Explain your self.
Introductions to Koans by Master Tarantino Toshiba. Class 101.
More selfless wisdom at: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.
Explain your self.
Introductions to Koans by Master Tarantino Toshiba. Class 101.
More selfless wisdom at: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.
After years of losing students to Master Toshiba, the local priest of another Buddhist sect could take it no more. He walked to Master Toshiba’s training hall and challenged The Master.
“You have many students,” the priest said, with his ego hanging on his sleeve. “What do you have that I don’t have?”
“I’m much better to look at,” replied Master Toshiba.
The ensuing laughter further infuriated the priest.
“Seriously,” he exclaimed. “You are not the wisest, nor have you studied the longest. Your words are shallow and your promises cheap.”
Some of the students became agitated at the priest’s belligerence, but Master Toshiba motioned for them to be still.
“Which of my words have been shallow and to what promises are you referring?”
“Well . . . well . . . ” the flustered priest hesitated and then said, “Everything! But, if you want specifics . . . here’s one.” He raised his finger, pointed it at The Master, and mockingly said, ‘You get out of it what you put into it.’ “That’s not Buddhism, that’s just common sense and even that isn’t always true. Sometimes, you don’t get anything out of it, no matter how much you put into it.”
“Is that like your teaching?” Master Toshiba inquired. “You’ve put everything into it and your meditation hall is empty.”
“How dare you? I still have students. There may not be as many as you have, but mine are tried and true. They practice day and night. Their understanding deepens and enlightenment is theirs to have and to hold.”
“Since when did it become possible to own enlightenment? How do you hold it? Where is it?”
“You know what I mean. Quit turning my words around and trying to make me look like a fool.”
“There is no need to try,” replied Master Toshiba. “Your actions today have revealed your true self.”
The priest was suddenly overcome with shame. He kneeled down.
“And as far as promises,” Master Toshiba continued. “There is no such thing. The only promise I’ve ever made is that I can make no promises.” She paused. “Well, there was one promise. When I was young I promised my parents I’d never leave them, but I did. Oh yeah, there was also that time . . . anyway, as far as our spiritual practice, the only promise I can make is that the sun will rise tomorrow, that we have all been born and that we will all die.”
“I beg you Master.” The priest prostrated himself on the floor. “I am not worthy, but I ask humbly that I be allowed to be your student.”
“You probably aren’t worthy,” The Master replied “and I doubt you’ll learn anything, but you’re welcome to join us.” The priest stood and bowed repeatedly. “Go see Brother Peacock next door. They’re leaving on holiday tomorrow. Tell him I said you could tag along. Come see me upon your return.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” The priest continued bowing as he walked backwards. “I will see you as soon as we return.”
More upside down wisdom at: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.
Anger can be our friend. Keep it close at hand and, when needed, let it off its leash.
The energy of anger can be used to wake us up, change our emotion or move us from grief and helplessness to action and reaction.
All too often, anger’s been given a bad rap. In and of itself, it is simply an accumulation of energy. It is how we use it that makes the difference.
If you are unaware of feeling angry than it can catch you off guard and harm yourself and others, but when we use the power it possesses to snap out of a bad situation or right a wrong, it is thus used wisely and for the benefit of all.
Don’t “be” angry, use what is called anger and use it well. If you are not being mindful and at ease with the force of your fury and rage, then remain silent and go to a safe place to let yourself explode.
As you know, I used to have quite a temper, but I’ve learned how to judge and blame others instead and realized that it was most likely someone else’s words or actions that triggered my angry response. It does no good to point this out, as they tend to be blind to their ignorance and they just get angry.
Drifting Clouds by Master Tarantino. Page 5-6
More topsy turvy wisdom at: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.
A woman who had her crops and family washed away in a flood (which had been caused from a break in the levee, which the government had previously said could withstand any amount of rainfall) came to Abbott Tova for comfort and advice.
“I’ve lost everything,” the woman wept. “I have nothing left.” The Abbott remained silent. “There is no where to go and no one left to comfort me.” The woman continued to cry. The Abbott did not reply. “What am I to do?” After sobbing for another ten minutes, the woman looked pleadingly at the Abbott. “Why did this happen? Why did it happen to me?” Abbott Tova closed her eyes for a few moments, opened them again, and smiled, but did not utter a sound. “Why won’t you say anything? Please give me some words of wisdom, some advice, some hope.”
“I do not have what you seek,” the Abbott finally said. “I cannot dish out false hope or advice and we have no means of helping you. The fact is that we all lose everything sooner or later. In this instance, you have lost the people and things most important to you, sooner rather than later.”
“Yes. Yes,” the woman replied. “I’ve heard The Buddha’s teachings about impermanence and change, but have you no compassion or care? I feel lost and hopeless.”
“Listen to what you are saying. You ‘feel’ lost and hopeless and are ‘labeling’ your experience as suffering and grief. Who you are, who we all are, is but a compilation of elements in temporary co‑operation, with whom we identify as our self, as our ego, our me.”
The woman shook her head in disbelief.
“Okay. Okay,” the Abbott said. “Come here.” She opened her arms and nodded for the lady to come forward. She hesitated. “Come.” The woman arose and fell into the Abbott’s arms, who encircled her with her robe. The woman began sobbing once again. “Now. Now,” the Abbott soothed. “Everything will be alright.”
As Abbott Tova held the woman she spoke to the other sisters in the hall. “This shows how easy it is to get attached to people, personalities, situations, events, and things. I’ve done so myself, many times. If you are mindful however and pay close attention to what arises and passes away, you will see that it is all an illusion, a temporary state that comes and goes. It’s all a dream, make-believe.”
The woman who had lost everything and was being held, had had enough. She slapped the Abbott. Some nuns started to run forward, but the Abbott held up her hand for them to stay put.
“Was that an illusion!” the woman yelled. The Abbott smiled. “Does it sting?” The Abbott’s check had turned red. “If life is a dream and nothing matters than what are we here for?”
The Abbott smiled with a jester’s grin. “Thank you,” the Abbott said. “I was wondering how much longer I’d have to keep mouthing that nonsense before you’d snap out of it.”
The woman suddenly realized that she wasn’t crying any longer, nor feeling sad. Her emotion had turned to that of anger and rage. She backed away from Abbott Tova, bowed deeply, and returned to her flooded land to start her new temporary and illusionary life once again.
More unbearable words of insight: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.
An excerpt from The Last Conception by Gabriel Constans.
Savarna was the first to arrive at five that morning. She placed her bicycle in the storage room, washed and put on her scrubs. She checked all of the incubators, work surfaces and electronic readouts, to make sure everything was operating as close to body temperature as possible. The machines were on twenty-four seven and alarmed. After all, she and her colleagues literally held the possibility of new life in their hands day after day. If anything goes out of whack, emergency calls are automatically made until someone responds. They have backup systems for backup systems. So far, in her eight years of working at Conception Sciences, the alarm had gone off only once, and that turned out to be a faulty reading.
“Hey, Embryo Mama, how are our babies doing?”
Savarna had just started looking at the results from the previous day when her work partner Johnny Cranston walked in. She’d known Johnny for five years and trusted him completely. If she were ever in the position of their patients, she’d want Johnny to be her embryologist. He was very tech savvy and gave a damn. Personally, he’d been through the ringer, was divorced and had his adored teenage daughter living with him part-time. He’d recently moved to a nice neighborhood just twenty minutes from work. Johnny was handsome, and he knew it, but he never let his guard down, especially in front of beautiful women. He considered Savarna to fall in the category of beautiful, but she was an exception to his well-practiced defenses.
“Good morning Sperm Daddy,” she replied.
“Where we at, darling? Everything cooking at the right temp?”
“I was just checking yesterday’s records and laying out our schedule. Will you take a look and sign off?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Savarna always noticed the contrasts between them when they stood side by side. He had big hands with long fingers, and his skin was darker than hers. She was brown, like a lightly baked brownie, and he was as black as dark chocolate. He stood a foot taller, had broad shoulders, a muscular chest and shaved head. She had long jet-black hair braided and tied up in a knot for work, a distinguished nose, and hips that seemed to trump everything else from the waist down.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot of D1 and D3s to switch out today,” Johnny said, as he signed the checklist.
