Walking Walton

The other morning I walked the mile from my temporary lodging to Colchester Town rail station, and took the 9.07 (am) train to Walton on the Naze. It was a beautifully clear, sunny day. Excitement was mounting as I entered the coach, wondering what changes there might have been in the twenty years since I was last in Walton. In the carriage I really did try to obey all the Greater Anglia rules. I wore a face mask, and did try to social distance myself, but as I was alone in the carriage that proved to be difficult. An official announcement suggested that I spread out as much as possible throughout the train. I only managed about a six foot circumference.

Having dashed out comparatively early (well, 8.30 am, which admittedly isn’t early for some people), the only breakfast I had was an ageing banana and a 3 in 1 coffee (as I'd run out of coffee bags). I really do miss my Malaysian 'sock', handy for straining tea or coffee. I’ve desperately tried to find the name of the ‘sock’ used for beverages but so far the only word used, that I could find in Malaysia, is ‘sock’. Elsewhere in the world it’s called a ‘chorreador’ (Costa Rica).

As the day brightened, a Winter sky developed to eggshell blue and the sun became bright, but cold. It was my 71st birthday. As this year, one year ago today I spent my birthday (70th) alone, apart from a tuk tuk driver. We were in Angkor, visiting the Buddhist and Hindu Wats (temples), in Cambodia. There really could not have been two more different venues for an annual celebration of birth than the Essex coast and Angkor city of Wats.

Winter trees and hedgerows became silhouetted by the sun as I travelled on the not uncomfortable railway train. It's the same route I took a few weeks back, but instead of disembarking at Frinton I was going further, to Walton and attempting the coastal walk back to Frinton, then a train back from Frinton to Colchester Town.

Walton under the Nase as it was known by Daniel Defoe (‘A tour in circuits, through the island of Great Britain, Letter I’, back in 1722), is now called Walton-On-The-Naze. The Naze (according to Wikipedia) being derived “from Old English næss "ness, promontory, headland". Confusingly it’s also known as “Walton le Soken”. Again from Wikipedia (because I’m far too lazy to go searching elsewhere for trivia) “Sokens is a name often used to describe the area containing the traditional parishes of Thorpe, Kirby and Walton, which now lie in Tendring district in the Naze area of northeast Essex. ... The name 'Soken' is derived from the Saxon 'soc' or 'soca', signifying immunity, peculiar privileges and jurisdiction”. So now you know.

Sadly, all Mr Defoe could find to recommend in Walton (before he hurried over to Harwich) was “a round bricktower, near 80 foot high” and the fact that there were a significant number of “Copperas Houses”, or places where Copperas or green vitriol (ferrous sulphate) was processed (and supposedly used for a variety of purposes including inks and dyes). Back in the 1700s there was no pier. Mind you, there is hardly a pier there now as it’s “temporarily closed”.

Back in the day, my charitable younger self (and others) would escort teams of ‘Care in the Community’ subjects (that is people who had found shelter in a psychiatric institution, only to be thrown out and on to the mercy of the uncaring public, due to shortages of both finance and caring) from Clacton on Sea, to Walton Pier to play ‘Ten-Pin Bowling’, one afternoon per week. 

My memories, as memories will, drift even further back to a Walton which had a boating ‘lake’, where I and school friends would attempt to learn the intricacies of staying afloat in canoes (kayaks). I loved it, but outgrew it. Next, came early teen longings for female company and the hunting of female prey, with another friend, now my oldest friend (56 years). We failed miserably. This was because we failed to understand the notion of ‘Day Tripper’ (as portrayed by The Beatles, in the song of the same name). At 71, he and I are both, now, single, with no intention of repeating past mistakes.

 And so to the ‘Pier’

The original pier was built in the 1870s, but has undergone great difficulties ever since. At present the latest version, sans Victorian merry go round, is closed and, although workmen were there, appeared desolate. Walton on the Naze itself felt no better. I appreciate that it was off season, but I had the distinct impression that these seaside towns (Clacton and Walton certainly) had seen much better days.

The sea side walk to Frinton on Sea was much shorter than I had imagined, and very quickly I was entering that charity shop town for the second time in recent times.

I had thought of lunching there but, honestly, couldn't find anywhere suited to a birthday lunch. I got the train back to Colchester Town several hours quicker than I had envisaged and ate at Fai's Chinese restaurant instead.

