The Cycle of Life

Saturday morning we had a sejiki, or segaki, ceremony at the Houston Zen Center.  It's a ceremony to give offerings to the gaki or "hungry ghosts" and calm the restless spirits of the recently departed.  In a psychological sense, it gives us the chance to recognize and accept the loss of loved ones.  Traditionally it's held in the summer during the Japanese festival of Obon, but here in the United States it coincides with Halloween and is very similar in spirit to the festivals of Dia de los Muertos.

I was honored to serve as one of two jisha or attendants to the doshi, or the priest performing the ceremony.  There are several resources online that give descriptions of the various ways the ceremony is conducted in different places, but that's not what I intend to write about.

During the ceremony, the doshi reads a statement about the body of the Buddha and the transitional and interdependent natures of all things.  One line that struck me as echoing a belief I've had for a while was

"...the living are living on the dead, the dead live on mostly in the living."

 (as close as I can remember)  This thought has many layers for me.

Initially, to me at least, "the living are living on the dead" has to do with food.  Nothing we eat wasn't alive before, and with very few exceptions is dead when we consume it.  Plant or animal, the living are living on the dead.  This food becomes us physically.  The proteins that make up our muscles, the cholesterol that holds our cells together, the carbohydrates and fats that fuel our metabolic processes.  In this way "the dead live on mostly in the living."

Another way I've always seen this has to do with people who pass living on in their loved ones.  Whether in memory or physically as offspring.  We live off of the dead, or at least those that have come before us, by way of the feats accomplished or lessons taught.  Our civilization is built on top of all the others that came before.

The theme of the Dharma talk that followed the ceremony touched on the fact that in Buddhism, and in Zen especially, the person to person historical lineage that reaches back through time to the historical Buddha is very important.  He discovered something for himself and sanctioned the teaching of those who followed only when he saw what he'd discovered in each of them.  In this way the Dharma has been "transmitted" person to person unbroken for over 2500 years.

For this reason the respect for our ancestors is very important in Zen, not just in the lineage of Dharma transmission, but in everything.*  Despite Zen's focus on the present, our appreciation for our current existence relies not only on the history of humanity, but life on Earth and even the development of the Solar System all the way back to the beginning of the Universe if not earlier.

In this way the cycle of life continues throughout time, uninterrupted with all beings interdependent on one another.  Nothing really ever dies and nothing new is ever really born, but both happen constantly.

So as the season drifts inevitably from the vibrant life of Summer into the cold death of Winter, we should remember that thus is life: ever changing, but always the same.

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*since the Dharma manifests in everything and is presented as an opportunity to learn from anything that we experience.

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Journal entry for this morning:

I've learned the lesson moving to Texas was supposed to teach me today.  As the mind monkeys preformed their show during zazen, they revisited that experience and how I had felt isolated in the moment after realizing my past no longer mattered because my future was gone. 

They teased me with the idea of kensho about this.  There was no great opening when it happened all those years ago so how could that be?  I didn't know the concept at the time so it was just sad.

As they continued their dance, this thought bounced around some more until it collided with the facts that not only am I okay with what happened, I strive to share it with others so that they too may gain the wisdom to accept with equanimity.

At this tears welled up in my eyes, even as I write this the emotion is great.  This is the calling of the bodhisattva, there is no avoiding it now.

As the bell rang to signal the end of zazen, I clasped my hands in gasho to bow but found myself once again moved to tears and slowly bowed twice more in gratitude for this realization.

The Four Bodhisattva Vows have reached critical mass and carved themselves on my heart.  They no longer just live as balloons floating around in my head.  Beings are numberless, I can't help but try my best to save all I can as they come into my life in whatever capacity feels natural. Delusions are inexhaustible, pain and suffering are our greatest teachers because they can't be ignored.  Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them by being present to whatever wisdom shines on me.  Buddha's Way is unsurpassable, it has brought me here, how can I ignore its truth?  I can only become it as it continues to reshape my life.

Everything is different, yet nothing has changed.  I still got off the cushion, showered, shaved and ate breakfast.  Life continues on around me and I engage in it.

Even still, I ask of each moment, "What is this?"

Applied Practice and Samantabhadra Bodhisatva

I learned a new word today: praxis - "the practice and practical side of a profession or field of study, as opposed to the theory"

I stumbled across it while looking up information about a Bodhisattva my teacher pointed me towards this morning.

I recently put together a little altar to sit next to my cushion where I sit.  It's not an altar like worship-before altar, the statues don't represent gods or anything. Altar is just a convenient word to use. The statues represent concepts like mascots and are basically just reminders of those concepts.

It started out as just the little Jizo that I made a while back. (I used directions found here using Sculpy instead of clay)  Eventually I wanted to add to it and ended up with this after making a Shakyamuni statue, then a Manjushri, adding it to a Kannon statue I already had to match the statues in the zendo.  The background is a cloth covered screen with rice paper.

One day I made a connection between the four statues I had and the four Bodhisattva Vows.  

• Beings are numberless, I vow to save them  -> Kannon is the Bodhisattva of compassion
• Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to end them -> Manjushri's sword cuts through delusion
• Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them -> Jizo is the Bodhisattva of travelers and a protector of the Dharma
• Buddha's Way is unsurpassable, I vow to become it -> The Buddha... well, he is the Buddha, it's his way

This last one didn't really sit well with me, but I figured it was just a connection that I'd made and nothing more.

Telling my teacher this this morning, I got through the first three and she asked me about the fourth.  I'd made a valid connection, but the reason the last never fit right is because there was a Bodhisattva I'd missed.

Samantabhadra (in Sanskrit, Fugen in Japanese) was the missing one from the set known as the Four Great Bodhisattva.  Samantabadra is the Bodhisattva of Practice, the missing piece.  In practice we we become the Buddha Way.  How about that?  The four of them are usually depicted seated around the Buddha.

On this page about Fugen it says:

..in Asia, there is a grouping called the Four Great Bodhisattva, with each of the four symbolizing a specific aspect of Buddhism. They are Kannon (compassion), Monju (wisdom), Fugen (praxis), and Jizō (vast patience and salvation from suffering)*

There's that word "praxis." Buddhism is just talk without praxis.  I've experienced that myself over the past ten years.  The practice praxis refers to isn't just sitting, but living the teachings. It is the Buddha's Way. There's no difference in the Buddha's Way between sitting and standing (or walking or lying down...), it's an all the time kind of thing so we vow to become it.

As I've mentioned before, zazen is like exercise.  It loosens us up, stretching and strengthening our "praxis muscles" helping us to manifest the teachings in our daily life.  This isn't a concept I have much trouble with, but it was interesting to have that circle completed for me.


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*or by their Sanskrit names: Avalokitesvara (who the Tibetan Buddhists believe the Dalai Lama to be an incarnation of), Manjushri, Samantabhadra, and Ksitigarbha, respectively

"Yes, but..."

"Yes, but..."

In passing, that's how Sojun Roshi summed up the essence of the Soto tradition.  That's right, in passing.  The man is so full of insight, even his casual remarks open eyes.

But seriously... I don't remember if that was his thought or if he was quoting Suzuki Roshi, but either way he shared it with us.

What does it mean?

To me it is a reminder that we will never know everything.  No experiences we accumulate will ever add up to the total experience of the universe.  We say, "things are this way," and someone else replies, "yes, but.. to me it is like this."  Those two words keep us searching, reminding us that life is dynamic.  What is true in one instance may not be in another, but it does not deny it's veracity.

It also is a call to always try to see the other side, to always play devil's advocate.  In this way we not only try to accept we don't know everything, but also we try to identify with those we view as opposed to us.  We sometimes even see through our differences to see the similarities, giving us common ground to start understanding.  We have to be positive and take the first step forward not harboring our grudge waiting for them to give in.

Both of these push further into the paradox of duality in a non-dual universe.  Once we define something intellectually through dualistic discrimination, we simultaneously define both what it's not and what is not it.  In physics we say a table is solid; we can touch it and our hand will not pass through.  Modern science says, "yes, but.. on a subatomic level the solidity of the table disappears. Atoms are nothing but clouds of energy that have no substance at all."  Light is another wonderful example, it functions as both particle and wave but is neither at the same time.

Any Zen doctrine we talk about relies on the duality of language to distinguish what is apparent truth and what is delusion.  But to believe this truth is separate from what is not true is delusion.  "Yes, that's true, but..."

As my practice has progressed, things have occurred to me that I have wanted to share.  In order for me to receive help in understanding them, I have to be able to communicate them.  But as I try to corral these ideas for my mind to brand with labels, I realize how futile it is.  As soon as I have one idea strapped down, I see it's far more complicated.  My label is empty and only addresses face values.  I know this both intellectually and internally, but I still have to get it out somehow.

In order to clear away our delusion, we first have to examine it thoroughly.  We learn its weaknesses and where it's strong.  We figure out the rules that hold it together.  In this way, the intellectualization is helpful and a necessary crutch.  But we can't get attached to it because the scaffolding we construct to examine the structure is itself adding to the structure, deepening the problem.  We penetrate to what our minds tell us is the truth and our hearts say, "yes, but... there's more."  Only after our minds are satisfied can we commence with the serious business of stilling them.

What makes this uniquely Soto is that in practicing shikantaza, we don't try to harness the mind.  As Uchiyama Roshi proposed, shikantaza is "opening the hand of thought."  We relax, accept and observe.  Rather than grab onto a koan like an ice cube and squeeze until the truth drips through our fingers, we let it sit and melt on its own.  With our mind relaxed the defenses of our ego are down, leaving our hearts open to receive the truth which life may point to whether in the form of a koan, a casual remark, the sound of a drop of water, or a firm slap in the face.

In zazen we watch our thoughts come and go like clouds across the sky.  This is an attempt to really take in the panorama, the big picture.  This is contemplating "vastness/expansiveness" or the character "great/large" that Dogen mentions in the Tenzo Kyokun.  If we allow our minds to be captured by a single thought and dragged along as if we were contemplating what image the shape of a certain cloud reminds us of, we don't see the other clouds, the rest of the universe.

Sitting zazen is practice like practicing a sport, or developing any other skill, but zazen off the cushion is practicing like a doctor practices medicine or a lawyer practices law.  Sitting provides us with the "yes," and life provides the "but.."  The Middle Way exists between the "yes" and the "but," while the affirmation is still true but before the negation establishes discrimination.

This is a tricky path to walk, but so incredibly simple at the same time.  Just as always the only thing that we can do is what we can do, no more is possible and no less is permissible.

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.