The Sound of No Keys Typing

 Quote to follow.  Dinosaur mood swings have resulted, once again, in rendering me a computer slut.  Me and my quotes have been temporarily separated.

Day 341.  Twenty-five blogs left to write.  Infinite lifetimes left to sit.  Kinda puts things in perspective, doesn't it?

My fingers are resting peacefully on the keyboard; apparently in the absolute absence of any particular letters to strike.  Interesting.  Almost a year ago,  there seemed to be so much to say.  After 340 days of meditation, sometimes that vast space between my ears actually does fall silent.  Empty.  Void.   I sort of wish I had more control over when, exactly, that occurs.  Frenetic thoughts are a nuisance, but sometimes they are also conducive to writing.  The irony is that in the near future I will perform a few bows, fold my mudra, breathe deeply, and - PRESTO!  Maniacal chaos will ensue in the very neurons that have, at present, fallen silent as Colts fans.  Maddening.

I haven't calculated an exact ratio, but it seems as though when zazen deepens, blogging shallows.  Correlation doesn't necessarily mean causation (one of the few things I remember from Stat class),  though I suspect in this case there is somewhat of a causal relationship.  Sometimes I sits and writes, and sometimes I just sits.  Tonight is definitely an occasion of the latter.  I cannot produce a single key strike, much less a string of words, that doesn't feel like an active creation of delusion.

Zen is like that:  sometimes I jump into the thick of Reality, and the viscous density of it clutches me so tightly I barely have room to blink.  Other times, Reality disappears, and I flounder desperately at its opaque edge, trying to get a handhold.  And then there is tonight, when Reality simply sits on the cushion, beckoning me gently to join it.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc