The Fruits of Determined Study

For the past two years, I have been supporting a friend who has been studying words, language and texts. His interest and attention in the subject are variable as he is quite the polymath who also has a keen interest in the physics of everyday objects, the interpersonal psychology of the nuclear family, as well as in the biomechanics and expressive possibilities of the human body. With a finely tuned intelligence and ferocious curiosity, there’s practically nothing that doesn’t catch his attention and doesn’t become an object of study for him.

He’s one of those people who you just want to be around because, in their proximity, the world is a little brighter and more vivid. In his company, you see familiar things in new ways and stumble upon fresh perspectives to what is right in front of your eyes. He naturally embodies Suzuki Roshi’s wonderful teaching: “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.”

Once we know what we are looking for, we miss most everything else. Once our opinion is settled, we cherry-pick the input of our senses—noticing only the evidence that supports our original supposition—and ignore the whole rest of the constantly emergent universe. This selective perception and confirmation bias is neither intentional nor a bad thing. Living in the world as we have come to know it from the past is a sign of a well-functioning human brain and is both normal and useful. Remembering where the bathroom is when you wake up in the morning is one of the under-appreciated miracles of most of our lives.

Wonder, on the other hand, is a very expensive human commodity. Wonder engages the whole brain in some new activity. Wonder inhibits the back channels of functional processing in order to allow information to be received and examined—not just unconsciously shuttled and sorted into the correct bin. Wonder holds what is perceived in a suspension of appreciation before allowing what has come before to fill in the contours and gaps.

My friend is an expert wonderer, but part of this wondering and exploring comes at the cost of everyday functioning. I don’t mean to put him down or cast aspersions on his character, but he is really not very good at taking care of even his most basic needs. Fortunately, he has two friends who are quite devoted to him and are willing to manage the practical details to give him the time and space to wonder about everything.

His progress on words, language, and texts has been both slow and astonishingly fast. There is one text he has been studying now for a little over two years. It’s a small mystical tome with brightly colored pictures accompanied by poetry. When we began studying it, he would look intently and listen carefully, but I was never sure what, if anything, he understood.

But just yesterday, when he woke up from his nap, we were once again investigating the text when he began saying the words himself—as if he could decipher the squiggled lines on the page. I began ‘Horn went beep / engine purred…’ and he, to my surprise, took over and completed the stanza: ‘prettiest sound / you ever heard.’

I turned to him, smiling in amazement. He smiled back at me with pride and delight—as if he knew this was a big deal. We then, together, followed the tense adventure of The Little Blue Truck and his friends through being stuck in the ‘muck and mire’ and beyond. I would say a line or a word, and he would complete the phrase. Magical.

This was the fruition of two years of study. I first read this book to him when he was just a few weeks old and I had to make sure his head wasn’t lolling off the side of my arm. I think we’re even on the second copy as the first one disintegrated with the gnawing on the edges and the repeated exuberant turning of the pages.

Yesterday was a milestone moment for me in understanding that he is beginning to crack the code. The narrative structure, the words, the meaning all are dancing between his two-year-old mind and my sixty-eight-year-old mind. Both of us continuing to delight in the words and images of life that arises between, within and around us all.

(Excerpted from forthcoming book Wandering Close to Home: A Year of Zen Reflections, Consolations, and Reveries. September 1, 2024.)