to the women's house who was shouting at me from the car. I knock on her next door neighbours house. No one answers and then I move down the street. It's another good street, lots of people take booklets and I make a couple of really good connections with the householders.
When I get home I tell the guys that I feel I've had a tough night. I am met by warm glowing faces and an ease of communication and support that I've been longing for. They tell me I'm fab, and that they're sorry I've had a tough evening. I hear all about their evenings and I realise I am not alone, they have had similar ups and downs. Paddy says to me, whenever I'm out on the street, and anyone is giving me grief just bring him to mind, he will be my protector. I shy away from telling him that I already think about him especially when I encounter people who sometimes tell me to go away and want to close the door on me quickly. I think what would Paddy say, he would say internally to the householder "you can do better than that", "we can all do better than that".
I make a habit of reaching out for help when I need it today, it seems like the kindest thing that I can do for myself. I am lucky, surrounded by family and friends.
I go out on the doors in the evening. Before I begin I sit on a bench (my regular bench). After a couple of minutes a man arrives and announces that there's enough room for both of us on the bench. He squeezes in beside me, his leg almost on top of mine. I say to him that actually it's all a bit tight for me and I get up. He gives me no eye contact and I am left standing while he sits. A woman rolling a cigarette across on the other side of the bench says to me: "Oh, don't worry, would you like my seat, I can go sit somewhere else". I thank her and we nod and make eye contact, she smiles at me. I think, how kind of her, and she seems genuinely pleased to be giving up her seat for me.
Before I'm able to sit down in the space she left, the guy has started to put all his food out where she was sitting. I make a beeline for the end of the bench beside his food, and he shuffles it back a little bit into his rather large orbit that his "being" seems to need tonight. Inside I feel hurt, angry and sensitive. The stories in my head say: "How are you feeling Jo? Ah, hurt, ah, angry". Can you say something to this man, how can you meet his energy? You should stick up for yourself Jo, tell him how unpleasant you've found the last few minutes, how insensitive he's been. I mull it all over, and close my eyes. I think NVC language..."I'm feeling hurt, because I'm needing connection, empathy, kindness, ease...respect, sensitivity". Is there a request I want to make to this man? Nope. Is there a request I want to make to myself, yes, "would you be willing to talk to this man, Jo?" - Nope, I'm too angry. "Would you be willing to give yourself some love and metta in this situation? - Yes, I sit and try to soothe my hurt feelings. After 5 minutes I get up and walk away, leaving the man on the bench.
As I approach the road I've decided to knock doors on this evening, I walk down the street taking it all in and trying to recover from the bench incident and the man. I feel freer of it now that I'm connecting with my fundraising street. I knock on door 47, no answer, but a car pulls up. In it a woman is pointing her finger at me and mouthing something, almost shouting through the passenger seat. She looks so angry and she is wagging her finger at me screaming "No, No, No, No!". I am standing at her door with my booklets. I think to myself, gosh, she's angry, and gosh, I bet she thinks I'm selling something. And afterwards I think about her mental state and realise I have no idea what her day has been like and what might have happened in her life to put her in that mental state. I mouth to her and point to her house, and say "Is this your house?" - I know that she can't hear me through the car window. She is incensed with anger, and I feel the only thing I know I must do is try to hold her gaze, but in a soft way, so as not to exacerbate her anxiety. She slowly looks away and keeps looking straight ahead away from me. She's not getting out of the car, and I realise it is time for me to walk away from this woman, this other human being out there. I feel like I've shown her my humanness, and hopefully softened around her anger.
As I walk away I realise I'm in no fit state to knock another door straight away. I walk down the street slowly and tears come to my eyes. I think, what a world, and what are those two encounters all about, one after the other? Our minds create our worlds I think, and I think of karma. I realise how interconnected we all are and how much I still have to learn and practice. I have let both these beings state of minds affect mine, and I realise that my conditions for this evening so far have been pretty challenging. I look for somewhere to sit down and have a proper cry. The tears feel like tears for my grandmother and they need a resting place. I find a quiet street that I've never been on before. There is nowhere to sit down, but I can breathe more easily here. My tears dry and I take a look around. I think about giving up for the evening, then I remember Manjusvara saying to us earlier on today, the worst thing a fundraiser can do is give up. I look around, the houses don't look that bad on this street even though its not marked up on my map. I decide to warm up on this street, and give it a go. Part of the street is a great Karuna street, lots of people take booklets, I get into the swing of it. Afterall, I've walked down a different street.
After a while I realise I must go back and face my demons on the original street. I go to the women's house who was shouting at me from the car. I knock on her next door neighbours house. No one answers and then I move down the street. It's another good street, lots of people take booklets and I make a couple of really good connections with the householders.
When I get home I tell the guys that I feel I've had a tough night. I am met by warm glowing faces and an ease of communication and support that I've been longing for. They tell me I'm fab, and that they're sorry I've had a tough evening. I hear all about their evenings and I realise I am not alone, they have had similar ups and downs. Paddy says to me, whenever I'm out on the street, and anyone is giving me grief just bring him to mind, he will be my protector. I shy away from telling him that I already think about him especially when I encounter people who sometimes tell me to go away and want to close the door on me quickly. I think what would Paddy say, he would say internally to the householder "you can do better than that", "we can all do better than that".
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The three demons and the pot of gold
Manjuka comes to do some training with us. He tells us about the hidden buddha behind every door and the pot of gold that exists somewhere within the heart of the mandala. Our job is to find the gold, but first we must enter the mandala via one of four gateways. The gateways are guarded by demons.
The first demon we encounter is the demon that tries to tell us to go away, that we are not even worthy of communicating with, that we are not even worthy of being alive. The second demon is apathetic, it is a demon of indifference. It says to us, yeah, yeah, I agree with you, those poor people in India, yes I should help you, but you know what, I'm not going to so there. The third demon is a perfectionist. It tells us that if we are excellent and good and perfect in every way and answer all their questions perfectly then it will allow us to gain access to the mandala and touch the pot of gold.
I think long and hard about which demon I encounter most on the doors - both inside of me, and also external to me in the householders that I meet.
I go out fundraising tonight and Manjuka comes with me, in order to help me with feedback on my fundraising. After I knock a few doors he asks me what's going on. I explain that I think that deep down there is this feeling that actually I'm not worthy of being here knocking these doors. I have not been aware of this feeling before, not truly in touch with it, but tonight I'm able to feel it and see it quite clearly. It's quite subtle because I go to the doors and I stand tall, I engage the householder, I acknowledge what's going on with them - I do all this without thinking, "I shouldn't be here" and then I go and say something like "you look busy" or "have I caught you in the middle of something", or "ah, I see, you haven't got much cash at the moment", and it's like I'm subtlely making my exit before I've even begun to entertain the possibility that this might go really well and that the householder is enjoying me being on their doorstep.
I hate hanging in there with the tension that they might reject me or that they might be unsure about whether to give or not. I want it black or white. I want them to say yes or no, none of this in between tension. When I talk to Manjuka about this, a great pain arises within my heart, and I realise that I am letting myself down badly, and that actually I'm being a coward. He says that we do these things because they make us feel safe, so it's ok. He says that the great thing is that I know what I'm doing, so I have great awareness and can train myself on the doors, he doesn't need to be there! I stumble somewhat as I feel I'm learning a humble lesson, and still can't quite believe that mid-way through my second appeal for Karuna, I still feel on a certain level that I don't belong on people's door-steps and that somehow I have no right to be there. I say this after having knocked many doors and gotten money off a lot of people. Fundraising for Karuna is humbling, we can only work with where we are at. Tonight I realise I'm still self-sabotaging, but that's ok, I'm working on it, it's a practice, a spiritual practice.
I call back to a couple of women, one of them called Harriet invites me in. We chat for around half an hour, and finally she says that she'd like to make a donation but she's not sure about a standing order. She's retired and feels that she can't afford it. She really likes our charity though and wants to give. We explore it some more and I ask her to help me. I suggest she takes some more time to think about what amount she could regularly give the charity, and what the charity can do with a regular amount from her, that we can't do with a donation. I also thank her for offering her donation, and reassure her that if she decides to do this then that is great. But, I challenge her some more to think about what she will get in return if she gives a little more. I feel like our relationship on this issue is down to trust, and essentially I'm asking her to trust me, and see how it might feel to give a little more. I leave the form with her, and make an appointment to go back and pick it up.
Another woman comes to her door, same story again, she really wants to support us but can't afford £10 per month, she wants to talk to her husband and daughter about it. Will I accept a donation tonight? I acknowledge her kind offer and again explain why a regular amount would be better for the charity and better for me, and I ask her in what way it might be better for her?She says she saw a colleague of mine many years ago and they knocked on her door, she can't remember why she didn't sign up then, because she really likes our charity. I wonder inside why she is thinking of passing up the opportunity again. I decide to help her out and see if she can change her mind and follow through on wanting to give us a regular amount.
