In less than 22 hours, I’ll be leaving the Temple, on my way to teach retreats in Finland and Austria, with some stop-overs in Germany and Switzerland.  While I’m gone, the Temple will continue to function as usual, held lovingly by the sangha and its leaders.

Preparing for a trip always means, for me, letting go of the endless to-do list.  There is never enough time to do everything I feel “should” be done before I go, and so the last day ends up being an avalanche of decisions — this is important, this is not important.  By the time I am on my way to the airport, everything has moved into the “not important” column.

And what a relief this is.  It feels a little bit like preparing for death — the slow, expected kind of death, not a sudden violence and final end.  There is no preparation for that quick good-bye, except to live a life where every moment is important, and there is nothing to do but be.

To travel is to enter the land of hurry up and wait.  Who knows what will happen?  The itenerary on my plane ticket is simply a map, and as we all know, the map is not the territory.  And so my plans include a little death, not the final one — a death of what I think I should do.  Off I go to the land of being.  Au revoir!

The post The Little Death appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

During our retreat, Sojun Roshi told us about how his dog, Chulo, enjoyed herding some goats in TildenPark.  This started me on a train of thought about leadership. I thought, right; I don’t want to herd anyone, and I don’t want to be herded.  In herding, the goats are always the goats and the dogs are always the dogs.  The goats don’t know anything, and some are even stupider than others, so they need to be herded.  The dogs always know more about what’s supposed to be happening than the goats.

What I love is to fly with my dharma friends in a V-formation. The main thing that’s happening is, we are flying together in the right direction.   We have a sense of where we’re headed, yet we choose a strong flyer with a good sense of direction to be the point bird. In this form we can all support each other. One of us takes the lead, in our case, usually Sojun Roshi.  But we are not following Sojun to get to where he is.  We’re following him because we’re all going “north.”  In our V-formation he’s the front bird, but he’s also flying in a bigger formation, following other front birds.  It’s a rare lecture of Sojun’s when he doesn’t mention Suzuki Roshi.  That’s one way he lets us know what he’s following – “North this way!  Let’s go!”  He’s not just some random bird that we’re following wherever he happens to feel like going.  And so we’re also watching him, to make sure he’s flying “north.”

And pretty regularly, Sojun takes a break and let’s someone else fly in front for a bit.  As wildlife expert John Grassy, describes, “The leader drops back — usually all the way back, where wind drag is lowest — and a rested bird comes to the front. While there is no single, unchanging “leader” for a V of birds on the move, it is the oldest, experienced individuals who are calling the navigational shots, using the sun and the stars at night to orient themselves and stay on course.”

I like to fly on the edge, feeling the wind in my face, sheltering others.  And I also like to fly in the middle, feeling the supporting updraft of those around me. Most of all I love to fly, feeling the conviction that we are headed in the direction of benefit for all beings.

It’s not unusual for someone to begin practice here and after a few months feel like they could be the teacher.  That seems to be a very natural response – a moment when we realize “Hey!  I know which way is north! Follow me!”  Sometimes a person leaves soon after that feeling unacknowledged.

Understandable, but frankly, not even close.  We need to see how you fly. We’re not going to let anybody in that front spot until we’ve watched them fly for a good while.  How they fly when they are towards the back, how they fly when they are towards the front. How they fly in a personal crisis, how they fly in a community crisis. How they fly when it’s tedious and repetitive and there’s absolutely nothing to be gained.  Those who are not able or willing to fly in the formation never take a turn as the front bird, or leave to start a new flock.

Whether the point bird wants to be the point bird or does not want to be the point bird is largely irrelevant.  The real questions are, do they know which way is north? Can they stay strong on this trackless track?  Do they know when to rest? It’s not like the point bird gets there ahead of the rest of the group.

Some of us fly in more than one formation, and some people don’t want to fly in any formation.  A solitary bird winging across the blue is also beautiful. No one can tell us what formation to fly in.  We get to pick that for ourselves, finding a flock that’s going in the direction we need to go.

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Q: What is Tathata?

A: The The.

There used to be a TV show in the late ‘50s, early ‘60s, called This Is Your Life. They would bring in a celebrity and surprise them with a spotlight on their life. They would bring in people from their past who would give anecdotes, stories about the person, creating a documentary on the celebrity.

Sometimes we think this kind of narrative really is our life. We think that the narrative others have created for us, or even the one we create for ourselves, is who we are. The story becomes us, our biography becomes us, our autobiography becomes us. It takes our place, and instead of a life we have literature—or caricature.

But that isn’t your life. This is your life, what’s happening right now, here and now, always here and now. It’s not the sum total of your experience: it’s not your curriculum vitae. That’s your karma, not your life.

There’s a wonderful poem by Wislawa Szymborska, the Nobel Prize winning Polish poet, called “Writing a Curriculum Vitae.” It talks about how when we write a CV we only put those things in that will sell us, so that when we are applying for a job, for example, we put in only the loves that resulted in marriage, the children that were born, destinations not journeys, and so on. “Write as if you never talked with yourself, / as if you looked at yourself from afar.” We put down what creates the impression of “the one you are supposed to be.” What is the sound of the totality of this portrait, the totality of this life of yours? Szymborska says: it’s the sound of a machine shredding paper.

When we do zazen that is the sound we hear: the sound of shredding paper. We shred the paper of our curriculum vitae. We deconstruct all that and allow it to drop away into the garbage bin, into the trash.

All the representations of who we are, are just representations, not the reality. In Buddhism, the reality is sometimes called tathata, or suchness. Suchness doesn’t mean much; it’s a hard concept because it is not really a concept at all; it is just a word to point to an experience, and not even to an experience, but to a reality that cannot be both experienced and expressed. So it’s difficult to say what suchness is. Suchness is just “as it is,” not the way it’s conceived, not the way it’s represented, not the way the story is told, not the narrative, the anecdote, the documentary, the TV show.

This reminds me of another poem, one by Wallace Stevens, called “The Man on the Dump.” It’s a beautiful poem about how all the things in our lives that accumulate finally get tossed out in the garbage. These things—or rather what they represent—have so much meaning, they seem so indispensable until finally they’re tossed out. And if we don’t toss them out during our lives, then someone else will toss them out when we’re dead and their significance has evaporated.

All these things get tossed into the same dump, a sort of universal tip of images. Stevens seems to gloat about this just a little: “Ho, ho….,” he guffaws, “The dump is full / of images.” Not real things but their images. There is no suchness in the dump, only discarded items, representations emptied of meaning, emptied too of actuality. All the scientific papers about the moon, for example, all the artworks about the moon, all the poems about the moon, they all get thrown into the dump.

Then, at the poem’s end, Stevens does a wonderful thing. He has the actual moon rise up over the dump, and that’s when

Everything is shed; and the moon comes up as the moon

(All its images are in the dump) and you see

As a man (not like an image of a man),

You see the moon rise in the empty sky.

Stevens doesn’t stop there, though. This is not a Japanese poem, which would be content to suggest and to avoid over-explanation; it’s a Wallace Stevens poem, philosophical as well as lyrical. “Is it peace, / Is it a philosopher’s honeymoon, one finds / On the dump?” What is it, exactly? Does it shut us up or inspire us, as it inspires Stevens, to say such things (attempting to express their suchness in new combinations of words) as “invisible priest” or “aptest eve”? Does it cause us to “cry stanza my stone”?

Stevens wants to interpret his own poem to us, just so we’ll understand as well as feel the profound meaning of this poem. He wants us to realize that even here he is resorting, in some sense, to cliché, with his moon-poem, so he has to erase the word, show the emptiness in the form, the form in the emptiness. So he ends by asking us a question, and it’s a most important question: “When was it one first heard of the truth? The the.”

What is the truth? It’s “the the.” This “truth” is the reality beyond the representation, the antecedent behind the referent, the tathata at the source of the cliché. In a word, “the the.”
“The” is, of course, grammatically, the definite article, which is an idiomatic way of saying “the real thing.” Stevens seems to be asking what it is that creeps up above all the clichés, rises above all those representations? It is the definite article, the real thing, the tathata.
I don’t know if Wallace Stevens knew of Myoe’s famous poem about the moon, but he might have. It goes like this:

Aka aka ya
Aka aka aka ya
Aka aka ya
Aka aka aka ya
Aka aka on tsuki!

Or in English:

Bright bright ah
Bright bright bright ah
Bright bright ah
Bright bright bright ah
Bright bright, oh, the moon!

It’s difficult not to hear Myoe’s penultimate “oh” echoed in Stevens’s guffawing “Ho ho!” Each is reduced to an exhalation articulating an “oh,” a “ho ho!”, and “ah” or an “aha!” That’s the way it is when we experience ineffable suchness, the definite article, the real thing, the the.
This is what we practice here and now in the dojo, in zazen. It’s the sound of a more or less articulate exhalation, the sound of shedding images that fill the universal dump; it’s the sound of shredding paper portraits; it’s the snow of static on a ‘50s TV; it’s the moon creeping up. This is your life. This is what Zen practice is about: realizing the the.

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“What is the minimum amount of asceticism required?”

That’s the question a fine young practitioner put to me at Boundless Way Zen Temple during the homeleaving workshop last month.

