Thoughts Before Jukai

Posted on June 13, 2013 by Seth Segall

The Place of Good Zen by Hakuin Ekaku (1686-1768)

The Place of Good Zen (Calligraphy by Zen Master Hakuin Ekaku, 1686-1768)

Two years have passed since I first wrote about my intention to receive jukai, the Buddhist precepts, in a lay ordination ceremony. In the intervening years I’ve been studying the precepts with a Zen priest, and sewing my rakusu, the ritual garment that signifies lay ordination. The ceremony takes place in another week after our regular zazenkai, or half-day sitting. It seems a fitting time to reflect back on the process and the meaning of the ceremony.

Two years ago I wrote:

“After fifteen years as a non-Buddhist Buddhist, I’m taking the plunge. I’ve decided to start the path leading to jukai, the precept-taking ritual that means formally becoming a Buddhist in Zen…

It’s not a rational decision. But it feels right. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop being an iconoclast. It doesn’t mean I’m drinking the Kool-Aid or joining the club. It doesn’t mean I think Buddhists are better than anyone else or that everything in Buddhism is true. It does mean I’m ready to say “this is my path,” and I’m ready to make a deeper commitment to it, rather than always standing a little bit outside.”

Those words remain germane today.

The process of exploring the precepts involved a constant probing and questioning, some of which worked its way into blog posts here and here. I struggled to interpret the precepts in a way that was personally meaningful. The Buddha called on us to be lamps unto ourselves, and the understanding we arrive at must always be our own, not some worn out hand-me-down.

Take, for example, the precept against discussing the faults of others. I could see the point to it: abstaining from hurtful gossip, examining the beam in one’s own eye before condemning the mote in another’s. We all know people who prefer to cast stones rather than consider their own contributions to a problem.

But the precept has its dark side. It can easily become a rationalization for evading our responsibility to bear witness to evil, or counsel someone against causing harm. The real question is, what’s our motivation for discussing someone’s faults? If we can honestly say that we’re motivated by our desire to help, and that we’ve worded things in a way that’s likely to be both skillful and timely, where’s the problem? The precept, as I interpret it, calls for self-examination, mindfulness, and the employment of skillful means, not abstaining from any and all criticism, whatever the case may be. Zen has always taught us not to be bound by words and letters, but to discover the truths that language points to, but in the process, partially obscures.

Each of the precepts stands in similar need of clarification and interpretation.

Even one so seemingly simple as abstaining from killing.

Not killing? Ever? What should I do about termites in my house? Can I use antibiotics when I’m suffering from an infection?

Nothing is ever simply black or white.

The precepts aren’t absolutes, but beacons guiding us to proceed with caution and compassion, mindfulness and heedfulness. At their core are the familiar Buddhist admonitions to come from a place of integrity, care, and non-harming.

The sewing of the rakusu, as anyone who has sewn one can attest, was a bear. You can see the sewing instructions here. Sewing was a brand new skill set for me. I had to sew, pull the stitches, and resew every seam several times. Pieces had to be cut and recut, pressed and re-pressed. They say it takes the average person about five weeks to sew a rakusu. It took me the better part of a year.

Is it perfect? No. It’s like my life: not perfect, but an honest effort.

The beautiful wooden ring connecting two of my rakusu straps was handmade by the Venerable Kobutsu Malone who lives up in Maine. Kobutsu is the Rinzai Zen priest responsible for setting up the Shimano and Sasaki Archives documenting the unethical behavior of two well-known Zen masters residing in the West. He also served for eight years as a volunteer Zen priest at Sing Sing, teaching the Dharma to inmates. Kobutsu’s ring helps remind me that Zen practice is not about bowing to authority, but about standing up for the truth of one’s life. It also reminds me that our practice is not for ourselves, but is dedicated to all beings.

The byline for my next post will include my Dharma name along with my given and surnames. My preceptor will present it to me at the jukai ceremony.

Don’t let the name change fool you. It will still be just me.

Technorati Tags: Jukai, precepts, rakusu

Buddhism Learns to Stand on its Head

Posted on April 5, 2013 by Seth Segall

Zhang Huan’s Three-Legged Buddha, Storm King Art Center (photo courtesy of Capucine Gros)

Lately, I’ve been reading Amod Lele’s blog, Love of All Wisdom. Lele has a doctorate from Harvard where he studied cross-cultural philosophy–an inevitable choice for him, given that his mother was raised as a Christian and converted to Buddhism, while his father was raised as a Hindu and converted to Marxism. Lele opted out of the philosophy job market, such as it is, and now works as an educational technologist for Boston University while further developing his philosophical ideas in his blog.

One of the things Lele writes about is the dialectic between “ascent” and “descent,” and the dialectic between “integrity” and “intimacy” as they are expressed in both Eastern and Western philosophy. It’s helpful to think of these contrasting concepts as poles at the ends of a continuum rather than as dichotomies. I’ve found these concepts to be useful in sorting out some of my own thoughts about the evolution of Buddhism. What follows is my own understanding of these ideas, and not necessarily Lele’s. I hereby absolve him of any and all responsibility for my mangling and misappropriation of his work.

Lele borrows the concepts of “ascent” and “descent” from Ken Wilber and, to a lesser extent, philosopher Martha Nussbaum. Ascent and descent refer to our relationship to the mundane world. Does “Enlightenment” in Buddhism (or “Salvation” in Christianity) have to do with leaving the mundane world behind and ascending to some pure, sacred realm (Nirvana, Heaven), or is Enlightenment to be found in the here-and-now particulars of our messy, everyday existence? This distinction partially parallels the distinction in Christian theology between transcendence (God exists beyond the world) and immanence (God is manifest in the world). I am uninterested in “ascent” and “descent” in reference to issues pertaining to spirituality versus materiality. I am interested in them to the extent that they reflect a stance of either disenchantment with everyday life and the desire to escape it to some better place beyond, or something which we might, for lack of a better word, call a “spiritual life” that can be found by embracing the entirety of existence just as it is.

Lele borrows his ideas on intimacy and integrity from philosopher Thomas Kasulis. Kasulis’s interest in these terms is primarily philosophical, while mine is mostly psychological. I’m interested in whether the goal of the holy life is essentially one of purification and making oneself Good (integrity), or one of deepening one’s interconnection with all Beings and with life itself (intimacy). Ascent philosophies often emphasize integrity, while descent philosophies often emphasize intimacy, although, as Lele points out, that’s not always the case.

These distinctions are highly relevant to Buddhism’s evolution as it migrated from the Indian subcontinent to East Asia and then on to the West. Indian Buddhism was initially, like other contemporary Indian religions, a religion of integrity and ascent. The goal of the holy life was to purify oneself by ridding oneself of desire, aversion, and ignorance in order to leave cyclical existence behind. The method involved leaving one’s family, livelihood, and society behind, and going off into the forest to meditate. This emphasis on ascent was partially tempered a half-millennium later by Nagarjuna, who identified nirvana with cyclical existence, or samsara. Once Buddhism spread to China, however, it was reinterpreted through a Taoist filter, and moved even more towards the polarities of descent and intimacy. Thus in Zen, Nirvana is to be found within the mundane world of the ten thousand things (hence Zen master Joshu’s declaration that the meaning of Zen is the “cypress tree in the garden”), and the holy life is not to be found through becoming pure, but by becoming intimate with all of life. The Bodhisattva ideal of saving all beings and not just oneself is a further nod towards interdependence and yet another step towards the polarity of intimacy. The move towards descent and intimacy is not yet complete, however, as the holy life still involves becoming a monk and withdrawing from family and profession.

The drift towards descent and intimacy reaches its apotheosis in contemporary Western Buddhism with its emphasis on lay practice. Lele points out that while in early Buddhism the interdependence of all things (their emptiness of self-existence, or sunyata) was seen as a reason for disenchantment with the mundane world, helping us to thereby let go of our grasp on things, modern Western Buddhism views interdependence as a positive good in and of itself. As such, recognizing our unity with all things essentially defines Awakening. Similarly, the modern Mindfulness movement encourages us to seek enchantment in the world, to more fully appreciate sensations, to learn to be in the moment and “smell the roses.” The Buddha’s original instructions for disenchantment with the world are, in a way, completely stood on their head.

I began Buddhist study and practice within the Theravada tradition, but am now a Zen practitioner. Trying to sort through the continuities and discontinuities between these traditions, founded some 1,000 years and 2,000 miles apart, has not been an easy task. Is there “one Dharma,” as Joseph Goldstein once proclaimed, with a single genotype underlying its phenotypical variations, or are there, in fact, many Buddhisms? If there are many Buddhisms, what is the right path of practice? This question has stirred minds for millennia. Historically there were arguments for the purity of early Buddhism as opposed to its later “degenerate” forms, and arguments for the superiority of later Buddhism over the earlier “lesser vehicle.” Contemporary writers rue the incorporation of elements of Romanticism into Western Buddhism, urging a return to some earlier form of “real” Buddhism. There is always some other form that is more real, more authentic. Others argue for a dialectical synthesis of ascent and descent.

I like to think of the different streams within Buddhist culture as different voices within an ongoing conversation about the nature of the good life, the meaningful life, and the sacred life. Asking who was right is a little like asking “who was right about musical harmony, Bach or Wagner?” There are many great voices within this conversation: the Buddha, Nagarjuna, Dogen, and Hakuin, just to name of few. I’ll let you name the others. They all have something worthwhile and important to say. They all see themselves as part of one continuous tradition.

What is it like to just listen?

Are you confused? Only stay confused. Nothing dulls the mind so much as certitude. The true holy life is about living deeply into questions, not about finding answers.

The trick is to find the questions that are alive for you.

The one’s that set your hair on fire.

Technorati Tags: Amod Lele, ascent, descent, integrity, intimacy

On Bodhisattva Vows

Posted on March 22, 2013 by Seth Segall

In our zendo, we recite the Bodhisattva Vows as part of the closing ritual for the evening sitting, just before the timekeeper’s gatha and our final bows:

Creations are numberless, I vow to free them.

Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to put and end to them.

Dharmas are boundless, I vow to perceive them.

The enlightened way is unsurpassable, I vow to embody it.

Or, as it reads in Sino-Japanese:

SHUJO MUHEN SEI GAN DO

BONNO MUJIN SEI GAN DAN

HOMON MURYO SEI GAN GAKU

BUTSU DO MUJO SEI GAN JO

Lofty sentiments, but what exactly is it that we are vowing to do? I’ve often wondered about the precise meaning of these mysterious Sino-Japanese phrases. Does the word shujo in the First Vow refer to “creations,” “sentient beings,” or “living beings?” Does the word bonno in the Second Vow ask us to put an end to “delusions” (as in some translations) or “desires” (as in others)? Which of the myriad meanings of the word dharma is intended by the word homon in the Third Vow? Is it “Dharma” with a big “D” or “dharma” with a little “d?”

This kind of concern for linguistic precision may seem like just-so-much petty nitpicking to you, dear reader, but if I am going to recite a vow and take it seriously, I want to know just exactly what it is that I’m saying. These are the kinds of questions that keep me up at night. So I’m eternally grateful to Shohaku Okumura for his marvelous new book on the Zen liturgy, Living By Vow ^[1] which helped illuminate some of these questions. (Grateful thanks also go to the ever helpful Wikipedia.)

The First Vow’s “shujo” is a Japanese equivalent of the Sanskrit “sattva,” meaning “sentient being.” Buddhist tradition uses this word to refer to beings in the six realms of rebirth, i.e., humans, brahmas, devas, asuras, animals, ghosts, and hell-dwellers. Previous generations of Buddhists did not concern themselves overly much over differing levels of sentience in different animal species (except perhaps in the case of Joshu’s dog). Distinctions between differing levels of sentience is a more modern concern, stemming in part from scientific research on consciousness and cognition, and, in part from contemporary ethicist’s concerns with the rights of animals. Will the changing connotation of “sentience” affect modern Buddhist practice? Will we concern ourselves less with saving ghosts and devas, and more with our obligations to primates, cetaceans, parrots, livestock, and yes, Joshu’s dog? Is this already happening?

The Second Vow’s “bonno” is the Japanese equivalent of the Sanskrit “klesha,” or “defilement.” It refers to the three traditional defilements (or “afflictions” or “poisons”) of greed, hatred, and ignorance. Buddhism sees these as the source of suffering in our lives, and in the lives of others. So we are not just putting an end to “delusions,” but to all the mental defilements which cloud our judgment and lead to negative consequences.

The Third Vow’s “homon” means not “dharmas,” but “Dharma gates,” referring to the totality of Buddhist teachings and practices, and also to those daily encounters with reality which can potentially open us up to and deepen our understanding of life. There are allegedly 84,000 Dharma gates. Eighty-four thousand is the traditional Buddhist way of saying there are an awful lot of them. If we’re lucky, we stumble upon the gate (or “gateless gate”) that best fits our own unique predilections and abilities. Different strokes for different folks. Each and every moment is a potential Dharma gate, if we’re really paying attention.

It helps to think of the “vows” as aspirational statements rather than as solemn oaths. They are expressions of our deepest intentions, welling up from the inner core of our being. The very idea of freeing all sentient beings–or of completely eliminating our greed, hatred, and ignorance–is of course, on the face of it, patently absurd. We all fail miserably at it. If the Buddha, Jesus, Gandhi, and Tolstoy couldn’t accomplish it, what are our odds? Thankfully, the only consequences for our failure are our recognition of how far we’ve fallen short, and the renewal of our intention to continue striving. As Shohaku Okamura says:

“Our practice and study are like trying to empty the ocean with a spoon, one spoonful at a time. It is certainly a stupid way of life, not a clever one.”

Okumura concludes by saying:

“A clever person cannot be a bodhisattva.”

The vows serve as cardinal points on our spiritual compass, helping to guide our practice and as such, molding our character and shaping the future. Uchiyama Roshi used to say that ordinary people live by karma, but that bodhisattvas live by vow. In contemporary Western psychology we speak about living out our values rather than being driven by our impulses. In either case, it’s a fine idea. The Bodhisattva vows are the rock we stand on.

