So much water.

It's as if I were standing on a bridge; in my imagination it's a small stone bridge and I'm leaning over the edge watching the flowing stream below.

The water is crystal clear and the pebbles, stones and undulations of the stream bottom are clearly visible.

Twigs, air bubbles, leaves, small fish and, sadly, polystyrene containers, paper, card and other junk all floating along together - the good with the bad.

It seems to me that the stream is my life.

And the water that briefly flows beneath me is like the present moment; and then it's gone headed towards the horizon between the banks of the stream.

The twigs and leaves represent the moments in my life that gave and give me joy.

And the junk represents just that - the junk in my life.

Sadly, as the moment flows on I can see the junk in the distance much more clearly than the twigs and leaves.

So today I am meditating on the steam that is my life and asking myself some important questions.

Is the water in the stream always polluted? No it's not. It was crystal clear until I or events added items to it.

Are the stream banks forever fixed? Of course not. The flowing stream can change it's course and so it is with my life - I can change it's course if I want to - and if I act.

Can I limit the amount of junk in the stream? Of course I can by simply filtering the junk out - and so it is with my life - I can filter out junk.

Is there any way that I can see a moment more clearly even once it has passed under the bridge? Sure I can - by journalling and by being sure to record the good moments rather than the junk; by journalling it's as if I were running along the banks of the stream watching a favoured twig or a beautiful fish.

We should all take a moment to look at the stream flowing under our bridge.

The power of ideas.

“Nobody,” Sage reads, “who looks at a shard of flint lying beneath a rock ledge, or who finds a splintered log by the side of the road would ever find magic in their solitude. But in the right circumstances, if you bring them together, you can start a fire that consumes the world.”

This excerpt from The Storyteller, a work of fiction by author Jodie Picoult, brings us face-to-face with one of the great discoveries of living life and human potential. Ideas.

Today I am meditating on the the power of ideas.

Every day a million ideas float past, like butterflies, not necessarily bound anyplace, rather just circulating, just being.

These ideas often go unnoticed because of our inner clamor, our preoccupation with other matters that engage our attention.

And yet, in these fluttering, unassuming, wisps of singular thought is the power to change our perceptions of everything; and to combine two or more is to supercharge our potential.

What great ideas have we failed to notice and combine today?

This book is full of confronting ideas, it's a great story, it's a slice of history, it's an examination of humanity - and inhumanity.

Perhaps if we saw the blood and gore we'd care more?

Parramatta, NSW, Australia. Friday October 2nd, 2015.

It seems appropriate that I should re-emerge in my aging warrior role just several days after a NSW police employee - an administrator - is gunned down, shot in the back of the head execution style, by a young Muslim man aged 15. My preceding post puts this comment in context.

I meditate today about the victim's family - seemingly ignored by politicians and the bureaucracy; but not to worry, before the blood and gore were washed from the pavement, our Prime Minister had engaged with the Muslim community for fear they are concerned about the potential for, arguably understandable, retaliation by an increasingly marginalised majority.

I meditate on the unwillingness of the majority of Australia's journalists to tell the story the way it happened - to simply report the facts.

I meditate on the dangers we face as Muslims increasingly kill and maim people guilty only of being non-Muslims - it used to be in far away countries but now it is happening on Australian suburban streets.

There is occasional talk about appeasement. But the truth is, it seems to me, it is more like cowardice. Those in authority no longer have the moral strength or certainty, or the nationalistic spirit to stand up, and speak up, for our land, and our way of life. And they certainly don't speak for me most of the time.

None of this is going to end well for traditional Caucasian Australians, for Christians, and ironically for the chattering classes that so want this already doomed social experiment to continue - the intelligentsia will be the first to face the sword come the overthrow of our political system and our religious freedoms; if you're a politician, a bureaucrat, a journalist or political commentator, an educator, a doctor, an author, a minister or priest, a gay person, or just somebody Muslims disagree with - like the elderly historian recently killed for protecting historic treasures, you stand a very good chance of sharing the fate of Mr Curtis Cheng, Friday's innocent victim.

Remember if you are a non-Muslim in an Islamic society there are only three options:
- you can become a Muslim - and for later recanting your decision the penalty is death, or
- you can decline to become a Muslim and pay special taxes, and live as a second-class citizen, or
- death.

Isn't it time more people had an opinion, and spoke up for what we thought we once were?

Five faces. Saying everything - and nothing.

The top picture. Two hostages holding a sign under duress.

Middle picture. A man holding an unknown number of hostages in a cafe in the centre of Sydney, with a hostage.

Bottom picture. Australia's prime minister, standing before a Christmas tree, responding; platitude central!

The majority of Australia's media has yet to agree it's a terrorist situation. It's apparently not agreed that it's sponsored by Islamic fundamentalists. Sigh. Perhaps it's Methodists - or Buddhists? But we all know with certainty that it wouldn't be - even though our politicians, bureaucrats, and media won't say it.

Today I'm meditating on whether there are sufficient people left any longer to speak up for billions of people that are simply trying to go about their daily lives without fear of intrusion by others promoting alternative cultures and beliefs.

And I'm praying the hostages are safe.

What stands in the way becomes the way.

If you saw the movie Gladiator you'll probably remember the character on the left; and on the right you'll see a more ancient rendering.

Meet Marcus Aurelius; Emperor of the Roman Empire.

We don't know a great deal about about his life - details considered accurate are sketchy.

But we do know a great deal about what he thought and believed because his great legacy was his writings entitled The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius; these are still being read, and his thinking embraced, nearly 2,000 years after his death. I have no fears that my own scribblings will be exposed to the same lengthy scrutiny.