“Yes, and two D5s. I really hope Mrs. Shcneider’s takes this time and her Inner Cell Mass doesn’t get screwed up like her last two attempts. She was so devastated.”
“You got that right. Nothing we could do though. Hear what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the mantra. Don’t beat ourselves up for what’s out of our control.”
“Well, well. You actually remember your own advice.”
They both chuckled underneath their masks.
Everything in the laboratory had to be done perfectly and on schedule. Mistakes were not allowed, though inevitable.
Day zero, which they referred to as DO, was egg retrieval day. That was when they retrieved eggs from the woman and sperm from the man and put them together in a dish. On Day Two, which they called D1, they checked to see how many of the eggs were fertilized. They looked through the microscope to see if there were two pronuclei inside. If they couldn’t see any or what they saw consisted of only one or three pronuclei, that meant it was a wash and they couldn’t be used.
Day Two is when the embryos start to divide. A healthy embryo consists of two to four cells. That is when Savarna and Johnny would start to grade or evaluate the embryos on a scale of one to five, with one being perfect and five being poor. It takes about one minute to look at fifteen embryos. They had to do it quickly, so they were not outside of the incubator for long.
Day Three should be showing six to eight cells per embryo. If some of these are healthy, they can transfer them on the same day or put them into an extended culture for a Day Five transfer. If they go into extended cultures, they need to move them into a new growth medium that is made for the next stage of development.
On Day Five embryos have grown much bigger and gone from six to eight cells to fifty to one hundred cells. The coating around the egg is very thin at this stage and each embryo has two cell types – the inner cell mass, which becomes the baby and the trophectoderm, which becomes the placenta. This is the day when transfer usually takes place. One to two embryos are transferred to the patient’s uterus. Any extras are frozen or cultured to Day Six. On Day Six, anything that is left is either frozen or discarded.
“You can have the honor of icing any leftovers today,” Savarna told Johnny.
“Thank you, great ice queen. It will be an honor to preserve someone who may one day be our next Albert Einstein or Maya Angelou.”
“Or Charlie Manson or Hitler,” she said, half-joking.
“Not possible. These children are too wanted and adored to turn out like that.”
Freezing embryos is no minor task, though it may appear to be a simple procedure. When a healthy and viable embryo is frozen, it is placed into a computer- driven freezer in liquid nitrogen and is slowly brought down to minus thirty-five degrees centigrade. When cells are frozen, they are made up mostly of water and have to be dehydrated before freezing or ice cycles can destroy them. They are passed through solutions that by osmosis move in and out of a fluid buffer. Freezing takes about an hour and a half. When they are thawed, it is important to get rid of the ice crystals right away, so they are pulled out, held in the air for thirty counts and put in a thirty-degree water bath for forty-five seconds until they are thawed. They are then placed in solutions that reverse the process and put water back in. Within forty minutes of being de-thawed, an embryo can be transferred. Some patients successfully use an embryo that has been frozen for over ten years.
Savarna and Johnny sent out the morning report to all the physicians and case managers by 7:30, so they would know which patients to call to come in for their procedures or which ones needed to change their medications. Then they started working on egg retrievals, sperm analysis and triple-verification with each, to make sure they had the correct specimen for each individual. Retrievals started around 8:00 a.m. and continued every forty-five minutes, while transfers generally began at 10:00 and took place every thirty minutes. By noon, they were inseminating the eggs. Somewhere in the controlled chaos, they tried to make their way to the bathroom and catch a bite to eat. At 1:00 they made a break for the small lunchroom squeezed into the back corner of the two-story medical building.
“What?” she asked, looking up from her salad bowl.
“Come on. I’m about to burst. Did you tell them?” Savarna smiled, took a drink from her homemade chocolate smoothie and sheepishly looked down at her Greek salad. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
She shook her head. “My Mom was–”
“This is crazy… after all these years. They’re adults. They’ll understand.”
“Let me explain.”
“What’s there to explain? You chickened out again.”
“No, I didn’t. We were interrupted. My mother was trying to get me married off for the umpteenth time and just as I was about to tell her why I would never marry a man, the rest of the family burst in. There wasn’t any good time after that. It was her birthday after all, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“You don’t understand.”
“In Indian culture marriage is the biggest and most important celebration there is.”
“And you don’t think that’s true for other cultures?”
“Well, yes, of course,” she replied, taking a deep breath and looking him straight in the eyes. “But in India it can actually be a matter of life and death. Women are still defined by whom, when and if they marry. I don’t care if this is California and my parents have lived here for decades. I don’t think they even realize how deep this tradition is ingrained in their psyches.”
“So, its fair to keep them in the dark and keep hoping?”
“Of course not, but I’m not always as strong or as confident with my family, as I am with you. I don’t want to hurt them.”
“I think you’re hurting them more, let alone yourself, by not standing up and letting yourself be counted. They just want you to be happy, and they see marriage as the means to attain that happiness. We both know it’s not always what it’s cracked up to be, but I don’t see anything wrong with them hoping it’s the answer for their spinster daughter whose childbearing clock is ticking.”
“Spinster, my ass.”
“Tell them I’ll take you off their hands, but only for a good dowry.”
Savarna raised her glass, as if to throw it in Johnny’s face. He backed up his chair in mock surprise. Savarna’s phone rang. She put down her cup, laughing, and took the call.
“Hi, Magdalena. What’s up?”
“Tonight? It’s only Monday.”
Savarna closed her eyes for a moment as she listened.
She nodded, “OK. OK. Pick me up at nine.” She clicked her phone shut and put it on the table while Johnny went to the sink to put away his plate.
“She’s a wild woman,” he said upon returning to the table.
“It’s fun. Nothing serious.”
“Yeah, I know about fun, but is that all you want?”
Her phone rang again.
“Hey, Charley. How ya doing?” Johnny rolled his eyes. “This weekend? I don’t know, I’m usually pretty wiped out by then.”
She turned away slightly in her chair, as if to keep the conversation private.
“In that case, let’s do it. I’ll call you later. Take care.”
“Wish I had that many women calling me up,” Johnny wisecracked, as they stood and both prepared to re-gown and get back to work. “Where to this weekend?”
“Charley got a great deal on a bed and breakfast place in the redwoods over in Santa Cruz. She says it’s just what I need for some rest and relaxation.”
“So, you really prefer men after all.”
“You know Charley is–”
“I know, I know. Just goofing. You know my offer is always good. If you ever want to get turned around, I’ll show you what a real man is like.”
“Yeah.” They both laughed. “You and a thousand other men.”
“Hey, did you hear what one egg said to another when they saw millions of sperm on the horizon?”
“Only a zillion times,” she said. They made their way down the hall and entered the pressurized lab. “But if it floats your boat, go ahead and give me the punch line. I’ll act like I’ve never heard it before.”
“Now you’ve ruined it,” he said.
The automatic door opened and she went ahead. A cartoon they had taped on the door had two eggs and millions of sperm surrounding them. The caption next to the first egg read, “This doesn’t look good, I think the odds are against us.” The other egg said, “Looks good to me. It’s just what the doctor ordered.”
The Last conception:
Passionate embryologist, Savarna Sikand, is in a complicated relationship, with two different women, when she is told that she MUST have a baby. Her conservative East Indian American parents are desperate for her to conceive, in spite of her “not being married”. They insist that she is the last in line of a great spiritual lineage. In the process of choosing her lover and having doubts about her ability, or desire to conceive, Savarna begins to question the necessity of biology and lineage within her parents’ beliefs and becomes forever fascinated with the process of conception and the definition of family. Threads of Dan Brown (DaVinci Code), Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni (Sister of My Heart) and the film The Kids Are All Right, are tied together in this colorful tale of awakening, romance and mystery.
There is no eternal peace, but whatever piece you find may fit the puzzle. Is it an edge or the middle?
From Living by the Seat of Your Pants. Master Toshiba. Page 14.
More unbelievable words of enlightenment: Zen Master Tova Tarantino Toshiba: The Illustrious and Delusional Abbess of Satire.