Zen and the Art of Self Maintenance (not to be taken seriously)

In this life I have spent countless hours cleaning the windscreen of this obscured mind and I feel at last, it is more than the windscreen wipers that need replacing.

There is no garage and no mechanic needed. Neither is it available to me anymore, simply even to buy another windscreen. No. The whole car has to go. Even a Tesla cannot save me from what I myself must do, despite the fact that there are more and more ‘recharge’ stations springing up everywhere, to give the self more green credentials and satisfy some angry schoolgirl.

Zen, as you may know, is the very antithesis of self maintenance. It is the thing that is done by what I call myself. In these very pluralistic, post-modern times when, “I am right” and my outrage is much more important than the facts, it is a statement of rebellion to really take responsibility for my delusions and to own up to the wholesomeness of not knowing. That state of being, that is really the most honest of states, a place of listening without the projection of the protected self, that like the Corona Virus has so many sites of attachment and is very infectious. Indeed, a virologist of the self should be in high demand.

But then, what do I know?