The custodian of a large synagogue approached the rabbi one day and said, "Rabbi, I'm at wit's end. The temple is infested with mice and no matter what I do I can't get rid of them!"
"Ah," said the rabbi, "that one is easy. You go into town and you buy as many tiny little yarmulkes as you can find. You put one on each mouse, and you bar mitzvah him."
"You will never see those mice in the temple again."
Wu Ya's commentary: "Pest control."
(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
"If my Zen only works at the monastery or at the temple, my Zen sucks."
Jay Rinsen Weik
(Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons and a generous photographer.)
(Made this one for a local bike path, using some hardware I got from a shop in town.)
Appearing also on My Corner of the World.
But that's not the only Zen the article contains; another favourite moment relates to the 8 Worldly Dharmas, on which I posted this past August.
In Jason's words, human behaviour is ultimately directed by two desires:
1) The person you desperately want to be.
2) The person you desperately want to avoid becoming.
So that's 8WD all over again. It's also conventional Buddhism à la Thich Nhat Hanh, who emphasises the notion of mental "seeds", or impulses that arise in the mind and either get "watered" (i.e., indulged or praised) or "not watered" (left to languish).
Thich Nhat Hanh suggests we be mindful of these seeds – which exist unremarked in our minds till they sprout as actions, or even habits – and make conscious decisions to water or not water them.
And that's highly effective practice. However, I think Jason's insight – that those seeds come from somewhere too, and knowing where is important – is a necessary second level.
That thing you want – what do you think you'll accomplish with it?
That button that gets pushed – what is that wired to?
That insult that enrages you – why do you care?
That compliment you received – why does that please you? (And how about that other compliment, that leaves you unmoved – or even discomfits you. What's up with that?)
Those positive feelings that arise in a given event – what do you imagine you've accomplished?
That thing you do in a given situation - what are you trying to become, or not become, when you do that?
In Jason's terms, when you feel seeds begin to swell, you should ask yourself, "What do I want to be that's manipulating me to do/say/be this thing?", or "What do I not want to be that's manipulating me to do/say/be this thing?"
I like Jason's perspective, because it goes to the bedrock of delusion. Creating ourselves in this ephemeral world is a lot of what we do here.
If we can give that up – or at least leash it – we stand a chance of getting off this carousel.
(Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com and a generous photographer.)
(This is an excerpt from a manuscript about an epic outbacking trek I took six years before I became a monk. As you can see in the photo at left, some things have changed.)
Shortly after 0700 I coasted down the long hill into Conconully, skirting its round, post-card reservoir. Motoring quietly through drowsing neighbourhoods, bright clapboard glowing like a remembered summer, I was struck, as often on the Gold Side, by a sense of place. Hometown, as few Puget Sound ones are anymore.
A regiment of impact sprinklers had swept the state campground's day use area as clear as a July schoolyard, but that suited me fine; its deserted parking lot was perfect for peeling off my Michelin Man layers.
So laying down in the bed of the truck, I shed my December kit by stratum, cool air sweet on my nakedness as the long underwear at last came off. Then I squirmed back into my trousers, grabbed my toilet kit, and scrambled back over the tailgate. While setting bath water from the nearest sprinkler on the stove, I caught my reflection in the canopy.
The trendiest salon in New York City couldn't have given me that hairstyle. It fractalled off in a hundred directions, licks and wisps corkscrewing out like an armoury fire. If I'd had a black turtleneck, I could have passed for the hippest artiste in all of Greenwich Village. But bare-chested in dirty jeans, I just looked like an extra from Deliverance.
I dipped my comb and started in, and was soon dripping like I'd dunked my head to the shoulders, but never really mastered the situation.
Buddhist monks say they shave their heads to free themselves from attachment. Bollocks. They do it to free themselves from their hair.
(Adapted from Rough Around the Edges: A Journey Around Washington's Borderlands, copyright RK Henderson.)
Note to readers: I'm in the process of moving this blog to a new host. Please be alert for a URL change in the next weeks.