I am asking her to help the people in India, and asking her to have a think about what that will feel like for her. She is very motivated and open about what we are doing in India, so again I ask her to have more of a think about it. I leave her the form, she says she'll fill it in and send it back to us. I am wise to this gatekeeper - I explain to her in a good humoured but serious way that I fear what will happen is that she'll take the form full of her good intentions which I'm seeing tonight, and that, like others have done before, she will not fill it in because life has a habit of intervening. I explain to her that if I call back that will make it more likely that she'll do it and then she'll have the satisfaction of knowing that she is giving to the charity and she has acted on her intentions. She agrees with me, and gives me a relieved smile and we make a date for next week.
I do not know if either of these women will give me their completed standing order forms, but tonight I feel like I've done everything I could possibly do to acknowledge their concerns, build trust, stay open to possibilities and offer suggestions. I also feel like I've asked them for their help and listened to them saying no, and then turned them around to consider that maybe they are not saying no to a standing order afterall. I feel more at my edge than I have before, and also I know that for today I have done all that I can, and that ultimately more patience may well be required when I visit them again, and also that I must let go of the outcome for today.
Today I faced some of my demons, and tried to tame them. Access to the mandala and the big pot of gold seems closer and more tangible than it did before.
The first demon we encounter is the demon that tries to tell us to go away, that we are not even worthy of communicating with, that we are not even worthy of being alive. The second demon is apathetic, it is a demon of indifference. It says to us, yeah, yeah, I agree with you, those poor people in India, yes I should help you, but you know what, I'm not going to so there. The third demon is a perfectionist. It tells us that if we are excellent and good and perfect in every way and answer all their questions perfectly then it will allow us to gain access to the mandala and touch the pot of gold.
I think long and hard about which demon I encounter most on the doors - both inside of me, and also external to me in the householders that I meet.
I go out fundraising tonight and Manjuka comes with me, in order to help me with feedback on my fundraising. After I knock a few doors he asks me what's going on. I explain that I think that deep down there is this feeling that actually I'm not worthy of being here knocking these doors. I have not been aware of this feeling before, not truly in touch with it, but tonight I'm able to feel it and see it quite clearly. It's quite subtle because I go to the doors and I stand tall, I engage the householder, I acknowledge what's going on with them - I do all this without thinking, "I shouldn't be here" and then I go and say something like "you look busy" or "have I caught you in the middle of something", or "ah, I see, you haven't got much cash at the moment", and it's like I'm subtlely making my exit before I've even begun to entertain the possibility that this might go really well and that the householder is enjoying me being on their doorstep.
I hate hanging in there with the tension that they might reject me or that they might be unsure about whether to give or not. I want it black or white. I want them to say yes or no, none of this in between tension. When I talk to Manjuka about this, a great pain arises within my heart, and I realise that I am letting myself down badly, and that actually I'm being a coward. He says that we do these things because they make us feel safe, so it's ok. He says that the great thing is that I know what I'm doing, so I have great awareness and can train myself on the doors, he doesn't need to be there! I stumble somewhat as I feel I'm learning a humble lesson, and still can't quite believe that mid-way through my second appeal for Karuna, I still feel on a certain level that I don't belong on people's door-steps and that somehow I have no right to be there. I say this after having knocked many doors and gotten money off a lot of people. Fundraising for Karuna is humbling, we can only work with where we are at. Tonight I realise I'm still self-sabotaging, but that's ok, I'm working on it, it's a practice, a spiritual practice.
I call back to a couple of women, one of them called Harriet invites me in. We chat for around half an hour, and finally she says that she'd like to make a donation but she's not sure about a standing order. She's retired and feels that she can't afford it. She really likes our charity though and wants to give. We explore it some more and I ask her to help me. I suggest she takes some more time to think about what amount she could regularly give the charity, and what the charity can do with a regular amount from her, that we can't do with a donation. I also thank her for offering her donation, and reassure her that if she decides to do this then that is great. But, I challenge her some more to think about what she will get in return if she gives a little more. I feel like our relationship on this issue is down to trust, and essentially I'm asking her to trust me, and see how it might feel to give a little more. I leave the form with her, and make an appointment to go back and pick it up.
Another woman comes to her door, same story again, she really wants to support us but can't afford £10 per month, she wants to talk to her husband and daughter about it. Will I accept a donation tonight? I acknowledge her kind offer and again explain why a regular amount would be better for the charity and better for me, and I ask her in what way it might be better for her?She says she saw a colleague of mine many years ago and they knocked on her door, she can't remember why she didn't sign up then, because she really likes our charity. I wonder inside why she is thinking of passing up the opportunity again. I decide to help her out and see if she can change her mind and follow through on wanting to give us a regular amount.
I am asking her to help the people in India, and asking her to have a think about what that will feel like for her. She is very motivated and open about what we are doing in India, so again I ask her to have more of a think about it. I leave her the form, she says she'll fill it in and send it back to us. I am wise to this gatekeeper - I explain to her in a good humoured but serious way that I fear what will happen is that she'll take the form full of her good intentions which I'm seeing tonight, and that, like others have done before, she will not fill it in because life has a habit of intervening. I explain to her that if I call back that will make it more likely that she'll do it and then she'll have the satisfaction of knowing that she is giving to the charity and she has acted on her intentions. She agrees with me, and gives me a relieved smile and we make a date for next week.
I do not know if either of these women will give me their completed standing order forms, but tonight I feel like I've done everything I could possibly do to acknowledge their concerns, build trust, stay open to possibilities and offer suggestions. I also feel like I've asked them for their help and listened to them saying no, and then turned them around to consider that maybe they are not saying no to a standing order afterall. I feel more at my edge than I have before, and also I know that for today I have done all that I can, and that ultimately more patience may well be required when I visit them again, and also that I must let go of the outcome for today.
Today I faced some of my demons, and tried to tame them. Access to the mandala and the big pot of gold seems closer and more tangible than it did before.
Monday, June 23, 2008
The magic of rebirth
The weekend passes by in a flash. On Sunday the team spends time with Jayachitta doing some movement and dance. I arrive late, and can feel my resistance. The first exercise she has us doing is throwing balls around the room and catching them. I immediately feel my resistance drop. Catching is one of my specialities and my enjoyment of the day just flows from there. The second exercise involves suggestions of areas of the body to focus on in movement. I let the music in. I curl up in a ball and want to hide. Slowly but surely I allow my body to begin moving, and I love the freedom that comes from being able to move in whatever way I want, and being able to hide and curl up in a ball whenever I want. I experience resistance when she asks us to focus on movement in our wrists. My wrists go limp and attempt a "door knocking" movement, my head says to itself "I never want to knock on anyone's door ever again..." I enjoy playing with the resistance and the fact that I can be so half-hearted in the movement of knocking on doors with my wrists in mid air.
I feel much more grounded in my body as a result of the workshop. We have been doing a lot of talking and communicating on this appeal, and for once, it is lovely to contact the earth and be in a space without words. I lap it up.
My grandmother died the day before, Saturday, the day of the Summer Solstice. I feel that the day signifies a time for things coming to fruition and also a time of change and new beginnings. I think about my grandmother's rebirth. Something that has come in for me very strongly during this period of waiting to hear of her death is a feeling that there is a transitionary process around death, and that there is clearly a bardo, a space between life and death, and that I feel all I can do is wish her well for the time she travels in this dimension. I feel as if my part is to be there in this world, in my body, and wish her well in her transition. I have been consciously cultivating karuna or compassion, and metta or loving kindness for her during my meditations and at other times. The day of her death we light a candle for her, and Vajrasattva appears and I silently say his mantras over and over in my mind. Today the team brings her to mind in our team metta practice in the afternoon and we wish her well in the bardo.
When I woke this morning it was as if something had shifted in my heart. Some of the communication and conversations I had with Akasavajri this weekend just resonated deeply within my heart and touched me on many different levels of my being. I realise that I feel full of warmth, love, contentment and confidence. I go out door knocking in the evening from this place. My fear feels small tonight, and I'm able to hold it like a microdot on a TV screen background that is somehow much larger and full of other emotions and feelings.
Every door I knock on people seem open and present with me, I leave a lot of booklets with a lot of lovely people. Even when people say "no" it is as if they are really present with me and they wish me well. I allow myself the thought that perhaps it is because I am being able to be really present with them. I notice that I am "in the zone", where I feel truly open and practically glide down the pathways to the doorsteps. I have no fear as I wait for the householders, I feel quietly confident and able to sense this flowing universe around and inside of me. Even when fear comes, somehow I'm able to greet it and it does not get in the way of my wish to connect.
I call back to a guy that I'd left a standing order form with early last week. I have been patient, and been to see him on four occasions. On one occasion last week, his daughter who is one and half years old was really ill, and I connected with the sadness and suffering in her eyes, and reached out to her and wished her well. On the next occasion that I go she is feeling much better and she says goodbye to me and her eyes beam. They say that you can never count on a standing order until it's firmly tucked away in your bag. Tonight, my first standing order of the appeal is, after a week and a half of door knocking, firmly tucked away inside my bag. It feels great to break my "duck", and also have such a great evening and day full of connection. When you have days like this on appeal it is as if the world is shining back at you and in the reflection you are able to contact love, warmth and connection, and feel truly alive. There is no other feeling like it and I feel truly able to be present with this feeling of aliveness and wellbeing. The day feels golden to me.
