Last night I was awakened to the sight of the Disdainful One, trashing my Zen meditation garden. It's one of those little Buddha and stone-filled sand gardens, where you can make a sorry-assed attempt at raking the sand and getting lost in the doing, when things are stressful. It's SUPPOSED TO BE a calming activity. Maybe the Disdainful one was raking the sand with her damn claws and trying to find serenity. Who knows with cats?
Anyhoo, there was sand on the fucking coffee table and sand all over the damn carpet this morning. I tried to be contemplative as my ass swept up the mess, but it was kind of difficult. I'm not sure I make a very good Buddhist. I'm a little tightly-wound for Zen.
I still don't know what the attraction of the Zen meditation garden is for the Disdainful One. I just cleaned her damn litter box yesterday, so. . . She also has this strange reaction to candles (loves them) and Buddhist chanting. I went through a period where I was chanting, and Disdainful's ass tried to chant too. She kept meowing and rubbing on me the whole time I was trying to get lost in the chant. It was a little distracting. I didn't know whether she was trying to join me or distract me from attaining Enlightenment. Who the fuck knows with cats?
Maybe Mercer and I were Buddhist monks together in a former life. Obviously, if we were, this is a not a beneficent reincarnation for either of us. We must have been lazy Buddhists. One of us got turned into a cat and the other is a depressed motherfucker.
2 comments:
I think I zen koan for you would be: "What's the sound of one hand slapping?"
Confucious say, Marc veddy clever.
Good one!
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