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Welcome to this Greek island! This song is written in Greek, in a World Fusion style.
For the instruments, we paired the Greek bouzouki with the phin lute from Isan in northeast Thailand. The cross-cultural conversation between the two hopes to capture how the author, a European, felt while training as a monk in Thailand. We also added temple bells, insects and birdsong, rain and thunder, as if you were walking into the forest monastery.
🔒 Arrive at Tasmania and visit the Common Wombat to unlock this
Sail to TasmaniaThis book is the author's memoir-style essays, stringing together life stories and his teachers' lessons to share the wisdom he gained in 17 years at a forest monastery.
At 8, at his grandparents' house on a small Swedish island, he was staring at a toaster on the windowsill when the noise in his head suddenly stopped. Everything around him shimmered and time seemed to stand still. Warmth welled up in his chest (later he realized it was gratitude), and a phrase arose: “Welcome home.” That sense of presence became what he sought all his life.
He then took ordination at the international forest monastery in northeast Thailand and received the name “Natthiko,” meaning “one who grows in wisdom.”
Water-bottle breathing: imagine you are a bottle of water. As you inhale, the water slowly rises from the bottom; as you exhale, the level falls. While breathing, talk gently with your own body.
After 17 years of practice, the author says his most precious gain is this: “I no longer believe every thought I think.” He calls it his superpower.
Buddhism holds that our nature is originally pure; anger and mistakes are only an outer shell, not our essence. So one thought or one slip doesn't make you a bad person.
Knowledge is proud of all it knows; wisdom is humble before all it doesn't know.
The author advocates meeting life with an “open hand” rather than a “clenched fist”: less control, more trust. He admits that even as a forest monk he failed to let go nine times out of ten, so there's no need to be hard on yourself.
The only way to be free of thoughts that make us hurt, wronged, useless, lonely, afraid, sad or angry is to let them go—even if they're right. The thoughts we find hardest to let go of often end up hurting us the most.
The author also notes: chaos may unsettle you, but order will be the death of you.
The book tells a parable: a climber hangs from a cliff, clutching a small tree and about to lose his grip. God appears, offering help, with a single instruction: “Let go.” The climber asks, “Is there anyone else up there?”—that's how much we resist releasing the ideas we cling to.
One evening near midnight during meditation, the abbot Ajahn Jayasaro took the teaching seat and said, “Tonight I'll teach you a magic mantra.” In a forest tradition that avoids mysticism, this opening startled everyone.
How to use it: when conflict arises and a relationship is about to break, sincerely say to yourself three times—“I may be wrong. I may be wrong. I may be wrong.”
The author doesn't pretend to be a saint: years later, arguing with his wife Elisabeth at breakfast, she reminded him, “Isn't this the time for that phrase?” and he childishly replied, “No, I'll use another one—you may be wrong.”
Monastery life is round-the-clock community living, and you can't pick your housemates. The author found that constantly judging others only drains you and deepens conflict; the remedy is learning to like people as they are rather than expecting them to change. The monastery compared it to a pile of rough stones placed together: rubbing against each other over time, each becomes smooth and polished.
The book tells of a monk who refused to break a precept even when no one would ever find out. His only reason: “I will know.” Ethics isn't for others' approval, but for a clear conscience.
After 10 years as a monk, the author became an “Ajahn” (teacher) able to guide disciples. Leading his first retreat, he again anxiously tried to control everything. The nun Ajahn Thaniya reminded him: “Natthiko, don't forget to leave room for miracles.” Looking back, nearly all of life's best experiences were unplanned; grip too tightly and you hold on to nothing.
When you need to know, you will know what you need to know.
After 17 years as a monk, the author longed to experience love and worldly life and decided to disrobe and return to Sweden. He expected to return as a sage; instead he couldn't find work, was refused unemployment benefits, and sank into depression for over a year, feeling like the biggest failure in Sweden.
The Buddha described four sublime states of mind called the “four immeasurables,” also known as the “brahmaviharas,” meaning the dwelling places of the god Brahma. They are loving-kindness, compassion, joy and equanimity. How do we reach them? We have to start with ourselves.
The two sides of impermanence: nothing lasts—that's the bad news, and also the good news. Pain will pass, and so will beautiful moments, which is all the more reason to cherish the present.
In 2018 the author was diagnosed with ALS, with doctors estimating 3 to 5 years left. Driving home, he was overwhelmed with grief at not being able to grow old with Elisabeth. Then a familiar inner voice arose: gratitude for having lived honestly and with integrity, having done nothing unforgivable; death need not be feared—he had packed three lifetimes of experience into this one, and it had been a wonderful adventure; you are ready.
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