MINDFULNESS THROUGH THE EYES OF A CHILD

One of my favourite books as a child was one entitled The Magic Shell. 

In many ways this book is like another in my collection which I loved as a child (and still do)---The Red Balloon---in that the book consists primarily of photographs. The two books are very similar in other respects as well. Both beautifully capture, in a highly lyrical way, all the whimsy, imagination and free spirit of the child. In both books, the text is minimal; it is the photos that tell the story. In the case of The Magic Shell the photos were taken by the book's author, Nadine Amadio (1929-2009) [pictured below right], with a Rolleiflex camera using Kodak Tri-X film.

Nadine Amadio, who was married to the famed Australian jazz musician Ray Price from 1953 to 1968, came from a very artistic and musical family. She was an Australian writer, poet, journalist, arts critic, mythographer, photographer and film producer, with her works and interests encompassing fiction, biography, poetry, fine arts, art appreciation, music, mythology (myth 'is a life-force that combats the futility and potentially suicidal emptiness of a purely materialistic society', she wrote) and native folklore, editing, photography and  painting as well as scriptwriting and executive producing for films and documentaries. 

In 1976 Ms Amadio received a New Writers Fellowship from the Literature Board of the Australia Council. (To be technical, Ms Amadio was hardly a ‘new writer’ by 1976, for she had already authored and published a few books including Amanda and the Dachshund in 1965 as well as The Magic Shell in 1958.) For many years Ms Amadio collaborated with the distinguished Australian painter and close friend of hers Charles Blackman, my favourite work of theirs being The New Adventures of Alice in Rainforest Land. She published two books about Blackman and his work---Charles Blackman: The Lost Domains and Orpheus, the Song of Forever---and set up the Blackman Trust for his benefit. She was also close to many other prominent Australian artists and put together a book about the celebrated Australian Aboriginal artist Albert Namatjira entitled Albert Namatjira: The Life and Work of an Australian Painter. There were several other literary and scholarly works of hers (for example, Pacifica: Myth, Magic and Traditional Wisdom from the South Sea Islands) but I will stop there. Suffice to say she was quite versatile.

The Magic Shell is a book of 60-odd photos and captions photographed, written and arranged by Ms Amadio. The photographs depict a Sydney of the late 1950s, both the central business district itself ('wide streets and narrow streets, along with hundreds of double-decker buses') and the northern beaches of Sydney, where I now live, in particular, Palm Beach ('White sand stretched for miles and miles and all the while the sea came rolling in, breaking on the shore in a mass of foam'). There are also photos of what we Australians call ‘the bush’, in this case country (rural) New South Wales. All the photos freeze in time and space an era, and a place, that for the most part have gone. Ditto The Red Balloon.

The Magic Shell is about a small boy’s ‘magical’ journey from the country, where he lives on a farm, to Sydney to visit his Aunt Marie at Potts Point, through Sydney's central business district ('even more wonderful than he had imagined'), to the wonder of the sea at Palm Beach ('all so vast, so blue and so wonderful'). On the book's inside front cover, the author has written these charmingly evocative words:

This is Sydney. …

It is a big city full of tall, new buildings towering upwards and quaint old buildings nestling in their long familiar places. Like all big cities, it is filled with people---the rich and the poor, the seeing and the unseeing. And there is always something special to be seen in this city: perhaps it is the harbor, edged by gardens and coves, docks and ships; perhaps the narrow, straggling streets, packed with surprises; or maybe the long golden arms of beaches stretching to the north and the south. Many strange and enchanted things have been known to happen in this city. And sometimes there comes a stranger who, especially if he is very young, sees it for the first time and is filled with wonder. …

Yes, life is full of ‘strange and enchanted things’, if only we would experience them as such. Even the seemingly drab, commonplace, ordinary and familiar can be, and in truth are, a source of great wonder and enchantment. Children are expert at seeing this. Sadly, adults are not. Somehow, in growing up---in many ways I hate those words---most of us lose our capacity to appreciate the wonder and mystery of life. We must become like a ‘stranger’ if we are to see things as if ‘for the first time’ and ‘filled with wonder’. As one great teacher expressed it some 2,000 or more years ago, we must 'change and become like little children' (Mt 18:3 [NIV]). 

While at the beach Mark, the boy in the story, explored the rocks by the water’s edge and the rock pools:

The rocks were full of mysterious little pools. Tiny fish were swimming around amongst the bright pebbles, starfish and large spiky shapes that reminded Mark of porcupines. Every pool had new and exciting things to discover and Mark ran eagerly from pool to pool, wondering what he’d find next. He hoped he might find his magic shell but he only found small ones with shellfish still living inside.

In due course Mark found that elusive ‘magic’ shell---a ‘great shining shell’. 'It was more beautiful than any shell he had ever dreamed of.' Mark put the shell to his ear and ‘the sea gave him her own song.’ The author writes, ‘Now he would have it to listen to always. It was indeed a magic shell.’

I loved this book as a child, and, now aged 60, I still love it. I will not part with the book. 

The book is no literary masterpiece--it doesn't purport to be---but it does has an unmistakable charm and quaintness. As I re-read the book this morning it occurred to me that Ms Amadio had captured, both in her photos and text, the essence of mindfulness, not to mention the essence of childhood as well. Yes, the author captured that wonderful ability, which we all need, to see things as they really are, to appreciate events and occurrences, and the small things of life, as they are unfolding. Such is the ‘magic’ of life. It is nothing supernatural. It is something very natural---so natural that we take it for granted and fail to see it. The wonder and mystery of life lies in its very ephemerality and transience. The fact that one day we will lose it all---whatever 'it' may be---makes life all that more special.

