Whimper While You Work

We work to become, not to acquire. - Elbert Hubbard in the Zen Calendar (September 12, 2006)

Day 103. The novelty of Tornado Tidy-Up has definitely worn off. My love of oaks, especially the kind laying sideways with thousands of scruffy, interconnected limbs destined to poke body parts, has diminished as well. That's okay. Chainsaw through it.

It occurred to my partner and I late yesterday that we hadn't attended to the debris in our own front yard. Bummer. Working in the absence of altruism isn't near as rewarding. As though he hadn't slung the Stihl enough, he decided to take down a couple of trees in our yard that had been hacked to nubs to clear power lines, thanks to the dedicated employees of Oklahoma City. My job during this nerve wracking process is to keep as much tension as I can on the heavy canvas strap attached to the top third of the tree trunk. The goal is to direct the 150+ pound plummeting stump away from my partner, and (preferably) away from the ladder. Neither of us has ever taken a Physics class, but we have a healthy respect for gravity. We also watch a lot of episodes of the reality show "Axe Men" so we feel especially qualified for this dangerous work. Besides, it's expensive to have someone else do it.

The first tree came down splendidly (we define success according to absence of bloodshed.) I knew we were both exhausted from the work at the tornado ravaged home, and quoted my dad's favorite saying, "Know when to say When." My Axe Man said nothing doing. We were pushing on. He rigged the straps, which had to be joined together because the tree was so tall. I put a death hold on my end, braced my feet into the earth, and watched him carve a perfect wedge cut on the weaker side of the tree. He began sawing on the other side; I gripped the strap tighter. Suddenly I heard a racket and watched in horror as the lock claws on the extension ladder slipped and, rung by rung, it rapidly started folding in on itself. At the top of the ladder, my partner was swiftly being jerked toward the ground. He flung the Stihl away, shouting, "Julie, get over here." I instinctively concluded that the saw had cut into him when the ladder gave way. I dropped the strap and dashed to the foot of the ladder, fully expecting for blood to drip on my head. Throwing my weight upwards, I thrust at the falling ladder portion, shouting, "Are you cut?!"

There was no dripping blood. He shouted down that his foot was jammed between two rungs slipping past one another. I pushed at the extension section of ladder, and it gave just enough for him to extract his foot. The lock claws clipped into place. The ladder stabilized, and he swiftly descended. "Is your foot crushed?" I inquired. "No, just smashed," he answered. "It actually caught me at a good place."

I voted that now would be a good time to say, "When" but the Axe Man was on a mission. Firing up the Stihl (while complimenting it's heartiness: "That's not bad. It started right up after falling 30 feet"), he clamored right back up the ladder and finished the cut. I kept my tension on the strap, and danged if that puppy didn't land exactly where it was supposed to. I even got to drive the John Deere as we hauled it out to the street to be picked up one day, compliments of the dedicated employees of Oklahoma City.

I didn't sleep much last night. I was itchy and scratchy from tiny slivers of insulation embedded in my skin. My partner, The Rock, slept like a rock. Imagine that. This morning we headed to Jones for a tandem training ride. Strange way to get some R&R. Our bodies were tight and sore and scratched up, but it sure felt good to use them in relation to something besides oak trees. While we rode, I thought about tornado clean up. The many hours of rigorous physical labor had felt like continuous meditation. We got lost in the work. The tasks didn't lend themselves to planning, and certainly didn't require much thought. The sawing, bending, stooping, crouching, gathering, lifting, reaching, dragging, dumping, (lather, rinse, repeat) took on its own rhythm. In the chaotic tornado aftermath, perspective shifted and my sense of time and space slipped away. As long as we continued to work, body aches and pains didn't even register. No Monkeys in sight. I think the were afraid of the chain saw.

That meditative state lingered. I was suspended in the Now, registering every sensation vividly and exquisitely. During last night's shower, I felt each individual drop of water soak into my tired body. My skin drank up the lotion I slathered on like porous sand after a monsoon. The little plastic scrub brush we use to get the grub out from under our nails felt like an erotic devise. Strawberries on vanilla ice cream melted in my mouth, and I could feel the stuffing of my cushion mold to the contours of my body when I sat zazen. Same thing on the bike. It seemed like each molecule of air individually caressed me as we rode through it. I registered single leaves on the trees, and the colors on the breasts of the birds perched on the high wires. Scents from honey suckle and damp dogwood stung my nostrils, and the flower colors looked as bright as the artificial hues on our HD TV. My body whimpered the entire 40 miles, but it was a good ride. Life is vivid when you dwell in the now.

Work really hard at something in the next few days. With your body, not your mind. Preferably in the service of others. You may find yourself Enlightened before you even shower.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc