Ben Ralston

Simplicity. Because the revolution will not be televised.

When my wife and I first moved into our hilltop home / retreat center amongst the farmland and forests of Eastern Slovenia, we left our T.V. behind.

Hills, forest, farmland; no tsunami!
We’d decided to simplify…
Our courtship was in an ashram, and the austerity of our lives there brought us face to face and heart to heart and soul to soul in ways that I had dreamt of, yet had not dared dream of.
Our courtship was unlike any other I had experienced – and I’d experienced many; mostly fast and furious, and without real substance. But meeting Petra was like tasting a fruit that I’d never heard of before; it was a totally new, fresh experience, that burst into my senses and spread through my body, mind, and spirit.
We spent 6 months getting to know each other the old fashioned way. Surrounded as we were by Swamis who had taken vows of renunciation (my intention on coming there was to become a Swami myself!) we couldn’t express our feelings for each other in a physical way; we couldn’t even hold hands there!
So we talked when we could, but mostly just ‘tuned in’ to each other’s energy, bathing in the electric awareness of loving presence that seemed to surround us whenever we happened to be in the same room.


It was a magical time; also frustrating as hell! Having grown up in a culture of microwaves, one-night stands, and instant coffee, it was the supreme lesson in patience that I unwittingly needed.
Our first ‘date’ was to the cinema, to see ‘The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe’, chaperoned at the last moment by a Swami who shuffled down the aisle, stepping over people’s legs in the semi-dark, in his orange robes with an orange knapsack, and pulling out a thermos flask to ask, grinning from ear to ear:
“Chai?”
The soundtrack to our courtship was all Kirtan and Indian flute and tabla. And our shared favorite was “I am the eternal seeker of peace, love, and simplicity”. Those three words are on our wedding rings now, even if mine is somewhere in the Atlantic off the coast of the Algarve (long story, another time).
So when we moved in to our new house, we shed our television in the name of simplicity. And so I come to the point of this little story:
Soon after moving in, we met our postman for the first time. Please bear in mind that we live several hundred kilometers from the sea…
The postman sped up the steep hill and turned sharply into our driveway, sending gravel spinning in all directions. He huffed and puffed his way out of the van towards us, immediately sensing that he was stepping into a different world: Petra and I had just spent 2 hours meditating and practicing asanas and pranayama, and were feeling deeply mellow. He was on guard; this was unknown territory… he clocked our car; in those days a mobile advertisement for our yoga business.


He became visibly suspicious.
Handing us our post, he asked us about the car. We explained that we taught yoga, and he immediately asked us, rather indignantly – as if the very idea were some kind of travesty –  if we were vegetarian. When we replied that we were, he looked worried. He questioned us about protein, and didn’t look at all convinced.
Then he glanced at our house.
“You don’t have a t.v. antenna”
“No, we don’t need one, because we don’t have a t.v.”
Incredulous: “You don’t have a TV?!”
Smiling: “No!”
Wide eyed, “But what will you do” glancing furtively over his shoulder “if there’s a Tsunami”!
Now, I have no idea how he thought that a t.v. would help us if a Tsunami magically appeared on our hilltop above the clouds.
No idea. But I realized something very profound that day: Television makes people afraid, whilst reassuring them that they’re safe as long as they watch it.
Insidious.
If love is light, and fear is the shadow in which we all too often get lost, then television can be a serious obstacle between us and the light.
I’m not saying that you should trash the television: but watching it less never hurts, and awareness is all. Petra and I actually have a box in our home now, and the temptation is always there to over-indulge. We use it mostly to watch dvd’s.


Bonus video, Gil Scott Heron’s ‘The Revolution Will Not Be Televised’:

THE LIMIT OF MY COMPASSION

“My body was telling me not to leave. I didn’t listen…”


As I sat in meditation this morning a memory passed like a freight train through my mind:

the memory of what was by far the longest and hardest day of my life.

