MONKS FOR SALE
Zen is the only man-shaped body of perceptions that lifts me out of man-shaped reality; or points the way; gives permission where no permission’s needed. The perfect paradox. I caught it on the fly almost 50 years ago and melted into its essence without the aid of a black cushion.
But some days are better than others in the Zen Department. On a day like today, I see a monk’s smiling face on a flyer in a coffee house, someone passing through town on a lecture tour ($25 general public, $10 students), and I skirt close to anger at this commercial exploitation; and because of that anger,this poster monk is my master for the day, even though I’ll vanish before his rod strikes my back.
Not until I can laugh while looking at flyers for touring monks and high-profile networking poets will I be able to vanish into the emptiness that I originally sprang from.
