Response to "Lineage Delusions: Eido Shimano Roshi, Dharma Transmission, and American Zen"

Before I run off to next week's retreat with Tenshin Reb Anderson Roshi, I've got to loose these feelings about this highly recommended (and agreed with by those who have recommended it to me) essay/article by Erik Fraser Storlie on Sweeping Zen concerning the controversy surrounding Shimano Roshi as well as the validity of Dharma Transmission as an institution and its role in the future of American Zen.

I happen to strongly disagree with almost every argument in this piece and find it borderline offensive.

First of all, I'd like to address the statement that spiritual leaders of Eastern traditions in America engage in inappropriate behavior which is then explained away as a teaching is taken out of context.  This implies that these teachers willingly and intentionally engage in these behaviors for the express purpose of teaching us a lesson.  I find this as ridiculous as the author, but not for his reason.  These behaviors are referred to as teachings in an accidental way.  Happenstance has provided us with this series of events, and as good bodhisattvas, we see the dharma gate and walk right in.  These are not intentional lessons, they are examples of imperfect people doing imperfect things, which I'll get back to later.

I don't know the specifics of the situation's history or supposed cover up, but for my point, I don't think that matters.  I may not even have been in the know about this scene for very long, but what I do know is what I've been told and what I've experienced for myself.

Do I think it's a shame that unsuspecting individuals were hurt by teachers of the practice that I believe in and follow myself taking advantage of their authority? Yes, I do and it is tragic.

Do I think this is a one way street where an irresistible authority overwhelmed an individual, who even if not helpless and trusting, would have been seduced anyway?  No, I don't.  But that also doesn't mean that this wasn't a case of a vulnerable and trusting person being taken advantage of.

On this point, I'd have to agree with Brad Warner that authority figures only have the power that we agree to let them have.  This opinion is not coming from some sycophantic blogger that can't think on his own; this makes real sense and can't be argued against. 

I have been taught, and verified myself, that Zen is about discovering the illusionary quality of what we hold to be true.  That, like scientists, we should doubt what we observe (or are told) until we're able to confirm it through experimentation and thus experience the truth for ourselves.  It's not about dismissing the objects of the senses, but just not blindly trusting them.  Given these instructions, why would I wholeheartedly and blindly agree with anything a teacher told me without testing it myself?

I want to know where these "masters" are that are said to:

“dwell in the absolute,” or is a lineage holder in “crazy wisdom,” or can raise the kundalini energy, or read our chakras and past lives, or help “burn up” our karma, or is offering to share our wife, husband, girlfriend, or boyfriend so as to assist us in breaking our unfortunate attachments – all of this, of course, to stretch us beyond our parochial notions of right and wrong and bring us to the ultimate attainment enjoyed by the master himself (the master almost invariably being male)

  - cause I'd say "thanks, but I think samsara's a better deal."  Sure some people would fall for this, but surely not enough serious practitioners under him, and especially not his peers or superiors.  To what kind of ridiculously poisonous teachers has the author been exposed?

Sure, tradition expresses such poetic sentiments concerning Zen teachers as "dwelling in the absolute" or "realized masters," but this doesn't make them perfect.  Anyone who has spent any amount of time around a teacher with their minds open will have seen them make a mistake, this doesn't accord with perfection.

These individuals are recognized as having "realized" the true nature of the Dharma, not "actualized" it; they're not assumed to be Buddha.  They're still working on life.  Just because they know all the rules to the game now, doesn't mean they can win.  Because they're recognized by their teachers as knowing the rules, they're allowed to teach them to others, but enlightenment cannot be taught, you have to win it yourself.

We play the game against Mara, and the more we play the better we get.  The Buddha just got so good that Mara couldn't beat him anymore.

So the matter of authority and the legitimacy of Dharma Transmission comes down to one question: Do the rules this teacher is telling me sound like they'd help me win this game against suffering?  We must further explore and inform our answer to this question by asking if it looks like the teacher is, in fact playing by those rules and do they seem to be winning themselves.  Yes, this will take a serious investment of time and effort for us to find out for ourselves.

As the author states "the most important thing we can bring to these inquiries ... is our sincerity and selflessness."  There's where the sincerity comes into play.  If we're serious about getting to the root of it, we must be sincere in our practice.

But we must tie that in with selflessness, if things don't seem right, we should set aside our egocentric opinions and accept our losses, remembering the lessons we've learned and move on. This is where so many get caught up and look the other way, allowing abuse to happen.  If we are sincere about our practice, as in defining what I expect my teacher to teach me as Soto Zen in the lineage of Suzuki Roshi, we would question the teachings if they are not in accord with our ideal.  If the teacher's answer is unsatisfactory, we should go to others with our questions, or at worst, concerns.*

This presents a contradiction to the author's statement implying that American Zen is not democratic, contrasting it with the first pioneers seeking religious freedom.  "Their polity was congregational, where the minister served at the pleasure of the congregants."  We're not enslaved by our teachers.  If I didn't like a teacher, I'd leave, even if it means going without.  If enough people "vote with their feet," the powers that be will question the right for that teacher to be teaching unsupervised.

Are there individuals that have the authority to teach who still struggle with their own practice?  I challenge anyone to show me one who honestly believes that he or she doesn't.   Are there individuals who have the authority to teach who shouldn't?  Show me any organization with teacher student/relationships that doesn't.

To dismiss the tradition of Dharma Transmission for this reason is ridiculous.  In every game there are players who try to play by their own rules, sometimes they even win, but if I may reverse a popular saying, "Hate the player, not the game."  What makes individuals, and even organizations, believe that if they set stricter rules, these rule breakers will follow them, they'll just get sneakier about it.  Why do you think lawyers have such bad reputations?  It's because they know all the rules.

The author also seems to believe that Dharma Transmission is also holding American Zen back, preventing it from speaking to people, or becoming "more than an odd, idiosyncratic subculture."  It speaks to me!  It speaks to countless numbers of American, as well as European and even African practitioners!

What keeps it the way the author views it is that it's misunderstood.  How can you blame the phenomena of Dharma Transmission on this when the average American has no idea what that is and when asked what they think about Zen, they're likely reply is "Isn't that some form of Buddhism... like from Japan?"   What does Dharma Transmission have to do with that?

Yes, it's from Japan.  Yes, we do dress weird and chant funny things in Japanese and sometimes Pali.  We bow to statues have other weird rituals.  But these are forms, and what does the Heart Sutra say about forms?

They're all empty!

The average American is not aware of this beautiful and subtle teaching.  They live in a world where people that do those types of things often take offense when they're told how ridiculous that kind of behavior is and has no basis in reality, while our tradition celebrates that fact and still takes it seriously!

One interpretation of the first Pure Precept, usually read a vow against doing evil, is to embrace and sustain all forms and ceremonies.  I find these two related because evil can be equated with chaos.  While we recognize the emptiness of these forms and ceremonies, to act formlessly would be chaotic, and dissrespective of nature which is both chaotic and harmonious.  We practice these specific forms out of tradition, knowing that it's their purpose of practice that matters not their content.

These traditions include Dharma Transmission which is a form as well.

 Does it really matter if Shakyamuni attained a mind of absolute perfection?  Does it really?  Right here in the moment where we're told to live?

And how could Mahakasyapa have "attained this perfect mind" if there's nothing to attain?

The rationale behind celebrating a "an unbroken chain of such 'mind to mind' transmissions has descended, generation after generation, in a known lineage, down to today’s living dharma heirs" isn't to show how important and pure the teachings have been throughout the ages, it's to show us today how importantly we should consider the business of involving ourselves in that legacy ourselves.  Sure, it's a romantic notion that adds depth and meaning to the tradition, but do I need to debate whether or not some person who lived halfway around the planet 1500 years ago with a name I can't even pronounce, living in a world I can never understand not only realized his own Buddha nature under the guidance of a realized teacher, but was successful in pointing a successor to the same realization?  Does it really impact the veracity and effectiveness of the teaching?

