ZEN AND THE ART OF SLACK
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by James "Kibo" Parry

My mantra is "mantra, dammit".
    As I sit here on my zafu (that's a Zen meditation pillow stuffed
with tofu), I reach satori even though I live downstairs from the
demolition derby rink.
    I feel a oneness with the itch in my first chakra. I feel a oneness
with the Pet Rock I used to own. I feel a twoness with myself.
    I realize that everything is either something or a hole in
something. Or, perhaps, everything is one big hole and the somethings
are holes within the hole. I shift my weight imperceptibly and the zafu
makes a fart noise.
    Upstairs, two old Trans Ams, surplus from "Knight Rider", collide.
    I can hear the sound of my blood moving through my inner ears. I
realize that everything which exists is made up of little dots arranged
in diagonal rows. A cockroach runs across the floor and into my zafu.
    I realize that "Bob"'s teeth are clenched and his Pipe is not
between them. The teeth are joined and the Pipe ends in front of them.
His nose casts a shadow on the Pipe and the Pipe casts a shadow on his
chin but they do not touch. I have reached enfuckinglightenment!
    As I nearly fall off my zafu, it farts again, blowing the cockroach
into the next room.

        There once was a novice monk named Bho Zho who asked the master,
    "Does a house burn up or burn down?"
        The master set fire to the novice's house, after taking all his
    money. As the house burned both up and down, the novice was
    enlightened.

    I bow to the Sacred Halftone Print of "Bob" to thank him for the
enlightenment. As I do so, "Bob"'s face shimmers and blurs before my
face. All I see is the Dots but not the Smile. All I see is the Smile
without the Dots. I see both. I see neither. I see the hair of Desi
Arnaz, the eyes and mouth of Pee-wee Herman, the jaw of Jay Leno all
combined in a blender: "Bob".
    "Bob" is before me and I am "Bob" and yesterday is tomorrow and I
am the walrus mama dada googoo chihuahuahuahua ommmmmmmmm
    "Yo! Yo! Stop with the satoiri already!" "Bob" steps out of the
picture, slaps me, and pours himself a Dr Pepper. He sits on my zafu,
which makes a sound like a tuba. I sit on a tatami which is beginning
to sprout. "Bob" looks me in the eye.
    "Cool it with the meditation, guy, it's dull. It's `Bosom Buddies'
without the laughtrack. It's the sound of one lip chapping. It's a
bicycle riding a fish, a steamroller being run over by a birthday cake.
It just doesn't compare to the fun stuff, especially sex."
    I avoid meeting "Bob"'s gaze as I whisper, "He who claims someone
does not have Buddha-nature has no Buddha-nature."
    "Hey, it's easier to say `Slack' than `Buddha-nature', you know. Or
`swellness'. They're all the same thing. You're on a true path to
enlightenment, but true paths have true dirt and true mosquitoes... false
paths are much better. Give me your money now."
    "I have no money, just one zafu, one tatami, my oryoki, this setsu
stick, an inflatable Buddha, a tofu log, all three "Sweatin' to the
Oldies" tapes,  a disposable zabuton, a pile of bulk miso, my
Zen-to-English dictionary..."
    "AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE!" "Bob" waggles his eyebrows and
smiles. "But seriously, pal, I'll take it all and pretend it's cash
equivalent.  Hey, after I take your zafu, I'll even give you a receipt.
Get it? Re-seat!"
    "Bob" packs all my worldly possessions into his seemingly
bottomless pockets and he leads me out of the monastery. Milliseconds
later, a black Trans Am falls through the ceiling, crashing right where
we had been sitting. It yells insults at us as we walk to the pebble
garden.

        "This eggplant in my pocket is like an elephant," said Bhoddyohdor.
        "Yet this elephant in my pocket is like a pair of wax lips,"
    replied Tai Dhee Bhoul.
        Just then, Master Rhais Ahroni strolled past. "Tell us," begged
    Bhoddyohdor and Tai Dhee Bhoul, "Is the eggplant like the elephant
    which is like the wax lips, or should we just go watch sitcoms all
    day?"
        The master ate the eggplant, shot the elephant, and got germs on
    the wax lips. The novices were not enlightened. The master laughed.

    "Bob" is using my rake to draw Snoopy in my pebble garden. "So,
Kibo, why the heck do you have all these pebbles filling up a perfectly
good wading pool?"
    "Raking the pebbles is a task which accomplishes nothing. The goal
is to clear the mind by doing nothing."
    "Um, hey, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't `doing nothing' doing
something? So by doing nothing, you're doing something, therefore
you're not accomplishing the nothing in the first place! You can't not
do anything."
    He is clearly suffering from Buddha called dhiarrhea of the mouth.
I say, "You have Bozo-nature."
    "Of course. Because if I said I were not a bozo, I would be proving
myself to be a bozo! Now, are you a bozo?"
    At that moment, the enlightenment clears from my mind and I devolve
to a lower plane of being. "Bob" congratulates me by giving me a wig
like his. We go out for a beer.

        "What is the meaning of this story?" asked the novice. "Also, what
    is the sound of one hand clapping, and what's a zabuton? Why does Fox
    cancel all its shows every season? And why the hell does your Pipe's
    stem hover a quarter-inch in front of your mouth?"
        "Slack," said the master. "Pure, unadulterated slack. But I lie."
        At that moment, the novice dropped dead before finishing this sto