I feel much more grounded in my body as a result of the workshop. We have been doing a lot of talking and communicating on this appeal, and for once, it is lovely to contact the earth and be in a space without words. I lap it up.
My grandmother died the day before, Saturday, the day of the Summer Solstice. I feel that the day signifies a time for things coming to fruition and also a time of change and new beginnings. I think about my grandmother's rebirth. Something that has come in for me very strongly during this period of waiting to hear of her death is a feeling that there is a transitionary process around death, and that there is clearly a bardo, a space between life and death, and that I feel all I can do is wish her well for the time she travels in this dimension. I feel as if my part is to be there in this world, in my body, and wish her well in her transition. I have been consciously cultivating karuna or compassion, and metta or loving kindness for her during my meditations and at other times. The day of her death we light a candle for her, and Vajrasattva appears and I silently say his mantras over and over in my mind. Today the team brings her to mind in our team metta practice in the afternoon and we wish her well in the bardo.
When I woke this morning it was as if something had shifted in my heart. Some of the communication and conversations I had with Akasavajri this weekend just resonated deeply within my heart and touched me on many different levels of my being. I realise that I feel full of warmth, love, contentment and confidence. I go out door knocking in the evening from this place. My fear feels small tonight, and I'm able to hold it like a microdot on a TV screen background that is somehow much larger and full of other emotions and feelings.
Every door I knock on people seem open and present with me, I leave a lot of booklets with a lot of lovely people. Even when people say "no" it is as if they are really present with me and they wish me well. I allow myself the thought that perhaps it is because I am being able to be really present with them. I notice that I am "in the zone", where I feel truly open and practically glide down the pathways to the doorsteps. I have no fear as I wait for the householders, I feel quietly confident and able to sense this flowing universe around and inside of me. Even when fear comes, somehow I'm able to greet it and it does not get in the way of my wish to connect.
I call back to a guy that I'd left a standing order form with early last week. I have been patient, and been to see him on four occasions. On one occasion last week, his daughter who is one and half years old was really ill, and I connected with the sadness and suffering in her eyes, and reached out to her and wished her well. On the next occasion that I go she is feeling much better and she says goodbye to me and her eyes beam. They say that you can never count on a standing order until it's firmly tucked away in your bag. Tonight, my first standing order of the appeal is, after a week and a half of door knocking, firmly tucked away inside my bag. It feels great to break my "duck", and also have such a great evening and day full of connection. When you have days like this on appeal it is as if the world is shining back at you and in the reflection you are able to contact love, warmth and connection, and feel truly alive. There is no other feeling like it and I feel truly able to be present with this feeling of aliveness and wellbeing. The day feels golden to me.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Being patient and kind
We do some training with Jo. It is about checking in with ourselves and where we are at. One of the questions is about what I am learning about right now. My list flows, and I realise my edge is all about deepening connections with the householders. I want to be a good friend to the strangers I meet, and be in friendly relationship with myself. I want to be patient and kind, nuture these relationships. When I think about where I want to get to as a result of deepening my practice of fundraising in a buddhist context I think about wanting to move towards being more outgoing and confident. I can see myself in a couple of weeks time being able to embody the lover archetype more, cultivating loving, outgoing energy.
I also have this sense that the way through into this, my door, is about being more open and vulnerable and allowing the householder to see me more, being less one dimensional. I also realise I am open to making lots of money if it is the universe's will for me. I breathe, sleep, and go off to meditate before going out and trying to embody love and friendship on the doors.
I also have this sense that the way through into this, my door, is about being more open and vulnerable and allowing the householder to see me more, being less one dimensional. I also realise I am open to making lots of money if it is the universe's will for me. I breathe, sleep, and go off to meditate before going out and trying to embody love and friendship on the doors.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The noble queen and the boundless sky
At long last, a day off. I spend most of it with Akasavajri, enjoying time to call my own. We talk a little bit more about the future. We both contact our fears and have a go at voicing them to each other. I am encouraged by this process and somehow rather than keep fear locked away, I feel we've given fear a chance to breathe. What follows from this is the unfolding of a space for love and faith to emerge between us and have a go at breathing too.
When I return home to the community, Abhilasa welcomes me as if I am a stately queen that has been thrown a returning home party. I feel like a queen as I contact the warmth and friendship that our appeal team has already managed to cultivate between us. I feel grateful for this, it makes so much difference when I'm getting ready in the evenings to go out on the doors, and also when I'm actually out there, knowing that they are too.
Before we head out I find myself expressing my resistance again. Abhilasa gathers us all around and we do a couple of visualisations, and then we do the "Earth Goddess" ritual. We stand in a circle around each other, one person in the centre, and we contact the earth energy then scoop it up with both hands and heap it on the person in the middle. We do this and take turns in the middle and at the end we all feel refreshed, full of energy, earthed and bonded as a group. Paddy says that now he feels like a complete hippy. We giggle at him, and I ask everyone for a group hug. We do this, and now it is confirmed we are all hippies. Naomi later remarks that we're like this Benetton advert doing hippy things together, diverse bunch that we are. We are still struggling to find a name for our appeal - something that bonds us together, we decide to sleep on it.
I walk down a "rich street" in Kentish Town. The first householder tries to swot me away like a fly or a lowly servant. I am a match for him though, having had training with Khemajala yesterday on "matching energy" - I match him and our conversation almost has a flavour of confrontation. Without knowing how he managed it the householder takes a booklet from me, and I agree to go back and see him next week. When I return to the pavement, I realise that this street is going to have the energy of the financially rich on it, who are sometimes very adept at dismissing door to door fundraisers. I steel myself, hold myself up straight, head held high, contact the noble queen in me, and think of Vandanajyoti and how she would fundraise this street. I set off on my noble quest. It goes pretty well. I decide to try wearing a smart shirt tomorrow in order to feel more the part.
When I get home there are drinks, crisps and a large chocolate cake on the table. Stevie Wonder is playing in the background, and Abhilasa is playing host for Adarsha's birthday party. Naomi has baked a cake which is gluten free and vegan (such are our team's dietary restrictions). The cake looks and tastes amazing, Paddy says it's the best he's ever tasted. We sing happy birthday, Paddy puts on his red dress and we dance to the tunes, and generally have a good old giggle. We draw pictures on our scoreboard and try to make it look creative and inviting, none of us got any standing orders tonight. Patience appears to be the name of the game. Khemajala and Adarsha remark that whenever they see us we always look like we're having this amazingly good time together, even though we're on appeal. We all grin and don't quite know how to answer that.
When I return home to the community, Abhilasa welcomes me as if I am a stately queen that has been thrown a returning home party. I feel like a queen as I contact the warmth and friendship that our appeal team has already managed to cultivate between us. I feel grateful for this, it makes so much difference when I'm getting ready in the evenings to go out on the doors, and also when I'm actually out there, knowing that they are too.
Before we head out I find myself expressing my resistance again. Abhilasa gathers us all around and we do a couple of visualisations, and then we do the "Earth Goddess" ritual. We stand in a circle around each other, one person in the centre, and we contact the earth energy then scoop it up with both hands and heap it on the person in the middle. We do this and take turns in the middle and at the end we all feel refreshed, full of energy, earthed and bonded as a group. Paddy says that now he feels like a complete hippy. We giggle at him, and I ask everyone for a group hug. We do this, and now it is confirmed we are all hippies. Naomi later remarks that we're like this Benetton advert doing hippy things together, diverse bunch that we are. We are still struggling to find a name for our appeal - something that bonds us together, we decide to sleep on it.
I walk down a "rich street" in Kentish Town. The first householder tries to swot me away like a fly or a lowly servant. I am a match for him though, having had training with Khemajala yesterday on "matching energy" - I match him and our conversation almost has a flavour of confrontation. Without knowing how he managed it the householder takes a booklet from me, and I agree to go back and see him next week. When I return to the pavement, I realise that this street is going to have the energy of the financially rich on it, who are sometimes very adept at dismissing door to door fundraisers. I steel myself, hold myself up straight, head held high, contact the noble queen in me, and think of Vandanajyoti and how she would fundraise this street. I set off on my noble quest. It goes pretty well. I decide to try wearing a smart shirt tomorrow in order to feel more the part.
When I get home there are drinks, crisps and a large chocolate cake on the table. Stevie Wonder is playing in the background, and Abhilasa is playing host for Adarsha's birthday party. Naomi has baked a cake which is gluten free and vegan (such are our team's dietary restrictions). The cake looks and tastes amazing, Paddy says it's the best he's ever tasted. We sing happy birthday, Paddy puts on his red dress and we dance to the tunes, and generally have a good old giggle. We draw pictures on our scoreboard and try to make it look creative and inviting, none of us got any standing orders tonight. Patience appears to be the name of the game. Khemajala and Adarsha remark that whenever they see us we always look like we're having this amazingly good time together, even though we're on appeal. We all grin and don't quite know how to answer that.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I see you Mara
I see you Mara, I see you. I know you Mara, I know you. What have you brought for me today? An army full of beautiful maidens, adorned with jewels, long flowing locks, temptresses at my door. I'm not interested today, Mara, you go away and play with them. Ah, what have you brought now...some more doubt, some more insecurity, some more sadness. I see you feelings, I see you, I feel you feelings, I feel you. My feelings flow and wander back away with Mara. In the stillness I think I hear the nothingness reflected back at me.