Reminds me of another fine young practitioner I once knew who slept on plywood, cushioned only by a thin cotton sheet. He denied any ascetic impulses – in the true spirit of asceticism – and claimed that he was comfy cozy. And then he almost always nodded out in zazen, providing a little clue that he might not be getting a sound night’s sleep.

The question, though, struck me as so sweet and straightforward – a question most people in a homeleaving workshop were probably thinking in their own way.

These days few practitioners are looking for a plywood mattress. So a refresher on the meaning of asceticism might be timely. I turn to my source for all things holy and profound, Wikipedia:

Asceticism (/əˈsɛtɪsɪzᵊm/; from the Greek: ἄσκησις áskēsis, “exercise” or “training”) describes a lifestyle characterized by abstinence from various worldly pleasures, often with the aim of pursuing religious and spiritual goals.

Back in the early days of Zen in the West there was a lot of abstinence from worldly pleasures in the pursuit of spiritual goals, including by yours truly. In retrospect, it seems that my own ascetic period was necessary and not so productive, at least while I was in it.

I remember visiting Tassajara in 1983 and joining a group of senior practitioners (average age ~ 32) who were discussing what to do about one very serious young ascetic who went to the zendo and sat through breaks, didn’t hang out with others, and worked hard during work periods. I was struggling to see the problem when one of the monks turned to me and said, “You see, we’re always suspicious of those who take their practice more seriously than we do.”

But let’s get back to the question. “What is the minimum amount of asceticism required?”

“Required for what?” I might have asked but didn’t. I suspect that the young practitioner was asking not so much about the minimum amount of asceticism required for homeleaving but for kensho or maybe for perfect spiritual security.

“Just the right amount, at least,” I might have said.

Too much denial of worldly pleasures and our inner life begins to resemble the Ascetic Buddha above – before he stumbled onto the middle way. Too much indulgence in worldly pleasures, attributed to the middle way, and our middles become large and we join the 60% of Americans who are overweight while not restraining the senses enough to even settle into the zazen pose.

“Asceticism isn’t the point,” I also might have said. The point is to wake up and live in peace and harmony. When we throw ourselves into our practice with hair on fire we might look like ascetics but that is not the goal, just a sometimes necessary by-product.

“What is the minimum amount of asceticism required?”

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One day at Nanchuan’s temple in old China, the monks of the eastern and western halls were arguing over a cat. Maybe they were arguing about which residence the cat gets to live in. The eastern people wanted it with them, or the western people wanted it with them, or neither of them actually wanted it, since the cat demanded a lot of attention and during zazen it would curl up on their laps which disturbed their concentration. Or maybe they were just arguing about whether the cat had buddha nature or not, or debating what is a cat anyway? Zen monks can come up with an argument about anything! You’d think they would have better things to do in a Zen temple than argue over cats, but that’s what they were doing on this particular occasion. And when Nanchuan, their teacher, saw this he held up the cat and said, “If you can express something, it won’t be killed.” The group had no reply so Nanchuan cut the cat in two.

The term for “the ability to speak, express, say something” in Japanese is “dotoku.” In Zen it is not only important to understand Dharma, but to be able to express something. Dogen Zenji has a whole essay called “Expression” (Dotoku) in which he says, “All Buddhas and ancestors are expressing themselves; thus when buddhas and ancestors are looking for buddhas and ancestors, they always ask for an expression.” One would think that those living in Nanchuan’s community would be ready for this kind of question from their teacher. Nanchuan would often say things like “All buddhas of past, present and future, don’t know IT; house cats and cows know it!” Nanchuan loved cats. They know reality more directly than the buddhas. We celebrate this in the Song of the Jewel Mirror Samadhi: resting in mirror-like awareness is kind of like the mind of a house cat or a cow, very simple and straightforward. Cats are also pretty good at immediately responding.

Nanchuan picked up this cat that knows it more clearly than the buddhas of the three times, held it before the arguing monks and asked them to just express something here and now. They were already talking a lot, but they are being asked to say something straightforward, to the point, beyond discriminating ideas, that will release this buddha-like cat. The argument is already killing the cat, but if something can be expressed right now, from our deepest heart, the true life of this precious cat will be saved. At that time the group could not speak. Isn’t it amazing? Not one of them could say anything! They couldn’t even say, “Don’t do it!” or “What are you talking about teacher?” They couldn’t say anything. Sometimes silence is the appropriate and ultimate response in Zen stories, but more often it is NOT! This is a case where silence won’t do. At least Nanchuan did get the monks to stop arguing; that was pretty good. They were dumbfounded, shocked, afraid to speak. The stakes are high, because Nanchuan is a great Zen teacher and he’s asking for an authentic expression, for some truth to be expressed here. What if one says it wrong? What if I give the wrong answer and I am the only one who speaks, and he kills the cat? Then the killing will be my fault. So if we all just silently do nothing together, then at least no individual can be blamed.

There is a cat being held up before us every mo­ment. A perfectly healthy, non-discriminating cat, warm and full of life. This world is like that. This world holds up living cats every moment and asks for our response. There is no escape from this. Even just being silent, the cat is often killed, as we know. Or if we argue further, giving twenty justified reasons why the cat should not be killed, it will be too late; we don’t have that kind of time in this world. Cats are being held up and actually killed every moment. This practice is asking us to respond – immediately and authentically.

There are two sides of Zen practice: there is sit­ting silently, not reacting to anything, letting go of all of our ideas about everything, just being completely present, dropping off discriminating mind. We settle and relax in the midst of this world of painful situ­ations; this is half of our practice. The other half of practice is to get up from our cushion and respond in myriad ways that we can’t figure out beforehand. Who would have expected that the teacher would suddenly pick up an innocent cat and hold a knife to it? We cannot plan on how we will respond. These two sides of practice work together: by cultivating presence and relaxation even in very difficult situations, from this stable foundation we can immediately and spontaneously respond to help the world.

Later in the day, Nanchuan’s great disciple Chaochou, who liked to talk about dogs, came back to the temple. Nanchuan brought up the incident and asked for his response. Chaochou immediately took off his sandals, put them on his head and left. Nanchuan said, “If you had been here you could have saved that cat.” Chaochou brought forth a true expression and his teacher seems to have approved it.

There are some famous verses from Shantideva’s “Way of the Bo­dhisattva”, in the chapter on “Vigilant Introspection”: “Harmful beings are everywhere, like space itself. Impos­sible it is that they should be suppressed. But let this angry mind alone be overthrown, and it’s as though all foes have been subdued.” This is not to say that we don’t ever protest harmful be­ings, but from a practice perspective we must first and foremost take care of this one. We BE peace and offer that ex­ample. The verse that follows this goes (edited here from “leather” to “straw”, since Nanchuan and the cat is a kind of “animal rights” story): “To cover all the earth with sheets of straw, where can such amounts of straw be found? But with the straw soles of just my own sandals, it is as though I cover all the earth!”

What a wonderful image; since padded straw will protect us from the thorny world of difficult people, let’s pave the whole world with straw so we can walk barefoot on it. But, since this would be virtually impossible, we can try to cover just this tiny little area of our feet and then just take our padded feet wherever we go. This protects us from the thorny world of harmful beings, and it protects the world from us. We don’t need so much straw to cover our feet.

The appropriate place for sandals is on one’s feet; it is very grounding and soft to meet the world like that. Then naturally, without very much effort, sandals just stay on the feet like that and do this work without a lot of conceptual figuring about how to do it. It is as if these arguing monks are taking off their sandals that protect them from each other, putting them onto their head instead of on the ground where they do their work. Chaochou is demonstrating the distraction these monks have gotten into, showing that their argu­ment and inability to respond compassionately is topsy-turvy; these simple beneficial sandals, so easy to take for granted, have been taken off their feet and put on their arguing heads, and all is lost.

Later a commentator on this story, celebrating Chaochou’s response, added a verse: “Picking up whatever comes to hand, there’s nothing that’s not it.” If he didn’t have sandals on his feet at the time, he might have expressed himself with something else; using whatever arises in the situation with trust in the larger workings of the whole, we can express our true heart and save the life of the moment.

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Video footage from a memorial service for Katherine held yesterday at Empty Nest Zendo in North Fork, California.

The post Katherine Sobun Thanas MEMORIAL SERVICE (Video) appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Vine of Obstacles: Online Support for Zen Training is a new way of studying Dogen Zen, integrating just-sitting and koan approaches.

Designed for practitioners living at home who yearn to realize and actualize the great matter of birth and death, we acknowledge both the difficulty of following through with our practice aspirations in the midst of daily life andthe truth that this very bind can be a dharma gate.

We practice enlightenment through daily zazen, koan-inspired Dogen study, and engagement in the world. Supported by a small online community of like-minded practitioners and in consultation with Dosho, the player/coach, we delight in being edgy, innovative, and fun.

Vine of Obstacles Zen requires a commitment to ongoing awakening, to carrying out daily practice on one’s own, and to meeting Dosho regularly via Google Hangouts. It also requires participation in the Vine Moodle for study and connection with fellow students. The pace for Vine Moodle study is personalized so self-directed learner skills are important.

