With palms together,
Zen, what a marvelous, though thoroughly overused and, at the same time misunderstood, word. Zen. It has a stunning and sexy sound. It calls forth images of shaved headed monks in black robes, incense offerings, cross-legged sitting, and austerity: a high bar, although a distorted one. Of late, sex scandals, character, and questions regarding the power of zazen to maintain precepts seem to be in the forefront of those who practice. This practice is a challenge enough and so to have such questions can easily derail a person’s commitment to, and practice of, zazen.
What is Zen, and most importantly, zazen, its chief practice? Does it have any power? Is there a relationship between the practice of Zen and moral conduct? All of these are very worthy questions and all are very challenging to address and yet, impossible to answer. I think, superficially, we can describe zazen and even paint a picture of Zen itself, but in my opinion, such questions cannot be answered in the abstract through words, reason or rationality. Instead, they must be addressed individually for, and by, each of us as individuals in relation to each other. Lastly, the practice of zazen seems to open boundaries rather than close them and one possible consequence of this may be that Zen practitioners and Masters alike may violate precepts as part of a boundless perception of reality.
People often think of Zen as an individual practice. This is an obvious understanding of those at the beginning of their practice. Such a view remains in the realm of thought, not experience. It makes sense to think this way as we come to the cushion alone and leave the cushion alone even if there are a hundred other people in the room practicing with us. We are alone in the practice itself. As we continue, however, this understanding of practice becomes less and less meaningful. Over time we begin to see more clearly and with a wider eye. We see that Sangha supports us as we support Sangha. Our teacher supports us as we support our teacher. Such an interdependent understanding extends to the cushions, incense, bells and clappers. We begin to see that everything is interconnected and depends on everything else and at some point the boundaries between self and others fade and boundlessness arises. This is a dangerous place in our practice.
Boundlessness must also be bounded as the sutra says: form is emptiness and emptiness is form. It is on the first side of this formulation that people often get stuck. We get to the top of that hundred foot pole, we understand our “true nature,” but that is not enough: to realize it we must step off the pole and return to everyday life. One of the reasons people get stuck is that they see the Big Picture and it is wonderful, free, and eternally fresh. I imagine it’s sort of like getting to heaven and being seated under the throne of God, all lightness and light and such. Who would want to leave God? Bodhisattvas do.
Bodhisattvas come back from the desert: Gilgamesh did, the people Israel did, Jacob did, Jesus did, and Buddha did. Everyone who wrestles with themselves somewhere along the Way must resolve the struggle one way or another and step back into everyday life.
So, the question arises: what is our next step. Even more, how will we step? You see, it’s not just the step itself, but the way of the step, the direction of the step, the feel of the step, that counts. We are not done when we step off the pole: we are just beginning. This is where those other, pesky sorts of questions arise: Questions of character, moral discipline, and the like.
A boundless mind needs bounded practice. For myself, I know I need constant reminders of my limits. I need support in my practice. I am in constant need of the discipline honoring the precepts provides. And I am always in need of a wide perspective, while at the same time keeping my eye on the ball. Our lives depend on each other in tandem with our planet. None can survive without the great eternal web we call life. When we realize Zen as an every moment practice and allow what arises from each moment to guide us, our steps become more caring and compassionate and more, they become traceless.
Be well.
Zen, what a marvelous, though thoroughly overused and, at the same time misunderstood, word. Zen. It has a stunning and sexy sound. It calls forth images of shaved headed monks in black robes, incense offerings, cross-legged sitting, and austerity: a high bar, although a distorted one. Of late, sex scandals, character, and questions regarding the power of zazen to maintain precepts seem to be in the forefront of those who practice. This practice is a challenge enough and so to have such questions can easily derail a person’s commitment to, and practice of, zazen.
What is Zen, and most importantly, zazen, its chief practice? Does it have any power? Is there a relationship between the practice of Zen and moral conduct? All of these are very worthy questions and all are very challenging to address and yet, impossible to answer. I think, superficially, we can describe zazen and even paint a picture of Zen itself, but in my opinion, such questions cannot be answered in the abstract through words, reason or rationality. Instead, they must be addressed individually for, and by, each of us as individuals in relation to each other. Lastly, the practice of zazen seems to open boundaries rather than close them and one possible consequence of this may be that Zen practitioners and Masters alike may violate precepts as part of a boundless perception of reality.
People often think of Zen as an individual practice. This is an obvious understanding of those at the beginning of their practice. Such a view remains in the realm of thought, not experience. It makes sense to think this way as we come to the cushion alone and leave the cushion alone even if there are a hundred other people in the room practicing with us. We are alone in the practice itself. As we continue, however, this understanding of practice becomes less and less meaningful. Over time we begin to see more clearly and with a wider eye. We see that Sangha supports us as we support Sangha. Our teacher supports us as we support our teacher. Such an interdependent understanding extends to the cushions, incense, bells and clappers. We begin to see that everything is interconnected and depends on everything else and at some point the boundaries between self and others fade and boundlessness arises. This is a dangerous place in our practice.
Boundlessness must also be bounded as the sutra says: form is emptiness and emptiness is form. It is on the first side of this formulation that people often get stuck. We get to the top of that hundred foot pole, we understand our “true nature,” but that is not enough: to realize it we must step off the pole and return to everyday life. One of the reasons people get stuck is that they see the Big Picture and it is wonderful, free, and eternally fresh. I imagine it’s sort of like getting to heaven and being seated under the throne of God, all lightness and light and such. Who would want to leave God? Bodhisattvas do.
Bodhisattvas come back from the desert: Gilgamesh did, the people Israel did, Jacob did, Jesus did, and Buddha did. Everyone who wrestles with themselves somewhere along the Way must resolve the struggle one way or another and step back into everyday life.
So, the question arises: what is our next step. Even more, how will we step? You see, it’s not just the step itself, but the way of the step, the direction of the step, the feel of the step, that counts. We are not done when we step off the pole: we are just beginning. This is where those other, pesky sorts of questions arise: Questions of character, moral discipline, and the like.
A boundless mind needs bounded practice. For myself, I know I need constant reminders of my limits. I need support in my practice. I am in constant need of the discipline honoring the precepts provides. And I am always in need of a wide perspective, while at the same time keeping my eye on the ball. Our lives depend on each other in tandem with our planet. None can survive without the great eternal web we call life. When we realize Zen as an every moment practice and allow what arises from each moment to guide us, our steps become more caring and compassionate and more, they become traceless.
Be well.
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