Technorati Tags: Bodhisattva Vows, Shohaku Okumura, Uchiyama Roshi

^[1] Okumura, S. (2012). Living By Vow: A Practical Introduction to Eight Essential Zen Chants and Texts. Wisdom: Boston. ↩

Good Sitting, Bad Sitting

Posted on November 23, 2012 by Seth Segall

After the evening sitting, we stow the zafus and return the zendo to its pristine state. William regrets not being able to meditate properly tonight. His head is filled with thoughts of the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday — the family he has not seen for ages, the tasks remaining to be done. Matthew sympathizes with him. His sitting didn’t go so well either. He is consumed by impotent rage about the conflict in Gaza. He wants to knock heads together to bring about peace. I am the grizzled Zen veteran in this conversation. I tell William to lighten up, that getting lost and returning is the very heart of Zen practice. I tell Matthew that his passionate anger is understandable, but can he sit with it and see what it is doing inside of him? Can he breathe and observe without feeding it, without denigrating it? Can it be transmuted into skillful and compassionate action? The world is, at times, a violent and terrible place, and we are only one drop of water in this storm-tossed sea. Can we see what’s possible for us to accomplish as this one drop — committed, firm and resolute — but without grandiose aspirations to omnipotently control the ocean? Show up, pay attention, do what’s needed — and then let go?

William and Matthew are at the start of their Zen journey. They’re beginning to learn that sitting isn’t about perfect concentration and bliss, but about seeing the mind as it is — a mirror that reflects everything — including the energies of holidays and far-off conflicts. Thoughts about these ongoing events rise and stir the emotions. The goal is not the elimination of these thoughts and emotions, but developing our capacity to observe them in a kind and interested way. If all that we can observe is how helplessly caught up we are in them — how our minds have a mind of their own — then that, in and of itself, is the beginning of wisdom. We are not the masters of our own house, and learning to work skillfully with the energies at play is the work of a lifetime.

We tend to label our experience — good sitting, bad sitting. Zen is about dropping labels. Every sitting reveals the mind as it manifests in this moment. If we haven’t slept, the mind is drowsy. If we had an argument, the mind is agitated. Everything is the result of “causes and conditions.” Our minds too. That’s the way it is.

If we try to stay with being with things as they are, if we try to stay present and aware, sometimes the mind calms down. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes the energies that are roiling the mind are too intense to be conquered by our weak intention to be present. That’s how this moment is. The next moment may be different.

Can we see that and let it be — without judgment?

Sitting is a strange process. In the beginning, it’s hard to grasp what it’s all about. Later on, it doesn’t get much easier. The only thing that’s clear is “just do it.” Whether the sitting is “good” or “bad,” just do it. You never get any better at it. Not really. But this whole idea of “getting better” is part of the problem, the endless self-improvement and self-manipulation game.

We don’t sit to get better. We sit to be with life as it is.

Technorati Tags: meditation, Zen

Sweeping Zen Under Attack

Posted on October 2, 2012 by Seth Segall

Readers may be familiar with Adam Tebbe, the senior editor at Sweeping Zen, which calls itself the “Definitive Online Who’s Who of Zen.” The website aims to be a comprehensive archive of biographies of, interviews with, and teachings, videos, blogs and podcasts by Western Zen teachers from all the various and diverse lineages and traditions.

Adam Tebbe

Adam Tebbe and Sweeping Zen are now under assault, and everyone in the Buddhist community needs to be aware of the situation.

Here’s the story.

A former student of Ken McLeod’s, a Canadian social worker with a Ph.D. in philosophy, alleges that an inappropriate romantic and sexual relationship developed between her and Ken McLeod ^[1] the principal teacher and executive director of Unfettered Mind, an affair which contributed to the eventual dissolution of her marriage. In August, 2012 the former student published a copy of a letter which she sent to Unfettered Mind Board Member Robert Conrad discussing Ken McLeod’s and Unfettered Mind’s alleged unresponsiveness to her grievance about the relationship. The former student also established a website devoted to reforming the grievance procedure at Unfettered Mind. She alleges that she is not the only one of Ken McLeod’s students to complain of an inappropriate relationship. In addition, one long-time member of the Unfettered Mind community has come forward to allege that he was present when Ken McLeod acknowledged that “emotional entanglement and physical intimacies” had in fact occurred.

So far this is just the story of an allegation and a grievance. A sad set of circumstances, but a private matter that would not ordinarily be discussed in The Existential Buddhist.

How did Sweeping Zen get swept up into all of this?

In August 2012, Buddhist Abbess Myoan Grace Schireson, a Dharma heir in the Suzuki Roshi lineage and head teacher with the Central Valley Zen Foundation, posted an essay called Those Misbehaving Zen Monks in a Sweeping Zen hosted blog, a thoughtful and beautifully written essay which I whole-heartedly recommend to everyone. The article discusses misbehavior in Zen communities in general and concludes:

Buddhism has a long history of authentic practice and a long history of corruption, child sexual abuse in monasteries, war-mongering, and personal financial gain through accumulation of sangha resources. Along with all the Buddhist saints, you can read about these behaviors in Japanese history (Zen at War by Brian Victoria, and Lust for Enlightenment by John Stevens). Through information, study and honest self-examination we may come out of our clouds and dreams about Zen practice, we may be more able to actually define, identify and establish a more wholesome and nourishing Western Zen.

Her lengthy essay includes one sole sentence referring to Ken McLeod, to wit:

Recent disclosures about the sexual misconduct of Ken McLeod at Unfettered Mind… and Fusho Al Rapaport^[2] of Open Mind Zen… point out how much help Buddhist teachers and their sanghas need to develop a wholesome practice in the West.”

Should her article have included the word “alleged” before the words “sexual misconduct?” Prudence might have dictated it, but let’s move on.

As it turns out, Unfettered Mind Board Member Robert Conrad is also Ken McLeod’s personal attorney. He sent Adam Tebbe a letter stating:

This office represents Ken McLeod. I understand that you are the registered owner of the domain name and website www.sweepingzen.org. I am enclosing a copy of my  letter dated September 7, 2012, to Abbess Myoan Grace Schireson regarding her  libelous article posted on the sweepingzen.org website on August 24, 2012, of and concerning Ken McLeod. I have not received any response from Abbess Schireson and surmise that she has ignored my letter to her – a potentially very costly mistake.

Demand is hereby made that you at once issue an open apology to Mr. McLeod, a retraction of all statements made about him and delete all references to Mr. McLeod  from the August 24, 2012 post by Abbess Myoan Grace Schireson….

Because the internet exists throughout the United States, the courts in Los Angeles, California, have jurisdiction over you; should a lawsuit be filed, it will be filed here. I  estimate that the legal cost of defending any libel action is likely to exceed $100,000, to  say nothing of the damages you and your organization may sustain….

So Ken McLeod’s attorney is threatening Adam Tebbe and Sweeping Zen with an expensive lawsuit.

I don’t know what happened or didn’t happen between Ken McLeod and his former student. If McLeod is guilty of violating his role as teacher he should man up, admit imperfection, apologize, and learn from his mistakes. (Why is it so hard for Buddhist teachers to do just this?^[3]) Regardless of the truth of the allegations, Unfettered Mind should establish an ethics code and a more transparent grievance procedure.

If McLeod is innocent of blame and responsibility, he should still call off his attack dog. In my opinion, threats and intimidation are no way for Buddhists to resolve their differences. Sweeping Zen is a great asset to the Buddhist community and Adam Tebbe labors tirelessly to bring important issues into the open for free and unfettered discussion. I suspect that Adam would happily allow Mr. McLeod to post his own open letter to Sweeping Zen explaining his position if Mr. McLeod wishes to do so.

There is a well known Zen story that provides some guidance on how to deal with false accusations of sexual misconduct. The story concerns the famous Japanese Zen Master Hakuin Ekaku (1686 -1768)

A girl’s family lived near Zen Master Hakuin. One day her parents discovered she was pregnant. The girl wouldn’t divulge the name of the father, but under duress finally blamed Hakuin. The parents accused Hakuin, who only replied ”Is that so?”

Untroubled by the loss of his reputation, Hakuin raised the child himself. A year later the girl confessed that the real father was a young man in the village. The parents apologized to Hakuin, requesting the child back. Hakuin only replied “Is that so?” as he returned the child.

Whatever the truth status of the former student’s allegations, threatening Sweeping Zen is an inappropriate action. Problems like these should be resolved through mediation if possible, and not by threats to third parties.

In the meantime, I encourage the Buddhist community to support Adam. Justin Whitaker has done a fine job reporting this story here and here in his American Buddhist Perspective. I hope we can continue to publicize this issue until Unfettered Mind realizes it is pursuing a counter-productive strategy. You can lend financial support to Sweeping Zen here.

Disclaimer: I have never met anyone associated with Unfettered Mind, have no special insight into what has occurred or not occurred there, and have never met Adam Tebbe in person. Adam and I are Facebook friends, however, and he has previously generously allowed me to republish one of his cartoons without compensation.

Technorati Tags: Adam Tebbe, Hakuin, Ken McLeod

^[1] Ken McLeod is not a Zen teacher. He trained extensively in a variety of Tibetan traditions and received authorization to teach from Kalu Rinpoche. Unfettered Mind is his own amalgam of Tibetan Buddhism, Theravada and Zen and not, to my knowledge, associated with any traditional lineage. ↩
^[2] Fusho Al Rapaport at Open Mind Zen owned up to the allegation against him and took appropriate responsibility for his actions. ↩
^[3] See my previous post here. ↩

The Dharma According to Ella

Posted on September 30, 2012 by Seth Segall

Listening to Ella singing Summertime takes my breath away.

