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compost 5

Is it now an Enso-Friday?  Or a Poem-Friday?

Anyway, this is what I get when I want to use up all the ink by holding all four brushes close, squishing the hair bristles together, and GO!

Pre-composting is like pre-satori – it can be fun and turn out some neat stuff.  I’m reading Wild Ivy, Hakuin’s autobiography and am considering the implications of pre- and post-satori experiences, not to mention repeated experiences of satori.  James Austin had a lot to say about that in his Zen Brain talk on ego- and allo-centric processing and the kensho experience.  But more on all that when I finish the book.  What I am struck by, in this moment, is the resonance I feel with Hakuin’s Song of Zazen.  A balm, especially after all the chatter this week about what can only be summarized as “sex, pray, more sex.”

How easily we forget the interpenetration of water and ice.

How quickly we get lost on dark path after dark path – pre- and post-satori.

Hakuin’s Song of Zazen
Translated by Norman Waddell

All beings by nature are Buddha,
As ice by nature is water.
Apart from water there is no ice;
Apart from beings, no Buddha.
How sad that people ignore the near
And search for truth afar:
Like someone in the midst of water
Crying out in thirst,
Like a child of a wealthy home
Wandering among the poor.
Lost on dark paths of ignorance,
We wander through the Six Worlds,
From dark path to dark path–
When shall we be freed from birth and death?
Oh, the zazen of the Mahayana!
To this the highest praise!
Devotion, repentance, training,
The many paramitas–
All have their source in zazen.
Those who try zazen even once
Wipe away beginning-less crimes.
Where are all the dark paths then?
The Pure Land itself is near.
Those who hear this truth even once
And listen with a grateful heart,
Treasuring it, revering it,
Gain blessings without end.
Much more, those who turn about
And bear witness to self-nature,
Self-nature that is no-nature,
Go far beyond mere doctrine.
Here effect and cause are the same,
The Way is neither two nor three.
With form that is no-form,
Going and coming, we are never astray,
With thought that is no-thought,
Singing and dancing are the voice of the Law.
Boundless and free is the sky of Samádhi!
Bright the full moon of wisdom!
Truly, is anything missing now?
Nirvana is right here, before our eyes,
This very place is the Lotus Land,
This very body, the Buddha

Have a colourful weekend!

Thank you for practising,

Genju

 

 

 

Unknown's avatar

compost 4

Pride has taught me how to fall gracefully.  This summer we surrendered to our ineptitude and bought a compost drum.  It’s a neat creature, a black, coiled dragon that guards the back entrance from the laundry room to the north gardens.  It has a little lid that flips back and the first thing we put into it were the crazy-wild marjoram that now infest all the beds.  And because it’s right by the door there are no longer any excuses about taking out the day’s cooking scraps.  Every couple of days, we give the drum a twirl and listen to the ka-thunk, ka-thunk that suggests maybe we shouldn’t have put all that mud in with the marjoram.

Sometimes I need a little extra help and it’s no great sin to get the right equipment while I’m in the learning stage.  Of course, my ego resents this black dragon-drum.  The competency police have been out in full force reading me the riot act about taking the easy way into transformation.  The Poor-me Pixies have been hanging around too with their night-time serenades about giving up and never really amounting to anything.

To all of them I have this to say:

COMPOST!

Well.. almost.  But hey, it’s a heck of a lot closer than I’ve ever been to real live compost!

Now I’m wondering if there’s a zazen technique that involves getting spun and tumbled every couple of days to speed up the process…

Thank you for composting,

Genju