Taking Refuge: Stepping Back From Our "Parts"

By: Bob Zeglovitch

This past Friday, we continued our exploration of what it means to take refuge. We began with Mingyur Rinpoche’s observation that everyone takes refuge in something, and that this “refuge” may consist of habitual emotional responses or thought patterns. (See the most recent blog post, dated August 4, 2025 for more detail). Mingyur Rinpoche gives as one example anger and a sense of self-righteousness. Such clusters of emotions and thoughts can be deeply ingrained, such that we return to them repeatedly, out of a deep familiarity and/or conditioning. Is there an odd and yet somewhat perverse comfort in returning to such states even when we know that they are not helpful? Or might they be a sort of vestigial part of our psyche, some aspect of which was adaptive and protective for us earlier in life? Because of our repeated return to these states, we suffer from the fundamental delusion that they are identical with our “self”—that they represent who “I am.” In fact, they are impermanent phenomena. Our development and life circumstances may change such that these states occur less frequently (or not at all), or with less intensity, or can be seen as not “I” but instead just like a bit of weather passing through the sky. We can also develop a new relationship with them that allows for greater balance and freedom.

One way of thinking about these clusters of emotion and thought is that they are like autonomous subpersonalities, or “parts.” This is the view taken by the Internal Family Systems (IFS) psychotherapeutic model, developed by Richard Schwartz. These parts may spring from our unconscious and take us over. One aspect of the work in this system is to recognize and befriend these parts, not shunning them but inviting them to relax.

The particular instruction for the beginning of our meditation session was drawn from a talk and guided meditation given by Loch Kelly, a meditation teacher trained in the Tibetan tradition who is also deeply versed in IFS. Everyone was asked to become curious about four possible “parts” that they might recognize as part of their inner landscape. There was no need to believe the IFS model’s assumption that we all have separate sub-personalities. Instead, participants were asked to play with this possibility, perhaps recognizing these parts as inner voices that we may hear, or even just imagining that there might be parts of them that fit the descriptions. The instruction was as follows regardingthese four parts: (1) See if you can notice that part of you that wants to “get it” and “accomplish it”—the good intentioned doer part of you. Thank that part for its hard work and let it know that it can relax, that it will benefit from the meditation but is not needed now; (2) Perhaps there is that part of you that is doubting or dejected, a part that is based in some shame. This is the inner voice that may say: “I’ll never get it, but other people may—or “I’m not good enough or deficient in some way.” Thank this part and let it know that it doesn’t have to “get it.” Invite this part to relax and not to worry—let it know that it can rest and does not need to be involved. (3) See if you can notice that part of you that is the ego-manager, the smart and thinking part. This may be the part of you that thinks it knows something about the dharma and its benefits and the way it works, and feels it must keep checking with thought to know and confirm. Let this part know that it can rest and be a beginner. (4) Perhaps there is a part that may be afraid of letting go, that does not want to be out of control and is worried about entering a void or becoming nobody. You can thank this part of it concern for safety and let it know that you are not being abandoned or going out of control, but exploring a beneficial quality of the mind and that you will be back. Ask this part for a few minutes of space to explore.

The beauty of this instruction at the outset of a meditation session is that it invites mental relaxation in precisely those areas where we might unconsciously be taken over by the energy of one or more of these parts of ourselves. You may sit down and be lost almost immediately. Of course, you might commence your meditation session, relax these various parts, only to have one or more of them surface vigorously mid-session. If that happens, see if you can recognize that this is just a part of yourself and follow the basic instructions of thanking this part and inviting it to relax. Relaxation is an often-overlooked quality to invite in meditation. For more on this subject, click on the “tag” Relaxation at the end of this post, which will take you to related posts. See also the February 11, 2025 entry on the Readings page of this website, for comments by Chan Master Sheng Yen on the importance of relaxation in the practice of Silent Illumination.

