With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
"The truth of my experience," reports Joan Halifax, Roshi, "is that the tender balance of equanimity can be easily lost."
And so it is. For sometime now I have felt a disturbance of my own equanimity. Some call it anxiety. Or stress. Or being out of balance. Life feels like it is about stepping up and down on the point of a pin. We need to be steady, trusting, caring, and careful.
Our Zen practice helps us develop this skill. We sit with whatever comes up, residing calmly in its midst.
I like to think of it as being like a duck floating in a pond. Serene, the duck floats smiling in the sun and shade. Then dark clouds. Wind. Water rises and falls. If we have equanimity, we continue to float, rising and falling with the wind and water. If we don't, we rock, we feel fear, we worry, and maybe we even argue with the storm.
This ability to stay present in the midst of turmoil, emotional hurt, sadness, fear or anger, is a function of faith in the impermanence of all things. If we can reside in it, release our feelings in it, and have faith in the very moment we are in, no problem.
In fact, for a duck who resides in equanimity, there is no storm in the midst of a storm. Storm exists only outside of itself, in relation to something else, like placid wind.
Halifax-roshi presents a meditation: "All beings are owners of their karma. Their happiness and unhappiness depend on their actions, not on my wishes for them."
I take this to mean that I both create and assign meaning to my own reality. Know this: we all lose our footing, no one is exempt. Disturbed? Rocking about on the lake? Take a breath. Change the reality and expectation, shift the meaning, move the focus off the disturbance and onto a response to it.
So, I float today. I do my fast walk, my grocery shopping, my laundry, my dishes, and I type this note to you. Zen is a beautiful thing.
Be well.
Quotes from Halifax, Joan, "Being with Dying", 2008.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
The Mean Time
With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
Nearly every morning when I sit down to write to you the phrase, "In the meantime..." pops into my mind. I have, thus far, avoided beginning a post with this phrase (or so I believe). This morning I think the reason is, that everything is in "the mean time". The mean time is what time exists between the shadow of the past and the hope of the future, both mental constructs ready, willing, and able to be changed. What is left is just this, the mean time.
In the mean time, my fingers lightly, sometimes not so lightly, press the keys on my rather ancient Dell. My heart is your heart. My mind is your mind. The cool breeze of the desert night slips through the screen door as the sound of the dishwasher bounces around the house. The mean time.
Student Aijin Song wrote on her Facebook wall asking why we must assign meaning to things as everything comes and goes. I replied, "But we do: a koan." Not so helpful, I suppose, yet it is the secret to our way. Contemplative practitioners notice the dance: we dance and don't dance at one and the same time. This is to say, 'live in the mean time.'
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
Nearly every morning when I sit down to write to you the phrase, "In the meantime..." pops into my mind. I have, thus far, avoided beginning a post with this phrase (or so I believe). This morning I think the reason is, that everything is in "the mean time". The mean time is what time exists between the shadow of the past and the hope of the future, both mental constructs ready, willing, and able to be changed. What is left is just this, the mean time.
In the mean time, my fingers lightly, sometimes not so lightly, press the keys on my rather ancient Dell. My heart is your heart. My mind is your mind. The cool breeze of the desert night slips through the screen door as the sound of the dishwasher bounces around the house. The mean time.
Student Aijin Song wrote on her Facebook wall asking why we must assign meaning to things as everything comes and goes. I replied, "But we do: a koan." Not so helpful, I suppose, yet it is the secret to our way. Contemplative practitioners notice the dance: we dance and don't dance at one and the same time. This is to say, 'live in the mean time.'
Be well.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Teachers
With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
Zen is a disciplined practice. Soto Zen values discipline (sila paramita), honors founders and ancestors, and holds its teachers in high regard. Beyond that, we place our palms together and bow often. We work at renunciation and honoring those in front of us. These are excellent practices. Kshanti, one of our six perfections, is often translated as patience, yet it also includes tolerance, forbearance, and acceptance, all of which teach us humility.
When we have a Teacher that Teacher is teacher to us often in very unexpected ways. My Teacher, Rev. Ken Hogaku Shozen McGuire Roshi, and I often are in conflict regards things such as politics, but we are above it all, Teacher and Student. We learn from each other. For years I have watched my teacher, wondered about him, marvelled at him, argued with him, and learned from him. I rely on my Teacher and have found, over time, he relies on me. We have Mind to Mind transmission.
Early in my relationship with him, I expected he would walk on water. I expected every word or gesture, question or comment, to be pregnant with some mysterious Zen teaching. And every word was, just not in the way I thought it would be. Dharma is the everyday, the everyday is in fact, everyday and every moment: every wart, every flower, every weed. It took awhile.
I urge each of you to seek out a teacher. A teacher who is humble, works hard, and is constantly with you in your heart and mind. Your teacher should be quick with the kyosaku, and equally quick with a hand on your shoulder. Every word, every gesture, every moment is a teaching.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
Zen is a disciplined practice. Soto Zen values discipline (sila paramita), honors founders and ancestors, and holds its teachers in high regard. Beyond that, we place our palms together and bow often. We work at renunciation and honoring those in front of us. These are excellent practices. Kshanti, one of our six perfections, is often translated as patience, yet it also includes tolerance, forbearance, and acceptance, all of which teach us humility.
When we have a Teacher that Teacher is teacher to us often in very unexpected ways. My Teacher, Rev. Ken Hogaku Shozen McGuire Roshi, and I often are in conflict regards things such as politics, but we are above it all, Teacher and Student. We learn from each other. For years I have watched my teacher, wondered about him, marvelled at him, argued with him, and learned from him. I rely on my Teacher and have found, over time, he relies on me. We have Mind to Mind transmission.
Early in my relationship with him, I expected he would walk on water. I expected every word or gesture, question or comment, to be pregnant with some mysterious Zen teaching. And every word was, just not in the way I thought it would be. Dharma is the everyday, the everyday is in fact, everyday and every moment: every wart, every flower, every weed. It took awhile.
I urge each of you to seek out a teacher. A teacher who is humble, works hard, and is constantly with you in your heart and mind. Your teacher should be quick with the kyosaku, and equally quick with a hand on your shoulder. Every word, every gesture, every moment is a teaching.
Be well.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Water
With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
The morning sun is already hard at work building the temperature of the day. A clear blue sky offers a perfect and serene sea for the sun's journey. The water warms.
We morning people, up at 4:30, witness a spectacular transformation. Sitting in the zendo, an ominous black, lightens. Outside on the morning walk, grey becomes pale blue. Sitting at my desk to write the pale blue becomes a brilliant sea for the sun to lead us along our way.
Storytellers use such drama to unfold their tales. I wish I could tell stories, but then again, perhaps I do. The stories of a life looked deeply into. Like water, they are sometimes pooled in the sand in full view. Sometimes deep in dark wells with cold stone encapsulating it.
My stories are living tales of mindful moments. Most likely boring, sometimes a little odd, but always there, a reflection in a pail of gathered water, being served up for you.
May we each have such pails of mindful reflection. Poured together they become the river of our human life.
Let's share.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
The morning sun is already hard at work building the temperature of the day. A clear blue sky offers a perfect and serene sea for the sun's journey. The water warms.
We morning people, up at 4:30, witness a spectacular transformation. Sitting in the zendo, an ominous black, lightens. Outside on the morning walk, grey becomes pale blue. Sitting at my desk to write the pale blue becomes a brilliant sea for the sun to lead us along our way.
Storytellers use such drama to unfold their tales. I wish I could tell stories, but then again, perhaps I do. The stories of a life looked deeply into. Like water, they are sometimes pooled in the sand in full view. Sometimes deep in dark wells with cold stone encapsulating it.
My stories are living tales of mindful moments. Most likely boring, sometimes a little odd, but always there, a reflection in a pail of gathered water, being served up for you.
May we each have such pails of mindful reflection. Poured together they become the river of our human life.
Let's share.
Be well.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Faith
With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
This morning the topic of hope came up on my morning walk. Not directly, but in context of a discussion with friends. For thirty years or so I have been listening to the suffering of the world. As a child protective services social worker, I listened to the cries of abused and neglected children, as well as their suffering parents. As a psychotherapist, I listened to men and women struggle with their assaults, abuse, wars, robberies, and marital strife. As a Zen Buddhist priest, I listen to all sentient beings, as I listen to my True Nature: we are all suffering.
So, how to have hope?
As there is suffering, so to there is equanimity. As there is suffering, so too there is compassion. We are not alone. We are also quite resilient. It is important to accept that hope may not be a particularly good quality. It resides in the future, a future we are imagining. I prefer faith. Faith is based not in belief, but in practice. From my practice I see our resilience as a species. Moreover, I see the resilience of the universe. Life goes on, and on, and on.
Faith, with in equanimity, allows us to take the next step and continue along the path. We develop this skill set through continued practice. Sitting on the cushion life arises, things intrude, thoughts, feelings, noises, smells...everything is there, an invitation to not be present. But our practice is to let go and return; let go and return. This is a very important point.
One might say flowing water depresses a leaf. On the other hand, we might equally say the leaf surrenders to the water and in so doing retains its position on the stem.
Its all in our point of view.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
This morning the topic of hope came up on my morning walk. Not directly, but in context of a discussion with friends. For thirty years or so I have been listening to the suffering of the world. As a child protective services social worker, I listened to the cries of abused and neglected children, as well as their suffering parents. As a psychotherapist, I listened to men and women struggle with their assaults, abuse, wars, robberies, and marital strife. As a Zen Buddhist priest, I listen to all sentient beings, as I listen to my True Nature: we are all suffering.
So, how to have hope?
As there is suffering, so to there is equanimity. As there is suffering, so too there is compassion. We are not alone. We are also quite resilient. It is important to accept that hope may not be a particularly good quality. It resides in the future, a future we are imagining. I prefer faith. Faith is based not in belief, but in practice. From my practice I see our resilience as a species. Moreover, I see the resilience of the universe. Life goes on, and on, and on.
