There is a kind of fantasy genre that I don't know the name of but I love it dearly. I consider it my favorite genre of all time. I will list some examples... -The Shrek Franchise -Minecraft's enchanting system and magic system -Aesop's Fables -Fairytales -Some Bible Stories -Some Ancient Mythology The most I can describe it is "Organic Fantasy" or "Mythological Fantasy" or "Symbolic Fantasy" How I can describe it is that its the opposite of "typical fantasy" or "inorganic fantasy", like Lord of The Rings or Game of Thrones or Dungeons and Dragons which all deal with numbers and maps and geography and accuracy...etc While organic fantasy is more about relationships, its about people, its about objects and their purpose towards the story. Magic is heavily symbolic towards some moral lesson, or an allegory of something in the real world. In typical fantasy, things are supposed to be like an alternate universe. Like its just another timeline and we happen to see it. In organic fantasy, things are a reflection of the current world we are in. Everything is a pawn from some greater purpose or ending. Magic's purpose is to simplify something that exists in the real world. Potions and spells represent ways of getting something in a much more simplified way than the real world, like love potions or beauty potions or invisibility potions (invisibility can be HEAVILY symbolic). Writing style also plays a part in it. Bible stories, ancient mythologies, and Buddhist Zen Koans have a style that are reflected in it. There is a deep hyperfocused emphasis on the characters of the story, and doesn't care much for individual details. The stories focuses on everything as a whole than what its composed of. Its a Chekov's gun kind of thing. Every detail matters. Every single thing in the story contributes towards the narrative towards its end, like a bunch of threads weaving together into a beautiful bow. Think of Aesop's fable of the golden goose. You dont need to know when it happened or where it happened or who even has the goose or if the goose is even a goose. All you need to know is that some person has something that makes something good, and then lost it. In one Zen Koan two monks see a flag waving. One monk says the flag is moving on its own, and the other monk says the air is moving it. A third monk comes in saying the flag is moved through our minds. You do not need to know where they are or who they are or why they are all here, all you care about is their perspective on the situation they are in. Oh I guess thats another detail about this kind of genre. Characters don't really have names they just have titles. "The Fox" "The Hare" The Tortoise" "The Knight" "The Farmer" "The Goose"...etc etc Please I hope someone understands what I'm talking about I NEED TO LEGITIMIZE THIS THING AND SEE MORE PEOPLE DO THIS KIND OF GENRE ON PURPOSE BECAUSE ITS MY FAVORITE KIND OF THING EVER P.S Oh forgot to mention, stories like these especially are formed through oral tradition. The stories aren't made by one person, but are a collaboration of many people retelling it over and over again. Unimportant details get left out, and the spirit remains. Like saltwater boiled, and just the salt remains. And this salt that I taste is something I adore

what is the sound of one ball slapping?

It isn't that we're alone or not alone whose voice do you want mine? yours?

~Ikkyu~

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I made a basket

there was nothing to go in it

if there had been a thing, it would be clutter

if there hadn’t, the basket itself is clutter

The Moon

Image generated by the-path-inside using Stable Diffusion. View my other creations here. Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal. Ryokan returned and caught him. “You have come a long way to visit me,” he told the prowler, “and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.” The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away.

Ryoken sat naked, watching the moon. “Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon.”

The Voice Of Happiness

zen koan

After Bankei had passed away, a blind man who lived near the master's temple told a friend:

"Since I am blind, I cannot watch a person's face, so I must judge his character by the sound of his voice. Ordinarily when I hear someone congratulate another upon his happiness or success, I also hear a secret tone of envy. When condolence is expressed for the misfortune of another, I hear pleasure and satisfaction, as if the one condoling was really glad there was something left to gain in his own world.

"In all my experience, however, Bankei's voice was always sincere. Whenever he expressed happiness, I heard nothing but happiness, and whenever he expressed sorrow, sorrow was all I heard."

Show me your face before your parents met

recovering from heart break, rejection faster than I normally do,

i printed out my favorite zen koan and my favorite internet reply and put it on my walls as means to have something refreshing to reflect on

haiku 20240417

what I always seein the bathroom mirrormy original face

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No fortune in my fortune cookie. What does that mean? Bad news? A message from the universe? Is it a Zen koan?

IKB WIND: Swim Against The Current (2024)

born born everything is always born thinking about it try not to.

~Ikkyu~

Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing in it to steal. Ryokan returned and caught him. "You may have come a long way to visit me," he told the prowler, "and you shoud not return emptyhanded. Please take my clothes as a gift." The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away. Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. "Poor fellow, " he mused, "I wish I could give him this beautiful moon."

Zen Koan

True Friends

zen koan

A long time ago in China there were two friends, one who played the harp skillfully and one who listened skillfully.

When the one played or sang about a mountain, the other would say: "I can see the mountain before us."

When the other played about water, the listener would exclaim: "Here is the running stream!"

But the listener fell sick and died. The first friend cut the strings of his harp and never played again. Since that time the cutting of harp strings has always been a sign of intimate friendship.