Date: Fri, 12 Jul 1996 08:28:02 +0100 From: Gregory Mott Subject: PeaceWalk, London-Dublin-Belfast. London-Oxford. London. International city. English faces, African faces, Indian faces, making their life here, still we look strange to them, an international collection of faces ourselves, and the garb and drums of the Nipponzan Myohoji monk and nuns. Catcalls come our way in very British English. Some smile and wave. Many stare. But still most follow the unwritten citylife rule of non-acknowledgement. Our walk has begun, on our way to Dublin, and Belfast. The London Peace Pagoda is right on the Thames River, a fixture of the midcity Battersea Park. Four Buddha poses face in four directions, great golden ornamentation of distinctive Japanese style pierces the sky. A sign expresses gratitude for the gift of the Pagoda to the city of London. A crowd of thousands glistened in Sister Astrid's eyes as she thanked us, invited our prayers for peace, apologized for our small numbers, and explained the arrangements. A circle of about 25 walkers and supporters in reality, we listened, to each other, to the silence. Then we set off. Mark Chapman, from New Zealand, resident of many years around England, Ireland, and Northern Ireland, gave us a brief orientation just after lunch. Though his Protestant background unavoidably brings presumption of bias, still he enjoys easier acceptance of his efforts due to his external origin. Later, walking with me, Mark lauded the Nipponzan Myohoji followers for seeking peace through the spiritual path, and confideed that he feels a need to work for explicit political changes around the Northern Ireland issue. I offered I see these as not only compatible but actually interdependant. Daniel, a jolly outgoing chap, works for the Catholic church (which hosted us the first night), makes it his job to make friendly relations with all the other religious groups in the area. He led us into a Sikh temple just before lunch Sunday, our second day. Families in festive Sikh garb filled the streets and inside. A bride was being awaited. One gentleman proudly remarked to me that Sikh temples all over the world always take in and feed any traveller who asks. Daniel has for 10 years organized an annual pilgrimage around London, where an interfaith assemblage proceeded through the day amongst places of worship of a great variety of traditions and beliefs, with no agenda of unification, rather merely to sample a bit of ritual from each, to foster respect, to taste, to listen. I am impressed. I would like to hear of more such. Tishi, a quiet little man with a lively smile and very warm eyes, was a child of 7 when his family moved to Delhi with the bidirectional tide of the separating Hindi and Moslem communities, and was 8 when Gandhi, revered father of India's nonviolent revolution, was shot and killed. Tishi gawked that I had walked from Agra to Delhi last year, said he'd never done that, complained he couldn't keep pace with this walk, yet several times strode ahead to newspaper shops, ducked inside, and zipped again to catch up, trying in vain to find a shop with yesterdays Guardian, because I had expressed interest in seeing the article that smears the credibility of the Dalai Lama, anticipating his upcoming visit here in England. (Apparently a relatively new Buddhist sect has grown rather rapidly in England and claims to have the true Buddha as it's leader, though that left me still wondering at needing to smear the Dalai Lama of Tibet.) As we walk on, Tishi and I muse together at what it would take to bring any modern nation to a decicive stance of nonviolence, as Gandhi did with India. John Spaulding, here after several months in Ukraine, is happy to hear my American accent. Complete with video camera, he allows me to feel relieved I didn't bring one. We walk and talk of Sacred Earth Network folks he and I both know (and appreciate). And I feel at home walking again with Makino Shonin, Marta San, Yuko San, like family from various points in the Auschwitz to Hiroshima Pilgrimage. After lunch Monday, our third, in the garden of the Friends Meeting House in Jordan's, we stopped by the Quaker Guest House to ask directions, and learned that William Penn is buried in the graveyard overlooked by that garden. Shortly we walked through Penn, and now we sit in the Friends Meeting House in High Wycombe, with community members quickly gathering and dinner rapidly assembling. Time to put this silly machine away and be sociable, tho I was eager to be typing, my first opportunity, had to wait until Monday to get an adapter for the English sockets, generously purchased for me by David McMullen, host for our stay last night at the United Reform Church. So quickly we have been hosted by such a variety of faiths. It's a delight for me to be in such living presence of Quaker history and hospitality, all the while feeling as if I carry in my heart the actual assemblage of the Burlington Friends Meeting, to whom, by the way, the High Wycombe Friends Meeting wish it be known they send their fond greeting. A meeting for worship is attended by all after dinner. The Reverend Sidney Hinkes, chairman of the Anglican Pacifist Fellowhip, was invited and delivered an orientation, and opinion, about Northern Ireland's problems. Each of us spoke our reason to be here, our hopes, our prayers. Trouble in Northern Ireland Tuesday, our fourth of walking. At our dinner in Thame, a television happens to be handy. The worst troubles in 10 years, but not nearly so bad as 25 years ago. Violence, politics, speculations, sensational. Where's the news of the peace work? So many dedicated individuals and organizations eagerly carrying on with fostering dialogue, bringing communities together. Not news. The annual absurd marches celebrating bygone battle victories stir the usual turmoil. Big news. Just who is it who decides what's "news", anyway? Just how much TV can you watch and yet manage to believe that the power/practice of love/patience/kindness/dialogue/giving/listening is greater than fear/evil/hitler/violence/war/death/loss/pain/sadness? But why pick on TV. What of our religious institutions? Would Christ or Buddha ever in any circumstance endorse you to pull a trigger and kill someone? Even if your family or friends are threatened? Didn't they both bid us to love regardless, and not fear death? Oh well, I can write and you can press "delete". Excuse me, perhaps I have used this e-card as my pontificating outlet. But here on the walk, we don't preach. We walk, we pray, we gather with local folks, we listen, we encourage. Wednesday. Oxford. Tidy. Old. Beards reappear. Another friends meeting house, very welcome. Thursday, first rest day, in Oxford. If you feel the urge by all means write. Or join us, or send friends. In any event, add your prayers to ours. Peace and Healing, for earth, and all her children. Make every step a prayer, a meditation, a wish, a vision. Greg