The Passenger

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As I've noted before, I espouse  a very reductive form of Zen Buddhism: so reductive in fact, that it would go unrecognised as such by the major practitioners of the philosophy throughout the world. I chose a path very early on in life that eschews formal ritual, except where it suits my inner, mild OCD self, such as the way I make my tea in the morning, or make grilled-cheese crumpets: try 'em - they're lush for breakfast, lunch or even a light dinner. In contradiction, writing this blog is now a kind of meditative ritual space for me, so this in itself is a meta post: something I never intended five minutes ago, when I decided to head off on this track.

I guess that the guiding precept of Zen is living in one's present with awareness of no-thing in particular, but all. The curious aspect about trying to live one's life this way, is that the trying creates awareness of itself, and in doing so, breaks the inner silence that simply being is. We are not; then we are; then we're not again. Life and awareness are created in the womb, given expression as we grow, and both simply cease to be when we die, for every individual one of us. The question as to what happens after, if anything, is one of faith, not of certainty, and can not be known. Sein oder nicht sein, das ist die frage...

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