– Index –

Agatha and Me –
Call me a greenie or a bleeding heart if you want to but when I came upon a 1000 year old kauri tree on my Sunday jaunt through the nearby Waitakere Ranges, I found it irresistably huggable.

At The Beach –
Dozing on the beach I am set upon and buried in the golden sand then decorated...

Avian and Other Experiences –
I live in a small annex of our rented Centre building in Auckland – above me a tin roof with a window through which I can see the passing clouds and sky.

Childhood Heroes –
Memories from my childhood are generously sprinkled with larger than life characters, heroes who touched and shaped my life in quite enduring ways.

Coins from the Fields of Culloden –
A short anecdote from my childhood...

More Horse Stories –
I recall on my 30th birthday consigning an armful of photo albums – the mythology of one's life – into a garden bonfire...

My Old Man –
At 5am it's pitch black and Uncle Tom, my dad and I – a wide-eyed twelve year old – skirt the perimeter of the airfield under cover of lingering night.

Notes from the Garden City –
Christchurch in winter. Our meditation centre is offering a concert at the Arts Centre and I was here to join in the performances.

My Parents –
Two stories about my parents.

Lonnie Gray –
"Friendship is a supremely beautiful gift that God blessingfully gives to His fond seeker-children." – Sri Chinmoy.

Past Lives –
Disciples of various paths and various masters love speculating about past incarnations they have had; and our path and those who follow it are certainly no exception.

Joys of Horsemanship –
Weekends of carefully planned fun – the term ‘joy weekend’ is often optimistically applied – can be unpredictable affairs. Oh dear yes...

Andy the 'Diamond' –
We once had a very likeable character in the Auckland Sri Chinmoy Centre who reminded us all of the John Gilpin poem where the hero ‘flung himself from the room, flung himself upon his horse and rode madly off in all directions’.

The Ways Of Love –
Writing about the tattoos adorning a long dead girl or the life of a cranky uncle may invite the charge of being 'unspiritual' – but spirituality permeates every part of God's lovely world just like the all-pervasive invisibility of air and the elusive intangibility of consciousness, the living stuff of all being.

An Immoderation of Mice –
Before we found our current Sri Chinmoy Centre premises in Auckland we occupied a large upstairs space in an old building scheduled for demolition.

Our Lamb Guests –
In spiritual literature the lamb is an often recurring symbol of the qualities we should desire to have in our relationship with God – helplessness, purity, innocence, sweetness.

The Polite Policeman –
December, 2002. Sri Chinmoy is in New Zealand with an international group of his students. We had crossed the Cook Strait on the inter-islander ferry after a free public concert in the Wellington Town Hall on the previous evening. In Picton our group boarded several buses or caught rides in our small convoy of accompanying cars, then together we began the leisurely drive to Christchurch.

God the Supreme Runner –
I have been looking at my bedroom shrine this morning and giving myself a mark out of ten. A beautiful tall photo of my teacher soars over a miscellany of things beneath – a single white candle, some japa beads personally given out to us all on a Christmas vacation, several favourite unframed photos (curling at the edges), a small picture of myself aged four to remind me to be childlike and not an old grouch.

Dawn Scribbles – At Last Autumn Comes –
Now at last the curtain falls on summer’s last act, it’s benediction bounty, the sovereign wide blue of months past relinquishing it’s dominion in this first deluge of autumn pelting down. Rain is bucketing, lashing at windows, a dawn assault, this lovely onslaught filling gutters with rivers of rain, summer’s dust and dead leaves sluicing off roof tops and temples and no warning of this wild and sudden invasion.

Yesterday Musicians –
In the early days of the Sri Chinmoy Centre in New Zealand lots of interesting characters came to the path and idle moments and Joy Days and random evenings together seemed filled with funny and entertaining trifles.

My Favourite Heroines –
It’s a pleasure for me to offer a few appreciative thoughts on the many women who have changed our world. It gives me, too, an opportunity to write about my maths teacher, Mr. Pennington, an amateur historian who filled my teenage school years with harrowing tales of ruthless, scheming women who maneuvered, murdered, swindled or charmed their way to power.

Pondering on Writing –
Today in Karangahape Road where I live they were having a colourful street carnival. In the throng of young people many had arm and ankle tattoos and dyed hair – red, blue, purple, yellow – and wore strange, brightly coloured clothing, body jewellery, a philosophical and fashion cult.