Hermitcraft: Hoppin' John

'Way back at university I decided I had to do something about New Year's Day. Here in Anglophonia, it's only a holiday in the most technical sense. Aside from disposing of the Christmas tree – and in my house, steaming the next year's Christmas pudding – nothing fun, special, or out of the ordinary is scheduled for this day.

So when the local newspaper ran a bit on a classic New Year's meal from the American South, I was all over that. The dish itself – which could be summed up as "rice and beans cranked up to 11" – is deceptively simple, but hearty and sustaining. And, if attentively developed, incredibly delicious.

Like most traditional foods, hoppin' john varies from region to region and even family to family, to the extent that recognising versions separated in space and time may be challenging. Over the years, with the benefit of experience and helpful Southerners, I've made mine memorable and worthwhile. So I'm sharing it here. (Note that vegan hacks are also included in the recipe below.)

Whatever your own recipe becomes, hoppin' john is earthy and flavourful and I look forward to it all year, full as much as the Christmas turkey. (The dark leftovers of which could be fortified with a few drops of liquid smoke and used here in lieu of bacon, now I think of it.) I like to serve it in the pot it was made in, for an extra nod to self-sufficient cheer.

As for the name, nobody seems to know for sure where that came from. But I rate this meal a fine note upon which to hop into the coming year.

Hoppin' John

To serve 4:

For the blackeyed peas:
4 cups soaked blackeyed peas (1 1/3 cup dry; other beans – red, black, white, pinto – can be substituted if necessary)
2 cups chicken stock (or substitute lentil stock)
2 cups tomato or vegetable juice
2 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley stems (reserve the leaves for the main recipe)
1 teaspoon powdered thyme
1 teaspoon powdered sage
1 teaspoon rosemary
1/2 teaspoon cumin
1/4 teaspoon celery seed
1 bay leaf

For the rest:
3 slices jowl bacon (if necessary, substitute Spam, another bacon, ham, or sausage; for vegan, leave out the meat and sprinkle smoked almonds on the finished dish instead)
1/2 medium red onion, chopped
1/2 medium yellow onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
one each green, red, and yellow bell pepper, seeded and chopped
minced jalapeño to taste
4 cups cooked brown rice
1 teaspoon powdered thyme
leaves of 6 or 7 large stems Italian parsley (substitute celery leaves if necessary)
salt to taste

Simmer all blackeye ingredients in a covered pot till the beans are soft, about 40 minutes. If they end up soaking in the liquor for a while afterward, so much the better.

In a large skillet or pot, fry the bacon soft. Drain both bacon and pot well. (Too much jowl grease is too much.) Chop the bacon and lay aside for later.

In the residual grease in the bottom of the pan (or olive oil), sauté onions, garlic, and peppers. Add bacon and salt. (I seldom add salt to any dish, but this one tends to want some. Proceed mindfully.)

When the vegetables are bright and glistening, stir in the rice and thyme and toss assertively. You want a certain amount of crushing and bruising here, to integrate flavours and textures.

Add the beans and their liquor. Toss well again to mix completely.

Cover and steam over low heat for 15 minutes, until the rice is hot and liquid absorbed. Add water if necessary.

Remove from heat. Scatter parsley leaves on top, recover, and let rest for a minute or two before serving.


Best of 2023s to everyone, and may we meet again here 12 months hence.

Hermitcraft: Quick Christmas Tea Hacks

Here are a three easy tricks to spruce up your workaday winter tea for the season:

• Oranges are an ancient part of the holidays, owing to the fact that until recently they were rare and costly in northern countries. To put some of that tradition in your pot, add about half a teaspoon of minced peel to the leaves, either with or without a chunk of cinnamon stick and one or two whole cloves.
  
  
• Peppermint candy, whether in cane or other form, is likewise a timeless Christmas treat. Just bust off about an inch of cane – or unwrap an individual candy – and drop in your cup. If serving guests, hang one of those soprano candy canes on the rim of the mug with its tail dissolving in the hot liquid.
  
