Pathos

The Buddha once spent a night in a potter's shed. In the same shed there was a young recluse who had arrived there earlier. They did not know each other. The Buddha observed the recluse and thought to himself: `Pleasant are the ways of this young man. It would be good if I should ask about him.' So the Buddha asked him: `O recluse, in whose name have you left home? Or who is your master? Or whose doctrine do you like?'
`O friend,' answered the young man, `there is Gotama, who left his family to become a recluse. There is high repute abroad of him that he is a Fully Enlightened One. In the name of that Blessed One I have become a recluse. He is my Master and I like his doctrine.'
The Buddha realized that it was in his name that this unknown young man had left home and become a recluse. But without divulging his identity, the Buddha delivered a most remarkable discourse explaining Truth.
It was only at the end of the discourse that this young recluse, whose name was Pukkusati, realized that the person who spoke to him was the Buddha himself. So he got up, went before the Buddha, bowed down at the feet of the Master, and apologized to him for calling him 'friend' un- knowingly. He then begged the Buddha to ordain him and admit him into the Order of the Sangha. The Buddha asked him whether he had the alms-bowl and the robes ready. (A bhikkhu must have three robes and the alms-bowl for begging food.) When Pukkusati replied in the negative, the Buddha said that the Tathagatas would not ordain a person unless the alms-bowl and the robes were ready. So Pukkusati went out in seach of an alms-bowl and robes, but was unfortunately savaged by a cow and died.

Drawn from Walpola Rahula's account in `What The Buddha Taught'. (1959) ps7-8.

Bone Idle

St Francis Borgia

This modern world is obsessed with youth and physical beauty. People are, more often than not, judged solely on their external appearance and perceived sex appeal, rather than by their inner human qualities. Nowadays fame and celebrity are merely skin deep. We celebrate what is superficial, ephemeral and transient losing sight of what is internal and of lasting worth. I suppose it has never really been any different though. With this in mind, a salutary lesson may be drawn from the experience of a little known Spanish Jesuit, St Francis Borgia. Francis was born in Valencia in 1510. He came from a powerful if somewhat infamous family ( a family that produced the likes of Lucrezia Borgia). Francis mixed in the highest eschelons of Spanish society and was a close friend of Charles V. Charles's wife Isabella, a woman of 36 years who was well known for her physical beauty, died. Francis accompanied the funeral procession from Toledo to Granada, a journey of many miles through the southern half of Spain. The weather was hot and the funeral procession was slow. Eventually they arrived at the tomb and the coffin was opened. The sight and stench of the putrefying corpse of the once fragrant and lovely Isabella had a profound effect on Francis. He threw off his cloak and declared that he could no longer serve that which decays. True to his word, he left the court and became a Jesuit, spending the rest of his days performing penance for his family's and his own wrongdoings.

Bone Idle

The Decapitation of Baba Deep Singh

This rather striking image depicts the last moments of Baba Deep Singh (1682-1757) who is revered as one of the greatest martyrs in Sikh history. The story of his death is curious, to say the least. In those days the Sikhs were at war with the Mughal rulers of Northern India, vying for control of The Sikh's most sacred place, the Harimandir Sahib (Temple) in Amritsar. Baba Deep Singh was engaged in mortal combat near to the Temple with the Mughal General Attal Khan. Attal Khan inflicted a blow on Baba Deep Singh whilst Baba Deep Singh inflicted a blow on him. Both of their heads got separated from their bodies. At this point, a fellow warrior reminded Baba Deep Singh that he had once promised to put his head at the feet of the Guru in the Temple. On hearing this, Baba Deep Singh picked up his head with his left hand and continued to fight with his double-edged sword in his right hand. Baba Deep Singh managed to reach the Temple, where he gave up his head and breathed his last.
This might seem like a very tall tale (aren't all the best ones?) and one which you might easily dismiss as the product of an excess of religious fervour, but it occurs to me that there may be a seed of truth in it. I have wondered how long a person remains conscious following decapitation. What would it feel like? What sort of thoughts would he be thinking? I remember reading somewhere that experiments were conducted on the heads of guillotined prisoners in France. Apparently, someone came up with the idea of sticking needles into their tongues on the premise that an anguished expression would indicate the presence of consciousness. I'm sure I remember reading that some beheaded prisoners showed some sort of response for up to two minutes after their heads were severed. Following a little further research into the question of post-decapitation consciousness and how long it lasts for, there doesn't seem to be a definitive answer out there. I have come across answers ranging from ten to fifteen seconds, forty seconds and, of course, two minutes. What does seem to be the case however, is that one is aware of being beheaded and that this awareness does continue for some (albeit short) time after the head has been detatched from the body.

