Rocks in the thought-stream are natural too

As so how often happens on this here Church of the Churchless blog, a comment to one of my posts diverts my stream of consciousness in a fresh direction. In this case, one that I'd already been meandering toward.

Edward's response to my "Flowing with waves while sitting on the beach" made me think Oh, yeah, so true. His comment had a delightful Edwardian neo-Zen flavor to it that led me sit up even while I was lying down (on the sand).

Lately, I have been having difficulty seeing some thoughts as unworthy, ("get out of my way,") and others as worthy. I read a NYT interview with Russell Simmons, and he said something to the effect that living in permanent satori was the ideal. Dismissing parts of my internal life is somewhat akin to growing a beard and declaring that my chin has been subdued by spiritual discipline.

Which is a wave and which a rock? I don't want to push the metaphor too far, (water feeling like concrete, etc.); I don't think that there is an imperative to have an opinion on each interior stimulus.

The feelings come unbidden, thoughtlessly, and the thoughts come numbly. I perceive some connections, but they are like the coincidences that happen in a dream.

I have the experiences, and just as importantly, the immediate creation of now wants me to have experiences. The five colors, the five tones, the five tastes can all be taken in. The stomach is not separate from the eye. "Therefore the sage discards this for that," is an expression of arrogance, a Laoism that is part of a dualist canon.

Can you discard the parts that are not your original face? Say it now!!

Yes, which is a wave and which a rock? Which is a worthy thought and which an unworthy thought? What should be discarded from the thought-stream and what embraced?

This morning I was in my usual shade-spot under a palm tree on Napili Beach, trying not to try to want larger waves to enter the bay, frustrated that I was feeling frustrated that my boogie board had been gathering dust sand the past few days.

Two couples walked by. I heard a loud "Shit!" It had come from an overweight man wearing tennis shoes with socks. He'd been trudging along the waterline and was shocked, absolutely shocked, that a wave rolled over his feet.

"Duh," I thought, "what do you expect when you walk on the beach? Dry pavement?"

Apparently, because his New Jersey accent (which sounded remarkably like what I hear on "The Sopranos"—plus the guy looked a lot like Mafia, which is why I was careful to just think what I thought rather than blurt it out aloud) continued to echo over the beach.

"I've got mud in my shoes. I'll meet you at the caaar!" he boomed in a pissed-off voice to his companions, who had left him behind. "Come on, get over it" they yelled back. I had the feeling that they were used to putting up with his nonsense.

So what was I supposed to do? Not be affected by this astounding display of beachy ignorance? When someone wearing socks and tennis shoes is offended by the ocean doing what it does naturally, make waves, "Duh, what do you expect?" is a fitting response.

But a momentary one. For this was just a moment among many moments on the beach today. To linger on it after the moment had passed would have distracted me from what came next. And after that. With more to come.

From Thomas Cleary's Soul of the Samurai.

The basic mind is the mind that does not stay in a particular place but pervades the whole body and whole being. The errant mind is the mind that congeals in one place brooding about something; so when the basic mind congeals, focused on one point, it becomes the so-called errant mind.

…To make an analogy, the basic mind is like water that does not stagnate anywhere, while the errant mind is like ice that cannot be used for washing your hands or your head. When you melt ice into water so that it flows freely, then you can use it to wash your hands or feet or anything else.

…The idea of getting rid of whatever is on your mind also becomes something on your mind. If you don't think about it, it disappears of itself, and you naturally become unminding.

I'm bringing home a print of this marvelous "Wave Sculptures" photograph by Victoria McCormick. It's amazing. And not retouched. It's what a North Shore wave actually looks like, if we could see with the eye of McCormick's camera.

Complex. Edgy. With many surfaces. Not only smooth and flowing. Also sharp.

Rocks and waves do blend.

Comments

[Nikhilesh]

Happy Buddha Poornima to everyone!

[tao]

Brian,

Well I sure wish I was there on the beach rather than staring at this computer screen. But anyway, here's what I wanted to say: About that east-coast mafia guy with the wet shoes...

If I had been you, I would have immediately taken the opportunity and would have quickly but casualy wandered over to him and disarmed him by striking up a friendly conversation. In the process I would have suggested that he just take off his shoes and socks and wash out the sand and then put the socks inside the shoes. Then tie the shoelaces together for easy carrying and get him to go on barefoot. Then walk on down the beach with him to catch-up with his friends.

You never know but what that guy might have been so impressed with such a friendly gesture that a friendship might have ensued. And he might have even been a wealthy mafia guy who would have returned the favor a thousand fold.

You just never know what will happen until you try. You never know what a kind and understanding little gesture towards a stranger such as that guy will bring.

[Brian]

Good point, Tao. Could have happened as you suggested. The guy just looked so irritated, I don't think he would have welcomed me jumping up and offering him some helpful advice.

Plus...I figure that I've gotten to my ripe old age by assuming that every hefty guy with a New Jersey accent is Mafia.

Of course, virtually all of my Mafia knowledge comes from The Sopranos. But that's a reliable source.

So I'll probably continue on my way to the end of my days, keeping my mouth shut when I hear a big guy sound like Tony Soprano. I've still got my kneecaps. Policy must be working.