Transfigured by ceremony, the truths we could not otherwise endure come to us. 

George Mackay Brown

Rosemary Walker writes: On Saturday 24th November five Order members and eight mitras who have asked for Ordination gathered to explore this topic under the guidance of Uddyotani and Samanartha.

After the traditional cup of tea and chat, much enhanced by the provision of a very large box of chocolates, the day began in the shrine room with an open period of meditation around a simple but effective shrine representing the elements: earth, fire, water, air, space and consciousness.

Before lunch we had a brainstorming session concerning rituals in the Triratna Movement and it transpired that almost everything we do, both in the Centre and in our everyday life, has an element of ritual. Uddyotani followed this up with a talk sharing the theory behind ritual, much of it garnered from a Chair's meeting over the summer. She left us with a question to ponder over lunch:

'What do we want to express in ritual?'

Returning to this topic after lunch there was a fruitful and enthusiastic brainstorming session, after which we split into self-selected groups to either build a shrine or formulate a puja. The resulting puja is printed at the end of this article.

It proved a moving and fitting way to round off what had been a really wonderfully harmonious, informative, thought provoking and productive day with a very strong sense of sangha.

Leeds Sangha Puja

Worship

Here seated,

Alongside all beings of all ages,

I turn towards awakening.

Towards things just as they are.

Through incense, I honour every skilful action

in all times, in all worlds

To all the Buddhas, always kind,

always present, I offer light.

As a reminder of transience,

I offer fruit, I offer flowers.

Salutation

Using my heart, my body and my mind,

I bow to this shrine out of respect

and in recognition of the attainment of the Buddha,

all of my teachers, and my many friends in the Dharma.

I bow to this shrine to acknowledge its beauty

and to express my aspiration to become more mindful,

generous, truthful and kind to all living beings of earth, sky and sea.

I bow to this shrine whilst imagining

all the other beings throughout the world

bowing to shrines in this moment and to acknowledge my connection with them.

Mantra: sabbhe satta sukhi hontu (May all beings be happy and well)

Going for Refuge

Homage to Him, the Blessed One,

the Worthy One, the Perfectly Enlightened One!

To the Buddha for refuge I go.

To the Dharma for refuge I go.

To the Sangha for refuge I go.

For the second time to the Buddha for refuge I go.

For the second time to the Dharma for refuge I go.

For the second time to the Sangha for refuge I go.

For the third time to the Buddha for refuge I go.

For the third time to the Dharma for refuge I go.

For the third time to the Sangha for refuge I go.

The Precepts

I undertake to abstain from taking life.

I undertake to abstain from taking the not-given.

I undertake to abstain from sexual misconduct.

I undertake to abstain from false speech.

I undertake to abstain from taking intoxicants.

With deeds of loving kindness, I purify my body.

With open-handed generosity, I purify my body.

With stillness, simplicity and contentment, I purify my body.

With truthful communication, I purify my speech.

With mindfulness clear and radiant, I purify my mind.

Confession of Faults

Just as a butterfly fluttering its wings

sends ripples across the earth,

so do my intentions, thoughts and actions

spread like smoke into the air.

When acting with loving kindness,

skillfulness and acceptance of the way things are

I send a soft beauty into this confused world

When acting with delusion, ignorance and hatred-

I cause harm to myself, to this earth

and to other sentient beings.

These actions I confess and offer up to all awakened minds

to be transmuted into wisdom and understanding.

With every outbreath I let go of unskillful past deeds

Whilst in my heart is the deepest intention to live the Dharma.

Rejoicing in Merit

I rejoice in the qualities of those gathered here:

their commitment to the spiritual path,

their friendship with one another,

their willingness to share their joys and sorrows,

their care and empathy for each other,

their openness to personal change and growth.

I rejoice in the teaching of the Buddha,

interpreted for us by Sangharakshita, our teacher,

and studied, embraced and put into practise

by us and all other Buddhists practising in the world today.

I rejoice in the Enlightenment of the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni.

I rejoice in his many qualities as exemplified

in the figures of the Jinas, Prajnas, Dakinis and Bodhisattvas.

I rejoice that we and many others

in the past, present and future have taken or will take

the precious opportunity of their human birth

to be open to experience the true Nature of Reality.

Entreaty and Supplication

I bow down before the teachers

knowing how much I depend

on the path they have revealed into true freedom.

I bow down before the teachers

knowing how much I depend

on them even as I wander in darkness.

