Satya Robyn leads a Buddhist evening practice with a Dharma talk on personal seasons, guided meditation, refuge vows, and chanting including Amitābha and Nam-myoho-renge-kyo. Andy reads a short reflection called The Joy of Socks.
Chapters
Welcome everybody. Welcome to people joining us on Zoom. Chris, I've actually got a copy of your Dharma glimpse here which Andy was going to read for us, but I wonder as you're joining us whether you want to read it yourself.
You might not have it to hand, but, um, I don't actually have it to hand.
Are you happy for someone else to read it then?
Absolutely, that's fine.
Well, thank you. And, uh, yeah, so nice for us to know that Chris is here, and Andy's going to read the glimpse that Chris wrote for us.
Okay, this is called 'The Joy of Socks.' It's a 'Dharma glimpse' by Chris E.S. Looking into our garden, it's hard to believe that we are well into spring. The borders are so wet that there is a natural water feature forming amongst the soggy roses and shrubs. Even the hardy daffodils seem to be struggling to survive this year. However, if it ever does stop raining, I look forward to welcoming the joy of spring and of socks. There are many reasons why the arrival of spring brings a lightness to my heart. The longer days, the warmer weather, the emergence of shoots, bulbs, and blossom, the bursts of birdsong from the trees, All these are a source of happiness and hope for me. One other lovely thing that comes with spring, albeit on drier days than we currently have, is the opportunity to hang out washing on the line again. After having used an indoor airer over the winter months, there is nothing quite like the smell of laundry that has been dried outside. A fresh, airy smell that no amount of indoor drying can replicate. I have a routine for hanging out washing. I am particularly regimented when it comes to socks. All of my socks are brightly coloured. I can't abide boring socks, and I won't have blue, black, or grey unless they also have a bright pattern on them. I get a particular pleasure from pairing up the socks, smoothing them out, and hanging them side by side with matching pegs. Oh yes, the peg colours must complement the colours of the socks. No glaring mismatches allowed. On one occasion when I was ill, my husband did the laundry duty. Whilst I was grateful for his efforts, I'm sorry to say that it pained me to see mispaired socks and a complete lack of colour coordination of the pegs. My husband thinks my laundry routine is just me being a bit weird. I think there is more to it than that, although I admit to being something of an oddball in some respects. I think behind the careful matching and hanging of the socks, an underlying wish to create a sense of order in what is essentially a disordered world, and just as important, to create beauty out of something seemingly mundane in a world of impertinence and change, where it seems I have so little control of what happens around me. As I stand and admire my laundry work of art, I derive a few moments of serenity and joy from all from my one small act of creating order and beauty. As I look out at the rain-soaked garden, I imagine my brightly colored and patterned socks waving in the gentle spring breeze, and I can't help but smile. We may live in a world of impertinence and dukkha, but if we look carefully, we can always find calm, joy, beauty in even the smallest of things. Namaste.
Thank you. Thank you both.
So moving into meditation, an invitation to notice the breath. Entering and leaving in the tip of your nose, noticing whatever disturbs that awareness— thoughts, feelings, sensations— before returning awareness to the breath.
Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh. Amitabh.
For refuge I go to the Buddha.
For refuge I go to the Buddha.
The one who is awake and full of love.
The one who is awake and full of love.
Namo Buddha. For refuge I go to the Dharma.
For refuge I go to the Dharma.
All that guides us to compassion and wisdom.
All that guides us to compassion and wisdom.
Namo Dhammaya.
Namo Dhammaya.
For refuge I go to the Sangha.
For refuge I go to the Sangha.
Those who live in the Buddha's light.
Those who live in the Buddha's light.
Namo Sangaya. With faith in the Three Jewels, and in light of our human tendencies, I pray that I may become aware of when I take life. I pray that I may become aware of when I take what is not freely given. I pray that I may become aware. When I fall into sexual misconduct, I pray that I may become aware. Of when I fall into wrong speech. I pray that I may become aware.
I pray that I may become aware.
Of when I become intoxicated.
Of when I become intoxicated.
No blame.
No blame.
Be kind.
Be kind.
Love everything.
Love everything. Innumerable are sentient beings.
We vow to save them all.
Inexhaustible are the Buddha's passions.
We vow to transform them all.
Immeasurable are the Dharma teachings.
We vow to master them all.
Infinite is the Buddha's way.
We vow to fulfill it completely.
Namaste.
One of the newsletters, email newsletters I've subscribed to, is Amanda Hinton's The Editing Spectrum. She's an editor, like a writing editor, and she's on the autistic spectrum, so Editing Spectrum. And one of the things that she's written about recently, in the last few months, say, is the idea of seasons. That as people we have seasons. As in her case, as a writer, she has seasons. A season for craft. When she pays attention to the words and hones the sentences and really gets interested in what sounds good and what she wants to say and the best way of saying what she wants to say, like making the best possible piece. Writing as craft. Or a season of tending, season of tending to the audience, to the community of people that read the newsletter, to the publicity, around it, to the, to the sort of, um, to the product rather than the writing. Maybe a season of resting, of lying fallow. One of the main things Buddhism seeks to teach us, particularly Zen Buddhism, I think, is that our identities are not fixed, and that in the attempt to make them fixed, we create suffering. So, I am the sort of person who does this, and we become attached to a certain idea of ourselves. That misses the reality. And every time that idea bumps against the reality, we suffer. And I think this idea of seasons is a really helpful way of, uh, thinking about fixed identities, or thinking about identities that aren't fixed. So I might have a season where I'm doing yoga every morning, or I'm eating more healthily. And if I want to make that— it's very tempting to make that into a fixed identity. Oh, now I'm the sort of person that does this, and I'm going to keep on doing it forever. Particularly when it's are habits that are supported by the sort of wellness industry. We all should be doing these things. So now that means I'm a really good person, but inevitably I'll have a bad day, or I'll lose interest, or something else will catch my attention, or I'll become ill. And I'll stop doing those things. And if I've become attached to being that sort of person, the stopping can be very painful. And actually, if I've become attached to being that sort of person and then it collapses, it can be harder to figure out what the next authentic thing to do is, because I'm just wallowing in self-pity and shame. And inner criticism. But if we have seasons, I know that all of these activities are coming to an end, whether they're wholesome activities or whether they're unwholesome activities. Whether I'm in a season of being full of ideas or a season of being tired and impatient. And it also, as, as well as reminding me of the changing nature of self, it also asks me to really investigate what is true in this moment. How am I actually doing right now? What is really going on for me? And this sort of investigation, of course, is another classic Buddhist practice. One way of translating the word prajna— we usually just translate it as wisdom, but like it's sometimes translated as diagnosis. Now you could say it means seeing beneath the surface of things. And, and the question of what season we're in asks us to see beneath the surface of things, not the stories that I'm telling about myself in this moment, but what's really going on. What is really going to be good for me? Am I in a season where I need rest? Am I in a season where there's energy uprising, and actually if I pay attention to that and follow through with it, good things will unfold? All sorts of different seasons are possible, but it asks us to be really clear about what is true for me right now. So I've really, uh, I've really taken this way of thinking about people as having seasons to heart. And I think it's— yeah, I think it's very in line with Buddhist practice. So thank you, Amanda.
Namaste. We offer this incense to all Buddhas and bodhisattvas in the space and time. May it be fragrant as the Earth herself, reflecting our careful efforts, our wholehearted awareness, and the fruits of understanding, learning, and happiness.
May we in all beings be companions of Buddha, So in a moment we'll finish with the closing verse. Just reminder that we'll leave the shrine room in silence, so I the celebrant will leave first, in which case that's me, and everyone else just stays quiet and still. Don't start gathering things together until the celebrant has left. And then once I've gone, just an informal but silent exit. And if someone can get the door, that could be you tonight, in a moment after the verse. But good, very responsive though. I like that. And then if you're on Zoom, After everyone's left, I'll come back in and say hello if there's people still around, but we'll finish with the closing verse. Blessed by Amitābha's light, may we care for all living things and the holy air. Nam-myoho-renge-kyo.