Even if the lineage existed historically and somewhere along the line there are a few spots where Dharma Transmission was incorrectly issued, if someone learns enough of the rules to win, they may figure out some of the others on their own.  What really matters is winning against delusion.

One thing I do agree on, is that author was correct in refusing Dharma Transmission, not for the reasons that would immediately come to mind, though.  I respect him, and he probably deserves it.  I still accept his teachings as valid, and as an experienced Zen practitioner in the same general lineage as myself see it as Zen.

Why do I think it  was the right decision, then?  Because to him it's a prize to be won in an ass-kissing contest, a piece of paper to be held up declaring "listen to me, what I say is true and unquestionable!"  If that's how I viewed it, I wouldn't want it either.  Accepting lineage papers in that mindset, they would be good for nothing more than wiping the Truth of the buddhadharma off the ass that is the ego.

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*To preserve the good name of our ideal, actions to defend it must take place.  If someone says what they're teaching is Zen or Buddhism, and it's not or they're admitting to trying to make it less esoteric or more accessible, then it's not Zen or Buddhism.  I have no problem with the majority of people doing this, they just shouldn't call it what it's not.

The Form and Emptiness of the Teacher/Student Relationship

According to tradition, the "proper" way to become a student of Zen after finding a teacher is to present him or her with a small gift and formally request to be his or her student (I guess "traditionally" it would have only been "him" and "his," but whatever).  Being a sucker for traditions, I couldn't allow myself to proceed any further in my studies, especially as I approach closer to receiving the Precepts, without doing this.  I don't know how far this practice will take me, but I don't want to break with tradition.

So I did this yesterday.

During dokusan, I presented my teacher a small memento of a powerful experience that I had had many years ago and asked to be her student.  I was of course accepted, since this is essentially a formality and I had already been her student for some time.

There is no way of me knowing how common this practice is in my sangha, let alone in the world today.  I consider this practice to be more a cultural thing; a holdover from different times when becoming a student was an absolute thing where the request was akin to signing a lease to live in a monastery.  In today's world people wear many hats and dropping in on a teacher every once in a while is more the accepted practice.  Here in the United States, as Zen is still finding its identity, our American practices do not expect such a formal request.  For many people, even just the need for a teacher isn't all that strong. I wouldn't have known about this formality if I hadn't read about it in some books.  It doesn't really matter to me whether any of my fellow students have done this at all, but I felt it was right for me.

So what's the big deal?  I was already a student, why make the request and present a gift?

The relationship between student and teacher is just as empty as anything else.  This doesn't mean that it doesn't matter, but that it's like a bucket labeled "teacher/student relationship."  It has no fundamental definition.  Until we put our own thoughts and feelings as to what it means to us, the bucket remains empty.  Until now, my bucket held the idea that here was a person dedicated to spreading the Dharma and saving all beings living a vow to help anyone asking for it.  We were fellow travelers on the road and I was being offered advice.

To me the gift represents the idea that this request is more than just a verbal thing.  It shows a higher level of commitment. Time and effort were spent pondering it and I am giving something of myself to this relationship.  The formal request is just as symbolic.  To surrender to the idea of needing help to walk the path is humbling.  To make this request to a teacher is to both admit your own humility but to also acknowledge your worthiness of pursuing the path.  Until we can do both things we will never quite arrive at our destination.

With this formal acceptance, my bucket holds some new ideas.  My actions signal my commitment to the path and that I don't intend to just wander off.  Because of this, a new intimacy exists.  While I still consider my teacher as a fellow traveler, I now fully acknowledge her as one who has "gone before"* and I will wholeheartedly follow her lead.  More than just pointing her finger to the truth for me to see, I have given her my hand so that she may point my own finger. 

Our origins are different so in places the route will be completely different.  Where it's the same, the road may have changed a little since she passed through. While my exact destination may differ, the direction is the same and I am one step closer to getting there.

