Whisking Eggs

Zazen is just like a bird flying in the vastness of the sky, like a fish swimming in pure water. But if we are trying to find something we can depend on, zazen becomes a task, or a job, or a responsibility. - Dainin Katagiri in the Zen Calendar (July 11, 2003).

Day 157. I am typing on a computer that didn't require 10 minutes to boot. I think I know how it must feel to drive an automatic transmission for the first time after learning on a standard. Doing things the hard way is a great way to appreciate when things get easier. Kind of like the difference between parenting a two-year-old and a 19-year old. Potty trained is a magnificent thing!

My brilliantly cathartic blog last night had no effect whatsoever on my 35-minute zazen ordeal. The only difference was that I invested absolutely no effort on doing anything other than sitting on my cushion. My breath breathed however it happened to enter and exit my body. My mind wandered and chattered and shucked and jived. I pretty much stayed out of it and remained nameless. Treated my ego like Switzerland. Reminded it that it didn't get a vote. Good thing, since it repeatedly wanted to pronounce last night's sit as "profoundly good zen." Good or bad has no bearing on my endurance of 35 minutes. It is still a frickin' long time.

Interestingly, I had a day resplendent with "here-and-nowness." I heard the sound of the eggs cracking on the side of the bowl when I prepared breakfast. Witnessed the swirl of my wire whisk as I churned them into frothy bubbles. Watched the mozzarella cheese melt and disappear into the pale yellow of the eggs. Heard the toaster expel my toast like a shot from a grenade launcher. Felt the porous fiber of the bread absorb the honey I slathered on. Marveled at the gulping motion of my throat as I swiftly downed red Kool-Aid. Admired the contrasting shades of orange as I passed the newly planted lantana in my front garden.

The whole day passed like that. It was splendid. Each session with my clients felt like we were the only creatures on the planet, isolated in a bubble containing only us and our dialogue. I never registered the passing of time. Looking back, I seemed to participate in each singular moment as though it were its own entity. Which it was. I wasn't conscious of "trying" to be in the moment. The day simply flowed.

If I knew how I did it, I would surely pass each remaining second of my life in the exact same way. I doubt I will pull that off. I am grateful and humbled by this glimmer of walking like a Buddha. If this is Nirvana, I understand what all the fuss is about.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc