The scholar does not consider gold and jade to be precious treasures, but loyalty and good faith - Confucius

Once on a trip to Canada some years ago, my mum and were exploring the beautiful city of Vancouver. We watched fascinated as the little water taxi planes came down to land on the seafront. But after several hours of the city landscape, we grew weary of the shops, the noise, and materialism. We spotted a tiny sign, it said ‘the Chinese scholar’s home and garden’. We decided to enter. 

What a delight! It was a replica of a Chinese scholar’s home from the past and had wooden sliding doors, ornate desks with huge sheets of paper, endless paintbrushes for calligraphy, and the most exquisite gardens. It was built in 1986 by fifty-three master craftsmen from China using 950 crates of traditional material and constructed using 14th-century methods so no glue, screws or power tools.  Everything was made with so much care. Every tree, plant, rock, table, bowl or pond seemed to have been positioned with meticulous intent. 

Just as accurately as the traditional Chinese scholar would have placed his brush on the crisp rice paper to make his figures. The clean lines of the building and the beauty of the gardens nursed our weary spirits.  

Suddenly the noise of the busy city disappeared. Instead, the trickle of water or the noise of a leaf as you brushed past filled the quietness. Each view had been landscaped both externally and internally. A circular wooden opening captured a part of a tree, a corner of a pond or a storm perfectly. We sensed an eye with better taste had carefully honed all this beauty.  Its simplicity spoke to the senses and made you want to absorb it all in respectful silence. Our time there passed peacefully and it was only when the tour ended and we found ourselves on a busy Vancouver street once more, did we suddenly feel the loss of all its calmness and serenity.  

This week a dear friend was leaving the country. Returning to family members in the UK after many years abroad. The cost of posting her belongings, post-Brexit, was not only complicated by endless form filling but also plagued by horrendous shipping costs. It felt as if every item she owned had to be catalogued, described, and recorded by both Foreign Offices and UK official bodies before transportation could begin. Horrified by the high prices my friend carefully culled her precious belongings and then in panic as departure day loomed discarded even more.  She decided the only way to cope was to give her belongings to those she cared for. I received her treasured writing desk and chair, from her father. Soon all of her friends were blessed with her thoughtful bequests. The last few boxes were part of her father’s library and over the last few days, I have been sorting through his books in my flat.

What a delight. Here has evidently been another scholar, not of Chinese calligraphy or gardens but of that mindset. Books on history, religion, philosophy, and biographies abounded. Not one book on serial killers, paedophiles, or romantic fiction and it felt such a privilege handling the scholar’s library. Here, in a huge book on 'Excellence', he had placed a handwritten card with page numbers and recorded insightful quotes on this topic.

One sensed the careful mind behind all these books. The delight in spiritual questions with many books on prayer, Saint Thomas Aquinas, meditation, the life of Christ, and from other different religions. Many were books on education and public speaking or the art of conversation. Then, there were the detailed history books on ancient Greece to medieval Europe and even modern political studies.  Classical literature was there from works by Shakespeare to Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s novels. There was an unexpected little map that folded out to show all the great monasteries and religious centres that had ever existed in the UK.  So many are no longer in existence. There were endless dictionaries in English, Italian and French. I felt like an apprentice who keeps finding his teacher’s tastes are so far beyond him. A book of idioms in both English and Italian, detailed descriptions of societies, intricate philosophy treatises all hurt my mind.  I began to feel like a huge carthorse following a thoroughbred and avoiding the tricky fences while they soared over all before them.  

I was delighted to discover that a scholar’s library is like peering into another’s interests and enthusiasms. It felt like being awakened by their dedication to learn, examine and search for truth wherever it can be found. Wide-ranging and omnivorous in appetite. It seems so refreshing in the world that seems focused on perversity, character assassination or killer’s confessions.  I finished going through the library inspecting the books and discovered I felt the same gratitude I felt outside that scholar’s home in Vancouver. Grateful that such people exist in this world and heartened to think that there are probably other scholars still out there now gleaning things of beauty from this confusing and distracting world.

“Every good habit, every noble quality belongs to man’s spiritual nature, whereas all his imperfections and sinful actions are born of his material nature.”

Bahá’í writings

Life without Facebook

Life without Facebook, well this is almost the first week over and the feeling is actually not one of lose but of huge relief.  The sheer freedom not to have that constant checking of postings is like giving up an onerous job.  

Have made little progress otherwise.  Watched films instead of watching Facebook/internet, so not a great break through and then yesterday I began reading a book.  It is an old favourite, “To Kill a Mockingbird” and am struck by the delight of being able to put the book down and have a break and come back to it.  Novels don’t have that gripping attention that the film/internet demands.  It is like an old friend that you can meet, not see for a few days and then carry on as if nothing has been disturbed.  I am walking more, talking to family instead of being plugged in.  It is early days yet but so far being without Facebook has been a really positive experience.  

I am delighted that close friends are sending more personal emails to me, making the real effort to keep in touch.  Facebook allows that sense of being connected to those we know but it is a fairly insincere contact.  You get all the information without actually talking or phoning.  No real effort is required other than a constant updating on what everyone is doing.  That effort is not balanced by what is received.  Monitoring the postings of friends is not participating in their lives it is more voyeuristic than I like.  It is early days but so far life without Facebook feels like a step forward for me.  Strange to read that others have also made that choice and come to similar conclusions.  Here is one such account that struck a chord with me.

“I quit Facebook because I wanted to live deliberately.

Seventeen months ago, I deleted my Facebook account — not just deactivated it, but fully deleted it — and the relief was tremendous.

No longer did I have to check for updates, deal with friend requests (is this someone whose updates I want in my life? do I want them to see mine?), post whatever was happening in my life, be grossed out by inappropriate sharing, listen to those who wanted to promote their latest business or interests, care about what Farmville game someone else was playing, look at what other people are having for lunch or what parties they’re going to, see “funny” photos, worry about whether people “liked” my update or photo … and so on and so on.

This is not to belittle what others do, but to reflect on the noise that builds up when we participate neck-deep in a social network.”

From http://zenhabits.net/fb/

angels whose feet walk upon this earth even as their souls are soaring through the high heavens

Our news is so often dominated by celebrities whose lives are followed by masses hungry for their latest intrigue or disaster.  Or alternatively, by our politicians, who disappoint us with their greed and corruption.  In a world where the bankers have stolen breathtaking amounts of money and even our clergy fight to free themselves from the stain of child abuse it is often hard to find news that lifts the soul.  But this week a death notice strangely left me moved.  On Page 26 of the newspaper there was a small article at the very bottom about a certain Don Ritchie from Australia who had died at the age of eighty six.  Not a celebrity, nor politician, nor clergyman, he didn’t raise money for charity, nor was he famous.  He lived near the sheer cliffs of Sydney Harbour and during five decades he managed to save between 160 lives.  People, who having lost all hope, had come to end it all by jumping off the cliffs.  Ritchie would spot would be suicides, from his home nearby, and walk to the cliff edge and smile and ask “Can I help you in some way?”  A modest man who courted neither celebrity nor praise, he helped by engaging with the desperate and often invited them back to his home for tea and a chat.  His quiet approach worked and because of Ritchie so many were saved and so many returned to thank the quiet man for his help.  As one survivor described him, “An angel who walks amongst us”.  So in this world where so much crap grabs the headlines and good men are rarely found, I’d like you to remember one Don Ritchie.