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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Saturday, June 22, 2024
Andy meditating

Embracing Zen, the angry way

I’m becoming a Zen master.  

You’re probably thinking, “Yeah, OK, Andy, keep on believing there’s a well-tempered bone in your alcohol-guzzling, sailor-mouthed, cheeseburger-slamming, cig-sucking existence.” And to that, I say FUCK OFF.

See, the Zen thing is simple. Wikipedia says all it really takes is a clear head and a willingness to learn from someone who has already achieved a state of enlightenment. But I’m just skipping both of those steps because, let’s be honest, that sounds, like, super boring.   

The only thing about becoming a Zen master that’s pissing me off a bit at the moment is the tear-jerking slowness of the entire process. I wish I could just pay somebody to give me a piece of paper stating my qualifications. If only everything was like college…

I mean, as a results-oriented individual, the only thing I really care about is what people are going to think of me when I can finally look them in the eyes and exclaim, “I AM A ZEN MASTER NOW!!! SUCK IT!!!” They will probably burst into tears. Or maybe, their heads will explode when I use The Force™ on their grotesquely inferior minds. I think that moment of absolute domination is what us masters call “nirvana.”  

I’ve been getting a lot of  “hate” mail from people who frequent the local meditation centers. Apparently they don’t approve of my using Bluetooth during sessions. But you know what? If you were really apt in the art of meditation, my occasionally heated (and excessively vulgar) conversations wouldn’t bother you, would they? Hell, I remember one day, I was chatting with my financial adviser when he told me my account just took a 12 percent hit. And I swear, even though I should have unloaded the insult vault onto the numbskull, all I did was call him a “good-for-nothing, rat-tongued, diarrhea-brained, pathetic, soon-to-be-unemployed fraud,” with a mid-decibel shriek. Despite being nowhere near full volume, some rogue projectile spittle may or may not have unfortunately touched down on the neck of the lotus-positioned woman in front of me. I’ve never seen a faster transition from “Om” to “My husband can make people disappear.” I guess not everyone gets that you can’t achieve success without causing other people stress.

Many centuries ago, Lao Tzu said, “Knowing others is wisdom, knowing yourself is Enlightenment.” 

Ripped that off Brainy Quote—and it made me realize that updating my Facebook profile at least six times every hour really does build character.  

In about half of my Google Images searches, the Buddha has a plump belly. So in order to imitate his greatness to the best of my ability, I plan to maintain a 9,000-calorie diet for the next three months. My main source of sustenance will be bacon-wrapped, double-deep-fried chicken (that means you fry the chicken, wrap it in bacon and then fry it again). I’m currently dipping my B.W.D.D.F.C. in a special 60/30/10 ranch-dressing/cheese-whiz/maple syrup hybrid sauce. But if you douse your B.W.D.D.F.C. in something different, I’d love to swap recipes.

You know, back before I decided to become a Zen master, I would spend the overwhelming majority of my time reading meta anything, writing poetry in complex, discretely sequenced cadences, observing nature so closely my consciousness would occasionally transcend itself, sometimes even flirting with the essence of God, or conversing on the merits of a post-modern mindset in comparison to more antiquated ideals. What a fucking waste of time. 

Now I just feel totally centered as a self promoting, fast-food-out-the-car-window throwing, ivory-collecting, Wild Turkey-drinking, wedding-crashing, plotline-spoiling (Snape kills Dumbledore), last-piece-eating, F-bomb-dropping ego maniac. And if you can’t appreciate the Zen in that, well, that’s your problem. 

I hope you may find peace in all your frivolous pursuits. 

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