Practice Like Our Hair is On Fire: A Twist on an Old Buddhist Phrase

One thing I find challenging about practicing Buddhism in a wealthy nation, surrounded by other practitioners who tend to have "enough," is the huge disconnect many have between their spiritual practice and the social environment. This is especially true of white, heterosexual North American practitioners who do not have to face issues of institutional, systemic discrimination and oppression. Beyond this, however, I continue to reflect on how, for example, Buddhist monks and nuns in Burma, or Tibet, or Vietnam to give a few examples, really don't have the easy option of making such separations. Their practice and the social realities in their nations are obviously inseparable. They might be able to complete long periods of intensive meditation and study, or they might wake up one day to gunfire, ramped up soldiers, or some natural disaster barreling down upon them. These folks do not get to "wait" until they become enlightened, or "wise," to get into the fray of social concerns. They just have to step up, and do their best awakened work.

Along these lines, there's the statement "practice like your hair is on fire." It's provocative, but what is it really about? Perhaps more importantly for us in affluent countries, who have "enough" and/or are relatively "safe," what does it really mean?

I've seen numerous articles, blog posts, and comments in recent months about the ways in which dharma practice in affluent countries is too often being reduced to stress relief, psychological health, and other individualistic focuses. Even laments over the loss of a focus on enlightenment often sound individualistic, which makes me wonder if this is a byproduct - in part - of living and practicing in relative comfort. Being comfortable with the discomfort and dysfunction that are produced daily in materially wealthy, capitalist societies. There's something about living with most, if not all of your basic needs met, that can lead to a smug certainty about what Buddha was teaching us, and how we "should" apply it.

Is the general history we have about Buddhist teachings and how it's manifested in different countries accurate? Do we in Western affluent nations also apply our own understanding of social activism to that history, and assume that most Buddhists historically were focused on individual liberation?

Vows of poverty and "home-leaving" seem to have as much to do with breaking down separation as anything else. It's more difficult to think it's all about you, and/or you and your family and friends, when you depend upon others, including total strangers, for your food, clothing, and shelter.

In other words, teachings like "practice like your hair is on fire" might be an antidote to the separations commonly attached to affluent conditions. However, I think it's more useful to pluralize it.

Practice like OUR hair is on fire. All of us. The entire planet. Because it sure as hell seems to be anyway.

The "Bad" Meditator

When I'm in the yoga world, it's not uncommon for someone to say, upon hearing about my Zen practice, "Oh, I'm terrible at meditation" or "It's too hard for me." Sometimes, I hear the same thing as well from newcomers on Sunday mornings down at the zen center.

However, as Algernon says in a recent post, there isn't really such a thing as a "bad meditator.

We are difficult because even when we are drawn to meditation, when we feel some tug to sit down and wash off our minds by doing some very simple awareness practice, holding hands with our pulse, ahhh the difficulty arises: "I'm a terrible meditator. My attention goes everywhere. My thinking is out of control."

Translation: I don't waaaaaannnnaaaaa!!

Sometimes it feels like going to the dentist, and sometimes it feels like soaking in a hot tub. But that isn't really the meditation - that's coming from you and me.

I think there are a lot of stories about what meditation "should" look like that cause people trouble. Such as the view that your mind should always be quiet, or that you are supposed to force all thoughts into silence. In addition, a lot of folks have conjured up an image of the perfect location and environment to do meditation in and then, when such a place isn't available, they decide they can't do it. Furthermore, perhaps they believe the bullshit folks like Zen teacher Brad Warner espouse, suggesting that zazen only happens in certain postures, and can't be "done in a chair." (I agree with Brad, by the way, that meditation is an embodied practice, and that thinking you can do it any old posture doesn't fly. I just don't get his anti-chair position, and in general, am an advocate for more flexibility around form.)

Beyond all of that, though, there's the strong sense of compartmentalization that many of us do with our spiritual lives. Meditation practice is often viewed as something done in such and such a place, time, and manner.

Whereas I have meditated on buses, park benches, in the middle of the Occupy protests, in public restrooms, amongst other places. I also frequently chant while bicycling, and for two winters in a row, did lovingkindness meditations walking in the skyway system in downtown St. Paul. Of course, I also practice in the places many consider "normal" - like on my meditation cushion at home, or in my zen center. But overall, I remain focused on breaking down walls and barriers - infusing practice into my everyday life, and everyday life into my practice.

I encourage you all to do the same. Happy Friday!


*Photo from the blog Meditation Matters.