WW: Chimes of fortune

(I found these by the side of the road while riding my bike. They're meditation chimes. There's a small broken hanger on the lower end that may be implicated in the accident that put them, somewhat the worse for wear but otherwise intact, on the shoulder, but the rest remains a mystery. Another bicycling monk? Doesn't seem likely in my little town. But who knows?

Chalk it up to found dingstock and another Zen mystery.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Meditation Meditation

"You start out feeling, 'Oh Lord, I hate this' and then later on you feel 'Oh boy this is wonderful', and you're wrong both times."

Robert Pirsig


(Photo of Zen monk striking call to zazen courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)

Hermitcraft: Bells

Regular readers of this blog know that I generally eschew material attachments in Zen practice. We humans have a tendency to pile up insignia and trophies to justify ourselves to others, and that erodes practice, often to the point of replacing it. Thus Zenners accumulate zafus and rakusus and statues and incense and any number of other gewgaws – often very expensive ones – for bling, or to create an ambiance.

The first is questionable, the second legitimate if mindful. (An ambiance of what?) Early in my practice I determined that – rama-lama-ding-dong aside – a bell is useful in meditation. I ring mine once when I start and once when I finish; sometimes in between, to help concentration. And sometimes I just strike it in passing, to reaffirm my commitment. Like incense it's a Pavlovian prompt (literally, in this case) that establishes or re-establishes a monastic mindset.

However, I have issues with spending large sums of cash on fancy gong-type paraphernalia. The stuff sounds great, I admit; a high-quality singing bowl can ring forever. If someone wanted to get rid of one, I'd take it. But you can buy a lot of rice on the cost of that perennially empty bowl.

So instead, I upcycle free or nearly-free non-bells that ring well in spite of themselves. First was a length of brass pipe. It had good tone, but was hard to suspend. I then upgraded to a small brass bell cannibalised from an old telephone (see photo above). It rests on a salvaged scrap of ash, finished with trinity tar, and I beat it with a large nail. It's cheap, portable, and dings expertly, though not so loudly that it's obtrusive to others.

Other times I use a Revere Ware saucepan lid (photo below), sounded with an old toy xylophone beater. (Wooden spoons work well too.) Revere Ware products are often quite musical. Others may ring as sweetly, but lack that broad flat Revere Ware knob that makes a perfect gong base. In any case, if you don't already own a serviceable piece, head down to the Good Value Army and pluck all the pot lids with your thumbnail. Chances are you'll find a good one.

Saw blades and metal mixing bowls can also do bell duty if properly suspended. Old doorbells – better yet, door chimes – are another good source of dingstock, as are wind chimes and some types of glassware. Old garden bells can be had cheap at garage sales, then mounted and dung. And few things peal as beautifully as those gas-bottle bells you see around. They fetch usurious prices in garden and Buddhist supply stores, but are nothing more than worn-out propane tanks cut in half. If you or someone you know can do that (cutting torch? angle grinder?) : Keisu City.

Because anything that bongs when you bump it is a bell.

Street Level Zen: Specialisation

"A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, coöperate, act alone, solve equations, analyse a new problem, pitch manure, programme a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialisation is for insects."

Lazarus Long (Robert A. Heinlein)

Update: Ferns, Sticks, Trinity Tar

Here's some breaking news on subjects I've broached in the past, of no particular internal relevance and in no particular order.

Fiddleheads

In Hermitcraft: Fiddleheads I discussed the differences between Pteridium (bracken) shoots and those of other ferns, such as those pictured in the article. Here then is a photo of one such Pteridium shoot, for those who want to taste (or avoid) them. (Click to enlarge.) Where they occur, they typically occur en masse; one spring I took a walk during a 10 minute break in a community college course I was teaching, and came back with a mighty fistful of these.

Walking Stick

In A Brief History of the Stick I mentioned that I'd whipped the end of my walking stick and coated the cord with PVC cement. It didn't work, though it probably would have if I'd used urethane varnish. (The glue was an experiment.) I've since stripped off the whipping and replaced it with this brass plumbing fitting from the hardware store. The balance of the stick has changed a bit, but all in all it's working very nicely.

Hermitcraft: Ancestor Gong

This is an ancestor gong I made from an old saw blade I found in my grandfather's shop. Each time you ring it, it sings gratitude for those who went before and made this life possible. Starting with my grandparents, who built the house I'm living in.

The blade sings nicely (I chose the best ringer in the lot), and gongs of this type have deep meaning for Old Settlers; time was, all the muddy, isolated villages on the Green Side had a big, worn-out head saw blade hanging in the square, along with some random piece of busted ironmongery to beat on it. That's how you got people's attention for announcements, fires, celebrations, and so on. Where there was no church bell, it called folks to that, too.

The symbolism in this particular blade goes even deeper, as my grandfather, his roots gnarled deep in this glacial till, was a congenital, nay compulsive, woodworker and builder. With this very blade he put the roof over me and the walls around. So with each stroke, this gong pays homage to all my people, conceptual and concrete.

The striker is a piece of hawthorn I cut on the property. The photo at right shows what it looks like now. This was originally finished in classic trinity tar (linseed oil, turpentine, and vinegar), but that mildewed in the rain. So I took the beater back down, sanded off the first finish and re-tarred it, this time with linseed oil, paint thinner, and vinegar, with half a part of asphalt to darken it up. I like the result, and after about two dozen coats of that toxic, no-more-mister-nice-guy tar, well-rubbed and hardened over the woodstove for a month or so, it's looking good out there.

The lanyard is six strand kongo kumihimo: four strands of tarred seine twine, two of gold mason line.

I try to ring this gong every day at noon. I give it one han roll-down, striving for perfect symmetry and tone. It's become part of my mindfulness practice.

Update, 5 November, 2011: It turns out that the saw blade eventually loses the ability to ring in this climate, evidently because of the heavy coat of rust it acquires. Today I replaced the original blade with another from my grandfather's pile, but it too will gradually grow duller. It would be fine for an indoor chime, though.