Red-letter day here at Rusty Ring: a new zabuton has been sworn in.
The old one, which has appeared on these pages numberless times (here, for example, with my zafu, or here, if you look closely at the upper righthand corner of the second photo), had been in service since I became a hermit monk 24 years ago, and I'm a bit heartbroken to set it aside. But the cover had become dirty and threadbare, and finally a dog tore a hole in it.
That last may sound a bit alarming if you've never seen the object in question, but I assure you: pets never missed the joke.
I got that zabuton for free from a person who no longer had a dog. And it worked great – ideal size and weight, highly durable, insulating in the winter and airy in summer. Together we travelled the continent, sitting indoors and out, keeping my physical plant in monastic trim without the least trouble or worry.
(My zafu, less than a year younger, also soldiers on, having as sole intervention been fortified about midway through by a tough, weatherproof cover. True to form, I usually protect that with a cloth shoulder bag, so that the whole looks like a bagful of laundry. Note to self: we need another bag to protect that bag with.)
Any road, just as my winter robe began life as an old fleece bathrobe, I sit zazen on a dog bed. The scepticism this raises in certain quarters is worth the paltry money such kit costs. Welcome to eremitical monasticism, bitches.
But it was time for a new meditation mat, and two decades of experience has taught me that the dogs are right: this-here is what you want. Still, you'd be amazed how broad is the canine mattress market, in every sense: colour, design, shape, expense, comfort… even dimensions vary remarkably.
You gotta know a lot about pet supplies to nail this one. Especially these days, when it often must be purchased sight-unseen.
In the end, after a mere six months' research, I got what I needed. The new pad is a little loftier and has a textured checkerboard cover (see photo) – ironic echo of certain so-designated zabutons meeting fewer criteria and costing four to twelve times more. (Set me back twenty-five dollars Yank, for those playing at home.)
One thing I do miss is the extra 4 inches; where my old zabuton is 28 inches by 35, this one is only 24. However, there are some good reasons for a shallower mat, chiefly that they're less obstructive in a multiuse room; fit more readily into many outdoor sites; and are easier to transport by car.
As for wear or ergonomic issues, only time will tell. But for the moment, its holding lotus admirably.
So if you need a zabuton but can't afford spiritual materialism, come join me out here with the dogs.
(So the other day I look out my back window and see what appears to be a cloud of stars on the ground beside the highway. A field glass survey establishes it as alien technology, apparently blown down the road for a considerable distance before getting wrapped around a power pole near my house.
Cognisant of my civic duty, if somewhat nervous about radiation, I climbed the bank for a closer look. And that's how I came into possession of a perfectly intact 4X8 sheet of mylar.
I immediately brought this home and smoothed it out on the floor, during which time it sparkled ardently each time it came into contact with starlight. The substance is also ethereally light, sailing around the room on no more than the draught from a partially open window – fully consistent with its interplanetary itinerary. Finally, note that the entire film was once folded to geometrically exact measure, likely to save space in the flying saucer.
I have no idea what its creators use this stuff for, though intuition suggests a possible connection with small princesses. However, in the absence of frosting or other as-yet undetected residue, we must content ourselves with storing this curious if somewhat alarming find in a sterile environment until a use for it can be determined.)
(Foxglove [Digitalis purpurea] is a common weed of the North Pacific slope. While non-native, and virulently poisonous if eaten, it's generally escaped the "invasive" label. I'm not entirely sure why, but it probably has much to do with the fact that it has a pronounced tendency to colonise poor, erosion-prone soil snubbed by other plants. This landslide site in the bluffs above the beach is a good example.
That, and its singular beauty, may have earned Digitalis a measure of tacit support here.)
Despite its author's apparent lack of Buddhist background, this breezy tune from Julian Taylor, under a title seemingly made to trap Zenners like flypaper, has done exactly that to me.
You got the refrain,
I’m wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the heartache that I’ve had to face
And all the choices that I’ve had to make in my life
...a succinct summary of the Buddha's teaching on the origins of enlightenment practice.
Then there's that embedded haiku, twice recited:
There is an abundance of hope that lies between the oceans of time
There’s nothing singular about it
Yet it can be clearly defined
If someone told me these lines were extracted from one of the exhortations we chant in our zendos, he or she would probably escape with the lie.
Throw in that infectious country-western bounce, soaked in gentle pedal steel and Julian's own finger-picking, and you got a track that would hit on mainstream country radio if that genre (in which I write as well) were less narrowly and politically defined.
Spin it. Be prepared to spin it again.
Wide Awake
Julian Taylor
It’s a crazy world that we live in
The tide comes and goes so fast
Right now
While I’m trying to be present
I’m still chasing shadows of my past
My father was born in the islands
My mom was born on the great turtle’s back
They prayed for me when I’d go out in the evening
At least that’s one of the rumours I’d hear
‘Round Christmas time spent with our family
Over hot totty sorrel and ginger beer
They did their best and they did it for freedom
They did everything they ever could for mе
We went to church every single Sunday
We’d get dressed up and then go to Granny’s place
I’d run around that house with my cousins
We loved to race
There is an abundance of hope that lies between the oceans of time
There’s nothing singular about it
Yet it can be clearly defined
Yet, it can be clearly defined
And I’m wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the heartache that I’ve had to face
And all the choices that I’ve had to make in my life
The greatest pictures are never taken
They’re all stored in your memory
Me and my mom
We use to go to Good Bites and talk philosophy
We’d sit there just talking for hours
I once asked her
Why are good memories so heavy
She simply said
Aren’t we lucky
And I’m wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the heartache that I’ve had to face
And all the choices that I had to make in my life
Aren’t we lucky
Aren’t we lucky
There is an abundance of hope that lies between the oceans of time
There’s nothing singular about it
Yet it can be clearly defined
Yet it can be clearly defined
And I’m wide awake
I chalk it up to all of my mistakes
And all the choices that I’ve had to make
And all the heartache that I’ve had to face in this life
(Nice minus tide today, so I decided to have a good wade. I grabbed my sandals – the ones I took to the mountain, where I wore them all day, every day, under very demanding conditions. They never flinched.
Since then these Tevas have remained my mainstay… until I went to put them on this afternoon and found a sole about to fall off. Eager to catch the tide, I slapped on some duck tape and made off down the steep access to the beach.
Duck tape is a rescue product, enabling temporary fixes but not much more. Among other things, it's not impervious to water. So I didn't push it any further than my first intentions. As you can see, both tape and sandals delivered.
But I'll have to glue that sole back on. Which means it'll eventually come off again, and some time later, my prized sandals will have to be discarded. Sad it's come to this, but I can't complain about the performance. They've given undaunted service for 15 years.
Still poignant. Like the man said, all things made of parts.)
Shunryu Suzuki, on the relative value of religious teaching.
(Photo of the epilogue to an 18th century Guru Granth Sahib manuscript, wherein the scribe shares his ink recipe, courtesy of Sikhmuseum.com and Wikimedia Commons.)
