Modest Pleasures

Slower, quieter, more steeped in joy

My little shrine with the most amazing flowers

I saw it as if for the first time. Wow!

I was cross-legged opposite my little office shrine, sitting quietly for ten minutes as I do every morning. Yesterday, for whatever reason, I zoned in on the bindi floating just above the Buddha’s eyebrows.

It was a miniscule circle of the most brilliant aquamarine. I know that my Buddha was painted by hand. Whose hand held the brush? Did they hold their breath as they painted it? How did they get it so perfectly, perfectly round?

Seeing the bindi infused me with a quiet, pervasive joy. It soaked through my aching limbs and my fluttery stomach. It blessed me.

Before sitting I had managed to change the wilting daisies in my tiny vase for something fresh. This is a job that I often procrastinate about, even though I know it only takes ten minutes. There are other jobs on my list like this. They often involve something I’m not good at or have resistance to: cleaning, uncomfortable conversations, self-care. Getting my hair cut. Telling someone I don’t like something. Tackling the dust monsters down the side of the sofa.

It’s much harder for me to do these jobs when my days are full. When my head is full. There is often a back-and-forth dance with overfullness. I cram things into my schedule and then take them out again. I get swept along by my ambition or my compulsions and then find firmer ground again. I get seduced by capitalism, or tangled in ideas of what I should be enjoying or doing or being.

I forget that what makes me happy, and what supports me to make good offerings to others, is less.

I put the daisies in the compost bin (thank you) and went out into the temple garden. Anemones, with their yolky centres and their shaded frilly petals. Young cow parsley, with its blushing tinge of pink. Just a few of each, and my vase is complete.

Photo by Sergey Semin

Last night, still affected by the perfectly painted bindi, I remember that what makes me happy is less. I look up from my book as the dogs wrestle each other and delight in their delight - the teasing crouches, the sudden jerks forwards, the chase scenes, the beautiful choreography. What more would I find at a world class ballet? Before bed I use the jasmine scented shea butter on my face, and my nose breaks into a grin. Imagine - the scent of flowers from the past, captured in a jar!  

Modest pleasures. These are the pleasures that are always available to me, and that I waste with a terrible careless profligacy. It’s understandable that I would judge myself so harshly for this missing - it is a tragedy that I ignore all these tiny treasures. It is also very human. As my spouse Kaspa wrote yesterday, we are ‘ugly bags of mostly water’. I say this with the utmost of fondness for this ugly bag as it sits at the computer, tapping on keys. I imagine all the greed, hatred and delusion sloshing around inside me. We are so excruciatingly vulnerable. We have developed so many layers of gnarly self-protection around our tender cores. It is a wonder that we can let the world’s gifts in at all!

I am interrupted by a goldfinch. I can see her from here, making her way from poppy stalk to bending poppy stalk.

She is saying to me, be gentle with yourself, Satya, and enjoy these moments of quiet joy when you can.

Go gently,
Satya <3

Tell me: What quiet moment of pleasure has been available to you over the past twenty four hours? When we share them with each other, the pleasure ripples out…

Things from the week

🌼 Eight days later and we are still waiting to hear if our offer was successful on our dream house. The last viewing was yesterday. Maybe we’ll hear today???

🌼 Reading Naomi Klein’s Doppelganger for fibre and Veronica Heley’s cozy murder mysteries for handfuls of toffee popcorn.

🌼 Doing a lot of musing about this Going Gently newsletter and wanting to find ways of it being less what I think you might want (or might pay for) and more what I feel called to offer you.

🌼 Rejoining my lovely group of fellow Buddhist teachers for a regular Friday afternoon Zoom discussion of all-things-Dharma - why haven’t I been for so long? (Because my head was full of houses!)

🌼 Finally clearing out the drawer crammed over-full of Random Small Things before we move (felt SO good!)

A sprinkling of wisdom

(If you are a little allergic to the G-word, feel free to substitute Love or Buddha or dear Earth or whatever is bigger-and-truer-than-you.)

I’ve accepted that the whole of my life will be a pilgrimage toward the sound of the genuine in me. This may sound troubling to those who’ve been conditioned to believe that our journey is to God and God alone, but I say the two paths are one. My journey to the truth of God cannot be parsed from my journey to the truth of who I am. A fidelity to the true self is a fidelity to truth. I won’t apologize for this.

~ Cole Arthur Riley