Bone Idle

View From The Grave

Looking at the world from this angle should bring one's priorities into much sharper focus.

Now I come to think of it, this picture brings to mind an incident that happened in my university days (the early 80's). I was always strapped for cash back then and would, from time to time, take on casual jobs when funds were running particularly low. On one such occasion I assisted a sexton in the excavation of a grave. It was backbreaking work but I was young and fit and up for an adventure of sorts. The grave had already been occupied for some years by a deceased gentleman so our task was to open it up again in time for his wife's funeral. Anyway, after hours of digging, my shoulders were at ground level so I would say that the hole was about five and a half feet deep. I was beginning to sense my proximity to the grave's mouldering occupant - the ground beneath my shovel was sounding hollow and I could feel a certain give under my feet. All of a sudden, I could hear and feel the coffin lid beneath me starting to fall apart and collapse. I panicked. Much to the amusement of my fellow gravedigger, with one mighty vertical leap I was straight out of that grave. I did not even have the benefit of a run up (such as you see athletes who compete in the high jump doing). One thing I am certain of though is that there is absolutely no way I could ever repeat that medal worthy leap!

Bone Idle

Book Review - The Man Who Went Into The West

Ever since I discovered him in my youth, the late R.S. Thomas has been one of my favourite poets. Therefore, I eagerly awaited the publication of this biography which appeared in the latter part of 2006. I was not to be disappointed. I suppose the book could be quite a frustrating read if you come to it expecting that a biographical work should follow a neat linear chronology. The author Byron Rogers seems less concerned with presenting a clear historical timeline than with creating a sort of impressionistic portrait of the man who was once termed `The Ogre of Wales.' Rogers largely achieves this by piecing together a patchwork of anecdotes from people who knew him, ranging from his only son with whom he seems to have had a very difficult relationship (as if he were capable of any other) to the sometimes quite tangential offerings of village shopkeepers and the parishioners of this most gloomy and misanthropic of priests as he sought out increasingly bleak and isolated places to live. This book sheds much light on the inner contradictions and thought processes of R.S. (actually Ron - apparently he added the `S' for reasons of euphony) Thomas and his strained relationships with the rest of humanity. It succeeded in getting me to reread many of his poems in a new light. Rogers does have a very dry sense of humour and although he clearly feels a great deal of admiration ( and I daresay affection) for his subject and his art, he also seems to delight in poking fun at this most grumpy of grumpy old men and, I have to say, when Rogers does this he is at his best. In many places this book had me laughing at loud at Thomas's eccentricities and bizarre antics. I would also like to add that "The Man Who Went Into The West" is physically very well constructed - it looks and feels like a book ought to. The subject matter of this book might strike some as rather tedious but, believe me, I found it hard to put down and finished reading it all too quickly.

Bone Idle

Another Tale of Resurrection from Old Bengal.

Radharamana Carana Das Deva 1853-1905

I read this rather unusual tale in Chapter 9 of "The Saints of Bengal" (1995) by Dr O.B.L. Kapoor. This is a fascinating work of hagiography which deals with prominent figures in the Gaudiya Vaisnava Tradition (of which the Hare Krsna movement is a recent offshoot). This particular story concerns the activities of another sadhu who was immense, both in frame and spirituality - Sri Radharaman Charan Das Dev. It is the story of a lady, whom he brought back to life at the cremation ground of Nimtala Ghat on the banks of the Ganges in old Calcutta and, as Kapoor states, this was witnessed by a crowd of thousands of people. Sri Radharaman Charan was bathing in the river along with a number of disciples when he saw the lady's corpse being brought to the cremation ground. He said to himself, "Ah! The lady is going without hearing the Name of the Lord. Poor thing! She will have to suffer the unending cycle of birth and death." He then told his disciples to ask the funeral attendands not to burn the corpse. Sri Radharaman Charan requested that they bring it down from the pyre and when this was done he sat near its feet holding its big toes in both of his hands. He then began to chant "Bhaja Nitai Gaura Radhe Shyam, Japa Hare Krishna Hare Ram," a crowd gathered and joined him in this chanting for half an hour. Then suddenly Sri Radharaman Charan cried "Jai Nitai!" and pulled the lady's toes with a jerk. She opened her eyes and looked around in bewilderment. The lady gestured to her relatives and was given some milk to drink. The news spread around Calcutta like wildfire and crowds of people began to pour in from all directions. After about an hour and a half, Sri Radharaman Charan let go of the lady's toes. She then ceased to breathe, closed her eyes and died.

Bone Idle

The Resurrection of the Rajkumar of Bhawal

Totapuri Baba was a Hindu Sadhu who passed away in 1961. Some accounts state that he was born in the early eighteenth century, others say that he was actually well over 350 years old when he died. Whatever the truth may be, he was certainly a remarkable figure. Physically he must have been very imposing, as the picture above hints. He was by all accounts over seven foot tall (and almost as wide!). As a Digambara Sadhu he was entirely possessionless and went around completely naked. Spiritually, he was something of a giant too. The popular story in Puri, Orissa (where he spent much of his time in seclusion in dense woodland) was that he was the same Totapuri Baba who initiated the famous mystic Paramahansa Ramakrishna into the path of Advaita Vedanta - and this took place in 1863! There are many stories told of Totapuri Baba but perhaps the strangest one is all the more remarkable since there should be legal documents which could attest to its veracity. The story is of the dead Rajkumar of Bhawal - a king in the state of Bengal who was mysteriously killed in a legal fight over his property. Thirty years later Totapuri Baba "resurrected" him and the dead Rajkumar of Bhawal returned to his native place and won a court case restoring his property to him!

The resurrected Rajkumar of Bhawal

Bone Idle

The Disposal of the Dead

The history of the cremation movement along with the social and religious implications of the rapid and widescale rejection of inhumation in favour of this method is, I think, a fascinating and yet rather neglected aspect of our culture. It is one to which, I suspect, I will return from time to time as this blog progresses. In modern Britain, cremation is by far the most popular method of disposal of the dead. With over 70% of us opting for the fiery retort, it is worth remembering that `modern' cremation has only been with us for a little over a hundred years and that the early advocates of this method met with a great deal of opposition and even open hostility from practically all sectors of British society. For your edification, I will quote some verses penned by an anti-cremationist in a Surrey newspaper of 1879 in reference to the siting of Britain's first crematorium at Woking:

Have you heard of the new crematorium at Woking,
Where funeral fires, `tis proposed, will be smoking;
Where corpses, consigned from all parts of the nation,
Will be burnt by the new fashioned mode of cremation?

The people of Woking are all up in arms,
Protesting most loudly, and filled with alarms:
And now wonder. Oh! Horror, the thought is vexation,
Our deceased ones consumed by the fires of cremation!

The babe that we dandled so loving from birth,
And cherished so fond as the dearest on earth:
The sickening thought will not bear contemplation,
To burn his dear flesh in the fires of cremation.

Let funeral pyres blaze on Indian soil;
From its practice in England our feelings recoil;
And we should do best as a civilized nation,
To help our new subjects abolish cremation.

In our atmosphere rural we've no wish to spread
The stench that arises from burning our dead.
Earth closets, we're told, are the best sanitation;
No, thank you, we beg to decline your cremation.
Anon

Quoted in full in Brian Parsons: `Committed to the Cleansing Flame - The development of cremation in nineteenth century England' 2005 (pp74-75)

Bone Idle

On a lighter note...

General John Nicholson

I am sometimes asked how many religions there are in the world. Frankly, that is an impossible question to answer. I am sure it would be quite feasible for anyone to come up with his own idiosyncratic set of beliefs and to devise his own set of ethics to live by and term it a `religion'. However, when considering known and documented religious groups which have very few adherents, one of the most obscure and bizarre has to be the Nikalsaini (Followers of General John Nicholson, the Deputy Commissioner of the District of Rawalpindi in the mid nineteenth century). This sect consisted of just three erstwhile Sikhs and seems to have arisen following the victory of the British over the Sikh army in the battle of Gujarat in 1849. At the time, a great panic was said to have prevailed among the Sikhs: very many cut off their long hair and were in great fear of being forcibly converted to Christianity. It was against this backdrop that three men were seen going about Rawalpindi, dressed up in the cast-off clothes and hats of Europeans, and with shaven heads and faces. The eldest gave himself out to be the mahant or chief of a sect, and the others to be his chelas or disciples. The mahant played upon a two-stringed instrument and he and his disciples sang hymns in praise of the English in general, and of John Nicholson (whom they seem to have conceived of as some sort of divine figure) in particular. Apparently, they came before Nicholson under the idea that the Deputy Commissioner would feel flattered at being associated with a new sect, whose Guru he was acknowledged to be. However, Nicholson was less than impressed and had them flogged and sent away. Quite understandably, their enthusiasm seems to have waned after this and they were neither seen nor heard of thereafter.

