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Another Afternoon of Knowing, Searching, & Doing (the “missing” Wednesday post w/excerpts and links) August 21, 2024

Posted by ajoyfulpractice in Art, Books, Changing Perspectives, Healing Stories, Health, Hope, Life, Love, One Hoop, Pain, Philosophy, Poetry, Suffering, Wisdom, Writing, Yoga.
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Many blessings to everyone and especially to anyone observing the Dormition (Theotokos) Fast and/or exploring friendship, peace, freedom, and wisdom — especially when it gets hot (inside and outside).

Stay hydrated & be kind, y’all!

This is the “missing” for Wednesday, August 21st. Technically, it is also a portion of the “long lost” post for the 2021 practice. It includes some previously posted information. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra (at) ajoyfulpractice.com.

In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es).

Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.

Check out the “Class Schedules” calendar for upcoming classes.

“By the time it came to the edge of the Forest, the stream had grown up, so that it was almost a river, and being grown-up, it did not run and jump and sparkle along as it used to do when it was younger, but moved more slowly. For it knew now where it was going, and it said to itself, ‘There is no hurry. We shall get there some day.’ But all the little streams higher up in the Forest went this way and that, quickly, eagerly, having so much to out before it was too late.”

— quoted from “Chapter Six, In Which – Pooh Invents a New Game and Eeyore Joins In” of The House at Pooh Corner by Alan Alexander Milne, with decorations by Ernest Howard Shephard

One day, a couple had a baby. They were expecting a girl and planned to call her “Rosemary.” But, it turned out they were having a boy. They decided to call him “Billy” — and while they did call him “Billy Moon,” they never intended to christen him “William.” Instead, the couple each picked a name. Born in Chelsea, London, England, today in 1920, the little baby boy was christened Christopher Robin Milne.

You may have heard of him.

Like his father, he was an author, as well as a bookseller, who wrote The Enchanted Places (1974), The Path Through the Trees (1979), The Hollow on the Hill (1982), The Windfall (1985), and The Open Garden (1988). Also like his father, Alan Alexander Milne, Christopher served in the military — although, it was a little harder for the younger Milne to join the British Army since he had health issues and failed his medical exam. At some point in his life he was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called myasthenia gravis, which is a neuromuscular junction disease that creates muscle weakness and can lead to double vision. The elder Milne pulled some strings and young Christopher was able to join the 2nd Training Battalion of the Royal Engineers. After serving in the Middle East and Italy, being wounded, he eventually returned to Trinity College, Cambridge University, where he earned a degree in English.

But, that’s probably not why you’ve heard of him.

If you’ve heard of him, it’s probably not because he, like his father, married a woman from the de Sélincourt family — A. A. married Dorothy “Daphne” de Sélincourt, in 1913, and Christopher married Lesley (a first cousin), in 1948. Nor is it likely — although it is possible — that you know of him because (like his parents), he and his wife had one child, a daughter named Clare. I say that it is possible, but not likely, to have heard of Christopher Milne through his daughter Clare, because Clare had cerebral palsy and was an advocate for people with disabilities. In fact, Clare and her mother established the Clare Milne Trust in 1999, in order to provide grants to charities and organizations that “support people of all ages with a disability who live in Devon or Cornwall [and] help them to live a full and active life.” The trust started distributing grants in 2002; so, it’s possible (although, not probable) that that’s how you heard of Christopher Milne.

But, I’m willing to bet a whole jar of honey that you first heard of Christopher Robin Milne, because of his toys.

“Every child has his Pooh, but one would think it odd if every man still kept his Pooh to remind him of his childhood. But my Pooh is different, you say: he is the Pooh. No, this only makes him different to you. My toys were and are to me no more than yours were and are to you, not different to me. I do not love them more because they are known to children in Australia or Japan. Fame has nothing to do with love.”

— quoted from “12. The Toys” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne

Christopher Milne received the first of those toys today in 1921. It was a Teddy bear named Edward, naturally. Later that year, one of his first Christmas presents was a stuffed grey donkey, Eeyore. Sometime that same year, he also received Piglet. Much later, his parents gave him three more stuffed animals: Kanga, Roo, and Tigger. At some point, the family went to the London Zoo to see a Canadian black bear named Winnipeg. Then, when he was around five years old, Mr. Milne and his family moved to a country home in East Sussex. The house was surrounded by woods and things the little boy was eager to explore.

To entertain his son, A. A. Milne wrote little verses, including one called “Teddy Bear,” which appeared in Punch when Christopher Robin was three years old. When the family moved, the senior Mr. Milne started incorporating the woods around their East Sussex home into the poems and stories about Christopher Robin, Winnie the Pooh, and the other stuffed animals. Owl and Rabbit (and maybe Small) — and definitely the Heffalump were made up. Alice was not; she was young Christopher’s nanny, Olive “Nou” Rand Brockwell. Much to everyone’s surprise — and much to A. A. Milne’s chagrin — the stories, with those lovely “decorations” by E. H. Shephard, garnered more accolades than for his plays, articles, and adult novels.

