With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
In the beginning, God spoke, and everything came into being. Or so they say.
In such a view, God stands outside of time, but since time and being are one, this could not be. So being happened and with it, God came into existence. Consider this.
We ask, well what caused being to happen? We answer nothing. Before being happened, nothing existed, including time. Cause, therefore, also could not have existed. Consider this.
We say, well there was the original material of the universe. We answer, can anything “be” without a perception? In the instant the universe appeared, cosmic consciousness appeared and with it, matter appeared. Consider this.
In the relative view, we are but a part of an infinite network of connections which gives rise to the view of no parts, just one. When we reside in no parts, wholeness, parts, and everything else drops away. What is left?
Just this.
Organ Mountain Zen
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Life
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
“The dharma is incomparably profound and minutely subtle…” I have been chanting this nearly daily for some time now. I have come to realize life is like that, the dharma. Actually, life is the dharma: Life unpolished, life without our fine gloss. Just life as it is: nothing special. This is the profound aspect of the dharma. And its subtlety is the very thing it uses to hide itself. A delicate membrane of ignorance covers our eyes of its truth. A persistent membrane, one that keeps rebuilding itself, over and over and over again until our practice reveals that both the gross and the fine are one and there is no membrane, no ignorance, and no wisdom. Indeed, there is no dharma.
We like being contained in this membrane. It helps us feel safe. We feel in control. We feel we know what’s what. It’s a warm and moist place. Who really would want to leave it? Like living in a holographic world where we are exactly what we think we want to be and everyone and everything is just right: who would really want to abandon such a place?
Some of us, though, have either torn that membrane a bit, had it torn for us, exposing it for what it is, or have “aroused the thought” of such. For us, the membrane has been exposed and we have a sense of the true dharma. We no longer are of the “membrane world,” but can see the complete wonder of being free and easy in the world as it is.
Life, as it is, is just right.
Good Morning Everyone,
“The dharma is incomparably profound and minutely subtle…” I have been chanting this nearly daily for some time now. I have come to realize life is like that, the dharma. Actually, life is the dharma: Life unpolished, life without our fine gloss. Just life as it is: nothing special. This is the profound aspect of the dharma. And its subtlety is the very thing it uses to hide itself. A delicate membrane of ignorance covers our eyes of its truth. A persistent membrane, one that keeps rebuilding itself, over and over and over again until our practice reveals that both the gross and the fine are one and there is no membrane, no ignorance, and no wisdom. Indeed, there is no dharma.
We like being contained in this membrane. It helps us feel safe. We feel in control. We feel we know what’s what. It’s a warm and moist place. Who really would want to leave it? Like living in a holographic world where we are exactly what we think we want to be and everyone and everything is just right: who would really want to abandon such a place?
Some of us, though, have either torn that membrane a bit, had it torn for us, exposing it for what it is, or have “aroused the thought” of such. For us, the membrane has been exposed and we have a sense of the true dharma. We no longer are of the “membrane world,” but can see the complete wonder of being free and easy in the world as it is.
Life, as it is, is just right.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Ceremony
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
Ceremony is an interesting thing. We Americans appear to both love and hate it. We are suspect of rules, forms, and expectations, yet on the other hand, we seem to take particular pleasure in witnessing others in ceremony. Opening ceremonies, closing ceremonies: we love to play dress-up if only to watch others go through the motions. When asked to participate, however, we seem hesitant, awkward, or sometimes just plain hostile.
Those who come to Zen are often quite surprised by our ceremonial forms and rituals. I don’t know, but it seems people think we are a rag-tag, iconoclastic bunch of misfits and so, when they come into a Temple and are asked to remove their shoes, place their hands in special positions, and even bow, well, my goodness, they often just don’t know what to say. “Do we really need ceremony?” We suddenly ask. “I don’t feel comfortable,” another might argue.
Why do we have so many forms? Why ceremonies at all? The short answer is simple and direct: forms and ceremonies keep us intact. Without them we are like chess pieces without a board or a box. We might bristle at this, but it is so. Maps guide us, boundaries aid us, cup and tea are symbiotic. Even if we reject all forms (which is impossible to do and still remain human), in our formlessness we seek form. People want and need to know what the next step is.
If we had no forms, no ceremonies, no rituals, people would create them, demand them, and still complain about them in the process. Forms actually free us. In them we are no longer wondering what to do next, but rather, have a place to put our mind’s eye. Life demands this. Awakened life is this.
Interestingly, Maezumi-roshi suggested in a talk he did that ceremony has a healing function. He says, “Ceremony means to do things orderly. To take care of things in a healthy way. It is a healing process itself.” With form, order, and proper attention, we protect ourselves and show respect for both ourselves and Zen.
One last point, it is important to note that showing respect for something or someone is a mechanism for caring. No respect, no care, and the problem with a lack of care is that things uncared for fall apart.
Be well
Quote from Maezumi-roshi’s Teachings of the Great Mountain.
Good Morning Everyone,
Ceremony is an interesting thing. We Americans appear to both love and hate it. We are suspect of rules, forms, and expectations, yet on the other hand, we seem to take particular pleasure in witnessing others in ceremony. Opening ceremonies, closing ceremonies: we love to play dress-up if only to watch others go through the motions. When asked to participate, however, we seem hesitant, awkward, or sometimes just plain hostile.
Those who come to Zen are often quite surprised by our ceremonial forms and rituals. I don’t know, but it seems people think we are a rag-tag, iconoclastic bunch of misfits and so, when they come into a Temple and are asked to remove their shoes, place their hands in special positions, and even bow, well, my goodness, they often just don’t know what to say. “Do we really need ceremony?” We suddenly ask. “I don’t feel comfortable,” another might argue.
Why do we have so many forms? Why ceremonies at all? The short answer is simple and direct: forms and ceremonies keep us intact. Without them we are like chess pieces without a board or a box. We might bristle at this, but it is so. Maps guide us, boundaries aid us, cup and tea are symbiotic. Even if we reject all forms (which is impossible to do and still remain human), in our formlessness we seek form. People want and need to know what the next step is.
If we had no forms, no ceremonies, no rituals, people would create them, demand them, and still complain about them in the process. Forms actually free us. In them we are no longer wondering what to do next, but rather, have a place to put our mind’s eye. Life demands this. Awakened life is this.
Interestingly, Maezumi-roshi suggested in a talk he did that ceremony has a healing function. He says, “Ceremony means to do things orderly. To take care of things in a healthy way. It is a healing process itself.” With form, order, and proper attention, we protect ourselves and show respect for both ourselves and Zen.
One last point, it is important to note that showing respect for something or someone is a mechanism for caring. No respect, no care, and the problem with a lack of care is that things uncared for fall apart.
Be well
Quote from Maezumi-roshi’s Teachings of the Great Mountain.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Patience
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
Life has its ways of demanding that we pay attention.
After three refrigerators and several repairs of refrigerators, it seems the refrigerators were not the problem, but the receptacle in which they were plugged was faulty. My chess rating was three hundred points higher than it is now and I just got beat twice by someone who was likely ten years old and who behaved like it. When bills are not paid, someone will try to collect on them. In each case, someone was not paying attention and in the end some sort of bell was invited to ring.
What is interesting to me is the sound of that bell.
Is it a soft and gentle bell, a loud bell, a sharp and jarring bell? What are my responses to these bells?
Last night I offered a dharma talk on the kshanti paramita, that is, the perfection of patience. When we practice patience, we must open ourselves and allow the bell, of whatever type, to ring. We must allow the bell to teach us.
When beaten by a brat was I a brat in return? Did bratness trigger bratness? And when I learned I needed to pay much closer attention to who owes what to whom and when, how did I respond?
When we practice mindful patience, there is only the moment in which we are in. We practice to open that moment and reside fully and completely there. Self falls away and our presence is available completely to, and for, the situation. Internal dialogue becomes a teacher. What are we saying to ourselves? Can we see it, experience it, accept it? Can we smile at ourselves, forgive ourselves, and gently take whatever action is necessary?
May many bells continue to ring
Their sweet sound
Is everything.
Good Morning Everyone,
Life has its ways of demanding that we pay attention.
After three refrigerators and several repairs of refrigerators, it seems the refrigerators were not the problem, but the receptacle in which they were plugged was faulty. My chess rating was three hundred points higher than it is now and I just got beat twice by someone who was likely ten years old and who behaved like it. When bills are not paid, someone will try to collect on them. In each case, someone was not paying attention and in the end some sort of bell was invited to ring.
What is interesting to me is the sound of that bell.
