I think I spend far too much time writing big, when small is what matters. I am going to get to my story in just a second. I was already to go and then I came into the house, my Friday routine brittlely intact in my mind. I get out of my clothes and put on an ugly, flannel nightshirt, regardless of time. I plug in my computer the same as always. Then, I connect the charger to my iPhone, waiting for the all too familiar sound. Wouldn’t you know it? The damn phone wouldn’t take the charge and I spent around 15 minutes, putting in the plug and pulling it out and putting it in again.
I walked back over to the kitchen area and poured some cheap wine into my plastic cup, yes my plastic cup. It looks exactly like the cup of a sloppy guy, who happily sets aside immaculateness for convenience. If I was a reality TV show, nobody would want to come back for the second episode, because it is simply too frightening.
Miracle of miracles, I finally got the damn phone to embrace the charging chord, making the sound I usually take for granted. The icon turned green, a very good sign. Now, I can get back to my story, which I thought about a couple of days ago, while sitting on my cushion. I have been doing a totally undisciplined Zen sit for over 30 years, every single day, except Sunday, the day God rested!
I guess I should tell you about my sitting practice, lest you think I am a nirvana seeking pilgrim, intent on finding Enlightenment. When I was first introduced to the Buddha and the endless explanations of what he said and why, I was overwhelmed and not interested. In order to be a good practitioner of Zen, there was just too much you had to learn. From the very beginning of my exposure to this practice, it was clear to me that i was not the consummate student, because I really didn’t give a shit.
I know it sounds terribly presumptuous, but I think He and I have a lot in common. I find so much in common with his journey, especially as I have gotten older. As a young Prince, sprung from the palace, he was overwhelmed by life’s truth. He was a young man, when the shock of life slapped him; while it has taken me many years to understand life’s landscape, time providing perspective.
There isn’t the slightest hint of sacredness when I park my ass on the cushion each morning. I just sit there and breath, my mind punctuated by all sorts of thoughts, none of which last beyond a breath or two. I have always found it is impossible to worry on the cushion, because inhaling and exhaling is the rhythm, the magic carpet of the mind. There are no rules, just one thought disappearing into the next.
I have five Kangol hats. They are stacked on the top of my armoire. One morning, i was shocked to see one was missing, counting only four and it threw me off completely. First of all, I don’t lose shit. The primary reason for that is I don’t have very much of anything. I have always been easily confused and keeping things to a minimum has been my thing, long before George Carlin and STUFF.
I couldn’t figure out what the hell I did with the hat and I retraced my steps, turning over everything that could be turned over. It got me thinking about all of my stupid routines, all invented to stop me from thinking about where to put my next footstep. Well, it took a few days and the hat showed up, stowed away in a box right where I usually drop it. This was a very big deal.
I was so happy and felt whole once again. I thought about how easily I was rattled by the slightest change in my routine. What the hell would I do with four Kangols and not five? A couple of mornings ago, I was on the cushion, thinking about the reappearance of my hat and how all was well in my small world. As I have gotten older, I have consciously tried to simplify my life. I want to spend less time on the details and more on life itself. Honestly, I don’t mean for this to sound like I have any kind of guru fetish.
Years ago, if you had asked whether I could ever imagine myself, sitting around, listening to music and feeling completely at ease, I simply wouldn’t have had the experiential vocabulary to respond. I think ten years ago, when I first started writing, it was the beginning of finding my final footing for the journey to come.
I guess at any point in your life, you could ask yourself what the hell am I doing here in the first place? I know way back there in my past, I sometimes wondered if there was any purpose for my presence, but this is something different. Now, I can really look at how I have lived my life and it is pretty thick with experience, not some ethereal concept, me looking ahead to the decades to come.
Now, I am thinking, what the hell does any of this have to do with my grey colored, fifth Kangol’s disappearance and subsequent resurfacing? Well, I am going to tell you. Life is all about the small things and they are in endless abundance. I always remember looking for the big signs, the milestones, but our everyday is all about the small stuff, because they add up to a lifetime, before you know it.
Do you want to hear the news of the week, like you have never heard it before?
https://www.buzzsprout.com/1292459
Two guys, seemingly having nothing in common, put on a weekly show of what it’s like to be friends.
Funny thing about life is that it kind of happens when your not looking at it. When you start looking it gets elusive, at least for me anyway.
Hey. I think you just try not to look too closely. The older we get, the better the view. It’s like we get to see more clearly as our eyes age. Hopefully, our internal vision improves with the time. I really appreciate your taking the time to read my stories and to comment. Thank you.