the "good" self

It's been a cool, dreary, rainy day here in Minnesota. Images of growing greens, peas, radishes, and carrots have flashed through my mind a few times throughout the day. While it may not be to the liking of many of us humans, this weather is very much to the liking of those plants. Another reminder of how flimsy and limited our preferences can be in the grand scheme of things.

I'm a bit too groggy to write anything about the chapter I read in Yasutani Roshi's book on the Genjokoan. Maybe I'll return to it another time.

Instead, I'd like to talk a little about what we've been working on in a class I'm in at out zen center. Essentially, the focus is on awareness of, and breaking through, deeply ingrained habit patterns. This can be anything from biting your nails to perhaps the biggest habit pattern of them all - clinging to, reinforcing, and believing in a fixed and separate self.

What I have chosen to examine is the tendency I have to do things to prop up an image of myself as "a good guy" or "nice guy" or "likable guy" or other variations on that theme.

Here are a few pointed observation questions we've worked on in class, and have taken up in meditation.

1. What triggers it? (the pattern)

2. What is the body sensation?

3. What's the story that arises?

4. What do you say or do?

5. what's the impact of your behavior on others?

I like the clear, easy to follow nature of these questions. To me, the beauty of Buddhist practice is that not only is it rich in wisdom teachings, but it also is rich in practical applications based on those teachings. I can dig into Dogen one day, and sit with very simply, pointed questions the next. I feel very grateful for that.

The stories behind the "good guy" I've discovered so far are the following: 1. If you do something that causes someone irritation or uncomfortableness, they will cease to like you for the long run. 2. You're supposed to be good, that's what a good Buddhist does. 3. Being "good" makes life easier.

Now, the reality is that this "good" includes an awful lot of repression, false affect, over-eagerness to support others, and sometimes flat out lying.

I think the triggers are interesting too. The desire to uphold this "good guy" image appears when:

1. I have something to say that might threaten or contradict others' ideas.

2. I'm in a situation where someone needs help and I have no idea how to help.

3. I'm upset about something, but don't want to "worry" the person or people I'm with.

Not every time I'm in one of these situations does this issue come up, but enough of the time so that it really is calling for attention. This, to me, is the essence of practice - seeing what is arising in your life, often over and over again. And I think it's important to recognize these kinds of patterns precisely because they take you away from your life.

I have come to see these kinds of patterns as linchpins stacked against enlightenment. And at the same time, through them is the way into our complete, unhindered lives. Hopefully the practical nature of the questions above are useful to you, as they have been for me. May we all continuously unfold and break free from our habitual ways of living.

Insufficiencies?

"If the dharma has not yet fully come into one's body and mind, one thinks it is already sufficient. On the other hand, if the dharma fills one's body and mind, there is a sense of insufficiency." Dogen, Genjokoan

I'm very interested in these lines, partly because I wonder if we in the "West," might display something else than what Dogen experienced in his time. It seems that students in Dogen's day, upon tasting a little bit of true nature, of clear understanding and seeing about their lives, may have been very prone to arrogance. Not unlike the undergraduate student that learns a little about psychology and then walks around claiming to understand how everyone thinks and what everyone's personality is. Yet, does the same hold true for those of us studying zen now, especially in western nations?

It strikes me that feeling insufficient, having a strong sense of lack, is pretty common here in the U.S. anyway. Ironic, given how much "material abundance" we have, even those of us who are fairly poor, at least in comparison to much of the rest of the world. But it's also beyond this. I remember hearing about how the Dalai Lama was shocked that some people in "western" countries were plagued by self hatred, or at least battered "self-esteem." And beyond this, the strong influence upon the cultures of our society of the doctrine of original sin, and the view that we're all fallen and soiled, no matter what we do in our lives. Which makes me wonder if it's really possible that a lot of us could display the kind of arrogance Dogen was writing about in the Genjokoan.

This is not to suggest that there isn't any arrogance appearing from students of the way who glimpse their deeper nature. There definitely is. And maybe some of those cases are very like the one's Dogen experienced, or read about in the historical teachings. But I can imagine there's also another set of things going on with a lot of seeing "a bit of truth" for the first time. Like feelings of insufficiency, inadequacy, puffed up arrogance followed by self-centered doubt, maybe even self hatred.

