Zen and the art of negotiation

Sitting outside the lunch room at work on a fine, clear day. There's still a little chill from this morning's frost and a faint wisp of steam rises where the sun shines. It seems such a perfect day.

They let me take the laptop to work. So much stuff has gone missing from our house the insurance company cancelled our cover. I don't want the laptop to go - that would be too much!

I always thought it axiomatic that the tighter you hold on to something the more likely you'll lose it. That's stood me in good stead over the years, but presupposes everyone else is as trusting and honest as myself. Inevitably, to leave something lying about unattended is an invitation for a significant cross section of the community.

A supervisor passes and grunts some sarcasm. Sarcastic supervisors are not thin on the ground at my job. I've learned to cope with a touch of Zen and a modicum of detachment.

I think everyone would benefit from a spell of rehab. I went for the Buddhism - 12 step teaches you process, Buddhism, a life view.

Buddhism separates thought, feeling and action. It reminds you you have as much right to breath as anyone. It teaches you to disengage the ego. It shows you how to cherish every moment.

The only power a word has is in the listener. I have a room in the cellar of my heart where I lock away negative emotion for future action. It mostly works, but, I'm not a cold fish nor a Zen Master.

I assist myself by concentrating on the speaker. 'Why is he saying this? What is his story that made him into such an arsehole? Why do we not see eye to eye?'

Such questions are mostly unanswerable, but it serves to divert me away from the hurtful remark.

Of course, I was once quick to take offense and used to go off like a sack of week old fish heads. A raging temper was followed by intense regret and depression. Something was afoul with the old noodle, the top shelf, the executive suite - a steak sandwich short of a picnic.

Now, I could load up on drugs, kill my fiends, etc, which I did, and still could, with a fistful of prescriptions. Or I could turn to a spot of Zen. Zen doesn't slap you around so much and the only side effect is an enigmatic smile.

That dark room in the cellar is opened in those quiet moments with a spot of meditation followed by writing - I write myself back into balance.

Of course it is never that simple or I would be doing overpriced lecture tours and writing a book of my revelations. My revelations, in any case, are not mine but someone called Satyanand Somebody. I just read them when having nothing better to do.

Robert Kiyosaki gave me the key to going on overpriced lecture tours, but I never had the bottle to turn it.

My supervisor doesn't like me because I can use a computer and therefore he suspects I'm smarter than him. I DO have a better formal education, travelled much more, more articulate, etc, but he's way more practical and experienced. He ought to know I don't want his job - I'd be useless at it.

I suspect he can't figure me out. He's a micro-manager who needs the pieces of the puzzle fitted neatly together. He's perpetually pissed at me but can't figure out why. He's pissed that he's pissed and doesn't know the reason. I defy his concept of manhood. He may think I'm queer or my door swings both ways? Little does he know, but the hinges seized up long ago.

I'm a sissy, a nance, a bumbler who bitches over a broken finger nail. I don't care for getting down and dirty. I'm a runt who can't lift loads. And I don't give a flying fuck.

I'm more at peace than he'll likely ever be. I know who I am and my strengths and weaknesses. I've done the pain and made the gains. I surprise myself every day with new found skills and accomplishments. I let criticism slide off my back. I am bloke!

Zen teaches we are born with all the knowledge and skills of the universe. Our lives are then spent in self discovery. Drugs confine you to childhood, but, once released allow you to grow - to transcend into enlightenment.

Not all of that sits happily in my court, I have to say. Western culture is innately cynical in outlook and I'm a Westerner by birth. We have hyperactive bullshit filters that inhibit accepting that which you can't see, touch and hear.

We are egoists and clutter our lives with material possessions. Our self-concepts are tied to what we own, not who we are. We neglect the heart in preference to the head. We rationalise and seek explanations. We don't learn about the inner realm of the self. Our hearts are what we pour out when we've downed a few whiskeys.

I remember a story about two bands of Lakota sitting own with a BIA agent to solve a grazing land dispute. The elders sat all day outside their teepees saying nothing. When it grew cold in the evening, they rose and left.

"What the hell was that all about?" asked a confused BIA agent.

"It was such a nice day," answered one of the Lakota, "and the dispute is vexing. The chiefs didn't want to spoil it by arguing with one another."

Now that is very Zen!

Don