  
• To upgrade a pot of ordinary black tea with heady spices, substitute a storebought herbal chai mix for half the black. (If the teas are bagged, cut the leaves out, steep them as-is, strain out while pouring, and put them back in the pot.) Not perhaps as sublime as the real thing, but a quicker route to a worthwhile end.

My very best wishes to readers and fellow travellers, and may this holiday season bring peace and warmth to all.


(Photo courtesy of Robert Gombos and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Dinner time

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Street Level Zen: Equanimity

« Tout le malheur des hommes vient de ne savoir pas demeurer en repos, dans une chambre. »

Blaise Pascal

(English translation here.)

WW: Disciplinary petting

(I've been taking care of this kitty, and photographing her, for ten years. [First Rusty Ring appearance here.] She's always been headstrong, unwilling to follow rules, primary of which is to stay off the kitchen counter.

So from the beginning, each time she's turned up on the forbidden surface, I've imposed "disciplinary petting", that is, picking her up and cradling her upside down in my arms like a baby while petting and scolding her. Since there's nothing less acceptable to her than confinement, especially with her paws in the air and eyes turned toward the ceiling, being loved and caressed in this fashion amounts to a portable timeout that she instantly resents in the most strenuous terms.

Or she did. Now a decade later she's well into her golden years – so to speak – and as is often the case, has become notably more demonstrative in the affection and physical contact departments. To be precise, she's constantly after me to pick her up and hold her. All day, if she can get it.

If that were all, I could put it down to typical feline old age. Unfortunately, it often develops that simply being held does not in itself suffice. After several minutes in my arms she begins to twist her neck and lay her face flat against my sleeve, as if trying to roll over. This she couldn't actually do without falling, so I've learned to take the hint and turn her over myself.

Like a baby.

So it seems my brilliant disciplinary programme has backfired. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder if all these years the whole counter schtick wasn't just a scheme to get punished again.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

A Trip Home For Christmas

Back in 2014 I shared a little one-man Christmas cheer game I indulge in at this time of year, a simple Google search string that fills your screen with seasonal warmth and goodwill from the past. Now I've found another one that does much the same, except now the pictures move.

Basically, you're going to do the same thing we did then, except on YouTube. You'll load the YouTube home page, enter "Christmas" and a year in the search bar, and hit return. And your results page will fill with home movies.

Case in point: "Christmas 1963", above. Under no circumstances miss the little girl dressed to the yuletide nines, demonstrating the Twist. Nor the fact that this footage was shot a month or less after John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Terrifying things had happened, yet folks were celebrating the holidays anyway, with unstinting courage.

This life passes so fast. You turn your head, and the Twist is old and tacky, and it always was.

But that's not true. For a day or two, one Christmas long ago, it was fresh and futuristic and something old people should learn about.

And the same thing is happening right now. It'll happen tomorrow too, and the day after that, and we need to pay attention to it every day.

So we can remember how new and bright it was, and we were, when we look it up on YouTube sixty years hence.

Better still, YouTube being what it is, you'll find all kinds of other jaunts home in the margins. Old TV commercials; "hip gifts for 1963" news segments; period holiday music. And you can change up that search string: "Chanukah", "holidays", "Xmas", "New Year's", "December", "winter", and every year you've lived.

If you're a native of the pre-Internet world – that place of sustained attention and short memory – you know how miraculous all of this is.

So get out there and take advantage of it. God knows this new realm is annoying enough; might as well get something out of it while we're up.

The very best of holidays from all of us here at Rusty Ring.

WW: Winter fountain

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

A Bit Too Close To Home

(A meme from Zen Twitter.)

Thanksgiving Recipe

"Gratitude to squelch my anger, and tenacity to overcome the obstacles."

Henry Winkler's recipe for success. Note that the first one is bodhisattva awareness.



(Photo of Yorkshire coble "Gratitude" ["There's Gratitude for you!"] courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

In Nerd We Trust

This is a preaching Buddha (not to be confused with a teaching Buddha). As you can see, he's enumerating something on his fingers.

Which makes me smile. I've always been amused by the fixation in my religion with numbered lists.

We're not alone in this, of course. The 99 Names of God; the 10 Commandments; the 7 Deadly Sins; the 285 Rules of Acquisition: didacticism is a hallmark of scripture-based faiths.

But we take the prize. To be precise, we take it to town. Then we get on a ship and take it 'round the world, three or four times. And we're currently working on a way to shoot it into space.

Because we have an astonishing number of numbers. (Though I can't actually report that number here, because – ahem – we've never counted them.)

The impulse is honest, of course. Our insistence on rational analysis and objective experience over revealed truth is, in my opinion, our greatest strength. Several of these lists (the 8 Worldly Dharmas, the 7 Factors of Enlightenment, the 5 Recollections, and certainly, the Eightfold Path and 4 Noble Truths) have made cameos in these pages.

It's true that the power of these teachings is somewhat diffused by our Ancestors' equal passion for the 6 Aspects of Spiciness, the 9 Manifestations of Unrealised Déjà Vu, the 17 Origins of Pre-Supper Sleepiness, and the whole Buddhist canon of catalogues – which somehow exceeds our zeal for verifying whether those things actually exist before we catalogue them.

But if our compulsive Asian bookkeeping does at times get a little precious, it's merely an over-enthusiastic response to a very cogent teaching: that religious practice is for here.

Because if you're really doing a real religion, you're not waiting for some imagined afterlife to see results. Nor do you fabricate evidence of results in this one.

You pay attention. You watch the world turning and you turning with it, and you document daily if and how this crap is working.

And you better believe you count those beans.

Because as any boffin will tell you: in faba veritas.


(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

WW: Teasel

(Back in July I uploaded a photo of an uncanny field of green growing teasel [Dipsacus fullonum], encountered unexpectedly in rural country. Here's a shot of the way we usually see it: sparse, dead, and dry.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Western Zen At Its Western Zenniest

I recently stumbled on a Wikipedia entry entitled, somewhat nebulously, Zen Narratives. Among the things that might have meant, the article turns out to be a survey of innovations effected in Zen by Western adherents, and their probable origins. For those of us who find ourselves simultaneously in the West and practicing Zen, it's essential reading.

As the lede of the Buddhist Modernism section puts it:

"In the 20th century the Traditional Zen Narrative was transformed into a modern narrative, due to the power of the Western colonial forces and the modernisation of Japan, and the popularization [of Zen] in the Western world."

The fact that the article is brief and non-technical makes it signally useful. And if you want to delve into a tributary point, the embedded links can keep you page-hopping for days.

For an even more candid snapshot of Western Zen at its Western-Zenniest, check out this Talk page, linked obliquely via "Zen Narratives'" own, wherein live Western Zen practitioners address the same issues, with varying degrees of scholarship and intellectual honesty. See how far you get before the room starts spinning and you have to sit zazen for half an hour to regain clarity.

In any case, I have no idea who chose not to call this piece "Movements in Western Zen", but it's well worth a stop. Surf in and see if you don't agree.

Gasshō.


(Photo courtesy of Makia Minich and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Climate disruption on the North Pacific

Salal (Gaultheria shallon)

Western red cedar (Thuja plicata)

(A particularly disturbing consequence of global climate disruption is the rapid perishing of species unique to the North Coast.

Because we have until recently had a specifically regional climate, a great many types of plants and animals have evolved to live only here. [Or here and and similar places they've invaded, such as the UK and the South Island of New Zealand.] These species have become emblematic of this place and the human cultures that developed here.

Like the disappearance of our starfish and the dying crowns of our bigleaf maples, watching these symbols of my homeland suffer and die in the arid blast-furnace heat of the new "normal" is heartrending. Other key examples are the salal and Western red cedar pictured here.

I saw several abnormally hot, dry summers in my youth, but the salal and cedars never died.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

The Jackalope Koan

If you think a horned rabbit exists, then you know nothing. For there is no such thing.

And if you don't think a horned rabbit exists, then you know nothing. For it clearly does.


(Extrapolated from versions of a teaching found in three sutras [Surangama, Platform, and Lankavatara], in which the Buddha or an Ancestor is said to have referred to a horned rabbit.)

(Graphic courtesy of MaxPixel.com and a generous contributor.)

WW: Jack o' lantern 2022

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Grass Haiku

Sitting quietly.
Not giving a single fuck.
Grass grows by itself.

– Posted online by a fellow Zen hermit; identity unknown.


(Photo courtesy of Anis Ur Rahman and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Late summer still-life, August 2022

The Smokey Bear Sutra

Recently stumbled over this in the course of a Zen surf:

Smokey Bear Sutra

It's Gary Snyder's 1969 bid to raise Smokey Bear to vajra status. A contemporary of Jack Kerouac, Snyder was an early American adopter of Zen – such as it existed in Western Buddhism's hippy phase.

Buddhism was popular among freethinking Westerners at the time, in part because it was (and is) viewed as territory ripe for conquest. As a religion with little cultural hegemony, local converts could make it advocate any bohemian thing they wanted. (This stands in contrast to Christianity, which has high cultural hegemony, and is therefore press-ganged into conservative crusades.)

Case in point: environmentalism, still a bedrock value of our Zen, though largely absent from the Asian sort. (Zen has well-established cultural hegemony there, and is consequently a conservative sandbox. See how that works?)

As it happens, Snyder wrote his neo-sutra to serve as Buddhism's contribution to the first Earth Day. What's most interesting to me is that he took Acala-vidyārāja – called Fudo Myōō in Japan, and patron of my practice – as his model, apparently because that figure is often depicted engulfed in flames. Snyder even flat-out appropriated Acala's mantra (namaḥ samanta vajrānāṃ caṇḍa-mahāroṣaṇa sphoṭaya hūṃ traṭ hāṃ māṃ), albeit with some creative transliteration.

Not that Fudo, or Smokey for that matter, probably cares.

Anyway, the text, and the comments Snyder made about it almost 50 years later, are worthwhile. They definitely capture that era, with its (sometimes cloying) earnestness, but mostly, the hope and determination that briefly motivated a generation.


(Photo courtesy of [the US] National Agricultural Library and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Forest fire sun

(Sadly, only in the rearview mirror in the literal sense; not yet metaphorically.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Poem: Misunderstanding

Standing in the driveway, staring at the rising moon
My neighbor thought I was staring at her.
Awkward.

– a fellow Zen hermit on Twitter, channeling Issa.


(Photo courtesy of Aaron Tait and Wikimedia Commmons.)

WW: Headsaw blade

(Noticed this saw blade in the maintenance yard of a local parks department. Through the 1970s, forestry was one of the "F's" – along with fishing and farming – that sustained my homeland. Today none of them are major economic engines anymore, driven out by exhaustion of natural resources and the current primacy of non-productive industries such as tech, office work, and development.

But I remember when every small town here had a sawmill; big ones, several. This giant blade – tall as a man – was undoubtedly rescued from one of those when it closed in the 80s. I imagine it's been archived in this place with an eye to incorporating it eventually in a historical marker of some kind.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

The Devil and Bodhidharma

I ran into a Zen axe-grinder on Twitter a few months ago. The experience continues to turn in my thoughts.

I didn't know this guy (I believe he was a guy; if not, my bad) but several sangha there – most of them fellow hermits – did. They just snorted when he turned up again and had little else to do with him. I initially engaged, in good eremitical faith, until he got personal – which happened quickly – and then I ignored him, too.

My brother's holy crusade had something to do with "one true path", of course, as well as a claimed apostasy of Japanese Zen in general, the crystal purity of early Chàn, and a perpetual tantrum over anyone practicing outside the narrow confines he considered "real". A major focus of his rage – and this will surprise no-one who's met the type – was a purported episode that supposedly derailed authentic Zen a thousand or more years ago, allowing evil conspirators to substitute not-Zen in its place ever since.