Bone Idle

In Memoriam

Fr James T. Leeson 1877-1917

I often think about Fr Leeson. I also wonder how many people have even heard of him. After all, why would they? As a celibate priest he left no offspring to cherish his memory and he has been dead for ninety years now. Fr Leeson was a distant relation of mine - my great-grandmother's cousin or so I gather. From what I know of him, when the First World War broke out in 1914 he lived a comfortable enough life as a parish priest in Liverpool. He seems to have been a respected figure in the Liverpudlian Catholic community, in addition to his parish duties he taught Theology to future priests in the local seminary. Already in his late thirties, there was no reason for him to have gone to war. He could have stayed put, with nothing more traumatic to do than hearing the nuns' confessions and offering what consolation he could to the war bereaved. Instead he chose to join the army. He was assigned the rank of Captain and was soon dispatched to the battlefields of Northern France to serve as a chaplain to the forces. Fr Leeson was not a combatant and from what I know neither did he carry arms. His mission was to minister to the spiritual needs of the men in these extreme circumstances. In the hell on earth that was the battle of Paschendale, Fr Leeson was administering the last rites to a dying soldier in the trenches when he himself was mortally wounded. A few years ago, I came across a military document which somewhat poignantly listed Fr Leeson's personal effects following his death, these consisted of his rosary, a breviary, a cigar cutter and a few cigars. He was subsequently buried in a military cemetery near to where he fell. I recently watched the documentary on 9/11 filmed by the Naudet brothers and it occured to me that there is an echo of Fr Leeson's sacrifice in the story of Fr Mykal Judge. Father Mykal Judge was a long-time chaplain in New York City's Fire Department. He had been with the firefighters in many dangerous and life threatening situations, but nothing like the one on September 11 2001. As with Fr Leeson, he too was administering the last rites, this time to a fallen fire fighter, when instantaneously his own life was snuffed out by crumbling and falling debris. The question I ask myself, given that I am about the same age as Fr Leeson was at the time, is whether I would have made the same choices if I were in his shoes. I very much doubt it, I would in all probability have taken the easy option. In my view, Fr Leeson possessed that rare spiritual and mental strength which makes him a true hero.

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

(The picture, which is the only one of Fr Leeson in my possession, is an enhancement I made of a photocopied image from a newspaper obituary of 1917)

Bone Idle

Die Grosse Stille

My favourite film of the moment has got to be `Die Grosse Stille'. The English edition 'Into Great Silence' has not yet been released on DVD so I ordered the original German one and have watched it all the way through twice (it is nearly three hours long). The paucity of my German doesn't make a great deal of difference since much of the film is silent anyway. It is a really beautiful film, a sort of fly on the wall documentary about the lives of the 20 or so monks who live in the Carthusian order's motherhouse of La Grande Chartreuse in the French Alps. The director, Philip Groening was only given permission to make the film after waiting for 16 years to do so. He lived with the monks for several months on condition that he did all the filming himself. The Carthusians lead the most intensely contemplative life of any religious order, in fact they are really an order of hermits who come together three times a day (including the long Carthusian night office, which interrupts the monks' two three to three and a half hour sessions of sleep) to pray. Their only conversation takes place on the weekly spaciamentum (walk outside the monastery walls), otherwise their life consists of solitary prayer and work in their cell. Why anyone would choose to follow this seemingly harsh and unremitting lifestyle was answered by Philip Groening when he said: "I think they simply do it because they choose to... become close to God. It's a very simple concept, the concept is God himself, is pure happiness, the closer you move to that, the happier you are." There is very little action in this film. It is marked by the changing of the seasons and the timeless routine of the monastic day rather than any plot. Nevertheless, it provides an aesthetically pleasing and fascinating insight into an ascetic lifestyle which has remained practically unchanged since the eleventh century.

As an afterthought, there was no reference in the film to the liqueur which these monks manufacture - Green Chartreuse. My favourite tipple happens to be a shot of this on ice with tonic water. Very nice indeed.

Bone Idle

Things that have annoyed me recently:

Cold callers
Abbreviation
The female voice
The weeks leading up to Christmas
Christmas
People who use the "f" word loudly in public places
The use of highlighters in books
The weather
Cats

Watch this space

Bone Idle

Remains to be seen

Well, here it is at last - the birth of The Bone Idol. I have set up this blog in order to provide an outlet for my observations, ideas, preoccupations and possibly the occasional diatribe.`Who cares?' you might say. I suppose that if I have articulated something and it then `exists' out here in cyberspace, it is somehow reified and, therefore, may have the potential to interest others. However, whether anyone actually takes the time to read my ideas or not remains to be seen and this, in a sense, is immaterial anyway. This blog exists primarily so that I can add my voice to all the others that happen to be crying in the wilderness.

Idol (from the Greek eidolon) - An image or representation; a form; a phantom; an apparition.

(Webster's 1913 dictionary)

Bone Idle.