None of these is the humility Dogen displayed upon his own enlightenment, as he went to verify what he had experienced with his teacher. The insufficiency he speaks of seems to call forth an awareness for the need for constant curiosity about life, since it's depths are always unfolding, always changing. Instead of a sense of openness and curiosity, though, the patterns I mentioned above are all closed down and self-centered "insufficiencies." Which makes me wonder if these lines from Dogen need further exploration in terms of their teaching, given the context of our 21st century lives and experiences.

Reflections on my dharma name

"A person getting enlightened is like the moon reflecting in the water. The moon does not get wet, the water is not disturbed."

The above passage is from Dogen's Genjokoan. The image expressed in it is very basic, very common. How many of us haven't at some point or other seen the moon reflected in a lake, river, or ocean? And yet this issue of enlightenment in spiritual practice is a tricky one, easily shunned and dismissed, or clung to fiercely as the sole goal of our lives.

I received my dharma name last year, after several years of practice, and a fair amount of hesitation about entering the jukai process and being "more serious" about what I am doing. The several months of classes, sewing, meditation, and reflection that made up jukai for us at Clouds in Water Zen Center were a wonderful time filled with powerful moments. This blog is one of the recent outgrowths from that time; an effort to strengthen both my writing practice and my study and expression of the teachings.

So, what is the dharma name, you might be asking by now?

Tokugo.

Which translates as devoted to enlightenment, or taking care of enlightenment.

It's no lightweight of a name, for sure. And with it, I find myself turning more and more toward extending everything in my life into practice. I'm noticing how things that used to just be annoyances or difficulties that I would bitch about with others, now are being seen as opportunities to explore Buddha's teachings, and see through the preconceived notions I have about whatever situation I'm in. This doesn't mean I never bitch and whine, nor that I never get lost in delusional stories about my life anymore. But the tugs of those last for shorter periods, and often are less intense than in the past.

It's all a process, this path of ours called life. How are you devoted to enlightenment? How do you take care of enlightenment, even if you don't really know what "it" is? That's the real question if you ask me.

Biking through the elements

I spent the day biking to and from all the places I went. Nothing unusual about that; it's something I do fairly often throughout most of the year, sans parts of the really cold months of winter. Today, my companion was the wind. A warm, 20-30 mph wind.

As I listen to it continue to blow outside my apartment, I am reflecting upon how the experience of riding in it today was very much like life itself is all the time.

A few moments stand out as telling. Coming down a hill on the way back home from work this afternoon, the wind blowing right at me, nearly holding me in place no matter how hard I peddled. Doesn't that sound like certain days, weeks, months, maybe even years of your experience?

Another moment - going down a different hill with much less of slope, and yet with the wind at my back pushing me along so that I am gliding, almost flying without so much as a few spins on the peddles all the way down. This, too, may sound familiar.

Another - turning a corner, the wind at my side, pressing my balance point off balance.

A sense of wanting to give up shifting quickly into the drive to push on as conditions changed ever so slightly.

Biking through the elements is a full body experience, a way to completely be in whatever weather, and whatever place, is present in a way no one inside of a car or other vehicle can ever do.

I often chant while riding, as a meditation, and to work with the myriad of things that arise during an inner-city bike ride.

But today, there was no need for that even. Only being with the wind, and the bike, as whatever appeared appeared. That was it's own meditation, this very life unfolding.


P.S. Don't worry; it's not snowing here in Minnesota. The picture is from December, when I biked through a different set of elements. That old, green Schwinn is one tough cookie.

A Photo Commentary

I came across this as I took my first bike ride of the year along the Greenway path in Minneapolis, Minnesota. As an avid bicyclist, it is such a joy to have a route like the Greenway that runs right through the heart of the city, which serves not only as recreation, but also as a functional means of getting somewhere specific. In the future, it would be most intelligent if cities had entire linked networks of these kinds of paths, so that bicyclists could actually move through the city, instead of fight their way through cars and trucks and buses on streets designed for those vehicles alone.

But this post isn't really about advocating for bicycles; maybe another time. I want to speak about art and dharma, and how the two often merge.

As you may have noticed by the photographs I have posted, I have become very interested in the grittiness of the city. Specifically, I'm into the margins, the forgotten and ignored of the city. I want to work on the pivot between junk and beauty recognizing that it reflects our life in so many ways. These photographs are an attempt to express the juncture of the sacred and mundane.