In addition to the Vine Moodle forums for community interaction and a basket of resources for zazen, Vine of Obstacles Zen now offers the following courses:

• Guidelines for Practicing the Way is a primer on Zen practice that focuses on intention, practice-enlightenment, and receiving/actualizing the fundamental. This course includes supplementary readings, audio and reflection work that is shared with Dosho. A practitioner who recently completed the course remarked, “Guidelines has changed me. I’m more serious and more playful.”
• Genjokoan (Actualizing the Fundamental Point) is widely regarded as a central work in Dogen Zen. It is a beautiful and subtle resolution to the question that drove the young Dogen’s inquiry – “If we’re originally enlightened, what’s the point of practice?” This course is designed to shake up and intensify our practice-enlightenment projects. It combines zazen, study, and engagement in new ways – particularly in the use of koans within the Genjokoan text that are to be actualized in practice meetings and daily life.
• Buddha Nature has thirteen koans with commentary and checking questons, exploring the various luminous facets of the Buddha Nature koan. Students are invited to enter the koans and commentaries such that they cannot only be understood, but actualized in practice meetings and daily life. This course also includes working with a practice partner and exploring the use of capping phrases.

If you are interested in Vine of Obstacles training, please contact Dosho at vineofobstacleszen@gmail.com.

About the teacher
Dosho Port is a Zen teacher, successor of Dainin Katagiri Roshi, and currently involved in koan introspection with James Ford and Melissa Blacker of Boundless Way Zen. Dosho started training in 1977 and has been actively teaching since the early 1990’s. His current in-the-flesh teaching project is Wild Fox Zen in White Bear, MN. He plans to move to Portland, ME, in summer of 2014 to start a Zen training center.

The post Vine of Obstacles Online Support for Zen Training: Applications Now Being Accepted appeared first on Sweeping Zen.

Although they have different parents they may look alike, act alike and even have the same goals, but an intimate relationship between them has never quite been accepted.

Zen people say that combining therapy with Zen will water it down, turn it into something different, inauthentic or shallow.

Therapy people say that to introduce spiritual practice such as mediation or the concept of enlightenment into therapy will make it unprofessional, subjective and woo woo.

I say boo-who, and that both have very important, even essential, elements to offer each other.  To combine the best of both makes a very strong practice.

The vocabulary of therapy has given us terms like ego, projection, transference, triggers, emotional patterns, family dynamics, behavioral problems, etc. as well as concepts like having a “story”.

Zen, in turn, has given us terms like no-self, oneness, emptiness, being the emotion, letting go of the self, dropping the story, etc.

We now have the vocabulary to identify and work on profound personal issues and problems with more subtlety and efficacy than ever before, should we be willing to embrace this cultural-spiritual revolution.

For example, when a Zen student is struggling with painful emotional issues and does not understand why, if we tell them to just cut off the thoughts and be one with the pain… they may be able to cut off or suppress the thoughts, but not necessarily resolve the core issues creating the thoughts.

There is a great scene in the movie “The Piano” where the natives who have never seen an onstage play are watching the shadows lit behind a screen. They assume it is really happening so they attack the screen to save the damsel in distress. We are like this when we are projecting our old issues onto this screen we call reality. We attack our reality thinking it is real, but it is empty. If we see this we can enjoy the play rather than attack the screen. If we can see how we are projecting our childhood issues onto our current situation we can see through it and experience the emptiness.

In therapy we may get a lot of support to learn and tell our story and see how we project it into our current situations. However, if we are not given the space and support to sit quietly with the emotions that are connected with this story we cannot process and let of these stuck emotions on the deepest level.

We hold the energy of our childhood pain and trauma deep in our cells. If we learned to flinch or tighten when we were scared or abused and then we develop that way we grow up with this tightness as part of our being. It takes tremendous amount of sitting still and quietly for this tightness to loosen up. Once we loosen up all that energy begins to release, and we relive the pain. We practice sitting still with the pain and learning to be intimate with it and comfortable enough to feel it without running away.

Therapy can help us identify this pain and the patterns we have created around it, but it cannot help us be still enough to let it release and let it go, for good.

If a Zen teacher cannot help a student identify emotional patterns that block oneness the student may become enlightened but unhappy or cause more suffering. If a therapist cannot help a client let go of their emotional pain on the deepest level, the client may become self-aware but still unhappy.

Of course Zen teachers and therapists will never adopt the full practice of each other’s roles and expertise. But they can learn, without feeling threatened, enough from each other to help end suffering for their students and clients.

It’s important to be able to tell our story in order to make sense of our issues and patterns. Once we know our story then we can practice letting it go as we become intimate with our emotions. And learning to identify stuck emotional patterns as well as learning not to project will get us to a place of accepting what we need to do to accomplish this path much faster.

These are a few of so many examples of how Zen and therapy can work together to create an incredibly strong foundation for self-awareness and awakening to no-self awareness.

The post Zen Needs Therapy appeared first on Zen Comprehensible.

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It’s easy to see there is tremendous suffering and pain there now. So what does it mean that it is empty and how can this realization help us to end the suffering there, if we intend that?

Since this is not a political or journalistic article the topic will be the emotional aspect of Egypt’s crisis and how to contribute to their healing.

The politics may be complicated but the emotions are simple. The people are angry, desperate, fearful, sad and disappointed.

The emptiness is the truth that we all share these emotions and therefore they belong to no one in particular and have no particular form. We can all experience the emptiness of these emotions if we see they are universal and always changing. How do we do this? We practice letting go of the stories about why we feel these feelings, we practice being still with these feelings at their root and letting them move energetically.

By allowing these feelings to move through us we can let them go. Once this happens we no longer have to tell any stories about what makes us feel anything. Nothing makes us feel anything, rather, we make up stories to explain how we already feel. If we feel insecure we will choose an unstable situation and put all our faith into it, which guarantees we will be let down and feel all the insecurity we have.

Reality is empty, and so we project our own form onto it. Egypt has consciously and unconsciously projected a collective spirit of instability and anger onto its reality, and now it feels all of this and the feelings it has built up over many generations. Now it has the political situation to justify these feelings.

The emptiness of Egypt means that it will continue to change. It can become stable and peaceful or it can become more unstable and violent. The emotions of it’s people will create the projection that will dictate this change. If possible, a healthy shift in the emotions will lead to a healthy change in the form and function of its politics and structure.

So how can we participate in this shift towards ending suffering? The hard answer is that we must participate in our own painful emotions that connect us to Egypt. We can feel our own anger, rage, fear and sadness, and do it in this context of connecting with those who feel this way there. If we do this with the intention of sharing the burden of these feelings, we can help carry the load of painful emotional energy they are unfairly burdened with at this time. This act of sharing the emotional energy will energetically relieve their pressure and give them a bit more space to let their intuition or true self shine.

If everyone in the US did this today Egypt would be peaceful tomorrow. Since they are empty they do not need to fight and they do not need to be suppressed. They undoubtedly have a leader in their midst who could unify their hearts and give them security and peace if they could open up to this reality.

If we can see that we share the emptiness of Egypt and that our empty emotions connect us in a universal way that does not need a particular story to justify, we can also share their burden and end their suffering in the same moment we end ours, by being one with the anger, fear and sadness of all beings.

And hopefully, in return they will share our suffering when we feel overwhelmed, stuck and hopeless.

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Many times I hear folks say that they want to practice on their own, and not join in a Buddhist Community, because doing so gets in the way of their own practicing and sitting. To such folks, other people or having a teacher are a distraction, take up “my” precious time, are not a benefit to “me”.

Well, I say: Don’t be a selfish sitter, a Pratyeka-buddha.

There is an obligation, a face of the Bodhisattva Vow and taking refuge in Sangha, to support the Practice of others and not to be a Pratyeka-buddha. Ours is a Path beyond one’s personal needs and wants. It is not a matter simply about what “I” want, what “I” need to do or learn, staring into my own navel.

Pratyeka-buddha:In Buddhism, one who attains enlightenment through his own efforts rather than by listening to the teachings of a buddha. The way of the self-enlightened buddha was criticized in Mahayana Buddhism, which rejects the path of self-enlightenment as too limiting and embraces the ideal of the Bodhisattva, who postpones final enlightenment to work for the rescue of others.

It is much like family and children, who we tend to and spend time with … whether we selfishly always want to or not, and whether or not we would rather run away. Community activity is vital. Sure, there is a place for “time alone” (whether in my “man cave” in the house or my “Bodhidharma cave” in the mountains), but in the end we have a duty to the community … and to ourself … to help and be together.

Self and other are ‘not two’, and the community leaves us all stronger.

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When we start to practice we bring our fears and issues that we have used to define ourselves throughout our life. We might initially come to Zen because we think it will give us peace of mind or relaxation, but if we stick with it we come to realize that what we really get is the opportunity to sit face to face with all our painful issues that we are hoping to avoid. It takes a lot of courage, determination and faith to face this wall and push through it.

Especially when we have a lot of fear or anger underneath the surface it is easy for us to feel scared to face this. Since we have developed ways to manage these emotions and keep them under control we worry that if we take the lid off the box then everything will explode and we will create too much suffering.

But the truth is that if we continue along this path and face our fears and anger it turns our that there is really nothing to be afraid of and that the anger is not nearly as scary as we thought it would be. And further that we are not nearly as bad as we thought we were.

