Dear Subscriber First Name,I don’t know when I started this newsletter—the earliest one I can find is from June 2018. It’s called Red Letter 15, which suggests there were fourteen before it. I’ve never been a good archivist. The subject line of that one was “Arty Farty”, still a favourite expression of mine. As someone not especially known for consistency, I’m quietly proud of myself for having kept this newsletter going for so long. Well over a thousand of you are now receiving it. Some of you are my nearest and dearest; others are friends, or friends of friends. And I’m aware that some of you I’ve never met at all—and perhaps I’m completely new to you too. If so I'm glad you are here, this week’s email is especially for you. I thought I would take the opportunity to introduce myself and invite you to do the same. I’ll start with now. I live in the south of Sweden with my wife, Dhammasiri. After years of planning and waiting for the right time, we recently moved to the countryside. What drew us here was a shared intention: to create a life based around practice. Our vision was simple—to create a place of practice in a beautiful setting. Somewhere we could live quietly together, and also open up to friends, old and new. A refuge, if you like, from the busyness and stress of everyday life. And so we’ve ended up here in Skåne, on a peaceful two-acre spot, with a house and a small guesthouse that allow us to welcome others and share our life here with them from time to time. At times I have to pinch myself—I feel deeply lucky and grateful to be living this way. At other times I wonder if we’re completely mad. I’ll be 60 in a couple of years, why didn’t we just choose something smaller, easier to maintain, cheaper to heat, where I could put my feet up and quietly wait out the rest of my life? And yet, it really comes back to a very long standing dream of mine, that is to create a place of practice. One of the main threads running through my life has been the philosophy of wabi-sabi, sometimes described as “the Zen of things.” We tend to think of practice as something that happens in our own psyches, or in our relationships with others. But there is also a whole world of practice in things—in spaces, objects, and the environments we live within. I’ve always been very sensitive to my surroundings. Even as a child I was constantly moving the furniture in my room, looking for the perfect arrangement where everything could finally settle. I would book little cottages for solitary retreats and then find myself cleaning them from top to bottom, rearranging the rooms to clear what felt like stagnant energy. At this point you may be thinking I have some kind of diagnosis—and I’m sure, in the current climate, I could probably get one! But I’ve come to love this sensitivity. Perhaps it’s a medical condition, or maybe an art form, or simply a way of working with my own mind. Out of that sensitivity has grown a desire to create a space that genuinely lends itself to practice. Not just a space, but an atmosphere. Imagine a place where, as you walk in, you feel able to relax and be yourself. Where the things around you have been thoughtfully considered. Where mindfulness feels like the default mode, and kindness is woven into the very fabric of the place. Is that really possible? I think so. You could say I’m finally living out a dream—but like most dreams, it’s rather nebulous. How will we share this place? Who will come? How will we manage to support ourselves financially? Yes, those little details aren’t entirely clear yet. For now, we’re planning a few small retreats and hope to offer the Garden House to people for solo or duo retreats. Beyond that, we’re trusting the universe. Perhaps you have your own ideas to share? When I’m not rearranging furniture, I spend much of my time reading, writing, and reflecting on the Dharma—which feels like a good segue into my past. I first started practising Buddhism when I was twenty years old, nearly forty years ago. At the time, I had little interest in what I saw as a conventional life, not much ambition, and very little desire for material things. What I did have was a strong longing for my life to mean something. The refrain was simple: there must be more to life than this. Not long after encountering the Dharma, I had a clear sense that this was something I would never grow bored of (I get bored easily, as you’ll know if you’ve followed this newsletter for a while!). The Dharma felt bigger than me—vast enough not to let me down. And now, all these years later, I feel as though I’ve barely scratched the surface. The teachings are inexhaustible; with every insight, there’s always a deeper understanding waiting to be discovered. So that was that. I nailed my colours to the mast of the Dharma and have been practising ever since. I came to the Dharma through the Triratna Buddhist tradition and joined the order just before my thirtieth birthday. Over the years I lived and worked in Buddhist communities and retreat centres. All of that now feels slightly dreamlike—the story of me, one of many I could tell. You’ll find another version of the story on my website’s about page. If we don’t know each other and you’d like to share a little of your own story—or your current dream—do drop me a line. My mailing list is still small enough that I read and reply to every message. Or why not book on our online taster session at the end of the month? Or if you are living locally join us for a morning of Dharma and meditation at Grevlunda Yoga Studio next weekend. More details below ⬇️
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