Sally in the Zen

Confessions of a Befuddled Zen Buddhist

Milk Kick

Zen Master, Zen Mum and I don’t really have a favorite supermarket.  We tend to go visit and wander around everywhere because, you know, it has food.  Rows and rows of colorful, bright, fragrant edibles!

And very pretty, fragrant flowers.



With Zen Master now into his milk kick, with his two big glasses of milk a day, he’s starting to pay attention to other things in the world of dairy.

Like organic.

“Is it really organic?”  He asked as he slid his glasses on and peered closer at the sign that says ORGANIC milk.  “How do we really know if it’s organic?”

I shrugged.  “Maybe that’s why they put that ORGANIC sticker on it.”

But Zen Master persisted.  “But is it really organic?”

“Why don’t we keep the receipt, just in case?”  I suggested.  “Try it out and if you’re happy with it, I bet they’ll give us back our money.  No big deal.”

Zen Mum peeked into the grocery cart.  “Isn’t milk…milk?

Excellent question.

Inquiring minds want to know.

So as soon as we got home, Zen Master broke into the milk and poured himself a full cup of the organic milk.

Zen Mum and I crowded around Zen Master, waiting for him to stop pondering and musing and just spit it out.

But rather than waiting for his verdict, I grabbed a mug and sampled some for myself.

It was cool, quite refreshing.

It was smooth and quite creamy.

It was..milk.

And I promptly got the runs.

Yes, my name is Sally and I forgot that I’m a little lactose-intolerant.

Oh well.

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