I am an avid reader and I have read his meditations and I came across a recently written book that focuses, using the Aurelius texts, with laser-like precision on dealing with issues in life - and with failure.

So today I meditate on the words of Marcus Aurelius, written two millennia ago, about dealing with issues.

We can be confident that these words have some validity because, as author Ryan Holiday explains: In his own reign of some nineteen years, he would experience nearly constant war, a horrific plague, possible infidelity, an attempt at the throne by one of his closest allies , repeated and arduous travel across the empire - from Asia Minor to Syria, Egypt, Greece and Austria - a rapidly depleting treasury, an incompetent and greedy stepbrother as co-emperor and on and on and on.

So in our imagination we can see Marcus Aurelius sitting, perhaps in a tent on a snow covered battlefield somewhere in northern Europe, or in a palace overlooking the River Tiber amid the splendors of Rome, or in a plain room with whitewashed walls and scant furnishings musing and meditating on, and composing the empowering words and sentences that we still read today.

Marcus Aurelius wrote about taking action to overcome issues:

Our actions may be impeded … but there can be no impeding our intentions or dispositions. Because we can accommodate and adapt. The mind adapts and converts to its own purposes the obstacle to our acting.

The impediment to action advances action.

What stands in the way becomes the way.

Toolkit.

http://www.amazon.com/Obstacle-Way-Timeless-Turning-Triumph-ebook/dp/B00G3L1B8K/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1418527017&sr=1-1&keywords=the+obstacle

Giving.

This piece of art hangs in my Thai home; I'm not sure of the cultural significance of this lineup of six monks of descending size; it is a common motif in Asia.

There is an inconsequential story about it which I treasure; I took very good friends to a store where they saw this and we all loved it; they decided they would buy it which saddened me because I would have loved the piece for myself. But in the process of paying and wrapping they came to the conclusion, without any Machiavellian urging from me, that getting it home to Australia would be a taxing task; in terms of energy consumed, and probably financial as well!

This morning I began my day my offering monks food and a flower; these monks are not begging, in fact, it is somewhat the reverse because by accepting my offering they provide the valuable service of enabling me to make 'boon' - or merit - as we would say in English. In a sense it's like a loyalty program for participating Buddhists.

The merit earned can be used to ease the journey of loved ones that have passed on, or for oneself when a time of need arises.

Traditionally monks walk the highways and byways of Thailand at sunrise; historically they begin when there is light enough for them to see the lines on the palm of a hand; although I imagine that now many rely on an alarm of some kind. The Thai faithful stand outside their homes and wait, they go go to the local market where there will always be one or more monks, or they can simply go in search of one of these orange- or brown-robed men pacing their footwear-less way through cities, towns and villages. The food, and sometimes money, collected helps support the local temple community including the monks and, more often than not, feed others; if you are ever penniless in Thailand go to any temple, any morning, and you'll be fed, no questions asked.

I don't do this to make merit. I do it for three reasons.

First because it is the easiest way I know to help feed those less fortunate than myself. Second because it furthers the work of Buddhism which is a power for good in Thailand, and around the world; all Buddhists, including some monks, are not perfect but the Buddha's message is for all seasons, and for anyone with spiritual or practical needs. And third because one of the Buddhist beliefs is that to give brings as many rewards to the giver as to the receiver.

I meditate today that I am fortunate to have the opportunity to give to others.

Pleasingly fresh from the ocean. Sadly Picasso-like in death.

These fish, destined for the breakfast table, are fresh and their scales are beautifully, and now wastefully, colourful; lime green, electric blue, sunshine yellow, shiny charcoal grey, and the silver of burnished pewter. They nestle in a water-filled hollow in the sand.

For me it's novel, but not rare in Thailand, to see fishermen in action on the beach in the mornings; and their catch goes from the ocean to  plate, a few yards from the ocean's edge, with very little delay.

My lifestyle has, for a very long time, made home cooked or even fresh, as opposed to packaged, food, a rare event. Almost an event for which I was barely prepared in my Australian home; the number of utensils required to open and consume a microwavable dinner are very few! And in Thailand, where to eat out is always cheaper than eating in, my dining table is to be found in numerous places.

So you can imagine, I'm not a fisherman, hunter, or even a vegetable gardner; nor am I much of a cook - gourmet or otherwise.

Fishing techniques in Thailand have changed very little over years - centuries - and typically they involve a net, circular or long and shallow; these nets are cast or placed and then gathered-in trapping mostly fairly small fish.

I suppose this Thailand beach scene could be typical of any time in the last several hundred years.

 

 

The man casts the net and the woman has a basket in which the catch is kept - she draws it through the water periodically to, I imagine, keep the fish fresh. 

Today I'm meditating on the satisfaction that must come from taking just enough from the ocean for your breakfast. Economical. Sustainable. Perhaps even spiritual. And then conversely I meditate on how hard it must be to search for your next meal, rain or shine. 

 

In our western world large numbers of people now demand sustainable lifestyles, often of others rather than themselves, and while I applaud their zeal I wonder, who is going to give up what they have come to expect as a lifestyle right? Who is going to be prepared to go hungry when the fish are not biting. And who among us will give up the 4WD, or the family saloon? And who among us will use electricity only when the sun is shining?

I'm meditating on the human state-of-mind that must accompany a commitment to sustainability; it's not just about giving up, it's about every one of us doing things differently.

 

Our state-of-mind must be that fishing is an art. And that fish should be art.

 

It's going to be quite a change for most of us.