emptying the cup

The long tail stretch of the Chicago winter hooks deep into the days of March and April that most folks know as Spring, and empties every last reserve of hope that the world might turn green again.

These days remind me of the teacup koan; of the emptying:

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Yes, Winter: We are empty now.

Please: May we have some Spring?

offering.

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

—Zen Koan

I suspect, too, the economy of gifting is like this: emptying out our pockets, pouring out our hearts, making way for more.

zazen

I'd pimp this piece even if it hadn't been designed by one of my favorite artists. But it was, so even better.

Aidan Olive is the stage name for the fabulously talented collective of Aric Mayer and Marni Saling -- two recent emigrants from Brooklyn who have returned to their early home in the Pacific NW.

Now settled into Bellingham, WA, outside of Seattle, they've introduced the Zen Bench as the first item in a line of promised pieces.

Modern lines. Designed to survive the ages. (So want this one.)

via aidan olive