Is it a soft and gentle bell, a loud bell, a sharp and jarring bell? What are my responses to these bells?
Last night I offered a dharma talk on the kshanti paramita, that is, the perfection of patience. When we practice patience, we must open ourselves and allow the bell, of whatever type, to ring. We must allow the bell to teach us.
When beaten by a brat was I a brat in return? Did bratness trigger bratness? And when I learned I needed to pay much closer attention to who owes what to whom and when, how did I respond?
When we practice mindful patience, there is only the moment in which we are in. We practice to open that moment and reside fully and completely there. Self falls away and our presence is available completely to, and for, the situation. Internal dialogue becomes a teacher. What are we saying to ourselves? Can we see it, experience it, accept it? Can we smile at ourselves, forgive ourselves, and gently take whatever action is necessary?
May many bells continue to ring
Their sweet sound
Is everything.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
A Mess
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
Recently at Clear Mind Zen Temple, we have been discussing elements of the Diamond Sutra. I have been using Dwight Goddard’s selection from his, “A Buddhist’s Bible,” as I like how he re-ordered the text so that the paramitas come together.
This sutra is a powerful teaching tool. But it is very subtle and so much is missed by a superficial reading. Moreover, the sutra teaches how we are to manifest ourselves as the dharma, rather than talk about it (not that talking about the dharma is a bad thing, but rather, talking is just talking, and as Buddha himself points out in the sutra, words are just words: they ought not be confused with the actualization of what the words point to). The sutra is all about us showing what is naturally there in our behavior.
I really needed to refresh myself with this sutra yesterday. It seems a number of things came together all at once. Our altar’s “stage” was installed, the refrigerator and stove were replaced, and T’ai Chi Chih and Zazen collided with these. Zazen was delayed 10 minutes. Everything was a mess!
During everything that goes on in our lives, the practice of patience (khanti paramita) resides between our mind’s eye and our breath. How will we ever get that refrigerator in and the other out? Relax and let it go. In statistics, we used to say, “just work the problem.” Added thoughts and feelings regarding the problem are distractions, like thoughts during zazen. Our practice is to be our practice.
Everything worked out. The bell that starts the day will ring soon. Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
Recently at Clear Mind Zen Temple, we have been discussing elements of the Diamond Sutra. I have been using Dwight Goddard’s selection from his, “A Buddhist’s Bible,” as I like how he re-ordered the text so that the paramitas come together.
This sutra is a powerful teaching tool. But it is very subtle and so much is missed by a superficial reading. Moreover, the sutra teaches how we are to manifest ourselves as the dharma, rather than talk about it (not that talking about the dharma is a bad thing, but rather, talking is just talking, and as Buddha himself points out in the sutra, words are just words: they ought not be confused with the actualization of what the words point to). The sutra is all about us showing what is naturally there in our behavior.
I really needed to refresh myself with this sutra yesterday. It seems a number of things came together all at once. Our altar’s “stage” was installed, the refrigerator and stove were replaced, and T’ai Chi Chih and Zazen collided with these. Zazen was delayed 10 minutes. Everything was a mess!
During everything that goes on in our lives, the practice of patience (khanti paramita) resides between our mind’s eye and our breath. How will we ever get that refrigerator in and the other out? Relax and let it go. In statistics, we used to say, “just work the problem.” Added thoughts and feelings regarding the problem are distractions, like thoughts during zazen. Our practice is to be our practice.
Everything worked out. The bell that starts the day will ring soon. Be well.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Today
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
This morning was a chilly 46 degrees. I woke very early as a result of my good ‘ole left leg jumping up and down in my sleep. So, at 2:00 AM I finished laundry, put dishes away, and stitched a tear in a robe. I dropped back to sleep at about 4:00 and woke again at 5:00. Zazen was quiet. There was no one in the Zendo but myself. Last night, as well. I enjoy this quiet time very much, perhaps too much. Zazen is neither enjoyable nor not enjoyable. It is just zazen. Practice is just practice. It is nothing but being present, adding nothing, talking nothing away.
Later in the morning, after voting and after making and eating breakfast, I spent some time at the orthotics place and had my new brace fitted. I found a pair of Asics gels for $40.00 and as very pleased that the brace and shoes are now fitted together. Perhaps now I will be able to run without too much ado. My prosthetic guy, Robert, is great. We spent a lot of time working on the fit and talking about the general state of affairs in the medical world.