I bow down before the teachers

knowing how much I depend

on the path they have revealed which makes life worthwhile.

Still and silent they sit, freed from the rounds of re-birth

Mighty Conquerors - please stay

Maintain the Dharma lamp so all can follow.

Reading

Sangharakshita's poem 'Life is King'

The Heart Sutra

Transference of Merit and Self-surrender

Whatever positive energy has arisen

as a result of this practice,

may it go to the alleviation of suffering

of all beings without exception.

May we be freed from all hindrances and afflictions,

may we find ease in the tumultuousness of the vedanas

may we see through the obscuring veils of views

and come to rest in our deepest nature

and live in accord with Reality.

Mantra

Om muni, muni, maha muni shakyamuni svaha (Shakyamuni mantra)

I didn't feel much like a 'Spiritual Warrior' as I set off for my 10-day solitary retreat in November. I'm always the same when leaving home. I like my life: my partner, my two dogs, my home, and my work and practice at the Buddhist Centre. Now I was leaving it all... and for what? Ten days by myself in a strange isolated cottage with no outside contact - no phone, TV, radio, music, emails or Facebook.

But with all these attachments pulling me back, all the more reason to get away. Even so, it was late afternoon before I set off and, by the time I reached my accommodation on the edge of the North York Moors, it was pitch black and the place seemed deserted. But at least the cottage was unlocked.

The place was warm and cheerfully furnished and, though it was one of three, the others weren't occupied after the first two nights. Even the farmhouse was hidden away at the back so it felt like I was completely on my own - and, quite surprisingly, that felt really good.
 
Next morning I could almost touch the stillness. The surrounding countryside felt   abandoned and a short walk up the quiet single-track road led to the edge of Wykeham Forest, where large majestic plantations of giant pine, fir and larch loomed up, wild and elemental. As I discovered later, there were steep hills, sudden panoramic views, deep black forests and very little habitation.
  
I suppose everyone has their own idea of what a solitary retreat should be like. For me it is about removing myself from the push and pull of everyday life. We are all defined by what we do and who we mix with. A retreat like this is a chance to see behind that, I think. Getting away from all the things that help me feel safe and secure, all the things that help to construct this fixed sense of 'me', presents an opportunity to find more authenticity: a chance to see my life from a different perspective.

All that sounds good but, actually, it felt quite scary.

Someone once told me that a solitary was like one long, off-the-mat, meditation; trying to be present all the time, whether doing or not doing. So that is what I was trying to do and, inevitably, I spent a lot of time noticing that I had drifted off - just like in regular meditation.

I took Ratnaguna's 'Art of Reflection' with me and found his suggestions incredibly useful. Just sitting on the settee, letting whatever thoughts wanted to arise, arise. When an interesting one appeared, I followed it up, asking myself questions, noticing my felt-response and any sense of resistance to the discussion going on in my head.

Among other things, I spent hours investigating on why I sometimes get stressed and panicky about the jobs and responsibilities in my life (even though these are all easily manageable). I discovered that this may partly relate to my days in business when meeting customers' demands meant financial success or failure; it may also relate to a need to appear reliable, competent and useful (to both myself and others); and to a sense of wanting to 'fix the future' so it feels safe.

But I didn't reflect all the time. I took some Dharma books and, on Samanartha's advice a collection of poetry for emergency use when I needed some beauty (there were quite a few of those moments!).

I spent all but one of the afternoons walking the roads and the tracks through the forest. It was such a delight. Hidden amongst the larger plantations I found small beech woods carpeted in the gold of autumn leaves, untidy silver birch plantations, huge stacks of logged trees ready to go to the wood yard and, everywhere, giant ferns and carpets of thick, bright-green moss.

 
I encountered very few people or vehicles on the roads and no one at all on the forest   paths. I felt totally alone but, strangely, never lonely. Some of the plantations were so closely planted that they were pitch black inside and, walking through one of these near to dusk, I felt the need to call on Amoghasiddhi for courage, chanting the Fearless One's mantra until I reached daylight again

(it worked!).

Most of the time I felt quite settled in my cosy warm cottage but it wasn't all plain sailing. There were times when anxiety and discomfort arose, when I felt 'shut-off' and homesick. When I felt like this, I made a point of sitting with the physical sensations in my body (vedana) and, in Prakasha's words 'snuggling up' to them, accepting that this was how I felt and that it was perfectly okay. It took a while but, each time, the feelings eventually diminished.