It’s not her voice. Her mature voice is no match for the ethereal sweetness of her younger one.

It’s not her interpretation either, good as it is.

What gets me is the way she pays attention to every note and syllable. Every note is just as important as the one that precedes it and the one that follows. Every note retains its importance from the moment it starts until the moment it ends. You can literally hear her concentration. She’s in no hurry to get anywhere.

Other singers have their “money note” — the note they hit out of the ballpark that sells a million copies — the note you anticipate hearing from the moment the song begins. Not Ella. With Ella, every note is special.

Listening to Ella reminds us to slow down and avoid shortcuts.

Shortcuts are our attempts to cheat life.

We take shortcuts when we’re in a hurry to get somewhere, when getting somewhere is more important than being where we are right now. We want to skip the boring parts and cut to the chase.

Ella teaches us that there are no boring parts. Every step along the way counts.

When there’s a wall to paint, we don’t look forward to the prep work — all that washing, spackling, and taping. We want to get right out there and roll on the paint.

A patient walks into a therapist’s office. Within minutes the therapist diagnoses his problem and understands what’s needed. The therapist thinks, “Just tell him what to do. Why drag therapy out?”

That’s painting before spackling. Before a patient can listen, he needs to feel listened to. Before he’s willing to follow the therapist’s suggestions, he needs to develop trust in the therapist’s intentions and expertise. Building the therapeutic alliance is step one. It’s the prep work before the first coat of paint. A good therapist lets therapy unfold at its own pace. He doesn’t skip any steps.

Can we wash the dishes with the same care we devote to preparing meals for our guests? Sitting on the cushion, can we be equally at home with “boredom” and “bliss?” Can we live our lives fully without hoping to fast-forward to the “good” parts? That’s the challenge of Zen.

Zen reminds us that foreplay, orgasm, and post-coital repose are all bright jewels on the necklace of time. Departure, journey, and arrival are all one.

In Zen there is no fly-over country.

Technorati Tags: Ella FitzGerald, Zen

Book Review: Entering Zen

Posted on September 23, 2012 by Seth Segall

Alfred University Professor Emeritus Ben Howard is an accomplished poet, guitarist, essayist, and critic. He is the founder of the Falling Leaf Sangha and writes essays about Zen for the Alfred Sun and his blog One Time One Meeting. Seventy-five of these finely crafted essays have finally been collected and published under one cover as Entering Zen (Whitlock Publishers, 2011).

Howard’s essays are typically inspired by an observation. Howard contemplates commonplace things — the fountain pen he writes with, the ice dam on his roof, the oak tree in his backyard, the guitar music he plays, a poem that resonates, a casual remark or phrase that strikes his imagination. Howard then invites us to join him in contemplation. “If you have ever noticed,” he often begins, referring the reader to some phenomenon that has caught his eye, then the reader, too, might just discover for himself the deeper truth which Howard is about to reveal.

Those truths are the small truths we can observe along with him and verify for ourselves. They are the pith and heart of Zen — attentiveness, fresh observation, radical unmediated inquiry — “just this.” Each essay cuts right to the living heart of Zen. Howard guides us as a spiritual friend — wise, knowledgable (without ever being pedantic), kind-hearted and witty. These finely wrought essays reflect decades of work toiling in poetic vineyards — they are the epitome of grace and transparency.

Along the way, Howard drops useful suggestions about meditation, instructs us on Japanese aesthetics, helps us to appreciate the Japanese tea ceremony, and introduces us to some fine American, Irish, Chinese and Japanese poetry. He also introduces us to some of his friends — painter Richard Thompson who’s love of fly fishing inspires Zen reflections, neighbor Howard “Chainsaw” Chilson who teaches Howard something about paying attention, and faculty colleague Carol Burdick who reads Howard a list of ten positive aspects of her impending death just weeks before she dies. Each of these friends leaves Howard with a gift which he passes on to us.

To fully appreciate the quality of Howard’s writing, it’s best to let him speak for himself. Here’s his conclusion to Dappled Things, a reflection on the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins:

March, it might be said, is the month of dappled things. Patches of snow coexist with patches of grass, gray slush with patches of crocuses and snowdrops. Looking out on that piebald landscape, we can wish impatiently for April, and an end to winter. Or, as Hopkins did, we can appreciate the streaks of darkness and light, while also intuiting the underlying whole. Before our eyes is the changing relative world, where things are, in Hopkins phrase, ‘swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.’ Beyond our eyes is absolute reality, the beginningless ground of being, whose beauty, in Hopkins words is ‘past change.’

Entering Zen isn’t fast food for the soul. It contains no empty calories — there’s no fat or sugar added. It wasn’t written to be wolfed down like a cheeseburger. It’s meant to be savored slowly. You won’t want to read it in one sitting. It’s best left on one’s bed stand and read one essay at a time. It must be left to breathe, then sipped like a fine wine.

