Inebriation to Ordination - How I became a Buddhist...

 A Brief History of my Going for Refuge

(Or "How I Became A Buddhist")

As some of you know, last year at the end of October, I asked to be ordained into the Triratna Buddhist movement. This might come as a bit of a surprise to some, as if you recall (or even if you don't), I became a Mitra or "friend" of the movement in September, and it may seem like quite a leap, to go from a publicly "coming out" of the spiritual closet to deciding that this is the path I wish to follow to my end of days. Ever Deepening, ever questing for the truth (whatever that might be), it all seems a little abstract to people who are outside the movement, a little alien perhaps, even a little bizarre and cult-like when I mention that it will involve a change of name. Some people have even reacted a little negatively, one might say. "But you are fine the way you are... We don't want you to try and be someone else... You don't have to destroy "Jay" to be a good person..."  I've heard quite a few statements of this sort, and this year, with my departure looming, I felt it might not be a bad idea to disclose a few deeply personal moments with my friends and (dare I say it) readers both in the UK and further afield.

The question of questioning, as it were, is a pivotal, if not the most pivotal aspect of trying to live a spiritual life that is not merely for the purpose of "chilling out" a bit. To move beyond the remedial into the exploratory, to wander this wide world, wondering about wondering, for me, is key. To develop and explore our consciousness, or our fundamental way of seeing the world, is far more important than just leading some kind of idealised, emotionally vacuous existence. To be a person living a truly human existence, evolving as an authentically human being, is the goal. It's what separates us from the animal kingdom, the capacity to consciously develop our self-reflexive awareness, our ability to look within in order to make sense of the without. I firmly agree with Bhante; it is the next stage in human development, in the higher evolution of mankind; moving from the development of our own rudimentary self (or subjective) consciousness/awareness to developing and perfecting transcendental (or objective) consciousness or modes of being. For me, immediately and above all else though, if I can help other beings by developing my awareness of the true nature of reality, if I can lift the veil of my own ignorance and conditioned obscurations, then I can be of some small use in this world. Not only that, but as is so often with these types of metaphysical musings, I find that by engaging in the pursuit of happiness for others, ironically, I myself derive great joy, whereas the questing for joy and pleasure for myself seems only to lead to suffering on my part. 

This wasn't how I discovered this path though, however much I might like you believe it. This process started for me, as it did with so many others in the world, through a period of intense suffering. Although I had been reading up on Buddhism since my mid-teens, and despite identifying quite strongly with the mayor tenants of the ideology, I did what most people do - I cherry-picked those parts of the Dharma which required no effort or significant change on my part, and conveniently ignored the rest . Compassion for all beings and a desire to be of use based on our own impermanence - I'm down with that. Stop smoking acres of pot and washing it down with gallons of cheep cider - er... let me get back to you on that one! I was not mature enough to realise the obvious contradiction, namely that for me to truly be of most use, I do need at least 7hrs sleep a night, and be of chipper disposition without having to force a grin through the raging hangover. If you want to do good in this world, ideally you don't want to start the day waking up exhausted and smelling like a primate's scrotum. Why make life harder for yourself? Charity starts at home! But hey, that's what youth is for, and believe me, I had a blast. I just don't remember most of it.

Things took a real turn for the interesting when a friend of mine had a cancer scare last year. He had only beaten a notably virulent form of the disease two years previously, and we assumed that everything was just going to be smooth sailing, distant shore left well behind on our collective journey. When the doctors told him they thought it was back, it was very, very hard for him. When he told me that he wanted me to help him write, record and produce a "goodbye" album for his long term partner, I completely fell apart. I couldn't do it. No way. Out of the question. I'm not that strong. But I was going to have to. Somehow, I was going to have to create the soundtrack of his life as it slipped away from us day by day, until the bitter, tragic, inevitable end. Gathered round a bedside in some hospital or hospice somewhere, having to be strong, having to be brave... Well, I just fell apart! In the evenings after work I drank and smoked til I couldn't feel feelings. Until I couldn't think straight. To oblivion, and beyond... I remember one day waking up feeling lower than I had felt for years, after a night of unbridled excess and debauched indulgence of the senses (or lack of therein), and realised that I had hit rock bottom. Again. Something had to change. It really did. I didn't recognise the guy in the mirror and more, as James Taylor once sung: "About that time my heart was all broke. I looked like ashes and smelled like smoke as I turned away from my loving kind, tried to leave my body and live in my mind. But it's much too much emotion to hold in your hand. It's like waves out on the ocean - their gonna wear away the land..." At that point I can recall very clearly a sudden chiming in the back of mind, something I remember the Dalai Lama saying once about suffering, the truth of suffering etc... I don't know what it was, but I remember thinking that I should look up some stuff online, and the next chance I got, when all my housemates were in bed, I went on youtube and started searching. I think I was probably drunk and very stoned at the time (hence my hazy recollection), but for the next few weeks it was my little secret. Logging on late at night, just as a teenager furtively looks for pornography on the family computer once parents and younger siblings have gone upstairs to bed (and how we all freeze and frantically shut down windows in state of mild panic at the sound of an upstair door creaking open), so did I with the Dharma. In fact, I think my friends would have found it more understandable (certainly more expected) to have walked in on me perusing digital erotica than talks on interconnectivity in the face of intrinsic emptiness and the composite nature of conditioned existence... Less disturbing too...

That being said, the message started to get home. A close friend lent me a book called "The Buddha, Geoff and Me" by Edward Canfor-Dumas, a moving, semi-autobiographical account of how the author turned it around from being made redundant, single and homeless in quick succession and the subsequent self-absorbed alcoholic lamentations that traditionally follow. It explores a chance meeting with a bloke in the local pub who in spite of his drinking and smoking and occasional foul language, is in fact an exemplary Buddhist, certainly in the context of using wisdom and compassion to help the narrator see his life for what it truly is: an endless ocean of boundless possibility. He even got him started on writing the book. Yep, the very book that I was holding! I loved every page. Chock-full of deliciously relevant scenarios and realistic dialogue, I totally resonated with the initial cynicism of the narrator, but likewise failed to argue with the fundaments truths of it all. I still can't. 

Manchester Buddhist Centre, 16 Turner St, Norther Quater.

After that, and after some prodding by the same friend who lent me the book, I finally stepped through he doors of the Manchester Buddhist Centre. I still remember so clearly walking in (I had to walk past a few time on a few different days to get my courage up), heading straight for the bookshop and pretending to be "just browsing" when asked by the smiling, kindly lady on reception if I needed any help or assistance. She could sense that I wasn't ready to ask, not just yet. I think I might have started fondling incense to make myself feel less self conscious (ironic, I know). Whilst paying for it, I mentioned that it was a nice place, and she offered to show me round the place. She smiled sweetly as I enquired if that would be ok. We went to the tea and sitting/reading area in the back of the building, up the winding wooden stairs to the Lotus Hall, the main shrine room on the first floor. I'd love to pretend that I had some kind of revelatory experience, but I didn't. The room was stunning, the huge golden statue sat upon his, sort of... seat thingy and was holding a... big flower... there were pictures that stylistically brought to mind the sort you found in a chinese takeaway, hanging on industrial red-bricked walls. The room was very, very quiet and overwhelmingly beautiful. But what really struck me was this woman. She had such warmth, such tender kindness of spirit it was all I could do to stop myself collapsing into her arms and bursting out into tears. She kindly said that I could come here any day of the working week and I would be welcome to get a (free!) cup of tea, or sit upstairs in one of the shrine rooms if I needed somewhere to Go For Refuge from the world (I know, I get it now too), or read a book downstairs in peace. Just to have an oasis from my thoughts, just to have a complete stranger tell me it was fine, and if I ever wanted to talk to anyone or ask questions, she or another member of "the team" would be more than happy to help. She was quite possibly one of the nicest humans I have ever met. She knew everyone by name, she held open doors, smiled a lot and had the deftest of touches when I confessed my interest and embarrassment at being wholly and utterly out of my depth. She smelt of incense and was wearing natural fibres. She was also Suryaka, the Centre Manager, with who I am about to go to India with. I had no idea at the time, she never mentioned it. I was hooked instantly. 

The Lotus Hall, MBC... Silence is Golden...

Over the following few months I purchased and devoured a steady stream of books by the founder of the movement, a man who's name initially sounded strangely like "Bunty" one moment and a drum roll the next, and eventually was directed to the Free Buddhist Audio website (need I say more?). From there on in I utilised my daily 4hr commute from Buxton to Manchester and back to delve ever deeper into talks and concepts I couldn't quite fathom and a level of transcendental profundity that left my head spinning. Every waking second I though of nothing else. I loved it. I had caught "The Bug"! My day job working on behalf of the police just further engrained these lessons and teachings in my mind, cementing them experientially into concrete fact, doctrine and irrefutable law. My mind worked tirelessly to make sense of it all. To make it meaningful. I started developing my passion for metaphor and analogous thought. I started to see it (The Dharma) everywhere, in all things, at all times. I still do, but back then it was with such blinding intensity. I had "found" myself in the void of conditionality, as it were. More than that, I found that I was empty, lacking a FIXED, unchanging self. It wasn't that I didn't exist, merely that my concept of a self was quite the opposite of how I ACTUALLY was. I decided to write a letter to Sangharakshita's secretary to arrange a visit to discuss further....

Hence, although I initially had some reservations at this request, I have agreed to post a few private correspondences from over the past year or so. I hope that for those of you who are becoming interested in Buddhism can take something from it (you're not mad, there IS more to life that what meets our eyes!) and those who have been where I was can smile upon my fervent musings and gushings with compassion and nostalgia. Dated February 10th, 2012. Not even a year ago....

Sangharakshita with the Dalai Lama, mid 1950's

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Dear Sir or Madame,

My name is Jay Bardsley, I am 28 years old, and I have been attending study sessions at the Manchester Buddhist centre for several months now, as well as having studied the work of Bante and other Buddhist scholars for the last six or seven years. I started going for refuge properly about 6 months ago, dedicating 4 hours a day to study and meditation, and very quickly realised that it is my calling to spend the rest of my life practicing, studying and spreading the Dharma, as well as recently deciding that my ambition is to work towards ordination within the WBO/Triratna.

As well as being a personal inspiration to me, I take immense pleasure in the poetry of Bhante, and his audio discussions have awakened in me a deeper and more profound understanding of the Three Jewels, which I am then able to pass onto my friends and co-workers, who have seen the change in me (I come originally from the world of rock n roll musicianship, entailing excess and all the cliched suffering that goes along with it), as well as my pupils, to whom I have taught music for the past 10 years or so. 

Since I left the music industry a year ago, and confronted my demons, my life has been immeasurably improved, and without the tireless work of Bhante, Subhuti and all the wonderful teachers of the Triratna movement I may not indeed be here today. Recently I find myself having dreams and premonitions of meeting with him, and upon the advice of one of my teachers, I have finally worked up the courage to send this email.

I seem to live and breathe the Dharma every day, every second, it has infused every part of me to my very core, and my faith in both the movement and the Three Jewels is immutable and a constant source of joy in my life. I understand that Bhante has recently had an operation to hopefully improve his vision, if more recovery time is required then I fully understand, but as it happens I am free on Friday 10th of February, and if he wished some friendly company and is up to visitors, then I would be overjoyed and honoured to visit.

If not, please do wish him a speedy recovery from myself, and if you would be kind enough to let me know when he would be available for a chat I would be ever so grateful, as it is my fervent desire to contribute to the continuance of his revolutionary, life-changing work in the 21st century, and ensure he knows that the light of hope and truth that he ignited for all of us will be shining brightly for many, many years to come,

Kindest of regards,

Jay Bardsley

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Bhante more recently, mid 90's

What then followed has been covered in my previous posts, as it wasn't too long after I sent this email that I went on my first retreat. For one reason or another (set against complications in my personal life), I was unable to visit Bhante that year. I think on reflection it was mainly a feeling of being overawed at the prospect of connecting with a consciousness way, way bigger and more developed than my own. A sense of "not being worthy", nerves and also perhaps a general tendency to procrastinate on my part? Now he it even more frail and elderly, and there is talk that perhaps he will no longer accept guests. I have to accept that I may never meet him. My Hero. My Master. My Teacher. The thought makes me want to cry, but lets move on shall we? Let this be a lesson to us all if this proves to be so...

Sangharakshita, late 1940's

...and today. Time slips away from us so fast...

So, fast forward nine months, and where are we? I am freshly "Mitra-fied", but by this point as you may know I had already realised that my future and relationship to the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma and Sangha) lay with Triratna. And so it was, that on October 30th, 2012, I sent the following email to the men's ordination team at Padmaloka (a retreat centre and men's ordination centre in Norfolk)....    

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Mettaloka

Glossop

Tuesday October 30th, 2012 

Dear Sirs,

I hope this finds you well, my name is Jay Bardsley, I am 29 years old and I am a Mitra from the Manchester Sangha. This letter I send to you with the humble request that I be considered for ordination into Triratna. I have for many years reflected on the teachings and ideals that the Buddha both presented and embodies, and have, during that time, been practicing his Dharma and reflected deeply on the part it can play in one's life. I feel now that through the support, understanding, love and (seemingly endless) patience of my friends both within and outside the Sangha, I am at a point where my practice and shraddha have reached a stability and gentle equilibrium, and my passion for the Three Jewels is finding its subsequent expression becoming more deeply integrated in my being, manifesting itself most fully in my Going for Refuge.

I now know in my heart of hearts that I understand (as fully as one can at this juncture) the significance of both what I request, and the centrality of the act of Going for Refuge within the context of what it is to be a practitioner of Buddha-Dhamma. I recognise it's implications for me, and please know that I am fully prepared to work out these implications in full. Already, many great changes have manifested themselves as I placed The Three Jewels ever more centrally in the mandala of my life. Since coming into contact with the Dharma in a meaningful way, I have gone from a being a touring musician living the cliche lifestyle with which that is most often associated, to becoming what could not unfairly be described as a tea-total vegetarian, although I personally feel that, to a certain extent, labels are limiters. When I look back though, I see very clearly how my whole life has been gently bringing me to this point, typing this email as I am from my "one-man vihara", as my Sangha friends jokingly term it.

This year, using the moniker of "The Dharma-Farmer", I started writing for the Manchester Buddhist Centre newsletter, and have received much encouragement and support from Vishangka and the team there. Eventually, upon their recommendation, I found myself turning it into an online blog for the benefit of a wider audience, as well as recently being asked to set up and run social networking pages (Facebook etc) for the new MBC Young Buddhists group. Whether it is organising fundraising events at the centre, performing music at pujas, assisting with the classes there or simply doing the washing up, I am overjoyed to know I am able to invest my time and energy in meaningful endeavours, all the while deepening and enriching the many wonderful and unique spiritual friendships I am fortunate enough to have. Tonight, I head out to Coddington to work with Mokshapriya and his team, lending whatever assistance I can to the Sangharakshita Land Project for the next 4 days. My point here is not, of course to list my own small achievements, but to rejoice in having the opportunity itself to get involved in the continued building of a meaningful Dharma movement. To my mind, life can indeed afford no higher honour than to work for the good of Buddhism.