Part of that Gothic intrigue includes alleged documentary proof that, far from being the iconoclastic solitary we were sold, Bodhidharma was in fact a domestic church boy who kowtowed to canon authority and insisted everyone else do as well. (This would be the Zen equivalent of claiming that Jesus was a well-to-do rabbinical Pharisee.)

All of which was sardonic entertainment for those who'd heard it before; at this stage in Western Zen, we're in great majority converts recruited via informed choice and lived experience, thus there are few of this ilk among us yet. Converts tend to accept the landscape they find; self-declared revolutionaries who radically reconstruct a tradition's history are a hallmark of socially- and parentally-transmitted religion.

It's just that overthrowing the Establishment is no fun if it doesn't net you substantial power, which the Zen establishment entirely lacks in this place and time.

But if the next generation survives us, they'll see more of these people.

So I rate it prudent to reach out to the Great Sangha while the reaching's good, in the hope that younger Zen in particular may, somewhere down the sunset path, ingest a grain of scepticism in their regard.

As I've pointed out, the world already groans with churches, and if all we are is another one, we'd best disband. My Twitter brother is angry; he wants people brought down, chastised. This is churchifying, not enlightenment practice. (I'm reminded of Zenners who "debunk" my hermit practice because I have no living teacher, and even one who met my suggestion that Zen is about sitting rather than service with "Sounds like Mara." Next up: our very own Satanic Panic!)

So they exist, even in Western Zen. And let's face it: to some extent, we are all them. Everyone has that line that must not be crossed, that "Zen is here, not there" litmus spell. If you don't acknowledge it, and atone for it, you're the death of Zen.

There's a cogent Quaker teaching that addresses this issue: "The only way to defeat the Devil is to stop being him." (I hope the maraphobe above also encounters this instruction at some point.)

I intend to use the example of my angry fellow traveller to locate him in myself, remind him why we've given our life to this Zen thing, and whack myself with the invisible kyôsaku I carry for the purpose. 

Because this shit is a waste of energy, in all religions, at all times.

(Portrait of Bodhidarma courtesy of Rawpixel.com and a generous photographer.)

WW: Schooner Zodiac under weigh

(Local charter and school ship, 127-foot Zodiac, built in 1924 for a wealthy industrialist, outbound from her homeport of Bellingham, Washington.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Indecision Kyôsaku

"Most questions are the answer."

Genjo Marinello Osho
Choboji


(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)

WW: Visiting deer family

(Shot through the back window screen.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Good Song: Wide Awake

Here's a good meditation for sojourners my age. Here at the crossroads of life, when most of ours is behind us, and what we have and what we owe comes into sharp focus.

It's hard to miss the Zen implications of the title and refrain. In addition to a gift for a koanic line, Julian Taylor – Canadian son of a Caribbean father and Mohawk mother – also wields a remarkably evocative voice that manages to embrace a multitude of genres and tones. In this case it bears a startling resemblance to Don Williams', blending perfectly with the gentle, introspective lyrics.

Anyway, give it a listen. See if it doesn't resonate with your path as well.

WIDE AWAKE
by Julian Taylor

It's a crazy world that we live in
The tide comes and goes so fast
Right now while I'm trying to be present
I'm still chasing shadows of my past

My father was born in the islands
My mom was born on the great turtle's back
They prayed for me when I'd go out in the evening
At least that's one of the rumours I'd hear

'Round Christmas time spent with my family
Over hot toddy sorrel and ginger beer
They did their best and they did it for freedom
They did everything they ever could for me

We went to church every single Sunday
We'd get dressed up and then go to granny's place
I'd run around that house with my cousins
We loved to race

There is an abundance of hope
That lies between the oceans of time
There's nothing singular about it
Yet it can be clearly defined
Yet it can be clearly defined

And I'm wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the heartache that I've had to face
And all the choices that I've had to make in my life

The greatest pictures are never taken
They're all stored in your memory
Me and my mom
We used to go to Good Bites and talk philosophy
We'd sit there just talking for hours

I once asked her why are good memories so heavy
She simply said
Aren't we lucky

And I'm wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the heartache that I've had to face
And all the choices that I had to make in my life

Lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah
Lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah
Lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah
Lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah-lah

Aren't we lucky
Aren't we lucky

There is an abundance of hope
That lies between the oceans of time
There's nothing singular about it
Yet it can be clearly defined
Yet it can be clearly defined

And I'm wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the choices that I've had to make
And all the heartache that I've had to face in this life

WW: Me on the radio

(Because I'm always on my own when I set up the radio on the road, I seldom have any photos of me operating it. This came to my attention when I realised that I have at least a dozen photos of my radio sitting on a bench or table in some remote place, with no human interest. So last time I was afield [this time in a pole-built woodshed with no walls] I tried for a usable selfie of us both.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Local Boa Constrictor

So I'm breezing along a bike trail through rural country, feeling the exhilaration you get on a bike in Indian summer, when suddenly I find myself swerving hard to avoid a snake.

A large snake. Two feet plus, chocolate brown, mingled with the shadows.

Garter snakes routinely bask on that path, and what with the perfect climate and habitat, some grow quite large.

But not that large. Or that colour. And never in shade; Thamnophis is a sun-worshiper, intently keeping pace with her chosen beam as it crosses the pavement.

I hit the brakes and doubled back. And that's how I met my first wild rubber boa constrictor (Charina bottae).

Scion of an otherwise tropical family, the rubber boa lives farther from the Equator than any other. (As for the "rubber" bit, a glance at the photo here will cover that.) Thus Charina follows the pattern of North Coast reptiles: we have fewer species than other regions, but those exceptions are notably charismatic. A tradition this wayward constrictor further upholds by bearing its young live, like most other local reptiles, and then by being so uncommon, and so hyper-local, that though I grew up just 5 miles from that spot, I'd never encountered one before. The only specimen I'd ever seen, more than 40 years ago, was a captive juvenile taken in this self-same south-county microhabitat.

The heads of both were so small and sleek that telling one end from the other was initially difficult. This is part of an unorthodox defence strategy, as rubber boas hide their business end when frightened, and if the threat persists, lunge at the tormentor with their blunt head-like tail, to confuse it.

"

Those striking gold eyes, tiny for a boa, are the result not just of nocturnal habits but also the fact that rubber boas spend most of their lives – more than 50 years – beneath rotten logs and forest litter, where large corneas would be a medical liability.

But it's their disposition that's truly legendary. Charina is the Greek root of the English "charming", and likely the French câlin (cuddly, snuggly), both of which epitomise this disarmingly affable creature. When I knelt to pick it up – prudently, behind the jaws – he not only declined any attempt to bite, but even to escape. Instead he just rolled into a ball in the palm of my hand and buried his head beneath the coils.

The gentle shyness, along with the velvet softness of his liquid body, had me talking baby talk immediately.

"Funny snake," I chided, stroking his silky back. "You can't s'eep here; you'll get runned over."

As I struggled to bag a one-handed photo of his face, he eased into lazy loops and tentatively explored my gloved hand. I snapped away best I could (whatever advantages this newfangled phone photography offers, ergonomics ain't one), and shortly he relaxed, wrapping himself around my hand and wrist with real warmth.

Comparison to a long, linear cat would not be unwarranted.

I was sorely tempted to keep him, but didn't, of course. That their diet is made up almost entirely of new-born mice, and they won't even eat that half the year, was just another reason.

So I walked wistfully a ways into the trees and carefully deposited the sweet little guy on the forest floor. He edged away reluctantly, as if he'd've happily come along if asked.

How the pet industry missed this one is beyond me, but I'm glad these magical beings endure in my native forest.

WW: Van Gogh's bedroom

(This is the bedroom in the cabin I posted about last Wednesday. It occupies the entire second storey, and is uncannily like stepping into a Van Gogh painting. The friends who built it say that was entirely unintentional.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Status Report

"The only things stopping me today are genetics, lack of will, income, brain chemistry, and external events."

Eddie Pepitone

(Going out to all you PMA freaks out there.)


