Every morning after zazen I step outside and split wood with my maul. It weighs eight pounds and I am used to the feel of this piece of metal as it splits the twisted rounds of cedar we use to cook with and to heat our Refuge deep in the mountains of southern New Mexico.
I am a zen buddhist monk. A married priest in the Soto tradition, who has just split away from his home Temple to create his own.
Today, however, I am on the road, in a city where there is no wood to chop. My hands are empty.
So, instead, I sit at a friend's computer and create this blog.
I wonder about the nature of this empty hand. Idle, I am suffering. People who live in this world of convenience, who live without moving their bodies much, do they have a sense of the deep and intimate connection of body and mind that hard, concentrated work provides?
I am reminded of the story of an old zen monk who failed to eat one day. He as ill and did not work. Alarmed, his brother monks asked that he eat. He said, "No work, no food." Simple elegance.
May we live in peace.
1 comment:
Thank you, Stewart.
Let's build a little monastery together.
Gassho
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