Practice is about no longer being caught in the particular,
and instead seeing it for what it is - a part of the whole. ¹(p4)

I

Tuco turned the roan² toward the stream below.
White flashes filled the sparkling stream as they rode down toward it.
His horse came alive as the scent of water, and the sound of water, filled the air.

Which is the whole? Tuco wondered.
And knew it was simple, the whole is all and the particular is the sparkle
that glints our eye.

When we are used to the rigidity and controlled stiffness of a defended life,
we don't want to allow fresh currents into awareness,
however refreshing they may truly be. ¹(p5)

II

Tuco's thoughts turned back in time to an early horse he'd trained
and that had trained him. Going out from the ranch was a plodding course.
But coming back... well, the games began. Feint, counter, parry.

A smart horse, bored with the routine, seeking fresh currents.
Little did Tuco understand then
what he glimpses now.

Within the current rests intelligence
that may not be
equally divided
but
step back
see the whirlpool
in the stream.
Watch it come
and go.
Watch the leaf
enter
retreat
skim
sink
raise.

Where rests the intelligence
at this moment?

Where was it
a moment ago?

The truth is we don't like fresh air very much.
We don't like fresh water very much.
It takes a long time before we can see our defensivenss
and maniplulation of life in our daily lives. ¹(p5)

III

The book spoke of currents and practice resting within currents.
Tuco was confused by the eddies within the book.
Somehow preparation was seen as defensiveness,
or so he thought.

But slowly,
edgily,
he came to see
that preparation required
a mind knowing
it didn't know
what to prepare for.

Perfect is being as it is. ¹(p20)

IV

In that not knowing
rests
readiness
for
everything!

Preparation
is not defending,
it is opening
to what will be
because it is
what is.

The point of Zen practice is to be who we are -
a formless field of benefaction. ¹(p24)

V

Benefaction³ was a term that confused Tuco.
He knew that somehow it was different from gift or boon.
There was something in there
about giving without giving away,
taking without taking away,
that just threw him.
How can that be?
Why not call it sharing?

But even sharing is about division.
How do you give without division?
Well, his horse either knew or didn't care to know,
Tuco envied that indifference.
For him, the puzzle was once spelled out as
"the conventional truth is that which obscures the true nature."
He continued to puzzle over the meaning,
the intent
implied.

Nobody has two buddhas for parents.
Instead of buddhas, we have parents as parents:
flawed, confused, angry, self-centered - like all of us. ¹(p41)

VI

Tuco never heard his dad say he loved him
until they were both old
and his dad dying.

Life turns
as it turns
and Tuco was happy to hear
of his dad's love for him
even though so late in life.
He knew his dad loved him all along
but it was very good to hear it said.

He worked at a new family tradition
telling his kids he loved them
before they were old.
And making sure they also knew
how flawed and confused he could be.
And that it had nothing to do with his age.

Do you have enough time to love?
Tuco thought of Arlu and love.
"Even if we travel together, we travel alone."
They made it work, somehow it works - as with
not one, not two.
Namasté