Zen and the Art of Poking Fun

My Journey to Taoism via Phil Jackson's “Sacred Hoops”

Zen Buddhists, bless their hearts, are the serene monks of the spiritual world. Picture this: a group of people so calm, so collected, they could make a sedated sloth look hyperactive. 

Zen Buddhism, with its tranquil meditations, koan puzzles, and penchant for silence, has always intrigued me. But let's be real – sometimes, the Zen lifestyle seems like it's teetering on the edge of a cosmic joke.

I mean, have you ever tried to meditate like a Zen Buddhist? Imagine sitting cross-legged, focusing on your breath, and trying to clear your mind. 

Inevitably, my thoughts wander:

“Did I turn off the stove? 

What’s the deal with people who don’t respond to my messages? 

Should I head over to the local bookstore and see what’s in the new release section? 

As my mind spirals into a never-ending loop of mundane musings, a Zen monk would probably advise me to embrace the moment and let go of my attachments. 

But, let’s be honest – easier said than done when you’re sitting on a mat that makes your legs go numb faster than a bad date.

The Zen experience is often sprinkled with absurd, hypothetical scenarios that make for some entertaining mental gymnastics. 

Picture this: You're at a Zen retreat, and the master asks you, “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” While your brain attempts to process this, you're also thinking, “Is he serious? Should I applaud with one hand? Am I supposed to solve this or just enjoy the brain cramp?”

This was my life until the day I stumbled upon Phil Jackson’s book “Sacred Hoops.” Yes,  Phil Jackson – the legendary basketball coach known for his eleven NBA championships and his uncanny ability to zen-ify a bunch of tall, sweaty guys in shorts.

 “Sacred Hoops” was like a breath of fresh air in the musty, incense-filled temple of my Zen pursuits. Jackson’s approach was less about contorting yourself into a pretzel and more about finding your flow on the court – and, by extension, in life.

Phil Jackson didn’t just coach basketball; he orchestrated a spiritual symphony. His teachings on mindfulness, focus, and being in the moment resonated with me in a way that no Zen koan ever had. 

It was like he took the stuffy, introspective nature of Zen and threw in a slam dunk of practicality. His book was a revelation – an invitation to explore mindfulness without the rigid, sometimes comically obscure trappings of traditional Zen.

But my journey didn’t stop with Jackson. Oh no, the rabbit hole went deeper. From the hardwood of NBA courts, I found myself drawn to the ancient wisdom of Taoism. 

If Zen Buddhism was the meticulous, disciplined student, Taoism was the laid-back, “go-with-the-flow” cousin who always seemed to have a philosophical quip at the ready.

Taoism, with its emphasis on harmony, natural order, and effortless action (wu wei), felt like coming home. It wasn’t about forcing myself into a meditative trance or deciphering cryptic puzzles. Instead, it was about embracing life’s ebb and flow, much like riding the waves rather than fighting the current.

I remember one particularly enlightening day, I was sitting at my favorite coffeehouse, “Bad Owl Coffee” – a Harry Potter-themed haven in Henderson, NV. I watched as the barista effortlessly crafted a latte art phoenix, and it hit me.

 The Taoist approach was right there in front of me – the barista wasn’t overthinking, and wasn't trying too hard. She was simply in the moment, creating something beautiful through effortless action.

In my pursuit of mindfulness, I discovered the joy of living a Taoist-inspired life. I traded in my Zen koans for the elegant simplicity of Laozi’s teachings. Instead of wrestling with questions like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” I embraced the Taoist notion that sometimes, it’s okay not to have all the answers. Life is meant to be experienced, not over-analyzed.

So here I am, a half-baked Zen enthusiast, happily practicing Taoism. I’ve learned to laugh at the absurdity of my spiritual journey, appreciating the humor in my attempts to find enlightenment. After all, if you can’t poke fun at yourself and your quest for inner peace, you’re probably taking life a bit too seriously. And in the grand scheme of things, maybe that’s the most Zen lesson of all.

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