I’ve learnt to know the difference between low-key, ‘random’ thoughts, and deeply subconscious ‘stuff’ that comes up in meditation for good reason; so I paid attention.

In May 2008, a couple of weeks after Petra and I got married here in Slovenia, I had a phone call from my Mother. She told me if I wanted to see my (very sick) Father again, I’d better come soon. I  came off the phone and immediately booked a flight for the following day. I would fly back to England on the Friday, stay the weekend, and come home to Slovenia on Monday morning. (Petra was leaving on the Tuesday morning to go to India for a month to study Ayurvedic massage, and I wanted to see her off).

I flew home with the realization that this was probably the last time I’d see my Father – a realization that filled my whole physical and emotional being with a deep sadness. He’d been ill for a long time, and we’d all known this moment would be coming, but even so… there is no way to prepare for loss. It happens, and then you deal with it.




When I saw him that day, the horror left me feeling numb. He was very, very ill. As I look back now, I realize that if I’d taken time to think about it, I would have known that he had only days left. Subconsciously, I did know; but consciously, I avoided thinking at all. It was too painful.

I spent some time with him, but he was so weak that no communication was possible. He had long since lost the use of his voice, and now he could barely move. His neck muscles were too weak to support his head, so eye contact was difficult. I spent most of the time with my Mother, talking with her and trying as best I could to support her.

The weekend passed, and suddenly it was Monday morning. I learnt that morning what it means to have a ‘heavy heart’. However, when I said goodbye to my Father for the last time, there were no tears and no drama. I gave him a hug, stroked his head, and whispered, “I love you Pops”. He summoned up the strength to lift his head and give me a look of love that I’ll never forget.
Then I went downstairs and left for the airport. My bags weighed nothing compared to the physical feeling of heaviness. My body was telling me not to leave. I didn’t listen.

At the airport I was the first person in the departure lounge. I was set on getting home to Slovenia and putting behind me the pain of seeing my Father in that condition. All I could think of was finding some temporary solace in my wife’s arms.

Slowly, the lounge filled. The plane was outside on the tarmac, and through the window I could see the luggage being stowed on the plane.
Then, I had a sudden and peculiar urge: I wanted to buy a newspaper. (The reason this was peculiar was that I rarely used to read the papers).
The plane wasn’t boarding yet; I had plenty of time. Besides, they always announce the boarding, right?


I walked down the hallway to the shop, and bought a paper and a bottle of water. It must have taken me 3 – 5 minutes, but when I returned, the lounge was empty! The strangest feeling came over me – the heaviness in my body was now accompanied by a feeling of complete emotional emptiness, as if every cell in my body was hollow – as I realized what was about to happen.

I ran the few steps to the flight departure gate, where a woman in uniform was counting ticket stubs. She didn’t even look up as she told me that I had missed my flight.

The world went into slow motion. I could see my plane still sitting outside – two lines of people slowly climbing the stairways into the front and back – the ground crew scurrying around like ants, still finishing their flight preparations.

I pleaded with the woman in front of me.
Would she let me run down and join the back of the line…
would she radio the plane and ask the cabin crew if I could go down…
my wife was going away, my father was dying, please, I needed to get on that plane.

If she would just look at me, maybe I could communicate how important this was. As I raised my voice, she did look up: to inform me that if I continued to behave in a threatening manner she would call the police. She was a stony-faced, cold-eyed woman, and nothing I could say or do would change that fact. I wasn’t getting on that plane.

As I walked away, my world crumbled. I couldn’t stay in England; I couldn’t bear to see my Father like that again. I needed to be with my wife; to be home.

I had to wait 2 hours in the departure lounge for a ground crew to come and ‘escort’ me disdainfully back to the check-in desks. I booked another flight from another airport on the other side of London, and then traveled two hours by train to get there. That flight was delayed, so I finally arrived back in Slovenia at 2am. Petra’s parents were there to meet me, and drove me back to our home, where we arrived at 4am. On arriving home, I saw that my car had a flat tire, so I then had to drive my parents in law home, and return with their car in order to be able to drive Petra to the airport 30 minutes later (she had an early morning flight). I successfully saw her off to India at the airport!

I then drove home, having been traveling non-stop for about 36 hours, having had no sleep and only 30 brief minutes with my wife at 5 o’clock in the morning.

When I arrived back home from Ljubljana airport (again), I sat down and felt more alone than I had ever felt in my life: heavy and empty and utterly alone.

I made a cup of tea, and the phone rang: my brother. My Father had been rushed to hospital that morning, where he had just died.
I couldn’t believe it.
Deep down, I had known.

I realized at the time that I should have stayed in England that day: missing my flight was a good thing! Everything happens for a reason. I should have stayed and been with my Father when he passed on. I knew he was dying, and missing my flight was no ‘accident’.
I should have been there for my Father and Mother and my Brothers.

But it was only this morning, as the memory of that weekend came flooding back to me during meditation, that I was able to see clearly why I didn’t listen to all the signs.

I was selfish, and I lacked compassion.

Truth be told, I couldn’t stand being with my Father when he was ill. It was too painful. It made me feel helpless and useless and so, so sad. And although it pains and embarrasses me to admit it, I couldn’t bear the smell of stale body fluids and atrophying muscles.
I didn’t know how to handle the situation of someone I love slowly dying.

I realize now how selfish I was: I put my feelings before my Fathers’. What was he going through? His body was in excruciating pain and he knew he was dying.
I put my feelings before his. How utterly selfish.

As I sat meditating this morning, my mind went back to that other morning two years ago. I apologized to my Father, and visualized myself doing now what I was unable to do then: staying in England, being with my Father and my family at a time when they needed me. Putting others first.

I learnt a little about compassion: to be able to sit with someone who is sick just because they need you. Just to sit, putting up with a smell, and with my own discomfort, and perhaps finding joy in giving solace to another.

To offer solace rather than seek it.

I learnt, most importantly, about the limits of MY compassion. I am a spiritual teacher. I have always known myself to be compassionate – I have many times saved animal’s lives, helped people in difficulty, and made tough decisions based purely on compassion. But each of us, unless we are truly en-lightened, has a limit. How strange that the limit of my compassion was found in a situation with someone that I loved the most! But then that is what relationships are for: sometimes only through relationship can we learn the hardest lessons. As Buddha said:
“The foot feels the foot when it feels the ground.”


And again I learnt that my Father was a great teacher.


(If you enjoyed this article, you might like: Tribute to my Father.)

TRUST

Dear friends, the other day I wrote this post on my Prem Center facebook page: “When we TRUST the world around us, we align ourselves with the natural order. We experience abundance! But when we WORRY, we hold on, and become tense, blocking that natural flow of abundance. Let go. Don’t worry. You have always had everything you needed, and always will. Trust, and be truly joyful”

And an old friend of mine from L.A. asked a great question.  I always love questions(especially such good ones as this!) because it opens up a channel of communication from which not only the two of us learn, but also anyone else who is listening. This is how we can grow and evolve: IN RELATIONSHIP. To me that is what questions and answers are – communication; relationship.
So, here is my friend Joyce’s question: ” what do you mean by “natural order”? i’m asking because i (think) i understand what you mean but then, upon reflection- i’m not quite sure what ‘natural order’ means beyond being born (been there done, that) and dying (eventually, hopefully a ways off)… i’m being simplistic but i really am curious about understanding what you mean by this… moreover, can a ‘natural order’ be pursued in an environment immersed in industry, consumerism, and avarice? a place, like say… los angeles? i think it’s possible, but it feels like a struggle at times…”