Today I'm irritable, untrusting, fearful. I am bare as the day I was born. I am the incredible hulk, Jo with a green mask, I want to rip it, tear it, scratch it to shreads. I want to let the light shine upon me, through me, from me. I want to love, without fear.
Everything that comes from outside I do not trust today, like I want to protect myself from everything and everyone. It is a painful way to be. It's like I can't give people the benefit of the doubt. My universe narrows. I sit in meditation trying to be with the emptiness. Trying to dwell, trying to dwell, trying...I surrender. I turn my mind to surrendering, make a decision to do it, I surrender again.
I am scared and can let it in more than I have ever been able to. I want my life to be neatly packaged like some toffed up avacado from Sainsbury's. Why do I yearn for packaging around me? I want everything to be safe and bright, and known. No feelings for me that I cannot control, no bad things to happen to me, no withering, no death, no end of me and mine. I cannot function in this much suffering, my mind contorts and I decide to get a hour's sleep.
Who knows what tonight will bring?
Today I'm irritable, untrusting, fearful. I am bare as the day I was born. I am the incredible hulk, Jo with a green mask, I want to rip it, tear it, scratch it to shreads. I want to let the light shine upon me, through me, from me. I want to love, without fear.
Everything that comes from outside I do not trust today, like I want to protect myself from everything and everyone. It is a painful way to be. It's like I can't give people the benefit of the doubt. My universe narrows. I sit in meditation trying to be with the emptiness. Trying to dwell, trying to dwell, trying...I surrender. I turn my mind to surrendering, make a decision to do it, I surrender again.
I am scared and can let it in more than I have ever been able to. I want my life to be neatly packaged like some toffed up avacado from Sainsbury's. Why do I yearn for packaging around me? I want everything to be safe and bright, and known. No feelings for me that I cannot control, no bad things to happen to me, no withering, no death, no end of me and mine. I cannot function in this much suffering, my mind contorts and I decide to get a hour's sleep.
Who knows what tonight will bring?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Easing into the softness
"I really don't want to go out tonight, I really don't want to go out fundraising." I say to Paddy..."Don't ever do a second fundraising appeal" I giggle...Paddy has already mentioned he wants to do a second appeal and he's only a week into his first! This man has many special qualities I think to myself.
On my first appeal last year in Leeds, I just sort of pushed myself out of the door and went for it each night, afterall I had no experience and nothing to lose, every experience was a bonus, a building block. On my first appeal if I'd have entertained thoughts of really simply not wanting to go out there and been fully with my resistance then I probably would have cracked up and never gone out there again. Instead I just pushed my resistance to one side and got on my bike and cycled up those huge hills to get to where I was going. On this second appeal it is different. Because I'm slightly more confident in some ways, and I'm a bit more familiar with Karuna in a certain way, there seems more time to actually take in and be with my emotions and experience, and then move out in the world from there.
Tonight I experienced severe resistance to going out at all, and then my kind team mate Paddy said to me in response to my moaning..."Just take one step at a time...just get to your patch first and see how it goes from there". Good advice, Paddy, good advice I thought, and I got on my bike and went to my patch.
I sat and contacted the softness and the fear again. Slightly more practiced at sitting and contacting softness within me, I felt like my mask needed to slip once more and I needed to go out on the doors and just be Jo again, connecting and showing an interest in others lives. The fundraising agenda shelved once more, I set off to make some new friends.
My grandmother is seriously ill and we were told by the doctors last week that she wouldn't make it to this week. It is now Tuesday and she is still with us, but I feel that she slips in and out of consciousness all the time, and in a sense is fully in a bardo between life and death. I bring her to mind a lot today and let myself dwell on her positive qualities, and wish her well. My tenderness has come from feeling in a spin and all churned up knowing that these are her last days. I have an image that all that I want to do is sit in a monastery somewhere with other monks and nuns in robes, and chant mantras in low tones, and count mala beads, mindful of life, mindful of death, I am praying and honouring my grandmother's life.
The streets could not have been kinder to me tonight. What a contrast with yesterday. Today I roll up to people's doors, I have no agenda other than getting to know them. One woman looks ill, I say hello to her, and then, you're not looking so well. She has a headache, but she says she wants to know what I'm there for, and then, interested, she starts to connect with me. There is no door between us, we are simply there giving each other our time and attention. I move onto another door, a woman looks flustered and tired. I say, you're looking like you're in the middle of something that taking up a lot of your attention and effort. She is packing for a weekend break in Barcelona. She is knackered. She is also fascinated and interested in Karuna. Our connection runs like a role play in the best training session ever. I say something intriguing and inviting, she dances back with something equally passionate, she asks all the right questions, I relax and just be myself, we end up chatting for ages.
Two guys in the street are hanging out after their run. I wander over to them, something that yesterday I would have run a mile from. I wander over and talk to them about running. I did a 10K run in Victoria Park on Sunday, they are happy to talk about their running. We chat about what I'm doing, what charities they support, I ask them what they work as, what they're passionate about. They talk about charities they volunteer for, one is an HIV charity I know well. We are connecting beautifully, I tell them I love their street, they seem to know everyone on it, they love their street too. They both take booklets and tell me to call back, they'd like to support us. I wander some more on their street, a couple of guys watching the football at different doors I see through their windows. I ask them who's playing, it's France vs Italy. It's a big match, we talk about the football, they seem very open to talking about the charity, and their girlfriends, and what they're doing at the weekend.
It doesn't get any better than this I think, door knocking for Karuna. Everybody I saw tonight seemed to want to move towards me and all because I was softer, more interested in them and open to them than I'd ever been before. Everything changes, everything is impermanent, but tonight my night was sweet.
We put up our scoreboard today with our targets on it. It was a bit daunting, even though I knew it was coming. It brings up my competitive instincts which I can't decide if I like about myself or dislike. We all came home with nothing to write on our board tonight...not even any cash let alone standing orders. We've had a few standing orders and/or bits of cash every evening we've been here, but not tonight. We rejoice in the irony and the timing of our first fallow night with the scoreboard now in full view. It's our team secret in-joke for one night only.
I talk to my friend Kath later in the evening. She is brushing her teeth. She mumbles when she picks up her phone. I say, are you in the middle of eating, she says: "mmno, I'm busshing my teef", I think how lovely that she feels relaxed enough with me to speak to me with a mouthful of paste and spit. We decide I'll ring back in two minutes, I do and she allows me to tell her how fearful I've been of late, I tell her about the illness in my family, about a new relationship that is bringing love into my life, about changing jobs, and moving into the appeal community. She reminds me that that's a lot of change. She listens and witnesses my words, she suggests that I think about giving myself some more compassion, have I thought about being more compassionate to myself? I grin inwardedly, Kath is not a buddhist and to my knowledge does not know that much about Karuna, but inside this woman really knows all about buddhism and karuna I think to myself. I tell her I'm so grateful that she was able to be there for me this evening, and that we were able to connect. She wishes me well, and let's me know that I can call again anytime.
On my first appeal last year in Leeds, I just sort of pushed myself out of the door and went for it each night, afterall I had no experience and nothing to lose, every experience was a bonus, a building block. On my first appeal if I'd have entertained thoughts of really simply not wanting to go out there and been fully with my resistance then I probably would have cracked up and never gone out there again. Instead I just pushed my resistance to one side and got on my bike and cycled up those huge hills to get to where I was going. On this second appeal it is different. Because I'm slightly more confident in some ways, and I'm a bit more familiar with Karuna in a certain way, there seems more time to actually take in and be with my emotions and experience, and then move out in the world from there.
Tonight I experienced severe resistance to going out at all, and then my kind team mate Paddy said to me in response to my moaning..."Just take one step at a time...just get to your patch first and see how it goes from there". Good advice, Paddy, good advice I thought, and I got on my bike and went to my patch.
I sat and contacted the softness and the fear again. Slightly more practiced at sitting and contacting softness within me, I felt like my mask needed to slip once more and I needed to go out on the doors and just be Jo again, connecting and showing an interest in others lives. The fundraising agenda shelved once more, I set off to make some new friends.
My grandmother is seriously ill and we were told by the doctors last week that she wouldn't make it to this week. It is now Tuesday and she is still with us, but I feel that she slips in and out of consciousness all the time, and in a sense is fully in a bardo between life and death. I bring her to mind a lot today and let myself dwell on her positive qualities, and wish her well. My tenderness has come from feeling in a spin and all churned up knowing that these are her last days. I have an image that all that I want to do is sit in a monastery somewhere with other monks and nuns in robes, and chant mantras in low tones, and count mala beads, mindful of life, mindful of death, I am praying and honouring my grandmother's life.
