The other Wednesday when I arrived at the Zendo to set up for practice, there was water on the hardwood floor. It must have dripped down though it had not been raining. Perhaps from our neighbors above. I placed the cushions in their usual spots, but later, right as people were arriving, I noticed that the water had seeped forward into one of the cushions. I remember being angry at the water for disobeying and disrupting the calming symmetry of the room. I was also so very concerned because the cushions were the generous gift of Chris Wilson and I am always extra vigilant when to care for something when it is a gift (its all a gift, sure, but that's a post for another day).
Anyway, it stuck with me, this rouge water, creeping into my plans and my order, and casting it aside. I remember checking in it during kinhin to make sure it had not again ventured into practice.
These are the things that go through my head when I sit. Who would have guessed how many water spills would be on the road to enlightenment.
This blog collects the poorly edited ramblings of urban zen students, finding the teacher underfoot. We will type until someone tells us to stop. We hope you learn from our mistakes
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