At The Mercy of Zen





There is nothing to fix.

Wanting and not-wanting are both beside the point.

Why is that? Because there is no point.

Points are for things like needles and nails.

Points only serve a purpose when they penetrate, transfix, or align with distant objects.

In order to bring something to my cushion, it’s necessary to carry it there.

Too much work.

My cushion brings me nothing, and so I am moved to return the favor.

Cushions were made for no other purpose than to be sat on.

A cushion that is not being sat on is a pointless thing.

Nevertheless, my cushion is often left bereft, bored with aligning itself with my distant behind.

Sometimes my heart growls like an empty stomach.

Sometimes the compass-needle of my mind points to a very, very long way off.

Sometimes memories bite my hand right through the bars of their cage and the food I was trying to feed them goes flying.

Sometimes my imagination leaves me stranded in a smelly, fluorescent-lit nursing home in some future hell.

Some times aren’t what they seem.

Back to the kindness of my cushion.

It’s not.

Kind, that is.

No, my cushion’s more like a barnacle that needs to be scraped off my keel.

Aligning with the metaphor, I could say, “My cushion-boat wallows aimlessly in a shifty sea, sails flapping, while the crew divides into factions over the question of “To-sit-or-Not-to-Sit?”

Mutiny!

Is it more like the ‘jurisdiction of my cushion’? Sentence and parole?

Nah.

Or is it like a carriage driver? Harness and whip?

Nah.

How about a dog trainer? Invisible leash and training treats?

Nah.

I took a picture of my little dojo in the afternoon sunlight.

Zafu and zabuton all meme-worthy and ready to give the impression of serenity and woke-ness.

I posted it on my blog’s facebook page.

What a masquerade!

Nevertheless, my butt knows that cushion quite well, and that cushion is very familiar with the shape of my butt, in a most fundamental way. (Ha-ha!)

They are lonely without each other.

We have an affinity.

Of course, this is also entirely beside the point.

I’m waiting for the day when my cushion finally gets the point, and sticks me with it, right in the ass.

That’ll be the day!

The day when my cushion proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is truly —

A Pain in the Ass!

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