Dogen

[Image: “Audrey II (Milan Fashion Week),” by John E. Simpson. (Photo shared here under a Creative Commons License; for more information, see this page at RAMH.)]

From whiskey river’s commonplace book:

The workshop…

The paper I write on or you
write on, every word we write,
every cross and twirl of the
pen, and the curious way we
write what we think, yet very
faintly…

In them realities for you and
me — in them poems for you
and me…

In them themes, hints, provokers.

(Walt Whitman [source])

…and:

The way of seeing mountains and rivers differs according to the type of being that sees them. There are beings that see what we call water as a jeweled necklace. It does not mean however that they see a jeweled necklace as water…

What different types of beings see is different. And we should reflect on this fact. Is it that there are various ways of seeing an object? Or is it that we have mistaken various images for one object? We should concentrate every effort on understanding this question and then concentrate still more. Given this multitude of perspectives, it follows that training on the way of practice and verification must also not be merely of one or two kinds. The ultimate realm must have a thousand types, ten thousand kinds.

(Dogen, translated by Carl Bielefeldt [source])

…and:

All your nonsenses and truths, your finery and squaladoptions, combine and coalesce into one noise including laugh and whimper, scream and sigh, forever and forever repeating, in any tongue we care to choose, whatever lessened, separated message we want to hear. The Universe says simply, but with every possible complication, ‘Existence’ and it neither pressures us nor draws us out, except as we allow. It all boils down to nothing, and where we have the means and will to fix our reference within that flux, then there we are. Let me be part of that outrageous chaos… and I am.

(Iain Banks [source])

From elsewhere:

This very distinguished philosophy professor came out on the platform in front of this gang of students and took a bit of chalk and scrawled up a proposition in symbolic logic on the board. He turned to the audience and said, “Well now, ladies and gentlemen, I think you’ll agree that that’s obvious?”

Then he looked at it a bit more and started to scratch his head and after a while he said, “Excuse me!” And he disappeared.

About half an hour later he came back beaming all over his face and said triumphantly, “Yes, I was right—it is obvious!”

(John Brunner [source])

…and:

The Mongolian countryside is government land. Instead of the patchwork of farms and fences that divide an American countryside, the land is an unbroken expanse, more a blanket than a quilt. On this rolling and largely treeless nation, Mongolian nomads—who make up around a fifth of the population—are free to set up camp and graze their herds where they wish. Likewise, you may drive wherever you wish. The countryside has few roads. Or is one big road. Feel like visiting the folks who live off by that stream in the distance? Turn the steering wheel and aim the car.

(Mary Roach [source])

…and:

Drive

We are two copper spoons
beneath the blanket.
I am listening to my wife’s
gentle breaths.
She is finally relaxed
after a long night of wrestling
in her sleep.
My hand is on her thigh
but I am thinking about
the perfect drive I hit
on number five at Southwind,
and the seven iron to the edge
of the green.
I replay the birdie putt trickling in
to the hole over and over again.
It could be on the golf channel
except there’s no roaring crowd,
no exuberant fan screaming,
“get in the hole!”
no English accent whispering
into a microphone
about the significance of the shot,
how my steady play today
finally reflects my potential,
my work ethic, my readiness
for the moment.
She shifts her weight, the air between
our hips disappears.
I close my eyes.
I am no longer watching the flight
of the ball. I am the ball in flight.
I have been well struck. I am moving
with intention toward the earth.
This is not a game.
And it’s us doing all the whispering.

(Frank X Walker [source])

…and:

# 32: From the “How to See 3D” section of the Magic Eye books series’ FAQ:

Hold the center of the printed image right up to your nose. It should be blurry. Focus as though you are looking through the image into the distance. Very slowly move the image away from your face until the two squares above the image turn into three squares. If you see four squares, move the image farther away from your face until you see three squares. If you see one or two squares, start over!

When you clearly see three squares, hold the page still and the hidden image will magically appear. Once you perceive the hidden image and depth, you can look around the entire 3D image. The longer you look, the clearer the illusion becomes. The farther away you hold the page, the deeper it becomes.

Well, I don’t know about that — it’s probably just my own quirk, my own literal-mindedness, but…: all that printing, focusing, shuffling and shifting and squinting of paper — I’d rather just look at the world for those minutes, yes?

(JES, Maxims for Nostalgists)

[Image: “Autumn Reflections on Lake Taneycomo,” by Moose Winans. (Stumbled upon it on Flickr, and use it here under a Creative Commons license — thank you!) The photographer explains, sorta: “I was walking along Lake Taneycomo late in the day breathing in crisp cool air, when the sun kissed a nearby hillside. The trees seemingly lit on fire with an abundance of yellows, oranges and reds. The sky was a rather bland, so I opted to focus on the reflections of the colorful trees. I found a little ripple in the water that created a nice leading line and added a deep shade of blue to the surface of the lake.” I’m not sure I understand this, exactly, but the effect is undeniably… zen.]

A new(ish) pop-philosophy meme has made its way into American discourse — maybe worldwide, I don’t know. It boils down to a single word, by nature a noun but repurposed as an adjective: “I’m feeling very zen these days,” says the celebrity on a talk show; “So zen, y’know?” says the flirtatious drunk at the bar.

I don’t know who first popularized this construction, and — honestly — I don’t know enough about Zen Buddhism itself to rigorously, intellectually rebut the casual association of lowercase “zen” with a phrase like “chillin’ out.” It doesn’t feel right to me, but as another common saying goes, “Whadda I know?!?”

On the other hand, I’m confident that “still and impassive” does not equate to “cold and unfeeling.” The former describes a demeanor, a shell; the latter, a state of inner emotion. The old metaphor about wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve used to describe individuals who departed from the societal norm in that way — nowadays, it seems, not to wave one’s heart about, openly, is regarded practically as antisocial behavior.

This week, whiskey river reminds us of the difference, from someone who certainly knew whereof he spoke when the subject turned to Zen:

The unspoiled colors of a late summer night,
The wind howling through lofty pines —
The feel of autumn approaching;
Swaying bamboos keep resonating,
Shedding tears of dew at dawn;
Only those who exert themselves fully
Will attain the Way.
But even if you abandon all for the ancient path of meditation,
You can never forget the meaning of sadness.

(Dogen [source])

Nor is it (again from whiskey river) only sadness and other “negative” feelings which the Zen exterior may mask when one declines to separate Self from Other:

Moon
Open the book of evening to the page
where the moon, always the moon, appears
between two clouds, moving so slowly that hours
will seem to have passed before you reach the next page
where the moon, now brighter, lowers a path
to lead you away from what you have known
into those places where what you had wished for happens,
its lone syllable like a sentence poised
at the edge of sense, waiting for you to say its name
once more as you lift your eyes from the page
and close the book, still feeling what it was like
to dwell in that light, that sudden paradise of sound.

(Mark Strand [source])

I’m put in mind of a film of a towering but slender waterfall — a film taken from some distance away. And unthinking observer might say, “What a peaceful scene! The water flows so gracefully!” Had the photographer situated the camera at the foot of the falls, though, looking straight up, the noisy, chaotic reality would have pretty much silenced all commentary.

It’s Easy to See It Once You See It

Seeing the Opaque and Pronouncing It Transparent