not saying anything
Last night I traveled, by something other than magic, up to Oakland to be part of a Zen Koan conversation. Think of this sixties happening – a “Be-In.” Just show up and be there. I show up to “be” there nearly every Wednesday night. I never understand what’s being said.
Last night’s Koan went like this: A guy shows up to find his “brother” sweeping and says, “You’re always busy.” The sweeper replies, “You should know there is one who is not busy.” There’s more, references to one or two moons, other stuff, but basically that’s the Koan. As usual, I understood nothing.
Toward the end of the 90 minutes the teacher used the word “shotgun” to make a point, and in a moment of quiet space I unmuted and said, “Three or four Sunday nights ago I was playing Motown music for Ann, and when Junior Walker and the All-Stars’ “Shotgun” showed up I asked Ann to dance, and we danced on her kitchen floor, our first fast dance, and we may have been dancing, but we were not busy.”
There were grins all over the screen, and how could I have been more useful last night. Even being weird. I’m not saying “Yay me.” I’m not saying “Bad me.” Actually, I’m not saying anything.
That should be obvious.