But, what could he do about that?

”Forty years ago such letters were addressed to my father, and I can well remember seeing them on the breakfast table every morning and watching him open them…. He would read them silently, then pass them, one at a time, to my mother.

‘What do you think?’

‘Probably Wol.’

‘I thought so too.

So ‘Wol’ it often was.

You may remember the occasion. Rabbit had found the notice saying GON OUT BACKSON BISY BACKSON and had taken it round to Owl for his advice. You may even remember the actual lines. Owl asks:

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing’

‘The best thing,’ said Owl wisely.

Somehow, so often, nothing did seem the best thing to do.

— quoted from the “Introduction” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne

Click on the excerpt title below for the 2022 post dedicated to A. A. Milne (featuring a related video from my “Nine Days” series).

Searching…. (the “missing” Tuesday post w/a little extra)

But, what of the little boy?

The little boy grew up, as little boys do. His parents were concerned by how all the attention affected their still young son — who, it must be said, kind of hated the attention. He was bullied when he was in Boxgrove School (a boarding school) and even more so when he went to Stowe School. Eventually, as I mentioned before, he went to college, then to war, and then back to college. He got married and had his daughter. Much to his mother’s surprise, Christopher Milne opened Harbour Bookshop, in Dartmouth, on August 25. 1951. The bookstore was a success. In fact, up until its last owners closed the shop in 2011, it was the only independent bookshop in Dartmouth for the better part of 60 years.

While Christopher Milne maintained a relationship with his father up until A. A. Milne’s death in 1956 (shortly before Clare was born), he was estranged from his mother from 1956 until her death in 1971. He had no interest in returning to Cotchford Farm, his childhood home in East Sussex, or his father’s royalties. With the exception of Roo, who was lost when Mr. Milne was 9, the original stuffed animals were all donated to the New York Public Library.

A portion of the following was posted last year.

”Yet the little boy did grow up and it is the grown-up little boy who is writing now. And something of what he was by nature and something of what he became as a result of his experience will colour his words.”

— quoted from the “Introduction” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne

In 1974, the very grown-up Christopher Milne wrote The Enchanted Places to bridge the gap between what people know — or think they know — about a boy and his toys and the man that grew up. That bridge is full of “a few precious things / [that] Seem to follow throughout all our lives.” Some of those things are specific, tangible and describable: toys, games, people. Some of those things are unspecific: a feeling created and then remembered. The bridge is also made up of barely describable and absolutely indescribable things.

As Patanjali pointed out in Yoga Sūtras 2.18 – 2.20), everything in the world is made up of these things. So, there is always a bridge and every one of us has a story (or stories) that make up our bridge. Those stories are filled (if we are lucky) with friends — like Christopher Robin, Pooh, Piglet, Owl, Eeyore, Rabbit, Kanga, Roo, Tigger, the Heffalump, and (even) Small and Alice — and afternoons of just knowing, doing “nothing” (or something).

“Christopher Robin came down from the Forest to the bridge, feeling all sunny and careless, and just as if twice nineteen didn’t matter a bit, as it didn’t on such a happy afternoon, and he thought if he stood on the bottom rail of the bridge, and leant over, and watched the river slipping slowly away beneath him, then he would suddenly know everything there was to be known, and he would be able to tell Pooh, who wasn’t quite sure of it. But when he got to the bridge and saw all the animals there, then he knew that it wasn’t that kind of afternoon, but the other kind, when you wanted to do something.

— quoted from “Chapter Six, In Which – Pooh Invents a New Game and Eeyore Joins In” of The House at Pooh Corner by Alan Alexander Milne, with decorations by Ernest Howard Shephard

Wednesday’s playlist available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “08212021 An Afternoon of Just Knowing”]


“If ever there is a tomorrow when we’re not together…there is something you must always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think…”

— Christopher Robin to Winnie-the-Pooh (in the Walt Disney movie, Pooh’s Grand Adventure: The Search for Christopher Robin, written by Carter Crocker and Karl Geurs 

Yes, it’s true, one of the most famous Christopher Robin / Winnie-the-Pooh quote was not written by A. A. Milne (nor was it written while he was still alive). You can click on the excerpt title above to find out more and/or click here to check out my 2016 post about someone who likes to explore enchanted places.

Click here to pick up the thread and learn about two writers born on August 22nd.

Extreme heat (and a lot of changes) can not only make people lethargic and unmotivated, they can also lead to extreme agitation and anxiety-based fear. We may find it hard to think, hard to feel (or process our feelings), and/or hard to control our impulses. If you are struggling in the US, help is available just by dialing 988.

If you are thinking about suicide, worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, you can dial 988 (in the US) or call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can also call this TALK line if you are struggling with addiction or involved in an abusive relationship. The Lifeline network is free, confidential, and available to all 24/7. YOU CAN TALK ABOUT ANYTHING.

White Flag is a new app, which I have not yet researched, but which may be helpful if you need peer-to-peer (non-professional) support.

If you are a young person in crisis, feeling suicidal, or in need of a safe and judgement-free place to talk, you can also click here to contact the TrevorLifeline (which is staffed 24/7 with trained counselors).

### Do You Know For What or Whom You Are Looking? ###

Picking Up the Fire Thread (mostly a note, excerpt, and links) August 22, 2023

Posted by ajoyfulpractice in Art, Books, Buddhism, Changing Perspectives, Healing Stories, Life, Music, Mysticism, One Hoop, Philosophy, Suffering, Wisdom, Writing, Yoga.
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Stay safe. Stay hydrated. Notice the path.

”Yet the little boy did grow up and it is the grown-up little boy who is writing now. And something of what he was by nature and something of what he became as a result of his experience will colour his words.”

– quoted from the “Introduction” in The Enchanted Places by Christopher Milne

Yesterday was the anniversary of the birth of Christopher Robin Milne (b. 8/22/1920), whose book The Enchanted Places bridged the gap between what people know – or think they know – about a boy and his toys and the man that grew up. That bridge is full of “a few precious things / [that] Seem to follow throughout all our lives.” Some of those things are specific, tangible and describable: toys, games, people. Some of those things are unspecific: a feeling created and then remembered. The bridge is also made up of barely describable and absolutely indescribable things.

As Patanjali pointed out in Yoga Sūtras 2.18 – 2.20), everything in the world is made up of these things. So, there is always a bridge and every one of us has a story (or stories) that make up our bridge. Or, we can think of the space between our “yesterdays” and today as a thread. Either way, when we pick up that thread today, we find an author born the day after Mr. Milne and another born fifteen years after that.

“I knew something important had happened to me that day because of Mr. Electrico. I felt changed. He gave me importance, immortality, a mystical gift. My life was turned around completely. It makes me cold all over to think about it, but I went home and within days I started to write. I’ve never stopped.

Seventy-seven years ago, and I’ve remembered it perfectly. I went back and saw him that night. He sat in the chair with his sword, they pulled the switch, and his hair stood up. He reached out with his sword and touched everyone in the front row, boys and girls, men and women, with the electricity that sizzled from the sword. When he came to me, he touched me on the brow, and on the nose, and on the chin, and he said to me, in a whisper, ‘Live forever.’ And I decided to.”

– Ray Bradbury (b. 8/22/1920)

The following excerpt is from a 2020 post:

“Every writer’s work is directly or indirectly the result of everything they’ve experienced, done, seen, thought, and heard. Just like each point in our lives is the direct and indirect experience of everything we’ve experienced, done, seen, thought, and heard. Writing is, after all, just a reflection of life. Sometimes, though, it’s hard to distinguish the seams or pull apart the threads that make up the tapestry. But then you read work by writers like Ray Bradbury and Annie Proulx and it’s as if every word and every page is an instruction manual in how things are put together and how things come apart. It’s as if they are saying, ‘Here, here, pull here.’

Both born today, Bradbury (in 1920) and Proulx (in 1935) were and are writers whose works leave impressions, while simultaneously pointing out the impressions that are being left by the lives we lead. Their works, like Bradbury’s Farenheit 451 and “The Sound of Thunder” and Proulx’s The Shipping News and ‘Brokeback Mountain” illustrate the cause and effect continuum that in yoga philosophy is referred to as karma (act, word, and deed – as well as the result or effect of effort) and samskāra (the mental and energetic impression left by the act, word, and deed). In life, while we are living it, we don’t always see where things begin and end. Reading brings our awareness to the edges, the extremes of the continuum – as does a meditation practice.”

Click here to read the entire 2020 post.

“Almost every book I’ve ever read has left its mark.”

– Annie Proulx (b. 8/22/1935)

Please join me today (Tuesday, August 22nd) at 12:00 PM or 7:15 PM for a yoga practice on Zoom. You can use the link from the “Class Schedules” calendar if you run into any problems checking into the class. You can request an audio recording of this practice via a comment below or (for a slightly faster reply) you can email myra (at) ajoyfulpractice.com.

Tuesday’s playlist is available on YouTube and Spotify. [Look for “08222021 Fire Thread”]

In the spirit of generosity (“dana”), the Zoom classes, recordings, and blog posts are freely given and freely received. If you are able to support these teachings, please do so as your heart moves you. (NOTE: You can donate even if you are “attending” a practice that is not designated as a “Common Ground Meditation Center” practice, or you can purchase class(es). Donations are tax deductible; class purchases are not necessarily deductible.)

### SECOND STEP: NOTICE WHAT YOU NOTICE. ###