After our sitting and walking, we engaged in a structured reflection drawn from Schwartz’s book Introduction to Internal Family Systems. Participants were asked to take a few moments to think about the relationships that they have formed with their different thoughts, emotions, or inner voices. They were then given a list of parts or voices that most people experience and are sometimes concerned about. Participants were asked to reflect, as they heard each item on the list, on how they relate to it—how they feel toward it, what they do or say when they experience it, whether they have exiled it from their life, and how much their relationship with it affects their life. The list of items, abbreviated from Schwartz’s longer list, was as follows:

The inner voice that criticizes your appearance or performance

Anxiety that freezes your mind in high performance situations

The urge to eat or drink too much

Jealous or possessive feelings about your partner

Yearning for intimacy

Worries that flash worst case scenarios in your mind

A nagging sense of worthlessness

The voice that tells you that you are not working hard enough and won’t let you relax

The urge to take care for everyone and neglect yourself

The anger that surges forth when you feel hurt by someone

Loneliness that comes up when you are not distracted or with people

The need to be in control of everything or everyone

The happy or “together” mask that you hide behind

The perfectionist inside you that can’t allow any mistakes or blemishes

Dissatisfaction with your place in life or your achievements

In our discussion immediately following this reflection, we were naturally led back to the topic of taking refuge. One of our sangha members commented that it felt like refuge when he “stepped back” from these voices. His use of the phrase “step back” was uncanny for two reasons. First, it is the precise language that Schwartz uses in relation to IFS work. He comments that “the more you notice—step back from—rather than become or identify with your thoughts and emotions, the more you relax into being the “you” who is not your thoughts and emotions.” Second, we find the notion of “stepping backward” in core Zen and Chan texts. In his Fukanzazengi (Universal Recommendation for Zazen), Dogen tells us we should “learn the backward step that turns your light inwardly to illuminate your self.” The Chinese Chan Master Hongzhi, who is credited with originating the practice of Silent Illumination that is closely related to Zen “just sitting”, instructed: “Just take a backward step and open your grasping hands.” Who is present when we step back from those clusters of thoughts and emotions that we take to be “my” self”, or parts of “my” “self”? What qualities manifest here? Is there a sense of protection here? This points us, I think, in the direction of the refuge of Buddha, our original nature that is always “just there” and yet generally blocked from view.

How does this model of multiplicity of “selves” relate to the Buddhist understanding of “not self”? This is an interesting question that exceeds the scope of this post, but which we will perhaps take on down the road. One thing does seem relatively clear: playing with recognizing and relaxing various inner “parts” or “voices” can only serve to loosen our identification with hardened emotional and thought patterns, and our attachment to this monolithic “I” that causes suffering.

Silent Illumination as Subtle Activity

By: Bob Zeglovitch

Today, we began our Practice Period on Silent Illumination: The Method of No Method at the Root of Soto Zen Practice. This practice—of just sitting without any particular object of meditation and without any sense of moving ourself toward a goal—is subtle. As a result, it can be easy to slide off and to forget the practice—to fall into a sleepy or trance state, to become entangled in and captured by thoughts and emotions, to become confused about our practice, or to reflexively crave particular states of mind and body.

While Silent Illumination practice is subtle, it does involve dynamic and alive activity within the relative stillness of the seated (or other) posture. I’d like to suggest approaching the practice as a verb, or series of verbs. This can help shift us away from becoming attached to particular states of mind (adjectives like calm, peaceful, concentrated, etc.) and remind us that there is a method of sorts within this “no method” practice. We are not without guidance in this empty field with no apparent handholds! Hopefully the following list of verbs will serve as a helpful touchstone from which to begin, teasing out different aspects of the practice. As you play with the practice, there may be times when one or the other of these subtle activities is most prominent, or feels like it needs the most attention. And, in some ways one might say that each of the verbs is encompassed within or expresses the others.

Sitting (or other posture): The beginning, middle and end. Taking our time to establish our posture, to find alignment and resilience. The whole body, expressing itself right now in this position, just as it is, right here in the middle of everything, moment to moment, upright and balanced, relatively still and yet dynamically alive and moving subtly with breath.

Relaxing: Noticing areas of tension and clinging and inviting the body (and mind) to relax its literal grip. Returning and repeating to this as things change and tension and clinging resurface and are known. Nothing to force here—we are not at war with the sensations of our body (see “Allowing” below).

Opening: Expanding awareness to take in body, and mind, and environment. Noticing when we have restricted our awareness to one of those domains and opening up to the others. It is like adjusting a camera lens to wide angle.

Allowing: No objects of our senses, including thoughts or emotions, are prohibited or have to be prevented. Thoughts and emotions will come and need not be resisted. Lay out the welcome mat to the whole works—is there ease in not picking and choosing? This gets to the essence of the practice, which is nonreactivity rather than what particular objects are arising in our awareness.

Investigating: A spirit of direct inquiry, beyond categories, names and analysis. Embodying the question, “what is this?” without expecting or conjuring up an answer. No need to speak the question, although a soft inner voice from time to time to keep the spark lit may help. The Chan master Hongzhi said: “With thoughts clear, sitting silently, wander into the circle of wonder.”

Experiencing: Being fully with whatever is in your mind and body, all the way from the moment it emerges to the moment it fades to nothing. Allowing the texture and particularity of the moment to be felt and known without labelling.

Releasing and Letting Go: The companion to allowing. We don’t have to block things or make them go away, but neither do we have to hang on or become entangled. Releasing and letting go is simply leaving the objects of our awareness to be as they are—dynamically appearing, staying for a while, and then vanishing without our having to do anything. This is the moment to moment enactment of non-craving and non-aversion.

Remembering: As with any practice, when we find ourselves getting lost, we remember that we are practicing this method of no-method, and return to sitting, relaxing, opening, allowing, investigating, experiencing and letting go. The is the functioning of mindfulness.

Over time, as familiarity with the various dimensions of the practice grows, one might collapse the list into fewer words, or even a single word. In Rebecca Li’s Illumination she emphasizes “nonreactivity.” She also quotes her teachers Simon Child and John Crook’s “mantra” of “let through, let be, let go.” One of our sangha members this morning expressed that “allowing” was the essence of the practice for him. Something simple like this can serve as our reminder to return to the “method.”

Aspects of Just Sitting: Relaxation (continued)

By: Bob Zeglovitch

The last post suggested that relaxation is important to just sitting because it allows for ease in the posture, expands the range of what can be known, and avoids a tight approach that can lead to bypassing. While these are all good reasons to relax the body/mind, there is a more fundamental reason: the bodily tension that we create and hold is a manifestation of the grasping that causes suffering.

When there is contact between either the five physical sense organs or the mind (considered a sixth sense in Buddhism), and the corresponding sense object (e.g., eye and sight, mind and thought, etc.), feeling arises. Feeling in this context means the quality of pleasant, unpleasant, or neither pleasant nor unpleasant that is involved in every mind moment. Because of feeling there is craving (desire)—to obtain the pleasant and get rid of the unpleasant. Craving in turn causes grasping (also called clinging).

This grasping expresses itself directly in the body. With repeated observation, you may begin to see the relationship between your grasping and bodily tension. You can feel it in the clenched jaw, tight abdomen, furrowed brow, labored breath, tightness in the chest, etc. Relaxing the body is a gesture of letting go, of non-grasping. After you complete your initial sweep of the body to relax, you can continue to observe where there are increasingly subtle areas of physical tension and holding and then further relax as best you can. Along the way, you can also explore whether there is mental tension that you can relax.

The topic of relaxation relates back to the passage from Gregory Kramer regarding the “human predicament” that Kate Savage shared with us in her blog post on February 16, 2022. Kramer notes: “The body-mind’s sensitivity is the the seedbed of longings and their occasional gratification. The entire organism tenses against the world’s sensory and social onslaught, hungering in vain for stability and settling instead for temporary pleasant stimulation…Pings of pleasure cause a reflexive grasping as we struggle, individually and collectively, to hold on to what we like and avoid what we don’t like.” The tension that arises from our grasping, Kramer observes, forms into a core sense of self, an “I” or a “we” that would be protected and satisfied.”

In my last post, I highlighted the reference to relaxing completely in the 8th Century teaching poem Song of the Grass Roof Hermitage. Upon a closer look at that poem, I’ve found that it contains other references to calm, rest and relaxation (check it out on the chants page of this website). This led me back to Dogen’s Fukanzazengi (also on the chants page), in which he states: “The zazen I speak of is not learning meditation. It is simply the dharma-gate of repose and bliss, the practice-realization of totally culminated enlightenment.” Here is an endorsement for relaxing from the founder of the Soto lineage in Japan, who often presents as a stern taskmaster!

Aspects of Just Sitting: Relaxation!

By: Bob Zeglovitch

I’m getting back to this series of planned posts on “just sitting” after a hiatus due to various demands on my attention. I’ll try to keep these coming a bit more regularly. The last post addressed coming to proper alignment. This post introduces the importance of relaxation.

If you align the body and forget to relax, the resulting tension will make sitting more difficult. This tension will also constrict the range of what can be experienced and known in the body/mind. Will Johnson, in his book The Posture of Meditation, uses the wonderful image of a soldier standing tensely at attention at boot camp to represent what it is like to be aligned without relaxation. The soldier, by bringing tension into the body, lessens awareness of sensations and feelings—and thus becomes more compliant. I find this to be a particularly apt image for our consideration, since we may carry an internal picture of a Zen practitioner as intense, rigid, almost militaristic. This in turn could lead to a conscious or unconscious approach to sitting that is striving, tight and tense.

Some teachers and communities can also foster this kind of rigid practice by overemphasizing outer forms and appearances. I previously practiced in a setting like this, for many years. While I developed concentration and a certain amount of equanimity from this style of practice, there was also considerable physical and emotional pain. This style of practice also contributed to some bypassing of emotional and psychological dimensions, for myself and also others.

While alignment without relaxation is problematic, alignment can help you to relax. If your body is not vertically aligned, you will rely on muscular tension to support yourself against the forces of gravity. This makes relaxation more difficult. With alignment, you can surrender the weight of the body to gravity. This enables you to expend less energy and to let go, without resistance, in the upright container of your body. Relaxation does not mean going slack or becoming a wet noodle. It is not synonymous with laziness.

So you have taken your seat and aligned the body—how to relax from there? You might begin by taking three deep breaths, allowing the exhalation to be longer than the inhalation, and having a sense of letting go of tension in your body with each exhalation. You might also do a modified and very brief body scan. Begin with the face, inviting relaxation and releasing tension in your forehead, the area around your eyes, and your your jaw. Then continue to your neck, your shoulders, your chest, the muscles of your abdomen, your back, your arms, hands, and legs. To take a simpler and more general approach, you could just remind yourself that your posture incorporates a gesture of relaxation, and allow a natural response to this suggestion. The modern Chan Master Sheng Yen also gives this important instruction to relax more than just the body: “Next, relax your attitude and your mood; make sure that your mental attitude, the tone of your approach, and your mood are also at ease.”

Your invitation to the body/mind to relax is not an attempt at controlling an outcome or attaining and maintaining a particular state. You may of course experience tension or holding in your sitting despite your intention. If that is the case, you can renew the invitation to relax and see what unfolds—and above all else be present with whatever is arising.

The classic Zen literature does not frequently refer to relaxation, to the best of my knowledge. There is, however, this wonderful practice instruction from Song of the Grass Roof Hermitage by the Eighth Century A.D. Chinese ancestor Shitou (author of The Harmony of Difference and Equality): “Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely. Open your hands and walk, innocent.” The full text of this poem is on the Chants/Foundational Texts page of this website.