Skip to main content

Blogger Says Choose An Identity

Rather unannounced, Ariel Pork, the pigasus, disappeared, and Go Cloud, Run Water! and the farmer monk stepped forward. I'm not sure my old friends will find me; I think they'll be okay. It was time to change.

I've been blogging for about 9 years now! I started around the same time I began Zen practice, roughly in my sophomore year. For the intrepid reader, go here to see So Much For The Afterlife.

Another transformation, causes and conditions, but this Go Cloud, Run Water! is not Ariel Pork and Ariel Pork is not So Much For The Afterlife. Transformation implies too intimate a relationship, when all there is a relation between these blogs.

Go Cloud, Run Water! comes by way of a friend, Heather, who came by this phrase in a calligraphy class. Unsui, wandering zen monk, translates to "clouds and water."



My intentions for Go Cloud, Run Water! are:

1. To continue to chronicle my practice life, (my life?) through "journaling" in a transparent medium. 

2. To engage topics in a spirit of inquiry.

3. To create, find, and foster a community of discourse between Buddhist practice bloggers of all walks. 


I'd like to apologize ahead a time for missteps like: 

1. Engaging in arguments. 

2. Presenting misinformation.

3. Presenting views as solid, concrete, absolutely figured out. (See example here)

So, onward! And for good measure, a poem, by Chia Tao, that drop of water, that fluff of cloud stuff:

For A Buddhist Monk

In a tangle of mountains,
in autumn trees, a cave-
hidden within,
a magic dragon pearl.

Poplar and cassia
overlook a blue sea;
rare fragrances waft
from a stone pagoda.

A monk since youth.
you still have no white hair;
you enter upon meditation,
in a frost streaked robe.

Here there is no talk
of the world's affairs-
those matters that make
wild the hearts of men. 



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Boredom and Buddhism

To say I feel bored feels disrespectful. How could that be? I have a three month old daughter, I'm training for a demanding job in the temple, I'm a wilderness medic responding to incidents every 4 days or so, and I'm sewing my priest robes for ordination. And I have this sense of disinterest.

I have a few theories as to why I feel bored. One could be the natural come down from having the baby and becoming stable in our schedule. Another come down plays out in the adrenaline crash after responding to a medical emergency or the general up keep work I do at the temple when compared to fixing something crucial to operations. When I hear there's a fire in the area I'm pretty excited to be mobilized for stay and defend duty. I feel pretty guilty about that, too.

So I read Beyond Boredom and Depression by Ajahn Jagaro and I was reminded to be careful about looking outward by this passage:

So what is boredom? It is a subjective experience that occurs when the mind is not i…

Goodbye Green Gulch Sama! Hello Tassajara!

About two years ago I left Mid City Zen in New Orleans. I feared I was leaving something, and now I'm about to leave Green Gulch and that same fear has arisen. I imagined there was wealth, a sort of freedom, and a lot to "renounce."  I had a car (a fast one!), a playstation 3, many books, many articles of clothing, and as I look around our little cabin, that same perception has arisen- I have too much stuff! And I like it!

My book collection that I sold or gave away in New Orleans has somehow manifested out here. And I have quite the collection of farm hats and farm boots. Rubber ones, Redwings, Ropers, Bogs to the ankle, Bogs to the knee, a navy seal Solomon for the wet spring weather. Most of them are fit to throw away, glued back together and stitched with fishing line, and just so smelly, so smelly my wife won't let me keep them in the cabin, so I hide them all around Green Gulch.

So I started packing, and while that fear of renunciation has arisen, it's not …

Vows and Compass

Being in new Orleans reminds me that my way seeking mind ripened here. Maybe it was the level of maturity my father's recovery actualized. Maybe it was the Ben Wren book I found at Beaucoup Books on my lunch break. Maybe it was my step mom's copy of things fall apart by Pema Chodron sitting in the bathroom.

Later I would witness the host of suffering post-katrina offered to a young public school teacher. How could I help? I took my first set of vows not really knowing where they would lead, like the old black metal compass my dad put in my Christmas stocking when I was about ten. Beautiful to hold, difficult to understand.

Now, years later, I feel a bit subdued as form,sensation, perception, impulse, and thought tag everything, beckoning some purchase for the price of belief. I'm home, but a home leaver. People wonder when I'll move back and being a home leaver means being ready to leave home again and again, which could mean coming back.

How will I actually engage all…