the absolute relative

I still haven't found a name for Zen, for Buddhism, the not-a-religion school or path or way, that both suits me and conveys my meaning. If I use the familiar terms, people jump to conclusions. If I use something in the hope of conveying more meaning it goes straight into the roiling and fizzing obscurity we had before I started and that's that. So. The relative is the walking around world, where everything is transient and dependent on everything else. The absolute is absolutely what is so completely ignored in the walking around world as to be unthinkable, unknown, not doable. Seeing is everything, is not-doing in the most affirmative sense.

I have these dreams that don't parse Jungianly. They only work with this not-Zen Zen, and last night I was in a motel again, and not just with my mother. Sheesh. Our two motel rooms turned into three and mine had filled up with my uncle, his two sons, my cousin-in-law and their kids, plus all their friends. It was chaos. So I went to Mom's room, and she was in there with my aunt and my aunt's cat, and they were shooing me off to the room with my sister. My dour sister was plenty irked to see me, and it became apparent that nobody'd bothered to move certain important personal items to this room when they'd flooded in to displace me. There were broken drugstore glasses, but nothing through which I might actually see to read or to watch tv or, for that matter, to find my toothbrush. I was not going to be able to proceed. So I went back to Mom's room, clogging the doorway with my body to keep from letting my aunt's cat escape, and got yelled at to close the door, and was trying to explain that I was duly blocking the cat's egress, but it wasn't good enough for them. My glasses seemed to be in what had been my room before mobs of relatives took it over. The prospect, the job, was so distasteful that it woke me up.

Sentient beings often fall asleep to avoid confronting things. I, on the other hand, wake up.