I set the clock for 7:30am last night and rose closer to 7:45am, which was earlier than yesterday. Doing exercises first thing in the morning is challenging. I confess I did a bit of sweeping to warm up. It is nice to have them out of the way early.
It’s street cleaning day. The old purple car is in the driveway rather than on the street, giving me a chance to take a few pictures of our house. Actually, if you stand across the street from our house, you don’t see much of the house. The camphor tree has filled out once more and looks like a lollipop tree. It is flanked on either end by large spider lilies, also dong well. During the drought, we almost lost that tree, and very little grew next to it. Now it’s lush.
Sensei taught class, and we had a “ripening” promotion for L. L and I traded off calling kihon. Her feet are still healing, so Sensei had given her some modified exercises to do. Her modified version of 4th kyu syllabus was really cool. We should ask her to teach the rest of us! She did pass her promotion with flying colors (green being the primary one in this case.)
F and I got in exercises with L, while she did her requirements. After class, I made up the rest I “owed” for my rank. I also got in some kata practice during my lunch hour.
I did some thinking about that “Zen Flesh, Zen Bones” story that I wrote about yesterday. The religious traditions I have studied more extensively, I admit, are heavily text-centered. Judaism, along with Christianity and, I believe, Islam, each put emphasis on their scriptures and written commentary. Writings may not influence so heavily other religious traditions. Some traditions emphasize the transmission of teachings or spirituality through experience and interaction. Zen Buddhism certainly seems to do this. So my bookish shock over the loss of old writings is probably a bias on my part. Shoju was intent on preserving another kind of tradition, and would not allow the honoring of things (old writings) to usurp the seeking and/or experience of enlightenment.
But I don’t disavow my love and appreciation for old texts. Writings are, after all, communications from people, however imperfect. Someone somewhere decided to write something down, and because of this, we can hear voices that are two thousand years old. How cool is that?