Communicating in 2010

A recent exchange of emails with my brother in Cairns, Australia, has brought into fairly sharp relief how communications have changed in my limited life time.

As a child on a farm in Karoi, Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), I can remember the huge excitement that followed a telephone call from the local telephone exchange advising my mother to be ready, sitting beside the telephone on a particular date and at a specific time, in order to "take the call" booked in Edinburgh by her brother. The phone would ring and then, before the two could chat to each other, there would be literally minutes of different exchange operators talking to one another to set up the link: Hello Salisbury this is Karoi - I have Karoi 44126 on the line.... Hello Pretoria, this is Salisbury - I have Karoi 44126 on the line.... Hello Cape Town ... and so on."

The farm's telephone was on a party line which meant not only that we could hear every telephone being rung (each had a unique ring) but neighbours could, and sometimes did, pick up their handsets and listen in to other people's conversations. How that irritated my parents!

When I first came to the United Kingdom the first port of call was always a Post Office in order to send a telegram: arrived safely ... and then after that all communication was by letter. There's a stranger!

When I was doing my national service in the Rhodesian army as a signaller I loved to tune in late at night and listen to radio hams chatting to each other around the world: how I envied their distant, exotic sounding locations and ability to chat to each other!

Now I keep in touch by email - from a laptop using wifi, or a BlackBerry. Or even by SMS on my mobile telephone (my sister's favourite method of keeping in touch).

And it's all so incredibly fast, effectively free and not reliant upon anyone with a face - just a piece of equipment and network that is maintained probably by an army of de-humanised IT experts who have replaced the ladies in the telephone exchange (or the neighbours listening in). Progress - huh!

And then there are my Blog and Twitter sites (if you really want to know what I'm up to, you'll find me there )...

A very selective Christmas message?

I must confess to be starting to lose track of modern Christianity: on top of the Swiss referendum result to ban more minarets being built (see a minaret and become Muslim? - that doesn't sound too logical ...), the outrage at a lesbian being elected as a Bishop by her diocese and the deafening silence from the Archbishop of Canterbury and Pope on the legislation (and hatred) being written into Ugandan law this week against gay people who will now face the death penalty (as will anyone associated with them).

We are reminded constantly of the declining numbers attending church services, assailed with requests to remind ourselves of the true meaning of Christmas and yet have the collective leadership seemingly silent on the real message of the gospel, namely: "love, forgiveness, conviviality, community, healing and freedom from demonic preoccupation"*(THOMAS MOORE: WRITING IN THE SAND).

You cannot help but wonder what Christ would have thought!

Bring a still, calm voice, to the Garden . . .

“And behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake;

12 and after the earthquake a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.

13 So it was, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out and stood in the entrance of the cave. Suddenly a voice came to him, and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 1 Kings 19:11-18 (New King James Version)

Last year we visited Venice. It is a deeply spiritual place – not just because of the intensely atmospheric architecture and juxtaposition of buildings and sky with the lapping waters of the canals and sea, but also the sheer scale and number of churches. In one such church I was deeply moved by the singing of a catholic priest as he started an afternoon service for visitors with a rendition of “All people that on earth do dwell” (the Old One Hundredth in Anglican parlance).

A few weeks ago we had the privilege of observing Buddhist monks leading congregations in prayer in Kyoto, and again, it was the singing from the front – the person leading the service – that captured my spirit and sent me soaring on a spiritual high!

Since then I have been exploring the internet for more evidence of what Thomas Moore has described as “Zen Catholicism” (see Writing in the Sand). There is plenty, and all of a sudden my fascination with the symbolism and purpose of the Zen Gardens of Kyoto, the role that they play and why they are suddenly so attractive to an enquiring western mind such as my own, has come crashing together in a noisy cacophony of thoughts and ideas much as poor old Elijah must have had to deal with in his mountain side cave. (Did Elijah exist? I don’t care – if he did, that’s great; if not, his story is suitably apocryphal to explain to what I am currently experiencing: oh for a still, quiet voice, and calm!)

In my recent, limited, readings on Zen and Christianity, I am starting to recognise a universality in their paths, their messages of love and peace, their explanations on where to find the Kingdom of God and so on. It does not matter one iota whether we are brought up as Buddhists, or Christians, or Muslims or Shintoists! All seek the same relationship with God, all seek to better Mankind and, if Zen is about thinking deeply about religion and the nature of all things (quite apart from just Man), then we can all can learn from it!

In the bustle of everyday life we never seem to find the time, or the place, to sit and be quiet, to listen to the still calm voice from within: and if we do, the noise from our own minds comes crashing in with everyday concerns and worries. Zen Buddhists use devices such as “koans” (answerless questions – “mu” - and intensely deep ideas to ponder) and gardens on which to focus their minds as they practice the emptying of trite and everyday concerns from their minds as they perform “zazen”.

Jesus said, "If your leaders say to you, 'Look, the (Father's) kingdom is in the sky,' then the birds of the sky will precede you. If they say to you, 'It is in the sea,' then the fish will precede you. Rather, the (Father's) kingdom is within you and it is outside you. When you know yourselves, then you will be known, and you will understand that you are children of the living Father. But if you do not know yourselves, then you live in poverty, and you are the poverty." The Gospel of Thomas.

What am I doing here?

How poor, am I!

Kyoto

My first visit to Japan has proven to be an absolute triumph. Not only do I have a massively higher estimation of the Japanese people - all of whom I found extremely polite, helpful, courteous, but also of their culture and outlook on life. It would be impossible to gain anything but a minuscule of knowledge in the week or so that we spent in Japan ... but wow! what people, what a place, what a culture!

The greatest highpoint for a gardener was obviously the temples and gardens of Kyoto.

I found myself every day trying desperately not to say: things have better as the trip unfolded. With the benefit of several hundred photographs (500+) and distance, I can confidently point out "equal bests" from every day, and that has been gratifying. Jeff and I saw so much and yet there remains so much to see. At the end of this blog is a list of the sites dipped into - and I mean dipped as we wanted to see as much as we could in preparation for, yes, a return visit soon.

Whenever I visit a new gallery or museum, I try to glance into every room in order to get the flavour of the place. I then reflect and return to maybe three or four rooms or galleries for a more studious visit. And so it was and will be with Kyoto. So what impressed me:

The cleanliness - My God how clean is the whole of Japan? It's amazing.

The spirituality of the people - particularly in Kyoto. In one of our guide books it made light of the reverence of the Japanese for their Shinto and Buddhist roots and said that these were no longer of importance. Where-ever we went there was clearly a very strong observance of religious ritual and while I accept that these two traditions are inter-observed by most or many Japanese, I can see no wrong in that: they are clearly acknowledging what I believe is a universal fundamental to all religions. Somewhere in the root of all the world's faiths can be found the truth! The smell of incense, the rich tones of the Buddhist monks leading people in prayer through the day; the shrines along the paths and roads or in gardens; the dressed statues of Buddha; the Zen gardens and their abstract spirituality encouraging a moment if not life of contemplation - all these are the heady essence of a living faith.

The gorgeousness of the colour in the autumn sunlight - even the few cherry trees still in leaf brought something to the mix of Acers and Ginkgos, the reds, golds and pale yellow tree leaves against which the moving palate of green mosses and grasses contrasted in sumptuous compliment with each other. To that could be added the blue sky, the unseasonal warmth of the sunlight and the bird song in some of the temple gardens. Magic.

The artifice and art of both the gardens and beautiful Ikebana flower arrangements. The amazing topiary and shrub pruning. The symbolism of every element used in the design - the significance or meaning of of which I could only hazard a guess.

The War Memorials - not just to the Japanese dead and missing from the Burma Campaign in which my father fought but all so to the Unknown Soldier of the World in Worlds War II. We were there when the Allies remember their dead - 11th November - how poignant to reflect upon the sacrifices and bravery of the enemy of my parents' generation. What an opportunity for personally re-appraising the futility and ghastliness of warfare - man upon man.

The amazing food - we didn't see sushi once - but we had some amazing tempura, sashimi, tepenyaki, kaeseki ...

The Bullet Train ride between Tokyo and Kyoto. Looking out of the train window at Mt. Fuji with its snow-dressed cap.

Oh, and did I mention the Americans? When we returned to the Okura Hotel in Tokyo at the weekend, the Obama delegation had taken over a wing of the hotel (the Embassy is located right next door). A little over the top on the number of policemen , secret service agents from both countries and airport style security screening ...

So where did we go?

Nijo Castle and grounds.

Arashiyama: Togetsu-kyo bridge; Tenryu-ji; Bamboo forests; Kameyama Koen; Okochi Sanso Villa (a private garden); Jokakuko-ji; Gio-ji (fantastic moss garden); Adashino-nembutsu-ji; Atago torii (lovely old thatched roofs).

Northern Higashiyama: Tenju-an (Zen garden); Konchi-in (Zen garden); Nanzen-ji; Kotoqu-an; Eian-do; along the philosopher's walk to Honen-in and Ginkaku-ji (Zen garden with the Mt. Fuji structure).

North west Kyoto: Kinkaku-ji (the Golden Temple; Ryoan-ji (possibly the most famous Zen garden, war memorial to Burmese campaign).

Southern Higashiyama: Taini Neguri (where we entered the absolute darkness of the womb of the Bodhisattva); Kiyomiza-dera; Ishibei Koji (spectacular side street); Ryozen Kannon (war memorial to all unknown soldiers killed in WWII); Chion-in (the Vatican of Buddhist complexes in Kyoto); Shoren-in (spectacularly decorated rooms over-looking a lovely garden.

Daitoku-ji: A huge complex of working temples into which we went: Daisen-in (Zen Garden); Ryongen in (a 400 year old Camellia - the oldest in Japan?); and finally Koto-in (a sublime Zen garden amongst others and impressive Ikebana display).

SUMMER, SAISHO-IN

The evening bell, solemn and bronze

in the grandfather temple down the hill,

sounds dimly here.

Slow beat of the mountain's heart, perhaps,

or determined pulse of pine tree (gift of the birds)

growing out of the crotch of the slippery mountain tree.

All one, perhaps - -

bell, mountain, tree . . .

and steady cicada vibratto

and little white dog

and quiet artist-priest, carver of the Noh masks,

fashioning a bamboo crutch, symbol of strength, symbol of concern.

All cool under nodding crowns of the vertical forest,

all seeking this place,

all finding in this place - -

hidden yet open to all - -

the spirit in the cedar's heart.

(Anon)

___ ___ ___

Verse seen at the entrance to Saisho-in: a small, Eighth Century Buddhist temple in a mountain gorge near Kyoto.

A controversial week reviewed

It started with the now infamous diatribe from a previously unknown tabloid columnist, Jan Moir, sharing, in the Daily Mail, her thoughts on the late Stephen Gately and the circumstances leading to his death, gay partnerships, and the like. An expert seemingly on all matters gay, legal and pretty much all else it seems, there was nothing but overt homophopbia in her comments and the tone, quite apart from choice of medium, was little helped by her (later) self-claimed "record" on supporting gay causes. Vile person: I hope that the censure of the Press Complaints Commission (should it actually have some bite after the 25,000+ complaints) and Police enquiry really do force her back into the hole from which her filth and views crept forth in the first place.

I do not subscribe to Matthew Parris' view, either, that the article was justifiable as it "merely reflected the conversations in the pub". That form of acquiensence is, in my mind, illustrative of cowardice and suggests an element of self-loathing. A journalist of far higher standing, he could have used that to far greater good. A disappointing response from an out gay man, however - also a former Tory MP - perhaps he really is the face of the modern Conservative Party.

That was followed by the British National Party being provided a face and voice on the BBC Question Time programme. I think that was a huge mistake, and the subsequent opinion polls that suggest a following of 20% across the country give little cause for optimism.

Providing people like Moir and Griffin a platform opens up the way for other extremists - Christian, Muslim, nationalists and extreme socialists etc - to voice their equally unsavoury views. If we are serious about protecting democracy, and the freedom of speech and conviction, then we must be on our guard that they are not eroded by the voices of extremism using those fundamental rights as a cover from whence to gain personal power over the voices of moderation, toleration and co-operation.

In my Father's house there are many rooms ... there may indeed be: but that does not mean there is room for hatred and people of such evil dispositions.

And finally we have the Church of England in complete disarray because the Pope has offered about 600 priests a home in Rome. Nothing new in it: I wish them well. Their desire to be led by the voices of the past, rather than moving forward in Faith that these two wings of of the broader church that is Christendom, could one day draw in together and find a single unified voice, is saddening. One of their number described the Church of England as the Church of Political Correctness ... he may be right: but at least it is an inclusive church and not one divided by sex, sexuality (on the surface), and other perceptions of imperfection.

Green Champion points

It's official: from today I'm a Green Champion.

Looking at my Twitter just now I see that I'm in very good company as no lesser figure than the Archbishop of Canterbury was delivering a lecture in Southwark recently on the need for us to act not just internationally but locally too. And I guess that's the point of it: small actions can add up to make a huge difference.

Horticulturists tend to have a fairly solid grounding in recycling and caring for the environment - so I guess that I'm a little further along the line than many. However: that said, our recycling habits at home over the past three months have had a dramatic effect: where previously three black plastic bags sat on the pavement each Wednesday, only one now sits and that is often not full. Our green waste from the garden goes out once a fortnight, plastics (Nos 1 and 2 ONLY I've now learnt) every intervening fortnight and so on.

This autumn has been in my mind very dry and this does not, unfortunately, bode well for watering next summer. Green manures and mulching with this last summer's annuals and any other green waste will help to cut down the amount that borders need to see them through. Our own garden has never had any bought mulch added - benefiting hugely from the deciduous nature of most of the shrubs and silver birch tree.

Sitting through today's presentations, though, made me realise just how much of an uphill struggle we now face: we think we're being green by handing out cotton shopping bags (recyclable of course!) to replace the ubiquitous plastic carrier bag and yet nobody stops to think where that cotton came from (southern England?) nor the hefty toll that cotton tends to take out of usually quite marginal agricultural soils in the Third World.

Dreamer that I am, I pause and wonder too about the impact of us suddenly all changing the consumer habits of our particular generation. Trade with the Third World would dry up causing a return to crushing poverty and the atttractiveness of socialism, the air travel industry would falter and our coffee shop culture disappear.

I am conscious,though, too of just how privaledged we all are living in Europe. "Stop destroying the climate" we lecture as we sip our coffees, chat on our mobile telephones, surf the internet on ever smarter and lighter computers and get stuck into ever cheaper meals. Thank goodness the Third World's environmental crises and climatic disasters are never closer than the television screen in our sitting rooms . . .

Thoughts on the current God debate and baptism

Jonathan Swift (Gulliver's Travels) once observed: "That the universe was formed by a fortuitous concourse of atoms, I will no more believe than the accidental jumbling of the alphabet would fall into a most ingenious treatise of philosophy." He never heard about the Big Bang theory of how we all began!


Given that, if we were able to prove that no God existed, we would almost certainly not change anything, what if the converse was to happen, and we were able to prove that God existed? What would we do differently?


Thomas Moore, in his excellent book: Writing in the Sand, makes the point that until we have gone through a process of metanoia, a radical shift in our ways of thinking (and living), we will, like Nicodemus, never understand what Jesus meant when he said:"I tell you that no one could see the kingdom of God unless he were born from above." I take this to mean in part that we have got to shift our vision not away from the current science-orientated arguments but through science. In St. Mark's gospel we are told "Shift your vision, and put your trust in the exciting new ideas." Hiding away and putting our hands over our eyes and ears won't find God for us!


In a few weeks time, Jeff and I are to become God parents. You will know from previous blogs that Jeff and I rarely attend church outside of the occassions of state (funerals and weddings) and differ hugely in our views on spirituality and religion - and consequently for quite different reasons paused before accepting. For Jeff, taking part in a ritual that he does not believe in is difficult. Additionally for him it is has been about looking back to the tradtional role of God parents becoming in loco parentis in the event of some awful catastrophe befalling the parents. Would we be expected to be that under such circumstances? We are both over fifty, and consequently the poor mite would be in the hands of people almost old enough to be her grandparents! We joked in Paris last year how we would have to borrow her for shopping expeditions in the future (echoes of shopping with my late mother) - but beyond that would be frankly hopeless!


The child's parents are open about the opportunism attached to their choice of particular church for this baptism, as it has (unlike our closest church) an extremely good school associated with it.


Putting that aside, though, my pause has been to question in two parts: firstly - will the parents, through this process, renew their own baptisms into the Christian faith (Moore's "symbolic and ritual expression of metanoia") or (the cynic speaks), then cease to attend church until they require the vicar's signature on their child's application form?

And second, more importantly, concerns myself: will I, as a confirmed Christian (and I think that I am revising what that means), by taking part in this hugely symbolic ceremony for those of the Christian faith, find from so doing that I am able to undergo my own metanoia and return to the church more substantively?

There is a very strong tide that flows through me that is constantly seeking the strength, the confidence and the knowledge, to put to rest doubts about the basis of my own faith and to be able to reassure those closest to me - not so much in the truth of organised Christianity as it now is - but in the fundamental existence of God. I have difficulty with, and indeed am often distracted by, people that constantly profess their particular interpretation of Christ's mystery and mission. They are usually judgemental, subjective and completely disrespectful of those not sharing their view.


I am emotionally drawn strongly to the mysticism, the ritual, the colour, the music and the evocative architecture of the church - particularly of the Catholics and Celtic Christians. I equally, though, appalled by the newer interpretations of the narrative of the life of Christ by happy clapper TV evangelists and the strangely Victorian values of the modern African church.


In part - much is because I am a gay man. That indeed makes me an outsider where modern Christian morals or morality are concerned. But the history of the Church, and the narrative of the Gospels, is littered with outsiders - and in the latter case, John's Gospel is my comfort: "In my Father's house are many rooms. I am going there to prepare a place for you. I will come back and take you to be with me that you may also be where I am." We are told not to judge but to accept and according to Thomas Moore, in the Greek gospels the word "agape", which means to respect or esteem highly as one would a valuable jewel, was used to transcribe Christ's instruction to his followers on how to treat others.

It is in part too, because, while as a horticulturist I believe gardens should be allowed to evolve as living organisms, I am not so liberal with religion, and consequently do not believe that the Church today reflects the true narrative of Jesus Christ. It has, in my mind, evolved so much that at times it is difficult to believe what one is hearing or reading. Let us not forget that Christianity as an organised religion after Christ's death on the cross, and the martyrdom of millions of its followers, has been itself as monstrously destructive as any other religion.


So, while I set out to find basilea, metanoia, therapeia and agape that are, according to Thomas Moore, the calling of both Jesus and of the early Church, I wonder: what would I do differently if I could prove God existed?

There's a challenge indeed!

Japan beckons

Six weeks to go before I reach Japan for the first time! Wow - what a trip to look forward to!

My father fought in Burma during the Second World War and, I guess sub-consciously at least, I grew up with a dis-respect for the Japanese as a consequence (Dad was wounded by a sniper). However, once I started gardening and studying horticulture in the 1970's, I started to see Japan in a different light completely. How can one not be charmed and indeed enthralled by their attention to detail, their skill and love of craftsmanship, their knowledge and respect for the natural and spiritual worlds?

Much more recently, I have assumed the stewardship of the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park - a wonderful oasis of colour and serenity in the very heart of West London. It's an important garden in its own right too as a living symbol of the friendship and mutual respect that now has been restored between the people of Great Britain and Japan.

And topping that is my growing fascination with Japanese food. I was never a great fan of fish until I tasted fresh tuna sashimi . . . now I can't get enough Japanese food! Fortunately we are not too far away from one of London's finest restaurants: Tosa, (King's Street in Hammersmith).

I look forward to the bustle of Tokyo, the Bullet Train and finally Kyoto in the autumn!

Is compassion a bad thing?

The release last week of the Libyan Security Guard found guilty of the Lockerbie atrocity has caused outrage from around the western world. I am not an expert on the case, nor of the events surrounding it, but what really struck a cord was the Scottish Justice Secretary, Kenny MacAskill, including in his self-defence a reference to the value of "compassion". "Compassionate release is not part of the US justice system but it is part of Scotland's," noted an official in his department some days later.

"Let he, who is without sin, cast the first stone," we are taught is an important Christian value. Is it right to kick a man when he is down? No - we are also taught. So why, I ask myself, when a man is dying of cancer is it at all right for him to be kept away from his home and family?

Some commentators have drawn attention to the mass murderer Myra HIndley and asked why she was not shown similar compassion. They probably have a point but in my eyes there is one important difference: Megrahi has always pleaded his innocence.

If the death penalty was still an option, I doubt that we would be having this argument today: he'd have been hanged years ago. Instead we could be arguing over the validity of a system of justice that favours the Government evidence over the defence of a single man.

In his interview with the London Times, Megrahi said that he now wanted to publish the truth as he knew or believed it to be. There don't appear to be many holding their breath for that. But Dr Jim Swire, the father of one of the victims, appears as unconvinced as I am - at present - that this is the man behind the bomb.

I guess that we have to believe the intelligence etc upon which this verdict has been based - I don't know if he was or was not a member of the Libyan Intelligence Services, in Malta or any of the other points that secured the conviction.

What I feel confident though, is that there appears to be sufficient doubt in many people's minds for this to be an unsafe conviction.

The level of outrage expressed by a few - particularly those closest to the actual prosecution of Megrahi and the intelligence community - causes me pause for thought. I am not anti-American in any shape or form ... just cautious of so intemperate an outburst. Megrahi is dying of cancer - he hasn't been pardoned or found not guilty: all that has taken place (the Gaddaffi show excepted) is his release from prison.

We are proud in this country of the tradtion that a man is innocent until proven guilty beyond all doubt. If there is sufficient doubt in a conviction, then, failing dismissal of the prosecution, I believe that there should be room for compassion.

I believe the Scottish Government has made a wise and brave decision. I hope and pray, that as the dust settles on the peculiarly puerile activities of the Gaddaffi family's jockeying and postering for power and influence at home, that Megrahi will find the strength and time to tell what he knows of the real story behind the Lockerbie outrage. Only then will the families find justice. Only then will he be able to face his God and only then will he find peace.

Amsterdam 09

Memories are still fresh of that bench that I sat upon beside a canal. Below me a paddle cycle splashed quietly by and the reek of cannabis was thick in the late afternoon sunlight; scooters buzzed busily over the nearby bridge and rattling cyclists sent pedestrians scuttling for the road edge.

17th century architecture reflected in the swirling ripples of eddies caused by diving moorhens: "Which is the crazier, I wondered, the house or its reflection"?

Two men strolled, hand in hand, along the opposite bank; they paused briefly and then turning their heads, kissed beneath the Birch tree. They pulled away laughing and then sat on the bench facing mine. I smiled across the canal towards them and in my heart wished them all the luck and fortune that Jeff and I have enjoyed over the past seventeen years.