one and done

This morning, at 5 a.m. on the dot, my son-in-law climbed into his silver Ford Mustang convertible, flipped on the lights, started the growling engine, and was gone into the dawn-night. He was off to work, which lies perhaps 45 minutes to the south.

I sat on the porch with my morning coffee and was pleased for him and pleased for my daughter to whom he is married: Anyone can do something once, but it takes a certain determination and responsibility to do it day after day and week after week -- not just once, but again. Good times and bad, happy times and sad, through success and failure, do it again.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I sat down for the first time with my Zen teacher's teacher, Soen Nakagawa Roshi. I was nervous ... I didn't know the guy in person, but I knew him as someone with an awesome rep in the world of Zen ... a heavy hitter ... talking to me in the quiet of a dokusan room whose floor was covered in tatami. There were no distractions. It was just him and me and there was no place to escape.

Dokusan or sanzen is the private meeting between Zen student and teacher. It is a time when the student can bring up questions about his or her practice. It is a time to be corrected or nudged. It is a time to show what is known. It is focused.

But I was nervous, because I had no particular question and ... I didn't know the guy. What if he put a hex on me or something? What if he saw me naked? What if ... there were a lot of nervous what-if's.

After entering the room and shutting the door, I did the ritual bows and then settled myself facing him, perhaps four feet away. I stated my name and Zen practice as I had been taught ... and then I waited for the hex or the shazzam or whatever was supposed to happen.

Soen was very casual. He asked me where I lived and a couple of other mundane questions. Finally, he asked what I did for a living.

"I'm a painter," I said.

And his face lit up: "That's wonderful!" he said. "Each stroke of the brush is it!"

"It" is a stand-in word for "enlightenment," the imagined brass ring of Buddhism.

After I had left the room, I would worry for some time that he would think I meant I was a fine artist instead of the apartment-painter I was. I wanted to explain, to correct and not to be thought a cheap-date liar. Naturally, I had missed the point: It didn't matter what context the brush moved within, it was the stroke that counted ... one and done ... it!

One and done ... again and again and again.

Leaving aside what may seem to be the weird, miraculous or wacky world of Zen Buddhism (which was just my framework at the time I met Soen), I suspect things are pretty much the same for everyone -- a strange conundrum: On the one hand, it's nice to do a one-and-done job and put some effort in the rearview mirror. Yup, I'm all done. On the other hand, there is often the requirement to do the same thing again (like my son-in-law), so the things that are done are never entirely done: They linger and reassert themselves, asking to be done -- even one-and-done -- all over again.

Somehow, there is "done" and nothing is ever "done."

It is at this point that bright-eyed-and-bushy-tailed Zen Buddhists can leap to their feet and discourse earnestly about the attachments of the mind. It's not a mistake, but there may be some mistake in imagining Zen Buddhism had anything to do with anything. House painter or worthy Zen student, anyone might wonder a bit about how something could possibly get done...or not be done.

It is reasonable to notice that a lot of people are not at all troubled by this nonsense. They seem content to be done. "One-and-done!" they may crow ... which leaves nitwits like me standing in confused awe: How come they're content and here I sit munching my metaphysical cud, feeling somehow confounded and dissatisfied and as if something were missing or unexplained? What the hell is the matter with me?

And the answer is, nothing is the matter with me. This is simply an issue that people consent to or do not. There is nothing virtuous or wise about that consent or lack thereof. It's just the way the cookie crumbles. So ... go with the flow as long as going with the flow gets you where you're going.

But when the doubts creep in around the edges -- when one-and-done is not quite one-and-done; when the question arises, "If it's one-and-done, why do I have to do it again?" -- then go with that flow. Go with that flow and don't give up. Don't compromise with an uncompromising situation. Don't pretend: A life of pretense will drive you nuts and make you sad.

Once upon a time, I took a calligraphy class -- brush and inky-ink and paper. Over and over and over again I couldn't get it right. Hundreds of miscues ended up in the waste basket. I never was much good at it until one evening ... well one evening the calligraphy came and got me.  "One" ... just like that. One-and-done and there was no doubt about it -- it was done.

And when I went on to the next sheet of paper in hopes of repeating this success ... well, repeating a success is not possible. Each stroke of the brush is it and it's not some other it, now or ever.