There will be other days, other walks, I hope…yesterday's was 5.5 miles.

A Meditation on Meditation (2)

Six 'Vision and Transformation' classes at the Colchester Buddhist Centre have raced by.

Yesterday was the final class which mainly concerned meditation and, together, we tackled the 'Five Hindrances' to meditation.

They are;

Craving and Desire (the experience of wanting our experience to be different during meditation).
Anger and Ill-will.
Restlessness and Anxiety.
Sloth and Torpor (having no energy or enthusiasm)
Doubt and Indecision.

This was followed by a ' Walking Meditation' practice and the Metta Bhavana (Loving Kindness) meditation. It was a lot to cram into two and a half hours, and easily could be extended.

Many searching souls sample meditation.

Since the late 1950s and 60s, and the landing of Zen Buddhism in American culture (with D.T. Suzuki, a Zen teacher from Japan) meditation has been the hip, or is that the cool thing to practise. In fact since the 1950s Beat Poets, Jack Kerouac included (‘Mexico City Blues’), who, though born a Catholic, had practised Buddhist meditation. Meditation, it seems, is now de rigueur for busy people who seek (and need) non-alcoholic and non-drug assistance in winding down. Never mind that Eastern meditation has been around for roughly five thousand years, in various forms.

But why bother with meditation anyway? Perhaps, initially, you thought that being seen sitting cross-legged on a supportive cushion, with your arms supported on your legs and index fingers touching your thumbs, made you seem more interesting. It doesn't. That's just a media hype born out of the current mania (and a money making factory) for mindfulness, and the imagery of beautiful young things, slim and radiant, selling the latest fad to quick-fix hungry over-workers. No, battling the merry japes and pranks of the 'Monkey Mind' is constant hard work (insert images of flying monkeys from L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, 1900).

Researchers have been discovering what many more spiritual peoples have known for centuries, and that is…that meditation is good for the brain and body.

Articles, such as those written by Paul H. Levine in The Phi Delta Kappan journal (1972, TRANSCENDENTAL MEDITATION AND THE SCIENCE OF CREATIVE INTELLIGENCE) and magazines like ‘Time’ (1975, TM Forty Minutes to Bliss), ‘The Harvard Gazette’ (2006, Meditation found to increase brain size) and Psychology Today (2013…Robert Puff Ph.D.’Meditation for Modern Life An Overview of Meditation: Its Origins and Traditions’) have considered then encouraged meditation.

According to those who know better than I,‘meditation’ comes from the Latin word ‘meditatum’,which means ‘to ponder.’ However what we now would like to call ‘meditation’, hails back to India (probably about 1500 BC and indicated in both the Upanishads and the Mahabharata) while the practice of ‘Dhyāna’ or ‘Jhāna’ (in Buddhism) is seen as a training of the mind.

Meditation is very much a practice, like learning to play a violin, or working up to a marathon walk or run. Hence the five hindrances, or five easy ways to give up meditating without really trying, because it would be so much easier to give up rather than persevere.

And so the class has ended. Never mind, I’ve still got my fortnightly Colchester Buddhist Centre ‘Men’s Group’ to look forward to, where we discuss Triratna Western-style Buddhism and, hopefully, internalise some of the wisdom therein.. 

Walking Back

Walking back from the Colchester Buddhist Centre, Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Rainy Day, Dream Away’ pounded through my brain. Storm Eunice had been reduced to mere rain on my journey. It was that miserable, soul-grinding rain which England is famed for. However, despite the cold on my hands, the dampness of my lower trouser-legs, I wasn’t despairing, or even unhappy as I carried my shopping back from Aldi, which is rapidly becoming my favourite supermarket.

There was something, a tiny bit of bliss which lingered after a morning at the afore-mentioned Centre. It was a certain something which coloured the following afternoon with an ever-so slight rosy tint.

Saturday had seen us back on the 'Vision & Transformation' course, after a week's break when the Centre was closed (last Saturday) because of various attendees being on 'retreat'. I've not yet found the will to go on retreat, but I'm easing myself into the idea, slowly. Instead I have promised myself a holiday, a break away from ‘This precious stone set in the silver sea’ well, a working holiday, possibly in Sri Lanka, to visit some artist friends, Buddhist temples and the home of Theravāda Buddhism. Quite possibly next month. Then to devote an entire issue of The Blue Lotus magazine to my findings.

