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I wasn't able to record our session which I led from a service station on the A12 near Colchester last night. But we did have a good discussion about grief prompted by a question from Margaret. I re-recorded an audio version of my answer below: https://share.descript.com/view/LJeRsVFOlgo

Hey folks, Thought this might be of interest.... an online event taking place next week (it's free to register) - Buddhism and Ecology Summit: Transforming Anxiety into Awakened Action. A bit of contextual blurb from their promo email: A week of free virtual events, including talks and interviews with leading Buddhist teachers, activists, and psychologists, dharma talks, meditation sessions, and workshops. This year, we’ll be focusing on eco-distress: the complex and dynamic constellation of emotions we feel in response to witnessing the destruction of the natural world. Join us to explore questions including: How can we channel our anxiety, grief, and despair into meaningful action? How can we not only stay healthy and sane, but also maintain a sense of joy and purpose in these times of planetary crisis? And how can the dharma support us in living with compassion, equanimity, and wisdom in the face of uncertainty? The week’s lineup of events includes: Meeting Anxiety with Loving Awareness: A Practice Session with Lama Liz Monson From Mindfulness to Movements with Michelle King, Bill McKibben, Dekila Chungyalpa, and Kristin Barker Ecological Storytelling: Cross-Species Collaboration for Navigating Eco-anxiety with Sophie and Clark Strand Not Too Late: Finding Hope in a Time of Despair with Roshi Joan Halifax and Rebecca Solnit … and much more

After we came back from our morning swim, this song was circling in my mind. I'm very much in love with the utter brilliance of the Beatles at the moment. Happy sunny day everyone.

I’m Diana and live in Rossendale, Lancashire. This is an amazing thing to be part of. Thank to Alistair for giving this us this opportunity to be able to share things.

I'm Caroline, from Warrington, Cheshire, UK. Very pleased and excited to have joined Mindsprings. Looking forward to getting to know people on here and learning meditation and mindfulness techniques. I have done some meditation in the past, but it was several years ago and was sporadic, even though I always loved doing it, but as with many things, life and all things hectic got in the way and I stopped practicing. I've had some health issues over the last 2 years, the most serious one being in the last few months and I've come to realise that I need to slow my mind down, slow my body down and start spending a lot more time on my own self-care and wellness. I was neglecting myself and that stops now. 😊 P.S. sorry about the photo in my bathroom, I don't take many photos of myself and that was the best one, LOL!

Sharing a poem Nick Cave directed me to recently. It's definitely not a perfectly rendered piece of writing, but something about it struck me between the eyes! Sharing in case it does the same for you 😊 Sometimes a Wild God by Tom Hirons Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine.   When the wild god arrives at the door, You will probably fear him. He reminds you of something dark That you might have dreamt, Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.   He will not ring the doorbell; Instead he scrapes with his fingers Leaving blood on the paintwork, Though primroses grow In circles round his feet.   You do not want to let him in. You are very busy. It is late, or early, and besides… You cannot look at him straight Because he makes you want to cry.   Your dog barks; The wild god smiles. He holds out his hand and The dog licks his wounds, Then leads him inside.   The wild god stands in your kitchen. Ivy is taking over your sideboard; Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades And wrens have begun to sing An old song in the mouth of your kettle.   ‘I haven’t much,’ you say And give him the worst of your food. He sits at the table, bleeding. He coughs up foxes. There are otters in his eyes.   When your wife calls down, You close the door and Tell her it’s fine. You will not let her see The strange guest at your table.   The wild god asks for whiskey And you pour a glass for him, Then a glass for yourself. Three snakes are beginning to nest In your voicebox. You cough.   Oh, limitless space. Oh, eternal mystery. Oh, endless cycles of death and birth. Oh, miracle of life. Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.   You cough again, Expectorate the snakes and Water down the whiskey, Wondering how you got so old And where your passion went.   The wild god reaches into a bag Made of moles and nightingale-skin. He pulls out a two-reeded pipe, Raises an eyebrow And all the birds begin to sing.   The fox leaps into your eyes. Otters rush from the darkness. The snakes pour through your body. Your dog howls and upstairs Your wife both exults and weeps at once.   The wild god dances with your dog. You dance with the sparrows. A white stag pulls up a stool And bellows hymns to enchantments. A pelican leaps from chair to chair.   In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs. Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields. Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs. The hills echo and the grey stones ring With laughter and madness and pain.   In the middle of the dance, The house takes off from the ground. Clouds climb through the windows; Lightning pounds its fists on the table And the moon leans in.   The wild god points to your side. You are bleeding heavily. You have been bleeding for a long time, Possibly since you were born. There is a bear in the wound.   ‘Why did you leave me to die?’ Asks the wild god and you say: ‘I was busy surviving. The shops were all closed; I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’   Listen to them:   The fox in your neck and The snakes in your arms and The wren and the sparrow and the deer… The great un-nameable beasts In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…   There is a symphony of howling. A cacophony of dissent. The wild god nods his head and You wake on the floor holding a knife, A bottle and a handful of black fur.   Your dog is asleep on the table. Your wife is stirring, far above. Your cheeks are wet with tears; Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting. A black bear is sitting by the fire.   Sometimes a wild god comes to the table. He is awkward and does not know the ways Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver. His voice makes vinegar from wine And brings the dead to life.