SHERINGHAM DIARY NO 46 - A Nightmare In Moon Blue

An evening infused with the glimmer of clear full moonlight, brought an eerie quality of silvery blue white to everything it touched. It is something only our lunar companion can do. This monochromatic landscape viewed from our bedroom window, revealed a previously unfamiliar surrealness. Taking its forms from the paintings of  Dorethea Tanning or Paul Delvaux - semi-deserted with strange shadows, the half formed, malformed, hybrid creatures. All sense of a spectrum of colour lost to a finely executed grisaille, where all the stories are ingrained into its ground.

As you go to bed on such a night you go with an expectation of slumbering solidly through till dawn, punctuated by the occasional interlude of a pleasant dream.  I went to bed early and fell off to sleep with little trouble. It maybe true that I dream extensively of bunnies, unicorns or doves, but my memory remains blank to them regardless, unless those dreams casually slip into an altogether darker more fearful territory

I am in our bedroom, looking up immediately above the bed at a ceiling hatch that opens out into the roof void, I'd hardly call it an attic. I climb up a step ladder to the ceiling and push this panel to one side. As I pop my head into the roof space the first thing that catches my eye is a box, its full of vinyl records - I say to myself ' Oh, so that's where they are'. Off to my left I sense there are small orange slits, animated eyes that creep slowly upon me and before I can tell who or what they are pounce and are all over me in a squall of a cat fight.  I scream out, flail my arms, kick my legs furiously trying to get them off me. 

'Vidyavajra, Vidyavajra its a nightmare, a nightmare, wake up!',   Jnanasalin's voice breaks through,
'You kicked me really hard'
'Oh sorry',
'What were you dreaming?'
'I was being attacked by cats in the attic'.
Strange that the one abiding thing striking me as significant about this nightmare is - Vinyl records!

Oh, this blessed and most venerable lockdown, we bow down to you, we submit ourselves to the curtailing of our liberty to freely walk hither and thither, we sit open handed beseeching The Rishi, for he is the munificent Sunak, who shakes the money tree, lets it rain grants, loans and furloughs so we all might not starve, for otherwise there will be nothing left standing once the pestilence has past. We turn on our TV to watch 'Bouncing on Ice', even though its cheaply produced tat and not a patch on Strictly, but entertainingly distracts us from our petty housebound woes. 

When home is also your workplace its harder to divorce your mind from whatever project you are working on, because it remains spread out on your kitchen table, reminding you of its unfinished nature. In an ideal world our work spaces and craft rooms would be in an entirely different location, in the expansive grounds of a stately home estate for a pepper corn rent, for instance. But they aren't. From time to time we have to cleanse our home space of work related stuff or else it feels as though an encroaching disease is about to turn everything into a tumble of junk.

In a smallish terraced house like ours, rooms have a multi- purpose anyway.The bedroom is also a shrine room. Our guest room doubles as our craft room and, now that JS and I attend a different Sanghas, an auxiliary shrine and zoom meeting room. Lockdown has only increased the pressure on multi-faceting space with  its physical and mental correlation. I suspect because its happening in the depths of Winter, the indefinite prolongation of this third lockdown has everything it had before, but heightened by the winds, the drifts and accumulations of snow, not only outside, but in our psyches too.

Our retreat at home experiment went rather well. So much so, coming out of it proved to have the bumpy re-entry one often experiences after retreating. Lock down has a great capacity to heighten not just the failings and flaws in the functioning of our society, but also the failings in functioning of your own lifestyle. After the retreat JS experienced the same desperate need for free creative space as I'd had a few weeks previous. So we've instigated one day a week left open for both of us to create in, for our imaginative well being and enjoyment. We haven't settled on a name for it, but Breakout Wednesday's, Sharpen The Saw Day, Open Space or Art Club, are being trialed.  

I've picked up an old 'reliquary project' and started preparatory work  sketches for a new painting, whilst JS has begun experimenting with lino cut. His first couple of efforts are showing great promise, it might be that lino cut is exactly his sort of visual medium. How these projects progress during lock down, and more importantly afterwards, will be the real test. When the pressure to make things for the shop reasserts itself, will an Art Day simply be overwhelmed or sidelined? Lets wait and see.

Cottonwood Home being closed has not meant we've dropped developing it as a business. The website update will forever be an ongoing one, and we've sourced some really lovely new lines for the Spring/Summer that we are quite enthusiastic about. We also recently swapped the sales platform we were previously using and so far the website is producing more orders than before. As the need for open creativity has proved, we need to ensure, even in the midst of genuine concerns about the future of high street retailing, that our anxieties don't become all consuming ones.

We awaited the arrival of real snow, with alacrity and childish delight. But once it was here for over a week it got tediously repetitive, so one wished it to be gone soon. Its the wind darling, its so direct and forceful. Whenever gale force winds blow we have all on to keep the heat in our living room. Our glass paneled front door effectively replicates the experience of leaving the fridge door wide open. The wind penetrates through its ineffective door seals, which the force of door bolts and a keyhole cover made from a magnatised bit of synthetic rubber pealed off a cheap Sheringham fridge magnet, make only minor compensation for when its blowing a severe gale directly at, and through it. The door is due to be replaced this Spring/Summer, restrictions permitting. Can't come soon enough. Its easy to see how at times like these Upper Sheringham could get cut off completely from even the main town, which is barely a little over a mile away.  But then at least it once had its own shop and a pub,now it has nowt. Ah, how thin the sliver of civilsation has become, dependent upon centralised distribution and lorry logistics.

For about a month or so I've been attending online a different Zen group, called Stonewater Zen. They are part of the White Plum Sangha, which originated in the US and was founded by Maezumi Roshi. In the UK they have a main centre in Liverpool, and another in London, with a few satellite groups scattered around. Nothing near me, so this is a Zoom dependent relationship for now. I rather like them, they are a friendly bunch, impressively well organised. 

They generally have a more grounded approach to practice, which I like. I'm greatly appreciating the Dharma talks of Shunru Sensai, these invariably take apart a koan or a chapter of Dogen and teases out some pithy, very applicable point of life or practice. He is rather good at it, and I have so far come away with something he's said dwelling on my mind, often for days after.

I recently did a weekend Zazenkai with them online, which is a short sesshin, and I really benefited from it. I did have a significant insight. I realised I neither wanted nor needed to be ordained into another Buddhist movement. All I require is a place to practice, in a sangha where I find a source of inspiration and support.  Anything other than that I suspect would be me seeking some sort of external self-validation out of it, what you might call 'special me' territory. Ones level of practice and going for refuge need to be independent of, not dependent upon, having a name, position or status, whether actual or illusory.