The streets could not have been kinder to me tonight. What a contrast with yesterday. Today I roll up to people's doors, I have no agenda other than getting to know them. One woman looks ill, I say hello to her, and then, you're not looking so well. She has a headache, but she says she wants to know what I'm there for, and then, interested, she starts to connect with me. There is no door between us, we are simply there giving each other our time and attention. I move onto another door, a woman looks flustered and tired. I say, you're looking like you're in the middle of something that taking up a lot of your attention and effort. She is packing for a weekend break in Barcelona. She is knackered. She is also fascinated and interested in Karuna. Our connection runs like a role play in the best training session ever. I say something intriguing and inviting, she dances back with something equally passionate, she asks all the right questions, I relax and just be myself, we end up chatting for ages.
Two guys in the street are hanging out after their run. I wander over to them, something that yesterday I would have run a mile from. I wander over and talk to them about running. I did a 10K run in Victoria Park on Sunday, they are happy to talk about their running. We chat about what I'm doing, what charities they support, I ask them what they work as, what they're passionate about. They talk about charities they volunteer for, one is an HIV charity I know well. We are connecting beautifully, I tell them I love their street, they seem to know everyone on it, they love their street too. They both take booklets and tell me to call back, they'd like to support us. I wander some more on their street, a couple of guys watching the football at different doors I see through their windows. I ask them who's playing, it's France vs Italy. It's a big match, we talk about the football, they seem very open to talking about the charity, and their girlfriends, and what they're doing at the weekend.
It doesn't get any better than this I think, door knocking for Karuna. Everybody I saw tonight seemed to want to move towards me and all because I was softer, more interested in them and open to them than I'd ever been before. Everything changes, everything is impermanent, but tonight my night was sweet.
We put up our scoreboard today with our targets on it. It was a bit daunting, even though I knew it was coming. It brings up my competitive instincts which I can't decide if I like about myself or dislike. We all came home with nothing to write on our board tonight...not even any cash let alone standing orders. We've had a few standing orders and/or bits of cash every evening we've been here, but not tonight. We rejoice in the irony and the timing of our first fallow night with the scoreboard now in full view. It's our team secret in-joke for one night only.
I talk to my friend Kath later in the evening. She is brushing her teeth. She mumbles when she picks up her phone. I say, are you in the middle of eating, she says: "mmno, I'm busshing my teef", I think how lovely that she feels relaxed enough with me to speak to me with a mouthful of paste and spit. We decide I'll ring back in two minutes, I do and she allows me to tell her how fearful I've been of late, I tell her about the illness in my family, about a new relationship that is bringing love into my life, about changing jobs, and moving into the appeal community. She reminds me that that's a lot of change. She listens and witnesses my words, she suggests that I think about giving myself some more compassion, have I thought about being more compassionate to myself? I grin inwardedly, Kath is not a buddhist and to my knowledge does not know that much about Karuna, but inside this woman really knows all about buddhism and karuna I think to myself. I tell her I'm so grateful that she was able to be there for me this evening, and that we were able to connect. She wishes me well, and let's me know that I can call again anytime.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Fears and rain
Red poppies and green stalks,
Blue bibles and champagne
These things go together
Like my fears and the rain
I walk down the street with my good friend, Santavajri. She has kindly offered to come out door knocking with me for the evening and give me feedback and support about how I am doing with it. I am happy to be with such a kind friend, and I know instantly that I can be myself with her. "How are you feeling?" she says to me. "Sad, vulnerable, scared". "Aha..." The way she says it I know that it is alright to be with her and that she will not wish my emotions away, in fact she will encourage me to be with them.
We walk down a street, I don't like it. It has lots of flats with high steps, I take an instant dislike to it. Later on down the street it looks a bit better, I decide I'm ready to start knocking on doors.
I ring a bell to a flat, an Indian woman opens her third floor window, she says something to me, I don't understand what it is. I try to talk to her, we don't connect, she sends her mother to the window, "No English, no English" - I say, "Oh, ok..." I feel a little silly that I didn't get the hang of that more quickly. I realise it takes me by surprise, and I feel slow and heavy-hearted tonight.
A few doors on and it's not going well, I realise that I am nervous and not liking my surroundings. Santavajri joins me in a bit and suggests we try the street further on. It's better, but tonight all the doors look like castles to me, and the gates feel like drawbridges firmly closed shut, the gardens and pathways feel like moats that swallow me up and I'm on the verge of drowning in them.
A man comes to the door, the dogs are going wild behind his door. "What is it Eric? What is it?" I hear from inside the house...someone sounds anxious. Eric comes to the door...he is very elderly and confused, suffering, and he shouts and points at me "close the gate, close the gate, it's the dogs, the gate!". I take my leave as he suggests.
Midway through the evening I check in with Santavajri. She has come with me to a few doors, witnessing my door knocking, fundraising and communication. I feel fear, sadness, vulnerability and grief within my belly. Santavajri suggests we walk down the street and I try to contact it some more. At the end of the street she suggests I stay in touch with it, drop my "Karuna business agenda" and just try to go to the doors and let the householders see me and all my sad vulnerability. I tell her it's the thing that I find least easy, but the thing that tonight I know I must take another step towards. She reminds me that fundraising is all about contacting how I am, and being with it, and then opening out from there. She tells me that I should forget about raising money and just try to take in others as human beings, some of whom might be sad and vulnerable tonight just like me. Just focus on trying to make the human connection. She leaves me and goes off to get tea, I'll join her later.
As I walk up the street towards the next doors some energy arises within me, the energy born of tenderness that I've been able to contact, and I feel closer to my vulnerability. I soften, let go, loosen my control over my "mask" that says: "I am in control, I am a fundraiser, I will make money". Tonight I practice just being Jo, Jo the human being that is sad and vulnerable and full of grief. It starts to rain, but I am there with it, no need to run and hide. I allow myself the practice of trying to let the householders see me as a human being. I try to let them in and see me, I feel more real.
It's just my fears and rain.
Blue bibles and champagne
These things go together
Like my fears and the rain
I walk down the street with my good friend, Santavajri. She has kindly offered to come out door knocking with me for the evening and give me feedback and support about how I am doing with it. I am happy to be with such a kind friend, and I know instantly that I can be myself with her. "How are you feeling?" she says to me. "Sad, vulnerable, scared". "Aha..." The way she says it I know that it is alright to be with her and that she will not wish my emotions away, in fact she will encourage me to be with them.
We walk down a street, I don't like it. It has lots of flats with high steps, I take an instant dislike to it. Later on down the street it looks a bit better, I decide I'm ready to start knocking on doors.
I ring a bell to a flat, an Indian woman opens her third floor window, she says something to me, I don't understand what it is. I try to talk to her, we don't connect, she sends her mother to the window, "No English, no English" - I say, "Oh, ok..." I feel a little silly that I didn't get the hang of that more quickly. I realise it takes me by surprise, and I feel slow and heavy-hearted tonight.
A few doors on and it's not going well, I realise that I am nervous and not liking my surroundings. Santavajri joins me in a bit and suggests we try the street further on. It's better, but tonight all the doors look like castles to me, and the gates feel like drawbridges firmly closed shut, the gardens and pathways feel like moats that swallow me up and I'm on the verge of drowning in them.
A man comes to the door, the dogs are going wild behind his door. "What is it Eric? What is it?" I hear from inside the house...someone sounds anxious. Eric comes to the door...he is very elderly and confused, suffering, and he shouts and points at me "close the gate, close the gate, it's the dogs, the gate!". I take my leave as he suggests.
Midway through the evening I check in with Santavajri. She has come with me to a few doors, witnessing my door knocking, fundraising and communication. I feel fear, sadness, vulnerability and grief within my belly. Santavajri suggests we walk down the street and I try to contact it some more. At the end of the street she suggests I stay in touch with it, drop my "Karuna business agenda" and just try to go to the doors and let the householders see me and all my sad vulnerability. I tell her it's the thing that I find least easy, but the thing that tonight I know I must take another step towards. She reminds me that fundraising is all about contacting how I am, and being with it, and then opening out from there. She tells me that I should forget about raising money and just try to take in others as human beings, some of whom might be sad and vulnerable tonight just like me. Just focus on trying to make the human connection. She leaves me and goes off to get tea, I'll join her later.
As I walk up the street towards the next doors some energy arises within me, the energy born of tenderness that I've been able to contact, and I feel closer to my vulnerability. I soften, let go, loosen my control over my "mask" that says: "I am in control, I am a fundraiser, I will make money". Tonight I practice just being Jo, Jo the human being that is sad and vulnerable and full of grief. It starts to rain, but I am there with it, no need to run and hide. I allow myself the practice of trying to let the householders see me as a human being. I try to let them in and see me, I feel more real.
