Situation in Burma, a message from Ajahn Sumedho

Letter from Luang Por Sumedho

[to download/print PDF file please click here.]

I am making a statement of support and sympathy for the heroic efforts of the Buddhist Monks, Nuns, Students, and all the Burmese Laypeople who are peacefully protesting against the injustice and oppression of the present government of Myanmar.It is very confusing and distressing to witness a government which claims to respect the Buddhist religion react to a peaceful protest in such a violent and brutal way. I have always held the Sangha in Burma with great respect. I ask the present government to listen to the Sangha and to seek a way of reconciliation in accord with the Dhamma which will be for the welfare and happiness of all.I send all my blessings to the peaceful protesters and my compassion to the Government of Myanmar which has strayed so far from the wisdom and compassion of the Lord Buddha.

Yours in Dhamma
Venerable Ajahn Sumedho
29th September, 2007
Amaravati Buddhist Monastery
Hemel Hempstead, UK

For the latest news on the situation in Burma http://www.irrawaddy.org/

My first Rock concert

At the tender age of 59 I have attended my first Rock concert. It wasn't in a huge football stadium. There was no screaming or fainting, and everyone left with underwear in its proper place. But don't think the audience was stodgy - there was no sitting on hands - the audience clapped, gestured and swayed in delight. Even I was moved to clap a little and tap my toes, despite my being "rhythmically challenged" and embarrassed by public displays of enthusiasm.

No, The 'Stones hadn't sneaked into town. It was a two part fusion concert at the Artscape, which had been organised by the Indian High Commission. A local band opened proceedings. They played a selection of Indian favourites and some 50s golden oldies. An enjoyable hors d'oevres.

The main course, Mrigya, was stunning. I quote the SpeakIndian blog:

"Mrigya’s music has its origins in various eras, countries and cultures – merging snatches of blues, folk, jazz and classical. Mrigya is the quest for sensuous, earthly, soul lifting fusion music. It is based on musical realities of the past, picking up the potentialities of the future. Their music creates a unique texture (a rich blend of Classical, Blues & Jazz) bordering between Indian Classical to World Music. It is their “recontextulization of Indian rhythms and melodies, taking them and placing them in the middle of jazz – rock fusion and light funk, and their guitar playing (which, on slower ballad features some Clapton – esque blues)”, which is their most captivating feature...

'Powerful performers Mrigya combine vedic Hindi chants, classical raga, tabla and Muslim quawwali singing to utterly move audiences wherever they play. Their funky baseline will have you dancing.' Dominion Post, New Zealand "

So I can be excused if my sang froid melted a little.

I was particularly fascinated by the Qawwali singer. The movements of his voice and fingers communicated intense joy and excitement, though he didn't move from his seat. Ancient praises of the divine swelled and danced with the strident riffs of two electric guitars and the fast-pulsed tabla.

I did find the music very loud, but to tone the volume down by sticking balled-up tissues in my ears was not an option. The loudness was integral.

It's raining, it's pouring...

And my cat has spent most of the weekend lying on top of me, or next to me.


Last Sunday it rained, and there was some thunder and lightening. What was odd, was that there was no prelude of stiffling, muggy heat. Yesterday evening, again some thunder and lightening. The day had been grey and wet, with generous outpourings from the sky. Again, not what I think of as presaging a thunder storm.


Those who have lived in the Tropics must laugh at our piddly little thunder storms. If there are two a year that is alot. And how terrific? Two or three claps of thunder and a flash or two of lightening.


I'm terrified of thunderstorms, not being used to the raw pyrotechnics of tropical or highveld storms. When I worked in Pietermaritzburg I would cower inside at a whisper of thunder. I lived on Ridge Rd. If I could see lightening striking the ridge across the valley as I walked home from work, that would have me pelting down the middle of the road for home. (I had to avoid the trees on the pavement.) Once I was caught in the bath when a storm moved overhead very quickly. Despite a very stiff and sore back I was out of the bath in less than a blink of an eye. I still don't know how I managed it.


It's odd to be sitting in a Library and hear water running. It must be the rain on the roof and in the gutters and pipes.


The Cape Peninsula has been called many names.Quite oddly it has been called, both the Cape of Good Hope, and the Cape of Storms. Yesterday as I drove home the back way throughTokai, the road was flooded. It just disappeared beneath huge puddles of muddy water, and at places turbid streams ran parallel to the road. I crawled along, because I was afraid "my bow wave" would kill my engine and I'd get stuck, and then I'd have to take a long, wet walk home. And I chose that route because I thought it would be safer than the freeway in a deluge!

Easter Egg Draw and Hunt in my Library: Preview

Here is the box on the Loan Desk and a close up of the chocolate "trophies". The slips for the draw can also be seen.

Meet Catriona (aka The Tail)

My word!

Today I was reminded of how I love words. I enjoy playing with them and asking questions of them. I love puns. And now I feel I want to write.

I realise that in talking, and from reading and writing, I'm often trying to understand or express experiences, or to find solutions. To make life fit words is an impossible task. It reminds me of an eye test I had when I was very young. I was asked to look through the eye pieces of some optical instrument and move the handles so the lion went into the cage. I got so far, and then the lion or the cage disappeared.

On reflection, playing with words, questioning them and trying to express feelings, thoughts and happenings, in speech or writing, is my way of making sense of life, my way of finding meaning and purpose.

Procrastination and some thoughts on my wardrobe

I have been "editing" a series of motivational newspaper articles for someone else. Despite my advanced age, and in spite of my conceit that I know so much because I've been around so long, I have learnt alot from them. I have been faced with some of my bad habits, particularly procrastination. God, How painful, How depressing, How demotivating a habit! To be brutally honest, it is more than a habit, it is a way of life.

I'm a sloppy dresser,I have no style, and most of the time I don't care what I look like. If you put me in Versace, I would look as if I were wearing a sack.

A friend has given me a lovely maroon T-shirt with an Aboringinal painting of three snakes. This morning she asked me if I had tried it on yet (It's two weeks since she gave it to me). I said, "No". Why? Well, you can divide my wardrobe into three categories:
what I wear everyday, which is usually baggy slacks and a voluminous shirt or T-shirt;
what I never wear because I hate these clothes (gifts or mistakes);
what I almost never wear, because I like them so much I don't want to spoil them.
(I've realised there is a fourth category: clothes that are too small, the remnant of brief periods of being thinner.) The maroon T-shirt is number three, I love it so much I don't want to spoil it by wearing it.

Festival of Chariots in Cape Town, 27th December 2006

I went to Sea Point to watch the parade and I was looking forward to some tasty vegetarian food, as well. My sister, Ursula, her elder daughter, Natalie, and two of my friends, Laureen and Veronica, were also there. (The food was very disappointing, and the organisation shambolic.) The attending crowd did justice to the "rainbow nation". There was a large contingent from the local Indian community, mainly Hindus, but also quite a few Muslims. There was a palette of skin tones, ranging from English tan to rich Black. And a babel of languages: local, naturalised or just visiting.

The tents and assembly area were on Beach Road, near the Sea Point Public Library. This road runs above the beach. The Chariot, yes, definitely singular, looked like an eccentric hot air balloon attached to a big, heavy cart. Because of the crowd, I couldn't see how it was moved, pushed or pulled by devotees. Definitely not motorised. Before the Chariot set off there was chanting and drumming, and, I think, some dancing. All I could see was a bald head, which kept popping above the crowd. I think this was the drummer.

Once the two idols were enthroned to the accompaniment of chanting, the Chariot began moving forward slowly. I use the word idols, for lack of a better word. To me they looked like two largish brown discs, with crude, but colourful faces. Nothing resembling a human figure, nor a lingam and yoni.