The theme of my original post (the one quoted above) was about  Trust versus Worry. For me, the natural order is what every animal, vegetable and mineral experiences… faith. It is a silent knowing, a deep trusting – that everything in life is just as it is meant to be. Even when things go ‘wrong’, there is always a reason. We may not immediately know what that reason is, but we can always look back later and say, “aha, that experience had a positive effect”.
In English, we have the saying: “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”
And one of my favourite singers, Beth Orton, has the wonderful lyric: “regrets are just lessons you haven’t learnt yet”…







Whatever we think, however we judge a situation, there is always a bigger picture – much bigger than our thoughts and judgements. In fact, if we look at it scientifically, where do thoughts and judgements come from? They come from the frontal cortex part of our brain – the part of our brain that is unique to adult humans. It is very useful, helping us to use language, and analyse the world around us. Without it we wouldn’t have flown to the moon or even invented the wheel. But it is also the part of us that WORRIES. Worry is fear in disguise. Not a very good disguise either. If you worry a lot, it’s because you are afraid. Thoughts, judgemtents, worries, fear – it’s all in the head.

So if fear and worry is in the head, where is trust? It’s in the body. Trust is in the natural movements of the body: walking, dancing, jumping. It’s in the breath, and the rhythmical expansion and contraction of the lungs. It’s in the flow of blood and energy throughout the body, and the involuntary processes of the internal organs and the digestion.
When you eat a meal, you put the food into your mouth, and then what? Do you have to worry about the food after that? No! The stomach does it’s job, the intestines do theirs, and finally…! It all happens naturally, spontaneously, and  without the need for our attention.
In the same way, the universe and the earth do what they need to do: the planets stay in their orbits, the sun keeps on shining, and the earth keeps up just enough gravity for us to stay here where we belong. Trees give us all the oxygen we need; rains give us all the water we need; there is an abundance of food – more than enough to feed every person on the planet. So why then do we worry so much?

I’ll tell you why:
Because our society has lost touch with: guess what?
Yes, THE NATURAL ORDER. We have entered into a battle with nature, trying to manipulate and control, instead of simply trusting. We are afraid that if we let go, something terrible will happen – a new disease, or an earthquake, or a volcano.
And guess what? These things DO happen – it’s just part of life. But honestly, when did any of these things last affect you, and how often does that happen? And more importantly, did worrying about anything ever affect a more positive outcome!

So trust! Trust that you will have everything you need. Trust that no matter what happens, there is always a reason. Trust that  “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”.
Let your awareness come down, out of your head, and into your body.
The natural order for human beings is this: our energy enters our body in and below the solar plexus. (There is a wisdom there that is ancient, from long before we were human: it is something instinctive and faithful.) That energy flows into our solar plexus, and up, through the heart (our emotional center) and from there into the brain. Our brain is a computer that sorts out the message from the solar plexus and then organizes the necessary action: the brain is like a secretary. It organizes and it gets things done. But the boss, the manager, the chairman, is deeper down – in the solar plexus. Most people let the secretary make all the decisions – and guess what: the secretary isn’t good at that, it’s not his job, and so he gets stressed. That stress accumulates, and if you’re not careful, it leads to all kinds of problems, like depression and disease. On the other hand, if you bring your awareness down into the body; focus on feeling more. On being more real, more here, more present. Being aware of the ground beneath your feet, the air in your nostrils, the sounds around you, the life in your body. If you do that, life becomes more joyful – because it’s the way we are meant to be: it’s in alignment with the natural order.

It’s not easy – because we’ve been conditioned by our society to do the opposite (at school, by our parents, by television, media, advertising, etc). But with practice you gradually eliminate worry, and cultivate a feeling of trust.  That trust leads to respect, and that respect leads to love. For oneself, for others, and for the world around us.

What could be more natural than that?

To answer the second part of the question: yes it is possible to live in trust and love surrounded by industry and consumerism and avarice (greed). But it’s REALLY HARD. I think it’s essential to get out of town regularly, back to nature. Like, preferably every day. That’s why I moved to the countryside – and I have to say I could never go back…