As we near the end of the course, we end this batch of learning concerning an introduction to the Buddhist 'Eightfold Path' the 'Four Noble Truths' and the 'Five Precepts' or ethical guidelines. I have enjoyed the very creative way the course has been presented, as well as the interactions and knowledge sharing.

Learning really does depend on the teacher every bit as much as on the student. I have been lucky. I have encountered a few really good 'teachers' throughout my years of study, from Art School days through university and right up until this present course. Of course I am not leaving the learning there. I’m (well tentatively) signed up for a (possible) four years of further study concerning Triratna Buddhism. Watch this space.

Winter edges towards Spring. Dawn gets earlier, Dusk later. Daily I am up at 6am meditating. Candle and incense burn as I enjoy my wrestle with my "monkey mind'. Then coffee and the day begins… 

Train to Tate Modern

Mohan Samat, In the Beginning there was a Man, a Woman, and a Benevolent Ghost 1980

Yesterday I was up at the crack of dawn before actually as the sunrise was officially 6.50am.

I skulked about, trying desperately to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb my fellow borders and exited the building for my one mile walk to Colchester Town train station.The morning was cool, not definitely cold but chilled enough to let me clearly understand that I was no longer in the Far East.

I was on time for the train, and the train (at 6.49am) was on time for me. It was a happy meeting.

After a brief interlude, changing trains at Colchester rail station and encountering far more people than I have since I really don’t know when, we (the collective we) were trundling along to London and my intrepid day out with my young (occasional) companion.

Around 7.56am, the Greater Anglia ‘fast’ train sidled into London Liverpool Street Station.

Anticipating a dearth of available breakfasting establishments (a knowledge gleaned from several similar visits) I had brought with me a plastic bottle of Volvic water and two practically past their sell-by date bananas, to keep my energy levels up. At Liverpool Street Station, I had the distinct privilege of sitting on one of the ultra modern benches constructed with oak and beech, designed by Johan Berhin, apparently.

Then, after my brief banana interlude, there was a short ‘Underground’ journey (via the Circle Line) to Blackfriars, so named for the Blackfriars who were, unsurprisingly, Friars who wore black ‘cappas’ (capes). The Friars had first come to London in 1221 and established their first London monastery on the outskirts of the City. The name Black Friars started being used around 1317.

There was a fifteen minute (ish) walk from Blackfriars to the South Bank of the River Thames and towards Tate Modern, formerly the Bankside Power Station (built in 1891 and decommissioned in 1981) I ‘swam’ against the hurried tide, idly lumbering along the streets in distinct opposition to the work-a-day crowd who obviously didn’t have William Henry Davies’ poem ‘Leisure’ in mind, but I did.

I was early.

I mooched about photographing this and that around the Tate Modern building. I was struck by Emily Young’s collection of statuary until, that is, my little beady eyes witnessed ‘Gail’s’ emporium at Neo Bankside. It was not only open but an eatery stuffed to the brim with ‘Continental’ breads and pastries (‘God’ bless Gail Mejia for this idea). At which point I immediately likened myself to Oscar Wilde, who was wont to utter phrases such as “I can resist anything except temptation”. So I didn’t bother resisting and, instead, ordered a Flat White coffee and a rather plumptious ‘pain au chocolat’.

The day had started well and was due to get even more 'interesting'.

We, my occasional companion and I, had been somewhat mystified by the timed ticketing system at Tate Modern. We had assumed that we could obtain entry tickets at the Museum itself, that is actual, physical tickets, the sort you might want to use later as book marks and remember the day you got them and who you were with. But no.

No physical tickets.

Instead, a pole which held a small board. Upon the board a notice asking those who approached to scan the QR (Quick Response) code to gain free tickets for entry into Tate Modern. The completed code and request then being read by the sentry. There is the thought that the tickets being free, and the entry being free, why the need to seek out the pole, its board, and notice in the first place.

We entered.

Somehow, four hours drifted by, and we were still not finished with the ground floor of the first of two buildings and sixteen floors. We had been beguiled by Picasso, Braque, Leonara Carrington et al. We marvelled at Zao Wou-Ki, Mohan Samant, Max Ernst, and were nearly sent doolally by optical illusions bending our minds.

