Author Archives: Albert

About Albert

Came to Buddhism through Judaism, Hinduism atheism and a few other isms. Currently "recovering" from culture shock from having re-entered the UK after travelling for the past year in various countries. Now spending most of my time raising funds for destitute children in the northern part of Nepal - Helambu region - and editing Many Roads for the Bodhicharya website.



Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,

and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon

accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are

friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.

 Li Po


Drink your tea slowly and reverently,
as if it is the axis 
on which the world earth revolves 
– slowly, evenly, without 
rushing toward the future;
Live the actual moment.
Only this moment is life.

Thich Nhat Hahn


                                       Photo: Paul O’Conner

We were delighted to have Rinpoche in Ireland again last month. This is his 29th year visiting us and he continues to travel great distances to teach to whomever wishes to hear Dharma. We are very fortunate in Ireland that he spends almost a week here in a very busy schedule.

For the first few days, Kagyu Samye Dzong in Dublin were hosting him and delivered three evenings of teachings.

These teachings were regarding the text ‘Precious Garland of the Supreme Path’ by the great master Gampopa, founder of the Kagyu lineage. The first evening Rinpoche introduced the root text and gave a short Biography of its author followed by an explanation of the first of 27 chapters. He would go on to deliver a teaching on each chapter per night so this work will take several visits to complete. He taught from several translations and cross–referenced the original Tibetan to deliver an accurate as possible explanation always concentrating on the essential aspects, full audio and video recordings were made and are available in the Bodhicharya Teachings Archive. He also gave Lung transmission of ‘Shower of Blessings’ for those wishing to practice this aspect of Guru Yoga and on the last evening a Lung for the ‘Milerapa Sadhana’.

He made himself available throughout his stay in Dublin for many personal interviews and also had a meeting with small group of students from Bodhicharya that took the form of a relaxed conversation: this was regarding the topic of how Buddha Dharma is being delivered and received outside of Tibet in the modern world and personally how he thought the last 30 years of his work is progressing. This rare, unusual and candid conversation is also recorded and available on the same archive under the title ‘Discussing Essential Dharma’.

At the end of the week Rinpoche journeyed to the other end of the Country, down to the tip of South West Cork where Dzogchen Beara were hosting him for a weekend retreat, this beautiful location even more so with sunshine and blue skies that somehow seem to accompany his continued visits.

This weekend was entitled “Meeting Challenges: Unshaken by Life’s Ups and Downs” and co-insides with the release of a new book of the same title in the Heart Wisdom series by Bodhicharya publications. This Lojong (Mind training) teaching is based upon the root text “Bringing Happiness and Unhappiness onto the Path.” Also translated as “Turning Suffering and Happiness into Enlightenment” by the third Dodrupchen -Jigme Tenpe Nyima, A Dzogchen master from the Nyingma Lineage. (The fourth Dodrupchen-Tubten Trinlé Pal Zangpo lives in Gangtok, Sikkim and is a teacher of Ringu Tulku Rinpoche).

The first teaching session was spent addressing questions prepared by Rigpa students that included: Bodhichitta,  A healthy sense of self  and, Dealing with our personal practice in an unjust world. He also reminded us that skillful, direct and practical actions should never be forsaken. This was an excellent introduction to the weekend of Lojong teaching and provided a summary of the topic Rinpoche would further explore in relation to the text and the questions that arose from the audience, many of whom were new to such teachings and Buddhist Dharma in general.

Over the next three sessions Rinpoche focused on the early part of the text dealing with challenges and suffering and how they can be an opportunity, he occasionally used brutal and horrific examples of the Tibetans’ experiences––including friends and family, but somehow maintained his familiar warmth and humour throughout.

Regardless of examples, metaphors, stories and jokes the teachings always returned to and demonstrated the essence of such teachings, that it is our perception and reaction to external and internal phenomena that creates our world. With compassion and wisdom, Mind’s true nature can be revealed, this requires diligent training and practise and is of benefit to ourselves, those around us and all beings.












The mind that is learning is an innocent mind, whereas the mind that is merely acquiring knowledge is old, stagnant, corrupted by the past. An innocent mind perceives instantly, it is learning all the time without accumulating, and such a mind alone is mature.
 J. Krishnamurti
Welcome to 2019 and the year of the earth pig.
Apparently, this will be a year of good fortune and luck.  Personally, I am a pig Chinese zodiac native and I’m advised to make a great deal of money by investing.  Lucky colours are those representing fire:  red, orange and pink.
Well, if that information inspires you to be positive in the coming year, then thanks to the curiously named website Karma Weather.
In this edition, I have pulled a few articles from the past which I think are worth another read:
The Enjoyment of Sound
Ode to Manchester
Ernie Buck: an Interview

Keep Swimming
Hello from Goa
All the best for the coming year.  Albert Harris
LET’S DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT:  Elizabeth Mattis Namgyal


ODE TO MANCHESTER:  Ani Rinchen Khandro
ELSEWHERE:  Maeve O’Sullivan
KEEP SWIMMING:  Vicki Mckenzie
FAIRYLANDIanthe Pickles
LAZY LAMA FILM:  Niko von Glasow
WINTER WALK:  Yeshe Dorje

We need your contributions for our next issue. Please send your articles, reviews, comments and creative outputs to:


Must Have Sea View

On the forklift truck on a grey morning Boz had a dream.  It was always the same dream; he was a man of stubborn allegiances and wild expectation. His luck would turn and he would retire to the seaside, the English seaside. He’d been happy there. Not so much the overpowering smells of vinegar, frying fat and sugar, nor the noises of crowds, amusement arcades, having fun. Even as a child his ideal was to do nothing. Contentment was lying in a deckchair, soaking up the sun which drenched his memory, and watching the sea come in, go out, come in, go out. His mates jeered at the smallness of his dream; they wanted world travels or at least Thailand or Tenerife every winter if their ship came in. Val had dragged him abroad of course, but the ocean was never the same, too tame, too distant, too fringed with the young and sleek. He knew where his dreams were to be realised and soon he knew when and how.

The dream took a lurch nearer and upended the forklift. On the ramp, maybe the wheels weren’t squarely on. He howled when lifted out and was signed off sick for six weeks. The company could find no malfunction in the forklift and alleged driver error, but Boz’s union rep was having none of it. “Mr Boswell has an exemplary record and there was another similar incident here with a truck some six years ago. He is now incapacitated and we have a medical report to indicate whiplash injuries with some trauma to the lower and cervical spine.  It is unlikely he can work again, we are told. I would suggest the fair way forward is a one -off payment, equivalent perhaps to three years’ salary. That way we can avoid any question of blame, or escalation through the Health and Safety process.” HR, as usual,  said nothing remotely useful; management said “Two years. Terrible worker anyway. Cheap at the price to get rid of him.” The haggling ended up with a nice little nest egg for Boz who was always careful to walk with a stick and a wince. There were disability benefits as well.

Val wanted to chuck in the part-time job at the drycleaners and go somewhere exotic, maybe even move to a little flat in Spain. But Boz knew he had to wait for his luck to flow in again. He went into training, absorbing himself in daytime TV, especially the property programmes and the surprise makeovers. Fortune favoured the bold, those who seized the tide when high. Then he went on the internet. It was a shock to discover how little his lump sum would buy, especially with anything that would pass as a sea view. He’d told Val, “What we need is a nice little place, with a sea view, maybe do it up a bit (he had a sudden fantasy of himself holding  a paintbrush), live well, away from all this.”

He found the auction houses for repossessed or unloved properties, got very excited by this lot or that and was cast down when the bidding went above his ceiling. He told himself he was just learning the ropes, realised what he needed was a property no on else wanted. And he needed to go to the auction house, not follow online. The next sale he waited for the fancied flat , bid fast and hard, but again it outstripped him; on impulse born of rejection he went after one for which no one else was bidding. He’d looked at it briefly, definitely sea view, bit back of beyond, a kind of chalet with two bedrooms. Very cheap. He couldn’t remember more – a scattering of neighbours, no pub (but who could afford to drink out these days?), not too far from Scarborough. But raised his hand anyway. The dream was docking. No one else bid, though he was aware of a kind of subdued ripple running through the room – amusement, excitement, applause, he couldn’t say. It was his.

Now he had to explain it to Val. She wasn’t thrilled but suggested they visit. The owner met them with the words, “You do realise the bid is a binding contract and you can’t change your mind?” Val was looking out to sea. “What happened to the garden fence?” “Bit of coastal erosion. You’ll have seen it in the report. But you’re cash buyers  so no mortgage to worry about. “

Boz said slowly, “So things do fall in the sea?”

