Zen and the art of Zen

I am a terrible fraud. So at least say the boring blowhards who infest the Uselessnet. You know the type: tedious literalists who believe that Uselessnet interaction is about being in the right or, a man could become helpless with laughter at the pompousness of it, honour and decency; the bellends who think that a debate is settled by “logic” (they do not mean logic, of course, because, as I sometimes delight in taunting them, fully aware that they do not get it, logic can as easily prove the false as the correct, and is no guide to truth or falsity; but they are not closely enough acquainted with logic, or with rhetoric, to come up with a better name for the concept they are trying to discuss). What they cannot grasp, poor souls, is that being right in a Uselessnet stoush is as pointless as having the cleanest jersey in a game of football.

They are not wrong though. I am not a real doctor. Nor am I a practising Buddhist. Anyone would think that I really was trying to deceive, given the fury my screen name rouses in the honest Johns. It does surprise me how often someone asks what I am a doctor of: I say I am a proctologist, since I so often encounter arseholes.

The blowhards are confused on two scores so far as “Zen” goes. First, I did not choose it because I am an adept of oriental philosophy (although I take an interest and believe it to be a fount of wisdom but what isn’t, approached in the right way?) but for the much less impressive reason that it begins with a Z. I know, I know, it spoils the mystique and yes, there’s more to it than that. Zen has a wonderful taste of meaninglessness, which is appropriate for a nihilist (which if I had to be any “ist” bar an Occamist, I would probably admit to being).

Second, the misconception the blowhards suffer with is that Zen is nicey nice. I fear this is an American misconception, common among people whose idea of Buddhists has been formed by Californian quasihippies who tinkle bells, chant and urge peace and harmony for all.

But Zen is not about peace, man. If you think it is, you are confusing it with Mahayana, which is a caring, sharing religion a million miles from Buddha’s message. Zen is austere, empty, cold. It is not huggy. It is a slap in the face. It is about control, about creating a dichotomy in which you merge with the world while becoming entirely interior. Zen is about confrontation, sudden enlightenment, not gradually approaching a goal, as in other forms of Buddhism. Its teaching method is a smack with a rod, an impossible riddle, lessons without content.

Not that I am trying to teach anyone anything as I piss about in newsfroups, although I do think you can learn from knowing me (for once, this is not an expression of my monstrous vanity; I think you can learn from knowing anyone, albeit some more than others). I am not doing anything in particular, just acting as a deep pool of nothing much. Generally, you see yourself reflected in a deep pool. If you grimace, it grimaces back. If you smile, it smiles. Sometimes, if you dip a toe in, you get it bitten off. But if you dive in, it’s warmer than you thought it would be. Some people splash around, insisting that I am a puddle or whining because I won’t keep them afloat and they can’t swim.

To me, it is nothing. I am serene, unruffled, a few ripples and then the flat, calm surface of the millpond. Or the shell of a tiny watersnail. I do not mind which I am perceived to be or which I really am. Either way, the shrilling of blowhards bounces from me and I remain a mystery to them.

posted by Dr Zen @ 2:11 pm