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Elizabeth Sawyer

Elizabeth Sawyer cuke page


Once I was sitting on the front steps of Zen Center. Another student was sweeping the sidewalk. Across the street a small six‑ or seven‑year‑old black girl was boogelooing and singing "Yeah, yeah," along with a blaring radio out a second‑story window. The student who was sweeping was slightly shocked by the noise and the style. He turned to me and said, half‑jokingly, "I don't know if I can fit this into my practice." At that moment Suzuki Roshi appeared in the doorway, roared at the top of his lungs (I supposed in answer to the girl and the student's feelings), spun around, and disappeared into the building.

Another time I was walking down Page Street on my way home. I met five or six small black children. One boy of seven or eight years said, "Are you a meditation?" I said, "Yes." He said, "Do you know Roshi?" I said, "Yes." He said, "That guy's crazy. He tried to cut my hair off with the tin snips." I said, "Roshi's groovy." Another kid said, "Groovy! That's a white word." I said, "Well, I'm white." Yet another boy, maybe six years old, said, "Don't make no difference. We all got a little bit of color."

what's new this year

There's a lot of old material that's as good as new if you haven't read it. -DC

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