“Yes, but it’s quite  a long garden. Most of the neighbours have put in coastal defences – quite expensive but effective. When I moved here twenty years ago, the surveyor said 70-100 years. You don’t need longer than that, do you?”

“As long as it lasts our time”, said Boz. Val gave them both the look she had perfected on clients bringing in embarrassingly stained garments. “We’ll have to make the best of it. But what’s that caravan near to the road? Is that part of the sale?”

“Not officially”, came the reply, “but I’ll throw it in for goodwill.” Val had always fancied a caravan and this appealed to her as a space soundproofed against Boz’s bellows for beer and snacks. The journey home to pack up their lives was less fraught than it might have been.

The paintbrush fantasy faded like sea mist, but the chalet was in fair shape. Boz soon settled into the deckchair, basking in the garden on the better days where there was even a tree to act as a natural windbreak, or gazing out of the sun lounge otherwise, while Val sewed or watched her portable in the caravan. The summer was a good one if not as golden as Boz’ s memory, but knowing good luck came in threes he waited for something else to fall into his capacious lap.


The winter was another matter; the house was ill-insulated, the window frames rattled and the draughts had the chill and persistence of benefits advisors. A calm March day drew him down the garden. The rest of the fence had gone…but something else. The rhubarb patch, a bank of nettles, a recycling bin were away. None of them were much missed but this was his domain and he was uncomfortable.

The next year the vegetable bed went – undug, overgrown but the unease persisted. His neighbour Frank said, “What do you expect? We’ve all paid up for coastal defences so the waves are funnelled directly at you.”

Boz went to demand help from the Council. The letter back said, “While we have every sympathy with your plight, we are informed you bought the property while being aware of the problem. Given the many demands on our budget, we regret etc”.

Year four was frightening. A sea surge took a messy predatory bite which swallowed the bench and the tree. Val moved permanently into the caravan. Frank advised, “Think about moving. A house fell in the sea five miles down the coast.” But Boz was planted.

Year six Val moved back to live with her sister in a house on solid ground; he simply found her gone like most of the garden and half wondered if the sea had taken her too. Now when Boz looked out, the sea seemed suddenly huge, its glittering hungry, the land fragile and friable. He cursed it for wrecking his dream. One day he awoke to urgent banging on the door from Frank and the men from houses further along. “Time to leave. Storm surge coming. Take anything you need.” They helped him clear essentials to the caravan. A TV crew turned up to record all this; he’d always wanted to be interviewed but not like this. Then with an almighty crash, more cliff fell, taking half the house with it. The Council later demolished the other half.  The footage brought Boz some celebrity, but also attracted the attention of a benefits adviser who had observed Boz moving a large TV with no sign of strain.

He feels cheated, robbed. On good days he sits out in the deckchair  and waits for his luck to change. He stares at the sea wondering if it is friend or enemy.


KD lives in Edinburgh and writes for pleasure and distraction.





Shinbazu Pond –
even these withered lotuses
can lift my heart


heated toilet seat –
memories of growing up
in a large family


deep-fried pork:
I await instructions
on how to eat it


we look through the dark
to the place where Mount Fuji
is supposed to be


arrival in Kyoto…
I buy flowers for myself
flowers for the Buddha


the clunk of wooden sandals
on stone paving –
Mount Otowa


thatched with water reeds
topped with acer leaves –
Basho-an the poet’s hut


further uphill
autumn birdsong leads the way –
Buson’s grave


wandering poet’s well               its stone collar lotus


dusk over the city           two small girls in flowery kimono

Japan has been extracted from Maeve O’Sullivan’s latest publication Elsewhere
available from Alba Publishing
Dubliner Mave O’Sullivan’s poetry and haiku have been widely published, anthologised and translated.
Her four collections are Elsewhere (2017); Initial Response, An A-Z of haiku moments (2011); Vocal Chords (2014); and Double Rainbow (2005) all available at Alba Publishing
Maeve is a winner of the Listowel Writers’ Week poetry competition for a single poem, and conducts haiku workshops with adults and children.
A lecturer in Media Studies, she lives in Dublin
Maeve’s new collection of poetry, Elsewhere is available from Alba Publishing


Multiply the number of groups of people you hate by the number of individuals in those groups. The sum equals the number of reasons, causes, and triggers for you to experience the feeling of hatred in your heart; not only at those times of direct encounter with those persons, but also in each and every moment of your life. Every one of those moments is a fertile ground for you to think about, imagine, and contend with those persons. Your life is literally a minefield you walk, constantly stumbling over the mines of hatred you have chosen to plant. You even intentionally run to those mines and jump on them, so great is your determination to hate.

