As early as I can remember, I have always had an unexplainable fascination with the East. As a skinny, underweight first-grader, I was likely the only kid in my class who carried a “Kung-fu” lunch box to school. Making my way across the cafeteria amidst a sea of colorful boxes and thermoses with covers like “Brady Bunch” and “Scooby Doo”, all eyes were on me. I was the scrawny, pale-skinned outlier with “Kung fu” proudly displayed across my kit. You remember “Kung fu” the TV show, where Caine would wander the West barefoot across the desert and canyons, and mysteriously happen upon situations and people that required his deep spiritual insights from his Buddhist training at the Shaolin Monastery, and of course, his lethal, hand to hand Kung-fu skills. The series was originally created by Bruce Lee, but at the time Hollywood was simply not ready for an Asian ‘Kung-fu” star.
At night, I would sit in hypnotic trance in front of the television set, rabbit ears in perfect planetary alignment, watching and absorbing like an earnest disciple as young Caine learned the ways of the Shaolin from Master Po.
“Close your eyes. What do you hear?, said Master Po.
“I hear the water. I hear the birds,” young Caine replied.
“Do you hear your own heartbeat?” “No”
“Do you hear the grasshopper which is at your feet?”
“Old man, how is it that you hear these things?”
“Young man, how is it you do not?”
As I grew a bit older and grew in wisdom and stature, now weighing in at about 95 pounds, I became fascinated with the Martial Arts and found my way to a traditional Okinawan Karate dojo. It was there I was first introduced to the “way of empty hand” or Karate, the Martial Art of Japan. Unfortunately for me, this was more of a Cobra Kai dojo (if you get the Karate Kid reference) rather than a Mr. Miyagi dojo. The Head Teacher or “Sensei” was not a Japanese man, but a brick wall of a former military guy who clearly had the “No Mercy” philosophy.’
My poor mother would erupt in tears as I came home with bruised arms from the brutal practice of slamming bone against bone, forearm upon forearm, between student and opponent, night after night, all to build up the ability to take hammer blows from one to another. Then there was the ancient practice of punching your fist into a wooden board with rope tied around it, known in Japanese as the “makiwara”, designed to toughen up the cartilage in the knuckles. In my case, this seemed to only turn them very purple and very blue.
This training seemed to run in stark opposition to Mr. Miyagi’s teachings in the “Karate Kid”, the film which would forever shape my life. “Daniel-san, Karate training always here”, Mr. Miyagi would say, as he would point to the heart, “Never here”, pointing to his fist.
Needless to say, I didn’t last long as a Kobra Kai. Although I was captivated by the structured forms and discipline of the Japanese art, what was really calling to me was the introduction to the underlying essence of the East, the “way”. Something in this lens of looking at the world awakened something within me, perhaps a recognition, the remembrance of another time, perhaps another life.
You could say that I’ve always had the call to adventure, the restlessness to go exploring. Perhaps it all began with “Henry the Explorer.” As a wide-eyed toddler with the whole world ahead of him, each night I would crawl up in my bed and beg my mom, “read it again, read it again, one more time,” pleading with her to once again re-read the book I loved hearing over and over. In the book, filled with colorful paintings, Henry would wake up early each morning, pack his lunchbox, then head out alone into the woods with his best friend and companion, his dog, Angus McAngus. He carried a yellow backpack full of flags and would make sure to leave a flag carefully planted into the ground every few hundred yards, so that he would always be sure to find his way home before dark in time for dinner. In my most favorite and anticipated part of the book, the sun began to slowly set behind the trees, every tree and pathway began to look the same. Soon Henry and Angus were going around in circles and when I could no longer contain my excitement, Henry and Angus were lost. His mom was frantic had to call the police, which really got me excited, and then, just as all hope had been lost, a soaked and cold Henry and Angus were knocking on the front door. I begged to have this story read over and over again. I loved this book so much, that my mom found a rare copy and gave it to me on my 30th birthday.
This was the story that set things in motion for me.
I’ve had a long list of amazing adventures in my life. At the age of 15, I concocted a plan with my best friend to outsmart both of our parents, and flew alone to Hollywood in hopes of becoming a soap opera actor. Two years later, I would return again to Los Angeles to attend a Professional Theatre Conservatory in hopes of breaking into the movies.
