A talk on the Zen of Trauma in Kansas City

The Zen of Trauma: a talk with Roshi Daiho Hilbert, PhD

Thursday, June 25
at 6:30pm                               

3405 Highland Ave, Kansas City, MO

On Thursday evening, at a nearby Buddhist Temple the Rev. Dr. Harvey Daiho Hilbert Roshi, a Zen Master in the Soto lineage will offer a talk on “The Zen of Trauma.”  The Rev. Dr. Hilbert began studying Zen in 1966 after being shot in the head during combat in Vietnam.

Educated as a psychotherapist, Roshi spent many years in private practice, and in service to in-need communities in the southwest United States. Daiho was ordained as a Priest in 2000, and received transmission of the Dharma in 2005 as the sole successor of Rev. Ken Hogaku Shozen McGuire-roshi, a Chief Disciple of Zen Master Rev. Dr. Soyu Matsuoka-roshi. 

Zen Master Daiho will facilitate a discussion around the practice of Zen, through the experience of trauma. Ven. Sunyananda of Dharmakaya Buddhist Association highly recommends this event as a rare opportunity to engage a clear-eyed Buddhist master. 

Donations for the teacher will be kindly accepted, and a few copies of his chap book "The Zen of Trauma: A Practice for Life" will be available to interested participants.

Tolerance?

With respect to all,

The other day in a conversation with a biker veteran who, I might add, is just completing his Masters degree,  I was reminded of the difference between tolerance and acceptance.  When I worked in the T or C school system I recall receiving teaching materials related to tolerance.  At the time I didn't give it much thought, though I believe I thought it was a good idea.  I think now, I was wrong.  Teaching tolerance is about teaching us to use forbearance in order not to rock the boat.  We stifle ourselves when we come across something that really bothers us.  I ask a simple question, then, how does a stifling of meaningful difference help us get along?  It doesn't.  What it teaches us to do is "tolerate" each other, in spite of our differences.  While this approach allows each faith tradition to practice, it does nothing to bring us together since we are simply tolerating each other.  The problem then is this: how can we come to accept difference between faith traditions?

One way, I've learned, is to seek commonalities.  When we can see that we have things in common, compassion, for example, we may have something to build on.  Finding commonalities is easy, actually, I've done it many times in mediation sessions with clients.  What is not so easy is finding ways to live with the differences  An example:  I lived for years in the deep[ south where fundamentalist Christians are in the majority.  These are caring people, though (IMHO) misguided.  Blue laws prevailed there.  These were laws based on Christian understanding of their bible.  So, stores, by law, had to be closed on Sunday.  Nothing really wrong with that, right?  Wrong.  From my religious POV, the Sabbath is on a Saturday, and this, folks, is what that very same bible actually says.  If a Jew wanted to shop on Sunday he was out of luck.  Conversely, the fact that stores were allowed to be open on Saturday desecrated the sabbath from a Jewish point of view.  We could say, "so what" there aren't that many Jews, besides we're a Christian country aren't we?  Not really, but we can avoid the facts and stick to the myth...

Which brings us to this, should Jews in our example simply tolerate the desecration of the sabbath?  Or should Christians understand there are differences between faith traditions within the same Abrahamic line (in this case)  and be willing to see and understand difference.  Tolerate?  Respect?

For me the key is to learn, deeply learn, about each faith tradition.  Once we actually know something about a tradition we are in a place where mutual respect can arise.  Even if we differ on issues it is possible to respect those differences and, at times, even learn to appreciate them.  As an aside, I disliked Shakespeare a great deal in college, though the fact was, I had not read much of his work.  Then, an English class helped me understand what I was reading.  I became a fan of the Bard and even taught a college class in Shakespearean tragedies. Teaching something almost always deepens our understanding and appreciation of that which we are teaching.  The thing is, many of us are convinced that we...or our faith tradition, is the one and only truth.  So convinced are we that we cannot or will not learn.  Tolerance, in such circumstances may be a good thing because it can be a beginning step on a path that leads to true respect and love of each other regardless of our beliefs.

When Blue laws were repealed, the sky did not fall down on our heads, but something did happen:  People had to look at their own conscience when it came to shopping on a Sunday. And, I believe introspection is always a good thing...

May we each build bridges toward a deeper understanding and appreciation of each other.

Be well

49 years

With respect for all, 

49 years

We each have stories to tell.  Some are funny, some heroic, others down right scary. Stories of great suffering; stories of great joy. My dissertation Chairman, Dr.Howard Goldstein, once said to me, “All of us live by story.”  Howard’s stories died with him. As will mine and yours.   

I am a retired Combat Infantry soldier, psychotherapist and Zen Buddhist priest. While I don’t know if my story is much different from yours, I’m pretty sure it differs from most.  My life was a mess as a child: alcoholic dad, flirty mother, and a jock brother.  I was the so-called “brain” as a kid.  What no one knew was I had to add and subtract using my fingers, but then, I always had a book in my hand so it didn’t matter.  People see what they want to see.  So do we ourselves.