Essence of Zen, 100% guaranteed.

Ben Howard

Technorati Tags: Ben Howard

Does All This Sitting Get Us Somewhere?

Posted on September 15, 2012 by Seth Segall

Our way is to practice one step at a time, one breath at a time, with no gaining idea. — Suzuki Roshi

Novice meditators often ask “will all this sitting get me somewhere?” By “somewhere” they mean somewhere else than where their sitting currently gets them — countless cushion-hours accompanied by states of desire, aversion, judgment, pain, boredom, torpor, fantasy, reminiscence, doubt, planning, philosophizing — and, yes — moments of presence and clarity. By “somewhere else” they mean their fantasy of whatever-it-was the Buddha experienced at the moment of his Enlightenment. They wonder whether they will ever have an experience like the Buddha’s.

The answer is “no.”

The Buddha’s experience was his own. Ours is ours.

The Buddha’s experience was the final end point of everything in his lifetime(s) that preceded it — his meditative practice, his ethical development, his philosophical understanding. Our experience is the end product of everything leading up to this moment in our lives — our virtues and vices, our sleep patterns and eating habits, our discipline and skill, the quality of our relationships and our health.

Meditation never gets us anywhere — we’re always “here.” When we meditate we steep ourselves in “here,” the whole of life held before us in a clear reflecting mirror. Not some perfect idea of life, but life as it is. Not bypassing or escaping life, but sitting with, recognizing, and acknowledging it. Breathing with it and letting it be.

We marinate in life and are cooked by it. It’s a process that happens, not something we accomplish. We didn’t build that. Things shift. We tire of hanging onto things. We cease repeating old mistakes. We laugh at ourselves. We open and soften. We come alive.

It’s not the sitting alone that does this. It’s every step we take on our path. It’s our understanding of impermanence, suffering, non-self, and emptiness. It’s our practice of compassion and generosity. It’s our letting go of past insults and injuries. It’s our growing respect for our bodies, our selves, our neighbors, our planet. All of this is reflected in each moment of sitting.

Does all this sitting get us somewhere? No. Sitting always gets us here.

But the nature of “here” changes as we journey on our path. Usually not in dramatic, awe-inspiring flashes, but little by little, bit by bit. Be patient. You have this whole lifetime (at least) ahead of you.

This isn’t to say you won’t have profound experiences during deep meditation or on prolonged retreats. They happen often enough. They can help our practice as long as we don’t cling to them and struggle to repeat them.

But sitting isn’t about having a spiritual experience. It’s about living a spiritual life.

Sitting isn’t where the miracle occurs.

Our life is the miracle.

Sitting is the mirror.

It’s the pot we’re cooked in.

Technorati Tags: meditation

Generosity

Posted on September 5, 2012 by Seth Segall

Generosity is the first paramita (perfection) to be cultivated along the Bodhisattva path. When we give to others we momentarily let go of clinging to what is “ours” and enlarge our hearts. We can be generous not only with our money, but also with our energy, time, attention, and caring. It’s a way of opening to the world and making it just a little bit kinder — of breaking the bonds of isolation and strengthening our connection with others.

Generosity is hard-wired into us when it comes to helping family, friends, and tribe, and when we view beneficiaries as deserving. It comes harder when we think of helping strangers, enemies, and the undeserving. Buddhism is unique in suggesting a kind of impartiality — that we view all beings as worthy of our care and concern. This goes against the grain. It asks us to stretch ourselves, to widen our circle of caring, to loosen the boundaries that separate “us” from “them.” Buddhism is generosity boot camp.

As we live out our perpetual struggle between stinginess and generosity, between clinging to and loosening our grip on what what is “ours,” we face the daily koan of “how much is enough?” How much can we give, and how should we reserve for ourselves, our families, and heirs? Buddhist mythology contains tales of unlimited and inhumanly selfless giving — of the Buddha in previous incarnations feeding his body to hungry tiger cubs, or giving away his children to serve a greedy beggar. (While the tiger cub story has its charms, the Vessantara Jataka’s account of the future Buddha giving away his children is — to say the least — genuinely creepy.) Suppose a donation of $25 can save a child in the third world from starvation or dysentery. Can we do that and feel good about ourselves? No problem. Especially before April 15th when we can take it as a charitable deduction. But $50 saves two children, $100 saves four, and $1,000 saves forty. Is it right to take a vacation when one can save the lives of forty children instead? Is it right to live in a nice home when one can save ten thousand? You can see where this kind of moral calculus leads.

