OK. For everyone that thought of Pink Floyd give yourself a pat on the back- or a patricia.
I was looking for something else with a Google search and ran across this "blog" that I'd toyed with literally years ago. For some unknown reason (literally again!) it had been slammed into a list of blogs associated with Asheville, NC.
Now then. It has been festering out here on the web for years with not a single new post. It makes me wonder, "Does anyone look at that blog list and go any further?"
So I have a challenge for ANYONE who finds this blog and this post.
Let me know you've read it and I'll try to write another post. Perhaps that indicates that I'm a glutton for punishment.
But for the fun of it.... here is an update on Monk Ki for your entertainment.
Monk Ki was trying to see. Really. His eyes had been getting worse but not from the cataracts in the Nantahala Gorge but from the other kind. You know those attendant to old age.
So he now sits and puts a salve in his eye. I would have said "magic potent" but it is not magical; in fact, it doesn't see to help that much. Unlike OTC Visine it isn't even getting the red out.
But better eye sight seems to entail lots of sitting. Maybe that is Mink Ki's problem. But he tries.
At this point things in the distant are clearer than things up close. He can see the mote in the eye of the man standing on Mt. Mitchell from Craggy Garden. Unfortunately, knowing what time it is on his watch entails holding it at a distance. That means he's still not sure what time it is. It certainly doesn't feel like Autumn.
Friday, September 04, 2015
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Does anyone have the time?
There are times that Monk Ki goes off the ranch. One can’t sit around in total silence and know what they might be missing unless they experience what they are missing. That’s the problem with people today- they don’t know what they are missing.
“Back in the good old days the trains ran on time.” The woman on the station platform spoke to Monk Ki since he was the only person standing there with her. She didn’t look at him; she looked down the track hoping to see the headlight of the overdue train.
“Back in the good old days?” He looked at the two rails in front of him and considered asking her about duality. “Didn’t the good old days precede the days of antibiotics, central heating and cooling, transportation that brings us edible food year around?”
She glared at him as if he’d stepped in something foul. “You know what I mean.”
He didn’t but the look on her face indicated that the good old days included the time before he asked his questions.
“I guess it is a matter of perception.” He noted that the track had been recently worked on.
“What the hell do you mean by that Mr. Smarty pants?”
He felt his jeans. He knew he was wearing Levi’s. He’d never even heard of the brand she mentioned.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was explaining that you have a perception and I have a perception.
“Well my perception includes a boss that’s going to chew my ass out for coming to work late.”
Monk Ki looked at her and tried not to stare. A sailor might have the perception that she was a bit wide in the beam. Monk Ki knew better than to suggest that perception. She’d stated that her boss would “chew her ass.” His perception was the boss better have sharp teeth and lots of time. Monk Ki was positive this was not something he should vocalize.
Monk Ki looked down the track and saw a headlight sweep around the curve. He felt confident he could mention this perception. “Here comes the train.”
“It’s about time.” She tossed her empty coffee cup to the platform.
“Time. That’s an interesting concept.” She didn’t reply.
“Back in the good old days the trains ran on time.” The woman on the station platform spoke to Monk Ki since he was the only person standing there with her. She didn’t look at him; she looked down the track hoping to see the headlight of the overdue train.
“Back in the good old days?” He looked at the two rails in front of him and considered asking her about duality. “Didn’t the good old days precede the days of antibiotics, central heating and cooling, transportation that brings us edible food year around?”
She glared at him as if he’d stepped in something foul. “You know what I mean.”
He didn’t but the look on her face indicated that the good old days included the time before he asked his questions.
“I guess it is a matter of perception.” He noted that the track had been recently worked on.
“What the hell do you mean by that Mr. Smarty pants?”
He felt his jeans. He knew he was wearing Levi’s. He’d never even heard of the brand she mentioned.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was explaining that you have a perception and I have a perception.
“Well my perception includes a boss that’s going to chew my ass out for coming to work late.”
Monk Ki looked at her and tried not to stare. A sailor might have the perception that she was a bit wide in the beam. Monk Ki knew better than to suggest that perception. She’d stated that her boss would “chew her ass.” His perception was the boss better have sharp teeth and lots of time. Monk Ki was positive this was not something he should vocalize.
Monk Ki looked down the track and saw a headlight sweep around the curve. He felt confident he could mention this perception. “Here comes the train.”
“It’s about time.” She tossed her empty coffee cup to the platform.
“Time. That’s an interesting concept.” She didn’t reply.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Two questions
There are two statements that I happened upon today. One is that all good narrative is suspense and that the goal must be forward motion.
It would be easy to get bogged down in a detailed examination of these statements but then that would probably (no probably about it) negate the two statements.
I went to a meeting of a historical society yesterday- that is historical information.
Perhaps I should ask two questions:
If I were to join (get involved) would I find suspense? Would there be forward motion?
Objectively I suspect the answer to both questions is , “no.”
So I don’t think I should join. Damn that is too easy.
There are folks and or sites that I frequent on the net. If I were to ask the two questions and the answer is “no” then why bother returning to those folks or sites?
In a way this is a Return on Investment question.
If there is no return on investment then why bother?
This approach could quickly simplify my life. It could make it as boring as crap.
Where’s the ROI. Where’s the forward motion.
At least pushing the lawn mower today I experienced “forward motion.” Not much suspense.
Do you think there is a reason no one has ever written a rock song about a twirling lawn mower blade (dull or sharp.)?
G
It would be easy to get bogged down in a detailed examination of these statements but then that would probably (no probably about it) negate the two statements.
I went to a meeting of a historical society yesterday- that is historical information.
Perhaps I should ask two questions:
If I were to join (get involved) would I find suspense? Would there be forward motion?
Objectively I suspect the answer to both questions is , “no.”
So I don’t think I should join. Damn that is too easy.
There are folks and or sites that I frequent on the net. If I were to ask the two questions and the answer is “no” then why bother returning to those folks or sites?
In a way this is a Return on Investment question.
If there is no return on investment then why bother?
This approach could quickly simplify my life. It could make it as boring as crap.
Where’s the ROI. Where’s the forward motion.
At least pushing the lawn mower today I experienced “forward motion.” Not much suspense.
Do you think there is a reason no one has ever written a rock song about a twirling lawn mower blade (dull or sharp.)?
G
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Ashes to ashes
Master Ho Ha leans back, “Harumph.” He then returns to his precise upright sitting position.
Monk Ki thinks that perhaps this is a clever zen shortcut to enlightenment. He leans back, “Harumph.” He returns to his as good as it gets sitting position.
Twenty minutes later, not that anyone except the timekeeper is counting and he only does it by the destruction of a lit stick of incense, the bell rings.
Master Ho Ha stretches just a bit, rocks and then stands. This is the period for walking meditation. He leans and straightens his cushion before turning.
Monk Ki would have made a great baseball player because he doesn’t take his eye off his master. Monk Ki see, Monk Ki do. He imitates his teacher.
The time keeper cracks the wooden blocks and an outsider might suggest that the zen conga line begins moving. Near one of the corners Master Ho Ha pauses, leans down, touches the floor. He rises and continues his slow movements.
By now you’ve figured that good old Monk Ki will do the same thing. You of course are correct. You are a quick learner.
Two circuit of the hall and the wooden blocks clap together. A good Roman Catholic might immediately think of the sound of strepitus at Tenebrae- (how many of you will have to look that one up? )
Master Ho Ha stops at his cushion, turns, bows toward it, turns and bows across the hall and sits. Monk Ki of course attempt to mirror the events exactly.
After the sitting period Master Ho Ha lifts his hand and his index finger gives the gentle direction for Monk Ki to come closer.
“You certainly are very good at doing everything I do. Amazing.”
“Thank you Master Ho Ha. You are a good teacher.” Monk Ki smiles.
“But why do you do everything so exactly like me.”
“To become enlightened. I want to be just like you.”
“When I leaned over while we were walking Kinhin I noticed you do the same thing.”
“Yes, Master. Exactly like you.”
“Did you also pick up a dust ball?” Master Ho Ha held out his hand and a tiny puff of dust was revealed.
Monk Ki thinks that perhaps this is a clever zen shortcut to enlightenment. He leans back, “Harumph.” He returns to his as good as it gets sitting position.
Twenty minutes later, not that anyone except the timekeeper is counting and he only does it by the destruction of a lit stick of incense, the bell rings.
Master Ho Ha stretches just a bit, rocks and then stands. This is the period for walking meditation. He leans and straightens his cushion before turning.
Monk Ki would have made a great baseball player because he doesn’t take his eye off his master. Monk Ki see, Monk Ki do. He imitates his teacher.
The time keeper cracks the wooden blocks and an outsider might suggest that the zen conga line begins moving. Near one of the corners Master Ho Ha pauses, leans down, touches the floor. He rises and continues his slow movements.
By now you’ve figured that good old Monk Ki will do the same thing. You of course are correct. You are a quick learner.
Two circuit of the hall and the wooden blocks clap together. A good Roman Catholic might immediately think of the sound of strepitus at Tenebrae- (how many of you will have to look that one up? )
Master Ho Ha stops at his cushion, turns, bows toward it, turns and bows across the hall and sits. Monk Ki of course attempt to mirror the events exactly.
After the sitting period Master Ho Ha lifts his hand and his index finger gives the gentle direction for Monk Ki to come closer.
“You certainly are very good at doing everything I do. Amazing.”
“Thank you Master Ho Ha. You are a good teacher.” Monk Ki smiles.
“But why do you do everything so exactly like me.”
“To become enlightened. I want to be just like you.”
“When I leaned over while we were walking Kinhin I noticed you do the same thing.”
“Yes, Master. Exactly like you.”
