July 27, 2004
#168 :: Deformed Paper Cup
There is a mysticism in Zen Buddhism that I feared I would never approach as an outsider - a holiness in the mundane, the worship of a pebble, a leaf, a puddle. Then my son handed me this. "Here. This is for you." I'm dumbstruck. "What the ... how did you ... what is this?" I turned it over. The light shone through its translucent bottom. The accordion pleats seemed deformed by design, shaped with a mathematical certainty to a Brancusian rhythm and volume. "It's a paper cup," he said. "How did it get like ..." He grabbed it, demonstrating how to put it on your mouth, form a tight seal, and simultaneously blow and shove the cup's bottom toward your face. "No, wait! I get it! Don't ruin it! It's really cool!" Transfixed. Absolutely held in thrall by the alchemy of paper product, physics and impetuous boyhood. "Can I keep it?" He shrugged. "Sure." He's 4½. I wonder at times about my real age.