Divots and Their Derivatives

Out of intense complexities intense simplicities emerge. - Winston Churchill in the Zen Calendar (July 12, 2003).

The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit.  The second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are. - Marcus Aurelius in the Zen Calendar (June 17, 2003).

Day 357.  Nine blogs to go.  Nine days left of my forties. 

During zazen last night I recalled a topic I intended to blog about that dated back to the retreat I attended with my teacher Frank several weeks ago.  Since it was traditional zazen, we sat facing the wall.  For the entire day, my three-quarters downcast eyes kept fixating on a tiny, divot-shaped dimple in the cinder block directly in front of my cushion.  Somehow, that tiny dimple catalyzed some powerful insight into the nature of things.  Their essence.  The bare bones of original purpose and functionality.  In my meditative state, I comprehended the nature of divots.  What seemed important (then and now) was realizing that "essence" remains fixed regardless of outer appearance or packaging.  A dimple is a dimple - it's a rounded indention that interrupts a smooth plane by dipping inward.  The essence is the same, whether contained in the divot left by a golf club or the crater left by a meteorite.

My sequence of associations last night led to listing items that have been pared down to their essence.  The first list included lead pencils, rubber bands, postettes, paper clips, rope, pulleys, sticks, sharp edges (i.e. anything that cuts or scrapes), and flat, even surfaces.  From there, images from ancient cultures rose to my awareness, and it occurred to me that the essence of most household utensils (plate, bowl, cup, spoon, knife, fork, skillet, pot, lid) and tools (hoe, rake, shovel, trowel, bucket, axe, spear, arrow, wheel, cog, funnel) hasn't changed in thousands of years.  The functional essence of an object doesn't change over time.  The original nature of things is unalterable.

Here is my emerging theory (recognizing, of course, that in actuality it is not "my" theory -- I realize every thought I come up with has been pre-thunk, and - most likely - the book has already been written and made a profit for its author):  The further I get from the original essence of something, the more problems are likely to arise.  The theory applies to objects (I have yet to discover something that performs the function of a rubber band better than a rubber band), my self (when I try to be an extroverted Rah-Rah who likes mornings, all hell breaks loose), and my relationships (when I try to conduct my relationship with my partner according to the paradigm that applies to my friends, uh - all hell breaks loose).

The theory is holding up in my work context as well.  Cutting to the essence of things is highly conducive to productive and efficient therapy.  Reality lives at the same address as the original nature of things.  It's not even a duplex; they occupy the exact same spot.  This is where life happens, this is where truth happens, this is the beginning and end of All.  Can't cheat it, can't skip it, can't alter it, can't hide it, can't pass it off for something other than what it is.  At least, not for long.  Because, like crabgrass in Bermuda, it will emerge eventually, no matter what lengths you exert to stave it off.

In the past few days, this proclivity for sighting essence has astounded me.  It feels like, if energy expenditure were measured in BTU's, I used to expend 20,000 units per day, whereas now I break off about a hundred.  Makes me marvel at the depth of wastefulness I have indulged in the past.  Makes me giggle as I watch people try to improve upon the rubber band.  Makes me twitch as I observe myself and others engaging in the futility of ignoring essence.  Makes me damn excited about the future.  Because I am going to have of an awful lot of energy to devote to something new.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc