WW: Winter swamp

(Ever notice that I upload quite a lot of swamp pictures here? What can I say? I've loved them since I was a child.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Afterlife Kyôsaku

"One of the most powerful teachings that [Thich Nhat Hanh] shared with us before he got sick was about not building a stupa for him and putting his ashes in an urn for us to pray to.

"He strongly commanded us not to do this.

"I will paraphrase his message:

"'Please do not build a stupa for me. Please do not put my ashes in a vase, lock me inside, and limit who I am. I know this will be difficult for some of you.

"'If you must build a stupa though, please make sure that you put a sign on it that says, "I am not in here."

"'In addition, you can also put another sign that says, "I am not out there either," and a third sign that says, "If I am anywhere, it is in your mindful breathing and in your peaceful steps."'"

Senior student Phap Dung, on his teacher.


(Photo of a second century BCE frieze of Buddhists worshiping at a Shunga dynasty stupa courtesy of the Freer Gallery of Art, Wikimedia Commons, and a generous photographer.)

WW: Early spring haiku

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Zen At War... With Itself

'Way back in March of 2012 CE (how strange to have such a deep vault) I reviewed Zen at War, Brian Daizen Victoria's exposé of Japanese Buddhism during the Second World War.

And now, these many years gone, while looking up the book's Amazon link for a friend, I happen to glance at the reader reviews.

Some of them are disheartening.

While most commenters shared thoughtful, supportive responses, I rate it worthwhile to meet two others, not by way of defending Daizen's work – it's self-defending – but to survey some dangerous internal trends in our incipient Western religion. Especially here, where our grasp of Buddhist history (and our own) is tenuous.

First to catch my eye was a one-star rating entitled "Very disappointing":

This guy [Daizen] must have a terrible background, probably tried to escape all that trauma by moving to far east and becoming Buddhist etc., the classic story. It's ok as long as one does not try and contaminate beautiful Zen with a messed up mind. Avoid this book especially if you're a new Zen learner as it will ruin the whole experience for you.

There's something simultaneously amusing and infuriating about a self-professed Zenner who has no idea what a human being is. While I assume First Honoured Sangha is a sojourner, I've also met so-called "masters" who lack any greater insight.

So to protect any fragile new Zen learners who may stumble upon such spluttering, Ima lay down some tough-dharma. (Ten thousand apologies, pro forma trigger warning, how's your father.)

1. First Honoured Sangha has no calling to judge others or analyse their lives, or to declare their fate foregone. (Gotama; Dogen; Jesus.)

2. First Honoured Sangha knows nothing about Daizen's "classic story". We all have classic stories. Even First Honoured Sangha. (Gotama; Claude Anshin Thomas.)

3. First Honoured Sangha has no authority to give permission, or withhold it. (Gotama; Jesus.)

4. First Honoured Sangha has not been asked to guard the supposed "honour" of Zen. Zen is clean by its nature. Others soil it. (Bodhidharma.)

5. If First Honoured Sangha can't put down the burden of piety, then First Honoured Sangha can haul his or her prodigal backside back to the Church. If we must speak of contaminating Zen, piety is certainly the ultimate pollution. Mindless fear and shame are what authentic Zenners strive to overcome.

In an oddly similar vein, consider this (ostensibly favourable, five-star) review:

The shock value is not so great, as I've been aware of the basic contents for sometime. Japan is an island and the Japanese are an insular people. The emphasis in their culture is group conformity. Zen is not the transformer of personality as it was once marketed, and it should not surprise us to learn that Zen leaders in Japan followed the lead of the Japanese government and Army into widespread war.

The endemic racism and ethnocentrism of Western Zenners never ceases to dumbfound me. It's not just that we dissuade those of African or Hispanic or Arabic origin from joining us; we even freeze out Asians! With the exception of a dwindling handful of deified Asia-born teachers, you see damn few Asian faces in Western Zen centres.

Seriously, brothers and sisters. We have a problem.

One that won't go away until we drive it bodily from the zendo and kill it with ferocious blows from our monk sticks.

Apart from the sort of blanket condemnation First Honoured Sangha called down on another entire vaguely-defined demographic, Second Honoured Sangha neatly excuses Westerners from suffering any angst over Daizen's thesis. The demon, we're assured, isn't the Sangha; it's the Japanese.

With respect, Second Honoured Sangha is mistaken.

The demon is the Sangha. All of us. Then and now. There and here. Present and future.

You and me.