It's just my fears and rain.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Cultivating passion
"Hi, I'm calling from a charity". "You best come in then, but I'm telling you now I'm not signing up for a standing order". I feel the warmth of the hallway and the house immediately, and realise that it is a little cold out there walking the streets. It is a familiar warmth to me, the warmth of being invited into someone's home, I am immediately grateful. My eyes scan the room, letters opened on the table, a work pass that says BBC on the counter. "Ah, you work for the BBC" "Yes", "what do you do there?" "I'm the World Services' Africa correspondent". Ah, I think, how interesting, we are going to get on well. "So, what do you want from me?" "Well, I'll tell you it straight there's no point in mucking around...I want a standing order...". I grin...he grins, "or a donation" I add, realising that this man is relatively rich and might give Karuna a big fat cheque.
"Right then, you best give me your pitch" "there is no pitch", we laugh. "But tell me, seriously, why are you different from all the rest of the charities out there, why should I give to you?". We talk about India, he's lived there for a year, he knows more about India than me, but I realise he's not asking me about India, he's asking me about why I feel passionately about Karuna. I relate my experience in the last ten years of working with people with HIV in the UK and other parts of the world, many of whom are from Africa. I say my interest is in discrimination and the "have nots" in our world. I say I'm a volunteer for Karuna, and I'm at the beginning of my journey of really trying to connect with the experience of the Dalits. I do it in the only way I know how, relate it to my experiences, and build links. I tell him that I trust Karuna because I know it's not easy to win the trust of marginalised people, it's not easy developing projects from scratch that are now run by Dalits for themselves. I say there's something creative and genuine in my experience of Karuna and what I know about it. He finds me very persuasive and tells me so. This is a compliment from this journalist who asks straight questions and I acknowledge it with as much grace as I can muster.
He tells me he had a Dalit cleaner when he lived in India. Tells me that the cook of the house said that if the cleaner was ever allowed in the kitchen of the house, she would resign as his cook. He tells me he hates Hinduism because it fosters this sense of when you're born you're screwed, you just have to put up with your lot. I don't know much about Hinduism, but I know that I believe that most religions are polluted and diluted by their contact with people on earth, that our societies have a huge influence on the way our religions are practiced. He nods and acknowledges viciferiously. We talk about conflict and Buddhism in Sri Lanka.
He talks about war and poverty, a bit about what he's seen. He wants to read me something, he says that it's about fighting and war so being a pacifist I might find it difficult. I give him a knowing look, and he understands I think that he comment is somewhat misplaced. He shows me a picture on the way out of two kids playing cricket outside a blurred Taj Mahal. He says he doesn't know what caste the kids are. Our eyes meet and we say goodbye.
He doesn't sign up. He says that I must trust him that he really will give something to Karuna, a one off donation in the future, but he acknowledges that he is saying that he can't help me now, with what I am doing tonight. As I type this I realise how much I enjoyed the warmth of his house, the opportunity to connect with another human being, and opportunity to talk with passion about my life and my connection with Karuna. I feel grateful for the opportunity to cultivate and develop my confidence and passion a little more. I have done the leg work on Karuna's behalf with him, and I must let go of the outcome around whether he will ever get around to giving Karuna any money.
"Right then, you best give me your pitch" "there is no pitch", we laugh. "But tell me, seriously, why are you different from all the rest of the charities out there, why should I give to you?". We talk about India, he's lived there for a year, he knows more about India than me, but I realise he's not asking me about India, he's asking me about why I feel passionately about Karuna. I relate my experience in the last ten years of working with people with HIV in the UK and other parts of the world, many of whom are from Africa. I say my interest is in discrimination and the "have nots" in our world. I say I'm a volunteer for Karuna, and I'm at the beginning of my journey of really trying to connect with the experience of the Dalits. I do it in the only way I know how, relate it to my experiences, and build links. I tell him that I trust Karuna because I know it's not easy to win the trust of marginalised people, it's not easy developing projects from scratch that are now run by Dalits for themselves. I say there's something creative and genuine in my experience of Karuna and what I know about it. He finds me very persuasive and tells me so. This is a compliment from this journalist who asks straight questions and I acknowledge it with as much grace as I can muster.
He tells me he had a Dalit cleaner when he lived in India. Tells me that the cook of the house said that if the cleaner was ever allowed in the kitchen of the house, she would resign as his cook. He tells me he hates Hinduism because it fosters this sense of when you're born you're screwed, you just have to put up with your lot. I don't know much about Hinduism, but I know that I believe that most religions are polluted and diluted by their contact with people on earth, that our societies have a huge influence on the way our religions are practiced. He nods and acknowledges viciferiously. We talk about conflict and Buddhism in Sri Lanka.
He talks about war and poverty, a bit about what he's seen. He wants to read me something, he says that it's about fighting and war so being a pacifist I might find it difficult. I give him a knowing look, and he understands I think that he comment is somewhat misplaced. He shows me a picture on the way out of two kids playing cricket outside a blurred Taj Mahal. He says he doesn't know what caste the kids are. Our eyes meet and we say goodbye.
He doesn't sign up. He says that I must trust him that he really will give something to Karuna, a one off donation in the future, but he acknowledges that he is saying that he can't help me now, with what I am doing tonight. As I type this I realise how much I enjoyed the warmth of his house, the opportunity to connect with another human being, and opportunity to talk with passion about my life and my connection with Karuna. I feel grateful for the opportunity to cultivate and develop my confidence and passion a little more. I have done the leg work on Karuna's behalf with him, and I must let go of the outcome around whether he will ever get around to giving Karuna any money.
Searching for the hero
I have a confession to make. There is a part of me that feels shameful about knocking on people's doors and asking them to talk to me and give me money. There you go I've said it. On the one hand, there is something heroic about walking these streets and knocking on strangers doors - it's not for everyone, so people say to me. On the other hand, the common images of people knocking on doors in our society are of people selling double glazing, pushy salesmen trying to rip people off or coerce people into buying stuff that they don't really need. What am I selling? myself? Karuna? people? love? connection? an opportunity? An opportunity to give and feel good about giving? I am selling something, but have I sold it to myself first? Do I feel that Karuna is an opportunity for me to give something, and feel good about giving it?
Shame kicks in, it's habitual for me, but these days I recognise it sometimes in a shot and I have ways of being with it and moving through it. What are my real motives for knocking on people's doors? Do I want to spread the dharma? Be creative? sometimes. Do I just want people's money? Why do I want people's money?
There is something deeply irrational about volunteering for a Karuna appeal...it has no logic to it whatsoever! Why would I want to go out there on the streets risking feelings of shame, humiliation, rejection, anger, - risking feelings of connection, openness, love, generosity, positivity. Sometimes I find the more positive feelings more difficult to open to. Take "Danny" that I met last night. I rang the doorbell, waited, waited some more, then walked onto the next house. I heard a window open, - hang on a sec, Danny peered down from three flights of stairs at me. He was a guy in his late 40s, he seemed soft. I craned my neck to see him. "Hi, I'm calling from a charity" "Oh, ok, which one?" "The Karuna Trust" - "Oh, the Karuna Trust, hang on a sec I'll come down". I felt instantly at home with Danny, so much so that I knew I should be sitting down on his wall when he came down, so that I could connect with my feeling of "at homeness", rather than standing waiting eagerly at his door.
Just before he opened the door I got up and when the door opened I asked him how he was, he asked me how I was, I said I was mid way through my evening, but having an ok evening. We chatted some more, he'd thought I said the Kerala Trust...he'd been to Goa...I've been to Kerala...we chatted some more. He knew about the Dalits, he didn't support any other charities, but would like to support ours. I wonder why it is that some people remain strangers to us and others we become firm friends with? It's a mystery. After my interaction with Danny I realised I was in no state to knock on another door straight away. The interaction was simply too lovely, too positive...it would phase me and I'd carry it and my expectations to the next door. It was time for my mid-evening break anyway, and there was something about my experience of Danny that I wanted to savour, mull over and delight in. I went to the pub and bought myself a cranberry juice. The football was on, I watched it from afar, and thought about the other side of the street I'd be knocking next.
As I was running around the park this morning, I bumped into a friend of mine, a woman called Lucy. It was a complete coincidence but she lives across the other side of the park. I turned around and we ran around together until she left at the other side to go to the gym. London is not as full of strangers as I thought. As I ran I thought of Padmasambhava, I listened to M People on my Ipod and thought about the heroic element of fundraising, and how to get in touch with the hero within me.
I thought, whenever I feel scared tonight, I will remember Padmasambhava's magic staff, and ask him to conjure it up to be held in my right arm as I knock on strangers doors, strangers who will hopefully become friends. For me the staff represents wisdom, love and courage, and desire to burn with these qualities from my heart's depths. I want to stand tall and proud with my flaming staff, a little bit of magic to make me remember my purpose. A heroic endeavour, just as my fellow human beings in India who make such good use of the money we raise, are also heroes, with their own battles to fight, their own love of life and of opportunity.
Shame kicks in, it's habitual for me, but these days I recognise it sometimes in a shot and I have ways of being with it and moving through it. What are my real motives for knocking on people's doors? Do I want to spread the dharma? Be creative? sometimes. Do I just want people's money? Why do I want people's money?
