Zen and Riding, Cooking and Being

I have been a motorcycle rider since I was 16 years old. The first bike was really a scooter and as I progressed to bigger machines, I got married and had kids. And like so many others, I gave up riding for concern I would be hurt and could not support the family. 20 years later, fresh off a divorce I rediscovered this lost love. For nine years I have been riding again and it always relaxes me and gives me pleasure.

After losing my job, I began a study of Zen to see if it could help cope with depression and "ground" me. I came to the section on meditation. I could not see myself sitting still and quieting my mind. But the book I am using as my guide, Zen Living, talks about walking meditation and eventually achieving that state constantly in your life. While riding in Kentucky on one of my trips late this summer, I was struck by the notion that I do know how to meditate, at least during one activity. For me, riding a motorcycle is Zen. It provides a focused, in-the-moment experience that clears my mind of the dukkha (suffering, dissatisfaction, fear) life so frequently provides us. I was meditating during my riding by focusing on the ride. It explains another aspect of my riding I could never quite understand. A lot of riders listen to music during the ride, to relieve boredom during long, uninteresting parts. I always found it distracting. And between picking quality rides, and the sheer fun of riding, I never felt the need for music. But more than that, it intruded into the Zen of the moment. The oneness with the ride.

With the coming of the winter of '09-'10 we receive the most snowfall on record. My lovely bikes (I have three) sit in the garage, hooked to the battery charger, like patients on life support. And I am, too, like a patient needing life support. Trying to be a good house husband, I began relieving my working wife of the burden of the house work. I started by cleaning the kitchen. Then doing grocery shopping. Finally, it stuck me! Try cooking.

Having been raised by a mother whose idea of good cooking was roasting a chicken until it was desiccated, I have no role model to emulate. But now being a veteran of watching hundreds of episodes of cooking shows, I am armed with techniques, philosophy and, thanks to the Spanish chef José Andrés, love of the gelatinous mass inside a tomato.

I started in my usual way, amassing ingredients, reading the recipe, rushing into the fray. And the results were.....OK. No culinary disasters. As I gained some confidence, I realized that perhaps some Zen need to be applied. I forced myself to relax and focus on the moment. I watched sauces thicken, onions go from white to translucent, to caramelized. I read internet recipes trying to decide on the right approach from each, as almost none agreed to ingredients. I applied some management techniques to make the dinner arrive at the table all together. Using the critical path method, I determined the longest item, and approximate completion time, and then staggered the other elements back from that so my potatoes would be ready to mash, not too soon before the chicken was done. The cooking become more enjoyable, less stressful and far more successful.

As with my approach to vehicle maintenance, I use the tools I own, not purchasing anything extra unless I am significantly hampered by its lack. This is Zen, also. The tactile feel of the tools, using them creatively, not desiring the latest, greatest gadget (the Second Noble Truth of Buddhism is suffering is caused by desire) are part of the creative process of cooking. And with ingredients it is much the same. I have tried to follow recipes to the letter. But where I am lacking an ingredient, I choose the best substitute I can, usually with the help of internet advice. I let go the idea things need to be exactly as written, because tastes, cultures, and availability of items all have contributed to the millions of recipes that exist.

The cooking experience, even more than the motorcycle riding, has contributed to a real sense of being for me. One can share a ride (although one's spouse may not be happy not in control), but it is not a complete experience unless you ride your own ride. Cooking's result is shared, and even the creation can be, as well. Watching others consume the results, good or bad, connects you with others. And that is an important aspect I am trying to achieve.

An introduction

Robert Pirsig's book has lead to other books, articles, various jokes, and catch phrases based on the line: Zen and the Art of...........

In the beginning of the book, he claims that it is not about Zen, nor motorcycle maintenance. I have read it three times. Sometimes I believe I understand what he was trying to present. Sometimes it is elusive.

I think it does talk about Zen concepts, and certainly covers some motorcycle maintenance.

In July, 2009 I was lost my job through a series of interesting events perpetrated by others including bankruptcy, greed, mismanagement and unethical behavior. I was escorted by a deputy sheriff through, by my choice, the back door of the building to become free of the military industrial complex.

I began my "retirement" by working in the hot sun of summer rebuilding my deck, then a bathroom, fixing household items, starting to learn to cook, and serving as house husband. In between I have ridden my motorcycle or if the weather does not permit, my truck to Chicago to visit my family, and other points around the Mid-West and South.

I began an inquiry into Judaism, and then Zen. I admit this not a spiritual pursuit, just an intellectual one. I am trying to understand others appreciation for these two areas, one because of my heritage, the other to try and relieve depression in a less than chemically adjusted manner.

In the next entries to this blog I am going to comment on many things I am learning. Or ones I have learned from years in industry. Or ones that come from other life experiences. The labels I have chosen for this post are mostly the subjects areas I will be presenting or pondering.