New World In The Morning Somewhere on the outskirts of a southeast Texas town where you burn your neighbor’s house for revenge and then your own for insurance money to leave the county the Zen Buddhist basketball team is practicing for its next game. Friday night on the court, at peace with themselves, the fans, the refs, and other players, they make their baskets every time and never trip their opponents on fast breaks or pull their shorts down on jump shots. Flowing to the rival end of the court they politely step aside as the Cobras’ star player drives for a layup and, having nothing to fight for, misses. Waiting underneath, docile as a doe, Sardria Char opens his hands like a baby bird’s mouth, open in praise. Avoiding the karma-disturbing thuds of a dribble, he takes the ball and hands off to Krishna, who passes to Gandhi sitting cross-legged and sleepy-eyed under the home town hoop. The ball rises in a perfect, silent curve. Never touching the rim, it swishes through the net like a good soul coming into being. Tonight they subdue with serenity. Next year they take the title.