I first met Lenni approximately ten years ago, because she ran a meditation group in the village hall near where I lived. It was a small and very informal meditation group, just a group of people who meditated together to help keep them practising, but I found that useful as much as the others did. Soon after starting to come along to the group, I mentioned the Middle Way Society and that we were soon going to hold a retreat at Anybody’s Barn nearby. Lenni expressed interest and came along too. From that point she was a regular at Middle Way Society retreats as long as she was able to come. Sometimes we held retreats in other parts of the country, and I would give her a lift, so the long drives where probably when I spoke with her in most depth.

There was always more to Lenni than first impressions might suggest. She constantly struggled with her health, and it gradually worsened throughout the time I knew her, but she was adept at managing her conditions and not being ruled by them. There were many aspects to her life that she kept going: meditation practice, a non-violent communication group, a Thich Nhat Hanh based Buddhist group, veganism and concern for animal welfare, watching whales and dolphins, research into music therapy and ‘sound baths’, an ongoing interest in the theatre and in poetry, an Open University course that continually stretched out. She was the author of books about hedgehogs and whales, long-term supporter of her mother through dementia, loyal friend and passionate advocate for the causes dear to her heart.

Here is a recording of a song that Lenni posted on Soundcloud, of her singing The Last Leviathan. It combined two of her passions – whales and music, and she sang it for us on a retreat once. Her singing voice was another of the things that initially surprised me about Lenni!

What most impressed me about Lenni, though, was the way that she used practice to help her manage all the difficulties in her life. Having suffered a brain injury in an accident before I met her, she often told me that she could really not have functioned without meditation. She had also sometimes struggled in her relationships with people but, I think, worked on this effectively using non-violent communication practice. The Middle Way is a path of practice that starts wherever you are, working with whatever your life deals you – and in her constant  practical engagement with what life dealt to her, Lenni was an outstanding practitioner.

All the time I knew her, Lenni lived in the same chaotic bungalow in West Malvern. One of the difficulties caused by her brain injury was in handling stuff in space: whether in her house, her car, or when packing. The stuff always seemed to be getting out of hand, and she would need help to keep it under any kind of control. In the last few years of her life, she also had a series of mini-strokes, and was isolated by the Covid outbreak. Nevertheless, she would defy the odds to sometimes stretch her capacities to their limits and take a trip somewhere. She continued to go dolphin-watching long after one would have thought it impossible, and last October she unexpectedly turned up at Tirylan House. She was determined to come and see it, and even just about managed to walk down to the end of the forest garden. The 88 mile drive home proved too much for her in one day, despite frequent stops, and she had to stay halfway.

That was to be the last time I saw her in person. She was finally finished off by a series of heart attacks, and died (I think) on 11^th May 2023 in Worcestershire Hospital.

There are various things that Lenni was secretive about and that I never found out. One was her age, but I am guessing that she was probably no older than 60. Another secret was what ‘Lenni’ stood for. I had discussed her death with her at one point previously, when I felt I had to decline her request for me to be her executor, because I was leaving Malvern. However, she didn’t tell me that she would refuse to have a funeral – this surprised me, and will probably disappoint many of her friends who would like to say farewell. All I can do, then, is to say farewell here. I will remember her as a remarkable practitioner, as a person full of surprises, and as a courageous example of living with difficulties.

Thanks to Susan Averbach for the picture. Please feel free to share your own memories (or correct any mistakes I have made!) in the comments.