Buddha eats first

First, a compilation of the songs that have been running through my head, which is ideally supposed to be empty of all thoughts. We're practicing non-attachment to thoughts or ideas. And technically, we're not supposed to be writing, reading, or speaking, so I want you all to know that I'm retarding my enlightenment by sharing these important thoughts with you, my readers.

The first week, I was listening to a lot of Talking Heads on the mindPod, early stuff like Heaven, which my brother Dan wants played at his funeral. Now it's a weird mix of Billy Idol (White Wedding), David Bowie, Madonna, and random songs like The Muffin Man, and Puttin' on the Ritz. Technically, I'm aging, having moved from the late 70s to the mid-late 80s. I'm also running some Moby, which makes me almost contemporary.

My work prospects are taking awhile to hatch. UC Berkeley did not offer me the position I interviewed for, but they did offer me another one which is actually a better fit for me -- fewer hours. Adobe is dragging their heels. The "formal interview process" is evidently something of an inquisition, and takes awhile to set up. I'm also considering applying to the Iowa Writer's Workshop this winter. There, I said it. Now, I suppose I'll have to finish some stories or something.

Now, about the Buddha. Every morning and noon we eat oryoki in the Zendo, which is quite a production. You're not supposed to look around the Zendo while all the preparations are being made, so only now that I'm a lunch server am I learning all the steps.

First, the meal boards get wiped with a cloth. Then, there is a chant, and the eaters set out their bowls. Then, you put your hands in gassho, which Christians will know as the prayer position, and sit there. Until now, it's been a total mystery what's going on, because you're not supposed to raise your eyes. Here's what happens.

1. Someone (like me) puts out a special mat
2. Someone from the kitchen comes down and does three (I think) full bows, or prostrations, ot the altar. As if to say, "here's the food, we cooked it, we hope you like it okay."
3. A little tray is brought in and presented to the altar. It has little bowls with the actual food we're eating on it, and a little cone of incense. It's for Buddha. Sortof like Barbie bowls, or how a kid pretends to drink tea with her stuffed raccoon. Only a lot of grown-ups chanting and bowing, which makes it rather quaint and eerie at the same time. I mean, he's not actually eating, is he?
4. The mortals can be served, after one more chant.

Oryoki is really rather nice, although if you're hungry it can seem interminable. I like it. You sure can't forget what you're eating. And when you're done they bring you hot water, which you use to wash out your bowls, scraping them with a setsu, which is sortof like a cross between a tongue depressor and an oversized Q-tip. In my case, it's a small spatula, which is handy but can be a bit like a lacrosse stick when it comes to lifting water out over the edge of the bowl onto the clothes. Lots of oops-es there.

Big news on the colon front: I and several others mentioned our GI distress and the work leaders causally said, We need stewed prunes. Yesterday, we got them. And boy did they do the trick. Whoopee!