a zen story

 

Ryokan lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of the mountain.

One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal in it. 

Ryokan returned and caught him. “You may have come a long way to visit me,” he told the prowler,

“and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift.” 

The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away. 

Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon.

“Poor fellow,” he mused, “I wish I could give him this beautiful moon.”

 

source:  Reps. P. (n.d.). Zen flesh, Zen bones. Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, p. 12. Ryokan (1758-1831), Japanese poet and calligrapher. image: www.zenbrush.com

hear the mystic speak

Kabir was a fifteenth-century Indian whose spiritual growth was influenced by Sufi poets and the ideas of Hindus. When he speaks of the “Guest,” he refers to God or the Great Mystery.

The darkness of night is coming along fast, and the shadows of love close in on the body and the mind.

Open the window to the west, and disappear into the air inside you.

 

Near your breastbone there is an open flower.

Drink the honey that is all around that flower.

Waves are coming in:

there is so much magnificence near the ocean!

Listen: Sound of big seashells! Sound of bells!

 

Kabir says: Friend, listen, this is what I have to say: The Guest I love is inside me!

source: Kabir, versions by Robert Bly. (1977). The Kabir book. Boston: Beacon Press, p.35.

hello again!

Just in the door after two flights from Portland to Seattle to Victoria. Feeling just a bit disoriented after five rich days of silent life at the monastery, sleeping in a dormitory (replete with farts, snoring, and narrow beds), hours regulated by bells, drums, gongs, and clappers. Forty-plus people meditating, eating, chanting, working, and resting en group. The focus of the retreat was to develop the skill of metta.

“The Pali* word metta is a term meaning loving-kindness, friendliness, goodwill, benevolence, fellowship, amity, concord, inoffensiveness and non-violence. The Pali commentators define metta as the strong wish for the welfare and happiness of others. Essentially metta is an altruistic attitude of love and friendliness as distinguished from mere amiability based on self-interest. Through metta one … renounces bitterness, resentment and animosity of every kind, developing instead a mind of friendliness and benevolence which seeks the well-being and happiness of others. True metta is devoid of self-interest. It evokes within a warm-hearted feeling of fellowship, sympathy and love, which grows boundless with practice and overcomes all social, religious, racial, political and economic barriers.”

Wow … quite an undertaking, running counter to the ways I’ve viewed myself and others. Spending a week in intensive practice was merely a first step–well, a second. First, to acknowledge that the habitual ways are competitive, judgmental, and self-centred; that they cause suffering in self, others, and the world at large; and that gentler ways are essential. Then one sets out to unlearn and to relearn. In that sense, last week was basic training, a boot camp on becoming a kinder creature.

I’d best not burble on right now as thoughts and emotions are swirling in my heart-mind … my body, too, is sore (yet refreshed) from endless hours of sitting in meditation. One way to ground in the ‘ordinary’ is to make my way to the hospice and see who’s there and who isn’t (any more).

More tomorrow. Thank you for visiting. 

source: Buddhist Publication Society, Sri Lanka. *Pali is the ancient language spoken at the time of the historical Buddha. 

three in the morning

Chuang Tzu (also spelled Zhuangzi, or “Master Zhuang”, 369-298 BCE) was a Taoist philosopher highly influential in the reception, interpretation, and transformation of Buddhism in China.  Here’s one of his stories as translated by Thomas Merton (American monk in the Cistercian tradition, 1915-1968):  

When we wear out our minds, stubbornly clinging to one partial view of things, refusing to see the deeper agreement between this and its complementary opposite, we have what is called “three in the morning.”

 

What is this “three in the morning?” A monkey trainer went to his monkeys and told them: “As regards your chestnuts: you are going to have three measures in the morning and four in the afternoon.” At this they all became excited and angry. So he said: “All right, in that case I will give you four in the morning and three in the afternoon.” This time they were satisfied.

 

The two arrangements were the same in that the number of chestnuts did not change. But in one case the animals were displeased, and in the other they were satisfied. The keeper had been willing to change his personal arrangement in order to meet objective conditions. He lost nothing by it. The truly wise, considering both sides of the question without partiality, see them both in the light of Tao*. This is called following two courses at once. 

source: Merton, T. (1965). The way of Chuang Tzu. New York: New Directions, p. 44. *Tao ( 道, Pinyin Dào ) is a metaphysical concept found in Taoism, Confucianism, and more generally in ancient Chinese philosophy. While the character itself translates as “way,” “path,” or “route,” or sometimes more loosely as “doctrine” or “principle,” it is used philosophically to signify the fundamental or true nature of the world. 

who’s a buddha?

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One day a Zen teacher was having tea with friends at her home

when the telephone rang.

“Do Buddhas wear toe-nail polish” a seven-year old caller wanted to know.

“Are you wearing toe-nail polish?” the teacher responded.

“YES!” shouted the little girl, and hung up.

 

source: [with minor changes] Tanahashi, K. & Schneider, T.D. (1994). Essential Zen. Edison, NJ: Castle Books, p.95.

mindfulness?

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A word that’s popping up all over the place, from ads selling tea, day spas, and sound systems, to corporate mission statements, hip how-to books, and workshops for caregivers, parents, and assistant managers.  A 2500 years old concept central to the Buddhist eight-fold path, it refers to the intention of bringing awareness to thoughts and actions in the present moment. 

“Becoming mindful has to do with letting go of ambitions to control, solve problems, or achieve anything. Instead we choose to bear witness. A witness … is passive in the sense of deliberately not manufacturing anything. Rather a witness is willing to observe, be receptive to, and learn from whatever arises. … We enter into the confusion and mystery of whatever is happening with a curious, experimental attitude, not knowing what might be discovered, but welcoming, appreciating, and savoring what is. We slow down, and let go of automatic reactions that normally tell us what something is and what it means.”

source: Johanson, G. and Kurtz, R. (1991). Grace unfolding: psychotherapy in the spirit of the Tao-te ching. New York: Belltower, p.13. Ron Kurtz developed the Hakomi Method, an approach to psychotherapy grounded in the wisdom of East and West. 

 

entering the gate of doubt

 

I’ve been at this new job for six weeks, charged with offering “spiritual care” to hospice patients and caregivers. Now, it seems, the honeymoon is over. I’m having doubts about my usefulness. The inner critic points to what it considers my flaws: Who are you to think you can help?

 

All this was triggered by events a couple days ago when someone all-too-young had died and I briefly felt helpless amidst the commotion. (See my posting on Wednesday). Someone asked “How are you doing?” and we stood in the hallway, exchanging tears and utterances of the unfairness of life and death. Afterwards the voice from within: Aren’t you supposed to look after others? Who did you comfort? Are you cut out for this work?

 

Not an unfamiliar voice: it’s been with me for ages, since I was indoctrinated into unworthiness as a child. Fortunately, I’ve since learned to hear the voice as voice. And to ask, What is it? By shifting attention from thinking to sensing, from the mind to the body, by bringing awareness to my breath as it rises and falls, I meet fear. Fear of being (seen as) incompetent, of not being strong and wise enough, of Not Knowing? And below the fear, vulnerability. 

 

Staying with the steady flow of my breath, the voice of wisdom speaks: Recognizing our woundedness allows us to meet others at their place of suffering. It is were humanity resides, where deep healing can occur.

 

Ram Dass and Paul Gorman write:  

“In helping others, we’ll always find ambiguity and paradox. Sometimes these can just rip us apart and lead to self-doubt and self-consciousness, which, if allowed to take hold, will inevitably burn us out.  How else might we deal with this need to know? Perhaps, once more, by remembering that the process of witnessing is focused essentially on what is, not what might be or could be. The Witness does not reach, grasp, or desire. Because it is an instrument of observation, not of need, it merely attends to things.

 

When we apply this to moments when our need to know is being frustrated, we experience yet another liberating change of perspective. We begin to allow, and embrace, the full beauty of the helping act because of, not in site of, its ambiguity and paradox. Its mystery now only testifies to its ability to find its way into places we might never have imagined, to heal in ways we might not have intended.

sources:  Dass, R. and Gorman, P. (1985). How can I help? Stories and reflections on service. New York: Knopf, p.206. Ram Dass is a faculty member of the Metta Institute’s End-of-Life Care Practitioners Program which I completed in 2006. The tool of asking “What is it?” comes from Zen Master Charlotte Joko Beck by way of Ezra Bayda’s book Being Zen: bringing meditation to life. Boston: Shambala, 2005.

 

warning: may cause suffering

 

Over time I’ve sent gifts to a friend, each carefully chosen, lovingly wrapped, and mailed to arrive on time for Christmas and a birthday. Afterwards (and frankly, to this day) I’ve waited … and waited. If not for a “how sweet of you to think of me and what a wonderful gift you knew I’d delight in,” then at least for a simple “thank you.” Not too much to expect, is it?

 

In fact, it is. By creating expectations, fretting about the non-response, and thinking unkindly about the recipient, I’ve caused suffering to enter my heart. Ideally—so the teachings go—we give without expecting a return. Giving is giving, not an exchange nor an investment. Buddhists recite a chant before meals that speaks to “the emptiness of the three wheels: Giver, Receiver, and Gift.” In other words, the giver gives, the receiver receives, and the gift just is. Anything else is added unnecessarily and apt to cause unhappiness.

