--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "curtisdeltablues" <curtisdeltablues@...> wrote: > > Wow, I feel as though a Roshi just whacked me on the back > with that Zen whacking stick after six months of F'ing up > my knees on a hard floor, and eating overcooked rice with > seaweed in it day after day. > > I get up, toss back a couple of Advil, and leave the > externally beautiful but painfully austere (Could anyone > of the "enlightened" monks here hike down to Home Depot > for some caulk? More than anything else, this place > needs to be caulked. I am sick of those chilly drafts > on me all day.) monastery, never to engage in a Zen > practice again in my life. > > I got it: nothing to get. > > You just saved me 6 months my friend. I owe you.
LOL. You remind me of the story told by a high- degree Shotokan black belt I used to know in the Bronx studio where I worked out at the time. He was street-raised, *in* the Bronx, and had had very little exposure to meditation or Eastern thought. But he came into a little money and decided to fly to Japan to check out the Shotokan tradition there. In between practice sessions, he wandered around the city and one day stumbled upon a Zen temple. He inquired as to whether he could sit with them, and was actually enjoying his meditation when a very traditional Japanese Zen priest walked up and whacked him with a stick. I guess the "proper" protocol is to thank the teacher for the reminder to stay one-pointed or something, but my friend took it...uh...the way a street kid from the Bronx would take it. On his feet in an instant, he grabbed the stick away from the Zen guy and said to him, calmly, "Hit me with that stick again, motherfucker, and I'll ram it up your ass and then twirl you around on top of it." The Zen teacher wisely backed off. My friend said he returned to his meditation and somehow got through it with no further interruptions. :-)