You can never escape triggering the sensation of hatred, which is not pleasurable but instead is a sour current of misery and suffering you channel through every particle, cell, vessel, and organ of who you are. You have chosen to inundate yourself with hatred, a monsoon flood of never-ending ailment, all because you have decided that you have good reason to hate this group or that group. Your true joy has become a limp, lifeless carcass, drowned in the flood of your reasons to hate.

Some of us are passionate explorers of that barren terrain yielding reasons to hate. We expunge all awareness and memories of any possible goodness in a people, any hint or potential of worth or value, just so we can hunt freely for hate-reasons. We want the open-season without catch or kill limits. Whenever we come upon a flare-up of humanness, dimension, or texture in our idea of a people, fear and discomfort strike us as though we have encountered the beginnings of a forest fire. In the flush of this unsettling contradiction to what we seek-hatred-worthy characteristics in others-we reach for our water pail of mental erasing and douse the flame. We are here in this land, this place of strategic reasoning, to discover artifacts qualified for hating. We are not here to see beauty or worth. And so we kill with volatility whatever gets in the way of our expedition.

In the end, when you have multiplied the reasons for your hatred by the population size of your hated groups, you have unwittingly painted yourself into a corner in which you cannot step, look, reach, breathe, think, or even feel without stumbling over a self-chosen reason for hatred. You have harvested hatred and because your mind is magnificent in its power, you have accumulated a vast and burdensome harvest.

Now imagine a different harvest. Summon the Love you have for someone you hold dear. Experience that feeling of warmth and bliss cascade through your being. You have now blessed and baptized yourself in the endless reservoir of Love that you have in you, all because you have decided you have good reason to Love this particular person. Now you are drowning in Love, your joy a vibrant light illuminating this flood.

Ask yourself: Which feels better to my heart and soul? To hate or to Love? If Love is your answer, you are fortunate, for you have the means to fill your life and vessel with that which feels good to your heart, mind, and soul. All you have to do now is make another decision: Choose to expand your Love. That which you feel for that special person, people, or group, simply break down your stingy walls of exclusion and extend your Love! By nature, Love will flow anywhere you allow it. Like water, it will fill, soak into, and become the essence of all that you let it touch. It is the Bright Monsoon. All you need do is choose to Love.

Decide you have good reason to Love that group, and that group, and that one. Go crazy admitting more and more groups into your house of Love, regardless of their imperfections or the way they discomfort or challenge you. Become a stubborn Lover even in the face of those who scorn you. Become a seer of your Love’s roots in others. Become a graffiti artist with Love as your paint. Spray it over even the most desolate human souls. Beautify and resurrect them. Bring them to life. Your life of Love.

Eventually you will be able to calculate an incredible mathematics. You will be able to multiply the number of groups you have chose to Love by the number of individuals in those groups. If you decide to decimate all your walls and come up with reasons to let the whole world in, you will have blessed and baptized your entire life and every moment of your life. You will have blessed yourself with causes, reasons, and triggers for your heart, mind, and soul to be flooded with and experience the blissful sensation of Love. Not because the world came begging for your charity, its carts loaded with reasons for your Love, but because you chose to come up with your own reasons. Because you wanted to have endless triggers for your stream of moments in which you could not help but constantly, in your movement, thoughts, and imagination run into human reasons to let loose your Love. Make this choice and you will have solved the greatest calculus of them all. 

A Soul Water Rising Publication
Essay Copyright © 2010 by Jaiya John
January 2010 Draft


This essay is part of the Soul Water Rising essay series. All essays in this series are archived and available at New essays are announced through our journal, Soul Blossom. Dissemination and reposting for educational and inspirational use only is encouraged.








While strolling down the main boulevard in Shigatse, the home of the Panchen Lamas, in 1987, I see only a few people and almost no cars. Tibet has just opened up for foreign travellers and back-packers some months before. Standing on the pavement, perusing the items displayed on makeshift tables in the market stalls, my eyes had suddenly fallen on a tiny text. The print is on handmade-parchment, fashioned in the age-old style of inked woodcarving. It is a revelation from many hundred years back, and its Tibetan title means Refined Essence of Oral Instructions. It contains the parting words of Padmasambhava as he is just about to leave Tibet, the master who is admired and loved throughout the Himalayan countries and now all over the world as being the main teacher of Vajrayana Buddhism. My breath stops and my heart skips a beat. The words are like hearing him speak to you in person. I buy two copies without hesitation.

Homage to the master. Continue reading



When and how did you first discover Buddhism?

Oh heavens!  In a conventional sense I would say by accident.  I started doing TM in about the early nineties or late eighties.  I had a quite stressful job at Bradford Chamber of Commerce; lots of squabbles and small ‘p’ politics, that sort of thing.  I got into TM as a totally secular thing.  It worked fine.  The mantra I used to do – a couple of times a day, twenty minutes – it did what it said on the tin.  It was very effective for me.  I did it for about a year and then … you gradually get out of these things.  So that all finished.

Fast forward to about the early nineties now.  I got a phone call from an ex-colleague of mine from the chamber of commerce days.  “You used to meditate, didn’t you?  It worked for you.”

And I said, “I did.”

She had seen meditation classes advertised in the Bradford Interfaith Centre.  She didn’t want to go on her own.  Would I go with her?  Along I went.  It happened to be Buddhist. Having been brought up Roman Catholic, and spending some 5 years in the Middle East as both soldier and civilian, I was pretty much au fait with Christianity and Islam but I knew nothing about Buddhism at all.  So, that got me into it.  And that was with the New Kadampa Tradition.

Again, I got very interested in that to the point where I became connected to their new Losang Dragpa Centre in Todmorden, West Yorkshire. In the end I bought a derelict cottage which was in the grounds of Dobroyd Castle – the original name of the Centre.  Because they’d overstretched themselves with the initial borrowing, the bank made them sell it.  I bought it freehold for £35k (the independent surveyor’s valuation) and sold it for £150k a few years late so I made a bit of money on it.

Things I learned while I was travelling in Dharamsala and Bodhgaya about the setup of the NKT in the UK made me think, “Well, perhaps we had to part company.”  There was all the dorje shugden thing that you’re familiar with.  There was this split with the Dalai Lama and so on.  I wasn’t really comfortable with it.

Came back from my journey.  A friend of mine was coming up to Samye Ling for Christmas/New Year.  This was in 2007, I think, and I came up with her.  Ken Holmes was the course teacher.  I was very impressed. All though my experience so far had been with Gulugpa Tradition’s teachings, it wasn’t a subject that was new to me….….but all the lineage stuff is the same or similar in the Kagyu Lineage.  But he was a really, really good teacher.  So that’s what kept me coming to Samye Ling and finally prompted me to move here when I retired.

What was your first impression of Samye Ling?

Samye Ling, this was much more established than what I’d been used to.  The usual friendly atmosphere, but being a bit long in the tooth I knew that, if humankind is involved, it’s not all sweetness and light.  But it was very positive.  Put it that way.

What made you decide to come here to stay?

 I’ve got family connections but I’m free, single:  my family’s down in England in various places.  I was retiring…past retirement age so I thought, “Why not settle near Samye Ling?”

 How did you come across the property that you decided to renovate?

Again, from a conventional point of view, by accident.  On the last half day of the Samye Ling 2012/13 Christmas/New Year course, three of us went for a walk and we wandered up to Garwald; a mile and a half up a forestry track.  We met someone who was known as Irish Tony living in a cottage, part of what could be described as a little hamlet – all owned by Samye Ling, as we subsequently discovered. We had what was quite a surreal conversation with him.  Within about 20 minutes, the couple that I was with, and me, decided we would like to renovate a row of derelict barns; they would use two thirds of the row as a family home, and I would use the other third as a single person’s dwelling.

We rushed back to Samye ling and breathlessly related all this to the Abbot’s Assistant, Ani Lhamo.  She said, “Well put it in writing”, which we did.  That’s how it all started.

What was your very first action concerning the property?

A couple of days after arriving home, I received a phone call from the couple saying that they’d had second thoughts and decided to back out. They lived on the south coast of England and didn’t want to move so far away from friends and family.

Through Ani Lhamo I organised an official interview with Lama Yeshe (Abbot) to get permission for the build, which happened in February 2013.

To be honest, when I went in to see Lama Yeshe with my kata in hand, because of the enormity of the original row of barns project, I was half hoping he would say “No”.  I felt it would probably be too much for me, both physically and financially.  Lama Yeshe is a very wise old guy.  He pointed me in the direction of the site where I’ve subsequently built.  That’s how it got going.

How long did it take to finish the project?

From moving up there with a motorhome in April 2013, I moved in three years later in May.  So, it was basically three years.  That’s everything.  That was to get the planning permission sorted, get the building warrant, get hold of an architect and then literally do the work.  During this time, I lived in the motorhome.

As a rough estimate, how much would you say was your expenditure?

It’s hard to give you a straight answer.  I must sound like   a very bad accountant.  It was difficult because I had some savings when I came up and I thought I’d have that stretched to the limit.  But as I paid my way month after month some of it came out of my pension income so I wasn’t exhausting my savings so quickly.  I’d discounted any sort of income when I planned the job.  So, putting all things together I think it was about £65k.  That’s everything…fitting it out, kitchen, decorating, furniture, etc, the lot.  That’s not just the bricks, mortar and so on.

What happens to the property now?

I have a lease agreement with Samye Ling which gives me that piece of land and the house until I die and then it is bequeathed to Samye Ling which was the original intention; that’s what made it a good idea for me at the beginning.

Is there still an opportunity for others to develop a property in Garwald?

Yes, there is.  There are three barns which, at the moment have bits and pieces stored in them.  I was going to say derelict barns, but they are watertight presently and in fact, we’ve just renewed the guttering on them. The exterior is usable and they would make good single-person living properties with an open-plan living area downstairs and a sort of a mezzanine type bedroom.  So, there are three options there.  And there’s also that long row of derelict barns which I was talking about earlier.  So, there’s plenty of options to do what I did.

What advice would you give to someone who in interested in developing a barn?

Think carefully.  It might not be for everybody.  You might not want to do it the way I did.  Apart from the exterior stonework, I virtually did all of the rest of it myself.  Luckily, I’m reasonably fit.  I don’t have a building background but gradually accumulated a wealth of experience.  So, I was able to do that – and I had a really good architect.  If you’re the sort of person who sees self-build as a project management situation it would cost a bit more than it did me.  But it would still be doable.

Physically what would they do? Would they go and meet Lama Yeshe first?

I would advise anyone to do what I did.  See someone in authority in Samye Ling.  The people I’m thinking of are Ani Lhamo or Lodro Dorje.  Probably, they’d point you in the right direction.  I’m assuming that it would then be the same process as I experienced.  An interview with Lama Yeshe or Katin Lama perhaps and get permission to do it.

Did you have to take out some kind of insurance for this job?

Yes, I did.  I took out building insurance…a conventional  self-build policy.  I got the details from my neighbour Steve Kent, the only other person who’s done this at Garwald and he built his house about six or seven years before I arrived.  And I used the same insurance company as him.  It wasn’t too expensive.  I took out eighteen months of cover and renewed it as necessary.

As far as the facilities were concerned, did you have any problem with electricity or anything else?

No more problems than anybody else in a remote area.  In fact, the infrastructure, the lines up the valley have been refurbished very recently.  Whereas, we used to get power cuts every week it’s a reasonably rare occurrence now.  To be honest, Scottish Power were brilliant with me.  I submitted a plan to have electricity on to the property which had meters put into one of the barns temporarily.  I had to move somebody else’s meter which was serving another place about a quarter of a mile away up the valley.  I made my application.  When the surveyor came, he was very, very helpful and he said, “Look you can do this temporarily much more simply than putting it in this barn.”  And that helped me a lot.  I’ve got a standard meter box which was literally stood temporarily on a couple of cement blocks and is now embedded in the finished wall.

Did you have any problem getting materials up there?

No, I didn’t actually.  I had accounts with Keyline and Jewson, nationally known builder’s merchants, and various other organisations.  Samye Ling regularly use them.  The Garwald track is not the best in the world but passable.  I got to know the delivery guys and it worked extremely well.  There was hardly ever a weather situation when they couldn’t deliver up there.

I’ve absolutely no regrets and I’m really pleased with what I’ve done and I’ve been living in it now for eighteen months.

Tea or coffee?

Tea.  A preference by taste is coffee but it scours me out.

TV or radio?

A bit of both.  I like radio 4 but I like BBC television.

Meat or veg?

A bit of both but very little of the first. Once a week perhaps.

Folk or rock?

Well, given my hearing disability, probably folk.

White bread or brown?


Bath or shower?

Shower.  I haven’t got a bath.

Rain or snow?

Snow for the aesthetics.

Dogs or cats?


Summer or winter?

That’s difficult.  Spring.

Zips or buttons?


Phones or mobiles?


Cycling round the world or building a home?

[Laughs] With hindsight, I think cycling round the world was easier.  It wouldn’t seem like that in people’s minds but it was more straightforward.  






The motorhome accommodation at Garwald which served as ‘home’ for three years; situated about 30 metres from the building site.

The first two scaffolding bays erected at the rear of the site and boards being prepared prior to knocking out most of the unsound existing wall in order to ‘rebuild’.

A skyline shot of the blockwork centre part of the walls up to roof height, showing the concrete lintels above the upstairs windows.

This shows a section of the ground floor open-plan living area – giving a flavour of the finished interior.

Ernie Buck is 68 years old and has lived in various parts of Yorkshire for the last 30 years. A continual commuting cyclist, he has done a number of long distance solo expeditions within the UK, but dreamt of cycling to India and beyond for years. 


I remember, many years ago, visiting the Samye Ling monastery for my annual vacation from Germany to meditate, reflect and to attempt to recover from the existential anxiety of a young, displaced composer. I spent much of the time in silence, hoping to accelerate the process.

I met Jean Paira Pemberton when she joined me on my long walks. I was silent; I listened to her as we walked along farm tracks along streams of water or in the hills, covered in pine forests.  I was enjoying listening to a remarkably erudite and intelligent person, flattered by her trust, relaxing in her warmth. She often talked about the recent loss of her only son, and of her poetry.We were both engaged in our processes of healing. Jean and I have been friends ever since, our bond deepened through our relationship with the dharma and Ringu Tulku. It also proves that a difference in age is no barrier to friendship. Jean was born on 20 May 1930, which puts three decades between us, but I have always found her ageless. ‘Between ages’, as she might have put it, because she talked about her being ‘between two cultures, two languages and two disciplines.’
When I met her, Jean was in the process of doing what she was doing all her life: turning experience into word. This is how she herself explains the process.

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This summer I went swimming,
This summer I might have drowned
But I held my breath and I kicked my feet
And I moved my arms around,
I moved my arms around.

Loudon Wainwright 111 “Swimming Song”

Greatness in Small Things

After contracting polio as a baby it was deemed, thankfully, that swimming would be good therapy for me. So I learnt to swim and by the time I was eighteen months old I was splashing freely in pools, rivers and in the sea. It was and is a wonderful thing to feel fully mobile and free of gravity. It feels good to be able to let go of my cumbersome caliper and move swiftly and easily through the water. Ever since childhood I have swum regularly and now at the ripe old age of 58 I swim three times a week. I taught all four of my daughters to swim and I realise now that through swimming we have all learned a great deal about life from the art of keeping afloat in the water.

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The blood of Irish, Catholic immigrants
And Russian, Jewish refugees
Flows through the veins of this Buddhist nun,
A seeker of wisdom, compassion and peace,

Whose path has encircled the world and alights
Now in Edinburgh, where it has stayed.
But my heart cries out for Manchester,
For Manchester where I was made.

And I weep to see your suffering,
Caused by minds deluded by hate,
Yet tears of sadness are mixed with pride,
Seeing what makes my hometown so great.

Strength and kindness in adversity,
That brave, indomitable spirit,
Bred by love that welcomes diversity,
All embellished with pithy, street wit.

Mancunia, Mancunia!
That fortress of northern souls,
Your red brick streets and fields of dreams,
Bear witness to impossible goals.

In grief we stand united,
United we’ll rise from the ruins,
Like so many who’ve gone before us,
For in Manchester, that’s how we do things.

by Ani Rinchen Khandro, AKA Jackie Glass, Mancunian.

A Muslim comforts an elderly Jewish woman (Independent News)




Hello from Goa, land of blue skies, sunshine and palm trees swaying in the balmy breeze. But lest you think that Liz and I are living the languid life of lotus eaters (okay, occasionally…) we are of course as trumped and brexited as the rest of you – but in true Indian style.