There is something deeply irrational about volunteering for a Karuna appeal...it has no logic to it whatsoever! Why would I want to go out there on the streets risking feelings of shame, humiliation, rejection, anger, - risking feelings of connection, openness, love, generosity, positivity. Sometimes I find the more positive feelings more difficult to open to. Take "Danny" that I met last night. I rang the doorbell, waited, waited some more, then walked onto the next house. I heard a window open, - hang on a sec, Danny peered down from three flights of stairs at me. He was a guy in his late 40s, he seemed soft. I craned my neck to see him. "Hi, I'm calling from a charity" "Oh, ok, which one?" "The Karuna Trust" - "Oh, the Karuna Trust, hang on a sec I'll come down". I felt instantly at home with Danny, so much so that I knew I should be sitting down on his wall when he came down, so that I could connect with my feeling of "at homeness", rather than standing waiting eagerly at his door.
Just before he opened the door I got up and when the door opened I asked him how he was, he asked me how I was, I said I was mid way through my evening, but having an ok evening. We chatted some more, he'd thought I said the Kerala Trust...he'd been to Goa...I've been to Kerala...we chatted some more. He knew about the Dalits, he didn't support any other charities, but would like to support ours. I wonder why it is that some people remain strangers to us and others we become firm friends with? It's a mystery. After my interaction with Danny I realised I was in no state to knock on another door straight away. The interaction was simply too lovely, too positive...it would phase me and I'd carry it and my expectations to the next door. It was time for my mid-evening break anyway, and there was something about my experience of Danny that I wanted to savour, mull over and delight in. I went to the pub and bought myself a cranberry juice. The football was on, I watched it from afar, and thought about the other side of the street I'd be knocking next.
As I was running around the park this morning, I bumped into a friend of mine, a woman called Lucy. It was a complete coincidence but she lives across the other side of the park. I turned around and we ran around together until she left at the other side to go to the gym. London is not as full of strangers as I thought. As I ran I thought of Padmasambhava, I listened to M People on my Ipod and thought about the heroic element of fundraising, and how to get in touch with the hero within me.
I thought, whenever I feel scared tonight, I will remember Padmasambhava's magic staff, and ask him to conjure it up to be held in my right arm as I knock on strangers doors, strangers who will hopefully become friends. For me the staff represents wisdom, love and courage, and desire to burn with these qualities from my heart's depths. I want to stand tall and proud with my flaming staff, a little bit of magic to make me remember my purpose. A heroic endeavour, just as my fellow human beings in India who make such good use of the money we raise, are also heroes, with their own battles to fight, their own love of life and of opportunity.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Opening to what is there
My first night of door knocking is under my belt and so I feel somewhat relieved but also I can feel the nerves starting to build again. It is 2.15pm and we are having our afternoon break. At 4pm we will meditate in the shrine room before heading out once more.
I feel close to the sky up here in the eves of the house. The sky outside is dark and brooding, the air has picked up, wind circulating and revving like a motorbike at the traffic lights. It wants to rain but it is barely managing it. I wish it would, then I feel like I might let go of the tension within me...like the weather, I just want to break free, go beyond, purify myself and my intentions, flow through, relax and unwind.
The nerves hit me again, and I realise that this is how it is on appeal. Friendship, laughter, connection - good food - and other things, nerves, feeling scared, feeling vulnerable.
Yesterday Abhilasa suggested that we do a metta bhavana meditation each day before we go out, sending metta to ourselves; to each one of us on the team; our fundraising patches; the people in India; then expanding out to the world. I was feeling a bit scared about my streets on my patch (the same ones I'd fallen in love with the day before), and just this simple act of wishing the streets well and warm thoughts, and wishing the people out there living in those houses well made a huge difference to me yesterday.
Fundraising yesterday was fascinating, my first time for Karuna in over a year. There were some nos, some yes I'll take a booklet, and some people giving me cash. I feel pleased that I returned home with a nice crisp £20 note to put on the shrine. It felt important and a good omen that I was able to bring home some cash for the team on our first night out. I placed it next to Ratnasambhava who is at the foot of our shrine. Abhilasa asked us to imagine the £20 growing into tens of £20 notes and then there would be hundreds and thousands of them, all within this shrine room I joined in...It feels important for me to think about and see money visually alongside our shrine which has all our favourite buddhas on it, and beautiful things. It is a beautiful thing people wanting to give to Karuna, and I thank Madame Fournel of Healey Street in North London for her generosity last night.
I think about money some more, and then look out of the window again. Perhaps the rain is saving itself until later for when I'll be out in it...you never know what's going to happen do you...when you're out knocking on strangers doors...
I feel close to the sky up here in the eves of the house. The sky outside is dark and brooding, the air has picked up, wind circulating and revving like a motorbike at the traffic lights. It wants to rain but it is barely managing it. I wish it would, then I feel like I might let go of the tension within me...like the weather, I just want to break free, go beyond, purify myself and my intentions, flow through, relax and unwind.
The nerves hit me again, and I realise that this is how it is on appeal. Friendship, laughter, connection - good food - and other things, nerves, feeling scared, feeling vulnerable.
Yesterday Abhilasa suggested that we do a metta bhavana meditation each day before we go out, sending metta to ourselves; to each one of us on the team; our fundraising patches; the people in India; then expanding out to the world. I was feeling a bit scared about my streets on my patch (the same ones I'd fallen in love with the day before), and just this simple act of wishing the streets well and warm thoughts, and wishing the people out there living in those houses well made a huge difference to me yesterday.
Fundraising yesterday was fascinating, my first time for Karuna in over a year. There were some nos, some yes I'll take a booklet, and some people giving me cash. I feel pleased that I returned home with a nice crisp £20 note to put on the shrine. It felt important and a good omen that I was able to bring home some cash for the team on our first night out. I placed it next to Ratnasambhava who is at the foot of our shrine. Abhilasa asked us to imagine the £20 growing into tens of £20 notes and then there would be hundreds and thousands of them, all within this shrine room I joined in...It feels important for me to think about and see money visually alongside our shrine which has all our favourite buddhas on it, and beautiful things. It is a beautiful thing people wanting to give to Karuna, and I thank Madame Fournel of Healey Street in North London for her generosity last night.
I think about money some more, and then look out of the window again. Perhaps the rain is saving itself until later for when I'll be out in it...you never know what's going to happen do you...when you're out knocking on strangers doors...
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
11 June - Waking Up!
I sit typing from my lovely new home in Stoke Newington, North London. We are right by Clissold Park, and on the corner of Green Lanes. It feels familiar to me, close to the Turkish community on Green Lanes, and this corner of North London seems to hold many of my friends from the lesbian community too. I feel at home.
When I walked into the room I will be sharing for the next 6 weeks with a stranger called Naomi I felt an auspicious energy in the room. The room is in the eves in the top of the house. Ever since I was a kid I've wanted to live in a den in the attic. I think it's because we lived in a bungalow when I was a kid, and there never felt anywhere safe to retreat too.
The room is yellow, and holds a huge picture of the Refuge Tree - all of our Buddhist teachers from different traditions, past and present. I am told later that the room used to be used as the shrine room in this house, so for a number of years the guys used to meditate here. Aha, I think, as I recollect the auspicious energy I felt on first entering the room.
Last night I went out "scouting" around my fundraising patch. The first part where I'll be for the next two weeks is in Kentish Town. I liked the urbanness of it, the hustle and the bustle, the sun was shining, so was I, I felt full of love and energy, open, compassionate, full of love and desire. I fell in love with the first part of the streets I'll be knocking doors on. I paused later to text Jo, our trainer, that the streets were beautiful, we are beautiful, what's not to feel beautiful about? I ended up telling her on the phone, as she'd left me a message to call her which I picked up when I turned my phone on. I felt supported checking in with the trainer, who happens to be a pal of mine, it makes a big difference knowing that you're in a team and there's someone whose job it is to support you whilst you're out roaming the streets by yourself.
I lit incense on street corners, it was windy, I nearly burned my hand, and then I nearly set my bag on fire. It felt good though, somehow wild and potent to be bringing this loving fiery energy to these streets. It was there already this energy, and it was reflected back to me as I walked and chanted.
"Om mani padme hum" for a certain number of streets, then: "Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum". I walked around like a hippy purifying my streets with vanilla incense. It smelt good, I stopped to sniff in the incense lots. My senses opened. I met an older woman, bringing in her shopping from Sainsburys. She asked if I was lost as I was looking at my map, I told her no, told her what I was doing, fundraising in the local area for a few weeks, told her about Karuna, she seemed interested, said to be sure to drop by and give her some information. We said goodbye and have a nice evening, she closed her door. I forgot I had a booklet in my bag I could give her. Should I go back and knock on her door? Something stopped me. Fear...stopped me dead in my tracks. And then rationalising...I don't want to begin fundraising tonight, maybe I could just enjoy the interaction and pop back later...was she really that interested? I haven't got my badge so technically it's illegal...fear, stops me dead in my tracks. I tell myself I'll go back for sure when I'm on her street in two weeks time. Missed opportunities...I ponder, it's all so obvious and clear after the event...missed opportunities...one of my fundraising edges to explore I suspect.
