The first half of the practice period is all zazen, and the last half is all festivals and fun, so we enjoy it all, it's quite wonderful, both ways. The trouble is that we survive, or we congratulate ourselves toward the end of the practice period on having survived the session, and having survived the practice period, and so on. This is most unfortunate. With any luck at all, you would perish in the middle and be somebody else at the other side when you got out of it, if you got out of it at all, maybe you'd stay in there. In any case, even if you claim now that you have survived all of these things and you intend to do a whole lot more, the person who is now sitting here isn't exactly the same one who came here in September. All sorts of curious little readjustments have happened to him, and you may not notice

[01:10]

the adjustments right this minute. Some may never come back, some may never do any session ever again, because they say that's enough. Now I know what that's like, I don't have to do it anymore, it's great. A number of us, of course, will continue to do them, and each one is different. Each one smells and feels and tastes different from the last or the next. In some ways, the session is like a very, very slow motion ceremony. It seems to go on and on, and various things happen in the midst of it, and when it's all over with, it feels like something already has happened, you don't know exactly what. Just like when we do the Menju ceremony or the various other ones that we do, we don't

[02:16]

exactly know what happens. All we know is that we bow a lot and ring bells and say funny things in Japanese sometimes. But it's very difficult to describe what goes on or what effect it has, if any, because it doesn't seem to do anything, the lights don't go out, the trees don't burst into blossom or anything, everything goes along in the usual way, but here we've done all these things, and blown up lots of expensive incense in the process. So you have to figure out, what is this survival thing? And ordinarily, of course, it means that we eat and sleep and work and reproduce ourselves and die, and all of this process is surviving. We have to learn how to do it, and we're sort of programmed into our genes and chromosomes

[03:22]

to do this thing, to keep living until we get run over by a fast freight or by a dope habit or by cancer or a friend with a gun or whatever else, you keep going until you stop. And all the time we say, well, whatever else happened, at least I survived, I got over my cold and things were a little better today, I think I'll go out and play some golf, something like that. We go along that way. We always figure that I'm the same guy who started out, and we have this indoctrination or this taping inside ourselves that is laid on us from the minute that we're born practically that we are Joe Smith and that we were born in a certain place and our parents are John and Mary Smith and that we grew up in Ashtabula, Ohio, and that we went to school there and

[04:24]

there are people there who know us and people there that we know, and we have this permanent, fixed identity which is right there and which is quite important and which is us, which is real, and that we have to take care of. We have to find him a job and so on, keep him fit. And that person, that personality, what not, is exactly what Mahayana Buddhism says doesn't exist. Mahayana just says, well, that self, that Atman is just a big scenario and nothing else. It's what happens when the senses and the world all collide together and you get this resultant thing, you get this karma that we call Joe or me or you or whoever, and it doesn't

[05:25]

really there. It doesn't really exist. It's really very unimportant. And this, as I've said before, this is absolutely counter to the wishes and propaganda of Western society. We want to be, we think of ourselves as individuals and individuals which ought to develop to the fullest extent of their capacities and so on. The Mahayana line is that that's just nonsense. Individualism is isolation and isolation is just nowhere. Isolation is kind of death. And so what are we going to do? How are we going to, on the one hand, keep an identity and on the other hand, see that it's not there and reconcile that in our heads. And of course that's one of the things you find out, maybe, if you sit long enough, is

[06:27]

that you can't find, you can't find that guy anywhere in yourself. It's just not there. It's not in your eyes or ears or wherever else. It's just gone. But something is, something happens, something is, we all keep seeing something happening and we say, I was there and I did something and now I feel bad about it or I did something and now I feel good about it. And I've got this history that I'm committed to or that I'm responsible for and I've got to do something about it. And so maybe what you do about it is you go into 17 years of psychoanalysis, spend lots of money, have some learned doctor tell you that you're crazy, but that you'll be alright. You just keep paying. Or you decide to take up a TM or take up Zen and go crazy in another way, which is alright.