Some of us live deeply in our stories.  Our stories define us and offer us a place among our fellows.  We immerse ourselves in our stories.  One might even say, we become our stories. This is not good for some of us, myself included, because the meat and marrow of our stories can be toxic to the heart and spirit.

My story involves trying to do the right thing and having it turn out to be terribly wrong.  It involves great pain and no small amount of moral anguish.  It also involves miraculous events and great joy.  Yet, in matters involving good and evil, there is no ledger and things rarely balance out. I know this because I have spent the last 49 years trying my best to balance that ledger without success.  It comes down to one thing, what is the relative value of a single human life? As one who has taken life, I place that value very, very high.  I do this based on the pain I have felt over the years for having done so. 

We Zensters chant, “All the evil committed by my body, mind and speech is caused by beginningless greed, hatred, and delusion. I now repent everything wholeheartedly.“  I say this to myself daily. But, in the end, I rarely feel that I have repented. And I am certainly not made whole through such practices.   

All of this, and the events surrounding Memorial Day, have given me pause —- as they should. While Christians hold there is a devil that tempts us and Jews hold there exists an evil inclination, we Zensters on the other hand, hold that evil does not exist outside of us, that we bring evil into the world through our actions. Now, an action in and of itself is neither good nor bad, it is simply an action.  Whether it is good or evil is dependent on the action’s intent and consequences. So it is our actions in a context of intent that are judged as “evil” or “good” mainly as a result of consequences, otherwise known as Karma.

Karma can be a heavy load.  I tried today to distinguish between what is and what ought to be in terms of moral injury.  It was a challenge.  You see, as many of you know, I killed a man, actually many men, in Vietnam in the early morning of May 29, 1966.  There are all sorts of compelling reasons to having done so: my life was in danger, my fellow soldiers lives were in danger, I was being shot at with everything from a rifle to machine guns.  In the dark and in the heat of battle, I fired at what I thought were enemy soldiers attempting to breach our perimeter. It was not pretty and soon thereafter I was shot in the head. This was what is;  what “ought” was another matter. Simplistic answers not only do not help, they often make matters worse.  Just because an act is justified does not lessen the pain and suffering of having done it.  

Over the last 49 years since that event, I have tried to make amends to the universe.  How does one make amends for such actions as those in combat? And even if amends are made, so what?  The memories, questions, and feelings are still there. As with koan practice, my sense is this:  in order to deal with moral injury, we must enter it fully and completely.  It took years to come to this: I accept my actions, I accept my feelings.  I do not run from my memories or assuage them with toxic bromides.  As the saying goes:  “It is what it is” or, rather in my case, “I am what I am.”

And that about does it.

Gassho

Today

With respect to all,

So, this was Memorial Day, a day of remembrance and gratitude. This day means different things to different people. And for some, different things within the same person. I know I am conflicted about it. As I am sure many combat veterans are, as well. Many of us are caught in flashbacks, terrible memories, great anxiety, and in this, who really wants to remember? And am I to be grateful for surviving when others did not? 

On the other hand I cannot help but feel obligated to assist on this day. I tear up with the raising of the flag, the pledge, and the myriad prayers people offer. It is a good thing to remember: when we forget, bad things are free to happen again. History repeats itself only if we choose to repeat it. 

To paraphrase what I said to a friend recently who admonished us to remember, "remembering is not a problem" war is with me in each and every breath. My struggle, if you will, is to open my heart to peace, a place I find difficult to trust. In this I wish we would approach peace-making with the same fervency that we approach war. I would like us to memorialize peace, celebrate love, and invest in ways of making the world a better place; all without armies. Is that too much to ask?

Be well,

Daiho

The Zen of Nothing

The Zen of Nothing

There are a ton of books on Zen: Zen philosophy, Zen poetry, Zen art, Zen practice, Zen this, and Zen that.  What I want to see is a Zen of Nothing.  This would be the Zen of nothing important, a Zen without words, robes, bells, or whistles.  A Zen without those in the know, those higher up, or those down below, those approved of and those not approved of: this would be a true Zen, a pure Zen, a Zen that cannot be taught or written about.  

The Zen of Nothing is not even Zen.  The Zen of Nothing is just the wind through the leaves, the sound of tap water in the sink or the feel of cool sheets on a summer's eve.

What do we do to receive this Zen?  Listen.

The Zen of Nothing is within you, around you, over you and under you.  There is not a place or time where the Zen of Nothing does not exist.  Stop thinking.  Stop ruminating.  Sit down. Be quiet.  Rest easy in the world.  The Zen of Nothing contains no evil, nor good, nor blessings, nor curses.  It is not hot or cold, far or near.

