D. E. Harding (1909–2007)

I obtained this book from my dying Uncle's empty home while helping to clean it out and decided to read it after seeing the subtitle "A Contribution to Zen in the West". I call my library (yes, I have a room dedicated exclusively to the storage and reading of books) my zen as every time upon entering with the intention to sit and read, I experience a mild and relaxing rush down my spine and across my shoulders which dissipates imperceptibly at my fingertips and toes just as the scent of aged show more paper, musky wood pulp, and biblichor hit my nose and the quiet ambiance induces a wonderful peace. No thoughts, no definable emotions, just peace. So of course, I would want to absorb a little more info and outside experience on the subject (note already very aware of ASMR).
This book contains an essay about the author's personal experience in achieving, suddenly and unawares, a sort of enlightenment where he realized that he didn't matter and was absorbing his experience of the Himalayas without any other associated thought aside from pure sensation. Personal experience I am always willing to read even if it carries a premise or themes I don't necessarily agree with or believe in at all. However, the author seems to be playing a little word game with the headless bit though I do dig the magical experience of exploring Point-Of-View that happened briefly around the center of the text. The postscript seemed unnecessary to me although it was attending to criticisms of the previous editions of the book. The main complaint I have is with just about everything zen I've ever read, listened to, or watched. It always starts with sudden out-of-the-blue enlightenment with only lip service paid to any method or definable practice to get there other than endorsing "meditation" in the vaguest of senses. What's the routine man? Where's the actual technique, why do you just mention the word as if you've already explained it near the last third?
All said and done, I did enjoy reading it and am glad I did especially since this thing was a very quick read. Although, I'm not sure I would recommend this one save for some light reading about one man's life-changing mystical experience. show less

Sam Harris always recommends this which is why I slogged through it. The flowery language that often didn't really communicate much to the analytic mind made me drift of often.

Perhaps the topic at hand doesn't really lend itself to articulation? Or is it really just meaningless drivel with no relation to reality? I actually think it's more likely to be the former than the latter which is why I don't regret reading this.

Unfortunately, this book didn't fire my imagination or capture my attention. "On Having No Point" might be a more apt title.

DNF. Not right for me, not right for now. It talks about Zen and Buddhism, but not in a way that's accessible to me.