His Holiness, Walmart SuperCenter

Several years ago SuperK and I visited Kyoto, Japan, sort of a Walmart SupeCenter of Buddhist teaching, thought, and history.  We talked to a local who advised us to steer clear of the temple complexes that were the most popular - and most crowded - and to visit a few of second tier places.  It was great advice.  We stumbled into one temple where we were almost alone.  We started to walk through, pausing at a really beautiful Zen garden.  I don't know shit about Zen gardens.  I find them very calming, very centering, even though I never knew why.  As we stood there one of the volunteers or employees or students came over and asked if she could help.  Her English wasn't great but it was a lot better than our Japanese.  She explained what the different areas of the garden represented in a way that opened our eyes to a different level of beauty and understanding of what we were seeing.  It wasn't just someone tossing a couple of stones and plants in an area and then dumping sand on it, raking it around in a vague and indeterminate manner.  This woman then accompanied us through the different areas of the temple.  She would talk a little, then stand with us, patiently, until we wanted to move on.  She was very calming, very centering.

After we completed our circuit she waved off any tip and melted into the background.  In the lobby there was a Japanese Buddhist monk sitting behind some rickety looking tables which were covered with books about - I must assume - Buddhism.  They were in Japanese, a language way at the top of all of the languages I don't understand.  Those letters are purely hallucinogenic.  I don't even think people who can read Japanese can read that stuff.  This older monk - right out of central casting with the shaved head and orange robe and sandaled feet - smiled at us as we lingered and said: "I think that right now you are the happiest couple in the world."

My bullshit alarm went off stridently.  I'm a cynical Westerner who just assumed that this man who lives a spartan life in a spartan building was trying to hustle me for a couple of pamphlets.  We took a few minutes to chat with him about nothing that I can remember and I bought a little Japanese-looking booklet which he then opened up to jot down some hieroglyphics on the inside cover.  

That book is now filled with quotations and comments and thoughts that have accumulated over the years and it's sitting on the corner of my desk, a place of honor in the Seaweed Desk Hierarchy.  Today, I don't think that crafty monk was bullshitting us.  I think he dialed in to the good energy that was wafting off of us after that amazing, inspirational tour we had just finished.

I'm assuming he wrote something kind in Japanese in my book.  But I would enjoy it even more if he written down something like "another piece of shit booklet made in China sold to another guillable asshole American. "  That would be, like, really great.