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HENG CH’AU: June 23, 1977. Coyotes sniffing around while we do t’ai chi this A.M. Real close to us and the city for coyotes. As a rule they stay away from people. Things get out of whack, everything shifts and tries to fit.
Juniper Serra and her diaper drooping brother and clan stopped to offer some "glorp" (nuts, seeds, and raisins). Just a simple "peace" and a bag. The kids were watching and waving from the back of their V.W. van. Boy they look familiar!
This smelting cultivation can get pretty raw and hot sometimes. Both Heng Sure and I feeling in the "pressure cooker" lately as we close more valves and up the heat. We keep digging deeper, more basic and more sensitive. This intensive digging and rooting is much like therapy except in this you hold precepts, have a good knowing teacher, the sangha community, no bills, and you don’t just do it for an hour and then go home--home is gone. Rooting and bowing into all the soft spots, all the false and yuck!
All we can hope to do at times is to keep it from spilling out on each other and other people. Try to juts hold the lid on and let it burn and temper. But it is hot and the harder we work, the hotter it gets. No other way to go but deeper, working harder and keeping cool with patience, lots of patience. I’m finding so much garbage inside I can barely stand myself at time--self, self, self; getting very tired of "self."
Found half a bee. The whole thorax was missing but it was still alive and clawing and fighting frantically at the ants who were eating it alive. Put it in a bottle cap, give it the Refuge Ceremony, and put it high on a fence post.
Outside the Holiday House restaurant a mother drops her son off at the rear entrance. In minutes the boy comes running out shouting "That’s what I want. I’m quitting." His buddies pull up in a station wage all set to go on a spree. I remember that space real well--I would make covert plans to run away to California with my best friend. The hormones and the sniff of freedom and adventure push at the limits; the shell isn’t cracking fast enough.
Just then they see us bowing. "Hey what are they doin’?"
"I dunno, who cares? Lets’s go!"
"Probably Moslims."
"Yeah, let’s split."
"No, wait, let’s find out." The boy jumps out of the care and cautiously approaches.
We had a short but real interesting conversation and they took a release. They were real open to what we were doing and the hyped-up, "bust out" mood and tenor mellowed. Something had slowed the spinning and heat. "Thanks a lot for talking with us."
"Yeah, good luck," says the other, "See you later. Thanks a lot." They were pleased and surprised that we would talk with them, treat them as equals. More than anything, they were surprised that we took them seriously and not as "silly kids." That was what they were thanking us for.
A V.W. pulls up. "Will you take this for you and your friends?" Two bundles of $6 each. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yes. Thanks, we stay outside." Every time I accept an offering I’m reminded of how little I’ve done and want to work harder.
Two construction workers stop. "I’ve been watchin’ you since Malibu. Everyday. It’s been buggin’ the heck out of me. What are you doing? Taking a survey?" I give them a release. "Do you pray in a certain direction like east?"
"We pray in all directions."
"Only you yourself can knock out bad habits," one says.
"That’s what we’re trying to do. At the monastery people do this hard work all the time. If you’re extra stupid, you do this."
"You said it, I didn’t. We wish you lots of luck. Thanks."