My Little Paradise

I was recently reading a small book about Shinran, one of the ancient (12th century) fathers of Pure Land Buddhism. Apparently Shinran wrote that if we wished to study a spiritual path we needed to set ourselves apart and stick our head in a book (not quite the language he used, but near enough) whereas if we wished to actually walk the path, then there was no better place to start than where we found ourselves now. In fact, no other place to start. Buddhism, in some of its manifestations, also claims that a million Buddha's can be found in just one flower, and that to see the Buddha is to see the Dharma (truth/reality) So reality is everywhere, here and now, not some place other or beyond.

Anyway, flying somewhat in the face of such musing, I have my own little paradise which often stands out as special. Well, it sure beats sitting in a dentist's chair. It is the Record Department of my local Oxfam Store, where I spend every Tuesday afternoon, a volunteer on the tills. It has one of the biggest collections of vinyl records in the UK, as well as CD's and DVD'S, sheet music and other paraphernalia. I once picked up an old guitar there for a few pounds, the one I get out when the grandchildren invade our home (bless 'em), the one they can accidentally knock over or attempt to play as if a cello, leaving more expensive models safe.

Yes, it is paradise. I take along a few of my own CD's, and play them to my hearts content. I also take along my Kindle eReader. Occasionally a customer comes in and rudely interrupts my realm of peace and joy.......but that is a small price to pay. Yet many of the customers have a story to tell, or a point of view to discuss, even an opinion on the music playing (like "what the hell is THAT?") I've passed many a happy hour reminiscing about the Sixties, or the early career of Jerry Lee Lewis, and learnt a lot. I've learnt that all vinyl records are of a particular pressing, much like particular editions of books - there are those willing to pay a lot for the earliest pressing of a particular album - even if they own another copy already. For me I just concentrate on the music itself, but each to their own. If someone wants to pay £60 to Oxfam for a vinyl disc they already have who am I to argue?

Recently an old guy came in, bent over a little, perhaps with arthritis. He had the look of someone who had never had a life. ( Oh yes, I can be very judgemental at times ) He shuffled around the stock for quite a while, picking and choosing, and eventually came over and rudely interrupted my peace by wishing to purchase a couple of vinyl singles. I read out the label of one of the singles he had chosen, an old Fifties number. "Yes, I'll enjoy strumming along to that" the old guy said, " I used to play along to it in my younger days", then revealed that he owned two Stratocasters and two Les Pauls! Well, you never can tell! I asked him if he had ever played in a group and he told me that he had never been able to play in public, just too shy. Which is rather sad, yet in many ways I am able to empathise.

Just to add, and to make this particular blog more substantial, I posted something like this on a Discussion Forum. Such posts can amble about and leave the original ideas well behind, which is what I like about them.....(once I remember an original post that asked the question "Why are you not a Christian?" and within a few posts the subject had drifted onto the difference between the common English garden frog and the South American variety, which I found far more interesting) Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, on that other Forum the whole thing culminated in me posting a poem I have always loved, that I in fact first read on yet another Forum. The poem is about acceptance, of difference, of each of us being unique, even precious. And other things. You might have your own thoughts.



The Two-Headed Calf

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.


Laura Gilpin