Zennist injured after making terrible shampoo choice.
Oooooh, "Zen".... sexy word.
What does it promise with its tantalizing zing of stripped-down Eastern sophistication? An exotic experience; a psychological trip; a cure to how I currently am; an insight into the mysteries of the Orient; an attractive enigmatic philosophy that no one can disagree with (or quite agree with); a powerful and effective New Me who will never look back, never doubt and never fear; an updated version of myself that I can lord over the deluded masses grovelling at my feet; something to believe in, and identify with/by, that will console me..?
If 'it' is working at all it'll disappoint in all these regards again and again, although, in doing so (and if I can continue to take it's bitter pill), maybe it can be said to have some faltering purpose.
I don't believe in Zen. I don't practice Zen. It seems to me, at this stage, that it's more often a load of less-than-useless latter day psychobabble employed to bolster people who have, and want to maintain, personality disorders and/or stagey quasi-religious guru personas. That may be a big part of 'its' attraction.
And, to end on a positive note, I'm glad to say that sitting on a cushion is actually just exactly sitting on a cushion. So there will always be that option of not getting caught up in the squalid little misery industries that have sprung up around that rather attractive and intoxicating word 'Zen'.