Frida & Zen
Whenever I am tempted to visit a Zendo, I think of Frida Kahlo.
I envision the austere Zendo, with its peaceful atmosphere, silence, seated figures in black robes, open to Nothingness. Then I think of Frida: sulking, in pain, wearing a flouncing Mexican skirt of all the colors of the rainbow, limping, with a parrot on her shoulder and a cigarette between her painted lips.
We can enter Truth through the solitude of Sesshu, refined, precise, all black and white. But there is way to Truth which pierces the rainbow with all the sensuality and agony of the phenomenal world, and bursts out the other side.
The path is not always Green Tea.
Linda Brown Holt
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