Mrs Barker-Finch
& son Hamish...
...in the way
There was a tradition among the boarding houses at The King's School that the boys of the house would entertain their parents once a year. The evening would consist of drinks, followed by a meal, followed by entertainment.
Some of the houses put a lot of effort into the entertainment and often produced a full-length play. There could also be musical items and, sometimes, poetry recitals around a theme. I was often called on to help the lads prepare these entertainments.
There was a certain social hierarchy amongst the boarding houses—houses that had lads from the Polo-Playing squattocracy through to houses that sheltered the lads who were in the way of their eastern suburbs' socialite parents. The Asian lads were, on the whole, found in another house.
pre-dinner drinks
On this occasion, it was a Polo Squatters affair. There was a mother's committee that organised with the families what foods to bring. The Head Mum, on this occasion, had deemed some of the food that was presented as being 'off' and it was consigned to the garbage.
As the parents and boys were mingling for pre-dinner drinks, the heavens opened, washing out the alfresco dining arrangements, and so a last-minute change of venue saw us all heading to the school dining room.
Think laminated table tops, think Uri Geller folks, think salt and pepper shakers without tops, and unmentionables smeared under the tables. Think ugh...
"it's... Bouquet"
We sat ourselves at tables of ten. On my table, there was a Mrs Barker-Finch and her 6th-form son Hamish. Mrs Barker-Finch went on and on in a style that later became synonymous with Hyacinth BUCKET ("it's... Bouquet"), singing the praises of her son Sheridan.
On and on and on. Mrs Barker-Finch had us believe that son Hamish was the model of manners, etiquette, and grace. I knew Hamish to be a down-to-earth lad who called a spade a shovel.
Now, when the dessert arrived, there was a slight problem. The kitchen was always going to provide dessert for the gathering, but someone had forgotten to defrost the fruit salad, and mountains of frozen fruit salad and individual servings of ice cream arrived on the table.
still on the table
Hamish took to the frozen fruit salad with a knife and began chipping away. The lads were starving because there had been a shortage of food from the main course for the reason stated.
So picture it: Hamish with his bowl full to the brim with frozen fruit salad and two scoops of ice cream. With his fork held high, he began to attack the dessert when Mrs Barker-Finch let out a blood-curdling, "Hamish, stop eating... The condiments are still on the table."
Hamish turned to his mother and said, "What are condiments, Mum?" We heard no more of Hamish’s finer points of style and manners from Mrs Barker-Finch...
Some Names changed for privacy
Fending for Myself
Part 2.
For The Want
of an
Eggbeater...
The Pavlova
I was the librarian at Taber, Alberta, and in an earlier blog, I described how the library ladies spoilt me with cups of tea and homemade cakes for morning and afternoon teas.
A particular favourite of mine that they made was an angel food cake. It was so light and airy and just melted in the mouth. So, when I was to leave the school, I decided that I would surprise the library ladies with an Australian culinary delight: a Pavlova.
I wrote to my mother, obtained the recipe, and set about creating my Pav. However, I was missing a few kitchen essentials, but I was confident I could overcome that deficit.
The one major missing piece of equipment was the electric eggbeater, but I reckoned that a fork and a vigorous wrist action would do the trick. I had seen Pavlovas made, and it all seemed to be about getting air into the mix.
The Mixture
Hadn't Grandma sung the praises of mixing the Christmas cake by hand? So, with my fork, I whisked and whisked and whisked the egg whites, but rising was there none. Undeterred, I reckoned it had plenty of air in the mix and that the heat would do the trick.
The mixture, measuring about an inch in height, went into the oven, and forty minutes later, it measured about half an inch. It was as tough as old boots—but tasty nonetheless.
So the library ladies were denied the pleasure of tasting my Pav, and for morning tea, they had to make do with a bought pound cake and tales of what they were missing out on...
“Who Am I?”
Robin Evans
introspection
Explorers of Non-duality delve into the core of reality through philosophical investigations, striving to surpass divisions and dualities. By challenging perceptions and broadening awareness, they pursue oneness and interconnectedness within the fabric of existence.
“Who am I?”
The manner in which we navigate these inquiries dictates the connections we foster and those we abstain from, the spaces we enter and exit, our attractions and aversions, and whether we perceive opportunities or obstacles in our path. These inquiries shape our interests and equivocations.
