Awakening Bodhisattva Energy

Uku has an interesting post considering several things, but much of it is focused on the evolution of both personal Zen practice and collective Zen practice. Having just finished our "lay practice intensive" this morning, with a discussion about the experiment we just did, what Uku wrote struck a chord with me.

When I started my group during spring 2009, I decided to start it with traditional way with robes and shit. But later on I realized maybe it wasn't such a good thing because people seemed to look at me with strange eyes. One dude even suggested privately that I was enlightened. Something else also happened in the Zen scenes and in my personal life, so I decided to change my style into more secular way, or should I say, my life moved into this direction. Of course my talks and my behaviour were secular before but eventually I just didn't wear robes or stuff anymore. Of course when I have to, I put them on (like Rohatsu Zazen etc.).

And now it seems my practice is going more and more into some concrete helping of other people: less talk, more action. I'm trying to find ways to help homeless people, drug addicts, alcoholics and so on. I have some plans but maybe I'll mention about those later on. Like I wrote to my teacher, " It seems my practice is moving more and more to real people, to real problems, away from robes and shit. I think that's the essence of Buddha's teachings, Dogen's teachings: what can we do to help others and ourselves? What can we do as Buddhists to help those who are really suffering? Arguing about the colors of robes and Zen monkhood is not essential when people are actually crying, I think."

It's interesting to hear this evolution, as well as the issues with sangha members and their perceptions. The early years of my Zen practice, I was totally in to pushing hard, meditating like crazy, and trying to appear like a "good Zen student." The culture of our zen center supported that approach, which included lots of group zazen, retreats, and over-extending yourself. We were going for fucking enlightenment, and nothing else mattered! Even if that wasn't the stated mission, this is how it felt.

Over the years, my practice has evolved, along with the rest of my life. I'm more interested in experimenting with forms, working with a diversity of teachings, and putting myself forward, even if it negates the "good Zen student" story. It's interesting to me that Uku had the kind of troubles he did with people projecting ideas upon him based upon the clothes he wore. Not surprising at all, but an interesting dilemma for lay practitioners and communities.

One of my dharma sisters expressed her frustration that there weren't more members of the sangha attending at least one or a few of the sections of the practice intensive. She looked around and said "We're the ones upholding so much of the container here." Which is true in many ways, although not completely. The whole sangha helped make that 2 weeks of practice possible, in various ways. As well as all the other causes and conditions that came together, including all the veggies, beans, and other "beings" that gave their lives for us to eat morning meals, and keep going.

But she was totally right in that it was the group of us there, plus three or four others, who do the lions share to keep the sangha going. About 15 people for a center that serves probably one hundred fifty. I point this out because I sometimes wonder if the general membership looks around, sees those of us with robes or rakasus and thinks: "they've got it covered." Or "it's their role to have it covered."

One of the wonderful things I have witnessed over the past four or five years is the development and increased emphasis on "sangha" in our community. More people seem to feel connected, are willing to share, and yes, more people are also volunteering their time not out guilt I don't think, but because they genuinely want to build and maintain a healthy community. In other words, we're going in the right direction, but there's still an imbalance.

What can we do to help others and ourselves? What can we do as Buddhists to help those who are really suffering?

These are simple questions, but very important, don't you think? It's worth examining deeply what "help" and "helping" means, and whether what you do or don't do is going to just add more trouble.

However, in the context of a Zen sangha, or any spiritual group really, how do you individually and collectively cultivate an orientation towards benefiting others, both inside the sangha and in the rest of the world?

I say orientation because that's what I believe it is. If you look at how Uku describes his life, it's a shift in orientation towards service, towards struggling people, towards embodying the bodhisattva vows. This takes time. Effort. And a willingness to break sometimes with the prevailing culture, even the culture inside your sangha (if that culture doesn't support such a shift).

Somehow, whatever we do, it should boil down to awakening that bodhisattva energy that pulses through us all. Or awakening to it. And making use of it, as it makes use of us.

Simple sounding. Not necessarily easy to do. But also maybe not as difficult as it seems. These past two weeks, I saw my mind produce several variations on the theme of "you can skip out on this." A few mornings, it was a thought that I had done enough, what's one missed morning. During sitting a few times, it was the thought that "it wouldn't hurt to just sit out this period of zazen." I'm not all that polished when it comes to oryoki practice, and mostly would rather not do it, even though it does has a beautiful rhythm. However, I found myself paying attention to even the mistakes I made, checking around the room to see what the "correct way in our sangha" was, and then attempting to correct what I had done. Not to say I didn't check out sometimes during the past two weeks, but what I found was that those "skipping out stories" can be overridden, sometimes pretty easily without effort.

Ultimately, there's an unflagging optimism lurking about in Zen. My good buddy Jizo Bodhisattva is said to be the representation of that embodied optimism, but when you look around, you can see it running throughout Buddha's teachings and practices. And that's good because if it wasn't there, the whole thing would be too much of a drag. If it were all just suffering and emptiness, there wouldn't been any evolutions, personal or collective, going on.

It would be like being trapped on a train tracked between samsara and nowhere, which makes frequent stops that all were basically the same. Dante's rings of hell come to mind. And I suppose there's bodhisattva energy running through all of that as well, but it's a hell of a lot harder to see it, touch it, and finally be it.

Buddha's Hesitation - Translating Practice into Life

We are in the home stretch of our two week intensive at the zen center. Today was an off day, followed by two half days of practice and group study this weekend. It's been a worthy challenge, different from full on meditation retreats, but in some ways harder. Working the rhythm of introspection followed by interaction with the regular activities and people of the day, followed by a return to introspection provides for an interesting ride.

I've been seeing today how I am guarding my time and energy, sometimes in healthy ways, and sometimes just avoidance. I slept in this morning (all the way until 7:30 lol!), and didn't rush to get out of bed, knowing I have been somewhat sleep deprived. Have run into a few old acquaintances this afternoon, and made efforts to not talk to them, one of which failed. And then I made an excuse about having "work to do" - a lie - in order to end the conversation quickly. Not a big deal, but I have noticed I don't always know how to make graceful exits without resorting to some line about being busy with something.

Next week, I will begin a 9 month yoga teacher training program. Perhaps you have seen the slight uptick in posts about yoga in recent weeks. That will probably continue. In fact, it will be interesting to see how studying the Buddhist precepts again (which started last month at the zen center and will go until May) will mix with studying sections of the Yoga Sutra, which is part of my teacher training. The flow between these two practices - yoga and Zen - have been informing much of what I have written on this blog, even if the Zen piece has had a stronger presence.

Speaking of flow, Katherine over at On the Precipice has a beautiful post about vulnerability that I think fits in here.

Last week I had an interview of sorts. There was a lot invested in the one half-hour I was allotted, and due to train delays, etc., I was running late. I arrived with a ton of nervous energy and was over-heated, hurriedly pulling off layers as I sat down across from this stranger. There was a smile on my face that didn’t go away well into the conversation. It was a smile that, though perhaps genuine on one level, was belying what was actually happening inside. And the person with whom I met was an incredibly perceptive person. And he turned the lens inward, and forced me to look at that disconnect. He challenged me in so many ways, (and I was uncomfortable in so many ways!). The visceral reality of the pain in my cheeks — because I could not get them to relax, try as I might — and the rawness that emerged in the middle of my chest were together perhaps one of the most intense felt experiences I’ve ever had. I did not want to make myself vulnerable because if I did, the tears were going to fall.

You know quite well, deep within you, that there is only a single magic, a single power, a single salvation…and that is called loving. Well, then, love your suffering. Do not resist it, do not flee from it. It is your aversion that hurts, nothing else.–Herman Hesse

Here I was relating. Here someone was giving me the incredible, unconditionally loving, gift of reflection. And boy, did it hurt. There was so much contraction! Fear. “Don’t want to look, don’t want to feel, don’t want to know.” Here I am, dedicating my life to the work of self-inquiry and meditation, and someone holds a really clear mirror up to me and I realize there’s a virtual fortress around my heart.

I felt a little bit of that "fortressing" myself upon seeing these two old acquaintances today. I also felt it while on a bus, when a man on cell phone yelled at a guy talking to himself, thinking the guy was butting in on his phone conversation. I looked directly at the phone guy, and almost said something about the fact that he was having a phone conversation in a bus - and that the guy wasn't talking to him anyway - but it just seemed futile. And maybe it was. But also I know my mind enough to know that sometimes things "being futile" is code for checking out on my part. I squirmed in my seat a little bit, and then shook my head, and looked out the window, all the while feeling a tension running through my neck and shoulders. Again, not a big deal, but paying attention to patterns of disconnection and avoidance are important, even if it's just little incidents that may or may not fit that appear.

Part of my response to Katherine's post was the following:

but the larger point i’ve been seeing is that regardless of form, whether long retreat, “practice intensive,” or just a daily sitting practice or sutra study – none of it necessarily leads to being a more open, vulnerable, and alive person. The threads often need to be deliberately teased out, so that the introspective insights are translated into awakened relationships based on love, vulnerability, and wisdom. i always remember the buddha’s hesitation to teach during the first days of his awakening. to me, that’s a story about vulnerability, about relationships, and about how we can make decisions that expand the field of insight, or which contract it in every moment.

Perhaps this view is controversial - I don't know. There are people with brilliant insights into the ways the world works, and yet are totally crappy at being human with other humans. I've seen a few of them come and go through my own life. Years and years of study and spiritual practice didn't seem to translate into the kind of openness and vulnerability that seems to naturally put others at ease. Whereas I have met others where the practice and study match the deep humanness exuded.

Which is why, going back to our practice intensive experiment, I'm interested in structures like it that allow for more of the ebb and flow between introspection and one's relationships and everyday activities. Because there's enough intensity from the form to conjure up some of your shit, and then you have to face it, work with it in the middle of your life with others. Which is what often happens to us anyway, right?

Maybe it's worth considering Buddha's hesitation towards becoming a teacher more closely again. Has there been a frequent imbalance in favor of the processes "before enlightment" and not enough focus on the processes that pushed Buddha beyond hesitation and into teaching? And then, by extension, what it was like for Buddha to work with others? What qualities he displayed, and what actions he took or didn't take?

There's a subtle shift here from what Buddha taught to how Buddha interacted with others as gleaned from the teachings we have available.

Anyway, this is where I am at on this Friday. May you all be well.

Is Productivity a Four Letter Word in Buddhism?

Vince over at Buddhist Geeks has an interesting post about productivity. It's something that doesn't come up in talks or writings much, and I think tends to maligned as an attachment to results oriented thinking when it is included. As a lay practitioner, I'm always interested in ways to re-examine actions and processes that are commonplace in "ordinary life," and Vince's comments do just that.

For some, productivity is the antithesis of meditative equipoise. But frankly I think that’s bullshit. The reason being that there are different ways of understanding the meaning of “productivity,” and each understanding carries with it different ramifications. One possible understanding is to see productivity in terms of contributing to the GDP, making sure you squeeze every last drop of work out for your boss, or for your project, etc. This is an understanding of productivity that is based on being productive for something or someone. In this view we are victims to larger forces that are compelling, or even demanding that we produce more. Certainly it can feel this way at times, but this understanding leaves us feeling like dis-empowered tools. If we aren’t actually tools then why feel that way?

Another possible understanding, and the one I feel is more helpful, is to look at productivity as how effective we are at bringing things to life. This productivity is predominantly self-generated—though we can never fully ignore systems or their influence on us—and encourages more of an empowering choice about what we do with our lives. We have energy and expertise as human beings, and we feel compelled (often) to use these things for certain purposes. We also have limited time and resources, so we are constantly having to make choices with regards to what we want to give priority to. When we look at productivity in terms of an opportunity to live with greater wisdom, and to create powerful habits that support this wisdom, it can be both empowering and enlivening.

Our teacher at the zen center has been talking about "bringing things to life" a lot recently, pointing to ways in which each of us can use the buddhanature energy, that energy that runs throughout the universe, to enliven every moment. And also, to let ourselves be vehicles that are used by the same energy to enliven every moment.

One point I'd differ on from Vince, given the above, is that I don't think the kind of productivity he's speaking about is "predominantly self generated." First off, when you start to examine something like your effort into a situation, the line between what "you" did and what "you" were riding on during that time isn't really findable. Secondly, although we have limited time and resources, I have also seen how tapping into that larger source energy, or simply being able to give some effort while being open to that energy, expands what can happen in a way that wouldn't happen if the focus is more leaned towards "self-generation."

Last night, I was exhausted. We've been at this ramped up practice, sitting, walking and studying together at the zen center 4 hours on average a day for a week and a half now. Waking up at 5 am every morning has me pushed against the wall. And I have had a cold off and on during the entire period.

About 6:15 yesterday evening, fifteen minutes before the first evening meditation period, two newcomers arrived at the center, having gotten the date of the evening meditation instruction class we offer monthly wrong. I had a short conversation with one of the two, looked at the schedule, and thought "now what?" I went in and asked our teacher. She came out, looked at the schedule, saw that it was the wrong date, and then said "Well, you could do meditation instruction with them and then they could stay for the rest of the evening if they want." Another member of our practice group was standing nearby and said "It would be a shame to send them away." And I thought, "yeah, it would."

So, we went into the other room, we talked a bit about meditation and the center, and then sat together. Afterward, they both expressed interest in joining the larger group, so then we did that.

I really feel like my part in all of this was an example of the flow between effort and "being used" by buddhanature energy. Just relying on the energy and effort I had at that time alone wouldn't have cut it. I was already ready for bed the moment I walked in the door, so it certainly wasn't "mostly me" making things happen.

But I think this view of productivity as a practice of enlivening is spot on. It's taking the ingredients that are given to us, inputting some effort and care, and then watching what happens. Sometimes, things come to life, sometimes seeds are planted that will spring forth at a later time, and sometimes you have no idea if either happened.

Let Go of Hundreds of Years

Another day; another early morning of zazen practice at the zen center. During our first sitting this morning, feeling both tired and tense - an odd combination - a line from Song of the Grass Roof Hermitage suddenly appeared.

Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.

First off, this is a plug for regular chanting practice because whatever you chant enough is imbued into you, ready to show up whenever it's called for.

Second, here we are studying Dogen, and what comes to mind but a line from one of Dogen's Chan(Zen) ancestors.

So anyway, I sat, repeating that line for a little while, and then watching old memories come and go. By the end of the first sitting, I felt lighter. By the end of the second sitting, the next few lines had appeared from the poem:

Open your hands and walk, innocent.
Thousands of words, myriad interpretations
Are only to free you from obstructions.

Our timekeeper missed the end of the period, thinking we had another 15 minutes, so we all were treated to a 50 minute sitting period. Sitting longer with those lines offered a way through drowsiness, through rising and fading memories, and through the extended sitting time.

And consider this. "I" wasn't "letting go of hundreds of years." It was just unfolding on it's own. This seems to be the way of breaking up karmic patterns. That the effort of sitting, walking, bowing, chanting, and sutra studying is entered into the big stew of causes and conditions in each moment, but that in the end, it's not about "me" doing something in particular.

Birth and Death

As the focus of our two week intensive practice experiment at the zen center - not a full retreat, but 2 or more hours of group practice six out of seven days - we are studying two small teachings from Dogen. It's funny. Having written awhile back about how us Soto folks seem to over-emphasize the founder at times, it seems I've been swamped with Dogen almost ever since. I can almost hear The Zennist's shit talking turning up a notch.

Seriously, though, there's room for questioning any teacher or teachings, while also deeply appreciating the jewels within the offering. And so the eclectic spirit I have always had, as well as a love of discovering forgotten or marginalized wise folks, gets to take a back seat for a few weeks in favor of good old Dogen.

One of the pieces we're studying is Shoji, or "birth and death." And as I sat in zazen this morning, the question came to me "What is birth and death?" It was interesting that it came as "is" and not "are" - and when I rephrased the question as "what are birth and death?" it didn't feel right. So, I left it as "is."

A few minutes after the question came, I heard water run through a nearby pipe. After it had gone, I thought "Is the sound dead now that I can't hear it? Can a sound be born and die? Does it even matter if "I" hear it or not?" Perhaps these questions seem silly. Maybe they are.

But consider human birth and death. When is a person born? How do you know? When is a person dead? How do you know? Even if you just consider the fluctuations of the physical body, it's pretty hard to determine a fixed birth point and a death point. Taking a last breath is a convention marker that helps us navigate death territory, but I think it might be foolish to say "that's it."

What is birth and death? There's your question for the day (or for life). Enjoy!