Yesterday, I walked with seven young nuns and monks from Plum Village, Thenac, France. We met at Clare College, in the Latimer Room. Birds chirped and students crunched outside on gravel, as we practised peace, and sang songs of breathing, freedom and freshness. This is the very first UK
Wake Up tour organised by the young novices, some of whom were students at Cambridge themselves, and had direct experience of struggling with mounting stress and anxiety of exams and future careers. This trip is holiday and work experience for the young monastics - I could see the bouncing energy in their spirit. I couldn't stop grinning - they looked so happy! Practising walking meditation down past the yellow daffodils and the blue scilla, we painted quite a picture I imagine :) Not a single person walked past us without acknowledging in some way the quiet mindful procession. And I like to think some waves of peace radiated through the colleges, and into the souls of panicked students and grim professors.
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| still, from the Keats' biopic 'Bright Star' |
When I was 17, I had the most delightful interview at Newnham College, to read English. I breezed into the room, and immediately fell in love with the view across the lawns. I think the Head of Department and Head Lecturer were thoroughly amused. I had only lived in England for two years, so it was quite dreamy to have a conversation about the poetry and literature that was, and had been inspiring my soul for years. I remember raving about the romantic soul of Keats in particular. Love and death, I cried ecstatically! Poetry is always about love and death!
Following my diagnosis, I deferred my admission, but at 19, when I faced the Admissions Tutor again, she 'suggested' that with an illness like lupus, I would never cope with the stress of Cambridge academic life. She quoted the suicide rates to me. I was a shivering, quivering mass in that office, not knowing how to fight my case. I did not know enough about the animal raging through me to defend my ability to cope. What struck the final blow to my confidence, was learning that the English lecturer who had interviewed me, had lupus herself, and instead of supporting my case, had done exactly the opposite. "You'll never cope at Cambridge, with Lupus" resounded in my ears, on and on, through the years that followed. I re-applied again at 23, for my Masters, but the day before the deadline, I cancelled my application.
I have only recently forgiven myself for that action. Or maybe I haven't completely forgiven myself. All I know is, that yesterday, in sitting and walking meditation, something healed itself inside me. The warrior poet walked with the warrior nuns, and the ghosts of my past ran for it, far, far away from me.
images: assortment from my own, flickr and theblogpaper
