Newsletter: August 2025
Warm summer greetings to you as, here in England, we complain about the weather. We complain about it being too hot in earnest preparation for complaining about it being ‘too bloody cold’, or too damp or too mild – ‘we don’t have winters anymore!’ – or about it raining too much or not enough. ‘Clouds, I hate them!’ says a neighbour. Though a friend who has just returned from living in Dubai is ‘just loving the clouds’.
We all have an angle; and most of us have a complaint, which may be harmless enough. Though there’s a thin line between the comedy of complaint, much used by stand-up comedians, and life-draining negativity. Complaint rarely creates anything inside us (or our listeners) but a wilderness.
I touch on this, in a more general sense, in a piece I recently wrote called, Have we become ungovernable? It’s a bit ‘in yer face’ – but in its defence, it’s also true.
Meanwhile, someone asked me recently to name my most helpful life skill. It’s a good question. How would you reply? There isn’t one answer, of course, because wisdom must wear the clothes of the life we currently live. So today’s life skill may not be yesterday’s.
But when asked, my immediate thought was: ‘the cultivation of the middle way’, because it’s so profoundly practical. And here’s what I mean.
When we are well, we know what we are feeling and why we are feeling it. We may be happy, sad, angry, grateful, anxious, hateful, joyous or jealous – but we’re aware of what is passing through and why. And that’s all OK. Feelings come and go, and they may be strong feelings which throw us around, but we are aware of them and their provenance. We are present to them and watchful as they pass through our being. And quite without judgment.
That’s how things are when we’re well; but we’re not always well. More often, perhaps, we relate in a different manner to our feelings: either through repression, distraction or indulgence.
Repression is common. It’s when someone says, ‘I’m not angry – I’m just sad.’ The listener can sense this isn’t true, can sense they’re furious, and until they acknowledge it, their anger will seep out of their being in passive-aggressive behaviours such as silence, verbal sniping, obstinacy, withdrawal or depression. (Repressed anger is closely linked with depression, defined as ‘a loss of vitality’, because repressing anger is emotionally exhausting.)
Or perhaps we repress through distraction. We distract ourselves from a difficult feeling by going shopping, or signing up for another course, or by filling every moment of the day with social engagement. I remember a woman who would panic if she had a free evening in the week. Fear was at the heart of her existence and she needed to keep running, and never be still.
So some repress through denial or distraction in order to reject their feelings. Others, though, will indulge the feeling; they will give it oxygen. Jim returned from a night out having watched an amazing new band. He’d wanted his wife Terri to come, and she hadn’t fancied it. Still, he was keen to tell her how it went…and she wasn’t interested. Jim went upstairs frustrated, feeling unseen and unheard. That’s the feeling and it’s quite understandable. But then comes the indulgence of the feeling: ‘I mean, would it have been so hard for Terri to hear me out? What’s she being doing all night? Probably watching her crap TV programmes. She’s interested in those!’ The feeling has been indulged and become a judgment, a resentment and a sense of moral high ground.
Or take the feeling of uncertainty. It’s always there because life is uncertain and we’re not in control. But if we indulge the feeling of uncertainty, it can become the bleak joy-throttler that is anxiety. Anxiety is the refusal simply to allow uncertainty. Previously the feeling had no power. Once indulged, it has a lot of power, as we become caught in fevered and fearful speculation.
No feeling is a crime; and no feeling is to be judged. It’s just a feeling and many of them pass through us each day. It’s only when we indulge the feeling, let it become something more, that we leave health and enter a wasteland.
So in response to the question (you may have forgotten about the question, it was a long time ago), about a favourite life skill, I’m chuntering on about the middle way in relation to our many and varied feelings. It’s the path between repression or distraction on the one side and indulgence on the other. The middle way is present awareness, quite without judgment, of the feeling – which, yes, may mean awareness of discomfort. But as we allow it, it slowly dissipates and we can return to openness.
It’s not easy. It’s a skill that no one taught us when young and skill takes time to develop. It’s harder than plastering. And as we travel, we’ll slip both ways from the path. But if it’s at least an intention, and one sometimes willed into being – and into our being – we are happier, freer, less oppressed. It helps me, anyway. It’s just a feeling and let it stay that way.
In the meantime, coming soon, is my retreat at Sheldon on 18-22 August, The Learning of Love. I think the retreat may be full, but people sometimes drop out, so do check with Sheldon if you wish to.
And then on 20-23 November, I’m at Othona, in Dorset, leading a retreat around the writings of Meister Eckhart.
And now as I sign off, there is a sudden thunderstorm, dark clouds and heavy rain hitting the tiles, which I’m rather enjoying… but then I’m not an ice cream salesman. I’ll buy two cornets next time I’m passing in solidarity.
Strength and honour,
Simon x
Photo by Spencer DeMera
