My blog
title today was stolen from my favorite book to date, Zen and the Art of
Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig, 1974). Having read this book more than a few times,
with each reading I have come away with a deeper understanding of Pirsig’s
theme and speaks, too, to my own theme, that of existential dread. Purportedly, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance is an inquiry into values; even more specifically, an inquiry into
the imagined harmony between Eastern and Western values, hence the Zen word
in the title.
Consequential
to my existential dreading after each reading, I always self-mand to embrace more
Zen in my life, promising myself to effect more Zen into my
intricate day-to-day doings, to embrace quality in all that I do with what time
I have left. Such attempts are almost
all-for-naught and produce rather zero-sum outcomes for the most part. Not so, though, at least with a couple of activities,
my private hypnotherapy practice, and my busking.
During all
the stages, the Zen is key in the art of hypnosis. In hypnotherapy it begins with the prologue, as
I explain to my clients exactly the procedures for their sessions, what to
expect during each stage in their sessions.
It is very necessary for both client and self to be focused on this
pre-hypnosis chat.
Immediately following this procedures chat, is the induction
stage, in which I deliver my cap-a-pie body countdown, whilst continually reminding
my clients to focus, focus, focus on their “big and deep inhalations,” and
their “long and slow exhalations,” while “breathing deeply, breathing
slowly, breathing rhythmically.” During
this induction is when I know whether the clients are focused. I know this by listening to their breathing. This is the beginning of trance.
Then during the deepening, the second stage of trance,
I know, too, when my clients are focused.
I know this because of their sky-to-ground elucidations, as they describe
their imaginary sensations of sights and sounds and scents, along with
imaginary touches and tastes.
Such thick sensory descriptions continue from the
deepening stage through to the client/counsellor collaborated scenarios,
their imaginary and newly therapeutic behaviours, first described by the clients
in my office, then enacted by the clients in real time right after leaving my
office.
Focus, focus, focus. This is key to hypnotherapy. It is this Zen-like focus is that makes
hypnotherapy so successful.
And now to my Zen and the art of busking. Unlike my hypnotherapy sessions where the clients
and myself must be in absolute sync with one another, guitar busking is all Me,
ME, ME. When I am guitar-busking I can
continually and unilaterally spend my strumming time woolgathering on whatever
I want. Quite in contrast to strumming, my
time spent portrait-busking forces me to focus on my consumer’s visage, but
only for the 15 minutes that it takes me to draw the likeness. For either, guitar or drawing pencil, the
Zen in the art of busking is all about the preparation and presentation. Not wanting to be a goldbrick, I strive to be
over-fastidious in this regard.
Of course, now I am referring to self-preparation, not
client-preparation. While busking I
really do not have clients; for the sake of cataloguing, I have what I call passer-by
consumers. My clients schedule
appointments, my passer-by consumers do not even know they are consumers until
they pass by. Only when they toss a coin
into my guitar case, or stop for a pencil portrait, do they become
consumers. Even though my encounters
with the bulk of these people is but a blink in time, I do prepare, prepare,
prepare for them.
My first check is the weather. And this is what I know, generally: There is never bad weather – there is only
bad dress. Just because I know this
does not mean I adhere to this. I have
always wanted to fancy myself as a brutto-tempo busker, but I cannot. I am a fair-weather busker. If it is windy, I do not busk – the money will
just blow away. If it is rainy, I do not
busk – my guitar will get wrecked; or my drawing paper will get soaked.
When I go, I adhere to a regimen. If I pack my guitar and harp, I always tune
before I hit the pavement. If I pack my
sketchpad and pencils, I always re-stock my paper and sharpen all my pencils. Never do I rush doing anything preparatory.
When I go, I always look the part. Head-to-toe I always have my designed messy
hair, under hat if the air is cool, bare headed if it is hot. I wear a long-sleeved and collared shirt if it
is cool, a tight t-shirt if it is hot. I
wear faded blue jeans if it is cool, cargo hiking shorts if it is hot. My footwear is always leather working boots
if it is cool, sandals if it is hot.
I remind the reader, that my busker alterity is a
self-confessed narcissist, one who really wants to look good. For example, my tight t-shirt if it is
hot. I lift weights five days a week at
a downtown gym. I have been doing this
for over twenty years. I do this because
I do want to ever avoid that quaggy look – (my existential dread is haunting). I
do this because I want to look good and yah, if I do say so myself, I do look
good!
Sidebar: Looking good has its perks. Achieving a model-like physique demands a daily
strain of time and effort, of which and not by happenchance, offers a lifetime of
positivity in the realms of physiological and psychological health. But tongue in cheek for the first part, I
digress …
When I am thrumming and harpooning I have mainly two
playlists; I have the hard copies of original songs that I can rehearse for my
next paying gig (yes, I can be that capitalist mercernary musician), and I have
imaginary copies of which I just experiment, strumming experimental notes for
experimental riffs for imaginary-to-real buskspots.
Both these playlists demand some concentration, but certainly
not Zen-like concentration. I like to
people watch as I busk. Looking
passers-by in the eye, but not disconcertingly too long, is relaxing and fun. Similarly, to the people-freaking trend in
the 60’s, even imagining where they’re from and where they work can be fun. To every coin-tossing consumer I always stop
strumming and harping to say, “Thanks, man” or “Thanks, ma’am.” And I always smile while saying such. In my busker world, I really believe that
this acknowledgment is huge. Ignoring a
patron is a socially inappropriate slight.
Oft times, especially when I am travelling, I toss coins to lots of
buskers. And if any particular busker,
to whom I have just given any of my hard-earned money, neglects to acknowledge
my very existence, without so much as a “thank-you,” it certainly sucks the joy
out of what could have been a gracious Zen moment.
For me, Zen and the art of busking is a yin yang
experience. Without a busker there is no
consumer, and without a consumer there is no busker. This entry today on busking has taken only a
thousand words for me to precis; the actual art of busking has taken me more
than a thousand days to perfect.
Over the years of mindful contemplating while busking,
the more I understand Robert Pirsig’s point in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle
Maintenance. The more times I go busking the more experiences I gather; the
more experiences I gather the better my trade; the better my trade the more
quality my performance. This is not a
megillah. This is but a simple
formula. These are the moments in the
making of Zen.
The skinny of Zen is “To live is to suffer.”
Here is another skinny, I have concluded from busking:
Quantity begets Experience – Experience begets
Quality – Quality begets Zen.
Strumming and singing in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week are my guitar-slinger mates from my gig last night at the BUSHWAKKER BREW PUB in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada.
Top row L - R: Cori, Self, Nathan
Bottom row L - R: Trent, Albert, John, Cecil