On the way back home I pull up to some lights on Seven Sisters Road near Finsbury Park. I've been walking and cycling for almost three hours tonight, and I am tired. I am reciting the Transference of Merits and Self Surrender ritual that I will lead in the shrine room tonight with the team. I said these words for this ritual every day for two years when I worked in the Evolution gift shop in Bethnal Green, East London. On my bike I can remember them. The light is red, I pause. There is nothing coming, the road is bare. I move off through the red light. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car pulling up beside me, blue flashing lights. They feel ominous, I am in the middle of the road, turning right, and I realise I'm being flashed at. A policeman is yelling at me through his window, and I mean yelling. He's yelling "look at me!" "look at me!" - I feel instinctively that I cannot cycle and look at him next to me at the same time. There is a bus in the other carriageway coming towards me. "Hang on a sec I yell back!" "I'm cycling, let me pull over". Slowly he drops back and let's me pull in, although I feel his resistance to this. Perhaps he is a little scared, like me.
Over on the pavement I wait for him and his colleague. I breathe, stay in the present moment, I wait for them, not looking behind me. I wait...
He yells some more, quite a lot actually, "How could you be so stupid?!" "Going through not one but two red lights". I apologise, I say I'm sorry. "Didn't you notice what you were doing?!" - "I'm sorry..." "I thought it was just one red light, I'm sorry" - "so you're not even aware of the two red lights, you shouldn't be riding your bike you're not safe!" - "I'm sorry" - I go soft, realise he is full on raging, and I soften, and I wonder what he's really trying to communicate to me.
He let's me off without a fine of £40 which he says he could give me. I am pleased, £40 is my Karuna pocket money for the week, and I feel like I will value it all the more so now. I cycle home, mindful of the lights, pausing at red, and stopping.
When I "check in" the next morning with the team I recall my experience. I was in love with the beauty and passion and everything that is wonderful about the world, my heart so full of love and tenderness yesterday. The red light was a wake up call - it said to me - awaken!! Awaken!! AWAKEN!! As a good friend said to me recently: "Keep your feet on the ground as you fly through the sky". It is good advice, I feel I want to take heed of it, but it's not easy. Perhaps this will be a koan for me as I tread these streets for the next six weeks.
We are doing role plays today - preparing us for the doors. Something has me in it's grasp, I feel alive, tender, scared, fearful, passionate, wrathful, loving, generous, fearless. I feel it all and more. I dance and dart. I apologise to my new roomie Naomi, as I realise that I was a bit too "full on" in my feedback to her around the role playing we did this morning. I feel that I was not as sensitive as I would have liked to have been. My self view is challenged once more, my ego, - "I'm not the sort of person who does that...I'm a sensitive person..." - my ego is once more crushed. I apologise and she responds. We end up in fits of laughter...real belly laughter. I feel better, like we are releasing the tension between us. We are scared today, Naomi and I, scared about what we've let ourselves in for I shouldn't doubt. Tonight we will knock doors for the first time on this appeal. For Naomi it will be the first time ever on a Karuna Appeal. I rejoice in her courage and bravery. I reflect about this wonderful opportunity that Karuna brings us. I want to grasp it with both hands. I want to pour my heart into it. I want to run away and hide. That is how it is. I remember Padmasambhava's advice goes along something like this: I do not have, I do not understand, I do not know.
I open to the mystery of it all...
When I walked into the room I will be sharing for the next 6 weeks with a stranger called Naomi I felt an auspicious energy in the room. The room is in the eves in the top of the house. Ever since I was a kid I've wanted to live in a den in the attic. I think it's because we lived in a bungalow when I was a kid, and there never felt anywhere safe to retreat too.
The room is yellow, and holds a huge picture of the Refuge Tree - all of our Buddhist teachers from different traditions, past and present. I am told later that the room used to be used as the shrine room in this house, so for a number of years the guys used to meditate here. Aha, I think, as I recollect the auspicious energy I felt on first entering the room.
Last night I went out "scouting" around my fundraising patch. The first part where I'll be for the next two weeks is in Kentish Town. I liked the urbanness of it, the hustle and the bustle, the sun was shining, so was I, I felt full of love and energy, open, compassionate, full of love and desire. I fell in love with the first part of the streets I'll be knocking doors on. I paused later to text Jo, our trainer, that the streets were beautiful, we are beautiful, what's not to feel beautiful about? I ended up telling her on the phone, as she'd left me a message to call her which I picked up when I turned my phone on. I felt supported checking in with the trainer, who happens to be a pal of mine, it makes a big difference knowing that you're in a team and there's someone whose job it is to support you whilst you're out roaming the streets by yourself.
I lit incense on street corners, it was windy, I nearly burned my hand, and then I nearly set my bag on fire. It felt good though, somehow wild and potent to be bringing this loving fiery energy to these streets. It was there already this energy, and it was reflected back to me as I walked and chanted.
"Om mani padme hum" for a certain number of streets, then: "Om ah hum vajra guru padma siddhi hum". I walked around like a hippy purifying my streets with vanilla incense. It smelt good, I stopped to sniff in the incense lots. My senses opened. I met an older woman, bringing in her shopping from Sainsburys. She asked if I was lost as I was looking at my map, I told her no, told her what I was doing, fundraising in the local area for a few weeks, told her about Karuna, she seemed interested, said to be sure to drop by and give her some information. We said goodbye and have a nice evening, she closed her door. I forgot I had a booklet in my bag I could give her. Should I go back and knock on her door? Something stopped me. Fear...stopped me dead in my tracks. And then rationalising...I don't want to begin fundraising tonight, maybe I could just enjoy the interaction and pop back later...was she really that interested? I haven't got my badge so technically it's illegal...fear, stops me dead in my tracks. I tell myself I'll go back for sure when I'm on her street in two weeks time. Missed opportunities...I ponder, it's all so obvious and clear after the event...missed opportunities...one of my fundraising edges to explore I suspect.
On the way back home I pull up to some lights on Seven Sisters Road near Finsbury Park. I've been walking and cycling for almost three hours tonight, and I am tired. I am reciting the Transference of Merits and Self Surrender ritual that I will lead in the shrine room tonight with the team. I said these words for this ritual every day for two years when I worked in the Evolution gift shop in Bethnal Green, East London. On my bike I can remember them. The light is red, I pause. There is nothing coming, the road is bare. I move off through the red light. Out of the corner of my eye I see a car pulling up beside me, blue flashing lights. They feel ominous, I am in the middle of the road, turning right, and I realise I'm being flashed at. A policeman is yelling at me through his window, and I mean yelling. He's yelling "look at me!" "look at me!" - I feel instinctively that I cannot cycle and look at him next to me at the same time. There is a bus in the other carriageway coming towards me. "Hang on a sec I yell back!" "I'm cycling, let me pull over". Slowly he drops back and let's me pull in, although I feel his resistance to this. Perhaps he is a little scared, like me.
Over on the pavement I wait for him and his colleague. I breathe, stay in the present moment, I wait for them, not looking behind me. I wait...
He yells some more, quite a lot actually, "How could you be so stupid?!" "Going through not one but two red lights". I apologise, I say I'm sorry. "Didn't you notice what you were doing?!" - "I'm sorry..." "I thought it was just one red light, I'm sorry" - "so you're not even aware of the two red lights, you shouldn't be riding your bike you're not safe!" - "I'm sorry" - I go soft, realise he is full on raging, and I soften, and I wonder what he's really trying to communicate to me.
He let's me off without a fine of £40 which he says he could give me. I am pleased, £40 is my Karuna pocket money for the week, and I feel like I will value it all the more so now. I cycle home, mindful of the lights, pausing at red, and stopping.
When I "check in" the next morning with the team I recall my experience. I was in love with the beauty and passion and everything that is wonderful about the world, my heart so full of love and tenderness yesterday. The red light was a wake up call - it said to me - awaken!! Awaken!! AWAKEN!! As a good friend said to me recently: "Keep your feet on the ground as you fly through the sky". It is good advice, I feel I want to take heed of it, but it's not easy. Perhaps this will be a koan for me as I tread these streets for the next six weeks.
We are doing role plays today - preparing us for the doors. Something has me in it's grasp, I feel alive, tender, scared, fearful, passionate, wrathful, loving, generous, fearless. I feel it all and more. I dance and dart. I apologise to my new roomie Naomi, as I realise that I was a bit too "full on" in my feedback to her around the role playing we did this morning. I feel that I was not as sensitive as I would have liked to have been. My self view is challenged once more, my ego, - "I'm not the sort of person who does that...I'm a sensitive person..." - my ego is once more crushed. I apologise and she responds. We end up in fits of laughter...real belly laughter. I feel better, like we are releasing the tension between us. We are scared today, Naomi and I, scared about what we've let ourselves in for I shouldn't doubt. Tonight we will knock doors for the first time on this appeal. For Naomi it will be the first time ever on a Karuna Appeal. I rejoice in her courage and bravery. I reflect about this wonderful opportunity that Karuna brings us. I want to grasp it with both hands. I want to pour my heart into it. I want to run away and hide. That is how it is. I remember Padmasambhava's advice goes along something like this: I do not have, I do not understand, I do not know.
I open to the mystery of it all...
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