It’s buddha’s b’day on sunday [post-edit: sunday-week] and so this is a good time to be asking yourself, “do I have enough buddha merch at hand?”, and if not, start with this WWBD? tee, then go see your local vendor for the beads and the rest.
I think it’s going to be a big deal. Mr.Monk’s been hoppin’ to it double time, and the rest of the posse including the old lady next door seem to be out and on it a lot more. The lanterns are up, and sure, I might stop by the ghetto in the morning, but the real gig’s on up the hill. They gonna have a concert with Savage Garden playing. They got a big stone carved arhat there. I was there friday, someone had left him a packet of chips.
Here’s a buddhist story on studpidness which I can relate to.
There’s buddha gear shops in the metropolis too — I’ve seen grey, Indian dalai lama-style pith helmets … I want a pith helmet but it has to be white, WHITE, wot eh mm? To go with the safari shirt my tailor is making for me. It’s not extravagant, I’m still working on my work-wardrobe, and am desperately searching for ways to not tuck my shirt in. Particular in summer, which it has rapidly become.
I’m reading the as-seen-on-TV, old Eastern classic, Monkey, as retold by David Kherdian. It’s really good i.e. funny and interesting. He lives in The Water Cutain Cave, in the Blessed Land of Flower Mountain. I love that name.
‘Furious, Natha cried, “Change!” whereupon he was transformed into a ferocious deity with three heads and six arms. His hands held six weapons: a monster-slashing sword, a monster-hacking scimitar, a monster-binding rope, a monster-quelling club, an embroidered ball, and a fire wheel. Brandishing these weapons, he charged Monkey.
“So you’ve a trick or two up your sleeve,” Monkey said.
“Well, have a look at this!” Shouting, “Change!” Monkey turned into a demon with three heads and six arms. His cudgel had become three cudgels, and grabbing each with two hands, he engaged Natha in an earth-shaking, mountain-trembling battle. They flew through the air like meteors and clashed like lightning, each parry and blow a thunderclap, with sparks flashing across the skies like shooting stars.’