Hard Ass Zen

Blasting holes through misunderstandings and clingings is a familiar tactic found in the Zen stories of old. Teachers and students sometimes seem to be locked in a duel, shouting down one statement after another as off the mark. Certainly, this approach can be exactly the medicine each of us needs at some critical point in our lives. And it's also true that a fiercely thrown wisdom bolt can be extremely helpful in piercing collective lies and falsehoods as well.

Most of the time though, those of us trying to act the hard ass, like old Nanchuan the cat cutter, for example, fall flat on our faces. Not only does the effort made miss the mark, but sometimes it's so unskillful that a lot of people suffer.

The Zennist's posts lately have been running hard ass on Soto Zen practitioners. In my opinion, some of the critiques he offers are very useful, and worth considering. However, then there are lines like these:

The first oxherding picture concerns the adept who is in a life and death search for Bodhicitta—not just behaving like some aspirant dunce taking Jukai in a Soto Zen center aspiring to Bodhicitta as if this were all there was to the matter. A real votary of Buddhism, like the oxherd boy, discerns fully (hence wisdom) they have lost something dear and vital. What they are searching for is their lost Buddha-nature or absolute Mind that hides in the jungle of the ordinary deluded mind.

Dude. Where's my dunce cap?

Seems to me that there's a hell of a lot of aspirant dunce in most of us, whether our ass is on fire searching for the truth, or we're just fumbling about in spiritual la la land. Confidence slides into arrogance rather quickly, especially when making comments about the validity of other people's ways of accessing the truths of this life. I've crossed this line before, and probably will do so again, so this post is a check on myself as well.

Along these lines, there is the following post by Uku about the Blogisattva Awards. While I can appreciate some of the sentiment (i.e. what's the point of blogging contests), the level of angst feels quite misplaced:

I understand it's a good opportunity to nominate wonderful bloggers but I don't see those finalists under-read. And listen folks, I don't have nothing personal in this. I'm not against bloggers or blogs, not at all. I'm against contests. I find it silly when people are putting all those badges "oooh, I'm a finalist!" in their blogs and posting blog posts "ooh, I'm nominated!". Yeah, I'm a hypocrit right now while acclaiming that in my little Buddhist bubble contests are pretty stupid. I don't think this world needs celebrity-awards-contests-glamour-shit. I find those Buddhist blog contests to be very lame. Who's got the biggest dick? Well, not me.

Here's the thing. Had there been a several month period of ongoing talk and announcements leading up to the Blogisattva Awards, then a dressing down would have been appropriate. Like Uku, I have a deep distaste for the commercialization and glamorizing of certain aspects of Buddhism, and certain teachers. And some of it calls forth the need for fierce response, even if that response isn't pleasant to experience.

However, the Blogisattvas were announced several months ago. In fact, I had a highly discussed post back then asking if these awards fostered a sense of community or not. After the first wave of announcements and discussion, there was mostly nothing for a good four months. Those working on the award website collected blog links, nominations, and whatnot. Once in a while, they would mention the award website. But mostly, it was just something that went on quietly, with almost no hype. So, really, the whole "fuck these awards" commentary smells a lot like teen spirit.

I don't wish to simply pick on The Zennist and Uku here. Actually, I think the stripped down, rigorous qualities of Zen seem to attract a fair amount of hard- assnessed, especially amongst us male practitioners.

No fucking way we're gonna talk about love. Hell, compassion is sometimes too mushy.

If you don't sit several hours of zazen a day, do weeks of sesshin, and need knee surgery at 45, you haven't practiced hard enough.

Better do full lotus motherfucker - none of that half-assed seiza bench shit.

You offer a Dogen quote, I'll one up you with a citation, exegesis, and discourse on why you don't understand that line you quoted.

All of this sounds exactly like that old dharma hall Nanchuan led so many years ago. Here's Case 14 of the Mumonkan:

The case: Nanchuan saw the monks of the eastern and western halls fighting over a cat. Seizing the cat, he told the monks: "If any of you can say a word of Zen, you will save the cat." No one answered. Nanchuan cut the cat in two. That evening Zhaozhou returned to the monastery and Nanchuan told him what had happened. Zhaozhou removed his sandals, placed them on his head, and walked out. Nanchuan said: "If you had been there, you would have saved the cat."

Who are wearing the dunce caps in the eastern and western halls? Might not be as easy as it appears. I'm sure as hell not sure. In fact, every time I go back to this koan, the players involved and their responses look different.