Faith, with in equanimity, allows us to take the next step and continue along the path. We develop this skill set through continued practice. Sitting on the cushion life arises, things intrude, thoughts, feelings, noises, smells...everything is there, an invitation to not be present. But our practice is to let go and return; let go and return. This is a very important point.
One might say flowing water depresses a leaf. On the other hand, we might equally say the leaf surrenders to the water and in so doing retains its position on the stem.
Its all in our point of view.
Be well.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Invisible Men
Good Afternoon Everyone,
This morning early I did a short mile and a half walk through a desert park. Soon after, I went to the downtown mall where we have a farmer's market. Approaching my spot I noticed a man sleeping on the low wall built to protect a tree. I carefully unfolded my blanket, put down my zabuton and zafu, my begging bowl and thermos of hot tea, and took my seat.
At the bell, I lit a stick of incense and offered it to all sentient beings. Palms together, I quietly chanted the Wisdom Heart sutra. Finally, a bow and settled in for zazen.
Over time a police cruiser pulled up. The homeless man rested. I watched over him. The policemen got out of their cruiser and walked passed us, slipping their batons in sheaths. The bell rang signalling the conclusion of the first period.
The market was getting crowded. I noticed people not noticing. They would look at me, then look right past the man sleeping on the bench. Some of us are clearly invisible men.
At the bell, another incense offering and another period of zazen.
A mother and two children walked by. Her little boy offered a dollar, I bowed. A woman followed past me hurriedly saying "namaste". Silence. The sleeping man stirred. He looked at me. My eyes were just about on him. Within a few minutes, he rose, tidied himself, picked up his cane, glasses, and plastic bottle of water. He also picked up his shopping bag pillow. Before my bell rang, he limped away not to be seen again. At the bell, I bowed, wishing the sleeping man were still there to receive the offering I had received. Another bell, another stick of incense in the air.
Third period of zazen. Police came back. People hurried by with bags of produce. Chanting Hannya Shin Gyo, the cruiser's engine started. Palms together, a bow to all sentient beings and as the last of the incense drifted into the morning sky, I rose with it and slipped way.
No trace.
Be well.
This morning early I did a short mile and a half walk through a desert park. Soon after, I went to the downtown mall where we have a farmer's market. Approaching my spot I noticed a man sleeping on the low wall built to protect a tree. I carefully unfolded my blanket, put down my zabuton and zafu, my begging bowl and thermos of hot tea, and took my seat.
At the bell, I lit a stick of incense and offered it to all sentient beings. Palms together, I quietly chanted the Wisdom Heart sutra. Finally, a bow and settled in for zazen.
Over time a police cruiser pulled up. The homeless man rested. I watched over him. The policemen got out of their cruiser and walked passed us, slipping their batons in sheaths. The bell rang signalling the conclusion of the first period.
The market was getting crowded. I noticed people not noticing. They would look at me, then look right past the man sleeping on the bench. Some of us are clearly invisible men.
At the bell, another incense offering and another period of zazen.
A mother and two children walked by. Her little boy offered a dollar, I bowed. A woman followed past me hurriedly saying "namaste". Silence. The sleeping man stirred. He looked at me. My eyes were just about on him. Within a few minutes, he rose, tidied himself, picked up his cane, glasses, and plastic bottle of water. He also picked up his shopping bag pillow. Before my bell rang, he limped away not to be seen again. At the bell, I bowed, wishing the sleeping man were still there to receive the offering I had received. Another bell, another stick of incense in the air.
Third period of zazen. Police came back. People hurried by with bags of produce. Chanting Hannya Shin Gyo, the cruiser's engine started. Palms together, a bow to all sentient beings and as the last of the incense drifted into the morning sky, I rose with it and slipped way.
No trace.
Be well.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Mystery
With palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
As I write it is raining outside. The window is open, a gentle rain. The sound is marvelous. It is still dark and I am reminded of childhood when as a boy I stood on the beach in the dark and was riveted to the sand by the large and mysterious sound of an invisible ocean.
Mystery.
Our deepest and most primitive sense of presence occurs in the face of partial sensory deprivation. We cannot see or we cannot hear or we cannot feel or we cannot taste. In such moments other senses come alive. Its as if they seek out the missing data. The mystery is the search itself.
Zen is like this: on the edge of nothing...everything
May we each have the faith necessary to take the next step.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
As I write it is raining outside. The window is open, a gentle rain. The sound is marvelous. It is still dark and I am reminded of childhood when as a boy I stood on the beach in the dark and was riveted to the sand by the large and mysterious sound of an invisible ocean.
Mystery.
Our deepest and most primitive sense of presence occurs in the face of partial sensory deprivation. We cannot see or we cannot hear or we cannot feel or we cannot taste. In such moments other senses come alive. Its as if they seek out the missing data. The mystery is the search itself.
Zen is like this: on the edge of nothing...everything
May we each have the faith necessary to take the next step.
Be well.
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