“Somebody once asked Maezumi Roshi, ‘What’s the purpose of Zen?’ He said, ‘To be stupid.’ Are you comfortable being stupid? To be stupid you have to throw away all your ideas about being smart, and your ideas about other people thinking that you’re smart! Being stupid is being simple and sincere with your whole body and mind….” — Shishin Wick Roshi, ‘The Book of Equanimity.’
P.S. — Aimee Mann for President.
I found myself saying, “You’ve got to be kidding me,” later Saturday morning, though not clear who I was saying it to. Head librarian? Sexy RN? Kwan Yin on a front porch? The cost quote to have my brakes fixed? How fast the coffee disappears?
If you are a regular follower of this Blog you will know that I have a thing I say every morning, before meditation, and at times during the day — “All offers.” Whatever shows up, I’m at my best when I look at what’s arrived, maybe puzzle over it, hang out with it, consider it as another best interest in disguise, be perfectly okay if I don’t have a clue. And proceed from there. As John Tarrant Roshi says – “When you take the role of host you know the guests are arriving, and you get to be courteous.” There’s a lot of that.
This morning I’m a little dazed. I’ve been reading a lot, and spending time in the library. There’s an endless list of things Toyota recommends be done on my rather ancient (24) Camry, long and crazy expensive. So that’s a we’ll see. I do love that car.
I realize I’ve been something of a disc jockey here the last couple of months, lots of rock and roll finding its way into this space. The music’s not separate from me, and even if there’s not a video in sight, it’s nearly always there in the words for discerning punkster eyes.
Pal of nutrias. Brothers and sisters, Rhododendron Garden. Hot grandma from The British Isles, orange blouse, faded blue jeans. – “Members of the otters?” Nah, that’s a nutria, your highness —- N-u- t-r-i-a. Back to Woodstock and Country Joe, that kid so recently exiting the planet – “What’s that spell?”
Lately I’ve been sailing through episodes of ‘Grim’ – probably a Portland thing. And wandering these flower-covered streets.
“I’ve been out walking. I don’t do too much talking these days. These days.” — Jackson Browne
Then there was “The White Album” on headphones even later. “Won’t you come out to play?” Back to Kwan Yin; back to the nurse; back to the librarian. – “Come and keep your comrade warm.” And Ritchie Havens at Woodstock – “Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.” Which, dig it, it’s not rocket science.
Dream #16 – Right there one night – octopus. A girl. Asks me to dance. Ladies choice. All those arms to hold me. They say a grateful heart will never drink. I say a grateful heart will dance. Dance dance dance.
I have a pencil sharpener. I have two partially-filled boxes of #6B pencils. I have kitchen scissors and a chef’s knife. I’ve been leaning into vegetarianism, though that’s not my plan. I met with my Zen teacher Saturday morning – Zoom – and left thrilled beyond language.
I have most recently purchased freezer bags. And Put Michael Pollan’s “Food Rules: An Eater’s Manual” on library hold. I am what I eat.
Immediately upon entry into the premises – morning walk – I pull on headphones and cue up Bruce Springsteen’s “Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out.” On a Sunday.
I’ve been woozy lately and I’m woozy now. Much time in the hot Portland sun yesterday – Westmoreland Park, the Rhody Garden, Reed College Lake. I thought I had a lead on a cheap storage unit, but I misheard the original conversation.
I’ve also been feeling invisible lately, and in a not little way. Energetic, enthusiastic work conversations go nowhere. People passing on the sidewalk without looking, no your eyes/my eyes shaking hands. Many of the books in boxes in storage in Idaho are my art books, and my heart is calling out for them. My basement studio may soon become a warehouse. I’m picturing that.
I like when The Shangri-las sing, “When I say I’m in love you best believe I’m in love – LUV.” Makes me happy. Sometimes in Trader Joe’s or the Rhody Garden or my Northeast Starbucks I’ll look at a woman and say that to myself, which is helping to keep Portland weird – why I’m so at home here.
I wrote this in my Morning Pages yesterday – “It takes courage just to get out of bed.” I don’t know, that’s my sense. I’m enacting courage when the 3:59 alarm sings out from the phone and I move the covers off and just get up.
My Oregon driver’s license came in the mail yesterday.
Two people sent money for ‘Rosy” yesterday. My heart remains wildly grateful, for that and for everything else, the all of it, even when woozy, even this invisible.
Leaning into spontaneity and even whimsy more than reason, I picked up a copy of my first self-published book, ‘Ring Around the Rosy,’ and read it again the last couple of days. I sobbed here and there throughout – it’s a good story. The cover, an end-of-the-world scene starring a boy with Down syndrome, a girl with cerebral palsy, in her chair, her nerdy assistant, and four young boys was created by a woman in England back in 2017. For $26.
These last few days I’ve been lost in thought and hopefully fairy tale help with the rescue of my boxes and paintings from Idaho. Any plan, and I’m seriously leaning into an especially wild one, costs. A while ago I went digging through a closet and came upon 15 brand new copies of “Rosy,’ never sold, like most of my books. I’m not asking for gifts of money, those seem to come here and there, but I am going to ask here if you, loyal subscriber, would consider a purchase of ‘Rosy’ and her friends. That would be $10 for the book and $5 for the shipping. Selling all 15 would help a lot.
I can say it’s a wonderful story, especially for nowadays, filled with love and loyalty, friendships and welcomings, big, big changes, boundless courage, and a lot of warmed-hearts, grateful tears. I think reading it helps. You could send me a check – Winston Cushman Jr – at 2135A NE 16th Ave Portland, OR 97212, or PayPal to b.cushman@hotmail.com Being seemingly unemployable at this point in my life, there’s plenty of time to get it in the mail to you presto quicko.
It’s just a Thursday thought.
I love my sons, that’s most important. I love my closest friends, that’s most important. I love the Boston Red Sox, though I’m kind of mad at them now.
Saying I love my Ch’an (Zen) practice is goofy, as anything I write here is already that. But, anyway, I love my practice, it’s most important.
Beyond those, nothing is as important here today than rescuing my 19 boxes of mostly books and 25 loose paintings I long-ago painted from Idaho and bringing them safely here to me – some five years gone. Not eating, not sleeping, not employment, not YouTube, not slow dancing, not peanut butter, not ice cream. Nothing.
My entire attention is on 19 medium-size, taped-up boxes and 25 loose pieces of art.
Eight days ago, Sunday the 10th, I was sitting in the recliner writing my Morning Pages when a strange thought appeared in gray ink – What if I park the Camry across the street after the Tuesday church interview and don’t drive it the next five days? Then, not 10 minutes later, the thought became a decision.
Monday morning I drove to the closer-to-me Trader Joe’s, which I’m learning to love, and sort of stocked up. Later I drove to the Rhododendron Garden. Tuesday I drove to coffee, to a used bookstore for a five-dollar art book, and to the interview. I parked back home across the street at 4:45 and the car’s moved just 10 feet since – moving a bit up the curbstone Friday to lessen the chance of the neighborhood confusing a Morning Page guest with abandonment.
And what I’ve noticed, through those five days, is that I’ve barely noticed.
from a mountain bench 