The money has come through from my Dad's estate, as has the money from the sale of his house which completed on the 23rd November. Our finances are now the healthiest they've ever been in either of our lives so far.
Meanwhile, Jnanasalin has lost over a stone in weight in the first two months of his diet and fitness regime. My physical fitness, with the twice weekly swims is improving. I've been able to increase the number of lengths I do from 30 to 36 to 40 lengths per session. My fellow early morning swimmers are mainly retired ladies and gentlemen. There is your solitary silver fox in his early forties wearing his purple tracksuit and flip flops, his work suit hanging in the back of an SUV. But most cruise in on the muted metallic tones of a Citroen Picasso say, for a therapeutic swim to ease arthritic limbs, stimulate adrenalin and keep the mind active. I'm a strong swimmer, but not your Mr Super Speedo. I do hope as I get older and undoubtedly slower, I'm able to recognise when its time to downsize from the Fast to the Medium swimming lane. Many elderly gentlemen appear not to be able to do that, as they do slow motion swimming up and down like floundering whales.
The Sheringham Christmas Lights have been switched on. Throngs of rather 'chunky' sized people, shall we say, turned out for further expansion of their already extensive stomachs with chips and candy floss. Meanwhile the Salvation Army band played Christmas Carols, interspersed with earnestly Christian blather about how they were 'truly besotted with Jesus'. I'd have gagged on my candy floss, if I'd had one. The switch on was underwhelming, as the same badly arranged strings of lights become progressively poorer in nick with every year they're re-used. Three out of the five snowflake lights on the Theatre are damaged. The Town Hall has a 'Hawaian Skirt' of lights draped in a drunken sag above its doorway. Presumably the prohibitive cost of putting up the lights every year, explains why they tend to be left up throughout the entire following twelve months. It is not surprising then that they are worse for wear. But then 'worse for wear' describes the shabbier side of Sheringham to a T. We left with some urgency as the strains of 'Wombling Merry Christmas' reached an unbearable pitch of overamplification.
Our primary reason for going into town on a Friday evening, was to see Alan Bennett's new play 'Allelujah'. This was being shown in Sheringham's Little Theatre, as part of the National Theatre Live broadcasts. Heavily pre-booked, we couldn't even purchase seats together. The regulars who attend Sheringham's Little Theatre could be almost your archetypal Alan Bennett audience, comfortably retired middle class, unreasonably fond of a good cardigan.
'Allelujah' is set in a geriatric ward in a small local NHS hospital called the Bethlehem. A ward filled with mainly female patients, exhibiting a wide range of ailments and dementia. They form a choir to keeps their minds active and improve their memory retention. The play is, as a consequence, interspersed with old time songs and dance routines. The Beth is under threat of closure, and a campaign is under way to save it.
Bennett is capable of being a sharp and acute observer. The play is as humane, touching and funny, as you'd expect a Bennett play to be. Quite why renaming one of the hospital wards after Fatima Whitbread becomes such an absurdly funny thing, one shouldn't perhaps enquire too deeply. If 'Alleluah' fails to pack the punch that Bennett obviously hoped for, its because his more acerbic comments are blunted by being prefaced and pursued by such jokes, its like wrapping discomfort in cotton wool to avoid further bruising. Given the subject matter, you ought to be finding it challenging or provoking of further thought. As it is, 'Alleluah' was a very enjoyable evening, but so is sucking slowly on a sherbet covered boiled sweet for a couple of hours. David Hare this isn't.
Set backs have an intensity to them which undoubtedly can feel frustrating, but they do flag up areas where you need to improve. We've since introduced daylight quality lighting into my workshop, created an area within the craft room for painting and varnishing and bought better shelving for the garage stockroom. All the photography we did last month we chose to scrap because they weren't quite good enough. Jnanasalin is doing smaller photo shoots which are then fully processed before moving on to the next batch of stock, this is working out better. Gradually he's getting to know what works and what to avoid when photographing products and image processing. We are undoubtedly getting there, but the protracted and emotionally turbulent nature of our recent learning curve has been a strain and somewhat humbling.
Travelling to Sangharakshita's funeral turned into a modern pilgrimage. Arising at twenty to four in the morning and returning home at half eleven at night. It took us both a full week to recover. The funeral was held in a large semi-open barn, that got progressively colder and damper as the four hours + service went on. This included the seemingly obligatory 'ramble without end' from Subhuti. The funeral was a fitting tribute to Sangharakshita's achievements as a Buddhist, something overlooked during the controversies and scandals which emerged during his life. As my first Triratna event since resigning the atmosphere of the funeral felt all too familiar. It was good to have chats with a few friends, including a brief but warm interaction with Padmavajra which I found quite touching. Sangharakshita's death brings to an end a distinct period in Triratna, and for me it brought a fitting point of closure to my involvement.
Thoughts about moving on spiritually did arise in the wake of the funeral. So I took the initiative and made plans to attend an Introductory Session at the Norwich Zen Priory one Saturday. We did a bit of Christmas shopping before hand until the time for me to split off and walk to the Priory came. I thought from looking at a map before I left home that I'd find the walk there relatively straightforward. Unfortunately I took a wrong turn very early on, and subsequently found myself well and truly lost. As the start time for the Introductory session loomed I got a bit flustered, until I had to acknowledge I was not going to make it. I hobbled back towards the city centre I never seemed able to get away from, feeling somewhat foolish. Perhaps my plan was a bit premature.
This experience represents the zeitgeist of the last month pretty well; the strains that emerge when it feels as though you're walking over the same ground again and again. In Taoism they use the analogy of paying attention to whether you are planing a piece of wood with or against the grain, when trying to align yourself with The Way According to this if you're planing wood against the grain you'll be constantly snagging and gouging into the wood. Whilst if you 're planing with the grain, your experience of things will generally be running smoother, as both you, the plane and the grain would be in better alignment. Sometimes it simply a matter of making small adjustments to the spirit with which you approach your life. It could even be that the moment for what you want to do has not yet arrived, and what is required is an ability to surrender yourself up to its gradual unfolding in real time. Though it has to be said, I do tend to exhume this old Taoist chestnut whenever my initiative is feeling unreasonably thwarted or robbed.