I had to blinker my eyes on exiting past the art book shop, lest I fall prey to my addiction for books about art. And we were off. Out. Ready to attack lunch.

I had seen Lin's Chinese restaurant as I had walked alone towards Bank Side and later suggested to my occasional companion that we eat there. Thankfully, the food was authentically Chinese and delicious.

Then, it was time for my rush towards Liverpool Street Station and back to my Abbeyfield Monk's Hole.

It was a glorious day that simply rushed by.

Of Teachers and Communication

Of Teachers and Communication...

“The role of teaching in Buddhism should come naturally to some degree. Being a tradition that frames itself around the triratna, or three jewels, which include an awakened teacher (Buddha), his teachings (Dharma), and a community of awakened disciples (Sangha), Buddhism often places the ideal of teaching and of the teacher as the hub of its sense of self-identity (literally and metaphorically, as the Buddha is a cakravartin, a ‘wheel’)”

(Sarbacker, Stuart Ray. “SKILLFUL MEANS: WHAT CAN BUDDHISM TEACH US ABOUT TEACHING BUDDHISM?” Method & Theory in the Study of Religion, vol. 17, no. 3, Brill, 2005, pp. 264–73.)

Sangharakshita, the initiator of a ‘Western style’ Buddhism into the United Kingdom and believer in Dr Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar’s modified Buddhism, was an interesting thinker regarding the adaptation of Buddhism to modern life and was the founder of ‘Friends of the Western Buddhist Order’, now known as the Triratna Buddhist Community to which the Colchester Buddhist Centre has connections. Sangharakshita, like Gautama Buddha, was also a teacher in the true sense.

It was a blustery Saturday with sun enough for me to take some photos on the way to class. I find that looking at my day as I walk, looking around me, noticing the day helps. That one mile walk brings me authentically into the day and preps me for the weekly ‘Vision & Transformation’ class.

Our Saturday morning teacher (at the Colchester Buddhist Centre) once again eased us into the Eightfold Path (Four Noble Truths +). Obviously ‘skilful’ he used practical teaching to reveal the ‘Path’ or ‘Way’ to we stumblers.

Yesterday, instead of getting us all lost within symbolism and complex sounding Pali and Sanskrit nomenclature, our teacher presented the notion of ‘Right Speech’ (‘Samma vaca’ perhaps ‘perfect speech’?) reframed as skilful communication.

We were learning practical aspects of 'Right Speech' aka speaking with wisdom or skillful communication. In his adroit way, our teacher introduced us to three hands-on and very practical communication exercises, two performed with one other, the third in small groups, they were…

Looking at the other, no speaking.

Just looking. It took me a while of feeling quite uncomfortable to realise that the exercise was not about observation, but authentically experiencing an other. I can be slow at times.

Mirroring

Having movements 'led' by the other, i.e. mirroring the other. A most interesting exercise as we took turns to lead.

Praising an absent other

This was a small group exercise, sharing and singling out a friend or acquaintance to whom we felt kindness towards, or deserving of our positive energy or praise. I chose someone whom I admire in Cambodia. Someone who helped me get by for a year and four months during the pandemic there, and who helped me ‘escape’ too. For which I shall be eternally grateful for. I told of her many attributes, her painting skills, her music making, martial art skills, her warmth and positive energy towards her students, staff, children and so much more...

These exercises were followed by our one hour, teacher led, Metta Bhavana (Loving Kindness or unbounded friendliness) Meditation (which eventuates in an equanimous practice of love/friendliness towards all beings), and which I’m slowly coming to terms with (I have been experiencing difficulty spreading loving kindness to the ‘difficult person’, who shall not be named or shamed here, but I am getting there).

It has been suggested that the form of Metta Bhavana practised, at least in the West, now was somewhat modified in Chapter 9 of Buddhaghosa’s Visuddhimagga (Pali: Path of Purification), which dates back to the 5th century AD

my little adventure

Clamouring for some relief from my monastic existence, yesterday I indulged myself by taking the Greater Anglia train service from Colchester Town rail station to Frinton on Sea.Of course, I first had to walk the one mile to Colchester Town Station then, on return, the one mile back. A grand total of eight miles from the beginning of my adventure to the end.

The February day was cool, overcast, and as pleasant as a British February day could be. The direct train from Colchester Town was sparsely populated and meandered past Hythe, Wivenhoe, Alresford, Great Bentley, Weeley, Thorpe-Le-Soken and Kirby Cross stations to edge into Frinton on Sea rail station without undue fuss or announcement.