[07:35]

But eventually you might find out that your worries are sort of not where it's at. But that thing that's there, that thing we think is there and keeps doing things and keeps getting us into sessions or into other messes, I guess is maybe karma. That's a funny label to put on it. Other people might call it character. But anyway, we're terribly interested in keeping that going, keeping it alive actually. We spend a lot of time and energy and money on it. And we're always afraid of what's going to happen to it. One day some people were listening to a lecture by Leo Tolstoy, the novelist who had become a religious fanatic late in his life and was into lecturing to him about God and Jesus

[08:36]

and everything. And they said, oh, he was interested also in stopping wars. He wanted to have people live harmoniously and not kill each other all the time. And he was giving this lecture about the virtues of pacifism and turning the other cheek in one thing or another. And somebody asked him, well, what about if you're attacked by a tiger in the jungle, Mr. Tolstoy? And he looked at him and said, well, just do the best you can. It happens rarely. But what we do, finally, that's the only answer you can come up with is that, maybe. But other people have worse troubles, it seems, like the mother of the great Bodhisattva Modgalyayana. I forget which sutra the story comes into, but I like the story very much.

[09:37]

Modgalyayana was one of the really big, real Bodhisattvas, like Kuan Yin, Manjushri and Jizo and everybody. And he was very fond of his mother, although he had left her and gone off to join the Buddha and hang around with him all the time. But still, he found out one day that his mother had died. And so he felt very badly about it. And he traveled around to a whole bunch of different world systems and heavens and whatnot, trying to find her. And he couldn't locate her. And finally he said, oh, she couldn't possibly have gone into hell, but I'll try checking out one of the quieter hells. And she might be there because of something she did in the lifetime before I knew her. Maybe she was naughty or something. So she's in some rather gentle purgatory or something like that. I'll slide down there and see if she's there. And he went down there and he saw a lot of things, but he didn't see his mama.

[10:41]

And so, with some trepidation, he visited some of the other parts of hell and there was no sign of her. But finally, down in the real boiling, screeching, ravening part of it, here's mama. And she says, kid, you've got to use your influence to get me out of here. And he says, all right, mama, I'll do the best I can. And so he went around and he saw the Buddha and he says, teacher, my mama has lately died and has gone to hell. And she was always real nice to me and I'd like to help her get out of there. And the Buddha says, well, you certainly are welcome to try. You go right ahead. It's all right with me. And so, Madgalyayana was famous for his beautiful hair. He had real long hair that he braided up in a long ponytail kind of arrangement. And so, he leaned over the pit of hell and dangled this long braid of hair down into

[11:48]

it and said, mama, mama, grab hold and climb up. And so mama said, oh, thank goodness you've come. How nice. And so she grabbed hold of this hank of hair and started climbing up. And he says, you're doing just fine, mama. You only got a little bit more to go. And she was climbing up the hair rope. But then all of a sudden she looked down and she saw all these other wretches who were climbing up behind her on the same rope. And she commenced screaming and kicking at them and saying, no, no, no, you can't come too. You can't come with me. Kick, kick. And she was kicking and jabbing at them. And, of course, she fell off, too. And that was the end of it. And everybody was very sorry. But it just wasn't her nature to get out of hell. That's where she was at. It was her character, her karma to be there. That was the kind of person that she was. Kick, kick, kick. Screech, jealousy, et cetera.

[12:50]

And as Buddha said, you can try to get her out. But there was no helping her. She was where she was. Of course, all those hells and heavens and things are co-existent all the time. We all have these places in our own lives or in our own feelings. They're not so much 3,500 miles in that direction or something like that. But they're parts of our own existence, parts of our own mind and lives and so on. We sometimes find ourselves in there. And they serve an expression of who we are in some way, maybe. So we have to sort them out. But as far as getting out of them, that's another problem entirely. What are we going to do about it? And so we come up here and listen to the creek and sit around.

[14:17]

And some come for a little while and some come and stay a long time. And nobody is the same afterwards. We don't know why. It's all right. It's very interesting. And as Roshi was saying the other day, it's been going on quite a while that people have been doing this kind of trip. Although we don't know exactly how come it's managed to survive. But it does. I don't know what we'll do now. I'm going to go back to town and give poetry lessons for the Zen Center in Viet Doan.

[15:20]

And do some services once in a while. And be available. And I suppose other people might go almost anyplace. Go to Green Gulch or something like that. Go back to try to live at 300 Pace Street. Go home. Be very nice. I hope that everybody, wherever they end up, will continue to try to do Zazen in the morning or in the evening or sometime each day. Or it might be interesting for some of you who have done it for some time to try to break your habit. Try not doing it and see what happens. See what happens to your head or your life or what not. That would be interesting too. Okay. Do you have any questions? Yeah?

[16:24]

No. No. He means all the different kinds of magical or religious practices that people have been into ever since there were people. I mean, we're back in prehistorical times when we were all living in caves and things and trying to figure out what the universe was about. It appears that maybe people were in a state analogous to that of the modern primitive peoples and lived much the same way. Although a lot of people attack that analogy and say that's probably not true. That probably people went along in pretty dire, miserable kind of animal existence for a good many eons before they started getting it together enough to even live in caves. Even after they started living in caves, it took quite a long time before they were able to think up something like the burial of the dead.

[17:55]

The earliest kind of ceremonies seem to have been connected with death and burial. So that they find human remains which have been painted with red paint to make them magical and then they're buried in the floor of the cave where people were living. And for us it appears that before that people used to eat the remains. So there were supposedly many, many, many centuries of sort of blankness going along. I think that's a maybe accurate view. On the other hand, it appears from just watching what has happened in many cultures and in this one, it appears there are strange jumps that take place. So that one minute people might be living in caves and then a hundred years later they all of a sudden have high rise apartment houses.

[19:02]

And these seem rather unaccountable jumps. Or if you take something like Chinese culture which is quite complicated and how those people started out in the shape of cavemen. And a couple of minutes later they were into silk culture and lacquer work and stone carving and all sorts of complicated technical processes. Just the invention of the loom and the invention of how to unwind silkworm cocoons is a very complicated business, very tricky. You have to really work to figure out how to do that. It takes a long time or a short time, it's hard to say. Anyway, I think that Roshi meant not only doing zazen and carrying a kyozaku but also having an American camp meeting, a tent revival. Or aborigines having a corroboree in the middle of Australia or what not.

[20:11]

Huh? Well it's a combination, it's partly personal survival or personal magic for your own good. You figure that it's going to make you luckier and stronger if you do these things. And you'll be able to hunt better or collect more cowry shells than other guys or something like that. I don't think that it's entirely metaphysical, no. I think that it's connected up with that survival business. It's connected up with how you're going to keep that ego or that personality polished up. Except in Buddhism where you're trying to rearrange it some other way. Talk about it some other way. It's a magical, all these are magical operations. Yeah. I'm sorry Barbara.

[21:14]

Oh. I didn't gather that he meant that, no. I don't think so. It's a thing like people wearing a hair shirt or something like that maybe. To keep up their attention. It's not so much a punishment as an assumed burden and some difficulty that you make for yourself in order to learn what your limits are or learn what it is you really are feeling or really doing or really knowing. Yeah. Yeah. Well.

[22:35]

One is to do a practice that Baker Roshi has from time to time recommended of spending a zazen period actually concentrating just on your sense of hearing. Just on listening to all the sounds that are happening. Noting each one that does occur while you're sitting. That's one thing. Another thing you could do would be to try listening very carefully to music. To a piece of serious music like Bach or Brahms or somebody with a score. If you know how to read music, you know how to read the musical score and follow the score while the music is going on. So you're really hearing all the different instruments and the different parts of the music and so on that are going on. So you really are attentive. You're really tuned in instead of just laying back and listening to it.

[23:42]

Sorry. But to attend closely to what's being done and how. How are the guys performing? Do you think they're going along? Are they playing what's on the paper? Or how is it being interpreted by the conductor? Is he playing it faster than some other conductor does and so on? Or with bigger dynamic ranges? What's going on? So you could pay attention to all of that kind of thing. But listen very, very closely to some specific piece. Take a Beethoven symphony performed by seven different conductors and get the score and go through it seven different ways. Really attend. Really try it. Do some listening. Mort Zubotnick used to go around San Francisco with a tape recorder picking up weird sounds.

[24:44]

And he would later compose them into pieces of music. And he said one of the favorite places he would go was the top of Mount Davidson. That's out in the south end of the city. And there's a big concrete cross on top of it. They have an Easter morning ceremony there every year. But he said it's very interesting to go there because from the top it's not a terribly high mountain. It's only maybe three or four hundred feet. But from the top of it you could hear all these different sounds from different neighborhoods and whatnot in all directions. Children playing and people banging on pots. All sorts of things happening on all sides. And he could stand there and he would pick up all this stuff on his machine and take it home and listen to it. A lot of the time he'd have a terrible time identifying the sound or trying to remember what it was that was going on when that sound occurred.

[25:47]

And he told me that sometimes he'd be lecturing to one of his classes at Mills College. There'd be some guy out, some gardener or something out on the campus somewhere who would be doing some weird operation that made a noise of some kind. And he would stop in mid-lecture to try to identify what was making that sound. How was that happening or how could you reproduce that sound if you had to? And so on. And so he was always listening. He was a guy listening. This is because he was... I'd better back up a little bit and explain. He was in complete despair about writing formal music. He studied composition for many years and tried writing for conventional instruments and whatnot. And he was a student of Darius Milot who taught at Mills for many years.

[26:50]

He was also a very good musician. He played clarinet and he played with the San Francisco Symphony and the Opera Orchestra. And he had a group of woodwind players or string players and he played quartets and whatnot. And his wife was a violist and she played with all these objects also. And Mark couldn't figure out how to say anything new with all the conventional instruments. And so he stopped entirely and started, first of all, trying to just do concrete music with the sound. And then got into the business of using a tape recorder and splicing tape. He and Raymond Sander set up the Tape Music Center for a while in San Francisco and were composing there and then giving concerts there. And then Sterling Bunnell arranged it for Mark to go up to the University of California Medical School

[27:59]

where they had this huge machinery to make sound. All kinds of wonderful oscillator equipment, electronic equipment. I forget why they had it. There was some reason why the Langley Porter Clinic or somebody had this huge array of electronic equipment. And Sterling was finishing his training there, was in residency there or something like that. And so he arranged for Mark to be able to use all that wonderful stuff to create any kind of a sound at all. But anyway, what you do is you listen and see what happens. But maybe it's best to find out, first of all, how noise occurs or how do you make noise. Where is it coming from? And can you identify the source of those noises?

[29:05]

And so on. And then also to try to come at it, as I was saying, from a more conventional musical way. Does that any help? Yes, please. I'm sorry. I think it's sort of the general argument. Sort of the movement after the revolution. And so I'm not sure. I don't have a feeling. I'm not sure. In some way. I don't know if it's relevant. I haven't practiced it. And it's hard to create a great deal of wonderment. It's just that I'm forever at a loss. It may come back to me. I think I'll teach you. I'm very good at it. But you have a recent piece of advice.

[30:07]

What is it? I don't know. All I can say is, all that immediately comes to mind is the experience of living around David Chadwick. When he had decided, Roshi suggested it to him, actually, that he shut up. And I forget how long a period it was for now. It seemed interminable. But there was some quite extensive period in which he wasn't supposed to talk. And we were living on opposite sides of the corridor in Page Street at that time. So I saw him quite frequently. And he was the work leader in the building, which was very complicated. He was always having his herds of visiting students, guest students, to direct.

[31:09]

He wasn't really carrying on his ordinary business in his ordinary happy way. He was quieter then, by far, than when he was poking everybody in the ribs and writing notes. And he told me that in a day's time, he would write thousands and thousands. He would have volumes of voice paper. At the end of it, everything in sight would be written on matchbooks and napkins. And any piece of paper, if possible, would have David on it. And so he just proliferated. It was an immense thing. And it was very interesting for him, he said. And I know that there were a number of guest students who, if they remembered nothing else about their trip to the sunset, remembered that there was a funny monk there who didn't talk, and how interesting that was. And they were writing letters home about it to their friends and so on.

[32:11]

And this was very interesting, and it got a lot of people's attention. And so it does work if you do a silent number. And it's wonderful. And I do remember that Kadagiri Roshi sat right here on the first day of the practice period and said, Shut up and practice. Yeah? I'm not sure if you can hear me. Do you think it's sometimes such a strange thing, that your ordinary life, your self-image, can be taken up by someone else? Not necessarily to do a silent number, but to do a silent number. Well, if it will save all sentient beings, I'm in favor of it.

[33:25]

Fine. Really. But some sentient beings you've got to talk to. Yeah. You mean, instead of talking, to hand somebody a screwdriver? Or if they, instead of talking, simply open the door for them, let them out the door or in? I don't think it has any special merit. In any case. Is this something, is this another way of doing, another way of dealing with the world or with people, is to try not talking to them so much, but doing something or not doing something or whatever. How did you handle that?

[34:43]

How are you going about it? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. That's good. It's supposed to be. It's all right. But as long as it's not preventing you from saving all sentient beings, well, I wouldn't worry too much about it. But if all the sentient beings are tugging you by the coattail and saying, save us, save us, and you're saying, yeah, wait a minute, I've got to figure out how Berlio got from B-flat to E-flat in this passage here, then maybe it's not so good. Instead of saying, all right, I'll do whatever you want.

[35:59]

I think that, uh, I think that we have lots of restraints. We have probably too many to start out with. We all had parents laying all sorts of trips on us about what we're supposed to do and what the world is really like and what we're really like and whatnot, which is all only more or less true. And we're finding out better. And we have a great many inhibitions built into us by our parents and by our society, and not all of them are useful, not all of them tend toward enlightenment, unfortunately. And we adopt certain ones. In this practice, certainly, the practice of trying to sit quietly looking at the wall is certainly restraining. Or the practice of trying to eat out of an Oreo key instead of with a knife and fork and a table and a plate and so on,

[37:16]

the way we're usually used to doing, is another kind of restraint. And we don't wear street clothes here in the Zen Do. So we have to figure out how to walk around with all these sleeves and things. And so anyway, we have a number of weights or clogs or parachutes that go along with what we're doing. And then, technically, we're silent from time to time and so on. And so we're all using, we're all trying all these different things. Lots of mornings people don't like to chant, don't feel like chanting. But of course they chant anyway, don't they? Instead of keeping silent, they have to cop out at that point and chirp a few sutras. A lot of them don't like it. It's very hard for many people to chant. I notice, especially when I'm in Pei Street, how many people are sort of sitting there like that through the service.

[38:23]

Not asleep, but awake and looking unhappy because they're in the service and they're not chanting. So, you know, sometimes we have to talk when we don't want to. Other times we have to be quiet when we don't want to. And we have it both, both ways. So more restraints are there, certainly. And all of those things give a shape to what it is we're doing. And so they're useful. But the thing is, I don't think any particular one of them is more important than the other. I don't think that total salvation is going to come through chanting or through bowing or through eating together. Although at any moment, at any moment of any one of those activities, you might snap your head and say, Oh my goodness, I understand. If you're really into it.

[39:26]

If you're really paying attention to it. You have a question? I just did, I think. Namely that they lend architecture to otherwise rather formless activity. They make a little matrix or cage or whatnot that we sort of wind in and out of with more or less skill. And bulge over the sides of and whatnot. But which remain sort of by general agreement in a particular way. And that's where you start from. And where you come back to when you get puzzled or when you get too abstracted or too egotistical or too tripped up.

[40:33]

You can say, Oh, well, I guess what I should do now is go to the service and bow. What I should do, what I'm supposed to be doing is cooking. What I'm supposed to be doing is Sampachi. So we come back. It's a place to come back to that we say, OK, I think this kind of thing, this kind of thing, this kind of thing. I'll walk around maybe outside of it a little bit, but I'll keep coming back there. Keep repeating it. Uh-huh.

[41:46]

Well, in that, just let's stay with that particular example about eating, what it is about, what it is we're actually doing. And, of course, here or at a session in Green Gulch or even at Paid Street on an ordinary day at dinnertime, the eating is not just eating. It's not just an occasion for everybody simply eating together or apart or whatever. It's also eating for other beings, for other people. The food is offered to you. It's a religious offering. And it's your business to accept what's given and eat it for the benefit of all beings. And that's part of the meaning, then, of that activity, is that it is a giving and receiving on behalf of somebody else and everything else.

[43:09]

It's not just ingestion of food. Yeah. Uh-huh. Well, what's your idea about us going out?

[44:16]

Do you mean like in the strict sense of nirvana, of being blown out and totally gone? Or do you mean out to the personality dying or what? Which meaning do you have? One sense, as I understand it, is the candle going out to mean radiating light or whatever in all directions. Another thing is going out of being extinguished, of no longer being light. Uh-huh. Well, that's one of those questions that Buddha said didn't tend toward enlightenment. He said that if you try to think about annihilation and about eternity and annihilation, you've got two opposites there that are not going to get you anyplace.

[45:19]

You have to cut through the pair of opposites and get into something else. Because that's just a big head trip. As long as you've got pairs of things like that and you've made yourself a block, you're going to have to head off in some other dimension or some other direction. By you in that context, I meant that conventional, historical you, the guy that receives the tax forms every January and has to fill them out or the authorities will come and put you in jail, that you that has a legal or a conventional existence,

[46:25]

what the books call samvritti, the idea of ordinary truth or regular truth, as distinguished from paramartha, the exact truth or real religious truth or transcendental truth. I'm wondering if you should survive or should you die? Or should you go into abeyance or take a vacation?

[47:28]

It's like that speech in silence routine about how maybe it's better to be quiet, to be blown up, than to be talkative. But the idea of this self that we like, that we're trying to survive, that's trying to preserve itself, which is one of the reasons I think why we're here, is we're bored with that guy, we're bored with that self, and we're trying to rearrange him or paint him over or talk to him into doing something else. And that's the one that I'm talking about, not surviving, or you'd be lucky if you didn't survive, because then you would have succeeded in your quest for enlightenment or whatever, if that guy gets blowed up. Are you happy there, though, as you say, that that guy also has to be saved?

[48:31]

There wouldn't be any saving without him, that's true. That's what Nagarjuna is saying in the Madhyamika Karakasya, that nirvana and samsara are the same thing. What it all ends up at is that you've got to have this dummy, you have to have ignorance before you can have wisdom. But the ignorance and wisdom are co-extensive or co-existent. And depending on which side of it you're looking at, you get one or the other. And the whole thing is the judgment that you're making about it. If you sit there and see two things, then you'd say, oh boy, this one is good and this one is bad, or I want this one and I don't want that one, or this one is me and this one isn't me, and so on. That's where you're getting into the meat grinder.

[49:38]

It's that problem of judgment and identification. It's not supposed to be right now. Maybe I can do it. Why not? What do you expect to have happen? Tribes or what? How can things be other than such? That's where the suffering part comes in. Because we really want it to be otherwise. If it's good, we want it to be bad. If it's bad, we want it to be good, and so on and so forth.

[50:42]

Keep adjusting, like Roshi says. Keep jimmying the machine. It's actually all right. Mm-hm. I don't think you can. I think, actually, if we look at it in that way, about there's him and there's me, me, I'm all right, but there's him. Then you're asking for trouble. Well, yeah, maybe so.

[51:44]

Certainly, Zazen, continuing to do Zazen, would help to keep some feeling of balance or sanity or clarity about what's going on. But maybe it's best, though, to get a real good look at that creepy one and find out why is it you don't like him or what are you going to do about him? And get a real clear view of that. If he went into abeyance in the session, maybe that's not so good, because maybe you should have been looking at him, counting him over, inspecting him, and find out where does he come from and what's he doing, really, and so on. Well, it's because you're not doing very much, either.

[52:45]

Just sitting, you're being kept out of trouble. You're being restrained in a very nice way, so that as long as you're not doing too much, there's not all that controlling going on. Is there? So, maybe you do too much when you're not in session. Maybe you're trying to do too many things, and so if you just sort of take it easier between miles, maybe it would all slow down and you'd feel better. I don't know. Try different things. I'm sure everybody wants to experiment. Neil, do you have some problems? Don't cut me off. In relation to that, I was... In relation to your gout, Terry? In relation to what you said.

[53:46]

Sir, did I make the impression that after I used to go to the show of silence ceremony, you used to have one of the last days of the session? Yeah, I did, sometimes. And this is on my mind as well, I see, because now they haven't dared to give us a chance to get out of our session, and we're sitting in the middle of it. It seemed like, you know, when you realize that you're in the middle of a session, and there's just a bunch of people around in the back row, and they're just asking the same question. So, does everybody have a day off, and lots of people running around in your house? It makes it easier for them, doesn't it? I suspect so. It's much easier to handle Neil, if Neil comes back in full force, rather than the marvelous enlightened Buddha who's still sitting on the seventh day of that session, sitting in his little pillow all zonked up. He might come up with some really dreadful question. And where would the answer come from?

[54:50]

I forgot it. Make up another one. I don't know. I've been trying to think up a question, and I thought up one yesterday, and now it's gone. I don't know what I'm going to say for that occasion. Yeah. Sometimes less than a day. The mildew sets in. Bob, did you have a question? You gave up. Okay. Well, that's enough. Thank you very much for letting me practice with you. Thank you.

[55:49]

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