I've arrived in Montreal. And true to my history in this city (if you've read my new book) I am already getting tons of pussy. Linda Dydyk, my kind host here, has been providing me all the hot pussy I can handle. Yep. She has four kitty-cats; Squishy, Stinky, Freddy and Lola Granola. Sounds like the line-up for some undiscovered British beat group from the Sixties.
In completely unrelated news, my long-suffering publicist Kim Corbin forwarded me this message:
I did get to see Brad at a book signing, and asked him a question (which he said, coincidentally, was the same question that had been asked to him earlier in the day). The turnout was good, about 30-40 people on a Saturday afternoon at the bookstore. I didn't chat with him afterwards because he had a long line of Zen groupies waiting to meet him ;) but you can tell him that the girl with the bodacious tata's, tattoos and questions about group practice really enjoyed his lecture!
Which brings up an important message, girls with bodacious tata's and tattoos please push those Zen groupies out of the way and come talk to me at book signings! Or girls without tattoos, or with non-bodacious tata's, or anyone who is not a Zen groupie.
I really don't mind answering people's Zen questions. But, honestly, after a lecture I'm usually kind of "zenned out." Which is not my way of trying to set up the opposite problem and make people shy about asking heartfelt Zen stuff. Please ask (see first sentence of this paragraph for further clarification)! But also remember I'm a human being, not a Zen Answer Machine. It's often refreshing at these things to talk to someone about anything other than Zen.
The tour has now passed its halfway mark. Though it looks like a slight extension is in the offing. I'll be in New Mexico from May 20-23 for talks in Albuquerque, Las Cruces and El Paso. Details soon. I get around, baby!
Here's a question from the mail bag, variations of which I've been getting at several of my talks:
Where I live right now, there's basically no sangha at all. While yoga joints dot the landscape like dandelions, the nearest Zen groups seem to be hours away. I've seen the odd online groups, like Jundo Cohen's Treeleaf Zendo, but I'm not sure whether something like that would be beneficial or harmful to me as I get myself back into an everyday, active practice of zazen. What do you think about online groups like that? Do you think they can be valuable to someone who can only actually travel to a real zendo rarely? What do you advise for someone who's in the middle of nowhere, about going it mostly alone?
A guy in Dallas also asked me what I thought of the Zen groups on Second Life.
A number of older Zen teachers have asked my opinion on the on-line sangha phenomenon as well. I guess they expect me to be a kind of tuned-in member of the cyber generation. But, although I blog and use the Internet pretty frequently, I'm not all that crazy about it. I don't surf the web. I don't frequent chat rooms. I've never really gotten what things like Second Life are all about.
The most I do on the Internet other than blogging is look for oddball video clips on YouTube. I just got a Twitter account. But I don't really get that either, although I update mine most days. I know you young whipper-snappers are looking at that stuff on your new-fangled portable telephone contraptions, but that's about it.
The problem I see with the on-line stuff is that it's all very much in the head. It doesn't address the rest of the body. Take on-line dokusan for example. Dokusan is supposed to be a face-to-face meeting with a teacher to talk about practice. Nowadays some teachers are using Skype, webcams and other such technology to offer cybernetic versions.
But talking to someone on a webcam is not the same as talking to someone in the room with you. The smell of the person, the shared physical space, that little bit of electrochemical interconnectedness that occurs when you're near a person, these subtle but vital areas of communication are lacking. Yet the webcam and other such technologies do such a tremendous job of mimicking those few areas of communication our thinking minds take note of (visual and audio) that we are easily fooled into believing we're having the same experience as being in the room with the person.
It's very easy for the Master to appear more ethereal and holy when you can't smell the garlic on his breath or let your eyes roam around and see the unwashed tea cup over in the corner or feel the subtle charge of tension he exudes when you step into the room. It's deceptive nonsense to claim that any cyber sangha is just the same as a brick and mortar zendo.
That being said, they can serve a function. In the past Zen teachers have communicated with students at a distance through letters. Some of Dogen's most famous pieces, such as Genjo Koan, originated as letters to students living in far off places. I've had a lot of heart-to-hearts with my teachers via telephone when I was living away from them (but I knew them in person first, an important difference). The newer technological communication tools can be used the same way.
The problem is our unfamiliarity with these tools of communication and the aforementioned ability of these tools to fool us even more effectively than the tools we had in the past.
Nobody in the 13th century would have thought a letter from Dogen was the same as a meeting with him. But folks in the 21st century are often fooled into thinking a Skype chat with someone where both parties have webcams (or whatever) is the same as actually meeting them. I feel this very keenly when I talk to people about their various cyber excursions. It's like they really do believe they've gone to these places and talked to these people when all they've actually experienced were icons and typed messages on a screen. "I talked to so-and so," they'll say. And I'll often ask, "Did you talk with him or did you type messages to each other?" Usually it's the latter.
The other problem is there is way, way, way too much information for anyone to ever take in. So we have a tendency to want to try to absorb everything, which leads to skimming over stuff in a very cursory manner rather than getting very deeply into just one thing.
This is a common trend in the age of information overload. We think we have to audition absolutely everything before we can commit to anything. But there's no way we can possibly look at everything that's out there. So we never end up committing to anything at all. It may have been better before when our choices were more limited.
This is why I always encourage people to go to their local sangha no matter what it is before they start doing the virtual zendo thing. I've seen people pass up really terrific places right around the corner because they've gotten it into their heads that some guy with a website (maybe even this guy -- me -- with a website) is better because he's more famous. It ain't always so. And, in my case, it almost certainly is not so.
But, yeah, just because something comes to you via the Interwebs does not mean it's bad. I'm certainly not saying that. You can find good people who will help and support your practice that way. Still, it's not the same as face-to-face communication -- even when you can see their face on that little plastic screen.