There is no way to know when something, or someone, will appear in your life that is a great teacher. It's happening all the time, but sometimes, there is a sharp jolt that comes with an appearance, and it's difficult to ignore or forget it. Seeing this graffiti along the Greenway was just such an experience.

Many dismiss graffiti, and graffiti artists, as simply vandals and underground thugs. Yet, what really is at play with graffiti is a violation of our notions of private property, of ownership, and in the end, of our views that we are separate from each other. With every tag, there is a making public that happens. And even if the laws of the land are broken, and damage is done that shouldn't be, we are forced to pay attention to something that we most likely ignored before, even if only for a split second.

It's so easy to confine things. To say art is that which is in museums, publicly sanctioned, and considered by critics in magazines and newspapers. To say that what teaches us can only be found in books, or during meditation, or from the lips of another human.

It's ok - we all do it. Forgive yourself, as the tagger has reminded us. Even the choice of words, the message here, defies the stereotype of the graffiti artist.

It's as if the whole thing is telling us to just stay open, and let go of the need to place everything into neat categories and story lines.

Maybe this image will jolt you a little, like it did me, into waking up to the impermanence of our lives.

Throwing Away Oneself

In his commentary on Dogen's Genjokoan, Hakuun Yasutani writes "What is essential is to throw away one's own views and oneself. To throw away all one's acquired affectations, which are the knowledge and experience accumulated since birth, to become a pure white sheet of paper, and to bring oneself in accord with the teachings of the buddhas and ancestors."

What is this business of "throwing away"? It's not about rejecting yourself, nor is it about getting rid of something, although maybe there will be a dissipation of certain things. Take the heaviness that accompanies everything that "I" hold on to, cling to as my own. I don't think I can throw that away like a piece of garbage into the can, and simply go on with my day. No, it's more like at some point, when I've gotten tired of gripping tightly whatever it is I am fixed to, the air leaks out, like from a tire, until it is empty and there is nothing left really to hold on to.

Let's move into the garden for a moment. When a plant dies, it's body decays and goes back into the soil, providing nourishment for the next generation of plants - that is, if we allow it to do so. How often do we rip out "weeds," bag them up, and send them with the trash to wherever it is the trash is going? It's all a little too tidy right here for the time being, and yet the stuff has to go somewhere. This is not just about the garden; this is your life too! The words "throwing away" may not be the best translation, at least for us in the "West." Neither is the word "pure" maybe, which plays right into that desire to keep everything neat and clean at all costs, forgetting that the lotus blooms out of the mud, not out of sterile soil.

It's essential to let go of that which has passed, that which is, in the relative world, dead. If the tomato plant has birthed its fruit and withered, nothing I can do will bring it back. And if I try to hang on, I end up missing its current suchness, what it is right now: a decaying body ready to break back into the soil.

I really think that Hakuun Yasutani, and Dogen, are telling us that everything from our past is like that withered tomato plant. It's not that our knowledge and experiences are gone, or should be made to be gone. But if we treat them in the present moment as THE expression of the present moment, we've missed it.

Patience

Patience is, it seems, a buzzword in many spiritual communities. People sincerely want to cultivate it, and are very much aware of how our speed addicted, multitasking society fails to support it. And yet, how many of us know what patience looks like, or how it manifests in our lives? How often do we simply believe that patience means putting up with something we don't like until it changes or until our mind changes around it?

Pema Chodron speaks of patience as being able to relax in any conditions. You can see this when you're able to step back from your thoughts and reactions to a particular situation and are able to see it for what it is. And yet, I'd like to also add that patience is not only an in the moment quality, but also a long term process which manifests moment by moment. During yoga, in down dog, the ease of it tonight came out of a several month commitment to daily (or almost daily practice) without knowing what the results would be. A year ago, every time into down dog was a trip into stiffness and some pain, even though I didn't push beyond my limits. So, patience is a quality of practice that manifests in the moment, but is birthed moment by moment in practice. In other words, you aren't going to just wake up one day and "have it;" you have to cultivate it.

Overall, it's in the ability to be ok with not knowing for sure, both in our practice and in the rest of our lives, that we learn how patience will manifest in just the right way, moment after moment. In a way, patience is loving what is, exactly as it is. It's a simple, and complex, as that.