With Palms together,
Good Morning Everyone,
Zen found its birth with the posture of the Buddha 2600 years ago. He taught us to sit upright and, as a result, we might live upright. For me, living upright means living steadfast and living in peacefully in the moment as it is. I am not always successful, but then, unlike the Buddha, I am living as a householder and not surrounded by those practicing the Buddha Way.
In Master Dogen’s Shobogenzo, he makes the case in two fascicles (Shukke and Shukke-kudoku) that to leave home is the best and only way, to attain the Way. Perhaps. I have always been suspect of this point of view. It seems to me, home-leaving and surrounding oneself with practitioners is the easiest way, but not the only way.
In Shukke Kodoku he takes issue with Nagarjuna who stated that lay persons who take the precepts are able to attain not only the bodhisattva way, but also nirvana itself, Nagarjuna asks, why it is necessary to leave family life. Dogen replies, “Clearly, from ancient times until today, living beings who lack the merit of leaving family life have been forever unable to attain the buddha-sate of bodhi.” In both fascicles Dogen argues for leaving home in this way. He clearly believes leaving family life has merit. I say, not so fast.
I contend home-leaving may be understood in many ways. While it is true that when we are householders we easily develop habits associated with the culture in which we live and while we are exposed to the trials and tribulations of friends and family, media, noise, and in some cases, chaos, it is equally true that these may become, in themselves, fertile ground for our practice. Zen is nothing if it is not an everyday practice. Leaving home may then understood as a leaving behind or dropping away of our assumptions and thoughts about what we believe we know: a choice to step out and away from our assumptions and everyday habits so that in doing so our practice becomes an opportunity to see the everyday with fresh eyes, eyes that are open.
Secluding oneself as I did for three years does this as well. In seclusion we are forced by a lack of civilized distraction, to rely on ourselves in the moment. When I lived off the grid and had no electrical power, I had to chop wood every day in order to start a fire in my wood cook stove each morning in order to cook breakfast and make coffee or tea. The feel of the wood, its smell and texture, became something very important. The feel of the maul in my hands as I cast it above my head in order to thrust it down on a fresh round of cedar was all there was. It was a necessity to pay attention.
There was a qualitative difference between chopping wood and starting a fire in the firebox on the one hand, and pressing a button on a microwave in order to re-heat a cup of left over coffee in the morning here in my house on the other hand. Yet, for pressing a button and feeling the microwave do what it does, watching the table inside turn to become practice, requires a deliberate concentration on the task itself. It is this choice to pay attention in a civilized world that becomes a practice point.
In one case we must pay attention or risk injury, in the other case, we pay attention by choice. We leave home in both cases one requiring little choice because we must pay attention, the other requiring deliberation for the sake of itself. It is this paying attention for the sake of itself that I suggest is why remaining a householder while practicing Zen is both more difficult and more authentic than retreating from the world by entering a monastery. In seclusion it is necessary to pay attention while at home it is hard work requiring deliberate effort and choice to leave home while at home. The world itself becomes our cushion.
Be well.
Good Morning Everyone,
Zen found its birth with the posture of the Buddha 2600 years ago. He taught us to sit upright and, as a result, we might live upright. For me, living upright means living steadfast and living in peacefully in the moment as it is. I am not always successful, but then, unlike the Buddha, I am living as a householder and not surrounded by those practicing the Buddha Way.
In Master Dogen’s Shobogenzo, he makes the case in two fascicles (Shukke and Shukke-kudoku) that to leave home is the best and only way, to attain the Way. Perhaps. I have always been suspect of this point of view. It seems to me, home-leaving and surrounding oneself with practitioners is the easiest way, but not the only way.
In Shukke Kodoku he takes issue with Nagarjuna who stated that lay persons who take the precepts are able to attain not only the bodhisattva way, but also nirvana itself, Nagarjuna asks, why it is necessary to leave family life. Dogen replies, “Clearly, from ancient times until today, living beings who lack the merit of leaving family life have been forever unable to attain the buddha-sate of bodhi.” In both fascicles Dogen argues for leaving home in this way. He clearly believes leaving family life has merit. I say, not so fast.
I contend home-leaving may be understood in many ways. While it is true that when we are householders we easily develop habits associated with the culture in which we live and while we are exposed to the trials and tribulations of friends and family, media, noise, and in some cases, chaos, it is equally true that these may become, in themselves, fertile ground for our practice. Zen is nothing if it is not an everyday practice. Leaving home may then understood as a leaving behind or dropping away of our assumptions and thoughts about what we believe we know: a choice to step out and away from our assumptions and everyday habits so that in doing so our practice becomes an opportunity to see the everyday with fresh eyes, eyes that are open.
Secluding oneself as I did for three years does this as well. In seclusion we are forced by a lack of civilized distraction, to rely on ourselves in the moment. When I lived off the grid and had no electrical power, I had to chop wood every day in order to start a fire in my wood cook stove each morning in order to cook breakfast and make coffee or tea. The feel of the wood, its smell and texture, became something very important. The feel of the maul in my hands as I cast it above my head in order to thrust it down on a fresh round of cedar was all there was. It was a necessity to pay attention.
There was a qualitative difference between chopping wood and starting a fire in the firebox on the one hand, and pressing a button on a microwave in order to re-heat a cup of left over coffee in the morning here in my house on the other hand. Yet, for pressing a button and feeling the microwave do what it does, watching the table inside turn to become practice, requires a deliberate concentration on the task itself. It is this choice to pay attention in a civilized world that becomes a practice point.
In one case we must pay attention or risk injury, in the other case, we pay attention by choice. We leave home in both cases one requiring little choice because we must pay attention, the other requiring deliberation for the sake of itself. It is this paying attention for the sake of itself that I suggest is why remaining a householder while practicing Zen is both more difficult and more authentic than retreating from the world by entering a monastery. In seclusion it is necessary to pay attention while at home it is hard work requiring deliberate effort and choice to leave home while at home. The world itself becomes our cushion.
Be well.
No comments:
Post a Comment