Life is indeed filled with wonder and awe. The child, so it seems, is intuitively mindful. In becoming adults we were taught---conditioned---to analyse, criticise, judge, compare and interpret. In so doing, we lose much of our innate ability to see and experience things as they actually happen. That is a very sad thing. The regular practice mindfulness enables us to regain that joyous, childlike ability to see things for the first time and filled with wonder.

May you find your ‘magic shell' today.

The photographs in this post (other than that of Nadine Amadio)
are from The Magic Shell (Sydney: Ure Smith Pty Limited, 1958).

Copyright © The Estate of the Late Nadine Amadio.

The photograph of Ms Amadio is by Peter Morris.

All rights reserved.

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THE RED BALLOON: A STUDY IN MINDFULNESS

When I was about 5 or 6 I was given a delightful book entitled The Red Balloon. A photo of the cover of my, by now well-read and well-worn, copy of the book is pictured left. The book (text in English, minus the pictures, here), which tells the story of a  young boy and his best friend---a bright red balloon which appears to have a 'life' all of its own---has become a modern day children's classic since it was first published in Paris in 1956 (in French, as Le ballon rouge).

The book contains the most wonderful photos of 1950s Paris---see these 'then' and 'now' photos---and a most whimsical story. Later, I saw the film---a full copy of which can be found here---on which the book was based and from which the photographs in the book (stills from the film, directed by Albert Lamorisse) had been taken. I have loved the book and the film ever since. As a kid I would spend literally hours just looking, again and again, at the photos of the street scenes of the Ménilmontant section of Paris where much of the film was shot. I was simply transfixed by the cobblestones, the narrow alleys, the long flights of stairs, the dilapidated but still formidable old buildings of postwar Paris,  and the typically Parisian shops and street signs.

At a recent retreat I facilitated I had an opportunity to screen and watch the film again. (I have seen it countless times over the years.) The film so beautifully captures both the innocence of childhood as well as our innate potential for cruelty.

So much has been written over the years about the book and the film. For some, the red balloon represents the reincarnating ego or, at the very least, the human soul---and its immortality or indestructibility. Certainly, the waste ground where the final battle takes place has a Golgotha-like feel about it, including a resurrection and ascension of sorts which follows the destruction of the red balloon. That (last) part of the film always reduces me to tears---every time I watch it.

Yes, when we die to self---as well as the past---from moment to moment we are born anew, and we discover a whole new life. It's called living mindfully.

Pascal, the young boy in the film (played by the director’s son Pascal Lamorisse), is a living study in mindfulness and mindful living. Even his initial discovery of the red balloon---he spots it before we, the audience, are privileged to see it---is the result of choiceless awareness and bare attention. His every movement and action is deliberate and purposeful, and he remains ‘awake’ at all times. His responses to changing circumstances---even when faced with threats and open hostility---is appropriate and proportionate.

Children are much better at living mindfully than adults. That is undeniably the case. Perhaps the main reason that is the case is this---the process of growing up is essentially one of conditioning or programming. We are told---ordinarily by so-called adults or grown-ups---what to think, what to believe, how to act, and so on.

The result? A chronic and progressive, and even terminal, inability to think and act spontaneously in a free, unfettered and unconditioned manner.

We---that is, all of us---need to undergo a radical transformation. We need to totally 'de-condition' ourselves. Indeed, we need to let go of all our conditioned thinking---including all inculcated beliefs and ideas about how life ‘should’ be or supposedly is. You see, unless and until we start to live mindfully, we shall never attain enlightenment.

Living mindfully is living non-mechanically. In order to do that, we must dispense with all so-called 'methods' and 'techniques,' for the (hopefully) obvious reason that methods and techniques are nothing more than tools by which some people programme others.

Here's a Zen story I like. A disciple says to the Master, 'I have been four months with you, and you have still given me no method or technique.' The Master says, 'A method? What on earth would you want a method for?' The disciple says, 'To attain inner freedom.' The Master roars with laughter, and then says, 'You need great skill indeed to set yourself free by means of the trap called a method.' So, my friends, please forget all about methods and techniques. You don't need them. Indeed, they will never---I repeat, never---bring you freedom or enlightenment. Just wake up---and stay awake. That's all that is required.

Now, rest assured that mindfulness is not a method or technique as those words are ordinarily understood. Mindful living is living naturally---that is, spontaneously, and without programming (whether by self or others) of any sort. Mindless living is living artificially---that is, in a conditioned, programmed and mechanical fashion. Whenever we are trying to conform to the beliefs or expectations of others, we are living mindlessly.

So, what are we to do? Well, we need to become more like children---in the sense described in this post---if we are to live in a more enlightened fashion. No wonder Jesus said, 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven' (Mt 18:3) [NIV]. As I see it, those who live mindfully have entered and dwell in the kingdom of heaven---especially if they also exercise loving kindness and compassion.

Here’s another thing I derive from The Red Balloon. What is ours by 'right' of consciousness (that is, the fruits of our mindfulness practice) can never be taken away or destroyed---at least not for so long as we are alive---provided we live, and continue to live, mindfully and also exercise loving kindness and compassion. Yes, nothing is permanent, and everything is constantly changing its form, but that which we attain as a result of living mindfully and lovingly can never be taken away from us. We ourselves can, of course, forfeit or lose what is rightfully ours by inattention, carelessness and mindless or selfish living---but not otherwise.

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