Sunday, March 22, 2020

What?



Beverly graffiti


(Graffiti - Beverly MA - Shot on 3/19/2014)



On a wintry Saturday night twenty four years ago at Munsu Sa, a small Korean Zen Buddhist temple, a group of meditators gathered in the warm temple kitchen. After bowls of spicy Korean soup and plates of fresh fruit, we bowed in thanksgiving, the table was cleared, and we sat quietly waiting for Kun Sunim's Dharma talk.

Through Chris, our generous translator, we heard:
“You are traveling in a vast wasteland.  The sun beats down.  Small cyclones of dust arise, chase one another and disappear.  There are no trees.  There is no shade.  All is shimmering heat.
In the distance you can hear the enraged trumpeting of an enormous elephant.  You can tell he is coming directly towards you and means to crush you under foot.
You run.
The charging elephant gains on you.  Turning as you run, you can see its angry red eyes.
You run faster.
Just ahead of you, what you thought was a small pile of boulders turns out to be a well.  Since the elephant is almost upon you, you dive head first into the well.  As you tumble in the darkness, you are able to grab onto a large vine and stop your fall.
Above you the elephant makes impatient circles around the well.
Time passes and your eyes adjust to the darkness.
Below, you can make out a large serpent who eagerly awaits your arrival at the bottom.
Just above you in the well is a large bee hive.  You notice that when you bump the hive with the vine, three drops of honey fall out.  You can catch them on your tongue.  The honey gives you a little more  strength to hang on to the vine. The only problem is that every time the hive is disturbed, bees come out and sting you as you hang on above the hungry serpent below.
The elephant bellows.  The earth shakes from his footfalls.
Above you and the beehive, where the vine grows out from the side of the well, there is a small hole.  Two small mice have emerged. One white, one black, they have begun to nibble away at the base of the vine.
What do you do?"
I remember the silence that descended into that small room. We all looked down at the table, at each other, and at Kun Sunim. There was a bit of nervous laughter, but none of us had any clue as to what we would do in such a circumstance. Time slowed. Finally, Kun Sunim spoke again...

To his great credit, Kun Sunim did not tell us "the answer." Instead he gently smiled at us and told us that the story was our homework - that we should live with it and meditate with it.

I have carried Kun Sunim's story with me for decades. Like everyone alive, I have encountered 'brick and mortar' versions of the story in my own life.

I don't know "the answer" to the question of "What do you do?" I continue, as best I can, to work on my homework and and let the question "What do I do?" or just "What?" peck away at my galactically stubborn ego, boundless clinging, and deep well of ignorance...






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