Smash it to Pieces

American Zen is running sideways, writing books, lecturing, referring to theology, psychology, and whatnot. Someone should stand up and smash the whole thing to pieces. - Nyogen Senzaki in the Zen Calendar (January 3, 2007).

Day 84. I rode my single bike for the first time in many months. It felt like being a newly post-op separated Siamese twin. I rode well, which was a relief. Shifting my own gears and pressing my own brakes was kind of weird. Not to mention that part where I have to unclip and put a foot down at the stop lights. I had become one spoiled Stoker!

Most nights blogging and sitting doesn't feel the least bit burdensome. Tonight is not one of those nights. I feel like an obstinate, oppositional little rebel. I am not at all interested in stringing words together. I don't want to cook, clean, sweep, mop, dust, fold, hang, straighten, pay, or balance ANYTHING. Nor do I remotely desire to pet, feed, water, walk, brush, or scratch ANYTHING. I don't want to nod or nurture or listen or care. I especially don't want to check e-mail, check voice mail, initiate or return any form of human interaction. Eye contact would be asking too much.

It felt wickedly good to write that! I have no idea where it is coming from, and I have not the slightest inclination to wonder about it. I feel like whining and bitching and ignoring and suspending any action resembling adult behavior. I want to pitch responsibility, obligation, duty and maturity into our enormous Oklahoma City trash can, and wheel the whole bin of rubbish to the curb. I want to smash the whole thing to pieces, and I'm not even sure what the Whole Thing is!

So, what DO I want to do? Eat a large quantity of something with no nutritional value. Stand in the shower with molten hot water pummeling my head. Lay on the floor and stretch long and lean and resplendent in poor yoga technique. Read something with very little plot and no polysyllabic words. Fall asleep when my eyelids shut on their own, and awaken extremely late because I am thirsty, NOT because an alarm went off. Read some more. Sleep some more. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I don't know about you, Dear Readers, but I'm feeling really good right now. I am going to sit on my cushion - not because I want to, because I promised I would. I will bow and side stretch and sit up straight and breathe. Not because I want to, because I promised I would. I don't care if absolutely nothing happens, and if the Monkeys jabber, so be it. I may just smash them to pieces.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc