THERE IS NOTHING HOLY or spiritual in my usually getting-up early each day. i do not get-up in order to "practice" hatha yoga or just to sit with the lightening skies. i do not have an alarm clock to be woken by the sound of a bell. i am up early because i usually go to bed early. This is the way i am. Uchiyama Roshi, as a young monk, asked Sawaki Roshi , that if he sat zazen, would he be strong like him. NO! said Sawaki...i have always been like this...A violet will always be a violet...it cannot manifest as a rose....

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IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING AND (supposedly) summer in England and i'm ready for hatha yoga routines, sooner rather than later. The skies are lightening, as is my attitude to practice, whether it be zazen, yoga or diet etc......People refer to these sorts of things in their lives as a "PRACTICE" or their "PATH"....... Moreso and moreso i am stepping away from these terms as they tend to infer that there is some end or goal in mind....a destination........WELL, this could be self-limiting and as far as i'm concerned, the possibilities are various and infinite.......KRISHNAMURTI talks about the PATHLESS PATH and what it is TO BE HUMAN..........ON THE WALL in front of me, as i pause from this writing, i smile at the EINSTEIN quote tacked-up here = "Two things are infinite : the universe and human stupidity - and i'm not sure about the universe."....... Hmmm.....to think "we" can solve "things" with our rational minds is a great conceit......

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY : EIGHT

SUEZ 1950/1 ?

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Our four-bodied family returned to England from Egypt when i was four years old. i have no memory of my father - who was always carrying me - up until this point in time. Apparently, he was always "rescuing me from my baby tears and fears," and the trials of prams and crabs...orchards and sandy beaches. He did not think i should be left to cry.

I remember we are staying with my mother's sister and her husband, in a small bungalow called "PENSELWOOD" on the  Burseldon Road in Southampton, where the honeysuckle grew at the front door... and where the coffee-grounds were emptied ritually at its roots each day.

I think my brother and i slept on the floor in the front-room.

I remember my brother and i going into the bedroom occupied by our parents.  Our father is the only one in there - lying on the bed. We clamber onto the bed and into his arms. One on either side.

I recall warmth and the sweet smell of sweat.

I remember wetness from his skin to mine as i nestle close to him.

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