Once we see behind the curtain we realize that the worst or scariest parts of ourselves are simply our true selves we have hidden away trying to find protection and safety by projecting an image of great anger or fear.

So if you have begun to practice and realize there is more pain than peace, or you hit a wall and get discouraged, just know that this is just the beginning of a much bigger journey that does end in finding your true self, including the compassion, wisdom and courage you’ve always known was really there.

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What’s the point of study in Dogen Zen?

Given my Dogenophile disposition, I’m asked this question from time to time, and especially now that I’m developing an online study program, Vine of Obstacles: Online Support for Zen Training (which is full, btw, so if you’re interested in doing this work, stayed tuned for openings or contact me in a couple months).

The point, of course, is practicing enlightenment.

You might wonder, “How the heck does reading some illogical stuff contribute to practicing enlightenment?”

Likewise, some shave pates suggest that the point of Dogen Zen is to not make sense.

In the Mountains and Rivers Sutra, Dogen says about those who hold this view, “The illogical stories mentioned by you bald-headed fellows are only illogical for you, not for Buddha ancestors. Even though you do not understand, you should not neglect studying the Buddha ancestors’ path of understanding. Even if it is beyond understanding in the end, your present understanding is off the mark.”

He also says that those who hold the view that the buddhadharma is illogical are immature, foolish, have never truly studied,  and are really, really stupid. So there.

Dogen says this in regard to the views of monks he met in China regarding Nanchuan’s sickle, Huangpo’s staff, and Linchi’s shout. Presumably, shorthand for the koan tradition.

If there is an understanding that is understandable to Buddha ancestors, how does it unfold? What is the inner path of this undertaking?

An old friend, a black-belt in Shotokan Karate, told me in that tradition there are three stages – birth, mastery, and breaking. That fits Dogen Zen work quite well – and I’d add a fourth stage: flapping with vitality.

When most of us are born in this Zen work, it’s like coming home. We find in the buddhadharma an expression of what we’ve always intuitively felt about this life. And because it’s so damn ungraspable, we try to figure it out with our intellect while we while away the time in zazen. Fortunately, from time to time, we follow the instructions and let go of our thinking. In letting go of thinking, we discover a more and more subtle quality of thought.

Through perseverance, increasing intimacy and grace, we suddenly find ourselves pivoting mysteriously. We bridge the gap and are no longer looking at the buddhadharma from the outside. This is mastery.

And then to our surprise we find that in order to live the buddhadharma, what we have mastered must be broken, or rather, we find that we and it, we-as-it, have always been broken. And in the perfection of brokenness, we are no longer bound by the tradition so it can be expressed freely.

What’s left but to flap along with vitality, cursing the gods and buddhas, howling with the coyotes and the far-off train whistle on a hot summer night?

Speaking of howling, the picture above is a self-portrait by Dogen, probably from 1249, just a few years before his death. He painted it on the night of the harvest moon and wrote a poem for it while he was feeling good (the calligraphy at the top of the painting). Okumura and Leighton (Dogen’s Extensive Record, p. 602) translate it like this:

Autumn is spirited and refreshing as this mountain ages.
A donkey observes the sky in the well, white moon floating.
One is not dependent;
One does not contain.
Letting go, vigorous with plenty of gruel and rice,
Flapping with vitality, right from head to tail,
Above and below the heavens, clouds and water are free.

May we all go on practicing enlightenment just like this.

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 This “Buddha quote”, however nice it sounds, is not something the Buddha likely said at all (turns out to be from the cheery 70′s writer on love, Leo Buscaglia). Oh, the Buddha certainly taught us to be grateful for this precious life, but also to be Grateful (Big “G”) in a way that puts down the balance sheet and any need even to hunt for the “silver lining”.

What is the difference between gratitude and Great Gratitude seen in a Buddha’s Eye?

Daido Loori once recommended this elegant, simple practice on daily gratitude. I will second the recommendation:

This is a lovely, transformative practice. Yet, Daido would also remind us, there is a greater, transcendent, boundless Gratitude in the Buddha’s Teachings that does not even need the subtle “see the bright side” “find the positive to counter the negative” or “personal pay-off of what’s ultimately nice for ‘me’” in the above sense of ordinary gratitude. Rather, there’s an even Greater “Non-Pay-off” than that! A Jewel so precious, it shines as both earthly jewels and life’s thrown bricks or stones in our shoe.

Ordinary human gratitude is what we are encouraged to feel in the above exercise, and it is fine. In fact, it is wise, healthy and important. Yet there is a “Buddha’s Gratitude” which is not dependent on what we “like” that momentarily pleases the selfish-self, that is not based simply on “looking out for the good side” or experiencing the “gorgeous” day. This Emptiness that is all Fullness -is- both the glass “half full” and “half empty!”

A Buddha’s Gratitude is Vast and Unlimited … a Gratitude both for that which we love and that which we may not, a Treasure beyond yet holding mere “silver linings” “brass rings” and “lumps of coal”. It is a Peace and Wholeness which transcends “pro vs. con”, a Beauty which sees even the ugly times as “gorgeous day”. We are grateful for life, for death, for health, for sickness .. each and all as Sacred. It is a Gratitude in the face of a cancer diagnosis, Gratitude that dances all disappointments, a Gratitude which comfortably holds even the tragedy of Syria or any other bloody field (a Gratitude that is Grateful, even as we seek to stop such tragedies in the world).

This last point is vital too, for while such is a Gratitude ever Grateful for this world of both peace and war, health and disease, nonetheless we may seek for peace, fight the disease. While Grateful for this garden of both flowers and weeds, each a Jewel in Indra’s Net, we may seek to water the flowers and pluck the weeds we can.

Yes, it is a lovely Practice to not complain, and to learn to see the “bright side” of life’s ups and downs. But I also recommend to sit Zazen, sit as Gratitude sitting, sit as this Light which holds light and dark and all shades in between.

Yes, please practice daily the expressing of gratitude, and complain less and see the “negatives” less. Simultaneously, please let us work to make this world nicer, more peaceful, to end the wars, feed the hungry, nurse the sick. Yet let us also Sit a Buddha’s Gratitude for ALL OF IT. 

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Wang Wei (701-761) was a high-level government official who lived at a time in which Buddhism was flourishing in China. During middle-age, he began practicing Zen and eventually quit his job to retire to a hermitage in the Chang-an mountains, a center of Buddhist activity at the time. He then devoted the rest of his life to Zen practice and to poetry, calligraphy, music, and landscape painting, for he excelled at all four art forms. Very few of Wang Wei’s paintings or calligraphy have survived, but most of his poetry has. Along with Li Po and Tu Fu, he is considered one of the all-time top three Chinese poets — not a small accomplishment, for Chinese poetry goes back over three thousand years!

Wang Wei frequently wandered in the mountains visiting Zen monks and masters living in remote temples and hermitages, and he wrote many poems about these experiences. The following is one of my favorites, for it speaks to me about some fundamental practice issues in Zen and also about some personal issues I’ve dealt with in my own practice life. I’m going to look at this poem line-by-line, carefully examining it and the issues it brings up for me:

Visiting the Temple of Accumulated Fragrance 

Not knowing the way

To the temple,

I enter several miles

Into cloudy peaks.

 

Ancient trees,

A deserted path –

Deep in the mountains,

Somewhere a bell.

 

The sound of a spring

Choked by towering rocks,

The color of sunlight

Chilled by green pines.

 

Near evening,

At the corner of an empty pool,

Calm zen subdues

poison dragons.

The poem opens with Wang Wei going to visit a Buddhist temple, which is something people still do in Oriental cultures. Temples are places of refuge, as churches are in European cultures. When people are troubled, they might go to a church and just sit down for a while to pray. When I was practicing in Japan, I noticed people doing the same thing. They would come to the temple or monastery, put some money into the donation box, offer incense, and sit quietly in front of the Buddha Hall altar for a while. Some would stroll the grounds or have tea with one of the monks assigned to take care of guests, or with the abbot if he or she were available.

Temples and churches, or anywhere spiritual practices are carried out, have a special quality. They’re usually very quiet and are imbued with calming energy. Here in Omaha, there’s a beautiful cathedral that is a local landmark. I take out-of-town visitors there not only to see the building and marvel at the Spanish Renaissance architecture and  finely wrought internal furnishings but also to absorb the atmosphere. It’s deeply peaceful there.

Our temple has the same feel to it. Many people have told me how peaceful and calm they feel as soon as they come through the door. This soothing energy derives from the spiritual practices we do, and there’s been a lot of zazen, chanting, and bowing done here over the past twenty-two years. The energy from these practices permeates the place. We’re located on a tree-lined street in a quiet residential neighborhood, but Omaha is a city, and like all cities, it hums and buzzes. You can feel it out on the street. But once you walk in the door, the energy is quite different, and people are transformed by it.

Perhaps to quietly absorb temple energy or to practice with the monks living there, Wang Wei sets out to visit Accumulated Fragrance Temple. However, the first stanza of his poem reads, “Not knowing the way/ to the temple,/ I enter several miles/ into cloudy peaks.” It seems as if this temple is going to be hard to find, not only the concrete, physical temple but also the place of refuge that, in the poem, the temple represents.

