Practice, man, practice….

There’s a great old jazz joke, about the tourist who asks a passing jazz musician for directions in an unfamiliar city:

Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Carnegie Hall?

Sure. Practice, man, practice.

I’ve written some stuff about craft and practice before —the search box is up there over on the top right (unless you’re on a tablet, in which case it’s down below, somewhere), hah, there I go, giving directions— and I’m still rather too pleased with my circular poem ‘I have no skills’, mainly because, like the arriviste M. Jourdain* when told he had been speaking prose all his life, I was really chuffed to be told by a fellow writer, ‘that’s a perfect circular poem’, not actually knowing that that was, like, actually a thing.

https://plexity.wordpress.com/2015/03/05/i-have-no-skills/

All of which is by way of introduction to today’s Zennist calendrical wisdom thing. This one is so cunning, it is way beyond being a mere aphorism; it’s at least aneightism.

 

image: "If you truly wish to practice, just let go of everything. Know nothing, understand nothing." Daie Soko, from the Zen Calendar entry for Thursday, April 30, 2015

“If you truly wish to practice, just let go of everything. Know nothing, understand nothing.” Daie Soko, from the Zen Calendar entry for Thursday, April 30, 2015

 

 

 A note of the foot follows,concerning the The Middle-Class Aristocrat, M. Jourdain:

I’m not going to pretend that I knew this before my bff, Wiki-P, my lexical homeboy, told me: “Le Bourgeois gentilhomme (French pronunciation: ​[lə buʁʒwa ʒɑ̃tijɔm], The Bourgeois Gentleman or The Middle-Class Aristocrat or The Would-Be Noble) is a five-act comédie-ballet—a play intermingled with music, dance and singing—by Molière, first presented on 14 October 1670 before the court of Louis XIV at the Château of Chambord by Molière’s troupe of actors. The play takes place at Mr. Jourdain’s house in Paris. Jourdain is a middle-aged “bourgeois” whose father grew rich as a cloth merchant. The foolish Jourdain now has one aim in life, which is to rise above this middle-class background and be accepted as an aristocrat. To this end, he orders splendid new clothes and is very happy when the tailor’s boy mockingly addresses him as “my Lord”. He applies himself to learning the gentlemanly arts of fencing, dancing, music and philosophy, despite his age; in doing so he continually manages to make a fool of himself, to the disgust of his hired teachers. His philosophy lesson becomes a basic lesson on language in which he is surprised and delighted to learn that he has been speaking prose all his life without knowing it: « Par ma foi ! il y a plus de quarante ans que je dis de la prose sans que j’en susse rien, et je vous suis le plus obligé du monde de m’avoir appris cela. »

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