Sunday, August 10, 2008


When I was in college, I used to talk about Zen to everyone I knew. They started avoiding me. Maybe as a kind of retribution, the universe in front of my eyes (and ears) gradually filled up with Jesus Freaks, who felt inclined to talk to me about salvation. I couldn't avoid them.

Finally, as I was slouching at my usual 2-chair table in the Commons (ISU Memorial Union, but don't bother looking for my usual table, everything has changed) swilling coffee and smoking my Winston, a rather unattractive young girl stopped and asked if she could sit down and talk.

Fine, said I. Feel free, provided you don't talk about religion.

The conversation fluttered around the weather and other obvious inconsequentials, and then she ran out of trivialities and began to shake. Her lip quivered. She got up and fled, crying. I hate this story.

When Wisdom dances, the truly wise don't wait around for the last veil to drop off.



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