Trash Talk

In killing my Self
The monster is defeated
Eat my Zen, dickweed


("Enrag'd Monster" courtesy of John Hamilton Mortimer, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and Wikimedia Commons.)

WW: Spring at last

(Taraxacum officinale. One of my favourite wildflowers.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Proportion Koan

"It is better to light one candle than to hit the wax museum with a flamethrower."

- Wisdom I collected from the wall of a university library men's room back in 1974.

(Close-up of flamethrower dahlia courtesy of Andrea Stöckel and PublicDomainPictures.net.)

WW: Oatmeal kvass

(Квас из овса. Made from toasted rolled oats. Very good; light and dry when well-chilled, with a honey-like perfume. Will be most welcome this summer.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

Hermitcraft: Towel Zafu

When I first became a hermit monk I had no zafu, so I sat on a sofa cushion. That got me off the ground – no pun intended – but was bulky, interfered with my thighs, and couldn't be transported on road trips. So a few months in, having researched zafu alternatives on the Enlightenment Super-Path, I upgraded to this. Since it took some time to perfect, I thought it might help others to share my experience here.

The suggestion I found online was "use rolled-up towels". This proved underwhelming for a few reasons, worst of which is that bath towels unroll readily beneath a sitter.

So I rolled the three thick terrycloth bath towels again, as tight as I could – painfully so – and bound them with jute twine. That prevented them migrating in the cardinal directions. It did not, however, stop them from telescoping out of integrity and firmness.

So I cut them loose again, fluffed them up, and started over. This time, after layering them on the floor, I cut two lengths of jute about a foot longer than the towels were wide and laid them width-wise across the stack, about four inches from the end. Then I cut four new jute bindings and tore up my knuckles hard-rolling them again.

After retying as before, I knotted each lengthwise string on opposite sides of the roll. (Be sure to weave them over and under the four shorter bindings before tying, to dissuade all from wandering. Also, I suspect four long strings would do even better.)

This was major improvement. But the roll still mushed down quickly, no matter how hard I rolled and tied it, and contact with the floor and my backside caused the bindings to wander and fray, and even untied the knots.

So… again with the unrolling, fluffing, knuckle-grinding, and tying. But this time I also made a drawstring cover to protect the bindings. (The velours I used has velvety knap that grips mat and meditation trousers and reduces travel while sitting.) For maximum structural support, I cut it so tight I could barely get it on. And because the fabric was under constant stress, both from me and the resentful towels inside, I double-sewed all seams and took other sailmaker measures to toughen them up.

After a lot of jerking, shoving, and swearing, I managed to force this cover on. (Pro tips: push the terrycloth down with two fingers and pull the cover up over them a half-inch with the other hand. Then turn the roll three inches and repeat, continuing patiently till you've got the cover on. A quicker trick is to tape collars cut from round plastic bottles around the roll and remove them as you progress.)

The result served me daily for a year, until I received the buckwheat zafu I now use, a birthday gift from my mom. (And during my 100 days I sat on a roll of closed-cell foam, which worked out somewhat better than the towel roll.) But I still keep the old bolster around, just in case; for example when passing my zafu and/or seiza bench to people who've asked me to teach them how to meditate. It's also a memento of the determination I brought to this pursuit, and the wonderful sense of growth and success in that early practice.

To be sure, even a well-built towel zafu isn't the equivalent of a real one; it's heavy and hard, and needs regular rebuilding – say, every two months or so – to restore loft and elasticity and repair bindings that come adrift. Also at those times, launder or rotate out the towels, which tend to compress and become stiff and thin with service. If at all possible, machine-dry before rebinding, because hang-dried towels don't recover their nap until they dry somebody.

The bursitis I've since developed would axe my old friend for twice-daily, hour-long sits – a problem I also had, though not as severely, with my closed-cell foam on the mountain.

But at the time this old bindle technology was just the ticket. I sat on it daily, travelled with it, and built a solid monastic practice on it. Given that store-bought options are expensive, this can get you into Zen right away, even if you don't have much money.

Deep bow to all who enter the Path, by whatever trailhead.

WW: Christmas ornament in the woods

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.

WW: Lockdown, April 2020

(Me in my room, 0730, one month into COVID lockdown.)

Appearing also on My Corner of the World.