Diving the hippo pool today. About once a month I am assigned a dive day in which I get into the hippo pool with scuba gear and suck up hippo shit with big hoses. It was a very cold day, but the water was 72 so not too bad.
Lately, I have been focusing on mindfulness. Being aware of my surroundings, and inevitably, the beauty and connectedness of things. And so, I tried to be mindful that I was starting my day diving with more fish then I would see on a reef, turtles and the clearest water possible. Sunbeams gleamed through the freshly scrubbed glass, illuminating and making transparent the stained glass of fish fins.
So despite the 3 feet of hippo shit, I was pretty happy. I am not sure if it was that forced kind of happiness though. Like ‘now I am a spiritual person so I am going to smile and be happy at my new spiritual nature. See how clever I am to be happy about sunshine in glass and fishies!’ It seemed real, but I always question myself. I suppose that is the essence of mindfulness.
Being mindful is the opposite of putting on rose colored glasses, and ignoring the reality of the world. I never forgot that I was literally swimming in hippo shit. But swimming in the sewer of hippos also has sunshine, and fishes, and ripples on the surface, and being alive, breathing underwater. And I think that is the point. At least that is how I understand it.
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I remember one of my coworkers asking at a dive meeting “Why don’t you just stop putting hay in the water?” Everyone laughed.
Hippo shit is very recognizable as hay. That hay has passed through the hippo’s broad mandibles, down the throat, through the stomach, fermented in the gut and passed out the other side. It just happens to still be mostly hay. Thus her mistake.
I remember reading in a zen book once. The question was “ What is the Buddha?”
The answers were koan in nature. Things like “if you see the Buddha, kill him’, ' I am the Buddha' 'Three pounds of flax' and the like.
But the answer that always made me laugh was “Dried shit-stick”.
I was in my mystic phase and was coming aware of the non-separateness of things. That the grand tree is the human is the beaten dog is the discarded food wrapper is the shit stick. And thus, is the Buddha, or spirit, or god, or universal energy or whatever.
We are all hippo shit. And even closer, human shit.. I am a food body. I am a dying mass. I am a meat popsicle. I am a shit machine.
But I am also the lotus flower, and the kite with many tails. I am the sun, and the atom. I am dark matter. I am Buddha.
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Speaking of hippo shit. Khalil Gibran writes about love treating you like a head of wheat, reaped by the beloved, ground on the stone of love, hulled, kneaded and baked, until we no longer resemble ourselves, but are still the wheat, that captured sunshine and rain and earth, but changed by the force of love.
And let me tell you. That hay is still hay. Even after being loved so greatly by a hippo.