Snowing on a Stove

Once the mind is clear, the very word clarity is like a snowflake on a red hot stove. - Zen Saying in the Zen Calendar (December 10, 2006).

Day 142. My gimmes have turned into the donwanna's. I donwanna ride my bike; I donwanna clean my house; I donwanna be outside; I donwanna mow the lawn; I donwanna blog. I wonder if there is a Berenstein Bear book about this. It must be a common theme.

Not that wanting to (or not!) matters when it comes to zazen, but in the midst of my obstinate objection to - well - just about everything, I don't feel overly oppositional when it comes to plunking my butt down on my cushion. It is, after all, near an air conditioning vent. If the air is on, I focus on its soothing sound blowing from the vent. If it is off, I focus on the silence from the vent, trying not to get attached to when it next begins to emit cool air. As an emptying my mind technique, this is right up there with counting Ham Sah's.

Paging through my quotes this evening, I couldn't summon the energy to write about any of them. It's too cliche to say I have writer's block, or blogger's block, or any other cutsie excuse. I just don't frickin' feel like writing. I'm concerned that the blog screen white space will be reduced to a dumping ground for my inertia. I'm still slightly attached to being profound. Or at least mildly interesting. As soon as the temperature climbed to 98 or so, funny was no longer an option.

For many weeks, I didn't select tonight's quote because I am very fond of it and wanted to attach it to a super good blog. My fondness derived from the words, however, not an experience. While sitting last night, I lived what the quote is saying. At some point deep into my thirty minutes, there was a wisp of a second when my mind cleared. It lasted about as long as a snowflake on a red hot stove. The Monkeys immediately began to analyze what had occurred. I shushed them by literally (and gently) saying, "Shush" in my mind. I wanted to reenter the cleared space. More breaths, and (for some reason) a brief thought about the arbitrariness of my name, and my mind sank back into emptiness. Like another snowflake on the stove, it vanished. More monkey puzzlement. More breaths. A lightening quick reminder that I am not my name; what was my face before my parents were born? Into the abyss of empty. My consciousness felt like the ball in the Chinese finals of table tennis. Empty; chatter. Empty; chatter. Empty; chatter. The clear mind never lasted longer than snowflakes falling on a red hot stove.

Something real and true and genuine is happening in my practice. It doesn't happen often, and it certainly doesn't last long, but it is there. Or not there. The nanosecond of empty is unlike anything I've known before. Simultaneously compelling and benign. My cushion calls. And I have to admit: I'm hoping a little bit for bigger flakes or a cooler stove.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc