Abandon Poisonous Food

I've been musing on how easily we sucker ourselves into believing impossible, ridiculous things. Take the people who have decided their mission in life is to expose U.S. President Obama as a non-citizen. The stories are wildly entertaining, and yet terrible distractions from the very real problems of this country, not to mention being tinged with racist undertones. Take the birth announcement issue. Two Honolulu, Hawaii newspapers reported Obama's birth in August 1961. There was nothing special about either announcement, nor really about Obama's birth for that matter. Neither of his parents had any celebrity importance in 1961, and the announcements were a mere few lines at most, tucked away in the back of the papers. And yet there are a not small number of people in the U.S. who believe those announcements were faked somehow, that someone "went back" and "forged" every copy of those newspapers that exists. It's so mindbogglingly stupid I can contain myself, and yet thousands of people, maybe hundreds of thousands of people believe it, and ideas like it.

Chogyam Trungpa wrote a book about Tibetan Lojong practice Training the Mind which is centered around the use of slogans, or pithy sayings, that help cut through the bullshit of the mind. The title of this post, Abandon Poisonous Food, is one of them. Specifically, this slogan is speaking about any and all thoughts we have about our spiritual practice that are related to self improvement or self aggrandizement. He says these are poisonous foods we love to eat. If I sit meditation for x number of years, I will be a better person. Because I am into Zen, I'm a better person than you. It's thoughts like this that this slogan was originally designed to address.

But I really believe that it can be applied to ideas like the conspiracy theories mentioned above. Think about it. Why do these people hold views like this? Sure, it's about politics, and not liking President Obama's particular brand of politics. However, it's more than that. It's about destroying the validity of the man. About believing that he is inherently not worthy of leading the U.S. And when it gets down to it, the people who hold these beliefs consider themselves and others like them to be superior than our current President. It's not simply a strong disagreement about his political choices (I have plenty of those myself). No, those who argue that President Obama is a foreigner who does not deserve to be the leader of this country are people who have abandoned their intelligence in favor of eating a big load of poisonous food.

Let's face it though. Even though you and I may see through conspiracy theories like this, we all have our own set of conspiracies we have decided are true, no matter what the evidence. From the tiny, every day personal story lines like so and so is an asshole because he cut me off on the freeway, to probably the biggest conspiracy theory of them all (I am a solid, fixed, unchanging, separate self.), these poisonous foods tempt us like chocolate ice cream on a hot summer day. Eat me. Eat me. Come on, you know you want to. And we do, over and over again.

So, even though I similtaneously laugh and cringe at the stories about Obama's birth, I know better than to think I'm above those kind of thought patterns. This doesn't mean I will stay quiet in the face of ridiculous political stunts, but it does mean that part of my job is to recognize the person behind the ridiculousness. That, too, is a way to abandon poisionous food.

Languaging Death and Dying

I read the following over at The Dalai Grandma, a new find for me in the blogosphere. I've included her blog in my list, and encourage you to check it out.

"Scanning the obituaries in the local paper today, I soon came across the person who had died "after a long, courageous battle with leukemia." I wondered just what that meant. I decided it meant she didn't make other people uncomfortably aware of her pain and fear. She didn't cry much in front of other people, she didn't whine, she smiled, she put on a pink turban and went to parties and tried every kind of chemo, proven or not. Effort. I mean, what the hell does it mean to "courageously" "battle" the inevitable? Can you battle in a cowardly way? Or can you just battle, without any adjectives? Or can you not battle at all, and can that be a dignified choice?"

It's so very interesting how people choose to describe death. I think it says a lot about a person's attitude towards death, as well as reflecting cultural approaches to death as well. Take the phrase "passing away." The words soften our experience of the news, even if only a little bit. There is an ease in saying the words themselves - passing away - a flow that allows one to speak of something difficult to handle.

And yet, don't these same words work to conceal the experience in certain ways? When we say so and so passed away, doesn't it conjure up an image in our minds of what happened which may or may not correspond with what actually happened?

Words around death and dying impact how we react to it. Plain and simple. Saying so and so died feels different from saying so and so passed away. Saying so and so was murdered feels very different for both the other two.

Let's go further, and think about the process before. The Dalai Grandma (gotta love that name!) pointed out some issues with the words "courageous battle."

Later in her post, she writes, "I feel very burdened by this idea that admirable people are those who fight, and who do so "courageously." It's hard enough to do what seems to be the right thing, go to the doctors, watch the diet, undergo the tests and the misery of hospitalizations, do the exercises, wear the event monitor and the orthotics and the tennis shoes. Do I have to do it with a cheerful attitude?"

Like her, I wonder what really is "courageous," and think it's probably different for each of us. I also believe there is a hell of a lot of clinging on to life here in the U.S., to the point where we will spend billions of dollars annually to prolong people's lives in the last days, when death is already a forgone conclusion.

Think about it. Reflect on how different it is to say "I am dying" and act accordingly, when dying is the truth of the situation? Put this way along side the "courageously battling" approach at the end of life, this fighting against death until the last second.

Is this really the way you want to go? To battle to the last second?

I think it's a little to easy to bring up dharma language about life and death being seamless and all that. Sure, intellectually many of us in the Buddhist world know better. But drop the heady crap! Drop it! And really reflect on where you are at with death and dying right now.

It still scares me some. I don't feel practiced enough, or ready. Yes, I'm a young pup in many respects, but who knows what will happen. I do what I can to be healthy, but a long life isn't guarenteed, no matter what I, or you, do.

How many people have enough ease around death to truly embrace a dying person exactly as they are? To me, this is an aspiration - to drop all efforts at trying to fix, to smooth out the rough edges, and to just be right there in the moment.

If we truly desire to reduce the suffering in this world, it's high time we look at death and dying more closely. We owe it not only to those we love who will eventually die, but also to ourselves.

The Toad King

I met this guy on the path in a park along Lake Pepin (Minnesota) yesterday. I had just finished doing walking meditation along with several other leaping creatures, who seemed to appear and disappear with every slow step. It was very fortunate to have these paths in the woods to myself, although maybe it's silly to say "to myself" given all the hopping, jumping, and chasing going on around me.

Well, I got to thinking about toads and Buddhism, since I seemed to recall seeing a toad in some story or teaching along the way. And sure enough, in Thailand, there is the story of The Toad King. Here is a version of the story:

"When the Lord Buddha was in his bodhisatta incarnation as King of the Toads, and married to Udon Khuruthawip, his sermons drew everyone, creatures and sky-dwellers alike, away from Phaya Thaen, King of the Sky.

Angry Phaya Thaen withheld life-giving rains from the earth for seven years, seven months, and seven days. Acting against the advice of the Toad King, Phaya Naga, King of the Nāga (and personification of the Mekong) declared war on Phaya Thaen — and lost.

Persuaded by Phaya Naga to assume command, King Toad enlisted the aid of termites to build mounds reaching to the heavens, and of venomous scorpions and centipedes to attack Phaya Thaen’s feet, and of hornets for air support. Previous attempts at aerial warfare against Phaya Thaen in his own element had proved futile; but even the Sky must come down to the ground. On the ground the war was won, and Phaya Thaen sued for peace. Naga Rockets fired in the air at the end of the hot, dry season are not to threaten Phaya Thaen, but to serve as a reminder to him of his treaty obligations made to Lord Bodhisatta Phaya Khang Khok, King of the Toads, down on the ground. For his part Phaya Nak was rewarded by being given the duty of Honor Guard at most Thai and Lao temples.

After the harvest of the resulting crops, Wow thanoo, man-sized kites with a strung bow, are staked out in winter monsoon winds. They are also called Túi-tiù, singing kites, from the sound of the bowstring singing in the wind, which sing all through the night, to signal Phaya Thaen that he has sent enough rain."

What I love about this story is how the solution and the problem are so interdependent. Specifically, the earth is parched for water, and the way to get water is to summon the skills of all these earthy, little creatures. They all work together, and need to work together, to get the attention of the Sky King. There's such reverence for the skills of these creatures people often dismiss as ugly or troublesome at best. It's a good reminder for us all, that every being in its own way is contributing to this life - and that if you remove anything, deny any being an existence, it all changes.

p.s. Remember to kiss the toad for good luck on the way out.

Will this Hut Perish or Not?

I watched this little documentary about Buddhist hermits living in the mountains of China. It is beautifully filmed, and filled with dharma, so you should check it out if you have a chance. Maybe I will write about it more at a later time.

Watching the film reminded me of one of the poems I most enjoy chanting after meditation: "Song of the Grass Roof Hermitage" by Shitou. Shitou Xiqian lived in the 8th century. When he was young, he was a student of the great master Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch of Chan Buddhism. Like those in the documentary, Shitou was basically a recluse, and his lineage languished in obscurity for decades after his death. It was largely due to the rise of master Dongshan in the middle of the 9th century that we know of Shitou's work and life today.

So, a nice little piece of history, right? Well, I like history as much as anyone, but there's another reason for including this about Shitou. The title of this post is a line from Shitou's poem. Here are the previous two lines, in addition to the question.

"A great vehicle bodhisattva trusts without doubt.
The middling or lowly can't help wondering:
Will this hut perish or not?"

Ah, attachment. He's point right at it. Right at our deep attachment not only to things like the hut, but to life itself. You are the hut, I am the hut too! And beyond that, your legacy is the hut, and mine is too!

It doesn't appear that Shitou did much to cultivate a lasting reputation. He wasn't out there selling the teachings he had, building grand monasteries, and advising famous people. Although we can't know for sure, it seems that Shitou lived a very stripped down, simple life, devoted mostly to his practice. He had few students, and few distraction, and probably liked it that way.

Will this hut perish or not? How often have you asked some variation of this question to yourself, or to others? How often have you felt yourself wanting one side or the other of the answer to occur? It's not only that we wish to live forever in some way, even if by reputation or by what we've made, but also that we desire other things to die, to be gone and out of our lives.

I remember sitting next a guy a few days ago at a coffee shop who was chain smoking. I really dislike smoking for all the obvious reasons, but also notice how righteous my mind gets when I feel someone is disrespecting me in some way. This guy sat down and lit up right away. No check in with anyone around him. No wondering if someone might have asthma, for example, or if someone has just quit smoking themselves and wanted some distance from it. Nope, he just lit up, smoked, finished, lit up again, smoked, finished, and lit up a third time. And as this went on, in my mind came all the usual story lines about arrogant smokers, and health concerns, and should I say something or not. So, as he smoked, I smoked in a different way. An agitated idea would arise and I would either try to blow it off, or would blow it up into something much bigger. There's habit energy for you. Mine and his sitting right next to each other.

So, wanting things to perish. It's the other side of the question so many of us are wrestling with on a daily basis. And there is Shitou saying to us: "the question is useless! only the middling or lowly consider it."

I can almost see him pointing his finger at me and saying "Where's your trust, man!" Maybe if I could actually see him doing it, I'd be able to point at my chest and say "Right here, right here!" I'm not there yet. Trust is still pretty flimsy in this life. Not just the trust that someone will follow through on what they say, or that there will be enough money or whatnot, but more so the great trust in the functioning of the world as a whole, and my tiny, little part in that.

Shitou instructs us to "Turn the light to shine within, then just return." There is something a little mysterious about this phrase, even as it seems fairly plain on the surface a pointer to "study the self," as Dogen would say. I wonder what he means by "just return." Is it simply to keep coming back to yourself, your practice again and again? Or maybe it's pointing at the fact that when you turn inward, and really light up what is, that you simply returns? Gradual enlightenment, sudden enlightenment ... maybe that too isn't worth worrying much about.

"If you want to know the undying person in the hut," Shitou says,
"Don't separate from this skin bag here and now."

I can see his dust filled feet lifting and setting down on the path ahead. Maybe one day I will catch up for a chat. And maybe not.

Not Cherishing Opinions

Jianzhi Sengcan, the third Chinese Chan Master (died 606), may or may not have authored the dharma poem Hsin Hsin Ming. Most of what is known about him is from The Transmission of the Lamp, a document whose historical contents are questioned by scholars, and which was compiled several centuries after Sengcan's death. I love a good mystery, and also believe it's not essential that we know for sure if he wrote the poem or not. Just as it's not essential that we know for sure whether the teacher lineages presented to us as historical records of the transmission of the dharma are entirely accurate or not. I say this as someone with a deep interest in history, and learning from what has happened in the past, but also as someone who knows that every "history" is partial, and always a fiction in some way.

Our zen community is going to study the Hsin Hsin Ming this fall, and this morning's talk was an introduction to the text. I had never heard of it before, but I have seen some of the lines in it before. For example, the first line: "The way is not difficult for those without preferences." It's also been translated as "The way is not difficult for those who do not pick and choose." No preferences? Seems pretty damn impossible, doesn't it. Or maybe even foolish. But I think it's more about accepting what is given in the moment, working with what is there instead of wanting something else.

I would like to address another line that was talked about in this morning's talk.

"Do not search for the truth; only cease to cherish opinions."

Sounds pretty smart, doesn't it? Or maybe a bit foolish again. The first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words "cease to cherish opinions" is an unflappable, but completely dispassionate monk or nun. Nothing gets to them. They're always calm and cool, which is precisely why I'm not enamored by them. Sometimes, a bit of passion is called for. Some free flowing "I give a shit about x" energy. Think of big social movements. How some grounded, but passionate leader or group of leaders shift the way thousands and hundreds of thousands of people think. Martin Luther King Jr., and all those in his inner circle, were good examples. Without that passionate energy, it's hard to imagine the shifting that happened. And the history of zen is filled with examples of teachers and students doing dramatic things at the precise moment it was called for and everything shifted.

So, either I disagree with this line from the Hsin Hsin Ming, or the view I have presented above is a wrong view. I think the latter is probably more accurate.

Yet, when I reflect on the word cherish, immediately words like "love" and "hold" rise up beside it. So, how can we cease loving our opinions and also still have them and function in the world? I really believe this is what the line in the poem is calling us to do. Not to simply let go of everything and be a doormat in the world; there's enough of that in the world already.

p.s. If you click on the photo above, you'll see an example of a strongly held opinion that I discovered on one of my alley excursions.

Heady Zen; No Body

While perusing blogs this morning, I came across the following comments from Brad Warner at Hardcore Zen:

"In spite of all the foregoing cautionary material, I still believe zazen can be a very good thing for survivors of traumatic experiences. Maybe even the best thing. It can put you directly in contact with the source of the trauma itself. By slowly and carefully removing the psychological barriers you’ve erected to protect yourself from these memories you can finally become aware that the memories themselves are just thoughts in your head. No matter what the content of your thoughts are, they are all just thoughts. This is easy to say but very difficult to truly understand because we’ve been taught since birth to believe in our own thoughts."

Now, I agree with Brad that zazen can be a "good thing" for trauma survivors, but there is something in his comments that needs to be addressed. Specifically, where is the body?

I have noticed that some male Buddhist teachers and students don't talk all that much about the body. In fact, some seem to ignore it all together. Buddhism is reduced to working with thoughts, being rid of thoughts, moving beyond thoughts. But what about the body? How can anyone address trauma without also focusing on the real impact such trauma has on the body?

When you speak of rape survivors, abuse survivors, survivors of war - the body is just as important a point of focus as the mind. Maybe even more so in some cases. Saying that memories of violence lodged inside of someone are "just thoughts" is horribly dismissive, and creates a barrier to healing and awakening for those who believe such ideas. I'm not interested in slamming Brad here, because Brad's words are fairly common in parts of the Buddhist world, both in convert communities and traditional Asian communities. And although I'm reluctant to make gender generalizations, and for the most part believe the way gender plays out is as along a continuum, in the case of addressing the body and dharma, I've seen more women teachers and students doing so than men.

Some of this disparity may be due to cultural conditioning. Men being taught that how they think is more important that what they look like. Although at least in the U.S., there is an awful lot of emphasis on the superficial, physical looks of everyone, so it's maybe a bit more complicated than that.

When I reflect on some of the older teachings I can recall concerning the body, what I remember is the body in the negative. The body as a source of affliction, of transient pleasure, of causes of suffering.(Forgive my lack of specific citations; I'm going to work from impressions today.) These impressions make me wonder if there has been a bit of dualism playing out throughout the history of Buddhism. And maybe some of us are continuing this today by emphasizing the mind over all else.

Here are some lines from Dogen's Fukanzazengi:

"At the site of your regular sitting, spread out thick matting and place a cushion above it. Sit either in the full-lotus or half-lotus position. In the full-lotus position, you first place your right foot on your left thigh and your left foot on your right thigh. In the half-lotus, you simply press your left foot against your right thigh. You should have your robes and belt loosely bound and arranged in order. Then place your right hand on your left leg and your left palm (facing upwards) on your right palm, thumb-tips touching. Thus sit upright in correct bodily posture, neither inclining to the left nor to the right, neither leaning forward nor backward. Be sure your ears are on a plane with your shoulders and your nose in line with your navel. Place your tongue against the front roof of your mouth, with teeth and lips both shut. Your eyes should always remain open, and you should breathe gently through your nose.

Once you have adjusted your posture, take a deep breath, inhale and exhale, rock your body right and left and settle into a steady, immobile sitting position. Think not-thinking. How do you think not-thinking? Non-thinking. This in itself is the essential art of zazen."

Notice how much emphasis Dogen places on the body, where to place limbs, what to do with the body in zazen. Body posture, body movement or non-movement is part of the path to enlightenment. See, some men get it :)

Going back to trauma, in my own experience, returning to those places in the body where physical pain is lodged again and again - that is the path toward freedom. In fact, even after my thinking has cleared, and distorted patterns have broken up, there has still been physical manifestations of things that happened long ago. I can sit in zazen and breath into those places. I can do yoga poses to help shift the energy blockages, and strengthen my body in a healthy way. Or I can get a massage, or take herbal medicines, among other things, to address the physical issues. But the main point I'm trying to get at is that we have to stop splitting the body from the mind. And I'm especially speaking to all the men out there who were taught, either directly or indirectly, that the body is secondary, or a source only of pleasure and pain, or just a troublesome place in need of control by the mind.

This splitting is killing us, and it's creating a lot of bad dharma teaching!

And we all should continue to dig into the history of Buddhist teachings with a critical eye to places where the body is overly de-emphasized, or treated in a way that places it far below the mind in terms of value or importance. I'm grateful to some of the feminist Buddhist scholars out there, such as Rita Gross and Jan Willis, who have dug into some of these issues in recent years. And to men like Jon Kabit-Zinn, who do focus on the body as an integral part of practice.

Maybe you know of others, or simply disagree with me. I'd enjoy hearing what others think about all this.

BTW: The dog in the photo is barking at you! Do you know why? Be wary of easy answers.

What is this life now?

I'm sitting out in a little park near my apartment. Across from me, water pours from statue made by the sculptor Paul Manship (1886-1966), who grew up in St. Paul, and later became famous during the Art Deco period.

A woman appears to be taking photos of the statue, while cars pass behind her. The sun is beginning to slowly set to my right, while another woman appears in the park, walking her dog. Squirrels climb up a pair of large oak trees, maybe seventy or eighty years old. They begin to hiss at each other, as some leaves fall to the ground. The woman finishes her photos and stops to talk with the woman walking her dog.

I'm sitting here typing.

A tiny slice of the present moment, although even as I write it, it's already gone.

Life feels so transient when you pay attention like this. Nothing really is holding still, waiting for you to write about it, see it, do anything with it at all. It's just happening all together - so much so that even the stones lodged in the riverbed and the roots of the oldest, most stable tree aren't what they were before, just a moment ago. Not exactly.

A bee hovers around a tall, yellow flower beside me. The name of the plant escapes me, but it's very distinct, with large, long, and narrow leaves more than a foot in length and half a foot in width. The bee pauses, then dances off to another flower. I am watching, then stop to write. Watching, then stop to write.

Cars pass behind me, in front of me, to the side. What do the people in them see? Do they see much of anything of their lives, or are they just trying to get to some future which may or may not exist?

A woman raises her voice into a cell phone. What does she see as she is walking? What else can come in when we fill our lives up with noise and technology and pasts and futures?

Surely, the dog on the leash and the woman I just turned to smile at - they're taking in more of what is actually here, right now?

Maybe.

And maybe I'm just creating artificial divides like those with all the gadgets stuck in their ears.

Water pours from the statue: sun setting, wind picking up out of the east.