.
Setting aside the intellectually-obvious ascendancy of nitwits, I wonder what it would be like to leave questions out of the equation when seeking some peace of mind. Just for a little while -- no more questions.
If there were no more questions, the insistence on answers would likewise fall away ... answers, after all, are just another way of positing questions.
How much lighter things might become.
The sun rises and the sun sets; the sky is blue; sorrow and laughter.
Just for a little while -- no more questions.
.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
turn of the screw
.
A Hindu swami once told me, "If the screw took sixteen turns to put in, it will take sixteen turns to take out."
I heard his words and, because he was so nicely dressed and the setting so serene, I assumed they were true. But of course I was impatient and in a terrible rush to leap into some delicious, wondrous, soothing understanding. Now! I wanted to rip the screw out in one fell swoop and issue the victor's sublime "ah-ha!"
If it took all this time to create and shape and refine and fine-tune this person and personality, why would it not take a bit of effort to re-see things? Why? Because instant gratification is the way of the child, and when it came to spiritual endeavors, I was a child.
Nothing wrong with children as long as they grow up.
.
A Hindu swami once told me, "If the screw took sixteen turns to put in, it will take sixteen turns to take out."
I heard his words and, because he was so nicely dressed and the setting so serene, I assumed they were true. But of course I was impatient and in a terrible rush to leap into some delicious, wondrous, soothing understanding. Now! I wanted to rip the screw out in one fell swoop and issue the victor's sublime "ah-ha!"
If it took all this time to create and shape and refine and fine-tune this person and personality, why would it not take a bit of effort to re-see things? Why? Because instant gratification is the way of the child, and when it came to spiritual endeavors, I was a child.
Nothing wrong with children as long as they grow up.
.
the artist
.
Maybe the gnashing and wailing an artist can exercise amounts to little more than the fact that s/he has taken up a pastime in which s/he answers questions that nobody has asked...and it feels lonely.
If no one asks, then the question arises, why offer this answer? The importance within is not matched with an importance without. How important, then, could the answer possibly be?
.
Maybe the gnashing and wailing an artist can exercise amounts to little more than the fact that s/he has taken up a pastime in which s/he answers questions that nobody has asked...and it feels lonely.
If no one asks, then the question arises, why offer this answer? The importance within is not matched with an importance without. How important, then, could the answer possibly be?
.
fact and fiction
.
Like the dappling of sunlight and shadow in the woods, fact turns to fiction and fiction turns to fact ... or maybe I'm just making it up, another fiction if it's not a fact.
What was once a fiction in spiritual interest, for example, can turn to fact with a bit of focus and effort. But, with facts in hand, the fictions seem to gain a renewed force, asking with a gentle insistence where fact leaves off and fiction begins, where sunlight leaves off and shadow begins. It's just a question -- no need to fret and fidget and find answers.
I suppose it all sounds a bit airy-fairy and ethereal, but I think it happens in anyone's life: So much energy and attention devoted to the facts of one particular endeavor or another -- profession, marriage, driving, money, God, drugs, numismatism, enemies and friends, birth and death, distance or closeness -- and then, with the experience in hand, what is not in hand begins to whisper, "Pssst!"
Today, perhaps, I will go with one or more of my children to see a newish movie called "Men Who Stare at Goats." I love the title. The movie seems to concern a group of military men gathered to exercise their paranormal powers. If I look at the themes at the movie theaters, mega-disasters and solutions found in extraordinary realms seem popular. If no one can solve the actual-factual, day-to-day, real-time economic tumult by ordinary means, it is nice to think that there is some kind of solution out there ... some power not yet thought of that can wave the magic, make-it-better wand. And if that doesn't work, perhaps we can all delight in the importance of annihilation.
The facts are not enough. Movie-goers require fictions as well ... much as sunlight requires shadow. Fact and fiction are not so much the point. Better and worse are not so much the point. Credible and incredible are not so much the point. Serious and silly are not so much the point.
And what is the point?
If I had to guess, I guess I'd guess ... delight.
.
Like the dappling of sunlight and shadow in the woods, fact turns to fiction and fiction turns to fact ... or maybe I'm just making it up, another fiction if it's not a fact.
What was once a fiction in spiritual interest, for example, can turn to fact with a bit of focus and effort. But, with facts in hand, the fictions seem to gain a renewed force, asking with a gentle insistence where fact leaves off and fiction begins, where sunlight leaves off and shadow begins. It's just a question -- no need to fret and fidget and find answers.
I suppose it all sounds a bit airy-fairy and ethereal, but I think it happens in anyone's life: So much energy and attention devoted to the facts of one particular endeavor or another -- profession, marriage, driving, money, God, drugs, numismatism, enemies and friends, birth and death, distance or closeness -- and then, with the experience in hand, what is not in hand begins to whisper, "Pssst!"
Today, perhaps, I will go with one or more of my children to see a newish movie called "Men Who Stare at Goats." I love the title. The movie seems to concern a group of military men gathered to exercise their paranormal powers. If I look at the themes at the movie theaters, mega-disasters and solutions found in extraordinary realms seem popular. If no one can solve the actual-factual, day-to-day, real-time economic tumult by ordinary means, it is nice to think that there is some kind of solution out there ... some power not yet thought of that can wave the magic, make-it-better wand. And if that doesn't work, perhaps we can all delight in the importance of annihilation.
The facts are not enough. Movie-goers require fictions as well ... much as sunlight requires shadow. Fact and fiction are not so much the point. Better and worse are not so much the point. Credible and incredible are not so much the point. Serious and silly are not so much the point.
And what is the point?
If I had to guess, I guess I'd guess ... delight.
.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
mowing the leaves
.
Mowed the leaves this afternoon, mostly the reds and yellows of Japanese maple and ginkgo respectively.
A hummock of chopped leaves settled under the maple and I like to think the tree will be somehow cozy come snowfall.
The ginkgo, like some soaring teenage boy, is now taller than its neighboring maple. It has grown by leaps and bounds and makes me feel a bit like a person who once thought a baby alligator was cute ... this tree is going to be enormous ... and then what?
The maple, by contrast, has grown slowly, starting as a shoot in a paper cup and now perhaps six or seven inches through at the base. It is strong and steady, an even hand to the ginkgo's dervish leaps. Mourning doves nested in the maple this year, as if sensing a reliable home. From the zendo steps, not eight feet away, I could not see the nest, but I could hear them during zazen and, when I walked slowly around the base of the tree, glimpse tail feathers jutting out beyond the edge of the at-last-seen nest.
In my mind, the ginkgo holds out no lush promise. It is full of dash and sass and narrow opinions as it reaches recklessly for the sky. It will be the Yao Ming of the yard or, for all I know, the neighborhood. But in the time between now and then, it drops its leaves like any obedient tree.
And I fire up the lawnmower.
.
Mowed the leaves this afternoon, mostly the reds and yellows of Japanese maple and ginkgo respectively.
A hummock of chopped leaves settled under the maple and I like to think the tree will be somehow cozy come snowfall.
The ginkgo, like some soaring teenage boy, is now taller than its neighboring maple. It has grown by leaps and bounds and makes me feel a bit like a person who once thought a baby alligator was cute ... this tree is going to be enormous ... and then what?
The maple, by contrast, has grown slowly, starting as a shoot in a paper cup and now perhaps six or seven inches through at the base. It is strong and steady, an even hand to the ginkgo's dervish leaps. Mourning doves nested in the maple this year, as if sensing a reliable home. From the zendo steps, not eight feet away, I could not see the nest, but I could hear them during zazen and, when I walked slowly around the base of the tree, glimpse tail feathers jutting out beyond the edge of the at-last-seen nest.
In my mind, the ginkgo holds out no lush promise. It is full of dash and sass and narrow opinions as it reaches recklessly for the sky. It will be the Yao Ming of the yard or, for all I know, the neighborhood. But in the time between now and then, it drops its leaves like any obedient tree.
And I fire up the lawnmower.
.
the amputee
.
Have you ever noticed that the same insistence an amputee might bring to knowing and feeling the missing limb is similarly applied by people with two good arms and legs?
They are absolutely sure -- really, they are -- that something is missing. They will insist, whether within or without ... something is missing! "I lost a leg," they may tell you in one way or another while standing on two good legs. And they will ask for crutches to ease their plight.
It's not silly or insane.
But it is interesting.
.
Have you ever noticed that the same insistence an amputee might bring to knowing and feeling the missing limb is similarly applied by people with two good arms and legs?
They are absolutely sure -- really, they are -- that something is missing. They will insist, whether within or without ... something is missing! "I lost a leg," they may tell you in one way or another while standing on two good legs. And they will ask for crutches to ease their plight.
It's not silly or insane.
But it is interesting.
.
frosty
.
In the sunrise, the frost clings to the west side of the houses on my block. Crisp, white and singing close harmonies with the biting air.
People will bundle up today or anyway wear more clothes than they did in summer. It is nice to be protected and warm.
But too, I like the old fellow who mentioned,
When it's hot, sweat.
When it's cold, shiver.
.
In the sunrise, the frost clings to the west side of the houses on my block. Crisp, white and singing close harmonies with the biting air.
People will bundle up today or anyway wear more clothes than they did in summer. It is nice to be protected and warm.
But too, I like the old fellow who mentioned,
When it's hot, sweat.
When it's cold, shiver.
.
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