Robert says caring is a chief casualty, apparently, of the new medical world. Money is the driver, documentation a chief second. Docs so often walk in with a recorder in hand, make constant notes, and leave with only the most brief contact with the patient. Time is not of the essence, it is the essence…and, of course, we need evidence of the visit (and what transpired) so that third parties will pay. The truth is, nothing actually transpires. Observation, deduction, and prescription: 5-10 minutes. Care gets lost in the shuffle.
So, I listen to him, nod, and offer my support. It is what I can do. Robert then invites me to an amputee group this afternoon. I will go and listen, offering what care I can. May we each be a blessing in the universe.
Good Morning Everyone,
This morning was a chilly 46 degrees. I woke very early as a result of my good ‘ole left leg jumping up and down in my sleep. So, at 2:00 AM I finished laundry, put dishes away, and stitched a tear in a robe. I dropped back to sleep at about 4:00 and woke again at 5:00. Zazen was quiet. There was no one in the Zendo but myself. Last night, as well. I enjoy this quiet time very much, perhaps too much. Zazen is neither enjoyable nor not enjoyable. It is just zazen. Practice is just practice. It is nothing but being present, adding nothing, talking nothing away.
Later in the morning, after voting and after making and eating breakfast, I spent some time at the orthotics place and had my new brace fitted. I found a pair of Asics gels for $40.00 and as very pleased that the brace and shoes are now fitted together. Perhaps now I will be able to run without too much ado. My prosthetic guy, Robert, is great. We spent a lot of time working on the fit and talking about the general state of affairs in the medical world.
Robert says caring is a chief casualty, apparently, of the new medical world. Money is the driver, documentation a chief second. Docs so often walk in with a recorder in hand, make constant notes, and leave with only the most brief contact with the patient. Time is not of the essence, it is the essence…and, of course, we need evidence of the visit (and what transpired) so that third parties will pay. The truth is, nothing actually transpires. Observation, deduction, and prescription: 5-10 minutes. Care gets lost in the shuffle.
So, I listen to him, nod, and offer my support. It is what I can do. Robert then invites me to an amputee group this afternoon. I will go and listen, offering what care I can. May we each be a blessing in the universe.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The Non-duality Rag
With palms together
Good Morning Everyone,
The Non-duality Rag
So, this morning a cold wind
slipped across my skin
from the open window.
I snuggled with Suki.
She, too, seemed to feel it
and sought the warmth
of my body.
We care.
That is a good thing.
Last night
I watched a documentary
by the Dalai Lama
on the Four Noble Truths.
In his introductory comments,
as he so often does,
he said every world religion
has the potential to create nice human beings.
He defined this “nice”
as being caring and compassionate.
Yes, our practice
is to manifest care and compassion.
We are nice.
Such a way of being
requires others.
Without others,
no compassion is possible.
Without others,
no caring is possible.
Others are essential.
This is why we can say
there is no caring
and there is no compassion.
There is just
caring and compassion.
I cannot care for you; I care.
I cannot be compassionate for you; I am compassion.
Then it gets really weird:
where is this “I” that cares?
Seeking this so-called I,
it cannot be found.
Just a whisper
in my mind’s ear,
“here I am!”
Where? Nowhere.
Shall we live by a whisper?
Good Morning Everyone,
The Non-duality Rag
So, this morning a cold wind
slipped across my skin
from the open window.
I snuggled with Suki.
She, too, seemed to feel it
and sought the warmth
of my body.
We care.
That is a good thing.
Last night
I watched a documentary
by the Dalai Lama
on the Four Noble Truths.
In his introductory comments,
as he so often does,
he said every world religion
has the potential to create nice human beings.
He defined this “nice”
as being caring and compassionate.
Yes, our practice
is to manifest care and compassion.
We are nice.
Such a way of being
requires others.
Without others,
no compassion is possible.
Without others,
no caring is possible.
Others are essential.
This is why we can say
there is no caring
and there is no compassion.
There is just
caring and compassion.
I cannot care for you; I care.
I cannot be compassionate for you; I am compassion.
Then it gets really weird:
where is this “I” that cares?
Seeking this so-called I,
it cannot be found.
Just a whisper
in my mind’s ear,
“here I am!”
Where? Nowhere.
Shall we live by a whisper?
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