Another Zen Koan

Same subway ride. I give M-ito another Zen Koan.

A Zen Master has a student who leaves the dormitory at night to carouse in the town. He places a tall chair beneath his room window and climbs out. One night the Zen Master goes to the young man’s room and sees the chair. He takes it away and stands beneath the window where the chair had been, his head coming up to about the same height as the chair had. When the young man comes back through the window it’s dark so he doesn’t see the Master beneath him and places his feet on the Master’s head. When he gets down the Master says, “It’s a cold night out tonight.” The young man responds, “It is,” and gets in to bed. The young man never goes to the town at night again.

I asked M-ito what he thought of the story.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“Okay,” I said. I thought for a moment and then had an idea. I retold the exact same story but with a friend of his, Aus-ito, and the boy’s father, Big Aus-ito, in the place of the master and the young man. I thought he’d understand it better if it was about someone he knew. Aus-ito is a very adventurous boy who loves to climb and explore and who I knew M-ito could see doing something like the zen student – ie: escaping his room via the window. I figured he’d understand the story better this way – that it would be more relevant.

I asked M-ito what he thought of this version of the story.

“I don’t understand,” he said again.

“What do mean? I thought you’d understand it better if I used Aus-ito in the story.”

“That’s just it,” M-ito said. “That’s not possible because Aus-ito would use some kind of crazy zip-line and never have to touch his father’s head. Then he’d make some kind of bomb and blow up the zip-line so no one would ever know he’d used it. That way he’d never get caught by his parents and no one would know that he’d ever left his room.”

I’m still laughing about that one.

One Hand Clapping

I took M-ito to work with me today. Mom-ita was working, teaching a consulting gig, and out all day. I had work that had to be done so I couldn’t take the day off. We walked to the express station – what is normally a fifteen minute walk – in half an hour. The trains were fast though, and instead of 11am I made it in by 10:15.

He sat in my office for almost three hours, reading a Pokemon Manga and playing games on my iPhone. He’s so good. He even waved, his small, shy, bent-elbow wave, to everyone I introduced him too. They smiled back at him.

We had lunch and walked about twenty blocks downtown to the comics store, Forbidden Planet. I had him avoid all the “adult” sections and the “monster” sections. He bought two ugly dolls with his allowed funds, eyeballing the USS Enterprise model and a Godzilla action figure.

On the R train home, both of us exhausted, nodding a little, I took out a book of Zen Koans I’d been reading (Zen Flesh, Zen Bones) and asked M-ito if he wanted me to read him some stories that were like puzzles.

He said, “Sure.”

I told him the story of the Zen Master who had a young student who wanted to the master to give him a koan to help him to study and learn. The master asked him if he knew the sound of two hands clapping and the student said, “Yes.” Then he asked him, “What’s the sound of one hand?” The student went back and forth over a year coming up with answers like, the wind, an owl hooting, the breath and each time the master said, “No. Come back when you have figured it out.”

Well… I only got to the first time the master asked, “What’s the sound of one hand clapping,” when M-ito interrupted me and said, “there is no sound.” My mouth hung open for a moment. Then I shut it and continued the story, ending at the same place my son had already been to, camped out at, and completed. It took the student a year. It took my son about three seconds.

A Two-faced God

Dinner was almost over and we were sitting at our dinner table, still piled high on the far side with childhood debris (tiny plastic creatures from birthday parties and gumball machines, M-ito’s old homework assignments) and adult debris (catalogs and bills). I’d made us dinner and Mom-ita was in the bedroom resting, not feeling well.

“What does God look like?” M-ito asked me. We’ve been down this road before so I wasn’t completely surprised he’d asked me but still, it seemed out of the blue. 

“I don’t know,” I said.

“If God was a color he’d be yellow.”

“I like yellow.”

“So do I.”

“Does God have a shape?” I asked.

“He doesn’t.”

“What if God was a woman?” I asked.

“What if God had two faces? ” M-ito countered.

“You mean like a Hindu God with a man’s face on one side and woman’s on another?” I said.

M-ito nodded.

“There’d be half a man’s body on one side and half a woman’s body on the other.”

“And,” M-ito jumped in. “On one side he’d have a penis and the other she’d have a vagina and when she had to pee it would go on forever!”

“I guess it would,” I said. 

Mom-ita walked in sometime in the middle of this and sat down next to us.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked.

“God,” I said. “And he’s got two faces, on one head.”

M-ito nodded, smiling.

Do You Believe in God?

“Dad-dito,” M-ito asked. He was lying on the floor of our dining room/office, making pretend snow angels on the wooden floor.

“Uh huh,” I answered, my attention more on the computer than on him.

“Do you believe in a God?”

I stopped typing and looked down at him. His arms slid along the floor and his legs opened then closed. “Yup,” I said. “But you know Mom-ita and I believe in a Goddess.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

“I believe we each have a soul, a divine spirit,” I said, tapping his chest, “right in here.”

He nodded.

“And I think God or Goddess can come in all forms, like Ganesha, the elephant-headed God and others.”

“Yeah, he’s part animal.”

I nodded.

“Dad-dito, do you think God’s a girl or a boy?”

“I like to think of her as a woman.”

“I think of God as a girl and a boy – both.”

That made me smile.

“You want to wrestle now?” he asked.

I looked at my computer and the work I was supposed to do. I shrugged. “Sure why not.” What else was there to do after you’d finished a conversation about the divine with your five year old son?

How do you die?

Mom-ita told me of this conversation when I came home from work last week.

“Mom-ita, how do you die?” he asked her. They were lying down in bed having their morning conversation. I was long gone and off to work.

“You get really sick or you get old or something happens to you like a bad accident.”

“No, Mom-ita. I know that. What I mean is, do you lay down and just … die?”

“Well … not really. You – it could happen but it depends on how you die.”

“Well, how does it happen?”

“Well, some people are lying down.”

“Was Gran-ita lying down? Was that what happened to Gran-ita?”

“Yes, that’s what happened to her. She was lying down when she died.”

“I’m sad about that Mom-ita. You know, the way you were sad about Gran-ita.”

Gran-ita died the end of last January, a long seven months ago. M-ito knew her physically as someone who had tubes coming out of her nose and who needed a wheel chair to get around and who was always out of breath. She also was on oxygen for a good year so when we went over to Gran-ita and Pop-pop’s house M-ito had to step over lines of tubing and be careful of them as he played. It didn’t seem to bother him so much as challenge him. He asked a lot of questions then and we went over what we believe with him – we told him about his soul or spirit, that it goes up into the sky when you die, that the body goes back into the earth because it’s no longer alive, that the spirit may come back as another human or creature, that the divine spirit is in all of us and that Gran’s spirit will return in some way, shape or form. He seems to be comforted by the idea of reincarnation – or maybe that’s just me. He says he was once a velociraptor. He wants to come back next trip as an animal, perhaps a dog.

Me, I’m just glad Mom-ita gets these kinds of questions to answer and not me.

Note: The following book, Natural Family Living – by Peggy O’Mara – Peggy O’Mara has a great section on how to deal with death and the death of a family member that is very practical, concrete and helpful.

Om Namo

I get up early every morning to do my yoga practice, usually between six am and seven. I get up before M-ito and Mom-ita so I can practice in the peace and quiet of the living room without interruption. I’ve been doing this for over eight years on and off and daily for over eight months. M-ito and I have developed a routine that we go through each morning. I get up at six-thirty, say, and he gets up by seven. He comes out into the living room, half asleep, after having taken his morning pee, rubs his eyes and lays down on the couch, his head even with where my head lies on the front of my mat. If it’s cool in the living room he pulls a blanket over him (we have two on the couch for just that purpose). He draws his knees up into his chest and watches me. I smile at him and he smiles back at me. I do the second half of my practice while he daydreams.

If M-ito gets bored he’ll start to draw or he’ll take out a game and play quietly. Sometimes he’ll ask me, “Dad-dito, can you play with me when you’re done?” or “Are you up to your Om Namo’s yet?” Om Namo Bhagavate Vasudevaya is a mantra that I complete each practice with. I rarely have to say more than, “I’m almost done,” or “I’m half way there,” or “Om Namo’s up next,” and he’s good for another ten minutes to half an hour.

Some times he’ll do some asanas or poses with me. He likes to show me the ones he’s invented, like lizard and his version of a cobra. One morning he did sun salutations, surya namaskar, with me. “Dad-dito, watch this,” comes up some times also.

My favorite mornings are when he sits down in front of me as I’m sitting in half-lotus, whispering my mantra as I count off my prayer beads, takes out his prayer beads and starts to do my mantra with me. We whisper together, “But not too loud so I can’t hear myself, Dad-dito,” he cautions me. This activity has only happened a few times, but when it has, my heart fills and my smile widens.

