With palms together,
In her forward to Daido Loori’s “Eight Gates of Zen” Rev. Bonnie Myotai Treace quotes the text at the entrance to Zen Mountain Monastery: “I come here realizing the question of Life and Death is a vital matter…” And so it is. Yet, how many of us reach this important question before we actually face death? For me, that moment came on May 29th, 1966 when in a fierce firefight with the North Vietnamese Army I came face to face with death. That was almost 47 years ago and the moment has yet to leave me. On the contrary, it is part of my everyday experience.
It is odd to face death at 19 years old. I had shot and killed many men by that time, including I believe, one of our own. That night I both endured getting shot in the head and also the moral anguish of combat itself. Over the decades since, the questions regarding the morality of my behavior have haunted me. My cushion is not a refuge, but rather a gate to these questions. I approach it often with a degree of trepidation I am to this day uncomfortable with. Yet sit, I do. And there on the cushion arises memories so clear I can see the events of that night in full color, including the sounds and smells that go with them. I sit in a constant state of redirection: thought to breath, thought to breath, thought to breath. More often than not, the precept I took so many years ago against killing arises to haunt me with equal vigor.
Is there a difference between killing enemy soldiers and accidentally killing a friend? On the one hand, of course…enemy soldiers are out to kill me and a friend is not. Was I so afraid under the fire of a battalion of NVA regulars that my perception was distorted and so allowed me to fire at the three men scrambling for the safety of our perimeter? Does the confusion of night combat make it acceptable? I still don’t know.
What I know is this: life is precious, but then, so is death. The juxtaposition of these is a powerful teacher inviting us to live deeply and fully. Facing death, life becomes more real, more vivid, and certainly more precious. Yet, when we look deeply, starring into these, we find they are both real and unreal. Life and death is both a pair of concepts arising from delusion and literal moments we experience with our relative brains and bodies. Through our practice, they resolve into one and from one, nothing.
Our practice is to be, not to become. It is to live with an open eye, an eye which sees fully and comprehensively. We call this experienced open eye prajna. And the gate to it is the practice realization of Zazen. In prajna questions and their answers cease to exist and what remains is the precise moment we are alive.
Be well
In her forward to Daido Loori’s “Eight Gates of Zen” Rev. Bonnie Myotai Treace quotes the text at the entrance to Zen Mountain Monastery: “I come here realizing the question of Life and Death is a vital matter…” And so it is. Yet, how many of us reach this important question before we actually face death? For me, that moment came on May 29th, 1966 when in a fierce firefight with the North Vietnamese Army I came face to face with death. That was almost 47 years ago and the moment has yet to leave me. On the contrary, it is part of my everyday experience.
It is odd to face death at 19 years old. I had shot and killed many men by that time, including I believe, one of our own. That night I both endured getting shot in the head and also the moral anguish of combat itself. Over the decades since, the questions regarding the morality of my behavior have haunted me. My cushion is not a refuge, but rather a gate to these questions. I approach it often with a degree of trepidation I am to this day uncomfortable with. Yet sit, I do. And there on the cushion arises memories so clear I can see the events of that night in full color, including the sounds and smells that go with them. I sit in a constant state of redirection: thought to breath, thought to breath, thought to breath. More often than not, the precept I took so many years ago against killing arises to haunt me with equal vigor.
Is there a difference between killing enemy soldiers and accidentally killing a friend? On the one hand, of course…enemy soldiers are out to kill me and a friend is not. Was I so afraid under the fire of a battalion of NVA regulars that my perception was distorted and so allowed me to fire at the three men scrambling for the safety of our perimeter? Does the confusion of night combat make it acceptable? I still don’t know.
What I know is this: life is precious, but then, so is death. The juxtaposition of these is a powerful teacher inviting us to live deeply and fully. Facing death, life becomes more real, more vivid, and certainly more precious. Yet, when we look deeply, starring into these, we find they are both real and unreal. Life and death is both a pair of concepts arising from delusion and literal moments we experience with our relative brains and bodies. Through our practice, they resolve into one and from one, nothing.
Our practice is to be, not to become. It is to live with an open eye, an eye which sees fully and comprehensively. We call this experienced open eye prajna. And the gate to it is the practice realization of Zazen. In prajna questions and their answers cease to exist and what remains is the precise moment we are alive.
Be well
1 comment:
Daiho -- No matter how often I read or hear such wartime adventures, still they resonate and point for me. They are serious, despite the fact that I never have faced such a sky-wide hell myself.
I don't expect such a reaction is any consolation to you (that's your business), but I think it is worth knowing that your story assists others ... however impossible that may be.
Thanks.
adam
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