Doraku-An Zen-Dojo

I have never in my life heard anyone playing the shakuhachi like this. A tune the master produced on his bamboo flute came from far away and long ago. He never said a word too much, and the tea-time before our lessons often was a silent, speech-less distress during which I desperately tried to find the one or other topic for conversation.

“So, bitte spielen Sie!” (so, please play) and “Ja, noch einmal!” (yes, once more) were probably the two phrases I heard most from him. Some lessons passed without much more than “So, bitte spielen Sie!” followed by two or three “Ja, noch einmal!”. He played a tune, I copied to the best of my limited abilities.

For ten years month after month I visited him, either for a private lesson at his home in northern Germany or during his regular class near the Bavarian Alps, each a day-trip away from my home. Learning the shakuhachi required lots of commuting to these locations, one with its low sky, rough winds and the nearby salty sea in the air, one with the sight of majestic snow covered mountains. Playing a tune from his hand-written music scores on the flute he once made for me always evokes images in my mind of the surrounding nature where I once studied with him. And though it should imitate the sound of a bell ringing in the empty sky, I can hear the sea and the wind in the snowy mountains as well.

The way my former teacher expressed himself was mainly through his shakuhachi, which in ancient Japan was exclusively played by the Komuso Monks while begging for alms, and sometimes used as a weapon to defend themselves. For him, it never became a musical instrument amongst others, the way we nowadays usually listen to the shakuhachi. His Kyotaku is a tool for meditation, for practising Suizen (吹禅), or “blwoing Zen”.

Ikkei Handa passed away on 1. October 2014.

Writing with brush and ink is my passion. I was drawn into this art about three decades ago, and the fascination never ever ceased. The very moment my ink loaded brush touches the paper I feel beyond time and space. Something occurs, but it is not me. Not me drawing a line, not me trying to produce a pleasant calligraphy.

Sometimes I feel all those artists whose work I had studied standing behind me, guiding my brush. Their breath, their hand, their vision is leaving it’s trace on the paper. After the calligraphy is completed, usually in one breath, I feel happy and exhausted … and looking at it, I hardly ever think it is “my work”.

I have always been lacking an appropriate expression to describe in a word or two what it feels for me to write calligraphy. Until a few days ago, when I read in my favourite book (1) about the artist Atsuko Watanabe. She is quoted therein to motivate her students in a workshop saying “書いてもらう” (kaite morau) … which can only approximately be translated by “let’s receive the painting/writing”.

Yes, 書いてもらいます! I receive the writing I then transfer to the paper with brush and ink. Only when the results looks awkwardly clumsy, I am to be blamed. That regularly happens when I want to write nicely.

If it comes out really well, it wasn’t me!

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(1) A. Couturier, “A Different Kind of Luxury: Japanese Lessons in Simple Living and Inner Abundance”. If I had to name just one book illustrating how to live a happy and fulfilled life, it would be this one.

Autumn came with grey sky, and this early morning when I left for Zazen it was only seven degrees. I decided to switch on the Dojo’s central heating system for an hour, since some visitors recently complained about sitting in the cold.

Thinking of my winter Zazen experience in an unheated Temple in Japan, I remember it was a bit hard in the beginning to get adjusted. With some warm cloth and realising the ability of our human body to produce all warmth that is necessary I eventually really enjoyed it. Facing a beautiful Zen garden we even had the sliding doors open for sitting closer with nature, the gently falling snow almost touching our skin.

When I lead Sesshin at a huge luxurious seminar place in Bavaria we practise in a nicely heated room, the thick walls of the former medieval monastery perfectly insulate us from the surrounding nature. It is a real challenge not to fall asleep in the warm stuffy air, and the sound-scape produced by the heating and all the other technical systems operating the house evoke a spaceship-like atmosphere at times.

Switching on my Dojo’s heating this morning felt like switching off the opportunity to experience Zazen with nature: hot in summer, cold in winter.

Yet, this pampered way is often our Western Zen, custom-made for us saturated middle class consumers. If not the quest to further improve and optimise our performance, some vague feeling of dissatisfaction, some wish to change our life drives us to the door of a Zen Dojo. Though instead of searching and finding a place to truly experience ourselves, we end up in just another comfortably heated room wasting our time.

I get the impression some more industrious Zen entertainers are well aware of that problem and fill the comfortable boredom with many kinds of entertaining nonsense: a catwalk of fashionable Japanese style Zen-clothing, talks and performances functioning like some kind of emotional central heating, or an overshoot of ceremonies are on display.

More than ever I feel the humble Zen experience I have to offer does not meet the expectations of the people frequenting my Dojo. These autumn days I decided to relocate to a more secluded place, unheated, in the midst of nature.

Occasionally I follow discussions on the world wide web concerning the one or other well known Zen teacher. Brian Daizen Victoria for example performs a tremendous, widely and controversial discussed research work on the role Japanese Buddhists played during World War II (1). What I find interesting in such discussion is not in the first place the evaluation of the detailed amount of shame and guilt outstanding Buddhist representatives loaded on their shoulders. I wonder more which motivation drive such a person’s defenders, seasoned Zen practitioners and scholars who often see themselves in the lineage of the teacher in question.

My former teacher, as well as the Zen Master by whom I was ordained, were both direct students of Omori Sogen Roshi. I follow Sogen’s way of Zen by practising and teaching Zazen together with Hitsuzendo (Zen Calligraphy) and Martial Arts, namely Aikiken (Aikido practise with the wooden sword). I consider myself very lucky for having had the chance to learn from disciples of a great Master who integrated three of my major passions into his teaching.

Yet I have all evidence to believe Brian Victoria is simply right when he concludes “I submit that Sogen was nothing short of a “Zen-enabled terrorist” dedicated to establishing a fascist state in Japan (…)” (2).

This severe conflict is fuelling my work and inspiration, it leaves no doubt for me that I have to investigate and question and possibly re-interpret if not re-model each and every detail of what I have learned. No way I simply quote “The Master” or refer to “Japanese Tradition” in order to underpin my thinking and doing. In my own modest day to day Zen work, which I perform in the lineage of Omori Sogen, I am for sure quite the opposite of a fascist Zen-enabled terrorist, or apologist of such a person’s way of thinking.

Do we need to believe our teacher(‘s teacher) was perfect? Should we even wish for it? I don’t think so. My former teacher often said “better not so perfect teacher, so the student can excel his teacher one day”, and “closely study advantage and disadvantage of your teacher”. Such a point of view keeps a healthy distance to the idealised image of a perfect and flawless Master, and it also might prevent us from entering exhausting discussions in defence of the indefensible.

By and by in the course of our limited life span we have to grow up and become independent of those who once guided our steps. It is not necessary we carry on their heavy loads on our own back, until the end of our days. It is not appropriate we refer to their heavy load each and every time we are questioned for our ways and proof of whereabouts. Is it not our duty to keep the rucksack light, by carefully examining each and every heirloom our spiritual ancestors left behind?

Re-iterating the faults and de-tours of our teachers is not following the way they taught us. After I learned my lesson from their good and bad example, it is my obligation to neither re-do nor defend their mistakes and crimes! In this life, I have to go My Way … and happily admit it adds a new twist to the lineage I do my best to continue.

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(1) See, e.g., Brian Victoria, Zen at War, Rowman & Littlefield Publishers (2nd edition, 2006) or recent articles published on-line in the Asia-Pacific Journal.
(2) Brian Victoria on Sep. 8th, 2014 in a reply to the discussion of his article “The Non-Self as a Killer” on Sweeping Zen.

 

Very different people come to my Sesshin and Dojo, and a few of them have studied much more things, met many more teachers than I ever will. Often the exchange concerning their experience is really interesting. Some have worked with great teachers I only know from the one or other book I read during my student times. Karlfried Graf Dürckheim, Nagaya Tetsuo, Tanahshi Kazuaki … these masters once laid out the map for my own spiritual journey, and I feel touched now working with students who have actually met them.

Some other visitors introduce themselves with “I practise Yoga and Tai-Chi, and I am green belt in XYZ-Do”, “I was a Tibetan Buddhist but now I do Soto-Zen, but actually I am more a Daoist”, “I am Reiki-Master and traditional healer and my inspiration is a lot from North American Indians”, “My Master is the famous …  you haven’t heard of him? Btw., last year I met the Dalai Lama and Thich Nath Hanh”.

A maze of Ways, so many prominent names … a spiritual bag so over-full. I feel dizzy, after just a few minutes casual introduction.

