I couldn’t have written the following in entire seriousness and survived. But I do sometimes try to make my noodles with the attention they deserve. Please enjoy the feast.
Can you bow to instant noodles? This could be the secret you’ve been searching for. Zen teaches an abiding compassion for all things. However, I am going to assume that, this morning, you were not expecting to bow to instant noodles. But here we are, in the zendo of the monastery kitchen where the head cook has the higher practice. You, everything in the world, and a packet of noodles.
Your noodle dream will not be my noodle dream, but I can maybe signpost a journey. It will be a path of utmost reverence. Not just for the noodles, but for all sentient beings, numberless as they are.
The supermarket, finding the aisle with the noodles, being careful to walk with others in mind in the crowded store.
The noodle packets. They have arrived in the world, and I have arrived in theirs. No, we have arrived in the world together.
Instant vegetable broth noodles, 5 packets. Carefully placed in shopping basket. Self-checkout. Reverently pass the noodles past the item scanner, the Dharma is also written on their sacred barcode, like all things. A flash out of Emptiness, the sounds of a successful transaction.
By foot, by bike or by car, paying attention to all around you as you head home.
The jingle of keys opening the front door. The echoing of footsteps as you enter the devotional space of the kitchen.
Refill the kettle with the tap running at a moderate pace. The sound of a kettle filling, getting ever so slightly higher. Intentionally, push the on switch. Any thoughts are just left to drift, like clouds, they recede on their own with time.
Of the noodle packets, select the One. Treasure your time together, it has just passed. We never make noodles for ourselves, but perhaps our descendants may enjoy them. For now, the crackling of the packaging is enough.
The packet is opened with reverence, scissors or a tear with just enough force. Inside, a cake of delight. A noodle vessel is placed on the counter, gently, and within it the sacramental noodle cake.
It will need its seasonings. Similarly the seasoning packets are opened one by one, and added, savoring the slight sounds and aromas. It is not necessary to think about savouring, the savouring has already been done for you. Buddha attends to even the smallest of beings.
A kettle boils. With care, it pours over the noodle cake. Seasonings dissolve into water and into Emptiness.
The space sits in meditation. Outside a car drives past, a bird chirps. The aroma from the noodles. The pressure underfoot. The breathing in and the breathing out.
It is ready, always. The vessel is moved carefully to the table. Gasshō*. Bow to the noodles. Smell of broth. A pause.
Eating utensils skillfully transmigrate the noodles to an appreciative mouth. Eating is not for filling, but complete in every bite. Many lifetimes, so many people. See how the noodles change with grace and surrender? We can learn something from this.
The final noodle eaten. The broth is drunk, slurping with attentive respect. Gasshō. Bow to the empty vessel.
The vessel is washed and polished, though it was never originally dirtied. The sounds of cutlery and crockery, mindfully set in their places. The other noodles returned to their receptacle.
This is our practice, dreams of noodles are only delusion if a desire of our small selves. Buddha can dream of noodles for days. Can you bow to instant noodles?
Footnote
* Palms together, fingers pointing up, in front of chest.
