Street Level Zen: Politics

"'Kindness' covers all of my political beliefs. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn't always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find out."

Roger Ebert

WW: Hearth and home

WW: November night

The Capital Punishment Koan

But the good news is I did change my heart. It just took a while to generate the will. And that's my right. I also get better at this stuff. And that's all God asks. Live this moment right; the past is his property. I am no different from everything else: I'm not what I was. And I'm not even what I've done. That was the koan Gautama gave to Angulimala, the serial killer who became his disciple. All you have to do to please God is strive. He accepts all progress, even that which is invisible to others, even that which is invisible to you, as full payment. That's why we live so many lives. In point of fact, we live as many lives as it takes. All of us. No Heart Left Behind. Fudo closes the door on an empty room. That's his vow.

And by this truth, capital punishment is not just technically murder, it's the random, joyful murder of serial killers. You never kill the man who killed; every criminal executed is innocent, and that would be the case even if you crucified him the very night. Admittedly, that point is academic. But when you kill a man who has lived twenty more years, suffering in the man-made Hell of prison, you are not only killing a complete stranger, you're often killing a soul seared generous and kind in a fire you set. So don't come snivelling around here with your "eye for an eye;" you've taken a soul for an eye.

Hence the koan of capital punishment: Whose soul have you taken?

Wu Ya's commentary: "Not mine. Anybody missing a soul?"


(Adapted from "100 Days on the Mountain," copyright RK Henderson. Photo courtesy of WikiMedia and Rafael Pi Belda [photographer].)

WW: We're here, we're deer, get used to it

Waterproof Monk

The summer of 2011 was wet in the Willapa Hills. Very wet. And also cold. But mostly wet.

For a monk sitting his 100 Days on the Mountain, sleeping in a cave-like tent and living under a piece of Tyvek, it presented unique challenges. These included, but were not limited to:

• Six-inch banana slugs that got snarled in my robe while I was meditating, then panicked and snotted out a plate-sized patch of slime all over it and my zabuton.

• The same going "squish!" rather dramatically underfoot when I crawled out of bed at 0300 to pee.

• Mildew covering everything, even the nylon effects, stored in my tent.

• The inability to launder clothing or bedding, because I couldn't dry it.

• Bare feet eternally muddy; rain-softened sandals sliding out from under them on any but perfectly level ground.

• And perhaps the worst: being imprisoned in my little jungle clearing, because leaving it meant getting soaked in high grass or brush. (Remember: no drying things.)

A week or so of this, and the Oh-Look-How-Zen-I-Am shtick ceases to umbrella one's morale; one swings from vociferous obscenities to deep depression.

And so it was that I envisioned this movie, starring me as The Nameless Hermit, one midnight while sitting on my sleeping bag under driving rain. If the lines seem a little wobbly, it's because they were drawn by flashlight. Also, the pose was meant to be some kind of scary kung fu stance. Sadly, in the cold light of day, I just look like an angry folk dancer.

I derived creatively from the Chow Yun-Fat grinder Bulletproof Monk. Of this movie, Chicago Reader film critic Bill Stamets said: "The fight scenes are routine, the humor juvenile, and the Toronto locales rendered drab through muddy cinematography."

So there you go. Change "Toronto" to "North Coast," and you've got my whole life.

So what do you think? Does my movie idea have legs? Frankly, I think I could kick Chow's butt.

Commercially, of course.

This is exactly what my ango was like. Except  I wasn't angry. Or Asian. Or armed. But aside from that, this is exactly what it was like.

(Adapted from 100 Days on the Mountain, copyright RK Henderson.

WW: Vayan con Dios, hermanos