Compared to these guests, my own focus is pretty narrow. I worked with just one Aikido teacher, and with his students. Only occasionally I attended seminars with other disciples of Ueshiba Morihei, the founder of Aikido: Tamura Nobuyoshi, Yamaguchi Seigo, Asai Katsuaki were great inspirations … though all I really wanted to practice was the Aikido of  Kobayashi Hirokazu. The same with Zen and Hitsuzendo: after some initial random-walk, I worked for 13 years with just one teacher. Now I exchange occasionally with another Master, who was my former teacher’s senior at Sogen Omori‘s temple.

I believe there is nothing one can really learn in a few week-end seminars, during a year or two visiting some teacher maybe once or twice a week, or from seeing a spiritual celebrity once in your life. Maybe one can pick up a few ideas, names, phrases … but isn’t all that superficial study nowadays anyway much easier with google and youtube?

When Thich Nath Hanh once came to the city where I lived as a student, I preferred to go to the daily Aikido class instead of joining a “walking meditation” organised with the prominent visitor. I was sure to benefit more from the day to day encounter with my own local teacher. Actually, I would have felt guilty not attending his class and spend time with someone else instead.

Very much I enjoy the experience of studying more than just one Way, one art. In this point a disagree with my former Shakuhachi teacher, who condemned any practise besides playing the bamboo flute (and even working to earn money for paying his lessons seemed not o.k.). I don’t believe in a too narrow focus, in the one thing. Yet, studying a Way or several Ways is a life-long journey asking for a dedicated daily practice. Nothing worthwhile which can be picked up on the go. The first ten years, the first 3650 hours you are a beginner, regardless what you do. After this initial period, the time of serious study begins …

When my former teacher occasionally was entitled “Zen Master” by visitors, he usually replied, “I am not a Zen Master, not even a janitor” (“Hausmeister” in German, which literally translates “house master”). Sometimes people inviting him to teach a Sesshin wrote “Roshi” on the advertisement poster, which he cheekily translated for us 浪師 into Japanese, taking the first character 浪 from the word “Ronin“, known as the master-less or unemployed samurai roaming feudal period Japan. Roshi, the “travelling teacher”.

I closely studied and worked with him for thirteen years and never ever considered to quit because he was not an “officially certified Roshi” … all the years I was sure he is the best teacher I could find.

I don’t have much confidence in titles or ranks handed down from one person to another. If there was only one of them in the past going wrong, an ever growing avalanche of “wrong heirs” inevitably follows. Just imagine passing on a driving license would be allowed to everyone holding one …

In an ideal world, all titles and ranks (if required at all in an ideal world) should be issued exclusively through institutions governed by a group of peers, in order to provide a minimum of control. In the real world for example, I cannot “transmit” my PhD (the highest academic rank one can acquire) to anyone, even when I am fully convinced my best and most dedicated student deserves it. It is the faculty alone who can do so, following certain well defined rules. And the whole process is transparent and public.

What then is handed down or transmitted in a Zen-Buddhist context from teacher to student? It is the Dharma, of course. Though, quite opposite to a contemporary reading of so called tradition, I understand the “Dharma transmission” as an ongoing process, beginning the day the novice decides to study with a certain teacher. A process, which continues even after one’s teacher passed away (physically or emotionally in the student’s heart) and which doesn’t end with one’s own death, in case there is a next generation of students one accompanies.

For the individual, Dharma transmission is a life-long exchange with our spiritual ancestors. It never occurs “just once”, and it is never completed … what a nonsense idea is it to certify such thing! What would you say if I’d consider to certify the river behind my Dojo is ever flowing?

I don’t believe the image of a “light transmitted from candle to candle” is very appropriate to illustrate “Dharma transmission”. The transmission is maybe much better understood as a thick long rope, made up of uncountable interwoven short thin strings. The longer the overlap between the individual strings, the stronger the rope is. And never ever an individual string supports the rope as a whole.

It might be assuring for the novice student to learn the teacher’s teacher had enough confidence into his or her insight and abilities to issue some kind of teaching license. Though, what does that really proof? In the worst case nothing more than that my old teacher misjudged me? That he maybe had gone a bit senile in his old days? Or that he hoped to strengthen ties between us, possibly for his own benefit? What does my own teaching license proof, beyond the fact that my teacher, at a certain moment in our life, believed it was a good idea to certify that in his eyes I am qualified to teach?

My former Aikido teacher, Kobayashi Hirokazu, never performed any examination or gave any ranks or titles to his students (1). He used to say “what I give you are the pearls, it is your task to make a necklace out of it!”. That was all we got from him, and it was plenty enough!