Frinton on Sea is slightly over fifteen miles from Colchester. It was developed as a seaside town in the1890s and has always been a somewhat effete, gentile town known for housing retirees and banning pubs and boarding houses. It is also known for orderly beach huts and swathes of sand suitable for walking chihuahuas and Scottish terriers.

It is the posh neighbour to the more robust Essex seaside towns of Walton on the Naze and Clacton on Sea which (like Southend-on-Sea) has a history of housing expatriate London East End gangsters, sandwiching Frinton between them. Today’s Frinton seems to exist solely to house a main street of dainty tea (or coffee) houses and charity shops, and little else.

To me, the one saving grace of Frinton was the very first charity shop I encountered, a charity (second hand) bookshop, wherein I purchased John Berger’s excellent ‘Ways of Seeing’ (which had accompanied his TV series), ‘Art in China’ by Craig Clunas and ‘Tate Britain Companion to British Art’ by Richard Humphreys - all for the princely sum of £8. I would have bought more but for a) the intended walk to Clacton and b) an honest attempt to keep my life free from clutter after my losses in Malaysia.

And so, mobile smart phone with additional camera in hand, to the walk…

Not wanting to traipse sand into my rented double room space, I eschewed the beach walk in favour of the higher ground path above the Frinton-on-Sea beach huts. Clouds constantly threatened rain, but as I was oblivious to this threat there was no rain during the entire chilled walk. Sea breezes came readily and coldly as I espied the eyesore which is the Gunfleet Sands Offshore Wind Farm (48 turbines), then walked past Frinton’s golf course. The wind became bitingly keen as I edged further out of the town and across the 16th century ‘Gunfleet Estuary’ of Holland River where, in 1677, apparently, a forty-two feet ‘Monstrous Whale’ had been stranded.

The occasional dog walker smiled, though many didn’t, as I trod my path and braced myself against the elements. The walking, the occasional solitude and the exposure to Mother Nature all put somewhat of a spring in my step until, that is, after several miles when  my steps became more labouredWalking past wartime coastal defences (which were built on the beaches, seawalls, cliffs and greenswards from Frinton to the boundary of Holland-on-Sea/Clacton), I eventually reached Holland Haven (aka Holland-on-Sea) which is on the outskirts of Clacton and there remembered my days living there at Holland Haven, and the boatyard therein which had housed my father’s modest fishing boat, some twentyseven years ago. 

Clacton pier and the town centre were (quite literally) in the distance as I began the final stretch of my little adventure. I was determined not to call an Uber, nor wait for a bus even though my strength was waning and my feet complaining. I had set myself the goal of walking that distance between the two rail stations, and walk I would, and did.

Unfortunately, Clacton was not as I had left it seventeen years previously, it had, in fact, become even more run down and dour. As I transversed ‘The Esplanade’, then ‘King’s Parade’ and ‘Marine Parade East’ my romantic memory of Clacton entirely dissipated. By the time that I was looking for lunch I had begun to despair. The largest lunch emporium seemed to be McDonald’s, though there was a mini Subway in Station Road and a small Wimpy burger place nearby I really couldn’t find anywhere I wanted to eat in. 

Eventually I found myself pulled by the promise of ‘Pie & Mash”, which sounded suitably British and traditional. I ordered. There was no choice of which sort of pie, there was just (minced meat) pie (and mashed potato). I was asked if I wanted ‘Liquor’. I had no idea what that was so I said yes. Apparently it is supposed to be fish stock, flour and parsley, but was originally made from the remains of jellied eels and was very London working-class food . The green flecked liquid I ended up with looked, and tasted, more like flour and water paste. The pie was barely edible and distinctly reminded me of ‘Cut-Me-Own-Throat’ Dibbler’s dubious pies from Terry Pratchett’s ‘Discworld’ series of comic fantasy novels. It was, quite possibly, the worst meal I have ever eaten (well half of). Luckily I had bought two Banbury cakes (yes despite my recent diabetes diagnosis) and ate one with a very watery ‘Flat White’, while waiting for the train back to Colchester. I had been informed that, as a diabetic, it is very important to eat regular meals.

Tiredly I tramped that final eighth mile back to my lodgings with a huge sense of achievement. 

Magpie caw morning

In this magpie caw morning, just before dawn's early light, I await the distant land gulls.

Yesterday, staying in the now, I walked the 20 minutes to the Colchester Buddhist Centre, fascinated by Winter sun, shadows of trees, branches stretching into the sky's blue, still green grass, textures on doors, walls, brickwork.

It was the third of six weeks, I didn't want to miss any time despite a morning with disconcerting dizziness, courtesy of either hypertension or blood sugar levels, maybe both. Seventy is a dangerous age (Cynthia).

That morning we were introduced to a whole host of Buddhas. Yes there are more than one. Usually we might concern ourselves with Gautama Buddha often called Siddhartha (he who has found meaning), but I am told that there maybe at least 28 Buddhas including Taṇhaṅkara Buddha, Medhaṅkara Buddha, Saraṇkara Buddha, Dīpankara Buddha, Koṇdañña Buddha, Maṅgala Buddha, Sumana Buddha, Revata Buddha, Sobhita Buddha, Anomadassi Buddha, Paduma Buddha, Nārada Buddha, Padumuttara Buddha, Sumedha Buddha, Sujāta Buddha, Piyadassi Buddha, Atthadassi Buddha, Dhammadassī Buddha, Siddhattha Buddha, Tissa Buddha, Phussa Buddha, Vipassī Buddha, Sikhī Buddha, Vessabhū Buddha, Kakusandha Buddha, Koṇāgamana Buddha, Kassapa Buddha, and ending with Gautama Buddha.

In Malaysia, I'd be in car, stopping at traffic lights, noticing the word Amitabha on a car sticker normally 'I  Amitabha'. I knew that it must mean something religious, but I had no idea what, or the phrase's significance.

Amitābha, (Sanskrit: “Infinite Light”) is also called Amitayus (“Infinite Life”), Japanese Amida, Chinese Emituo Fo, in Mahayana Buddhism, and particularly in the so-called Pure Land sects, it refers to the great saviour buddha or the Buddha of Immeasurable Light and Life. Or so I am told.

Amitabha Mantra
This mantra means “To overcome all hindrances and obstacles.” It is said to protect the chanter from harm and help them to overcome obstacles standing in the way of Enlightenment. One’s loving, compassionate nature is enhanced, and many blessings await those who chant this mantra. Om Ami Dewa Hrih Om: I invoke the Universal sound Ami: Infinite, limitless light Dewa: Deity, Buddha nature Hrih: With conscientiousness and self-respect.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSMyHcI0aAg

The land gulls are here. My candle's flame is no longer the only light.

Introduction to Buddhism, part two

I was, once more, seated on that, very cold, stainless steel bus-stop seat, on my way to class.

I had somewhat meditatively sauntered from 'home', remembering to smile and to be in the now, which was then when I was doing it. I looked at trees and flowers, the Roman Wall, and sundry leaves damp with this morning's mist. I felt the cold on my hands, seeing actually very little, because of the mist, and smelled mostly car exhaust fumes. I heard the whoosh of traffic passing.

10.12
It was time to go into The Buddhist Centre.

The part two of an introduction to Buddhism began with an update. The Four Noble Truths were re-visited (for those of us on the first course) and provided a significant lead in to the Eightfold Path for us all.

The course was much better attended than the first, and that could be for many reasons, but it was nice to see a familiar face amongst the new crowd.

Of course, if I am honest, one of the reasons that I attend these classes, that is over and above the quest for knowledge and guidance, is to socialise with people of like mind. I'm not ready to commit to attending every week outside of courses, but maybe that will come.

It was nice to be in familiar surroundings, albeit masked in accordance to recent legislation. Nice also to have to spend a longer period meditating which is, naturally, at the core of Buddhist teaching. I have to say that, at my present abode, longer periods of meditation have not as yet happened, for various reasons.

I bought Maitreyabandhu's book 'Life with Full Attention' at the Colchester Buddhist Centre, which compliments a course of Youtube videos available from the London Buddhist Centre, which I recently watched and fell a little under the spell of Maitreyabandhu.

The day got colder. Exiting the Colchester Buddhist Centre I wandered into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market's stall. It wasn't there (again). I ended up buying from Marks
and Spencer, cooking the remaining sardines for lunch, and baked trout for dinner. Reflecting, still reflecting.