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if you really want to, can become more like that. There are a set of things you can do that will reliably deliver more happiness, more peace and more love in your life.

      Let me illustrate this process of attraction by quoting from some interviews that I taped with residents and visitors at a Buddhist community in Devon. Here is Kevin, a visitor for the weekend from his home in Southampton, 45 years old, a project quality manager for a big company making complicated communication systems. He was brought up an ‘unthinking Anglican’, left school at fifteen, took City and Guilds qualifications in electronics, and is married with two teenage daughters. How did this apparently ordinary man come to be involved with lamas, gurus and meditation?

      

      

      About seven or eight years ago, in my late thirties, I started to realize that everything in life isn’t good, everything in the garden isn’t rosy, and that there is such a thing as suffering, and you start to question it ... I mean, things in my own garden and the garden globally. Before I ever met Buddhism I began to think that perhaps the unsatisfactoriness of life was something to do with me. That it wasn’t outside, but the only one who could do anything about my life was me. People could perhaps give me some advice, but the effort really had to come from within myself … My first encounter with Buddhism as such was when I was standing at the kitchen sink and my wife said, ‘Did you know Chas (a friend) is a Buddhist?’ and I thought, ‘That’s interesting. I wonder what that’s all about? I must talk to him about it.’ And when I did he talked about suffering in one’s life, and how to approach it, and he just reinforced what I had been thinking.

      Then I read a book by Christmas Humphreys, and I got to hear about some Buddhist meetings in Portsmouth, and I thought I’ve got to investigate this. So I went along, not at all sure what I was going to find. The first thing I found was some very nice, warm, friendly people – that was my instant impression. They accepted me as if they already knew me, which I found very encouraging. And I’ve come to realize that this is the effect that Buddhism tends to have on people. People become warm, friendly, generous – with things and with themselves. It was that first meeting that clinched it. They still had problems in their lives that they were willing to talk about, but it seemed to me that they somehow coped with these problems in a way that involved far less effort than a lot of other people I knew – myself, for one! Now I can see that this attitude stemmed from their meditation practice. Ten minutes later the bhikkhu (monk) walked in in his robes, with his begging bowl – he was from the Isle of Wight! – and I was immediately impressed with his calmness. He seemed to be at peace with himself. I listened to him talk, and after the meeting I fixed to visit his place on the Isle of Wight … and I’ve been meditating pretty regularly since then.

      My family are very sympathetic. They’ve seen a big change in me. I’m not so easily panicked or worked up as I used to be. I’m more calm. On a physical level my health has improved – I’ve got low blood pressure now and a very low pulse rate, and it used to be the other way round. Just a few months ago my youngest daughter – she’s thirteen – came with me to the monastery and spent the best part of a day there. She found it very interesting. She was quite impressed actually! She was very struck by the shaven heads and lack of hair. The first impression she got was one of peace. She said, ‘It’s funny, Dad. I don’t know why it is, but their shaven heads make them look peaceful!’

      

      

      Then there was James. He was thirty and had been living in the community for about nine months at the time, teaching at the local technical college and looking after the vegetable garden. James had been brought up a strict Roman Catholic and had been to a Jesuit boarding school from the age of eight. He had a PhD in water pollution and was married to another Buddhist. He said:

      

      

      I started to think about religion for myself when I was about fourteen. I think I was pretty confused, especially in my feelings. My family weren’t very emotional, and also at school feelings were pushed aside and you just had to cope. You didn’t cry, you didn’t show any ‘weakness’ because that was wrong. No touch; no cuddles. There wasn’t anybody I could talk to about this so it was all locked up inside, and I had to grapple with it on my own. Sex too was a big issue, especially coming from a very ‘male’ family and being at an all-male school. I was beginning to be fascinated by girls, but was also terrified! Generally I felt very split between my intellectual life and a deeper side of me that I could feel but not really understand. I tried to ask one of the priests about this and he said, ‘It’s just nature. You see it in the birds and trees. It is God.’ And that really confused me! So I left school with these big questions forming inside me. When I went to university I basically squashed it all down, and just had a bit of a wild time. But when I went on to do research I was spending a lot of time on my own in the lab doing experiments, sometimes through the night, and I started to think again.

      Things were beginning to boil up again, and then one day I saw a poster for a public talk on Buddhism, and on impulse I decided to go. In walked this big monk and he sat down and talked for about an hour, and I felt his whole presence just fill the room. Something inside me responded to his strength and his peace, and my whole being just said, ‘Yes’. I wanted the strength that he showed. He seemed to know what it was all about. But afterwards I couldn’t remember what he said at all! I started going to a small meditation group that was meeting and then joined a Zen group in London.

      

      

      Mary, another resident in the community, had had a rather different upbringing, yet in some ways her path to Buddhism was similar to James’s. Her father had been interested in the Eastern religions and had been a somewhat unconventional figure in their south of England commuter-belt town. Mary had been used to thinking about spiritual matters as a teenager:

      

      

      I had been looking forward to going to university to discuss ‘the meaning of life’ with people, but as it turned out university wasn’t about that at all. It was about getting plastered. All the people I seemed to bump into were just into drink and sex and their careers! I missed the serious side of things dreadfully. After I left I worked for a couple of years and then planned an overland trip to China. Six months before I was due to go my father died. And during the week after he died I experienced, in the middle of all the feelings, a great presence of mind. I was thinking and writing about him, and remembering all the times I had felt critical of him. And I thought, ‘When death is possible, what is the most important thing?’ And I knew the answer was Love. This was a sort of turning point, and I gained some insights that I later realized were important in Buddhism, though I didn’t know it at the time. When I came back from my trip, which I eventually made, I went to a thing called a Western Zen Retreat – very nervously, I might say. I didn’t know what to expect. I was set this question to meditate on which was ‘Who am I?’, and I found an answer to it, a real one, that put me in touch with a level of being that I had not experienced before: infinite love, infinite peace, a different sense of who I am entirely. And that experience of course made me very interested in Buddhism. At this point I wasn’t quite sure what I was after, but I was jolly well after something!

      Then I met a Japanese Zen Master called Hogen-san who came to England for a few weeks every year, giving talks and workshops, and he attracted me very much. I used to follow him around the country. He was very down-to-earth, not ‘holy’ at all. I remember one interview I had with him where we had Guinness for breakfast! I learnt to see that Buddhism was in everyday life, not in some special rituals or only on Sundays. Hogen-san’s quality was there in the pub as well as in the meditation room.

      

      

      The last extract I want to give here is from my talk with Theresa, a 41-year-old American woman who was also living in the community and teaching meditation. She had grown up in an orthodox Jewish family, enjoying some of the rituals, but without thinking about what it meant at all. ‘It didn’t mean anything to me. I wasn’t specially resistant, but ... well, everybody

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