Dharma Library

The editors of this book Dr John Crook, Reader in Ethology at Bristol University and Buddhist Scholar and teacher, and Dr David Fontana, Reader in Educational Psychology at Cardiff University, author and therapist, have brought together seventeen essays, most of which are based upon papers presented at a conference on 'Eastern Approaches to Self and Mind' sponsored by the British Psychological…

I find I'm still struggling with my Koan. The retreat was a "great privilege". That is the expression I find myself using most when I'm trying to explain it for other people. The privilege lay in the opportunity to do such deep work and to be supported and feel quite safe and surrounded by calm and beauty while doing so. The greatest beauty for me lay in the lights, the assortment of candles, oil…

Teacher: Tell me who you are?
Participant: I am the answer.
Teacher: What is the question?
Participant: Moment to moment.
Teacher: What do you feel?

Participant: Space with no boundary or pressure. (THIS SPACE DID NOT FEEL VAST OR LARGE OR IN ANY WAY OVERWHELMING, YET ONE SENSED IT HAD NO END, WAS TIMELESS, AND HAD EXISTED BEFORE THE BIG BANG, WHICH WAS EXTENDING INTO IT.)

Teacher: What do you hear?
…

Hebe Welbourne, who died a few months ago at the age of 100, was one of the first people to attend John Crook’s retreats at the Maenllwyd and continued to sit with the Bristol Chan group until just before the Covid lockdown. Even then she went on meditating alone with the group in her room every Thursday evening until her death, and we always lit an extra candle to symbolise her ‘presence’ with…

It's a dark night
The trees stretch their limbs in the breeze.
The air is cool and the nostrils flare.
Suddenly, the clouds part
And there stands the moon, bright and serene.

A poem in old Welsh style

I am chief doctor unto six thousand,
My country of origin was the Land of Angles.
Ruth and Hilda called me Roger.
I was the question set Sir Gwain;
I am the father of three doctors;
I am the husband of their mother;
I am the voter much misled;
I am a debtor, yet a householder;
I am little Gwion's hurt child;
I am a sleeket cowering timorous beasty;
I am a dense thicket of thorne;
I…

Cars converge on Swindon station,
Strained commuters clamber on,
Briefcase, mala, travel passes,
"Sorry, power unit problems."
I take refuge in the jewels,
Generating Boddicitta,
Through the virtues I, by giving,
"Train departing, Platform one."

Free from hatred and attachment,
"Passengers who've just got on,
Please, your tickets for inspection."
Offer objects of attachment,
Visualise, arrayed before me
All…

Physically, I did not find the retreat too difficult. Having regularly practised the one hour meditation sessions traditional in vipassana, sitting for half an hour at a time is not much of a problem for me. And the exercises offered during the breaks between sessions were enough to get the stiffness out of my limbs. Alternating between sitting cross legged and kneeling also helped me avoid any…

I have just returned home, and it seems sensible to write the report before the memories of the retreat begin to slip away. Yet even by writing about it, the events seem so strange and wonderful that words alone cannot express the sheer depth and vast space that has at times punctuated the practise; the clarity of perception, the long silences that can only be likened to the desert, not a silence…

The retreat was an opportunity to practice. But it was also a rare event, for when does a Chan Master such as Master Sheng Yen ever come to a remote Welsh cottage to lead a retreat? Those of us who were able to participate were indeed fortunate.

Last December in New York, Shifu advised me to rest before my next retreat. Having suffered greatly in New York, I made sure I took his advice. I told…