Monastic Kyôsaku

"Monks are intentionally irrelevant."

Thomas Merton


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

WW: Aboriginal hole

(Found this giant old cedar stump on the beach some time ago. The hole has been a matter of conjecture ever since. It's clearly not the work of an animal; too clean and too conical.

But the clincher is that remnant of charcoal.

Only one culture I know around here did that, and they gave it up when they got steel. Until then, to determine whether a trunk was sound enough for construction, they gnawed a shallow pit in it with their knapped adzes, kindled a tiny fire inside, then deepened the test hole by pecking out the charred wood.

But the arrival of crosscut saws made it economical to fell first and ask questions later.

Is this stump old enough? Well, it's a stump, saturated with preservative resin, and has been pickling in a saline environment since it washed into the bay a long time ago.

And I haven’t come up with a better theory.)

The Toolbox Fallacy

"I can't do X until I have Y."

That's the fundamental delusion, according to Ian Martin. Essentially, he suggests, we tend to get wrapped up in the notion that we have to have certain tools before we can do certain stuff. Some of them are literal, others figurative, but eventually the lack of them – perceived or factual – becomes an excuse to allow our aspirations to remain unpursued.

I stumbled over Ian's kyôsaku in the course of an unrelated surf, and clicked on it because it was only 7 minutes long. The message hit me hard, both as a writer and a monk. In both cases I've been grappling with lost momentum, and Ian's whack on the shoulder had just the right snap.

Not that I was entirely ignorant of this truth. In Zen we toolbox the crap out of each other. Gotta have a sangha, a centre, a master. Gotta have a quiet setting, or a sit-friendly schedule, or the proper zafu, or…

I sussed that trap early on, and took the hermit path around it. But I haven't completely set such fears aside. Especially in times when I can't maintain regular sitting. Then I tend to drop it entirely until conditions coöperate.

But the fact is, I can meditate wherever, whenever.

Will it always equal ideal zazen? Perhaps not. Is that failure?

No.

And actually, it's just this kind of thing that's often yielded the greatest results. Harder than controlled-environment sitting, sure. But you know what else is out of control?

The entire universe beyond my few square controlled feet.

If you can't practice out there, you're a prisoner. That's why they call 'em "cells".

But one thing Ian doesn't mention is that failure isn't the sole fear. There's also the scorn of others. And that scorn is inevitable.

I watch a lot of indie films. Really indie films. You know, the kind that are financed by friends and family and made in the director's parents' garage. Many are terrific. But you wouldn't know it from some of the IMDb "reviews".

It's astonishing how much people who've never canned a damn minute in their lives know about making movies.

In a similar vein, some folks get all Old Testament on my backside when they hear I practice alone. I even catch accusations of fraud. (Dude. I said I practice alone. I didn't order you to.)

My point is, if you pursue your ambitions without the toolbox, you'll be scorned down to your waraji. Behind your back and in front of your back and all around your back.

Because holy crap it offends some people when their expectations aren't validated.

And those same people tend to be cocksure and outspoken. Somewhere in there is insight, I feel sure of it...

Anyway.

What I want to append to Ian's excellent wake-up call is simply this: Whiners gonna whine. I need to remember that.

Because others will definitely sneer. At my writing career; my monastic practice; the fallibility of my nature and judgement; the new workbench I just built.

And except for that last one, they lack authority. (Shop-types smirk. I'll have to give them this one.)

So I'm with Ian. If you don't have a chainsaw, use a hatchet. But chop that wood.

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

WW: Autumn barnyard

(Results of two or three hours' work.)

The Lemon Koan

"When life gives you lemons, you are mistaken."

Ummon (probably)

(See the Blue Cliff Record, Case 6, and the provocative commentary that follows it. Courtesy of William Nyogen Yeo and Hazy Moon Zen Center/Koun-Ji Temple, Los Angeles.)



Photo courtesy of Scott Bauer, the Agricultural Research Service of the US Department of Agriculture, and Wikimedia Commons.

WW: Canadian bodhisattva

(Jizo Bodhisattva, patron of children and teachers, is traditionally venerated a variety of ways. Most involve specific gifts left at his statue's feet, or dressing it in certain garments, usually red. Of these, the most common is a knitted tuque.

Thus, when I saw one bareheaded on a friend's deck, I knew what practice demanded.

I classed it up a little while I was up.)

Hungry Ghost

(These are the lyrics to one of my Buddhist country and western songs, offered here in honour of Hallowe'en.)

If you come 'round late
By my back stairs
When the moon is full
And there's no-one there
You might hear a sound, like footsteps on the floor
But when you turn around
It won't be there no more

No, it ain't everyone
That can see him there
Mostly kids and dogs
And folks in despair
But I give him board, and that makes me the host
To a gentle friend
And a hungry ghost

Refrain:

'Cos he's a man of hope
And a man of peace
He's a man of faith
And not the least
He's a man of heart, and that's what matters most
'Cos he's a man apart
So he's a hungry ghost

Folks down in town
Say it's all a hoax
Just a trick of light
In the prairie oaks
Say it's just the wind, blowed down from off the ridge
And if you'll buy that
I got a bridge

[Bridge]

So if you got a roof
Against the storm
If your belly's full
And your heart is warm
Then say a word of grace, and keep your loved ones close
And spare a thought
For the hungry ghosts

Refrain to end



(Copyright RK Henderson. Detail of the hungry ghosts that walk amongst us from the 12th century scroll 餓鬼草紙、平安時代 ; photo courtesy of the Kyoto National Museum and Wikimedia Commons.)