predation, chinaware, and buddha

in 1st grade the present author was compelled by the teacher to write a fiction story. you see, the class at the time was going over the full timeline of species on planet earth, from dawn of life to human, covering everything from trilobites to carpet mites. the teacher, with somewhat notoriously difficult handwriting, had a note on the board about a specific period known for an abundance of "predatory fishes." the present author's classmate raised a hand, and, given the messiness of said handwriting, inquired about clarification on the two word phrase; asking, somewhat hesitantly, if it said "predatory dishes." the teacher chuckled, said "i can see why you'd ask that, the 'f' looks like a 'd'" and proceeded to rewrite the word to make it clearer. he then turned back to said classmate and told him he should write a story about predatory dishes, as it would be funny, and that he should ask for my help writing it, out of some misplaced notion that i was good at writing stories (this blog post, while not a fictional story, offering easily one of the greatest arguments against said claim). we wrote a story about dishes with extremely sharp, canine teeth, pointy silverware, and perpetual grins, running around trying to chop people up and eat them.

that teacher would end up teaching history in college, but at that specific time, he might have been teaching the future. for you see, the present author has spoken often, although not in some time, of one of the most simplistic renditions of an important piece of buddhist thought. that is, we exist is a cycle of eternal suffering until we shed desire. that until we do so, unending birth and death continue unabated, filled with pain. and perhaps no other activity quite accurately portrays this cycle as the kitchen on a thursday night. imagine, if you will, stepping into a dirty kitchen before thursday night dinner, and having to embark on a long session of "cleaning dishes." imagine, now, that those dishes, once cleaned, are immediately used to cook and plate the dinner you will fix. finally, once consumption is concluded, said dishes must now be cleaned again.

one could extend this out to an extremely varied host of activities, from waking up, going to work, and coming home, to any broad scale repetition. but expanding the scope out far enough on anything renders the specific analysis pretty meaningless. ergo, the present author must conclude that washing dishes encompasses the four noble truths better than anything else. suffering is true, and it is caused by a perpetually full sink. to end the suffering? just end the desire in having clean dishes, and invest in a large stack of disposable Chinet. not only does it save on having to clean, but truly; how sharp can the teeth of predatory dishes made of recycled paper really be?