Sometimes, our place of refuge takes a very long time to find, and we may wander through the cloudy peaks of our lives for years and years before we find it. But, something tells us that it’s there somewhere and drives us to continue to search. We may think that once we find this place, the journey will be over, and we’ll experience perfect bliss and contentment for the rest of our lives. But my experience is that this journey is not a one-time thing. We repeat it over and over, day by day, moment by moment, for our lives frequently become cloudy, and sometimes, the path becomes unclear. This is how it’s been in my life and probably for all of us. We keep having to work out the same problems – work, family, relationships – day after day.

Wang Wei starts out on his journey not exactly knowing the way to the temple. Maybe he yearns to find a quiet place to let things settle out and get some relief from difficulties in his life.  I sometimes yearn for a place of refuge from my difficulties, even though I live in a temple, which is such a place for the people who come here! I started practicing Zen on a daily basis under the guidance of a teacher in the late seventies, so I’ve been at it now for over thirty years. Six years of that was in monasteries in California and Japan, a year-and-a-half was at a monastery is Southeast Minnesota, and the last twenty-two years have been as the abbot of our temple in Omaha. I’ve lived in temples and monasteries for thirty years, but my life throughout these years has not always been sweetness and light.

In September of 1998, Rev. Kyoki Roberts, who came with me when I moved to Omaha nine years ago, left and settled in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she has established Zen Center of Pittsburgh. Kyoki came to Omaha as my student, and we eventually completed Dharma Transmission together. She was priest-ordained in 1993 and we practiced here together until she left. She is not only my oldest disciple but has been my closest dharma friend, and for many years, she was also my co-worker and assistant in administering the temple.

Then, she left, and I was alone. Eventually, a couple of other key people have left, one to pursue a new job, another out of frustration with his role here, another because of a broken marriage. We’re a very small group, so people leave big holes when they’re gone.  The pool of potential Zen students is not very deep in Omaha, for this area is not exactly a hotbed of Buddhist activity, like San Francisco or New York. Buddhism and Zen are relatively new here.

With Kyoki and the others gone, it was very difficult for me, and this pattern has continued over the years. People come and people go. I’ve sometimes felt overwhelmed and found myself thinking, “How will I get everything done?” “How can I continue alone here?” Even though I’m a long-time practitioner and teacher, I’ve felt lost and alone and have had a hard time dealing with it. I deeply understand what it means to not know the way to the temple, like Wang Wei, because in a sense, the temple as refuge is not really a place. It is a place physically, but as a refuge it is not one place. It can’t be, because the only true refuge is within, not without. I’ve lost my way to “the  temple as refuge” while living in “the temple as place!”

So I can relate to Wang Wei’s “Not knowing the way to the temple.” Shakyamuni Buddha taught that there’s an end to suffering, but I’ve come to realize that the end is not permanent because nothing is permanent. Whenever we fall into a negative state of mind, we have to play it through once more to the end, and then it eventually begins all over again. We lose our way and then we find it, and then, we lose it again. Early on in my practice life, I thought that once you end suffering, that’s it. It’s all over. Everything from then on is sweetness and light! But one day, I was talking with my teacher, Dainin Katagiri, about some problems at work and, he said to me, “Oh, you’re suffering – well, suffer!  It’s a sure sign you’re alive.” At that moment, something clicked. “Oh,” I thought. “As long as we’re alive, we suffer. Ending it does not create permanent bliss, for suffering only comes up again.” This is Shakyamuni Buddha’s first Noble Truth.

In daily life, everything happens in a moment, and then, it’s gone. Then, there’s the next moment, and, just as quickly, it’s gone. To manifest awakened mind, we sit down and cross our legs. Enlightenment is thus manifested, and then — the moment’s gone. So we have to continue to start fresh every moment of our lives. There is no place of refuge that lasts because nothing lasts. So it’s very easy to all of a sudden get lost and then have a hard time finding the way again. Every time I read Wang Wei’s poem, and I’ve read this poem for years, I feel like I go a little deeper into it and also, as my practice deepens, into how it relates to my own life. This poem has a lot of layers, and the layer I find myself entering into most often is “not knowing and getting lost.”

In the second stanza, Wang Wei writes: “Ancient trees,/ a deserted path –/ Deep in the mountains/ Somewhere a bell.” The mood of loneliness sounded in the first stanza is carried on here, although the “ancient trees” are somewhat comforting. There’s a sense of tradition conveyed by them, for this is not new ground; others have traveled this path. In Zen, we trace our lineage all the way back to Shakyamuni Buddha through a long line of masters who actually lived. However, right now, the path is deserted. The traveler is alone on the journey. No matter how ancient the tradition, how close we are to our teachers, and how many people we practice with, we’re ultimately alone. We have to do the work ourselves. No one can pass on their experience or understanding to us, and no one can live our experiences with us. This is just the way it is, and there’s a rightness about it, which is conveyed by the ancient trees. However, it’s still lonely. The path is deserted.

The second line of this stanza is: “Deep in the mountains, somewhere a bell.” When I talked about this poem during a retreat some time ago at a temple near New York City, I inadvertently passed over this line without much comment. Later, during the question and answer period, someone said, “You know, I think that bell is really important,” and I had to agree. Most Zen temples in America don’t have an outside bell, but in Japan, every temple does, just as churches do here. The outside bell is rung every morning and evening and is quite large, sometimes four or five feet in diameter. It’s rung with a striker, usually a three or four-foot long straight tree limb about six inches in diameter, suspended from the ceiling of the bell tower by two ropes – one on each end – so the striker hangs horizontally. The bell rings with a deep Bong and can be heard a long way off.

This bell is not only important to the monks – it marks the beginning and end of the monastic day – but also to people living nearby. When I was in the monastery in Japan, there was a village a half-hour walk down the mountain. The villagers complained a few times that we weren’t hitting the bell loud enough, for they couldn’t hear it. They asked us to hit it louder. Why? I’m not sure; perhaps they liked knowing that the monks and the temple were still there! Before we struck the bell, we would recite this verse: “May the sound of this bell dispel greed, anger, and delusion, and all the hardships suffered by all beings.” Perhaps the hardships suffered by the villagers were eased by the bell and that is why they would ask that we ring it loud enough for them to hear.

In the poem, the bell serves as a reminder that the temple – and the place of refuge it represents – is there, somewhere, even when we’ve lost our way to it.  In our lives, we are reminded of the place of refuge in many ways, through the newsletter the temple puts out, by the Zen books on our shelves, or by the cushions in our sitting room. Because I live in a temple, I am reminded moment-by-moment where I need to go when I get lost, but when things get tough, or very busy, it’s easy to ignore these “bells” and take the night off or sleep in rather than return to the practice place.

The third stanza of the poem reads: “The sound of a spring/ Choked by towering rocks,/ The color of sunlight/ Chilled by green pines.” A spring means clean, refreshing water and is always welcome to a mountain traveler. This spring, however, is somewhere in the distance, and the water is, like the bell, unreachable, barely audible, cut off by the overwhelming, hard “towering rocks.” The sunlight, which brings brightness and light, is also cut off, “chilled” by the pines, which filter the light, dispersing and dimming it. The spring, then, cannot refresh nor can the sun provide brightness and warmth. The path is not only “deserted” it is also cold, dim, and hard, as our lives are sometimes, especially when we are lonely, depressed, angry, or grief-stricken.

The last stanza of the poem reads:  “Near evening,/  At the corner of an empty pool,/ Calm zen subdues/ poison dragons.” Wang Wei never finds the temple, but there is a satisfying end to his journey. The poet sits down by an empty pool. What is this pool? A clear pool of water? An empty garden pool in a deserted temple? The poem does not make this clear.  Could it symbolically be the clear, empty pool of mind?

The poem then ends with “Calm zen subdues poison dragons.”  Zen here refers to zazen, sitting meditation. What are the poison dragons? Loneliness, grief, disappointment, sorrow, fatigue – all the mind demons that plague us. Wang Wei’s journey has been difficult and lonely. He never finds the temple he was seeking, but he finds his true refuge and is healed. He sits down where he is, and through the practice of zazen, the thoughts and feelings plaguing him are subdued.

In Zen, our teaching is that what we need to do is sit down where we are, right in the middle of our lives as they are. As Zen Master Dogen says in Universally Recommended Instructions for Zazen (Fukanzazengi): “It [our way, our refuge] is never apart from this very place; what is the use of traveling around to practice?” We don’t have to go to the temple, although we do go to the temple because of what happens there, because of the quiet, calm space, because of the fellowship, the dharma friendships we cultivate there, and because the teacher is there. But ultimately, our true refuge is not the temple itself but in our acceptance of our life as it is and in our willingness to live it as it is.

A famous koan in The Book of Serenity puts it this way:

As the world Honored One [the Buddha] was walking with the congregation, he pointed to the ground with his finger and said, “This spot is good to build a sanctuary.” Indra, Emperor of the gods, took a blade of grass, stuck it in the ground, and said, “The sanctuary is built.”

The World Honored One smiled.

The introduction to this koan reads:

As soon as a single mote of dust arises, the whole earth is contained therein; with a single horse and a single lance, the land’s extended. Who is this person who can be master in any place and meet the source in everything?

That’s a really good question. My answer is: you, and me.