These days, I see more clearly than ever that we are an endless stream of habits, wrapped in skin, one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. I also know that the conditions and the changes we are all subject to will manifest themselves in many strange, mysterious, joyous and sometimes upsetting or disturbing ways, but I know with absolute certainty that, to echo Bhante, were I the last man alive on earth, my faith in the Three Jewels, and in Sangharakshita as my teacher would remain as unshakable as the proverbial mountain top. In light of this, nothing feels more natural or appropriate to commence the next steps in my unending journey towards Enlightenment itself, and until that time dedicate my life fully to Triratna, to the continued transmission of the Dharma, and to the alleviation of the suffering of all beings, be that in the East, the West or wherever the Stream may take me.

Yours sincerely, and with metta, your brother in the Dharma,

Jay 

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Coddinton Hall - Sangharakshita Land Project, Nov. 2012

Whilst at Coddington, in the evenings I wrote the piece "Sobriety...I'll drink to that" and also a 

smaller piece about my experiences there. An edited version was published in The December newsletter, but for completeness, here it is in full, as follows...

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"The Sangharakshita Land Project has recently purchased the Coddington Court estate in the Hertfordshire countryside, a sprawling complex consisting of an 18th century manor home and various accompanying buildings. It is perfectly situated on a very sizeable plot, miles from civilisation and perfect for the Sangharakshita Library, Study-Complex, Shrine Hall and hopefully not too soon, his final home and resting place. 

In fact, I'm writing this from the communal kitchen, after five days of tearing down fencing, ripping up carpet tiles and doing unspeakably gratifying things to a bathroom with a crowbar and lump hammer! The Order members I have shared the time with (mainly residents Mokshapriya, Yashodeva, Sanghadeva and Ratnadharini) are by their nature kind-hearted, considerate, engaging and each is uniquely inspirational. Yet all agree that something about this place speaks to each of us in the stillness of the night. Draws us to work the long hours by ourselves, but facing the challenges together. A whispering voice in the dark, guiding our decisions, urging us ever forth. We all share the vision that what we are doing here as both individuals and as a wider movement is more important than just making a nice country home for Bhante to see out his days in; More important than building a retreat centre in who's grounds people may loose the shackles of routine and thus subsequently find themselves again; More important than fashioning an academic launch pad with which to propel the minds of those who study here into the highest stratospheres of human consciousness. More important even than making a pilgrimage site... We are creating and paying homage to creation itself, simply because we CAN create! Here, destruction and birth are indistinguishable. We tear down walls, but in doing so more light is let in. We rip up flooring, but lay aside our egos. We pull apart fences, but it brings us closer together. We are celebrating change, bathing in the very essence of impermanence, riding the ever-cresting the wave of "now". In a strange way, by rejoicing in Bhante's life we can be better prepared for our own deaths. And that, my friends, is something worth living for..."

Outside Bhante's annex flat, helping with the refurbishment, Nov 2012...

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Some of you may have noticed a few changes since I sent this letter, and these I feel I covered in my "Shouldn't Try Harder..." end of year review/column last month. Some of you also may have noticed that at the end of my last post I very much gave the impression that I wouldn't be writing before India. I didn't think I would, but there you go - everything is change. Some of my closest friends also know that I have spent the last two months working on what is essentially an essay on the process of inner transformation, noticing the themes found within a classic, well-known festive novel in fact correlate to the Triratna model of Spiritual development, and finding in it a rich vein of self-transformative gold. But that last one will have to wait until I get back I'm afraid. Time is running out, and this was supposed to be a five minute post (copy and paste my ordination request for anyone thinking of asking themselves). But there you have it. Everything is change. Over Christmas I went back to enjoying a few drinks with my friends, but now, in preparation for India, I am enjoying the clarity of mind that can only come with a period of rest and clean living. It's rather wonderful really. I can't tell whether I change, or life does, or both or neither. It doesn't really matter. The only thing which IS fixed, unchanging and permanent is the Law of Impermanence itself. That will never change. I don't think. I think I've made up my mind on that one... I might change it still...

Your's with furrowed brow of confusion and a massive grin,

The Dharma-Farmer xx

May any merit gained in my writing thus be dedicated to alleviate the suffering of all beings.

The Last Great Adventure - a Pilgrim's Thoughts and My Last Will & Testament...

My teacher Sangharakshita, and founder of The Western Buddhist Order, on pilgrimage at Bodh Gaya, the site of the Buddha's Enlightenment, pictured with his teacher, Dhardo Rinpoche, a teacher to the Dalai Lama, circa 1955. 

A little while ago I read a wonderful book called "Notes From a Big Country". Some of our transatlantic Brothers and Sisters may know it as "I'm a Stranger Here Myself", but either way it's author, the irrepressibly funny and gifted Bill Bryson asserted that there are three things that you can't do in life; You can't beat the phone company, you can't make a waiter see you until he is ready to see you, and you cant go home again. This last one is undoubtedly the one of most interest to me, as I can rarely afford to eat out, and don't have a land line. I moved out of my family home in the quiet secluded valleys of mid Wales in 2002, and from that point onwards have found that every subsequent visit home has yielded less and less in the way of sentimentality, and an increasing sense of a place not that I once inhabited and called home, but of a place from a long forgotten past lived through someone else, in their dreams. Memories fade, faces that once I knew at 200 yards (well, actually it was their gait you recognised, such was the amount of walking done between the houses of friends) imperceptibly change to the barely recognisable. Perhaps because I have always been an occupier of more sonic realms, rather than visual ones (I have classed myself as an erstwhile musician since about 1988) that I struggle with faces? Who knows? Either way, as time goes on, those once-familiar smiles that I befriended in primary school, high school, even my short stay at university seem to broaden, distort and sag, lines ever deepening, my own uneventful visage seemingly wishing to lead this ignoble charge towards oblivion, it must be said.

1998

2005

2013

In the 15 years that these photos span (now that your horror has subsided), I have had no less than TEN changes of address, and as I write to you from my snug little sitting room at Mettaloka (the name meaning "the realm/world of loving kindness"), I can't help but agree with the statement, but only on the basis that you did indeed at one time or another feel at home somewhere. I have to confess that my childhood was always spent feeling slightly at odds amongst my geographical peers, with only knowing a select few "freaks" like me that could enjoy some rock music, dye one's hear an absurd shade of blue or per chance read a book for pleasure every now and then (without it being a statutory demand of the Mid-Wales education system). Occasionally we'd do all three at the same time. My point being that no matter where I have lived I have never been able to say "this is my home, these are my people, this is what I am representative of, this is where I feel most at ease..." From rural Wales to the council estates of Mosside, from the student "digs" of Fallowfield to the distant leafy isolation of Buxton, no-where have I been able to lay my hat with any degree of comfort or certainty that one day it would feel like "home".

All this is a very roundabout way of bringing me onto the deeply perplexing state of mind I now find myself in, seven days from a Pilgrimage with my Brothers and Sisters from our beloved Manchester Buddhist Centre. During that time we will be traversing many thousands of miles around sites of spiritual (I still struggle with the theistic connotations associated with the word "holy") significance vis a vis the wandering Prince Siddhartha Gautama, he who was to become the historical "Shakyamuni" (or "wise sage of the Shakyan tribe") Buddha that we all know of today. Let me be absolutely clear of a few things before we start this daring exploration of common sense and absurdity - I have never been to India, much less outside of Europe, and I am deeply concerned about flying period! I get nervous watching other people flying, or talking about flying, although to be fair, it's not so much the fear of flying as the fear of hurtling into the ground at 400 knots like a flaming dart with my nose gracing my testicles! Not so much heights as the fear of falling from them, if you catch my drift. Not only that, I am a keen appreciator of "alone time" in my life, and generally prefer things to be rather calm, quiet, peaceful and not covered in broken glass, rubble and animal faeces. I am sometimes prone to feeling self-conscious (although many from my wilder days would argue that I should have engaged with that feeling more often), and am a creature of routine, of habit. So on paper, in theory, the idea of going to the bustling metropolis that is India for three weeks with six comparative strangers (albeit ones whom I love deeply) is one of laughable foolishness. And I know foolishness. 

However, for some reason, none of this seems to matter much with regards to this particular trip. An order member called Nagabodhi (under his birth name of Terry Pilchick), who wrote an astoundingly hilarious and moving memoirs on being a rather pasty, middle-class, British fish-out-of-water-in-the-subcontinent entitled "Jai Bhim"(I implore you to read it, he is again a remarkably gifted wordsmith) described the streets of rural India as being "like a madhouse, set loose on a farmyard, strewn with the wreckage of a disused carnival" or words to that effect, and yet something in the stories of the tender-hearted people he met on his travels filled me with quiet awe. Not just that. It felt familiar, like a childhood dream recalled unexpectedly in later life. In short, it felt like home. In the six months I have been preparing for this trip, I have watch countless documentaries, listened to hours of talks off the Free Buddhist Audio website (I'm gonna keep plugging it until you all try it out, try any stop me, haha) and have read endless accounts of assorted travels, excursions, jaunts and pilgrimages to India, but nothing seems to worry me or bother me. Nothing seems weird alien or new. The noise, the pollution, the smiles, the laughter, the colour, the traffic, the generosity, the customs, even the language seems to come naturally to my ears. Hindi is a beautiful, language that seems to make perfect sense to me, and I can't wait to learn more than the basics. Pali, Marathi, Sanskrit, even hearing the names of these languages both dead and alive is enough to send me off into thoughts of bustling bazars, cool mango groves and utter tranquility. I've even had dreams about India. I never normally remember my dreams, but with crystalline clarity can I recall recent nocturnal sojourns involving a change of skin tone, speaking a foreign tongue (I have no idea which) and being sat in the presence of people I don't recognise but know intimately and acting accordingly. Intellectually, I'm sure it's nothing more than my total immersion in all things sub-continental of late, something of the hopeless romantic in me, but am I really sure? My heart says differently. It's worth noting by the way that as a Buddhist you don't have to believe in Rebirth, so long as you still believe in the notion of Enlightenment. One of course however still then has to ask the question of what happens after death if one is "neither reborn nor not reborn, nor neither, nor both (the words of the Buddha himself), but that is a topic for another time. 

I'm not saying I have no concerns about the trip. Whether my consciousness lived there in a previous incarnation or not, I am deeply concerned for the well-being of my fellow Pilgrims, and naturally would rather not have our wallets stolen at gunpoint, or die in a plane crash, or roll down a hill in a bus, or catch any one of the many tropical diseases that could befall any one of us. However, even if any of these things do happen to ME, I'm ok with that. Really, I am. Again, I don't know why, but I have also been recently having dreams about dying over there but beyond that I'd rather not say. Wouldn't want to spoil the ending now would we? Not to freak anybody out, but every year people do die on these trips. They have done for 2,500 years. People get sick and expire in a series of frothy convulsions, people get hit by buses, people in cars roll down mountain-sides into a startled and turbulent oblivion. At least nowadays I'm seeming unlikely to be gnawed pulpy by a giant boar or tiger, or die thirst-crazed and bug-eyed in the Gobi dessert, but I'm a sucker for tradition, so who knows? With my luck, these words may well be my last I put to "paper" as it were, and the next you will see of me will be my beaming visage on the front cover of the Manchester Evening News, or if I expire in a particularly messy fashion, Sky news. Dear Lord, I hope not! The idea that my demise could boost viewing figure for Rupert Murdock and his doom-bringer makes me want to kill myself, ironically...

That being said, and all joking aside, if anything does happen to me, that's cool. I know it will really suck for some of you, but you'll get past it, and looking back hopefully remember me fondly as a guy who didn't always get it right, but always tried to. Who always wanted nothing more than to see his friends well, happy and free from suffering. To bring a smile to someone's face, to give the gift of fearlessness, to befriend and then be a friend to another human being, to connect with others; THAT'S what life is all about for me. That I have been lucky enough to come across the Dharma in the first place is of gobsmacking incredulity! That I am going to India with six other wonderful, unique, warm-hearted people who I care about deeply is just quite literally beyond words, so I wont try. We all have to die, it's the price we should gladly be willing to pay for the gift that is life itself. Life and death are in fact at all times much closer than we would like to believe. Statistically, we have all done very well to get this far without shuffling off this mortal coil in an untimely fashion, and what is life if not for living fully in the present moment, one's heart bursting with a simple, joyous gratitude for the miracle that is existence itself? Indeed, as the acclaimed Buddhist author Thich Nhat Hanh (pronounced Tik Nat Han) said:

Thich Nhat Hanh, 1926 - Present

"Death is a very necessary condition of birth. With no death, there is no birth. They inter-are and happen in every moment to the experienced meditator. For instance a cloud may have died many times, into rain, streams, water. Rain is a continuation of the cloud... [For] a meditation practitioner, nothing can hide itself. When I drink tea, it’s very pleasant to be aware I am drinking cloud... This body of mine will disintegrate but my karma will continue – karma means action. My karma is already in the world. My continuation is everywhere in the world. When you look at one of my disciples walking with compassion, I know he is my continuation. I don’t want to transmit my negative emotions, I want to transform them before I transmit them. The dissolution of this body is not my end. Surely I will continue after the dissolution of this body. So don’t worry about my death, I am not going to die."

I love you all, I couldn't say it better, so I'm not going to try. But here we go, regardless, my last will and testament:

My material goods are to be sold at auction, my debts to be paid off to various people (you know who you are, I promised I'd pay you back) and then the rest is to be donated to the Triratna Buddhist movement and to The Manchester Buddhist Centre. I wish to have a service at the centre in the Lotus Hall (beautiful and joyous), a party celebrating life itself in the centre and drinks in the northern quarter afterwards for those that wish to take the festivities to a somewhat later hour. As for this body, this perpetual cause of suffering and disappointment (check out those pictures again, it ain't gonna get any prettier from here on in folks!), I wish to be cremated and some of my ashes placed in a simple urn on the shrine in the Lotus hall, if that's quite alright with everyone there. The rest of the ashes can be taken to the beach at Talybont, on the west Wales Coast, and I would love for those of you who make it to have a massive camping beach party. At sunset, if someone would be so kind as to recite the Heart Sutra as you sprinkle them into the surf, I'd be ever so grateful. You will have a few months wait before it is warm enough to head to the beach, so don't stress, you'll have plenty of time to learn it! Remember me with a smile, and dedicate your lives to the good of others. These are my final wishes. I love you all more than you can ever know!

Learning how to die properly is learning how to live, and visa vera. As my latest tattoo says, "all things must pass, but with diligence, strive on..." These were the final words of the Buddha, and with a bit of luck they will be mine too, although I doubt it. I may be on fire and have other concerns. However, with all this in mind, and with a final letting go, I am ready to live this mad adventure to the full, diligently, and with a heart full of wisdom and compassion, or die trying. Whichever comes first... 

Yours, potentially from beyond the grave, and with tears in his eyes,

The Dharma Farmer xx

May any merit gained in my writing thus be given to the alleviation of the suffering of all beings. 

This article is dedicated to my teacher Sangharakshita, my friends, the living, the dying and the dead. 

May we all learn to rejoice in our own impermanence...

Buddham Saranam Gacchami - To the Buddha for Refuge I go

Dhammam Saranam Gacchami - To the Dharma for Refuge I go

Sangham Saranam Gacchami - To the Sangha for Refuge I go.

Sadhu.

Sadhu.

SADHU!