Modern Zen Hunting

July 7, 2008

I’m sitting here, trying to focus, to elicit some wisdom and style and insight. In another room, the washing machine is singing it’s vibratory song. Pummels and bangs and whirrs come from the construction site across the road. A cat rubs up against my leg, half committed to convincing me she needs another breakfast. Beside me, Bodhi will be awake soon.

I am outside of myself. When I write, I like to be inside of myself. Tuned in to the inner voice. An island, and totally self sufficient, for a little while (beep of the washing machine). Like in the latter stages of labour, that etheric nowhere land where all that exists is you and the universe, as one.

(Hum of lawn mower) I reflect on monks, sitting in the garden of a monastery high up in the Himilayan foothills. The air is still, but cracks with focus. (Mother asks question about sterilising breast pump) All that can be heard  is the beating of their heart, and the raspy in and out of their breath in the chilly air.

Well, of course it’s easy to be meditative in an environment like that! Where are the distractions? I wonder what pulls a zen monk from his musings. What niggles at the edge of his conciousness as he attempts to find enlightenment (construction workers yelling at each other).

Maybe I should strip down my life. Throw out all my possessions and move to a shack in the mountains (in fact, that idea sounds quite blissful, except I’m sure it would be different in practice, and I’m not sure how the husband would feel about it (sound of husband bursting in the door, late for work).

That’s the challenge of modern life though, isn’t it (sound of husband waking Bodhi)(husband kissing me goodbye)? Finding the deeper moments in the hustle and bustle. Extracting the important from the mundane.

Must go. Baby awake.


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