Of course, this is not easy, but we must be clear that we take refuge by building our sanctuary right where we are. This is accomplished by entering life fully and living it completely, as it is. As Thoreau said in Walden, “No matter how mean your life is, meet it and live it. Do not shun it and call it hard names.” Why? Because if we do, we only create more difficulty by adding avoidance, anger, and bitterness to our lives.

At times, my life as a Zen Buddhist priest and temple abbot has been difficult, for I’ve struggled with the demons of loneliness, disappointment, and overwork. I feel as if I’ve personally lived Wang Wei’s poem. Through it all, I’ve learned once again (How many times must I learn this?) that the only way to end suffering is to sit with it, enter it completely, and live it through. The practice of zazen is our true place of refuge and through this practice, we subdue the poison dragons and ready ourselves to repeat the process when they come up again.

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Dharma teachers should be paid a fair amount of money for their expertise and their abilities.

Why isn’t meditation taught in schools? Why not in police stations and hospitals? Why isn’t it offered in corporations or government administrations? Why not in the military?

It is simply not valued enough, not as a religion, but as a practical way to foster peace and serenity, not to mention spiritual awakening.

I believe it would shift the planets energy towards peace if it were valued, implemented and supported for its full potential. Compassion and wisdom are priceless. This is because they are more valuable than any price we could pay, not because they are impractical or not valuable enough.

There is a sort of “free dharma” movement who’s members think Dharma teachers should not be compensated financially for their teachings. These voices, in my experience, are usually practitioners who are not authorized teachers themselves.

So what are we talking about? Well, the teachings for example include “introductions” to meditation, perhaps extended workshops, dharma talks, face to face teachings, books, articles or blogs, or “just” holding the space for meditation to happen. These are offered by teachers who must pay for utilities, maintenance, insurance, food, etc.

As i understand the complaint, since the Buddha didn’t charge set fees for his teachings no students seeking teachings should ever be asked to contribute to any of these teachings or activities. But, since the Buddha accepted offerings it is ok for teachers to accept their money as long as it is not asked for.

Let me be clear about my perspective, in our modern American culture, expecting the teacher to cover the overhead for you to come and be taught for free is ludicrous. Not to mention I don’t hear anyone pining for the good old celibate days. Things have changed, but the teachings are still pure, in their impurity.

The closest thing i can approximate this mentality to, which is in fact very different, is the 12 step model for support and guidance, I have been sober over 9 years and have done a lot of volunteer service work for free when I could afford it. I also sponsored people to work the steps with no expectation of payment. But when I had my daughter, as a single parent, I could not afford to pay $30 babysitting each time I wanted to go help others. Since no one was going to pay me to help troubled kids I dropped it. I did not expect to be paid because it was a service that kept me sober foremost. Plus I never officially studied or trained in how to lead such groups or be an effective leader. My only skill or quality was that I managed not to use drugs or get arrested for a year or so.

(However, there are paid positions in the 12 step organization to cover administration and salary expenses, and circuit speakers often get paid.)

Compare this to my training to be a Dharma teacher. This took 15 years of consistent weekly participation where I learned all the training positions, how to hold the space for groups and individuals in pain, I learned how to lead ceremonies that mark important life events and how to answer koans and teach the precepts. But most importantly I learned how to accept myself with compassion and realize that I am intimately connected to everyone else.

This is a skill that is hard to appraise. If I could teach you how to play the guitar we would both expect you to pay $30 an hour. But to teach you how to accept your life and find peace is trickier. In my experience learning to let go of attachments is a skill that requires very subtle feedback. Learning how to answer koans or discern emptiness is just as tangible as learning how to act with authentic emotion or be a martial artist, or develop the subtle sensitivity needed to move and balance qi. These latter examples all cost a great deal to perfect and no one expects to learn these life enhancing qualities for free.

I don’t know why anyone would expect to learn how to end suffering for free, all I can really say is that I need a certain amount of resources to be able to offer this support.

Money is empty, it is not good or bad, asking for it is not good or bad, giving it is not good or bad. Renunciation also is empty, it is not valuable or ethical in itself. It does not really exist and we cannot absolutely renunciate the basic necessities of life. The buddha never turned down a meal and he accepted offerings, this is not renunciation, this is modesty. He simply took what he needed and didn’t ask for more. Of course when he expected others to dedicate their entire lives to his path and support his cause full time was no modest compensation.

Of course we all want teachers to have modest appetites. Most dharma teachers are very modest, I don’t know any Zen teachers first hand who have more than 2 luxury cars or excessive profits in their personal bank account from teaching. The teachers that have charged exorbitant amounts for basic teachings are basically shunned by the dharma community and not referred students anymore. This is exceptional and we have learned better how to identify these behaviors and how to warn people against them.

We should not use such poor examples to judge the value of teaching in general. In my “monastic” experience it takes about 15 years of training to begin teaching and 20 to be “certified”. Of course we begin with teaching introduction classes, then teaching basics classes, and so on. Most of these beginning teaching opportunities are voluntary and any money given goes to the temple fund. This general fund feeds the temples utilities, maintenance and the teachers salaries or stipends. the standards are generally high for fully authorized teachers.

No doubt we should have standards. Teachers should be transparent about their finances, they should not be greedy, and they should never charge fees based on a promise that “enlightenment” will happen any faster than usual, or present themselves as giving students anything they don’t already have.

These standards are quite profound and so the value of authentic Buddhist teachings is great. Most people who practice know its value in todays culture, and many donate as generously as they can. We all want to give and we don’t want to be stingy. And we want sincerity and authenticity from the teachers we entrust this generosity. This is not too much to ask.

Today we have many ways to invite support. Whether we have a donation basket in sight, or we openly ask for donations in person, in emails or fundraisers the message is sent passively or actively.

To complicate it further, asking for money is an art of sorts. Some personalities find it more natural and some don’t. Teachers have issues with money just like anyone. I personally struggle with self worth and find it very hard to ask for fair compensation for my time. I make under 20k a year for managing and bookkeeping a temple and we decided to stop asking for teacher dana. I am not complaining about this because I’m very happy with my life and feel I have enough and I feel rich. I have never charged for daisan or dharma talks and I dont plan to. But I would love to teach meditation in schools or hospitals or corporations and make enough money to pay for my basic needs. Why should this be unethical to hope for?

I can’t say I have easy answers. Perhaps people should be asked to tithe, or give 10% of their profit. Public and private corporations might give 10% of their profits to a “peace of mind” fund for meditation for their employees. There could be teachers for classes in secondary schools to teach this to kids, between the arts and music classes that got cut? Maybe the military could offer meditation to our troops to help them manage PTSD and stress before it goes too far? In my perfect world this would be the case.

We should appreciate full time teachers and try to create a culture of support for them, we should help them fill these important needs in our society. If teachers are expected to support themselves they won’t be available to fill such needs. We have a clear need for meditation. Most schools, non-profits and businesses welcome free meditation. There just aren’t enough independently wealthy certified teachers to do the job for free.

This is not about me as a teacher trying to defend the money I need to teach. This is about us as a culture seeing the desperate need for meditation in our mainstream ending the suffering of our wold. We have an amazing opportunity to help meditation to be embraced by our mass market culture. We can all begin creating a mentality and spirit of generosity and abundance with the Dharma that starts with taking care of our Dharma teachers.

Otherwise, if you want to play a game where I pretend not to need money for food and shelter and you pretend you’re not expected to contribute to this then just ignore the dana coffer strategically stationed at the exit. And if you hope meditation is never budgeted into schools or corporations or the military please start by throwing out all of your dharma books that compensated some kind teacher to sweat it out.

The Dharma is so important to continue. Claiming it is in a special category that is unethical to monetize only makes it harder to integrate into our mainstream awareness. We should be talking about how to support teachers better than we do rather than why we should not pay them anything.

So let’s talk about it.

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If a scholar fudges data, exaggerates or makes up facts, cherry-picks phrases taken so far out of context that their meanings are quite opposite, mistranslates so often and so widely that one must wonder about the intentionality behind it, then the world is right to question that scholar’s ethics and the reliability of his research. That is so even if a part of his research is based on reliable facts, has real substance and deserves praise.

Take the case, for example, of a researcher in the natural sciences who advocates a theory on stem cells which is partially true and supported by certain solid evidence, yet who nonetheless fudges a large portion of his total data and cherry picks, exaggerates and twists many results to make the theory appear far stronger and more accurate than it truly is. Most of us would have no difficulty in questioning the researcher’s ethics and trustworthiness. (http://www.nature.com/ncb/journal/v1…ncb0111-1.html). We would be left rightly confused about which portions of his proposals we can believe and which are made up. The same would be the case if a historian in the social sciences misrepresented or manufactured evidence which he mixed in with various reliable facts.

Thus, it is time to condemn more widely “Zen At War” author and historian Brian Victoria for like behavior in many of his writings on Japanese Buddhism and militarism. 

Although his books and conclusions are widely cited by those critical of Japanese Buddhism (and although many of those criticisms are quite legitimate with regard to some Buddhist figures of the past and Brian is to be thanked for bringing these stories to the world’s attention), few general readers of his works are aware that his methods and intentions have been questioned in the strongest terms over many years by those who have looked closely at his work. Readers may take his assertions at face value, unaware that many who have reviewed his material have raised their voices to question his honesty. It is rare to hear scholars question the motivations of a fellow scholar so bluntly and directly in print, but several respected historians and Buddhist scholars have felt the need to do so. However, because many of these voices have appeared in relatively obscure academic journals, most of Victoria’s readers are unaware of these criticisms citing Victoria’s frequent misuse of facts, repeated painting with too broad a brush, taking of many key passages out of context, overstating events or personal connections among historical figures, and serial mistranslations of key passages.

Perhaps Victoria’s principle critic has been scholar and Shin Buddhist Priest Kemmyō Taira Satō, in two articles published in The Eastern Buddhist entitled “D.T. Suzuki and the Question of War” …

http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/…ion_of-War.pdf …

and “Brian Victoria and the Question of Scholarship”:

http://www.thezensite.com/ZenEssays/…cholarship.pdf

Sato wrote, while citing example after example:

The most basic of these issues, and the one most disturbing to readers I have heard from, concerns Victoria’s use of sources. How a scholar employs quoted passages and other data is not a minor issue that will go away if ignored. It is indicative of a scholar’s integrity, providing a gauge of his or her attitude toward the academic endeavor as a whole. Since few readers can take the time to check a scholar’s sources, especially those in foreign languages, readers depend on scholars to accurately represent the passages they cite in support of their arguments, arguments that are trustworthy only to the extent that they are true to the material upon which they are based. The scholar’s responsibility is especially great in a case such as this, which involves an attack on a person’s reputation. What is a reader to conclude, then, if the evidence on which the attack is based turns out to have been seriously misrepresented? (Question of Scholarship, Page 140)

…

In the examples cited above, the disparity between Suzuki’s actual meaning and Victoria’s characterization of it is, in my opinion, too great to pass off as mere carelessness or scholarly ineptitude, and leads me to question Victoria’s assertion that he is not out to “get” Suzuki but is committed “to gathering and presenting as much relevant information as possible before reaching a conclusion” (as he claims in another response to my article). Victoria’s failure to even acknowledge, much less explain, misrepresentations such as these suggests to me that he sees nothing wrong with them and exempts himself from the no-compromise-with-truth standard he applies to Suzuki. Moreover, distortions of such seriousness give rise to a question quite relevant to the present exchange: if Victoria’s presentations of even straightforward passages cannot be taken at face value, how much credence can be accorded his discussions of far more complex and nuanced issues such as the nature of Suzuki’s views in A New Theory of Religion and his articles on Bushido? Victoria will no doubt take umbrage at the implication that he has chosen to deliberately deceive the reader. I myself would prefer to think otherwise, so I would very much welcome a forthright and convincing explanation of why he handled Suzuki’s statements as he did.(Question of Scholarship, Page 143-4) 

An additional voice is that of Prof. Koichi Miyata of Soka University’s Department of Humanities, decrying Victoria’s characterizations of Soka Gakkai founder Tsunesaburo Makiguchi:

I can only imagine that in order to prove Tsunesaburo Makiguchi cooperated with the war effort, Victoria has shaped his arguments to fit his pre-established conclusion, willfully quoting only those passages of Makiguchi’s writings that would seem to support it. … While there is ample room for the frank exchange of academic views, including highly critical ones, it is important that a tendentious agenda, clothed in the guise of academic research, not stand unchallenged.http://www.globalbuddhism.org/3/miyata021.htm

Dayle M. Bethel, a biographer of Tsunesaburo Makiguchi and other Buddhist figures about whom Victoria writes, states:

This is Dr. Victoria’s translation of the last paragraph of Makiguchi’s discussion of humanitarian competition, taken out of context and interpreted to support his thesis that Makiguchi supported Japanese militarism and territorial expansion through military conquest. … The writer of “Engaged Buddhism: A Skeleton in the Closet?” [Victoria] completely missed, it appears, or deliberately ignored, such dimensions of Makiguchi’s writings … To suggest, as Dr. Victoria does, that Makiguchi’s sole aim in education was to create fodder for the Japanese militarists’ suicidal battles is a gross misinterpretation of what Makiguchi wrote and what he stood for.http://enlight.lib.ntu.edu.tw/FULLTE…N/an147425.pdf

Nelson Foster and the respected writer and poet Gary Snyder said this of Victoria in the pages of Tricycle magazine, one of the few popular articles outside of academic circles making these challenges known, and openly raising the intentional nature of the mistakes:

Victoria has managed to get Suzuki’s positions on bushido and militarism essentially backward, and it is hard to see how such a result could flow from simple errors of research. The elaborate construction of Victoria’s argument and his exclusion of readily available, powerfully contravening evidence suggest a purposeful assault on Suzuki’s reputation. http://www.tricycle.com/feature/fog-…ar-ii?page=0,1

Muho Noelke, the German born Abbot of Japan’s Antaiji temple, has written to Victoria, openly challenging his misquoting and mistranslating statements by Soto Zen teacher Kodo Sawaki. Muho wrote in an e-mail exchange with Victoria published by Muho:

What I think is problematic is the way you present Sawaki with two famous quotes, i.e. the one with the precept throwing the bomb and Sawaki gorging himself on killing people. Not only do you distort the picture of Sawaki, but you also do damage to your own cause, because even those who would follow your reasoning if it was more balanced and objective (or “Middle Way”) will feel tempted to contradict you when they know the real context of those quotes. … For me, taking quotes out of context just to make them serve one’s purpose (and one’s message being put forward in an extremely aggresive and war-like way) is a sign of being blinded by own’s ego.http://antaiji.dogen-zen.de/eng/2008….y8cbvI1Y.dpuf

So why do I, Jundo Cohen, feel compelled to add my small voice and write on this subject today?

Because I myself am a translator of Japanese and a Soto Zen Buddhist priest like Brian who has, in my small way, also been a frequent critic of the Zen establishment in Japan and the West. I am the translator who recently translated and published long hidden accounts of the Rev. Joshu Sasaki’s arrest, prosecution and imprisonment for a financial embezzlement scandal many years ago in Japan involving the diversion of government and temple funds (http://zuiganji-affair.com/). I have written in support of those questioning the social responsibility and reaction of Soto-Shu, the Japanese Zen world and other Buddhist organizations to the events following the Great Tsunami and Fukushima (http://sweepingzen.com/book-review-t…ost-311-japan/). I very much believe that such criticisms must not be swept under a rug. I believe the Zen world (all of us) can do better. I believe that people coming to practice Buddhism or Zen have a right to consider such important information before placing their spiritual and personal well-being in the hands of our Traditions and Teachers, and that questionable or despicable conduct by some in the Buddhist or Zen world today or stretching back into history should be uncovered, publicized, condemned, made amends for.

In fact, I generally support many of Victoria’s conclusions and join with him in his outcry.

Nonetheless, I feel that the critic may overstep a line, fall into mudslinging, witch-hunts and outright fibbing. It is right to uncover actual corruption, and Victoria has done a great service in shedding light on a dark time in our history, but nearly destroys his argument by his questionable methods and exaggerated conclusions. A translator and historian must not take out of context, cherry pick, selectively edit to radically change meanings, serially mistranslate in ways radically altering the point of a statement. To do so is simply to have a political or ideological agenda, and to alter or invent evidence in order to prove one’s personal theory. While pointing to a few people who truly deserve our criticism for their behavior, Victoria has put words in peoples’ mouths who never said such things, he has (along with pointing to some people who truly deserve it) cast mud on other peoples’ reputations for things they did not say or do. Shame on him for doing so. 

Why am I writing now? Because I am someone interested in these issues who can speak and read Japanese, I took the time to go back and review many of the original Japanese documents which are the source of Prof. Sato’s and others’ condemnations of Victoria’s writings. I wanted to see who was telling the truth. I was sickened and dishearted by what I found when, with my own eyes, I could see exactly what Sato and the others were pointing out as examples of egregious mistranslation, misrepresentation of context and the like. I urge everyone reading this to go back and read Kemmyō Taira Sato’s English language articles linked to above, discussing the matter of D.T. Suzuki, and see for themselves example after example.

Why have few criticized Victoria until now? Probably because we are embarrassed and cowed by the ugliness he did uncover, with a sense (quite rightfully, mind you) of guilt and responsibility for the past. Many have probably felt that speaking up about Victoria’s abuses would seem like a defense of the evils that Victoria was condemning. However, it is time for many in the Zen and Buddhist world who are conversant with these stories to simultaneously condemn Brian Victoria, in the strongest terms, for his sometime failings too. He set off on a good and needed mission, but muddled it with his own lack of standards. Might not we even say that he sometimes himself exhibited behavior very much equivalent to the unethical actions and duplicity he accuses others of in his writings?

Let’s keep up the good fight to uncover wrongs, reflect and atone, make things right. But let us do so in a forthright and honest way. One must not manipulate and straighten twisted vines.

Gassho, Jundo Cohen

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Dear James Ford on and in his Monkey Mind has raised the issue of money and dharma in his recent post, Fee for Service Buddhism: A Small Meditation on Money and the Dharma. James cites several blogs that also wrangle with this issue and I spent some time browsing some of that.

And, dang, the way some people talk to each other on the web. Good lord buddha. Can’t we all just get along?

Unlike the monk in the photo, most of us ain’t in Kansas anymore. Or Japan.