Luckily we weren’t here in November when the demonetisation policy kicked in overnight. It caused mayhem and chaos and is still not fully resolved. Basically there is still a shortage of bank notes as they scrapped the 1,000 rupee note and replaced it with a 2,000 note. That’s now £25 quid in UK money with the current crap exchange rate and if you try and pay with it few shops have change to give you or they want plastic money instead. Yes, they are trying to move to a cashless economy where hundreds of millions don’t even have a bank account or their own mobile phone. There are still unreported riots and violence and the poor have no money to pay for fruit, vegetables or milk. Unemployment has risen. Nobody can afford to buy locally built Hero motorcycles, for example, so they’ve had to close the factories. Continue reading


                                                         Jeremy Bishop

Some charismatic leaders take advantage of Western misconceptions rather than correct them, a Tibetan Buddhist teacher from the UK argues.

In today’s Western society, where the dominant cultural systems are failing to provide explanations for life’s philosophical questions, a space has opened up that Buddhism is uniquely suited to address. Continue reading


Warm, five o’clock, Scottish, June sunshine bathes my old ripening skin as I sit here by the Harbour Cottage Art Gallery, overlooking the deep muddied channel of the river. A faint smell of diesel is in the air. Fishing boats are queued up, blue and white, some a little rusted, moored and waiting.

Empty lobster pots are stacked alongside the neatly cut grass the other side of the chain railings which enclose a small park. The inevitable ‘anchor statue’ graces this park. The one which really tugs at the heart strings is the carved oak sculpture of two female figures clinging desperately to each other, representing family awaiting the return of a loved one lost at sea; shows the true emotions connected with such a perilous occupation.

Going back is never a good thing. Better to have the memory. The insulting sanitisation and gentrification of such hardship and honourable work is too much, for the likes of us, to bear. We had work, we had pride in ourselves; we slept from exhaustion, driven by the next day of expectation. It wasn’t a bad life!

Times change you see. Should I feel guilty, now, about what I was doing then? I was merely earning my living. Cold unpleasant work it was. My sons feel the guilt, not me! For me it was blood, sweat and tears. I saw terrible things, a man with his legs ripped off him, caught in the capstan; he never worked again.

They were long hours on board ship, in all weathers, in shocking conditions, you wouldn’t want a dog to experience. I had two littl’uns at home, but I never saw much of the little buggers! They were ‘mummy’s boys’, they hardly knew me.

Looking back, it wasn’t a good thing, killing those beautiful animals. It was barbaric and a truly life-changing experience, but, I’m glad I did it…and the money was good especially if you got a job on the Norwegian factory ships! Paid no dues to any governments yer see. Could be away for 4-5 months on those damn ships, had to travel further afield when the stocks got low.

It was work… and you just got on with it! You could warm yer frozen hands in the blood of a freshly killed whale, but a dead’un, a week old and stinking… boy, you wouldn’t want to be there!

So you see, when I sit here and look at these ‘namby pamby’ tourists drinking their Pinot Grigot and eating their fancy scallops in that garlic and ginger, I get a peculiar feeling in me belly. Very nice life they have, very nice! Soft hands and Nancy shirts, they don’t know what real work is; the horrors I’ve seen. They see these cute fisherman’s cottages all prettied and painted up, think nothing of paying the mad rents and they thinks they’re in Fairyland?

This is an empty, pale ghost of a town haunted by the dead whaling men who didn’t make it back home. I keeps me own thoughts to meself, like. Got big emotions and profound memories of what this place has meant to me over the years. It’s not the place I remember now…I won’t be stayin’ long and I won’t be comin’ back!

Ianthe Pickles
Lives in Liverpool
Aged nearly 68, birthday 18/12/1950
Retired full-time Primary and later Secondary/Special School teacher and college tutor, worked for 37 years.
Read many books related to work only. After retiring, joined a Creative Writing group, with an inspiring tutor, attended courses, and achieved ‘A’ Level in Creative Writing.
Writing (especially poetry) was often a release during emotional and turbulent times in the 1980s working in an area of severe deprivation and unemployment in Liverpool.  Now I write for fun!
A group of us meet regularly in each other’s homes to read and discuss our scribblings!