Dr. Paul Farmer

Tracey Kidder’s book Mountains Beyond Mountains describes the life of Dr. Paul Farmer, a Harvard educated physician who could easily have chosen a life of comparative luxury while doing the praiseworthy work of helping the sick. Instead, he tirelessly devoted his life to helping the poor of Haiti. During the time Tracey Kidder describes, Dr. Farmer kept nothing for himself. He donated his physician’s salary to his clinic, lived in a small peasant’s house, and slept only four hours a day. He walked miles through the Haitian countryside to personally bring medicine to a single sick patient. There was no limit to his devotion. When Kidder asked him how one could possibly expect others to follow his example, Farmer just smiled sweetly and replied “Fuck you.”

Genuine saints like Dr. Farmer and the Buddha are not comforting figures. They make us squirm. They throw every assumption we have about how much is enough into doubt. They point to a horizon of possibility that few of us will aspire to or achieve, but which challenges us to be bigger than we already are.

Vajrasattva

A number of years ago I went on retreat with a Tibetan lama who asked us to engage in deity yoga by imagining ourselves as the bodhisattva Vajrasattva. “What’s the point of pretending to be something we’re not?” someone asked. The teacher replied, “We spend so much time imagining ourselves to be these little beings we tell ourselves we are — it couldn’t hurt to spend a little time imagining we’re something bigger.”

That’s what generosity is about. Being bigger.

Buddhism isn’t mind-expansion — it’s human being expansion.

Prepare to be stretched.

P.S. Buddhist Global Relief has scheduled its New York City Walk to Feed the Hungry for October 13th. You can donate by clicking here .

Technorati Tags: generosity, paramita, Paul Farmer

The Harbor and the Weir

Posted on July 24, 2012 by Seth Segall

There’s something strange about Zen’s 10th Grave Precept — the one against “defaming the Three Treasures” of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.

Why would anyone want to maliciously slander the Three Treasures? The very thought of it reminds me of the Stephen King protagonist who, concerned about the paradoxes inherent in time travel, asks “what if you went back and killed your own grandfather?” Another character replies, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Exactly.

It’s not as if the Three Treasures need anyone’s protection. You can defame “2+2=4” all day long up and down the block, but “2+2” still equals “4”. You can defame the Dharma all you want, but it remains unstained — how can you defame mindfulness or compassion?

The 10th Precept is often accompanied by two Japanese quotes (the translation is credited to Robert Aitken Roshi and his Diamond Sangha).

The first quote is attributed to Bodhidharma:

“Self-nature is subtle and mysterious. In the realm of the One, not holding nihilistic concepts of ordinary beings and sages is called the Precept of Not Defaming the Three Treasures.”

The Bodhidharma quote opens up the question of identity. What is our true nature (self-nature) and what is the nature of other beings (ordinary beings and sages)? What is our nature when seen through the lens of the absolute (the realm of the one)? Bodhidharma’s quote points to both our mutual co-participation in the fabric of reality and our potential for awakening. When we fail to see how we are all an integral part of the whole, when we give up on anyone’s potential for awakening, we are defaming the Three Treasures — the Buddha (our potential for awakening) the dharma (the interconnectedness and contingent nature of all things) and the sangha (our participation in the community of awakening beings).

The other quote is undoubtedly Dogen’s:

“The teisho of the actual body is the harbor and the weir. This is the most important thing in the world. Its virtue finds its home in the ocean of essential nature. It is beyond explanation. We just accept it with respect and gratitude.”

A teisho is a dharma talk given by a Zen teacher. In this case, the dharma talk in question is not a verbal one – and it’s not given by a Zen teacher. It’s the teaching we may receive at any moment from the actual body. Our actual body is this body right here and now, this lived body as we experience and act through it – but it’s not just these five or six feet of skin, bones, muscles, sinews, and internal organs. Our body is an integral part of all that is, including not only the live feel of movement and emotion, but birdsong, wheat fields, trees, and stars. Everything is teaching us all the time. Theologians sometimes question why God spoke to the prophets but no longer speaks to us — but Dogen’s actual body never shuts up. Let those who have ears hear. This actual body, the dharmakaya, is our safe home (a harbor for boats, a weir for fish). Dogen tells us this living teaching of the universe is the most important thing in the world. Listen! Feel! See! This teaching is beyond words — there’s no explanation we can give.

But what does Dogen’s quote have to do with not defaming the Three Treasures?

The answer lies in the line “We just accept it with respect and gratitude.” Gratitude and respect are our natural responses when we listen openly to life. We ourselves become filled with life — we feel ourselves unfold and flow. This is grace. In the presence of gratitude and respect, defamation doesn’t even exist as a possibility. Defamation is the act of a dried-out husk — cynical, cut-off, despising, ungracious — not a being living each moment in harmony and awareness. In this sense, the 10th Precept is not a mere admonition to avoid slander — it’s an invitation to receive grace — to awaken, to open, to be aware, to listen with one’s whole being to the ongoing teisho of life.

As Dogen says, this is the most important thing in the world.

Technorati Tags: Bodhidharma, Dogen, precepts