“Did you also pick up a dust ball?” Master Ho Ha held out his hand and a tiny puff of dust was revealed.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Ancient history-
It's been a while. Maybe I'll just toss a few thoughts. But first a plug for Pandora.com. OK the "flash" login is a pain. Hint: doesn't work with LastPass. But it provides music.
And now- a story with Monk Ki:
It doesn’t matter how mindful one is; there are times the rice burns.
In a jambalaya that’s not all bad. The crispy rice with the flavoring tastes pretty good if you get it before it gets “smokey” but the Monk Ki wasn’t making Jambalaya (darn monks seem to have an aversion to good Cajun sausage) and the rice was fast approaching the “call the bear stage.”
Master Ho Ha just happened to be walking into the kitchen and looked at Monk Ki hunkered down in front of the television and the rice pot hunkered down on the stove. It was hard to tell which would get attention first.
“Harumph” Master Ho Ha looked at Monk Ki.
Monk Ki kept his eyes glued to the television just in case the video replay that he’d seen umpteen times before happened to be slightly different. He heard the master but hoped that like Sadaam he’d just go away.
“Harumph.” Master Ho Ha snatched the lid off of the rice pot and peered into the steaming pot. “It’s beyond soup.”
“Catch it in a minute. A bomb will be going off in a second.”
“And will that bomb fill your stomach? Will it fill any other monk’s?”
Monk Ki knew he’d been taken prisoner. (Stay in the vernacular of the day.) “OK OK I’ll pull the pot from the burner.”
“Could I see the instant replay of that?” Master Ho Ha smiled.
“What do you think of the war Master Ho Ha?”
“ I think it is sad.”
“So you are a war protester?”
“I was a war protester long before it began. That guy in Iraq wouldn’t listen to me and the UN wouldn’t listen to me. I know the guy in Washington won’t listen to me. People insist on clinging to their definitions. They refuse to accept change. That is why we have war.”
Monk Ki smiled as he stirred the rice. He looked at Master Ho Ha. “So accepting change is good, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then if the rice was burned you’d accept the change right?” There was glee in Monk Ki’s eyes.
Master Ho Ha looked at the young monk. “You’re asking if I would eat burned rice? Yes. If that was all the rice we had. That does not give you the luxury of burning it because you watch bombs fall in some other country. Isn’t there enough suffering in the world without burned rice?” Master Ho Ha walked to the hall to prepare for the meal.
Monk Ki sighed and lifted the pot of rice to carry it to the other room. He caught a fleeting view of another bomb in Iraq. Some things don’t change quickly.
And now- a story with Monk Ki:
It doesn’t matter how mindful one is; there are times the rice burns.
In a jambalaya that’s not all bad. The crispy rice with the flavoring tastes pretty good if you get it before it gets “smokey” but the Monk Ki wasn’t making Jambalaya (darn monks seem to have an aversion to good Cajun sausage) and the rice was fast approaching the “call the bear stage.”
Master Ho Ha just happened to be walking into the kitchen and looked at Monk Ki hunkered down in front of the television and the rice pot hunkered down on the stove. It was hard to tell which would get attention first.
“Harumph” Master Ho Ha looked at Monk Ki.
Monk Ki kept his eyes glued to the television just in case the video replay that he’d seen umpteen times before happened to be slightly different. He heard the master but hoped that like Sadaam he’d just go away.
“Harumph.” Master Ho Ha snatched the lid off of the rice pot and peered into the steaming pot. “It’s beyond soup.”
“Catch it in a minute. A bomb will be going off in a second.”
“And will that bomb fill your stomach? Will it fill any other monk’s?”
Monk Ki knew he’d been taken prisoner. (Stay in the vernacular of the day.) “OK OK I’ll pull the pot from the burner.”
“Could I see the instant replay of that?” Master Ho Ha smiled.
“What do you think of the war Master Ho Ha?”
“ I think it is sad.”
“So you are a war protester?”
“I was a war protester long before it began. That guy in Iraq wouldn’t listen to me and the UN wouldn’t listen to me. I know the guy in Washington won’t listen to me. People insist on clinging to their definitions. They refuse to accept change. That is why we have war.”
Monk Ki smiled as he stirred the rice. He looked at Master Ho Ha. “So accepting change is good, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then if the rice was burned you’d accept the change right?” There was glee in Monk Ki’s eyes.
Master Ho Ha looked at the young monk. “You’re asking if I would eat burned rice? Yes. If that was all the rice we had. That does not give you the luxury of burning it because you watch bombs fall in some other country. Isn’t there enough suffering in the world without burned rice?” Master Ho Ha walked to the hall to prepare for the meal.
Monk Ki sighed and lifted the pot of rice to carry it to the other room. He caught a fleeting view of another bomb in Iraq. Some things don’t change quickly.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Will the real Milepost 131 Please stand up?
This is what Norfolk Southern uses for their mileposts these days. I guess it is cheaper. I guess it is easier to replace. Doesn't have the "look of endurance" the old cast iron ones had.
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