Father's Day Meditation

"About the worst kind of person I can imagine is a man who's mean to his dog."

My dad.


(Photo courtesy of Fred Marriage and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Whelk eggs

(Almost certainly the invasive Ocinebrellus inornatus, or Japanese oyster drill. I'm told the pink ones have died before hatching.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Good Cartoonist: The Naked Pastor

I'm just catching up with David Hayward, a cartoonist who has published under the provocative nom de guerre of The Naked Pastor for at least 10 years. His work, which draws on the inconsistencies of Christian practice, is refreshingly unblinking. It's also entirely transferable to Zen, and perhaps one or two other religions.

But what makes David's thoughts truly unique is his insight into the fundamental potholes encountered along everyone's road to enlightenment

Witness above illustration.

In this panel, ostensibly fingering Pastor Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church [godhatesfags.com - yes, really], we see a scowling human brandishing a sign that reads I HATE. Religious affiliation autocorrects this to GOD HATES, as indeed it always does, from which it's a short jump to GOD HATES FAGS, because malevolence can't exist without a target.

Ha-ha! Take that, Christians!

But wait… We're not done?

Nope. Could the sign now – just two hops in – say GOD HATES FRED PHELPS? Why yes, it seems to. And in case we thought we'd found a back-door out of this embarrassing development – maybe God just hates Fred Phelps because Fred promotes self-righteous Christianity – nope again. GOD HATES FRED PHELPS WHO HATES FAGS.

Well, crap. Turns out we (I mean God) hate Fred Phelps only because Fred annoys us. Now see here, sign person! You're clearly part of that big ill-defined group of people who are destroying humanity and making these the most immoral times in all history, from which we can never be saved!

Which is apparently exactly the case, because now we're carrying a sign that says GOD HATES EVERYONE. (Hold up… how did we end up carrying the sign?? I thought this was about Christians!)

OK, we've done it now. Unless we're psychopaths we can't help but realise, whether we admit it or not, that going around with a metaphorical bomb vest on is the off-ramp to Hell. And that means, of course, that GOD HATES ME.

Which, since those two are really the same person, means I HATE MYSELF.

Basically, that's all I am now: I HATE.

That is, GOD HATES.

And now He needs someone to hate. Let's see who's available…

And you're going to keep going around and around like that until you get down off the basswood horse and step off the carousel. Simply changing horses won't do it, nor will riding on the parental benches. (Side note: are there still carousels out there, with gilt and mirrors and calliopes and parental benches? Or are they all passed on to the Allegorical Hereafter?)

It's these cartoons that raise David above other internal critics of hypocritical churchmanship. Aside from the fact that most of his Jesus cartoons work just fine if you make them Buddha cartoons, he occasionally reminds us outright that he's not necessarily talking about Christians at all.

Which probably means that at this very minute one of us is out there printing GOD HATES DAVID HAYWARD on a sign.


(Cartoon from Feedly.)

WW: Memorial

(This rhododendron grows just outside my mother's kitchen window. Since she moved here 6 years ago it has never bloomed – a fact she drew to my attention just last year.

But this spring it brought on four small white blossoms [one of them out of frame]. Rhododendrons grow riotously on the North Coast, and there are a great many of every colour in this neighbourhood, including the stunning pink native ones. But white heads are rarest. Especially such delicate ones.

As you can tell by its sallow leaves this plant isn't happy, which is undoubtedly why it hasn't bloomed before. I don't know what's bothering it – several other rhododendrons in the immediate vicinity are doing great – but when the bloom falls I'll feed it and see if that helps.

As my mom died three months ago, I'm especially drawn to these timid white blossoms – the colour of mourning in Japan.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Shells

the world is my cloister
except when it's my oyster
for then I cannot roister
because it's so much moister


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

WW: Bike in the jungle

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Source Buddhism

I've been rereading The Heart of the Buddha's Teaching, the succinct little Thich Nhat Hanh book that amounts, so far as I'm concerned, to our Bible.

Non-Buddhists may be astonished to learn we lack one of those. Instead, we maintain a libraryful of sutras – pamphlet-sized documents that more or less quote the Buddha – along with three or four additional libraries of epistolary commentary. And we Zenners tend to bust even that down to the Heart Sutra (a short summary of the Buddha's insights), four koan anthologies, and, in Soto, Dogen's Shobogenzo. (Other schools swap that last out for their own founders' teachings.)

But for my money, Heart satisfies the hunger for a source of record, something to tell us in no uncertain terms what we're supposed to be doing here. Heart was the book that made me a monk, and the one I return to in moments of despair and confusion. And it never lets me down, though each time I find I've never read it before.

Among insights gained this time is TNH's reference to "Source Buddhism", one of three streams he sorts modern Buddhism into, by way of understanding the differing perspectives. The other two are Many-Schools Buddhism, notable for its didactic nature, and the Mahayana, which emphasises the responsibility of practitioners to their species and world (the famous "bodhisattva principle").

And though my own tradition – Zen – sits squarely in that last camp, I find I'm a bit of a Sourcer.

Quite a Sourcer, really.

Source Buddhists insist on the primacy of the Buddha's teaching over all other authorities. What he said, is Buddhism. Anything else… might not be.

I think this is an important fixation, because humans compulsively pile everything they like under the rubrics they've already adopted. If they're pacifists, they define even their most bellicose conduct as perfect pacifism. If they're conservatives, each innovation they make becomes the soul of conservatism. If they're feminists, their every impulse reflects pure disgust for sexism – highest of all, their purely sexist ones.

Nowhere is this fatal flaw more evident than in religion.

And in no religion is it more evident than in Zen.

So it's comforting to know that in my instinctive sourcery, I'm paddling an Original Stream – perhaps the original stream – of Buddhism.

Because the path of the Buddha isn't always the smoothest, but I do believe it's the most effectual.

And in case you're wondering: yes. My own meandering improvisations thereupon do constitute "original Buddhic teaching".

Seriously; have you ever met a human?


(Photo of the 6th century Teaching Buddha in Ajanta Cave 16 courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)