The call to adventure seemed to be louder than Hollywood and at 18 I sold my car and possessions and headed to Hawaii with only a bag in hand to further see the world. Hawaii led to travels in Southeast Asia and then through Europe and Scandinavia performing in street dramas in hopes of leading people to Jesus Christ.
Those early adventures exposed me to a much larger world and I made a vow to myself back then that I would never simply return to America and do the standard American recipe for success and happiness. I had lived in a third world country, spent days in a third world hospital, eaten dog and chicken embryos. America could never offer such excitement.
Once I returned to America, I did just that for the better part of two decades. I succumbed to the American indoctrination of success. This recipe for success could never satisfy the soul, and so the need for adventure seemed to call again. I took a solo trip to Costa Rica, where once again I discovered a simple way of life. My endless days consisted of surfing, yoga, writing and fish tacos. It is said that 8 days in Costa Rica is like 30 days somewhere else. I lived like a King for less than $500.
My first trip to Costa Rica changed me deeply and planted the seeds for all that would come later. In Costa Rica I discovered the pure joy and satisfaction of living simply, out of a bag. There was no need for extras, no need for devices. I settled into a natural rhythm in accordance with no time. I woke naturally as the sun was rising. I moved among the trees and into the ocean. I ate what was grown or provided in the local market. I took siestas. Words seemed to easily flow into writing. I didn’t miss money. I didn’t miss having a car or going to movies. I was experiencing something much deeper here.
Again, I vowed to return home to America and live this way even amidst a busy modern city. My efforts were earnest but the strong tide of the American infrastructure were much stronger. Nonetheless, the seeds of simplicity, living in accordance with nature, minimalism were deeply planted and taking root.
In 2018, I was doing pretty well for myself, according to the standard playbook of the American Dream. I had my own business, publishing a small magazine in Austin, Texas which was doing quite well. As the owner and publisher, I had finally gotten all the moving parts working in harmony, a few people working under me, and now had a fair amount of autonomy. Yet something was missing. Here I was, having finally reached the peak of what all the many years of goal-setting, hard work and productivity had promised, only to find the pinnacle of success leaving me empty and longing for something else.
There was something much deeper, a quiet whisper of the soul that was calling me, calling me to my own Hero’s Journey, an epic adventure of my own…to the East.
Thus the Hero’s Journey began.
This internal call has never left me, a quest to live outside the norm of our hectic consumer culture and has taken me on epic adventures to China, Hong Kong, Costa Rica, South Korea, Japan, culminating in a year of mindful living in solitude in a tiny Japanese house in Kyoto.
I now write these words from a simple cabin on top of a mountain immersed in nature in Boquete, Panama where I live surrounded by the indigenous people of the Chiriqui Valley.
I live simply, grow and process my own coffee, and I write.
This whisper of the soul has always been further fueled by a longing for a much more simple and peaceful way of living in this modern world, a path which treads quietly and leaves a small, peaceful footprint.
On these pages, I share my observations of kindness and beauty from my adventures in the world and invite you to listen quietly for the call within you to explore the places that beckon your soul.
Thank you for reading and joining the journey,
Kirk
A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent upon arriving. A good artist lets his intuition lead him wherever it wants. -Tao Te Ching
Zen and Ink Journals represents hundreds of hours of writing over the past decade, sometimes from a train in remote China or a coffee shop in Kyoto, a hammock in Costa Rica or a simple cabin on a mountain in Boquete, Panama.
Zen and Ink Journals is a simple offering of words in the hope of inspiring others to a simpler, more mindful way of life in these chaotic times. I invite you join me each month on the journey for a glimpse of the larger world, reflections on living more simply and quietly amidst the chaos of our modern world.
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For more information and ways to connect with me, visit my website at Zen and Ink
Zen and Ink was born over a decade ago out of my own personal journey to find peace and tranquility amidst the ever-increasing chaos of our modern world. In the last ten years, the pace of our modern world has only accelerated and we have moved further out of sync with nature and the rhythm of our souls. Zen and Ink offers a quiet space for anyone along their journey seeking more balance and Zen in their daily lives.
Zen and Ink provides an oasis for those who are drawn to a slower and simpler way of life; to provide a portal for awakening, tools and resources that many will find useful in their own quest to find the Zen which is already there and always within and around each of us.