Money and dharma is an important issue and deserves an intelligent and balanced work-through, so thanks to James for again rising through the fray.

This  post is a short reflection on my experience as someone who has used a variety of money models over the years and is now one of those infidels who’ve adopted a fee-for- service model, primarily for my online work, Vine of Obstacles: Online Support for Zen Training (which is now open for a couple three more students, by the way, so click here for more information).

The reason for this was simple. Back in February when I was considering rolling out the Vine, I also had to consider my financial responsibilities and limited time. If I were to devote a big chunk of time to make this a quality program, then I knew that it was necessary for the income from it to be sustainable and predictable. Now, of course, I offer scholarships to those who cannot afford the fee and reserved several seats in the Vine cyber zendo for scholarship students.

I knew from years of experience that the dana (aka, donation) model is often translated “discount” by Western students and is often (but not always) neither sustainable or predictable. I know a number of Zen teachers who live on less than $5,000 a year (plus housing). Although I think that noble, I don’t think it’s sustainable.

It isn’t always the case that the dana model is the discount model. I know of one local community in the vipassana tradition, Common Ground Meditation, that has thrived with the dana model. Led by an old friend, Mark Nunberg, they’ve used it exclusively and over a twenty-year period, and gradually developed a group norm such that it works.

But the facts on the ground seem to be that this isn’t often the case, as James also reports. In my teacher support group, we talk about money quite often, and agree that there is a relationship between students who are reluctant to offer a fair amount of dana for “services rendered” and who are reluctant to do the dharma work.

Might be the “how we do one thing is how we do everything” principle. This is also often the case with students on scholarship (not always, especially you current students on scholarship in the Vine!).

So how about letting the 10,000 flowers bloom, you bloggers. How about trusting some in the intelligence of students to make a choice? There are lots of places to practice, the spiritual market place is booming and blooming, so I encourage people to look around a find a teacher, practice and community that seems to fit close enough and jump in.

It takes years of practice to really know each other and to really settle into being who we are. Waiting for being dumb-struck by the perfect teacher, practice, and community is … well, unlikely and probably a fantasy so don’t wait for that. “Ring the bell that still can ring, forget your perfect offering,” singeth Leonard.

And as my mother often said, “There is no free lunch.”

Or as Eliza Gilkyson sings, “The price we pay – willing.”

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When it comes to Buddhism in the U.S., one important question is how we can support the dharma without making enlightenment another commodity to buy and sell? Our popular culture pushes the message that being successful or happy means getting a lot of attention for flashy skills or having a lot of money no matter who is exploited, including animals.

So it’s important for us in the spiritual realm to have some beacon(s) of hope we can count on to exemplify the spiritual values of simplicity, generosity and compassion. This model helps to maintain the value of the Buddha’s teachings, so that the dharma can retain its purity and survive the pitfalls of our materialist culture.

Zen teachers have the potential to model such values by contributing their light freely to their sanghas and communities that are impacted by their presence, practice and leadership. Of course other renunciate Buddhist teachers model the integrity of true dharma such as Theravadan monks and nuns. However, Zen teachers are in a unique space because many are caught between the monastic and lay teacher models. They have vowed to save all beings, but also to work in the marketplace. So when Zen teachers manifest the balance and energy to support themselves with regular jobs, while volunteering their teachings, they are manifesting the Buddha’s integrity in a profound way. One that shows all lay practitioners that the dharma is sustainable, even in a vapid materialistic culture. If teachers and sanghas can raise the Bodhi mind humbly and freely, so can anybody who sincerely wants to.

Of course, many people strive to participate as much as their families and jobs allow. This can be discouraging, especially if the bar for practice is set at “enlightenment”. So the hope is that no one feels they cannot get enlightened unless they become a priest, for example. If they need to miss the summer angos or sesshins they are invited to practice acceptance. Acceptance might be the most wonderful koan for our culture of discontent and insatiable craving. If there is not a way to be in the zendo, the practice becomes bringing the “zendo mind” to the jobs, families and activities that are available.

If there is frustration about missing zazen, practice accepting that it is ok to feel frustration. There is nothing wrong with missing zazen. If there is fear that without a lot of sitting no spiritual progress will be made, then the koan becomes accepting that it is ok to feel fear. And never forget, progress is overrated. When ‘no progress’ is embraced, then progress can be made, in the acceptance of no progress.

The Buddha’s true teachings have nothing to do with sitting 90 Day angos, or offering dana. They are accessible to all beings freely everywhere. Zen has manifested the dharma in its purity by transmitting the authentic mind seal from generation to generation, freely and simply. Of corse, teachers who charge exorbitant prices or molest students cannot possibly be considered ambassadors of the true Dharma Eye.

Currently, Zen teachers have the special opportunity and challenge to manifest the undefiled dharma eye in perhaps it’s most daunting culture it has yet encountered: the United States of America. By bringing the Bodhi mind into the work and family arenas, Buddhism is given the chance to bloom in muddy waters. This may be more interesting and inspiring than the lotus blooming in calm, clear waters.

If it is freely given and freely received it can maintain it’s integrity and purity. May all buddhas dedicate their merits to the Bodhisattvas at home and at work taking care of their children and their employees or customers. Let the merits help ensure that the true dharma will not be subverted by the inherent corruption replete in our materialist pop culture, run by those who would choose a dystopic marketplace full of snakes over the simple, pure freedom of an awakened people. A life where all Buddhists may manifest the true dharma teachings by freely giving, receiving and sharing one mind, one body and one heart.

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My dear friend Amy Zoll sent me the following quote from Ramana Maharshi, the beloved 20th century Indian sage.  I’ve always believed that what we do in the world is not so much about the words we use or even what we actually do, but about how we are, and that our presence is a direct reflection of our sincere devotion to our meditation practice.

Annamalai Swami, in his book “Living by the Words of Bhagavan”, writes:

“Bhagavan taught that one should reform oneself rather than find fault with others.  In practical terms this means that one should find the source of one’s own mind rather than make complaints about other people’s minds and actions.  I can remember a typical reply that Bhagavan gave on this subject.

A devotee , who was quite intimate with Bhagavan, asked him, ‘Some of the devotees who live with Bhagavan behave very strangely.  They seem to do many things that Bhagavan does not approve of.  Why does Bhagavan not correct them?’

Bhagavan replied, ‘Correcting oneself is correcting the whole world.  The sun is simply bright.  It does not correct anyone.  Because it shines the whole world is full of light.  Transforming yourself is a means of giving light tot he whole world.’

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Here’s a very odd thing about Zen practice – a lot of the time, especially the first ten years or so, most of us most of the time are stuck.

What kind of a hinky path is that? It’s supposed to be a path, after all, something that goes from here to there.

And there’s the rub.

In Keep Me in Your Heart a While (described by one reader as “… the best, least read Zen book of the decade” – ah, stop the flattery already!), I describe the stuck! phase as the third of six stages of the Zen path:

1. Idealization (“Zen seems so cool, we love everybody in the community and the Zen teacher seems to possess something special, expressing what is in our hearts before we even know it ourselves”);

2. Covert clinging to hopes for magical gain (“We begin to get more sophisticated and cover our original childlike and obvious hopes that somehow Zen is going to resolve our relationship issues, relieve our dysthymia without Prozac, and brighten our teeth”);

3. Very crabby (“Zen utterly sucks, the community is a bunch of nut cases and the teacher is at best an ordinary person whose fault it is that our precious idealization has worn off—or that our stinky self-clinging has been exposed….. At this stage, most people quit and go on to something else, imagining that the high of infatuation can be recaptured with another teacher, another tradition, or a softer or harder practice”);

4. Steadily walking without getting anywhere (“The practice at this stage is simply done for the sake of the practice itself. Searching for a motive at this stage is adding a head on top of a head. If we just stay with it,we might even start to get over our self a bit and direct our life to actualizing a purpose greater than ourself”).

5. Experiencing fruition (“a trouble-maker”); and

6. Falling into a well (“We’re back at the first stage, albeit with a different vista, idealizing our life and not cleaning under the hedge, assuring the full employment of Buddha”).

Phew! What a gas bag.

Anyway, the point is that the path of Zen goes from here to here and what we learn to do is be what we are – stay put, in other words.

Does that mean that the practice suggestion is to sink, soak, slobber, and slump into a melancholy stuckness?

No way! Sit up in it earnestly.

Does that mean that the practice suggestion is to fight, figure, fidget and find just the right spiritual technique that will free us from stuckness?

No way! Sit down in it earnestly.

Now maybe you’d like a poem to put a little make-up on the drab point I’m making and I just happen to have one here from Leonard Cohen’s “The Letters:”

Your story was so long,
The plot was so intense,
It took you years to cross
The lines of self-defense.
The wounded forms appear:
The loss, the full extent;
And simple kindness here,
The solitude of strength.

And maybe you’d even like a koan to put a little Zen on the point I’m making and, well, I’m happy to oblige:

As Fayan was excavating a well, the spring’s eye was blocked by sand.  He asked a monk, “The spring’s eye doesn’t penetrate the sand blocking it. When the eye of the Way is blocked, what is it blocked by?”

The monk had no reply.

Fayan answered for himself, “It is blocked by the eye.”

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