 But there were many things to rejoice over as well. The relaxed mornings, sitting by the fire just being present: no pressures, no demands, no distractions. The pleasure of sitting in candlelight on the dark evenings and the meditation and ritual in front of my shrine each morning and evening. Then there were the walks of course, oh those walks!

But most of all I think I was struck a felt-sense of real (and quite beautiful) impermanence. In the deadwood and dying bracken of the forests, in the flying leaves outside my window, in the relentless passing of time, in the changing and changeable weather and in my own journey of joy and difficulty, comfort and discomfort throughout this rich and valuable retreat... When I was alone on the edge of the North York Moors.

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This extract is taken (with permission) from 'The Art of Reflection by Ratnaguna and published by Windhorse publications. Available from the centre bookshop or online at www.windhorsepublications.com 

 Recently I reflected on how I reflect. I realized as I was writing this book that I didn't know how I did it, so I spent some time observing myself, and this is what I discovered. 

First I sit down and allow my being to settle. I compose myself. I become aware of my body and its various sensations, because I think best when the whole of myself is included. I look down at my feet; I feel the contact of my feet on the floor. I feel my stomach rise and fall with the breath. I need time: an open expanse of time spreading out ahead of me, so that I don't feel rushed. To rush is to constrain, and I need to feel that I have time for my mind to expand, time in which I can unfurl and explore.There is a delicious pleasure in idleness, in not doing anything useful, in playing.

Then I just wait. At first there may be no thoughts at all. If I have a problem that I've been trying to solve, I'll remind myself of it. I'll notice the feeling the problem evokes in me: interest, perplexity, discomfort, annoyance, insecurity. Or perhaps I don't have a problem or a question to answer. Perhaps I just want to know a subject better. Then it's as if I'm standing outside a walled garden that I want to enter: to see, feel and smell the plants, trees, grass and earth. Or it's as if I'm looking at an intricate mechanism like a watch, and I want to prise the back off and see how it works.This kind of reflection has no function or use.No immediate use, anyway. I'm thinking for the simple pleasure of thinking, of considering something, of getting to know the world I inhabit better. Sometimes there is no particular topic that I want to think about and so I just wait and see what presents itself to me. There is usually something sitting just below my conscious mind that needs attending to, some unresolved issue or source of unhappiness that just needs a little gentle coaxing into consciousness.

This leads me to another point - something that surprised me when I noticed it. I don't actually 'think', in the sense that I do something. I can't make thinking happen. Instead I allow thoughts to arise. I bring a subject to mind, and then I wait. Perhaps the majority of the time my mind is empty. I'm just waiting for thoughts to appear. Thoughts arise or they don't. There's a sense of letting thoughts come to me, rather than my having thoughts or bringing them into existence. Sometimes stray, random thoughts appear: I remember that I have to phone someone, or that we've run out of cornflakes. I might write these down to remind myself to see to them later - this frees my mind to continue my reflection.

However, when a thought occurs to me that seems worth following I then exert a gentle effort to stay with it. Just the right amount of effort needed to dwell on that thought to see where it might lead me - I don't need to do any more than that. It's a little like being in a boat being taken along with the current. I don't need to row, I just need to adjust the rudder, gently changing direction every now and then, bringing myself back to the topic.

After a while an idea may come to me that seems new and significant, something I've never thought before, and can't remember reading or hearing from anyone else. This new thought is always accompanied by a rush of excitement and pleasure. I think it may be a similar to the creative process of the poet, composer or painter, although I'm not a creative artist so I can't be sure about that. Certainly the experience is of giving birth to something new and fresh. At times like this it feels as if I am learning something, but not in the sense of adding to my stock of information. It's more that I'm seeing the world in a new way, and to do that I've had to become a different person.

The pleasure I get from reflection is not a lazy kind of pleasure, easily obtained, such as I might get from watching a DVD or sitting in the sun. It's the kind of pleasure you get when you are learning a new skill and you can suddenly do something you couldn't do before: the feeling of having stretched yourself, gone beyond your normal boundaries.

This extract is taken (with permission) from 'The Art of Reflection by Ratnaguna and published by Windhorse publications.

Available from the centre bookshop or online at www.windhorsepublications.com

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Please note that the views expressed in this newsletter are the opinions of individual authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Leeds Buddhist Centre, theTriratna Buddhist Community (Leeds) or The Triratna Buddhist Order