 

While travelling in Thailand last winter, I saw monks on their morning alms rounds. Walking barefoot along the road, they’d stop in front of houses and food stalls to accept offerings of food and money. Not to be outdone, I too took my place the next morning, holding small bags of boiled rice, vegetable curry, and cut-up fruit. As a monk approached, I placed everything in the proffered basket, then knelt in the dust as I’d seen others do. Next I heard him recite a monotonous sing-song over my bowed head, most likely in Pali, the ancient language from the time of the Buddha. When he stopped I looked up, expecting not sure what: a sign of oriental politeness, recognition for this cool act by a foreigner, a smile of appreciation? But he’d already turned and was walking away as if we’d never met.

 

In fact, our brief encounter was not about us at all. It was, instead, a blunt lesson about emptiness and non-attachment, an opportunity for one to practice giving and the other to practice receiving. Nothing more, nothing less. Deep bows to my distant friend for reminding me of all this.

 

the futility of grasping

Over and over, when sitting with someone near death, I notice how they hang on to ’what used to be.’ In one sense, looking back serves as a useful re-view of a life’s ups an downs, pleasures and pains, adventures and misadventures. Nothing wrong with that. What is troubling is that ’grasping’ keeps us from living what’s happening in real time, in this bed, at this bedside … now. Everything, including our own death, could come at any moment.

I am reminded of my own grasping and clinging: if only my Beloved would come back, I’d be truly happy; if only I didn’t have this nerve damage in my leg, I could run another half-marathon; if only I could still my mind, I wouldn’t be spending so much time fantasizing. And so on.

Ancient teachers remind us to practice dying every day, to let go of what’s gone, to realize the law of impermanence. So what the dying teach me is to let go now (and every moment) so that when the time comes for my body to give up, my mind will be clear and present. Seems a huge undertaking, and so it is. And the best time and place to begin is now.

“Grasping is the source of all our problems,” writes Sogyal Rinpoche, the Tibetan teacher, “Since impermanence to us spells anguish, we grasp on to things desperately; even though all things change. We are terrified of letting go, terrified, in fact, of living at all, since learning to live is learning to let go. And this is the tragedy and the irony of our struggle to hold on: Not only is it impossible, but it brings us the very pain we are seeking to avoid.”

source: Sogyal Rinpoche. (1995). Glimpse after glimpse: daily reflections on living and dying. HarperSanFrancisco, Feb.2. image: “Grasping” www.kinardist.com.

a crack in everything

 

   From Leonard Cohen’s Anthem:

 

The birds they sang

at the break of day

Start again

I heard them say,

Don’t dwell on what

has passed away

or what is yet to be.

 

Ring the bells that still can ring.

Forget your perfect offering.

There’s a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

…

 

Leonard Cohen, Canadian poet, songwriter and novelist, spent five years at Mount Baldy Zen Center in California and now lives in Montreal.

zen and the body

Body/mind practice is at the very root of Zen. Here’s a synopsis of the historical and doctrinal background by Prof. Steve Heine, a respected authority in the West:

“Zen does not appear to put an emphasis on the body, as it is generally referred to as the ‘mind’ school of traditional East Asian philosophy. In its early development in Tang China, Zen was closely associated with textual studies … which asserted the inseparability of mind and reality, or of subjective response and external phenomena. Later Zen thought, especially in medieval Japan, developed the doctrine of the One Mind, which encompasses all aspects of existence, including humans and nature, being and time, and truth and illusion ….

“However, the very emphasis on the unity or nonduality of mind and reality indicates a focus on the role of the body. In that regard, Zen can be considered a ‘body’ school — or a ‘mind/body’ school — because it maintains that mind and body do not exist in opposition but are interrelated on every level.

“Zen maintains the inseparability, identity, and equalization of mind and body, which invariably and inextricably interact and interpenetrate one another.  … The Zen doctrine of identity is … firmly rooted in a life of religious praxis in which a specific bodily posture — sitting in meditation (zazen) — takes priority over and serves as the basis of philosophical reflection. The word zazen refers to ‘sitting meditation’ with an emphasis on the somatic component or on composure of the body that fosters the ability to discipline and concentrate the mind.

“According to the Zen approach, zazen is the fundamental, all-encompassing spiritual activity that vitiates the need for following precepts, prayers, ritual, iconography, and so forth, although many of these elements of religious life are incorporated into the monastic routine. Zazen is not merely the act of sitting but is associated with the practice of walking, standing, sitting, lying, whereby all gestures and postures of the body throughout the 24-hour daily cycle are considered a form of meditation.

“Eating is an opportunity for contemplation and the hours of sleep are referred to as ‘reclining meditation’. The discipline of zazen serves as the basis for the composition of poetry, the actor’s performance in Noh theatre, the training of the samurai warrior, or the ceremonial etiquette of the tea and flower ritual.”

source: Dr. Heine is Professor of History and Asian Studies at Florida International Univerity.

all one

Once more I’m able to shed light on a lived experience by seeing it through the lense of ancient teachings. The following is an excerpt from a book by Ellen Birx, a Zen teacher and professor of nursing (see also previous posting).

When Zen masters speak of nonduality, they often say, “Not one, not two.” Not one means distinction remain, and are appreciated more than ever. Not two means you can, at the same time, experience the oneness of the whole. This simultaneous experiencing of the universal and each particular thing, frees you to act with the energy, power, and beauty of the whole.

[...] Nonduality means that there are no boundaries whatsoever. Even the smallest think like a hair is one with everything. Each person, likewise, is not separate. You are one with everything and one with the whole. This experience is vast and boundless like the sky.

In Christian terms, Jesus is speaking of nonduality when he says, “I and my father are one.”  … Rabbi Don Singer, who is also a Zen teacher, speaks movingly about the Jewish view of atonement. He points out  that the broader interpretation of atonement includes not only guilt and forgiveness, but also opening of your heart to the realization that you are “at-one” or one with everything. This insight eases your sorrow and fills you with wisdom and love.

source: Birx, E. (2002). Healing Zen: Buddhist wisdom on compassion, caring, and caregiving–for yourself and others. New York: Penguin, pp.111-113. image: www.metatronics.net

slip sliding

Norman Zoketsu Fischer, long-time teacher, poet, and former abbot of San Francisco Zen Center, writes about the impermanence of time and body: 

“Dogen, a 13^th Century Japanese Zen master, asks, ‘What is that appears?’ This is also my question. What is that appears? Who is it who is alive, in this body, in this world?

“Time is strange. We live within it, depend on it, take it for granted, yet it relentlessly passes, and our lives slip through our fingers moment to moment. Where does time come from, and where does it go? How is it that every moment we are different, we grow, we develop, we are born, we die? What are we supposed to be doing with this life?

“After many years of grappling with these questions during the course of my long spiritual practice, I have come to have a feeling for their answer. We don’t really know what appears, what time is, where it goes. But we are here to understand. And we all have our own way of understanding, and of expressing that understanding through the living of our lives.

“Each of us has a place in this world. Taking that place, I have come to feel, is our real job as human beings. We are not generic people, we are individuals, and when we appreciate that fact completely and allow ourselves to embrace it and grow into it fully, we see that taking our unique place in this world is the one thing that gives us a sense of ultimate fulfillment.”

* Fischer, N. (2003). Taking our places: the Buddhist path to truly growing up. Harper, pp.1-2). As guiding teacher to several Zen groups, including Mountain Rain Zen Community in Vancouver, BC, Norman regularly gives public talks and holds retreats. Click here for his website.

a friendship blessing

by John O’Donohue (1956-2008), Irish mystic, former Catholic priest, scholar and poet, who died unexpectedly this January. May he rest in peace.

May you be blessed with good friends.

May you learn to be a good friend to yourself.

May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness?

May this change you.

May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you.

May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging.

May you treasure your friends.

May you be good to them and may you be there for them; may they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey.

May you never be isolated.

May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your soul friends.

source: O’Donohue, J. (1997). Anam cara: a book of celtic wisdom. Harper Perennial, p.36.

practicing humility

One of the people who interviewed me for the job (see footnote to yesterday’s post) said that she’d been impressed by my humour and humility. Here’s what my mind made of that: on the ego level it said, Thanks for the compliment. I’m glad you liked what you saw; for seeing something in me to recommend that I’d be hired. On the spiritual level it said, Yes, that’s how I’d like to be perceived (some day). I’m surprised and grateful that those qualities are apparent to strangers (albeit a sophisticated one in this instance).

Humility is a virtue that can be difficult to describe because of its paradoxical nature: claiming authority about humility and claiming that one is humble each suggest a lack of humility. Google reveals that humility is seen as an essential virtue in many faith traditions:

 

·  According to Chinese Zen master Li Yuansong, enlightenment can come only after humility, the wisdom of realizing one’s own ignorance, insignificance and lowliness, without which one cannot see the truth.

·  Guru Granth Sahib, the great book of Sikhism (p. 152), holds that “modesty, humility and intuitive understanding are my mother-in-law and father-in-law.” See also my post of March 28.

·  Bernard of Clairvaux (1099-1143) defines humility as “a virtue by which a man knows himself as he truly is.”

·  The Bible depicts humility as making us fit recipients of grace: “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).

·  Moses’ greatest virtue was humility (Num. xii. 3). At first he resists the mission to free his people because he mistrusts his ability. But once he accepts it, he does so with courage and energy.

 

As with Moses, so it is with me. Awed by the complexity of hospice work, I rise to the challenge without fear. It feels right for me to be here … to humbly serve all who entrust us with the last moments of their lives.

 

sources: BibleGateway.com; www.jewishencyclopedia.com; www.newadvent.org;

image: members/fortunecity.com.

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