strangereality151

I left the house without a coat for the first time in seven months. Spring was out in full force in the churchyard beside the bus stop. The trees were in leaf, the flowers in bloom; the very gravestones were newly invigorated.

I lit a cigarette and looked back down the road. No sign of my bus yet. I have been reading a collection of Zen writings. Zen asserts the impermanence of all things, and draws what is a logical conclusion: Nothing really exists.

This is a ludicrous assertion to the rational mind. "Of course things exist; look, here is a table, here is a chair; if you punch it, your fist will hurt and you will hear a noise; therefore existence exists."

Truth is not obscure, not concealed: it is the most obvious datum of reality. Something in plain view is invisible to those who believe it to be hidden. There is no need to conceal something that nobody is looking for.

The bus came - bus #2048 of my life. There was nobody else on it. The driver wore mirrored sunglasses. Two reflections of me dropped two bus fares into two ticket machines; behind me two churchyards began to vanish as the bus accelerated. I sat down and opened my book.