Yin, Yang and Zen

  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Basho’s mantra did not sit well with him – it made no sense. A lot of the things Master Daizen taught him made no sense.
  The two of them sat cross-legged on a cliff edge, overlooking the temple.
  Basho glanced sidelong at his master, whose eyes were closed and chin nestled comfortably on his chest. He was repeating his own mantra. An ancient chant purported to be handed down through generations of wise gurus. “Zzzzzzzz…” He chanted. “ZZZzzz ZZzzz zzZzz–snort-zzZzzz Zzzzz zzz…”
  Basho frowned in puzzlement, beginning to think he would never get the hang of Zen. He could find no meaning in the high concepts his master spoke of.
  Earlier that day Master Daizen had imparted a strange story as they strolled up the mountain path.
  “A woman went to the markets carrying her baby.” He began. “The fishmonger said to her, ‘That’s the ugliest baby I’ve ever seen!’
  In a fury the woman rushed off to the next stall and said to the butcher, ‘The fishmonger insulted me, I’m going back to give him a piece of my mind!’
  ‘That’s a good idea,’ the butcher replied. ‘Here, let me hold your monkey.’”
  Daizen had smiled and chuckled quietly to himself. Basho, confused, scratched his head. “Master? I don’t understand the parable.”
  “What don’t you understand about it?”
  “Well… Why is the woman carrying both a monkey and a baby, would the monkey not attack the baby?”
  “The monkey and the baby are one.”
  Basho meditated on this. The monkey – a playful and mischievous being is the yin. The baby - young and innocent is the yang. “Ah… I see. The monkey and the baby together represent harmony within oneself?”
  “No, the baby was just very ugly.”
  The master always said strange things like that. “On the other hand,” he would often muse, “You have different fingers.”
  The Zen seeking rumble of Daizen’s mantra continued wrangling Basho’s ear. “ZZzzzZZzzZzzz-grunt-zzzZZZZzzzz-snort-zzzZZzzz…” He must be in a deep deep trance, thought Basho, watching a droplet of drool dribble from his lower lip. If only it was so easy for me!
  Pea, sand, and light in men, he chanted.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  It made no sense. Was the pea symbolic of the hollowness of existence? Did sand represent the transience of life? Was light the fading illusion of control?
  Master Daizen said Basho would find peace and enlightenment from his mantra. So far he’d found nothing but a sore tongue.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.
  Pea, sand, and light in men.