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*a rough translation of sensei

The Middle Way Isn't Just the Middle

This weekend I was honored to be able to spend a lot of time around Sojun Mel Weitsman Roshi.  I was lucky enough to be asked to help prepare breakfast for him, my teacher, the resident students, and the Ino as well as a couple others the past two mornings.  It was wonderful to be around him and the others in a relaxed setting.

For those of you who don't know, Sojun Roshi is the abbot of the Berkley Zen Center and a treasured student of the famous and influential Shunryu Suzuki Roshi.  He's a very kind and gentle, insightful person who has obviously worked very hard at cultivating himself.

He's also realistic and modest enough to admit to us that while he is a priest, he's also a bad person sometimes, too. "Seriously?" you ask, "how is this possible? He's one of a handful of the most respected Zen teachers in the country if not the world."  Even so, he's still human and his practice continues after all these years just as ours does.

He admitted this as part of his dharma talk on Saturday morning at the Houston Zen Center in which he discussed a deeper dimension of what the "Middle Way" of Buddhism really is.

To begin his talk he brought up the first koan given to students in the Rinzai sect.  As I think I've mentioned before, Soto Zen doesn't use koan the same as Rinzai, but they're still a useful teaching tool that I've recently come to appreciate.

So the koan.  It's actually a pretty popularly known one, known even outside of exclusive Zen circles.

A monk asked Joshu, "Has the dog Buddha nature or not?" Joshu said, "Mu."

 Mu essentially translates as "no." It's not a literal translation, that's closer to "not any."  On another occasion the same monk asked again and Joshu replies in the affirmative.*

It is an accepted Buddhist concept that all beings, sentient or insentient, have Buddha nature so the initial negative answer wasn't what the monk was expecting which is probably why he asked again later.  The truth didn't change even though two opposite answers were given.

The reality or truth, Sojun Roshi said, is the Middle Way. Both answers are correct and neither are correct at the same time.  This is tricky ground because it is the use of dualistic language to explain a non-dualistic concept.  Language by definition is dualistic since each word is defined just as much by what it means as by what it doesn't mean, that's just how it works.  Not every word has an opposite, but each word both includes and excludes meaning.

Before whenever I thought about what makes the Middle Way, I thought it meant the mean between any two extremes, moderation  Everything he said lead me to understand that the truth of the matter is that the Middle Way isn't just the middle, but it's all inclusive.  The answer to the question of whether or not a dog has Buddha nature is yes and no because everything is interconnected, nothing is independent.  To say something is independent implies that it is separate from something else.

So because the dog has Buddha nature it doesn't have Buddha nature.  A tree is no different than a car, they're not exactly the same but they're not separate.  The nature of a tree depends on the nature of the car for its identity.

Sojun Roshi also applied this to truly live life is to walk the Middle Way among birth and death.  Each moment the self we are (as well as the whole universe) dies and is reborn as a new moment takes its place. This reminds me of the image used in Japanese swordsmanship schools of a piece of paper with the character for "life/birth" printed on one side and "death" on the other.  This is to remind us that the spacing that separates survival and death in an attack is the thickness of a piece of paper.  In Zen we live in this space sandwiched between birth and death.  It is not exclusive of birth and death but is neither birth and death.

See how the duality of language makes illuminating the truth so difficult?  Zazen is the practice of sweeping away the structure of definition and duality we've built up over the course of our lives.  There's no way to intellectualize our way to the heart of the matter since each thought we grasp at builds up new layers to hide the truth.  Our true nature is always there it's just waiting for us to settle the dust clouds we've kicked up by labeling and defining every new thing we encounter.  The common image used in Zen is that of the reflection of the moon (perception of the truth) in a pool of water (our minds).  Until we quiet our mind, all we see is the shattered multiplicity of the reflection.  Actively thinking just stirs up the water as we grasp at the reflection.

So everything is the same, without difference: comfort and discomfort, good and bad, right and wrong, you and me, matter and energy, true and false.  You name it (or don't) it's all the same just as much as it's different. 

Why worry about anything, what is there to fear?  You do what you do because it's what you can.  To truly experience the undiluted life, to be free of discontentment, we have to make the effort and investment to shake off our attachment to duality.  Excessive focus on the past, whether fond memories or regrets is leaning into death.  Focus on the future with dreams and worries is leaning into birth.  Neither is bad, we don't live exclusively from them, but we don't live in either of them.  We need to learn from our mistakes in the past and organize the future.  We have to see that our hesitations and fears are the product of our ego struggling to establish itself as perfect (and sometimes unconsciously just as oppositely tragic) .  Let yourself make mistakes, we all do.  Accept them and learn from them.

As we all stumble along our own paths, struggling to walk the Middle Way, we drift to the right and to the left.  Coming back to the middle is no more than an intention to not ignore either extreme, not trying to avoid either. 

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*The previous explanation that I'd always heard didn't include the "yes" response.  Instead "mu" is a non-answer, telling the monk that he's asking the wrong question.  There is no answer because the question is irrelevant.  We can't find the truth by asking questions, it can't be given to us.  We have to find it on our own.  The Buddha found the truth through zazen, there was no one for him to ask questions.  For that reason, we sit.  Questions help us understand what we experience, but there is no new information.

What's So Funny?

As I've been moving things around, both in my apartment and in my head, I of course stumbled across a few things.  In the apartment: my little laughing Buddha statues.  In my head: more thoughts about what's going on with my practice.  The combination has left me with this:

I think Hotei laughs because enlightenment is an inside joke.

I don't get it.  Previously, I didn't care.  If I was going to, so be it, but I was okay not getting it.

That seems to have changed.  While I'm still fine not getting it for now, I'm determined to someday.

On top of that the dharma talk today was all about the Virya Paramita.  Paramita is Sanskrit for "crossing over" and refers to the group of practices that assist us in reaching enlightenment.  The Virya Paramita has to do with enthusiastic perseverance.  It hit home with a lot of people for a lot of different reasons, mine for the reasons listed in my last post.

It's just so weird how that works out.

Doubt

While I don't find it surprising given the number of personal practice blogs I read, it did catch me a little off guard to find myself running into doubt about my practice.  The first real inkling was in my second comment here.  Not too long after posting it, it caused confusion in me.

I don't really not believe in attaining enlightenment, do I?  Have I convinced myself so well that there's no goal or attainment in my practice that I just proceed blindly just because sitting is what I'm supposed to do?

I just started reading John Daido Loori's The Eight Gates of Zen.  It's an interesting read, but a certain passage from his chapter concerning the ten stages of practice really opened my eyes to what was going on.

He uses the Ten Ox Herding Pictures as indicators of the stages of practice, which is more or less what they were intended for. If you're unfamiliar with them here's some wiki info but Jack Daw did a good job summarizing what they mean.  It's basically a metaphor using the ox as our true nature and the process of searching for it, finding it, taming it, and letting it go.

But anyway, I get to the part where he talks about the second stage of practice:

During the early phases of practice, many people are seduced by the exotic trappings of the monastic setting - the robes, incense, sounds of bells, feeling of stillness and awe. This novelty and intensity mark a honeymoon period of practice... 

In the second stage, the student develops great faith, great doubt, and great determination, the three pillars of sound practice... The grasp of the teachings tends to be very intellectual at this point and the whole thrust of practice has to do with taking that intellectual understanding and making it very personal and intimate.

He goes on to use the image of the second picture, that of finding tracks or traces of the ox, to describe how seeing traces, we intellectually perceive the object of our search.

What was most eye opening was the three pillars of sound practice. Until I'd read that I didn't really see what was going on.  I had intellectualized the concept of "no goal" to the point of convincing myself the ox didn't really exist.  How this happened, I don't know.  I hadn't realized I had such faith in what I had learned until doubt showed up, and furthermore hadn't realized I had doubt until the above passage inspired a determination to find out for myself whether or not I believed what I did.

Looking back, there were some signs.   My enthusiasm for my practice hadn't waned, but something was stagnant, I didn't feel I was going anywhere.  Intellectually I knew this was okay, but deep down something still felt absent.  I sat because I felt that was what I was supposed to do, this period was a phase that I was only going to get through if I persevered.

Also, my practice itself came into question.  I'd never counted my breaths, it was just too hard.  I couldn't tell what constituted a thought worthy of starting over or not and my breaths were so long that I had to hold that number for a while to keep thoughts from sneaking in between.  So Dogen's instruction to avoid such practices were somewhat of a relief.  It was far easier to watch the thoughts come and go than to create the thought of counting and holding that track. It seemed to go against the purpose of practice.

But I was starting to doubt that decision as my practice seemed to be more full of thoughts than not.  I was struggling to keep myself in the present. Maybe I had skipped a step in sharpening my focus.

I had been sitting longer at home, but it didn't seem to matter.  Yesterday, sitting at the Zen Center, the second session seemed different though.  Thoughts were still there, but there wasn't as much white noise in the background.  This morning, armed with whatever sprouted in my brain from that passage, my sitting at home was similar.  It felt like it used to as I got about twenty minutes in.

The rest of the section on the second stage discusses how this stage is where the student starts to take the teachings and experiences out of the head  and into life, into actualizing the teachings.  I see this going on with me, but a lot of it still does exist in my mind.  Accidentally I have moments of awareness off the cushion that have a different feeling to them, not good or bad or special just different.  It's almost like the planets of my physical action and my mental action align and I objectively witness an eclipse.  But the action of noticing it, scares it away.

I feel I find myself at the first base camp of my mountain climb of practice.  The walk here has had its difficulties but the view of the mountain has been nice.  At this distance, I see the reality of the climb ahead of me, how serious it is.  I also see the true need for a teacher, a guide who has climbed this mountain before.  My faith was the romantic idea of how wonderful it will be to climb, but now doubt has caused me to rethink it,  "Is it worth it?  Is it really all that they say it is?"  Determination has made its appearance and I'm ready.  I've come this far already, I can't just turn around and forget all that I've seen.

So onward I go.

Dokusan

I had my first dokusan this morning, which you may or may not know is a formal discussion about your practice with your teacher. While that was pretty much about all it was, it was also a lot more.

I've known her now for almost nine months, but today was the first time I'd actually referred to her as "my teacher." It wasn't intentional, it just came out that way. Before it was always by name, or as "the teacher" or "the head teacher", but I guess the intimacy of this meeting changed that.

This wasn't the first time I'd discussed my practice with her so in a way it was comfortable, but the formality combined with the full attention of someone so experienced was intimidating. It was a very powerful lesson to feel myself as the focus of concentrated attention. In a way I could grasp onto the thought that if I practice longer, I too could posses such focus. But to do so would be to stop the mind and fixate on a goal. Instead I find it comforting to just know that it is possible to cultivate. If it happens, it happens.

For now, my practice comes fairly easy. I told her it's become a habit so the hardest part of just doing it is past me. From my experience with Aikido, I know that there may be plateaus in my progress, but my attitude is to accept them, to push through them. Practice is ongoing, I should enjoy the plateaus just as I should enjoy the easy spots for being comfortable and hard spots for what they can teach me. This caused me great difficulty when I tried to define what I considered ups and downs in my practice.

It was a little strange discussing my practice so openly since I usually try not to gush about it to other people who may or may not be interested and/or understand. After I'd left, I realized things I'd wanted to bring up or how I could have articulated something better. There'll be other times though.

I find the most difficult aspect of discussing practice is avoiding dualistic speech, judging and desires for its path. As these things came out, I knew what I was saying. Normally when I make some mistake similar to this and it's pointed out, I feel like I'm being told something I already know. Somehow when she pointed these things out, I still learned something else, something about how I perceived it.

All around it was a very pleasant experience. Sitting has had an observable impact on my life after such a short time. I'm happy to formally have a teacher and enjoy being a member of the sangha. It's nice to have a mirror that functions as both something to reflect what ideas you send out but also reflects similarities as well as setting examples of where practice can lead you.

Enlightenment?

A thought that has struck me as odd concerning "enlightnement" is that the popular view, and from what I can tell, the view among some Buddhist traditions, is that once you have it, you have it. How can this make sense in an ideology that above all else, stresses the impermanence of everything?

I find myself practicing, and I guess following, the Soto lineage of zen which seems to place the least emphasis on the concept of enlightenment. I think the Soto way is the most fundamental bare-bones form of Buddhism in the way that handles concepts like this. In barely feeling comfortable in going over this, keep in mind, this is just how I understand these things right now, and don't consider myself in anyway authoritative.

The main expression of practice is zazen, which is seated meditation. You sit there facing a wall trying not to think. There's no real goal or focus, you just try to keep your mind from latching on to the thoughts that pop up. From all its being called a "natural state," it sure doesn't seem so. The purpose is to stay in the moment and not let our minds wander to thoughts of the past or future. I guess as advanced social creatures, our minds try to use the downtime to build a structure of reality around the present to give us a sense of security.

This sense of security is false, though. We can't revisit the past, and just as our prejudices cloud our view of the present, they further cloud our views of the past every time we recall them. Thoughts of the future are even more dubious because we haven't even seen what will happen. So seeing through this illusion could be called enlightenment, but you have to actually experience it, understanding it as a concept is not enough anymore than understanding that sugar is sweet lets you taste it in its absence.

Letting go of that security is usually referred to as an aspect of Buddhism's "unattachment." The present happens on its own and will never happen like the past again. (Like the metaphor of never being able to put your foot in the same river twice.) So, if practiced honestly, zazen can be seen as enlightenment itself even if thoughts pop up, because you are expressing the impermanence of the moment by letting thoughts go.

Now sitting is not the only time we're supposed to practice this, but it is good exercise in that we minimize distraction to build up our ability to make it easier to find that state when we're most in need like stressful situations.

How can I relate this to food? Well take the metaphor of the perfect meal. Think of the best meal you've ever had. Not just the taste of the food, but everything: the atmosphere, the people (or lack thereof) you enjoyed it with... Did it eclipse all the stress of your day so far, or compliment how wonderful it was going?

Now consider this: it will never happen again. No matter how hard you try, you can't orchestrate all those circumstances again, and even if you could, you would still be hampered by your expectations of how awesome it was the first time.

If we back up a bit, and limit the example to just the food, there's a reason we use the word "best." By definition, it can't be equaled, and to top it would rob it of that quality.

Your favorite food wouldn't stay that way if you ate it all the time, either. So, if enlightenment is the perfect meal, each meal is a moment in time, and we of course want each meal to be the best ever, we can't compare one meal to another. If breakfast was too awesome for words, and lunch doesn't live up to it in comparison, not only will the experience of lunch be tainted, but we'll lose some of the sparkle from breakfast. We might as well not even eat lunch if we're hoping dinner will be better or even compare to breakfast. What happens if breakfast the next day is awful? What will we expect lunch to be like? In the restaurant industry it's said that you're only remembered by someone for the last meal you served them.

Is this making sense? Just as we consume meals, we consume moments. Some moments leave us feeling empty and unsatisfied. Some over stuff us with pleasure until we want to burst. Comparing the present to the past or the future doesn't make sense since we can't re-eat a meal once it's complete or before its prepared. Our only hope of happiness is to consume the present moment without comparison and enjoy it for what it is. That right there is what I've come to understand is enlightenment.

And as far as enlightenment being permanent. We can't eat the same meal forever. Some meals may inspire similar feelings as others, but each time it will still be a different meal. Does this cheapen the meaning of enlightenment? I don't think so. I think it makes it more precious and not so exotic as to seem unattainable.