20 March is Bodhisattva Day

On 20 March, I'm inviting all brother and sister seekers to be mindful of the Bodhisattva. "Bodhisattva" is the Buddhist term for those who dedicate their lives to ending suffering, in ways large and small, and also – especially – for that bit inside all of us that urges us in that direction.

Why 20 March? Well, that's Fred Rogers' birthday. "Mr. Rogers" was a North American children's entertainer ("mentor" is more accurate) who embodied the Bodhisattva Way. His gentle, respectful demeanour and careful attention to those around him are legendary. It's also completely true; my brother and I met him at a public television business function when we were 4 and 6. He gave us his undivided attention, genuinely interacting with us and ignoring the politicians and PBS executives milling about. And I've had similar stories from others. Dude was real.

So there may be others as qualified as my brother Fred to be the poster child of bodhisattva nature, but I doubt there's anyone better.

Therefore I propose that 20 March be Bodhisattva Day. You don't gotta be Buddhist to get a piece; Mr. Rogers wasn't. (He was an ordained Presbyterian minister.) You just have to agree that people should strive to default to their compassionate impulses, as a matter of policy.

I further suggest that, as an unobtrusive and respectful statement of conviction, we honour this day of reflection by wearing a cardigan sweater.

But no pinching people who don't, eh?

Mr. Rogers' own cardigan, now on display at the Smithsonian.

(Photos courtesy of KUHT [Mr. Rogers on-set], Rudi Riet [Mr. Rogers' sweater], and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Para-surfer

Remembrance

Cruel was the foe that raped Glencoe
And murdered the House of Donald

13 February, 1692

(And thank God for fleet ancestors.)

(Photo of the appropriately-named Devil's Staircase, one of only two escape routes from the glen, looking much as it did that winter night, courtesy of Colin Souza and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Mon pays, ce n'est pas un pays

(C'est l'hiver.)

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.

WW: Self portrait 2

Kyôsaku Kyôsaku

Two days ago I found this teaching in my Twitter feed:

"Treat non-useful thoughts like undesirable smells: don't dwell on them, don't identify with them, don't get attached to them, don't get lost in them - simply let them float away."

It's Zen at its trenchant best: laconic, practical, self-evident. A classic and useful taste of humanity's most down-to-earth religion. I immediately stored the passage for a later Kyôsaku and went about determining credit. (It was attributed only to "tad".)

After some digging, I discovered that "tad" is not a guy, it's a business. Specifically, it's something called The T.A.D. Principle, which is apparently a book, though the advert is coy on this point. It's even coyer about a later product, the 21-day meditationSHIFT Programme, which costs $29 and promises to revolutionise your life, though it too is evidently 15th century technology. (I could be wrong; neither of these "works" is described as a book. They aren't described as anything.)

About here you'd expect me to go off on a rant about New Age self-help hucksters. And I'd like to. But the thing is, I've spent some time perusing T.A.D.'s promotional copy, and found not a word I could dispute. It's all straight-up conventional Zen. Great stuff, in fact. No doubt the testimonials ("Thank you for teaching me how to meditate, and how to get control of my runaway mind! [emphasis original]") are sincere and authentic.

And while that $29 price tag (fair price for a book of this kind, if it is a book) is technically selling Zen – and that's immoral – your local Zen master might put the bite on you for much more. Folks have paid thousands; even tens of thousands. And frankly, if you've reached the place where you can't breathe – from grief, depression, or other forms of world-weariness – a handful of coppers spent on the right book could save your life.

So I guess my only serious objection is the implied claim that the unnamed author or authors invented this stuff. Which he, she, or they did not. If the marketing snippets are representative, this is plain old brilliantly effective Zen. To be sure, the word "Zen" appears nowhere on the site, but so long as the author or authors don't assert some bogus patent, the karmic implications seem moderate.

On the other hand, my patented Crusty Old Hermit Programme is cheaper and quicker than other leading brands. If you click before midnight tonight, you can take advantage of our Special Introductory Offer: to wit, nothing less than the FULL TEXT of our Dynamic Life-Coachment S.E.L.F.-Training Modality:

"Get over yourself."

Free to you, because you look like a nice person. But I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea.

(Portrait of original crusty old hermit Bodhidharma courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)