I would love someday to write a shiny spiritual autobiography replete with fantastic deeds and humourous encounters ho ho ho! Of course, this means that I have to actually do said deeds and engender the aforementioned encounters. Damn. I don't even have an official, real teacher, and it seems that mostly the good stuff happens around teachers. The Japanese ones are definitely the funniest, and I'm sure not going to find one of those in a hurry. There are very droll people in our Zen group, but writing about them seems like an invasion of their privacy.They come to Zen to investigate the Great Matter of life and death; not in order that their lives be cherrypicked by some half-baked Brad Warner-be. Maybe I should ask permission. Otherwise it's just all going to be about 1) Me sitting facing a wall, and 2) What I reckon about Zen, both of which I am 3) Quite bored of writing about.
Being a writer who is concerned with hem hem "spiritual" stuff is difficult because you are expected to practice what you preach. I mean, I'm sure Eckhart Tolle occasionally swears at his cat (I don't know if he has one), and finishes the last biscuit in the packet, but it's hard to imagine it, isn't it? Let me put you straight, though: I wouldn't want his fame. It's okay pontificating about Zen on a blog which has a readership of about ten people. But imagine if millions suddenly relied on you for guidance and wisdom? Eek. No thanks. Somewhere amongst those millions is the guy/gal with the big gun, telescopic sight and crazy mind who is looking for guidance in backwards-played records, subliminal TV things and SPIRITUAL BOOKS. Maybe. I don't think I have any worries on that score. I definitely wouldn't want to go on Oprah.
Let's face it: I'm not going to get a deal with Shambhala anytime soon, although I have liberally plastered their open-entry writing website with my ham-fisted literary handicrafts (there are five pieces altogether on this site: be the first amongst your friends to collect the set!). But at least no-one's going to be sniped dead with a high-powered rifle because of me. So that's a start, "Do no harm" right?
 |
| "It was me" says conical hat-wearing bibliophile |