If there was not such a hype concerning “Zen Master” or “Roshi” titles in the community – titles, sometimes supporting old abusive men or half-baked part-time Zen-teachers (2) who would have most likely been out of business before long if they did not “hold” (and potentially one day “hand down”, of course…) such titles – I wouldn’t even care to write these few lines. I never trusted or mistrusted a spiritual companion because of being a certified “Master” or “Roshi” or not, it plays absolutely no role. Thinking about it any longer I feel is a waste of time … time, better spent transmitting the Dharma.

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(1) I witnessed several discussions on the graduation topic and the associated issue of forming an organisation with Kobayashi Sensei. Clearly I do remember he always strictly refused to support such plans. Instead, he provided official Dan certificates issued from Aikikai upon his recommendation to everyone who asked him for such favour (including people he did neither know by name nor face). Said that, also with Kobayshi Sensei there is a story about graduation and mandate to form an organisation issued on his death bed. I don’t know, I was not on his side when he passed away.

(2) This is even more obvious considering how significantly the meaning behind “Dharma transmission” differs between Soto- and Rinzai-Zen:
In Soto-Zen “Dharma transmission” (shiho) is about equivalent to a Bachelor’s degree in academia. It is a prerequisite for acquiring the lowest rank within the Soto-Shu‘s system and does not even qualify one to teach. Nevertheless, in the West Soto-Zen students with “Dharma transmission” occasionally sell themselves as “Zen Master”, boldly ignoring the meaning of shiho in the context of the Japanese system they received it.
In Rinzai-Zen, a “Dharma transmission” (inka shomei) is equivalent to being awarded a Nobel Prize. Only 50 to 80 properly certified Rinzai Zen Masters with inka shomei do exist in Japan, it is a process which requires decades of dedicated studies within the system (notably, to successfully complete working through a huge collection of Koan).

The house of my Dojo used to be a shop long time ago, so I have the chance to put some decoration in the “shopping window”. People passing by often stop and look, and sometimes share their opinions with each other, or with me if I’m near the door.

Often men explain to the wife or girlfriend at their side the “Meaning of Zen” while both are looking at the window. It’s interesting to hear what “the man on the street” all knows about that subject! Once a Chinese lady came in and asked in surprise how comes that I am writing “ancient Chinese”, but she assured me she can read it all. What a relief!

I am happy many like to watch my Dojo’s window, maybe they feel touched by the simple beauty of a single flower next to some calligraphy? Some passers-by even promise to come to the Zen class and ask for the schedule. Alas, most of them never came back …

Though, not everyone seems equally pleased. Every now and then someone wonders why this “Chinese Restaurant” has no menu on display. An international group of scientists, maybe on their way back from a conference dinner to the hotel, let me know (without being asked) they really have something better to do than “sitting around doing nothing”. Last week a man came to my door, just to tell me that he is not interested in “esoteric and such” … glad to know!

I really love the children’s comments. They are often attracted by the huge calligraphy brush hanging in the window. A few weeks ago a little girl watched the flower vase for almost two minutes, and then, all in her thoughts, said “I love that little flower!”. A young boy was so disappointed his father could not read what was written on the calligraphy “I really want to know!”.  This morning when I practised Hitsuzendo after Zazen class, mother and child hand in hand passed by, maybe on the way to kindergarten. The kid pulled back “I also want to paint, please, mummy!”.

It is my fantasy maybe, but I imagine the children’s’ open eyes can see much clearer what I am doing at my Dojo. A glimpse into another world, on the way from the playground to the ice-cream shop, a promise of exciting adventures and yet-to-discover mystery and beauty. We adults, of course, already know: “In there, they shut up and sit on a pillow and just breathe, for hours, because they want to get enlightened or such. I don’t need that!”. What a pity, too late …

In the shop of the Musée national des arts asiatiques Guimet I discovered this Summer a new edition of Okakkura Kazuo’s famous “Book of Tea” (茶の本). There do exist countless editions and translations of this classic, including (copyright-)free versions on the web. This new French edition I saw in Paris caught my interest, because on the title-page a Zen-circle (Enso) was printed. Not just a random one, but one painted by my former Zen- and calligraphy teacher. An Enso, for which he never ever issued the copyright to anyone.

Earlier this year I wrote in my article Circles and Copies about the many copies and modifications of this very Enso one can find in the world wide web. This shameful collection is not only a visual proof of how little respect certain people who like to adorn themselves with borrowed plumes of Zen pay to copyright issues (well, they do, kind of … most images boast a new copyright holder). The collection of more or less tasteless (mostly digital) modifications of the original artwork also strikingly demonstrate that adding anything to the simplicity and beauty of a pure hand-brushed Enso will not results in any improvement.

All this copy and paste illustrates how difficult it might be to paint just a circle by yourself: the hand-brushed Enso fully exposes the calligrapher’s heart, your mind, your understanding of Zen to everyone who puts an eye on it. Probably it is exactly this you want to avoid by using another Master’s Enso, instead of showing to the world the one you can produce yourself?

Five minutes with google gave me more than a dozen new variations, all of them based on the one original one can find here. I wonder if one day we may witness a new version of the old tale Chushingura, a version for the digital age: I imagine 47 loyal former students will share forces to claim royalties, world-wide, from everyone who abused, modified and sold the stolen Enso.

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P.S.: Let me repeat here the copyright-notice from my January 2014 article on that issue:

Just in case you found “your” artwork displayed above: before complaining or considering to take me to court for copyright infringement, maybe you think for a moment of the modest old Japanese Zen monk who provided the basis for all that … and refund him properly for his efforts. Here is the web-page with the original Enso (including original copyright notice).

The old man passed away at the holy age of 107. I never met him or much cared about his teaching, just once mentioned his obvious misconduct in this blog. I don’t want to write much more about someone who is dead, who was in jail for defrauding money and who molested so many of his female students. If you are interested in a first-hand discussion of what had happened, I recommend the article “Some Reflections on Rinzai-ji” by Giko David Rubin, published on Sweeping Zen.

What I want to understand is: why did and still do so many Zen practitioners justify and defend his actions, appreciate him as a great teacher and condemn those who criticise or rejected his behaviour. What makes someone with more or less considerable Zen experience or just a reasonable amount of common sense blind against a repeated and obvious misconduct? Why is even a discussion on all that suppressed, holding up an ideal of silently and blindfoldly following your “enlightened teacher”? A story of it’s own tells the version history of the German Wikipedia article, in which any mentioning or discussion concerning Sasaki Roshi’s behaviour was consequently erased.

Let us try to understand …

“Mr. A was an excellent mathematician, but he stole his institutes’s money and molested his female students.”
I guess most of us can agree such thing is possible, although most likely we’d wish to hear it as an explanation for the end of an otherwise successful academic career.

“Mr. B was an excellent doctor, but he stole the hospital’s money and molested his female patients.”
Maybe we can argue: being a good surgeon and having a good character is not necessarily related. But our doctor we want to trust, not just for his or her technical skills. Possibly a case which can trigger some controversy in a serious discussion?

“Ms. C was an excellent school teacher, but stole the school’s money and molested her male colleagues.” Hard to imagine a reasonable person might seriously combine “excellent school teacher” in one sentence with “steeling money” and “molesting colleagues”. I guess we would question the discerning mind of a person judging this way?

“Mr. D was an excellent priest and good Christian, but he molested his female parishioners and stole the church’s money.”  I doubt anyone would say this, just because of the very obvious inherent contradiction of what is considered as “being a priest and good Christian”, and the other activities of Mr. D.

What would we say to a person standing up in a serious defence of Mr. D being a good Christian? Someone saying “In spite of his steeling the Church’s money, in spite of molesting the female parishioners who fully trust him, he was a good Christian!”  … someone maybe arguing “His sermon was so deep and so full of insight and humanity, we cannot account his possible occasional and past misbehaviour against such great words!” … someone proclaiming “He stands so high above us all, how dare we to judge such a person’s action we hardly can understand?” .  What would you think, not of Mr. D, but of the person speaking up in his defence as a good priest and Christian?

Likely, most of us would doubt the interceder’s ability or willingness to reason, to make a responsible decision, and some of us might want to investigate his or her potential (or imagined) benefit arising from defending Mr. D.

Is the case of Sasaki Roshi’s defenders comparable to those of our imagined Mr. D?

I would argue yes, clearly! Being ordained in the Myoshinji lineage, I very well know the Ten Precepts which should have guided also Sasaki Roshi’s life. Amongst them are (in my own rendering of the ancient Japanese) “not fooling around with female”, “not taking what has not been given to you”, “not lying”, “not harming others”, and interesting enough also “not pretending a rank you do not comply with”.

Which understanding of Zen could make it possible to rationalise an obvious conflict between these percepts and steeling money or molesting students? Which Zen practice failed to see and deal with that, over decades, a Zen practice performed by ordained Westerners holding ranks, wearing Japanese cloths, living and practising in a building shaped like a Japanese Zen temple and (I assume) meticulously performing ancient traditional rituals day after day? None of this contributed to dealing with even the most obvious! Wouldn’t that be reason enough for any serious Zen practitioner  to let go all that bullshit and get back to the roots?

If it cannot be explained in a reasonable way, we may speculate the reasons for defending what is not defensible are hidden in a maze of dependency, ego (of defending ranks and positions and a life-style based on these), the fear of destroying illusions associated with a leading figure and the unwillingness to admit major parts of the own biography consist of devoting so much life-time to a teacher who might not have deserved it.

Our Zen spirit, our understanding does not reveal itself through our words, through twisted explanations turning sexual harassment into a method of teaching and it’s rebuff into a manifestation of not yet being ready to receive the teachings. Our Zen spirit reveals itself through nothing but our actions, day by day, hour by hour. Zen is not following or worshipping so called tradition or it’s representatives, it is revolution!

Let’s look forward with open eyes and join forces to protect future victims of all those Mr. D wearing robes and holy cloth (or jeans and T-shirt) pretending to hold ranks and titles they don’t comply with. May the old Zen-man and his legacy rest in peace!
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P.S. (Oct 2014): A critical reference (in German) to this article can be found here.

In March I embarked for what I thought would be my last visit to Kyoto for a very long time, maybe forever. While saying farewell to my favourite places, my friends, “my” Temple and the old Master, I thought a lot about “letting go” and the impermanence of living … it was a happy and sad two weeks of good-bye, two weeks of leaving from the first day I arrived.

Not even two months later I was back. Completely unexpected an invitation from Tohoku University made it possible to visit Japan once more, and I extended my stay with few days in Kyoto. Standing on Shijo Bridge looking up the Kamogawa towards Sanjo Bridge and the misty mountains, I felt really puzzled. Back again, so soon! How wrong was I with my expectation of not seeing again my beloved second hometown … even impermanence is not so permanent!

Zen practice helps us to deeply realise some fundamental aspects of human life, to see things as they are. This cleared view comes along with a certain danger for our mental health, when the Meal of Zen is only half digested: after leaving behind most of the big illusions we grew up with, life as it really is might appear a bit like a threadbare patchwork of unpleasant or boring circumstances, agitated by mostly unpleasant others going on our nerves with their unnecessary and weird activities. Everything good and pleasant will eventually vanish, each cup is already half empty if not broken the moment we fill it. Possibly this is a reason why intermediate Zen students may become a bit nerve wrecking companions with all their complaints about the bad world and evil others?

I am not sure if the one coffee I recently enjoyed at Les Deux Magots qualifies me for the speculation that this is the state of mind where the existentialists got stuck: a pretty clear and illusion free view of the world, a world though, which was misunderstood as permanent in all it’s misery. A perception of the world which is maybe most clearly described in the permanent hell of Sartre’s Huis Clos.

The ultimate experience of Zen is a deep realisation that nothing is fixed, not even the bad and horrible, the depressing and boring. Seeing the world as it is means seeing the world as impermanent, as ever changing. There is no fixed me and no fixed you. “L’enfer, c’est les autres” looses it’s painful grip, when we realise that neither me nor the others have any permanent existence. This is the meaning of the often quoted and often misunderstood “Emptiness” in Zen: the emptiness of any intrinsic existence as a big relief!

That’s easier said than understood. I belief the idea of impermanence, of not having an intrinsic existence, a fixed self to discover or defend and possibly improve the one or other way is a pretty scary concept to the inexperienced mind (and for those running the self-optimisation business). Impermanence of virtually everything is not understood as a way out of all the misery until one gets ultimately rid of all the nice illusions, the “flowers decorating the chains”, and feels absolute despair emerging from an illusion-free perception of the world. No earlier the realisation of impermanence kicks in as a great relief!

The coffee and service at Les Deux Magots was the best I enjoyed in Paris, and by far not the most expensive one. I did not expect this at such a prominent location! Next to all the book shops my new favourite place in Saint-Germain-des-Prés … if I have a chance to come back one day.