Let your body feel it.  Let your mind open in it.  Let your heart dance to the sound of one hand.

The Zen of Nothing arrives when we stop singing the songs of the Zen of Something.

Be well.

Unintentional Teaching

There once was a Zen teacher, we won’t say Master as that would be inappropriate, who prepared himself everyday for death.  This teacher was quite old and everyone had no trouble telling him so.  Eventually he believed them. 

“I’m old,” he would say, not paying particular attention to who might be around him, but verifying what the whole town knew. So, one day the teacher said, “Enough!” and with that, retired.

As he sat in deep meditation, small sparks would capture his attention.  They would  quickly spark and just as quickly disappear.  The teacher opened his eye, then jumped up shouting, “That’s the answer!” But no one knew what the question was. 

A studied life is nearly always filled with insightful flashes with private meanings flashing across our everyday mind. One insight: being a Zen teacher is an exercise in futility; being a priest, not so.  One can no more “teach” Zen than one can “teach” bicycle riding.  The newbie must just ride, sometimes falling down, yet always getting up and doing it again and again until, “presto,” there she is, flying along with the wind. The teacher has taught nothing.

Being a priest, on the other hand, is not being a teacher, per se, but in the example of his or her being the priest is teaching Zen. How one walks and talks, sits or lays down; how one eats, goes to the bathroom, and attends to relationships; each are teachings in and of themselves, but not intentionally so. This is the best kind of teaching.

Because a truly mindful life can be an unintentional teaching and is just life as it is lived, we students of such a teacher too often fail to appreciate what is right in front of us.  I often say I learned more about Zen from studying my reactions to my teacher than anything he ever said. I learned from his woodworking, his tinkering with race cars, his closely held values, as well as his form as a priest leading a service. But most of all I learned from our kitchen table talks. 

We fought a lot, mostly about politics (he was such a conservative) and the fact that he had a hard time with my desire to practice what I called “Street Zen.” At the invasion of Iraq my teacher supported President Bush! What sort of priest supports an invasion of another country?  Answer: my teacher.

My biases became so evident in our talks that they lived on my sleeve.  My job, he insisted, was to process them, deconstruct them, and let them float away…empty artifacts of mind. In this, he pointed out, my resistance was my teacher.  

If we are not paying attention to our internal dialogue and if that dialogue takes us away from the moment right before us, we are lost, slipping more deeply than ever into the mud that traps us. Robert Bly, the American poet, said something like, “If you don’t like the mud you are standing in, change it!” 

My mud has been like concrete: war, divorce, loss, all resting heavy on my shoulders.  At 68 years old I have retired and live in a body punished by time and a myriad experiences.  It is a challenge at times just to stand up. With each breath some pain or other arises, whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual.  Yet, I stand, but I do not stand alone.  There with me are my students and my student’s students. Teachers all.  This is how it is in Zen.   What I ask of myself now is simple:  As I live out my life what is my unintentional teaching? When this question is in front of our eyes we can see our karma in action. 

Bataan

With palms together,

Good Morning All,

In preparation for doing the 2015 Honorary Bataan Memorial Death March (14.2 miles), yesterday two members of Team Zen (myself and Joel Shoaku) hiked ten miles through a variety of terrains and surfaces.  From wilderness trails, to crushed rock roads, to pavement we put one foot in front of another and concluded our ten mile training hike for the Honorary Bataan Memorial Death March to be held March 22.  Let me tell you, the last three miles were a brutal ascent up a mountain side to end at trail's head only to discover we needed an additional 3/4 mile to make our ten mile goal. 

As we hiked this rather rugged and often challenging ten miles my thoughts turned to previous races I have had the honor and pleasure to run.  From the Las Vegas Marathon in 2003 to the Honorary Bataan in 2011 my mantra was "One foot in front of the other."  In the end your race time does not matter much, especially for Penguin runners like myself.  What matters is finishing.  

Some time ago I wrote a small piece I called "The Zen of Running."  (Not to be confused with an online book with the same title.)  Long distance racing is a challenge to mind and body. It takes a lot from the runner: time, energy, and peace of mind.  I say peace of mind because in training all that seems to enter the runner's head is the race.  

Anyway,  there is clearly a "Zen" to running, hiking or walking distances (I define "distances" as anything over a 10 k race (6.2 miles).  The Zen is in the presence on each footfall: the presence on each breath, on each ache and pain that arises between start and finish and all of the thoughts that come and go in that vast expanse. For me it's,  breathe in - two steps - breathe out - two steps. All the while attention on the road/body fit.  The Zen is in dealing with all the little, sometimes big, messages our brains send us while enduring the race itself.  

Distance racing is one dharma gate among many, but is most certainly one that will test you.  

I don't know how I will do in this up-coming race, but I will do my best to finish.  In the great scheme of things follow through is all that really matters.  

Be well y'all,

Daiho