Yesterday morning he was anxious and he circled me while I did my pranayama (breathing practice) and mantra – abut ten minutes or so – walking around and around my half-lotus. He was waiting for me to finish. I tried to take in his energy and calm it as I exhaled. I finished my practice, said, “Om,” three times and bowed to the earth.

“Can we play a game now?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, as I rolled up my mat.

Then he did a little dance, an M-ito dance, that spoke of monarch butterflies, lavender rebeccas, and flamenco all at once.

Church of Christ Puppet Show

We’re at the park hanging out with one of M-ito’s friends, Randina and her mother and little brother. This was only the second time I’d hung out with Randina and her family so I was still unsure how we all fit together. Usually I find a groove with M-ito’s friends and caregivers (parents or babysitters) after we’ve been together a playdate or two – where we’ll alternate looking after the kids at the park, help them with different things and or play with them. Our relationship was still evolving. Mom-ita already knows them well and has this down. But with Dad-dito it’s still new.

We were at the park late, for us, around 4:30pm and there was a Church of Christ puppet show proselytizing over loudspeakers on the other side of the park. I think that’s illegal and it was annoying almost beyond belief, but the kids were glued to the friendly looking puppets (probably as planned). They also had kids dressed in black, like demons, and representing sin, who walked across the stage with signs hanging on them stating Eternal Death and Eternal Life. Through all this there was lively music – friendly and happy – and the announcer, in an impassioned voice speaking about how important it was to have Jesus in your heart along with the need to come to God.

“What’s a demon?” M-ito asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” I replied. “Just play in the sprinkler.”

It was crowded and Randina’s mom was in the adjacent play area with her little brother on the swings. We’d been there about half an hour. My job up to this point had been to fill water balloons for them and or M-ito’s small bucker so they could either squirt/throw the water at me or at themselves. I was getting wet, but it was hot today so I didn’t mind. Randina said she’d had enough. She was starting to shiver and said she was going to get changed. M-ito followed suit and said he was done also. “Do you want to get changed?” I asked. He nodded, dragging his gaze away from the come to God stage which was finally being taken down as they did a raffle for prizes.

“Daddy, they’re raffling off prizes,” M-ito said.

“Yup, that’s what they’re doing. But they’re not the kind of prizes you want to get.”

“Oh.”

We got over to the bench and Randina pulled down her bathing suit. Max stared at her a moment, then lifted his arms as I helped him off with his shirt. Mind you, M-ito can get dressed on his own and undressed. But he was tired and his attention waning. “Do you want help?” I asked. He nodded. Randina stood up, naked, on the bench, reached for the towel that draped on her brother’s stroller and started drying herself off. I threw a towel over M-ito’s head as I pulled down his bathing suit. “Dad-dito!” he said as he took if off so he could see the world around him again. Underwear on, I left him to check on Randina who had dropped her underwear onto the ground and was reaching down for it. I plucked it off the ground, shook the specks of dirt off it, and handed it back to Randina then, while M-ito started to pull on his pants I lifted her towel off the top of the stroller and held it up around her to give her some privacy while I looked away. Randina looked up at me, one hand on her underwear, one hand on her towel. I saw her out of the corner of my eye.

“The towel goes on the stroller, here,” she said, pointing to where she’d put it before, “So I can get to it if I need to get dry.” Then she sat down and pulled on her underwear. I put the towel back where it belonged and helped my son tie his shorts up. I handed Randina her pants and she said, “Thank you.”

I asked M-ito and Randina if they wanted to get ices at a pizzaria nearby. They both smiled and nodded. “We have to ask your mom,” I said to Randina, realizing I should have done that first. Rule of parenthood – never ask kids if they want ices, ice cream, candy, or anything sweet because they will say yes regardless of what their parents will say and then you will be in trouble with their parents.

“I’ll ask her,” M-ito said. “You stay here,” he said to me. “I’ll go over there myself and ask her… myself.”

I nodded. He ran to her, dodging kids and parents along the way. I saw Randina’s mom lean down to listen to him then smile and nod. M-ito ran back to Randina and me, who were waiting patiently.

“She said we have to eat pizza first before the ices.”

“Okay,” I said.

Later on, after pizza, Randina’s dad met us and took her little brother home while Randina and M-ito walked home together, with her mom and me bringing up the rear. We watched them race from one street corner to the next then wait for us to catch up before we all crossed together. It was just beautiful to watch.