When we unearth deeply fulfilling responses to these inquiries, life resonates with meaning and purpose. Conversely, when these inquiries confound us, life appears stagnant and devoid of direction.
“How do I align with my authentic self?”
The scientific method or appeals to authority fall short in addressing these inquiries. In many respects, we embark on a solitary quest to uncover answers. We may contemplate in solitude or engage in discussions within our social or spiritual communities. However, true satisfaction in these inquiries arises from within, through introspection and examination of our own experiences.
Here lies the promise of nonduality.
understanding
Non-duality, a fundamental principle in Eastern philosophy, denotes the understanding of "not two." It emphasises the interconnectedness of existence as a singular whole rather than a collection of separate parts.
As individuals, we often inherit certain beliefs about our identity shaped by culture, upbringing and the adult world. These commonly include:
- Identifying with our physical body
- Associating ourselves with our thoughts
- Perceiving a separation from others
- Feeling disconnected from the creative Universe
However, such beliefs, though deeply ingrained, often fail to provide genuine satisfaction. They lead to existential concerns, internal conflicts, and hindered personal growth.
Non-dual teachings offer a more fulfilling perspective on the question "Who am I?" by transcending these limited notions of identity. Non-duality opens pathways to healthier relationships, conflict resolution, and the realisation of personal aspirations, facilitating a more enriching and meaningful life experience.
Questions
As aspirants of Non-duality, we explore fundamental questions about our existence:
If I am my thoughts, why do I observe them coming and going while I remain constant? Do I cease to exist in moments of thoughtlessness?
If I identify with the body, where does the body end and the rest of the world begin? Is it defined by my skin, my organs, or something else? What about the air I breathe or the cells constantly renewing within me?
If I believe I'm separate from others and the universe, why am I constantly interacting with everything around me? Why can't I isolate myself from my environment?
If I see myself as separate from the creative force behind existence, where does that force reside? Wouldn't it and I exist within a larger space, connecting us inseparably?
Contemplating these questions can lead to a more functional understanding of "Who am I?"
A tiny part
Non-duality teaches me that I'm part of an indivisible whole; I can't separate myself from the world, others, or the creator. My essence isn't tied to my mind or body; rather, I am the witnessing presence that experiences them and all of existence.
This realisation brings satisfaction. I needn't fear disappearing, feel isolated, or be limited by my body's constraints. Everything aligns as it should, for my story isn't just mine; it's the Universe's, of which my body is merely a tiny part.
illusion
With clarity in this understanding, life becomes more peaceful.
As an experiencer of non-duality, understanding the question "Who am I?" and grasping the non-dual answer isn't an immediate task like reading an article. It often takes a lifetime of introspection and contemplation to realise that everything is interconnected and that the idea of separation is an illusion.
common hurdles
Why can't I read others' thoughts if we're not separate?
Although my existence isn't limited, my mind is. My existence encompasses all thoughts across time and space, while my mind is confined to my own thoughts.
How do I know I'm part of a unified whole?
While I may not have direct proof of being part of an indistinguishable whole, I do have proof that I'm not separate from anything I interact with. Every relationship requires a shared environment, whether with a person, a book, or a cup of tea.
Is it just a belief?
Non-duality isn't about blind belief; it's about direct verification through inner contemplation. Teachers can help clarify doubts, but the understanding ultimately comes from within.
By shifting our perspective from identifying solely with our body and mind to recognising the space in which they exist, we gain a deeper understanding of existence. This broader view allows us to navigate life with less confusion and greater peace as we see ourselves as part of a larger whole.
Exploring the question "Who am I?" may lead to confusion as we attempt to align this perspective with our conventional worldview.
Many non-duality teachers adopt a question-and-answer approach, allowing individuals to engage in inquiry, encounter confusion, and eventually seek clarification. These sessions are often recorded and shared online, offering accessibility to seekers worldwide.
YouTube Channels:
Although nonduality originates from Eastern traditions, numerous contemporary teachers raised in Western culture cater to Western audiences. Some notable teachers include:
Terrence Stephens is an Australian teacher and guide to non-duality.
Rupert Spira simplifies non-dual teachings for modern audiences.
Mooji delivers non-dual teachings with reverence, humour and a hint of religious fervour.
fulfilment
As we delve into the inquiry of "Who am I?" we uncover profound insights that dissolve the illusions of separation and reveal the essence of our being. With this foundational understanding, the journey naturally progresses to the question: "How do I embody my true nature?"
This question transcends mere identity and invites us to align with our authentic expression in every aspect of life. It guides us towards recognising and embracing our unique gifts, passions, and purposes. Through this alignment, we navigate relationships, careers, and endeavours in a way that resonates deeply with our essence, fostering joy, fulfilment, and harmony.
In essence, as we unravel the layers of illusion and embrace our true selves.
We embark on a journey of self-realisation that encompasses both the understanding of our essence and the embodiment of it in every facet of existence...
BOOK REVIEW
Would butter melt
in your mouth?
Butter...
The focus of today's blog is Butter...
Were you ever called butterfingers?
Have you ever been buttered up?
Does your toast always fall
buttered side down?
When you fall, does your bum always
land in the butter?
Do you know any social butterflies?
Would butter melt in your mouth?
What's the butter in Butterfly?
Butter makes it better.
rape scene
There was the scandal-making scene in Last Tango in Paris when Brando and Bertolucci schemed to use a stick of butter in the anal rape scene without telling the actress that it was going to happen.
The most expensive butter in the world is a British product, Ridiculous No55, which costs £95.00 per pound. In addition to the milk, lobster, crab, caviar, and fennel are included in the product.
The colour of butter is determined by what the animals are fed.
Bread and Butter Pudding is a favourite of mine.
The following authors have all written books and other works with the title: Butter.
considered beautiful
Butter is made from the milk of the
following animals:
- Goats
- Sheep
- Camels
- Reindeer
- Water Buffalo
- Llamas
- Yaks
- Horses
- Zebus
I am currently reading Butter by Asako Yuzuki. It is a novel with a murder mystery at its heart and loads of misogyny. It explores the many demands made on women to achieve a certain standard of body shape, which is considered beautiful.
The central character, a serial killer who feeds lonely men gourmet meals before killing them, announces at one point that "there are two things that I simply cannot tolerate: feminists and margarine."
Freud on toast
There is a three-page description of a meal of rice, butter, and soy sauce that left me with pangs of hunger, licking my lips and going in for seconds.
The novel explores the links between women, their eating habits and their relationships with their fathers—sort of Freud on toast... with gobs of butter.
"I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter." James Joyce
Jane Austen mentions a Black Butter Jam.
From a recipe published in 1654: Sheep’s tongues fried in green butter.
From 1618: "to make butter with one's tail". (of a woman to have sexual intercourse.)
And, of course, there's always the
good old Peanut Butter straight
from the jar.
Fending for Myself
Part 1.
burnt
offering
ingredients
In fact, it was well-established that Mum was a pretty ordinary cook. Meat and three vegetables were the order of the day. The meat was burnt to a cinder, and the vegetables boiled to an inch of their lives.
And so I had to decide what to make for my first meal. I did a preliminary shop and decided that I would make a hamburger. There was no point in entering some philosophical discussion as to the need to include pineapple and beetroot, as those ingredients were sadly lacking from the Taber store.
smoke alarm
So, I shaped the mincemeat into the patty and dropped it onto the hot plate. I have to tell you that I was in a basement apartment with narrow window slits that opened at ground level. Seeing as it was winter, read that as snow level. More about that later.
Just as the patty hit the grill, I received a call from the people in the house above. They wanted to see me so I hopped up the stairs. We had a very pleasant get-together, and they offered me a cup of coffee. Our pleasant soiree was soon interrupted by the sound of a screaming smoke alarm.
wafting in the breeze
I raced back down into my subterranean depths to see my hamburger alight and filling the kitchen with thick acrid smoke.
There was lots of towel-waving in an effort to clear the air and a thrusting open of the windows. The burnt offering of the once-burger meat was quickly dispatched to the bin. Dinner that night was biscuits and a cup of tea.
It had been a very eventful first day, and I went to bed on an empty stomach, only to wake up at about midnight feeling numb and cold. The apartment was air-conditioned, and the thermostat registered 70 degrees Fahrenheit (about 20 Celsius). And then I noticed the curtains wafting in the breeze.
icy blasts
I had forgotten to close the windows after the conflagration, and the arctic blasts were blowing steadily into my apartment. I hear the people above talking about the temperature in their place. They thought the furnace had broken down. I could hear the furnace roaring, but it was no match for the icy blasts I had let loose.
In the morning, I apologised profusely for causing such mayhem... They took it as something that an Aussie would do... Fresh air and cold baths.
I never opened the windows again, and the next evening, I made myself Cold Collations. Eventually, I managed an Omelette.
“Just a fluke”
any feeble excuse
the rain started
I was about to take up my position at Clifton College in Bristol, and had arrived a few days early to settle in. I was to be a boarding house tutor so that meant I had accommodation in one of the many school houses. I had hardly arrived when there was a knock on the door, and a chap introduced himself as a tutor in one of the other houses.
It was a bright sunny afternoon and he asked if I would like a game of tennis. “Oh no no no, I am only a hit and giggler when it comes to tennis” (and any other sport) I said, but he insisted that I was being modest. It was a case that in the eyes of any Englishman, all Australians were either Don Bradmans, Dawn Frasers or Rod Lavers.
the speed of light
My protests fell on deaf ears. And any feeble excuse I put forward he countered instantly. He had a tennis racquet for me and even a pair of tennis shoes.
One of my colleagues played cricket for a local team, and he invited me to play... another case of all Australians are... in this case, Don Bradmans. “No no no no no.” I pleaded but he persisted and I found myself a few days later walking out to bat against a local team.
They were pretty good, and I was put down to bat at No. 4 in the order—the best batsman spot. Now, the weather was very threatening, and as I walked out, the clouds were ready to burst. And as the bowler began his run-up (I was actually on a hat-trick and would have put money on it happening for certain), the rain started very heavily.
There was no going back for the moment. The ball came at me like a thunderbolt. I swung the bat with my eyes closed, and upon opening them, I saw the ball bouncing back from the fence. I had executed a flawless cover drive that had left everyone in awe.
on the podium
Off we went to the tennis court for a hit up before the game. I could see immediately that he was better than average. And so I suggested that he begin with serving the first set. I retreated to the baseline waiting for his opening serve.
From the warm-up, I knew that this was going to be embarrassing. He went through all the motions of someone serving at Wimbledon: a couple of bounces, big intakes of air, a high ball, the long arc of the racquet, a ball coming at me at the speed of light...
the Wimbledon Cup
Somehow I sensed that it was coming on my backhand side. So, eyes closed, I took an enormous swipe at where I imagined the ball might be for a split second. Contact was made. The ball went skimming over the net and brought up the chalk in the corner of the court.
My opponent was speechless. It was an unplayable return of his service. I was covered in shame and embarrassment and quick to apologise. “Just a fluke” I offered.
We played three sets and I didn't win another point. But for a moment I could see myself lifting the Wimbledon Cup above my head.
The umpires called off the game as the rain was torrential. I spent the rest of the afternoon lapping up the admiration of my teammates.
As far as they were concerned, that one stroke anointed me as the inheritor of the mantle of Don Bradman. I played a few more games for the team and never managed double figures.
And so when Steven Bradbury, the Australian speed skater won a gold medal at a winter Olympics only because all his opposition had fallen and he was the last one skating. I relived those two moments of my sporting triumphs and saw myself, for an instant, on the podium with laurel wreath and medal and the adulation of the cheering crowds.
The dud, the drongo, the dolt had triumphed. Not...
The Wisest
Man
I Never Met...
By Robin Evans
An Australian teacher and guide to non-duality. Like us all, Terrence once had his own personal ‘back story’ - a so-called ‘me’ - which included sexual abuse and a dysfunctional home-life followed by addiction, divorce, depression & anxiety, and suicidal thoughts.
Terrence consulted various psychologists and therapists and pursued a variety of spiritual paths, self-help groups, and gurus.
Nothing seemed to relieve the pain of separation and isolation. Then, in 1986, a chance meeting with his teacher, Sailor Bob Adamson, in Melbourne...
Although Terrence gained an intellectual understanding of non-duality from his teacher, it wasn’t until many years later that his sense of personal self finally collapsed.
It was in this state of collapse that his true non-dual nature was revealed, and he awakened to the fictitious personal dream character.
Since then, Terrence has been taking people beyond the need for further help, with non-dual pointers delivered with compassion, warmth and a wicked sense of humour!
His online non-duality meetings are attended by people from around the world, including Australia.
There's a sense of a self-centered 'me' that's so strong and it's been with us our whole life. It thinks that there's 'me' and then there's the universe. There's me and then there's everyone else. This 'me' believes a personalized story. It believes it's experiencing sensations and contractions that are unpleasant.
What we're going to do is go looking for that, that believes it feels contracted. And then one day it dawns that the whole story is not true and never was.
- Terrence
'Me' assumes there is a 'me' here, that 'me' is a thing which is present and aware. But look further and question what needs to be present for the 'me' to appear. Thought.
It’s thoughts that say there is a ‘me’ here. Thoughts say “I’m experiencing ‘me’ ”
What can a thought experience? This feeling of ‘me’ is not the ‘me’. In the absence of thought, 'me' disappears and what you truly are - your True Nature is revealed.
- Terrence
Anything other than 'This', the Direct Experience of now, is just mind chatting away to mind. 'This' is prior to thoughts, and we miss it. Everyone is experiencing now directly, yet we go to thoughts to find what's significant about now.
Now can't be recognised or experienced by a mind. Go to the Direct Experience prior to words and thoughts. Where is the 'me' in now?
We must spot clearly what this seeming 'me' is. The 'me' is the mind which is nothing but thoughts and feelings. We believe we live in the mind. You know, that mind that we are aware of? Can the mind be conscious of 'This' that's conscious of it? How many points of consciousness are there?
Flip it and see what you discover.
- Terrence
Terrence@ YouTube
Educating
Mother
background
Most people of my generation look upon their mothers and wonder how ever they made it into the world, as our mothers seemed to be oh-so-naive and innocent of the rituals of the boudoir. My mother was no exception to this rule of thumb, and that's the background of this story.
In the 1990s, there was a story running on and off in the Sydney press reporting court proceedings detailing a very salacious assault in a domestic context. The case was heard in a lower court, and there was an appeal to a higher court. So, there was plenty of newsprint over many years.
Ms Wentworth
The main litigant was a woman from a very prominent legal family. Her name was Kate Wentworth. As well as the charge she had brought against her husband, Gordon Rogers, she was battling charges that determined her to be a vexatious litigant.
So, all in all, Ms Wentworth was often featured in news reports. The gist of the story was that she was suing for divorce, citing the fact that her husband had at one stage sooled their Alsatian dog onto her to commit an act of rape.
There were other acts of violence, she claimed, best summed up as 'nights of Hunnish practices'.The general public couldn't get enough of the goings-on. It was a true education.
cunnilingus
Now, my Mother had a subscription to the Sydney Morning Herald as she was only interested in obtaining the Television Program Guide for that day. The remainder of the paper usually went unread and was used to wrap the garbage.
I was staying overnight and was reading in the paper yet another lurid account of the court proceedings with respect to Ms Wentworth. Mum asked me what I was reading, and I gave her a very edited account.
She asked to see the page. Oh well, I thought, it's now or never. She read for quite a few minutes and then said, "Peter, I want you to tell me the truth. What does this word mean?" as her finger hovered over the word cunnilingus.
dry retching
"Mum,” I said, “there are some things you don't need to know." "Well, I want to know." She replied “Oh well, you asked for it and the truth you will get.” So I told the 84-year-old what cunnilingus meant.
She bolted out from her chair, heading for the bathroom, all the while removing her false teeth before a most vigorous tooth clean accompanied by dry retching. "That's disgusting" was her verdict.
Ms Wentworth won her case. I don't know the fate of the dog. And Mum went to her grave a little wiser in the arts of the boudoir...
Introducing collage artist
Antoinette
Ellis
Currently I am busy working in Hobart on a series exploring the environmental impact of humans on nature...
1. dig deep
Being Quite Playful
...Sometimes, I want to make a serious comment, and it's not always obvious at first glance what the intended message is, but very often, the name of the piece will eventually give it away.
Other times, a work might be quite playful. I use scale to create discord or ambiguity, and the placing together of disparate images and forms are manipulated to confuse.
3. All that glitters
Composition
I find Collage, such a creative and imaginative form of art, can be a challenging medium to work with because of the exacting detail required when adhering to the paper and trying not to lose the initial composition.
Taking a lot of photographs when I’m working on a composition helps me retain precise placement when adhering to and bringing the piece together.
Engagement
My work is small in scale, which makes engagement with the piece a more intimate experience.
The viewer needs to step closer to see the story, and my intention is always to invite the viewer to stop and contemplate...
4. have it all
5. the farewell bouquet
Contact Antoinette
on Facebook...
