Zen and the monk

BEGINNING...

A strange feeling came that she was searching for something to give her existence a purpose and always she would be left with an unappealing feeling of disquiet when she couldn’t think of anything that would fulfil her.
So she’d go about her day filling it with things to do but at the end when she was lying in bed alone she knew her life was lacking an ingredient she couldn’t think of, something beyond her reach, that was outside of her knowing, and although it escaped her now, maybe tomorrow she’d find it, whatever it was she was searching for, though as the days progressed this hope dwindled.

The mornings most usually came with a promise, an undefined quality of continuance; a new start that had hope that said: keep going, what you’re looking for is closer than the fears would have you believe.
As the days progressed and the things that filled them became mundane and unfulfilling the disquiet grew and a feeling that there was something more to life than this became uppermost in her mind until she felt like screaming, which she knew was of no use for she’d tried it and all it brought was people and explanations that went nowhere as her mind went round and round on itself until she gave up to a depression that settled over her that sent her off to bed to escape the too much of it all that had her reeling with the attention grabbing craziness that came too hard and lacked sanity where everyone was suspect.
She knew she had to get a hold of herself and find peace somewhere, somehow, but she’d tried so many things and all of them had left her short of the expectations they held out as some kind of promise in the merry-go-round that only they could cure yet always failed.

Maybe she wanted too much and there wasn’t any more to life than this, maybe the yearning was just some deviant hunger she should squash and purge from her system and become again the happy go lucky and carefree girl she once was. But the route back to that seemed as elusive as the way forward.
One day when all seemed too hopeless to carry on she made the choice that there was nothing left for her but to get out and search for it, whatever it was.
And so she set off on her quest and this is her story:

ZEN AND THE MONK
Monk: Everyone grows old, but tonight I saw the love in your eyes
That spread across the sky of my life like silver gold,
Cutting from the stream bed into my heart...
And this was written in the dream
Like a sky that can never come back
Or one that never left;
This is not about you
Nor me
It is just the love in…
That spark in the heart
Something shining
That can never be said
I think I will stop listening now…

And then the monk opened the big doors to a stranger who was knocking just then... The stranger woman had been knocking until the doors were opened... The monk who opened the doors asked the one-handed clapping question to the stranger... Who upon hearing it gave a bird impression... and was immediately let in... Later, the monk said to the stranger: “you must be a Zen master to answer the question so promptly.” The stranger replied. “I have been doing this for so long I know all the answers to all the questions and yours was easy to answer.”
Monk: When are you planning on going?
Zen: How can I say? Where is going anyway?
Monk: Will they let you go there, this place you are going to? And why would anyone want to go there?
Zen: I will have to let you know where it is as I go there but I can say it is a place few have chosen to journey to.
Monk: Oh...I thought it was in France.
Zen: Misunderstanding?
Monk: Yes.
Zen: Oh

Monk: I don't know what people talk about; maybe it is still yesterday where you came from and news travels slowly to here, out of date before it gets here; who knows? Are the winds strong there? Do they move mountains in their ferocity?
Zen: Could be messages no one has ever heard coming in.
Monk: Sometimes they come in out of order or days later.
Zen: Me too.
Monk: Never mind. Things change.
Zen: Are you listening?
Monk: About what? Oh! Every day, as much as I can.
Zen: Such is the way.
Monk: Must have been yesterday; a thing unheard of, a lark maybe, or noise. Can you imagine it? And to sit so quietly, my god, not a word lost.
Then a mist comes and takes it all away. A poet would say it another way I am sure. And when the curtain comes down will you hear the calling of your name, or the drop into the ocean of it all? And now comes the surrender and many books to read into tomorrow. I do so hope you’re following all of this and not shaking your head, for the full moon up there hears all we say.

Zen: Up? Yes, this is a fine conversation we are having.
Monk: Oh. Good. Let me know how you do it, I lost myself there long ago.
Zen: My mind goes inside and out lots of times.
Monk: Is it a trick do you think? Where we can play life.
Zen: It was as if I were reading from the Tao.
Monk: And?
Zen: So, my mind is in a very deep place.
Monk: “Deep. Hmm.”

Zen: You sound like it's very late here.
Monk: I sound like a lot of things; but are you happy?
Zen: “I don't know much of anything. I just keep asking more questions. Happiness I think will find me when I am ready.”
Monk: Maybe you’re tired and should go to bed.
Zen: I should. But I….have you heard the latest news?
Monk: I can't help you on the question of current affairs. I only know the answer to one question and I forget what it is; maybe if I pay more attention.
Zen: Why do you bother?
Monk: It's who I am. Why do you bother?
Zen: I think when I grow up I will become a thief in the night and raid the fridges of the train workers and see what they have. They say you can hear thinking, can you?”
Monk: I am thinking something. Can you hear?
Zen: The question is too huge for me. Ask me another...

Monk: Am doing a poem
Am a poem
Doing a poem:
Everyone grows old,
But tonight, I saw the love in your eyes
That spread across the sky of my life
Like silver gold cutting from the stream bed into my heart...
Zen: “I can hear you.”
Monk: “This is why you came here, to see if we can hear each other’s thoughts?”
Zen: “Yes. I want you to record what I think and feel as I journey on. Will you?”
Monk: “Yes, but it will cost you a big bag of gold. The temple roof needs fixing.”
Zen: “That will not be a problem, but could you not have asked from the universe for this gold and envisioned it turning up?”
Monk: “I did. Thank you for coming.”

Zen: “Oh, I see, well it is a metaphysical journey to the afterlife or the spirit world if you like, and I will be going on into the unexplored realms as a real journey so if I become lost there then it will be hard for me to find my way back, there will only be my heart to guide me, and also you of course as companion. You will be kept busy recording. Are you up to it?”
Monk: “I am prepared. I knew you were coming a long time ago and so have made myself ready.”
Zen: “As you receive my thoughts and feelings I want you to record them, all of them no matter what. I will be praying a lot too.”
Monk: “Tell me some more so that I can become attuned to you.”

Zen: “I will tell you of how I got here: Crossing another border one time we sat by the ocean and played word games as the sea swelled around the rocks. S was the letter. After we ran out of words my companion said to me: “No one has ever gone so long before with so much fun in this game.” Later, we went looking for a toilet and found a locked privy. My companion pooped outside as I stood guard. Then we went back and danced to the music Arabia.
That night we found an allotment of cold love by a dark house, and pulled up frozen, dirty vegetables, ate them in a small shed. Shared love on sacks, and then like a single grain of dust we slept in the pitch black wrapped around each other. A frozen dawn saw us walking onwards...

end of part one of many more to come

Images from Pixabay

link to part two https://steemit.com/wisdom/@wales/zen-and-the-monk