I’ve received “No’s” back from both job interviews last week, and even the interview yesterday ended with what sounded like, “You’ll hear ‘No’ in a few days.” It felt like that, possibly because during the video conversation I held up, first, my wildly-colored fabric kitty and then my painted-blue-with-colored-stars wooden kitty. Shouting, I guess, “If you hire me you get this.”
Goofy has become standard behavior. There’s always been some – my junior year in college I received the ‘Wonderful Wacky Weirdo’ award from the student council, rabble-rouser not taken too seriously. I should point out that that was the first of four junior years – quitting, re-starting; re-starting, quitting – during which I think I was trying to figure shit out. Fortunately, all these years later, that’s never happened.
In Zen we talk about stepping from the top of the hundred-foot pole and walking back into the marketplace. My favorite image is walking back into the marketplace dressed in rags, flowers coming to bloom on passed withered trees, my hands outstretched – “How can I help? How can I help? How can I help?” This is The Clash singing ‘Rock the Casbah.’ This is The Beach Boys singing ‘Don’t Worry Baby.’
My dead friends Bob and Doug and Billy are off playing cards somewhere and I’m eating more vegetables than ever. These days most of my conversations, beyond interviews gone wrong, are with baristas and the aforementioned kitties and a few dozen buddhas sharing this underground living space.
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