I've been given pause over the last day while reflecting on something that occurred on Google+. A well-intentioned Indian gentleman posted a warm spiritual comment – a sort of gently-encouraging nonspecific benediction – of some particular cultural relevance where he is.
At first it was well-received by whom I presume were its intended recipients (likely in the same time zone and awake). Later, others chimed in... less helpfully: of course someone posted huge tracts of irrelevant Christian scripture and then sought an argument; others later swept in decrying the-doubtless-repulsively-titanic-ego of this strange Indian man, and how dare he wish us well? The nerve!
This worried me some, because my ego will surely be a(n occasionally, I'm afraid, quite valid) target.
At first, I thought to write this blog anonymously, to try to remove my own errors and foibles (and the occasional callow, feckless shitbaggery) from the equation. Fortunately, I realized how crap that idea was pretty quickly:
See, in order for people to take you seriously, they have to find you believable. A number of presumably-white guys named Gareth seemed not to find Mr. Shankar believable, so they belittled him and themselves and generally breathed through the mouth.
So, in order to make sure my story is believable, it's essential to show the "how" of it — and I'm lucky enough to have as a useful basis of comparison the well-known book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by the brilliantly contemplative Robert M. Pirsig.
And – since I'm nothing of the luminary he is – mine will be a humbler story that will briefly use his to illustrate how the fallout from one's own callow feckless shitbaggery may, carefully applied, pay dividends later on — and that's for tomorrow! Cheers—
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