by Richard
All these, by their very nature, are emptiness,
being neither born nor dying, stained nor pure.
In watching the world news, there are so many endless scandals going on these days. Honesty seems harder to find.
I have wondered, for instance, is there any sport free of controversy? With the recent Olympics, I had thought again of curling. It seems benign: a large round stone is launched across an ice rink, followed by two “sweepers” using brooms to influence its path.
So I was dismayed to learn that curling once had a doping scandal. It was called “Broomgate” and involved secret technology to enhance the performance of the bristles. And in recent days the sport has again been swept up in another controversy, with heated accusations of cheating.
World politics and sport may be one thing, but at least there’s hope for a sound foundation from family, friends and community. On the other hand, I’ve never heard of a family that existed without problems. Zen groups aren’t immune either, and from time to time these communities may experience great difficulty. Whenever we humans gather into groups, it seems inevitable that conflict will eventually arise.
One may turn to nature, such as a pristine wilderness that is wondrous. But nature also has earthquakes and tsunamis that destroy life, and wildlife documentaries are often about animals killing other animals. David Attenborough was once asked whether he saw a benevolent force in the wonders of nature, and he replied: “I think of a little child in East Africa with a worm burrowing through his eyeball. The worm cannot live in any other way, except by burrowing through eyeballs.”
The bird swoops down to swallow the mayfly. No matter what, we’re surrounded by dust. So then the brooms come out. Zen monks sweep the temple grounds, but the dust eventually returns.
That doesn’t mean it’s okay to throw up our hands and let the dust accumulate. When there are real impacts on people and environment, the precepts need to be followed in order to minimise genuine suffering.
But neither is it realistic to try and eradicate all dust. It would be like trying to achieve left without right. All perspective becomes lost, and it leads to chasing of shadows. At some point, you have to let go of the broom.
Today I’m thinking about wabi sabi. Often it’s described using examples of rustic beauty in art, such as weathered pottery. However, the deeper meaning of it goes beyond aesthetics, and extends to an appreciation of all imperfection and transience in life. Whether it can even be called imperfection, or just the way things are, there’s dust everywhere: in tsunamis, worms, birds, mayflies, eyeballs, humans and brooms. To emphasise the point, the woodcrafters who built the temples left small deliberate errors in the walls.
Maybe the monks have it right: just calmly sweep the temple grounds. After that’s done there’s just sitting, watching the dust move around.