(Graphic courtesy of Nicholas Darinzo and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Remote radio shack

(Friends lent me this tiny cabin high on a forested ridge to use as a radio shack for two weeks. One of the nicest and most radio-friendly sites I've operated. And an excellent hermit hut.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Zen Centre Koan

A moth walks into a podiatrist's office and sits down. "Doctor," he says, "my life is a mess."

"After twenty years of faithful service to my company, they laid me off.

"My brother, the only other surviving member of my family, was given three months to live.

"I'm feeling more and more irrelevant every day, as if no-one needs or wants me. My whole life has been a complete waste. I've accomplished nothing of note, even by my own account.

"And today my wife, the only reason I got up and went to that dead-end job every day, announces she's leaving because I'm too depressed."

"That's terrible!" says the doctor. "But why have you come to me with this? I'm a podiatrist."

"Oh," says the moth, "I just came in here because the light was on."


Wu Ya's commentary: "Mind the gap."

(Photo courtesy of E. Jones and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Wild blackberries

(Rubus armeniacus.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Zen Judaism

In my university years I lived in a comfortably adequate basement apartment, where I developed a friendly rapport with my landlords – an elderly Jewish couple who lived upstairs. It was my first close relationship with a member of that community, and given our relative ages, over the next three years our interactions slipped into a familiar pattern.

Thus I am one of few goyim to have experienced the blessing of Jewish grandparents.

During that time I came to relish the Hebrew world view – so similar to my own Scottish and Old Settler heritage, yet so... not.

Upgraded, as it were. Different data, same conclusion. And with a wicked snap no Scot could despise.

So twenty years later, when, having become a Zen monk, I encountered the following online, I was primed to appreciate it.

The following is one of many well-shared excerpts from Zen Judaism: For You a Little Enlightenment, a short 2002 book by David M. Bader that took the early Net by storm. The site I saved my own text from has long since gone to the 404 meadows, but Heller Web Space preserves a close facsimile, with appropriately Web 2.0 æsthetics.

So enjoy this spin on the wisdom of the Ancestors, with refreshingly Nasrudinic clarity.

Zen Judaism
by David M. Bader

1. If there is no self, whose arthritis is this?

2. Be here now. Be someplace else later. Is that so complicated?

3. Drink tea and nourish life. With the first sip... joy. With the second... satisfaction. With the third, peace. With the fourth, a danish.

4. Wherever you go, there you are. Your luggage is another story.

5. Accept misfortune as a blessing. Do not wish for perfect health or a life without problems. What would you talk about?

6. The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single "oy".

7. There is no escaping karma. In a previous life, you never called, you never wrote, you never visited.And whose fault was that?

8. Zen is not easy. It takes effort to attain nothingness. And then what do you have? Bupkes.

9. The Tao does not speak. The Tao does not blame. The Tao does not take sides. The Tao has no expectations. The Tao demands nothing of others. The Tao is not Jewish.

10. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Forget this, and attaining Enlightenment will be the least of your problems.

11. Let your mind be as a floating cloud. Let your stillness be as the wooded glen. And sit up straight. You'll never meet the Buddha with such rounded shoulders.

12. Be patient and achieve all things. Be impatient and achieve all things faster.

13. Deep inside you are ten thousand flowers. Each flower blossoms ten thousand times. Each blossom has ten thousand petals. You might want to see a specialist.

14. To practice Zen and the art of Jewish motorcycle maintenance, do the following: Get rid of the motorcycle. What were you thinking?

15. Be aware of your body. Be aware of your perceptions. Keep in mind that not every physical sensation is a symptom of a terminal illness.

16. The Torah says, "Love thy neighbour as thyself." The Buddha says there is no "self." So, maybe you are off the hook.

17. The Buddha taught that one should practice loving kindness to all sentient beings. Still, would it kill you to find a nice sentient being who happens to be Jewish?

18. Though only your skin, sinews, and bones remain, though your blood and flesh dry up and wither away, yet shall you meditate and not stir until you have attained full Enlightenment. But first, a little nosh.


(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)