What can we learn from our inner hard-ass?

First off, there are the potential beneficial qualities, such as diligence, commitment, powerful effort, fierceness, and the like.

Secondly, there is everything that might be considered opposite, such as softness, gentleness, kindness, love, balance, and humility.

But let's get fucking real - when you recognize that inner hard-ass running your life, it's a great opportunity to laugh. Because being a hard-ass is pretty damned funny looking. Bulging eyes. Teeth stuck out. Arms flailing all over the place. Mouth foaming. And when you add something as powderkeggish as religion to the mix, it's like puttingHoward Dean and Ted Nugent in a blender. (Man, that would be fun.)

Marguerite's current post over at Mind Deep about her retreat with Buddhist teacher Ruth Denison includes the following lines:

I remember entire evenings devoted to reciting the five precepts, over and over again, and Ruth smiling while we all dozed off and secretly begged to be freed. "Now, one more time . . . "

So damned funny! You can just see that inner hard-ass coming out in all sorts of ways here. "I'm gonna chant every last syllable if it kills me!" "You think I'm a sucker, Ruth, I'll show you!" "BOOOOORRRRring! I'm gonna just do zazen and to hell with this chanting shit!"

The suffering that came before it sucks, but it's really hilarious when you see how something so simple pushes you over the edge. I saw it just a few hours ago, when a bus was twenty minutes late, and I was getting ticked that I wouldn't have enough time to check my e-mail before Friday afternoon meditation practice with the college students. Shaking your fist at a late bus - how stupid is that?

About as stupid as this photo here.



Take that you glamour hound! No blogisattva badge for you!

Late Night Metta Practice

I was lying on the futon in my living room, reading a book. The heat had just come on, and I was snug under a blanket. It was almost 10pm as well, late enough that I was winding down and could have easily went to bed soon. All in all, it was a quite comfortable position to be in. And looking out the window, knowing it was not much warmer than 5 degrees F (or -15 C for most everyone outside the U.S.), the idea of getting dressed and going outside wasn't too exciting. But then I thought "You just wrote that post yesterday, so stop thinking about it and just go!" So, I did.

At one point during my walk, I stopped and stood on a hill overlooking a hospital. My grandmother had been in that hospital last year after some heart problems, and as I looked at the windows, some lit up and some darkened, it occurred to me that there were a lot of people on the edge of life and death in that moment, not just those right in front of me, but everywhere in the world. I wanted to sit down and get into zazen posture, but it was just too cold. So, I stood completely still instead, offering metta to all those in the hospital and around the world who were on the edge of life and death.

And you know, I stopped feeling cold. I mean, it was still really cold, and certainly my body was probably getting used to it, but as I stood there in that late night darkness, warm and cold just kind of dropped off. Everything I'd been thinking about lately also was gone. There was just standing there, breathing in and breathing out the world as it is.

Blogisattva Awards and Dark, Cold Meditation

Hi from the cold, dark tundra known as Minnesota. The seasonal funk has set in, so I'm finding myself challenged by all sorts of mental garbage. Yesterday, I was quite cranky and depressive. Today, the sun is out, and I'm doing fairly well. Don't think the sun's presence is only reason for the change, but it certainly helps.

There's a lot of buzz around the Buddhoblogosphere about the announcement of the Blogisattva Awards. You might call it an insiders guide to the best of the English language Buddhist blogging world. Anyway, I'm a finalist in a few categories, including "Best Achievement Blogging Opinion Pieces or Political Issues."

All winners receive a "Get out of Samsara Free" card, so keep your fingers crossed for me and all the other nominees.

Meanwhile, today is Bodhi Day, or the day many Buddhists commemorate the enlightenment of the Buddha. Lately, I've been doing walking meditation outside after dark, breathing in the cold air with each step, listening to the snow crunch under my feet, sometimes chanting the Jizo mantra, and sometimes just stepping in silence. This effort to return my formal practice outdoors, in the elements, has been growing in me for awhile now. And it feels in line with the Buddha's touching of the earth, calling upon the planet as a witness to the enlightenment he experienced.

I'm not particularly in love with the cold or the dark. Actually, I don't much like the cold darkness at all. And yet, I have found moments while walking where the arrival of a lightning bolt shiver or an ache in my bones instantly reminds me of the vitality of being alive. In other words, I experience it beyond like and dislike. Just like the goofy pigeons landing on the rooftops do. Or the scampering squirrels. Or the feral cats I see along the river sometimes this time of year.

One of the interesting things about being really cold is the intensity of energy movement. How a sudden cold wind blows through you, dislodging an anger or sadness or joy you didn't know was present. I've felt all three of those rip through me while walking outside in the cold darkness, a reminder that notions about "frozen" or "dead" applied to winter landscapes and human experiences of winter landscapes really aren't accurate. It's living differently. Less visual. More visceral.

I keep thinking that one of the reasons why humanity is having so much trouble shifting away from earth-damaging forms of living is too many of us are divorced from the planet's rhythms. Or we've become conditioned to "pick and choose," being "one with nature" when it feels good to, but avoiding the planet like the plague the rest of the time.

Maybe I'll never love the cold, dark time of year the way I do the spring and autumn. However, I'm starting to think that awakening as humans has to be tied back to the planet we are fully interdependent with. It can't just be imagined from inside a warm, cozy building while sitting on a supportive cushion. It must be tasted, drank in fully and repeatedly, breath after breath.

Diving Board Dharma

One of the great temptations of human existence is to base your life on contingency. That you will actually take the courageous step once all the conditions are absolutely and utterly right for you. When you have the right boss, when you have the right job, when the car payments have been made, when the kids are through college, when you're on your deathbed. When you're dead. It would be certainly easier then. The though is that if only I can control the climate of my existence and get the temperature exactly right, then when I'm completely comfortable, and have a sense of freedom, and a sense that I'm not beholden to anything, then I'll take a courageous step in my life. Of course, these conditions almost never come.

David Whyte

Yes, this contingency seeking has been a common experience of mine. Tweaking and fussing, hoping and cajoling some situation in my life so that it will be a "safer," more predictable platform from which to jump off of.

Reminds me of the first time I jumped off a diving board. I was in swimming class, probably two or three years older already than most of the kids around me. The class teacher had gotten me to go up the stairs - how, I don't know. My knees were knocking, and I felt quite weak and dizzy as I went up, but somehow I made it to the top. Standing out on the board and looking out over the pool, I couldn't imagine jumping, let alone going upside down.

The teacher held up a long pole with a little hook on it and said I could grab it and use it as a support while I jumped. My young mind believed this for some reason, and I bent down and got into position to dive. Still absolutely scared, but somehow the sight of that pole kept me there. Then I heard the teacher count down - Three! Two! One! I stood still. Completely frozen. Someone said "Jump!" I looked at the huge pool under me and didn't flinch. Someone then said "Try again." And the count down began again. Three! Two! One! ...

As I began to move through the air, the teacher yanked the pole away, and a sudden racing shot through my body. It was too late to go back, and yet the fear ruined my form, and I ended up smacking the surface of the water with my back. I went under, and sunk almost to the bottom of the pool. Thoughts of drowning, which I knew nothing about, but could imagine - flooded my mind. And as it did, I saw the surface of the water coming closer and closer, despite anything in my head. Surfacing, I looked for the teacher, and said something about her taking the pole away, but the experience was clearly an example of the worthlessness of contingency seeking.

Thing is, though, when I look at how I have led much of my life, it's not much different than that little boy freezing, trying to calculate things out, and waiting for a pole to show up. Not the worst thing in the world, but I think I'm finally getting tired of doing things that way after all these years.

Which brings me to the famous koan that has floated around with me for several years now.

The Gateless Gate Case forty-six

Master Shih-shuang asked, “How will you step forward form the top of a hundred-foot pole?” Commenting on this, another ancient master said, “Even though one who is sitting on the top of a hundred-foot pole has entered the way of awakening, it is not yet authentic. She must step forward from the top of the pole and manifest her whole body throughout the ten directions. He must step forward from the top of that pole and manifest his whole body throughout the ten directions."

Wumen’s commentary

If you can step forward and reveal yourself fully, there will be no place where you are called dishonorable. So, right now, tell me. How do you step forward from the top of the hundred-foot pole?

Wumen’s verse

Making the eye blind, You cling to the mark on the scale; Throw away body and life, And one blind person leads all the blind.

How will you step forward? When I reflect on it, I've been sitting with this all autumn now. There's a fear of losing control. Of manifesting in a way that completely exposes me to the world. In some ways, we are always exposed, no matter how much we try and hide. And yet, there's something seductive about hanging out on the diving board, being able to see it all, but standing apart from it. I remember my mother accusing me of having a fear of commitment when it came to an old romantic relationship that was crumbling at the time. She was right. I did have a fear of commitment, but it wasn't really about that relationship per se. It was about living completely this life, searching for a certainty that wasn't going to come.

Killing, Eating, and Non-Harming

There's quite a lively discussion about yoga, non-violence, meat eating, and vegetarianisms going on in response to this post over at Elephant Journal. The author of the post, Sadie Nardini, opens with this:

As many of you know, I consider myself a conscious carnivore.

An omnivore, actually, as—unlike some in the more hardcore vegan community may believe– I do enjoy other foods besides meat. And I haven’t been shy about sharing my views on why I choose a diet that includes animal protein.

As a yogi, especially one who is now entered the public eye, it’s even more important to me to provide a role model for those middle path folks; the ones who want to eat meat (or like me, require it to be vital and healthy), and have their yoga, too. Yeah, I said it. I positively know that the two can co-exist.

Nearly one hundred comments follow, including one I just made, which I will offer to you as well because these same issues are often discussed and debated in Buddhist circles, and in my view, how we eat and what we eat is either a major place of practice, or a major source of mindlessness.

A few thoughts as a long time vegetarian and yogi.

1. There's something troubling about this whole appeal to non-judgment that flies around yoga circles. The "I'm ok, you're ok" appeals are a kind of individualistic relativism that gets in the way of having healthy, sometimes challenging discussions. For example, it seems that no one here supports factory farming, myself included. This is a judgment, an intelligent one, but still a judgment none the less. In my opinion, it's important to be specific about where judgment turns into harming and violence. And most often, this is when judgment is personalized, when what someone does or thinks is equated with the value and quality of a person as a whole. In this discussion, that means comments like "Meat eaters are bad people" or "Vegans/Veggies are self-righteous." This is quite different from untangling the various strands of food politics, body constitutions, etc. and determining what is truthful and/or intelligent, and what isn't. Point being, telling people to refrain from all judgment is not only a conversation duller, but also impossible to do really.

2. I'm of the school that recognizes different body types, different cycles within one's own body, and bodies situated within a specific geographical and social context - and thus doesn't believe it's possible to argue for a single diet for all people. In my opinion, it makes sense from a planetary standpoint to lean towards much less meat consumption, but it also is important to lean towards far less chemical usage on the veggies we eat, as well as a shift away from mono-cropping, giant single species ranches, and other abusive forms of food production.

3. I sometimes wonder, when reading comments by vegans in particular, if they are adhering to a philosophy that is based, at least in part, on a fear of and avoidance of death. Even if everyone on the planet ate like me, there would still be death. I will still die someday. And there's no guarantee that a longer life for me, or for any animal, means a more humane, less painful life. No way to know. In addition, every breath I take kills micro organisms, so the idea of never killing is a false one. Just impossible. By all means, I support arguments to kill less, to question our consumption of all food, and to consider what is it we need, versus mindlessly want. But the idea that ahimsa will look exactly the same for all people in all places denies the realities of each co-created present moment.

4. I'd also like to ask meat eaters in the U.S., Canada, and Europe, for example, to remember that even though there are more of us than in the past, veggies and vegans are in the minority, often far outnumbered - and for some, have found yoga to the only arena in their lives where they can express their choices without a need to defend and explain themselves. Even though a post like this generates a lot of challenging comments, those of you who eat meat have an easier time in the mainstream culture, and need to realize that some of the defensiveness and clinging to ideas coming from veggies/vegans is the survival mechanism we built to deal with societies that dismiss us as weird or ridiculous for not eating meat. It's my job, and the rest of the veggies/vegans out there to check our defensiveness and clingings, and hopefully develop more looseness around the decisions we've made and reasons for them. But for those who are meat eaters, never forget that you are privileged to live in a society that doesn't question your choice to eat meat.

How do you practice around food and eating? What teachings support you, or challenge you in regards to food and eating?


*Photo is from my garden. I ate the eggplant in question.

Rohatsu Snowstorm and the Resolution-Driven Mind

Minnesota was covered with another pile of snow last night. After a warm, sunny autumn, we are getting a full dose of winter, teaching us to slow down and stop expecting everything to come fast and easy.

As I have been all fall, I sat with a local college meditation group yesterday afternoon. At the beginning of the semester for them, the room was packed with curious students wondering what this "Buddhism stuff" is all about. I remember a few sessions where all the zafus and zubutans were full, and people were sitting on the floor or in the church pews behind us. Yesterday, we were down to about ten, sitting under the dimmed lighting as light snow fell in the darkness outside. This attrition, due to curiosity satisfied, the increased demands in classwork towards the end of the term, and the demands of practice and spiritual contemplation in general are a natural cycle there. Next semester, there will probably be a new crop of interested students, followed by a similar dwindling.

Have to say, I really enjoyed the small group yesterday. We sit almost an hour of zazen, with a ten minute kinhin period in the middle, followed by a short talk and discussion. The meditation period was filled with rising thoughts and feelings about "unresolved" areas in my life, as well as some discomfort in my lower back, which I'm guessing is from the uptick in sitting I've been doing for Rohatsu.

At some point during my sitting, the following came to my mind: "You are a ball of light." I just sat there, letting this phrase run through me again and again, and although the rest of the sitting wasn't terribly calm, I woke up this morning with a quite mind, able to let the stories I'd been wrestling with just be. Probably, they'll be back and the wrestling with them, but for now, I'm letting that coming back be as well.

This morning, I remembered the title of a post Dean made on his blog The Mindful Moment: "There is No Arriving." It's basically a post about the many ways people lean into the future, believing there is some end point where some part of their lives will be resolved, once and for all. That was certainly my experience with those stories during meditation, and really, some of those stories have been haunting me for a long, long time because of that desire for some form of recognizable resolution. Even if it's the very thing I don't want to happen, part of me would rather have that happen than to hang in ambiguity.

The thing is, in our relative lives, resolution comes on it's own terms. You get the job, or you don't, and how that happens isn't really up to you. The friendship or romantic relationship continues or ends, despite all your efforts to keep it going in one direction or the other. Your pet lives or dies. Dinner tastes good or terrible.

And when you look a little deeper, there really isn't any resolution at all. The beginnings and endings flow together in the way snow covers everything in it's path. After a large snowfall, you look around, and everything is just covered. Whatever was distinct and unique looking is now just white.

So, I guess you could say I'm letting the snow help me let go of some desired resolutions in this life. Because even if they come, the fresh snow is always there, covering every last inch.

*photo of storm from 2008 by spotted horse chick. More can be found here.

Do You Have to "Do" Anything Specific to be a Buddhist?

Scott, over at the buddha is my dj, made a rare, but appreciated appearance in the form of a new post today. Having just listened to the Buddhist Geeks interview with Michael Trigilo about his new film "Bodhisattva, Superstar" two days ago, it was cool to discover Scott's reflection on the movie so quickly after.

Amongst his points, this one struck me:

Most of us know folks who are nominally Catholic — they’re the ones who only go to church on Easter or Christmas. Ask them about transubstantiation and they’ll likely tilt their heads and, at most, mutter something incoherent before changing the subject. Most of us probably know (or are at least familiar with the concept of) secular Jews — folks who are Jewish by birth and maybe they feel some strange familial pressure to have their sons circumcised but they have no qualms about eating bacon. Do they believe in God? Meh. It’s not really an issue. For some reason, these nominally religious folks are given a pass. We’re familiar with them and we don’t press them too much about their religious or spiritual lives.

But in many a Buddhist quarter, as soon as you announce to a crowded room that you are, in fact, “a Buddhist,” invariably the first question someone’s going to ask you is some form of the “do you practice?” question which almost always translates to “do you meditate?” And if, god forbid, you say no, you’re likely to suffer the stigma of not really being a Buddhist.

In the post, Scott writes about how he views his scholarly work on Buddhism as a form of practice, but that he also feels that it isn't sufficient to just do that. But he also questions the mindset that says you must meditate to be Buddhist, which he felt the movie implied is the case.

It might be helpful to note that Scott is a Shin Buddhist, a tradition that really hasn't emphasized sitting and walking forms of meditation.

As I have been bumping up against the question of "what is lay practice?," I find Scott's comments quite fascinating, in part because there are a lot of probably fruitless arguments going on in convert circles about what Buddhism is, and isn't. Everything from searching for an "essential core" of teachings to whether it's a religion or not.

But most of the converts, myself included, reside in traditions that emphasize meditation, and view doing it a lot as essential. I don't think that's a problem necessarily, and certainly I, myself, meditate a fair amount. However, it's not the only way. And my own experimenting, and the sometimes interesting reactions I get to it, show that it's kind of easy to get hung up on forms, forgetting that forms are skillful means that may or may not fit the situation at hand.