Nor am I alone in my discomfort with the unBuddhic habit of associating practice with submission to dictatorial authority – and then absolving ourselves of the evil we do under it. Thus, Third Honoured Sangha:

What I don't like, is the way it is almost impossible to discuss [enthusiastic Buddhist participation in Japanese fascism] in the Zendo, and I've tried.

Word.

And a final Fourth:

As a Buddhist, it was a reminder that we must be ever looking at our own practice. Do read this book.

Zen is important. We must resist the urge to turn it into a church.


(Photo courtesy of Serg Childed and Wikimedia Commons)

WW: Coral mushroom

(Suspect Ramaria sp.; this is the mushroom I ate like so a few weeks ago.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Hermitcraft: Red Spaghetti (and Similar Rhodophytes)

As spring brings back the tender new seaweed, I rate it proper to share one of my favourites. This is Gracilariopsis sjoestedtii, a rhodophyte also known as "red spaghetti". As that name suggests, it's edible, though not in exactly the way you might conclude.

G. sjoestedtii is native to the eastern Pacific but relatives with similar attributes can be found across the planet. Like many in its phylum it's a good source of agar, a vegan jelly put to a wide range of uses in science and industry. And more importantly, gastronomy.

To that end you can poach rhodophytes in water or milk and press the gunk out of them, as humans have done for millennia, then use it to thicken soups and desserts. But for my money G. sjoestedtii is best simply eaten raw, more or less as-is, in the Korean style.

Unlike most seaweeds, this one is tender, succulent, and mild straight off the beach. Which is why I often eat it straight off the beach. However, it's also salty, so don't do this unless you're near home or packing drinking water.

If you bring some home, refrigerate immediately and wash it just before eating. Fresh water destroys marine algae at the cellular level, resulting in instant putrefaction.

You can chop chilled Gracilariopsis and add it to salads. Or just make a Gracilariopsis salad; cut the stems into bite-sized lengths, toss with a little finely chopped red onion, maybe other ingredients as called; dress lightly with oil and vinegar. Rice vinegar is particularly good, but I've also had plenty of success with herbed vinegars or plain old apple cider vinegar.

Though the noodle-like red algae don't cook especially well, turning instantly to stringy bright green hair, you can add them raw to hot soups or noodles, just before serving, for a pleasant touch of the sea.

And they make an excellent topping for crackers, baked potatoes, and hamburgers. On franks and brats, the shred-like pieces are remarkably suggestive of a marine sauerkraut.

Or just pitch bite-sized bits into your Bassho bowl (recipe: cooked brown rice, vegetable, protein – microwave, or steam lightly in a lidded pan), where they can serve for either vegetable or protein, according to need. I particularly like to pair Gracilariopsis with beans in this quick, sustaining monastic meal.

Nothing better in your Buddha bowl.

WW: Champion flower arrangement

(This is one of a long line of grand-champion county fair entries my mom made throughout her life. This time it's a 2018 flower arrangement - featuring among other things some teasel I'd brought home for her from one of my tramps. 

Mom belonged to a few garden clubs, and held most of the offices in them at one point or another. At show time, if they didn't get enough entries in a given class, they couldn't award a ribbon to any of those who did enter, so to prevent their efforts coming to nil, my mother would hastily stick something of her own in, to keep the category open.

Which "prop", more than once, took the entire class. To her eternal embarrassment, and the family's endless amusement.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Histoire d'hiver

My mom died three nights ago. I had been looking after her for several years, managed her home hospice daily over the last six months, and as usual, was alone with her in the house when she went.

The blessing is that she went quietly, after dropping into a two-day sleep from which she did not rouse. Finally she simply declined the next breath, and that was that.

Likely the death any of us would choose if choice were given.

It's famously hard to know what to say to a person in my place. What is less well-known is how hard it is to know what to say when you're the person in my place. Aside from Issa, few meet the challenge.

Which is perhaps why one of my favourite cinematic moments has been running through my mind.

It's the last line of the brilliant Canadian coming-of-age memoir, Histoires d'hiver. As the final scene of his childhood plays out, the protagonist, now my age, says this in voiceover:

« Papa est décédé il y a quinze ans déjà, et maman, elle, la nuit dernière. Et aujourd'hui, je me sens comme un enfant qui n'a plus le choix de devenir enfin un adulte, car il n'est plus le petit gars de personne. »

(English translation here.)

I expect I'll share further meditations as they become available.

(Photo from the final scene of Histoires d'hiver. The movie itself, like most Canadian films, is difficult to find. The YouTube video linked in the text is the only source I could locate, and of course, YouTube tends to blank such things straightway.)

WW: Daffodils sprouting in flood water

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.