Hershey's Syrup Tastes Best on Everything

"Childlikeness" has to be restored with long years of training in the art of self-forgetfulness. - D. T. Suzuki in the Zen Calendar (June 13, 2007).

Day 274. Peak Experience! I was feeling in my (OCD) bones that the three-quarters mark of blogging should be coming around soon. Grabbed my pencil and the back of a Zen Calendar page (calculators are for the wimpy, and/or those who didn't have Mrs. Driggs at Monroe Elementary to teach them long division). Voila! Three-quarters of 365 days is 273.75, which means that as of today's blog, I am three-fourths of the way through my sit/blog year! Seventy-five percent! Yahoo! I would have been crushed had I waited to do the math (by hand!) and discovered AFTER today that I had missed such a significant milestone. What a relief to know that my compulsiveness penetrates to the depths of my unconscious (as if there was any doubt)!

I am feeling a bit better today. How could I not? Chylene brought popsicles and Shari brought saltines. Thank the Buddha for my Goddess friends. I am still weak as a kitten (I started to use the analogy "weak as a Democrat in the 2010 elections" but it hurt too much to type it). Whatever degree of weakness I currently suffer, it should be interesting on the mountain bike trip I have planned for the weekend. I suspect my climbing will be moderately to severely affected. Not to worry. I still have 40 hours of recovery time left.

Yesterday's illness brought the most vivid memories of being sick as a child. Perhaps I was delirious with fever, but I could remember the exact shade of turquoise and the rough, scratchy texture of our ancient couch at the house on 67th street. I was four when we moved from that house. In vivid detail, I could picture Captain Kangaroo smiling from underneath his bushy mustache on our black-and-white TV set. The scene was complete with Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Moose, and ping-pong balls raining down on the Captain's head. I remembered sipping 7-Up from the Tom and Jerry jelly jars we used as glasses (all of us - not just the kids), and nibbling saltines in the late afternoon when I was no longer throwing up my toenails.

Sometime after 5:00, my dad would come home from work, pausing by the sofa to ask how I was feeling. Exquisitely, I can still feel my embarrassment at being sick (I was such a strange child), and the grave necessity of convincing my dad that I felt fine. Come to think of it, my family still doesn't deal well with infirmity. We all just look politely away and hope the ailing member will exhibit a speedy recovery so the rest of us won't feel awkward about our negligence. Curiously, we are generally quite robust in health.

The cascade of such early memories included a rather isolated one that is odd in its intensity. When I was not much older than four, family friends from New Mexico came to visit. I recall the flurry of housecleaning my mother performed prior to their arrival, which was in itself highly unusual. Every evening they stayed with us, we ate together at the dining room table, rather than the informal kitchen area where my family regularly dined. One night I was helping my mom carry dessert to the table. To the delight of the five kids, we were making sundaes. I distinctly recall picking up a small, delicately cut crystal bowl filled with a rich, dark liquid. Unable to stop myself, I dipped a finger in and licked off the sweet syrup.

I can still recall the electrifying flavor that ignited my taste buds. To this day, that chocolaty syrup remains the most intense, delectable sensation to ever pass my lips. There was a purity, an immediacy, an intensity to its taste that I have never since experienced. It was as though my entire body froze in the moment while the sweet elixir melted its path across my palate. My brain was taxed by the heaviness of pleasure centers simultaneously stimulated. I almost dropped the bowl.

My mom later told me it was Hershey's syrup. Perhaps the first time Hershey's syrup has been served in an antique crystal bowl, but Hershey's nonetheless. I have no explanation for why something so ordinary, something so ingrained in my taste memory, could have such an extraordinary impact on me that evening. Perhaps it was the first time I tasted it straight up. Perhaps my childish endorphins were pulsating especially vibrantly from the excitement of having constant access to new friends. Perhaps the taste buds of a four-year-old are particularly sensitive.

Or maybe I simply tasted the chocolate with Beginner's Mind. No prior expectation, since it wasn't being dribbled out of a can reading "Hershey's." Somehow the memory of that chocolate syrup served in a crystal bowl feels like a metaphor for my practice. It was prepared with care and attention to detail. Served in a crystal clear container. Presented with enthusiasm and liveliness. When I approach zazen with the youth, innocence, and vigor of a child dipping her finger in the dessert sauce, I taste something magnificent. Something exquisite and gratifying. Something totally unexpected, indeed.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc