Ritual and Zen Practice

By Bob Zeglovitch

Ritual is an important part of Zen practice. We bow, chant, offer the merit of our practice in stylized fashion, ring bells, hit drums and wooden percussion instruments, hold our hands in certain ways at certain times, and walk in concert, among other practices. Why? One short general answer is that Zen ritual brings us into an embodied awareness. There are, however, many dimensions to Zen ritual. It is helpful to understand what qualities of mind and heart we are expressing when we practice these forms, so that we can enter them more fully and meaningfully—and so they feel less foreign or formalistic. The following talks by Norman Fischer of Everyday Zen provide a wonderful exploration of this aspect of Zen practice.

Ritual and Practice, Part 1

Ritual and Practice, Part 2

Ritual and Practice, Part 3

Reflections on a Home Altar

By Bob Zeglovitch

During the pandemic, I’ve found myself drawn to investing more energy in my home altar as a focal point for my formal practice.  Here is a tour, along with some reflections, in the hope that this will spark some contemplation, conversation, and further sharing.

There are a lot of Buddhist items on my altar.  Some are the result of the good fortune that I have had in being able to travel to India and Nepal.  The way I see it, however, the items on the altar are much less important than how you relate to them and how they inform or encourage your practice. 

The Buddha figure is Thai and Theravadan.  I’ve done a good bit of practice in the Theravadan tradition, so this particular style of Buddha honors this thread of my history.  It also of course brings to mind both the inspiration of the historical Buddha and the Buddha nature within to be actualized, moment to moment.  The calligraphy characters, taken together (courtesy of Armin Baier’s translation), mean “moonlight.”  In the Genjokoan, Dogen says that enlightenment is like the moon reflected in the water.  It is encouraging to have this visual representation nearby when I’m meditating. 

Just under the calligraphy are two Bodhi tree leaves from Bodh Gaya, India.  They represent the moment of the Buddha’s enlightenment, and the possibility of liberation in this very life.  They also remind me of pilgrimage, which I did at the traditional sites of the Buddha in northern India and Nepal and which left a deep mark on me.  The traditional Tibetan bell is from Lumbini, Nepal, the Buddha’s birthplace.  The bell is a symbol of wisdom and it is said that its sound calls to mind emptiness.  I’ve done two long meditation retreats in Lumbini in the Theravadan Mahasi Sayadaw/Sayadaw U Pandita lineage—these were eye opening for me, confirmed my commitment to the path, and continue to inform my practice.  This object brings to mind that powerful place for practice. 

At the front left are the Jukai papers that I received from my first Zen teacher, when I took the precepts.  On the cover of the packet is my Zen name, Ryōjun (Precisely Gentle), as well as a verse/koan composed by my teacher that is a meditation and practice instruction (as is my name).  I find it helpful to return to these instructions again and again.  The packet contains a handwritten lineage of the various Zen ancestors stretching from my Jukai teacher all the way back to the Buddha (some of the transmissions may be mythical but most are real)—a connection with the generations of teachers and students who have made the practice possible for me and countless others.  This evokes gratitude for all of that incalculable human effort and steadfastness and wisdom and compassion.  Since I received the precepts a long time ago, the packet also serves as a symbol of my own persistence in the practice.          

Two items are reminders of spiritual friendship.  The small white object in front of the candle was given to me by one of my closest dharma friends—it is an o-fuda, a talisman that brings good luck or wards off bad influences.  The talisman was given to him at a Japanese monastery after a chanting ceremony in the esoteric Buddhist Shingon tradition of Kobo Daishi, while he was on a walking pilgrimage.  The small bodhisattva statute behind the Jukai packet was given to me by Ava as thanks for my part in helping to put together her wellness ceremony last year.  These objects reflect interconnectedness, generosity and support.  They gladden my heart, reminding me that I’m not alone on the path.

The last item is a traditional Japanese Zen tea bowl made by a highly skilled potter.  It is a beautiful object, but it has a place on the altar principally because it symbolizes the mutuality of freely giving and receiving.  The artist was my client and we agreed to barter his creations for my legal services.  At the beginning of each meeting, he presented me with a carefully wrapped package, bearing a surprise offering—this became our own temporary ritual.  He gave me a number of lovely pieces.  I had no idea of the “market value” of what he gave me or how it compared to my hourly rate.  It was liberating not to care or think about that.  I reflect now on the fact that the mutual giving and receiving that we enacted (the memory of which is still very much alive for me)—was and is priceless.

To me, the altar contains elements of Buddha, Dharma and Sangha.  It is a web of symbols infused with meaning, creating opportunities for inspiration, reflection and spiritual imagination. 

Energy (“viriya” in Pali), is one of the seven factors of awakening.  I’ve been finding recently that the altar’s mere presence is a reminder to practice and therefore a boost for my viriya.  Sometimes it draws me to the cushion, for shorter or longer periods.  Sometimes it just causes me to be a bit more aware.  Of course, there are also many moments where I look right past it, consumed by whatever I might be in the grip of.

 I suppose there is a “danger” here of piling on to the usual habitual project of attaching to self, by holding on to some created identity or set of narratives.  On the other hand, there is a kind of hollowness and sterility in pretending that there is no self and that there are no stories or associations that can inspire and deepen our practice.  We can follow that “middle way,” in which we honor our narrative, our set of unique interconnectedness with others and the world around us, and those objects that evoke in us gratitude, persistence, generosity, love and emerging wisdom.    

Do you have an altar with objects and stories about them?  How do you use it in your practice and what meaning does it hold for you?  If you don’t have an altar, what might it be like to create something that serves you in this way?  It does not have to contain “Buddhist” objects, of course—it could include anything that serves the beneficial purposes of promoting your wise attention, opening your heart, encouraging your practice, or bringing healing moments.  You might start very simply, perhaps with one or two items of beauty or that carry personal meaning.  And for all of us, this can be a continually evolving creative expression, one that can change with the shifting circumstances and emerging meaning in our lives. 

If the word “altar” is a barrier because of various cultural associations or personal reactions, remember that it is just a name and that you can choose another one that suits you better.  The idea is simply to have a focal point for your awareness, dedication, and reflection.  If you find that this practice of form does not speak to you at present, you might instead simply consider the space where you meditate in a more general sense.  Is it well cared for and free of clutter, so as to skillfully condition the mind that meditates there?  Does it inspire you to practice?  Is it or can it become a place of personal ritual?  What steps can you take to make that happen?  It would be wonderful to see images of your personal focal points of practice and to hear the stories associated with them—whether created years ago or yesterday. 

Don Juan told Carlos Castaneda that the one question to ask about the path is whether it is one with a heart (see the Readings page on this site).  Perhaps your altar can be a form that helps you uncover and deepen the heart of your path.            

Spring Practice Period, 2021: Yasodhara's Path

By Ava Stanton

I’m excited to announce our upcoming Practice Period, which we are calling Yasodhara’s Path. Among other things, we will be talking about form and ritual in our daily lives, and about creating space to bring body and mind together in practice. Above is a picture of my home altar. Here is a more detailed description of the plan for the Practice Period:

Just Show Up Zen Sangha’s Spring 2021 Practice Period: Yasodhara’s Path

Just Show Up Zen Sangha will be holding a Practice Period from February 5 to May 1, 2021.  In our Soto Zen tradition, a practice period is a time that a sangha dedicates to deepen its practice.  This period is approximately three months long, in remembrance of the rainy season retreats that the Buddha held with his sangha. 

The title of the practice period, Yasodhara’s Path, is a reference to the path of the Buddha’s wife.  She is often referred to as “The One Who Stayed” because she was left behind after the Prince Siddhartha went on his quest for enlightenment.  While volumes of sutras were written about the Buddha’s path, we know nothing about Yasodhara’s life.  Her path, like ours, is the unrecorded path of the householder.  We can imagine what challenges she faced under the circumstances of her life, but they remain a mystery.   We also have these private moments, these moments of mystery.  Can we stay with them?  How do we relate to those seemingly mundane moments—making our bed, pulling on clothes, washing the dishes, grooming ourselves – can we be “The One Who Stays”? 

The focus of this practice period will be practicing Zen at home during the pandemic in the intimate  and mundane moments of our lives. How can we use the relative isolation caused by the pandemic to look more deeply at bringing our practice home? 

The First Month

The first month of the practice period will be an open exploration of bringing practice home through the rituals of your everyday life.  We will ask you to explore having a space that is your formal practice space.  It can be a place you use for other things; the essential quality is that it has this sacred purpose noted as well.

Forms and rituals make a container for the emptiness, the non-dual aspect of practice.  We will focus on the meaning and place of ritual in our lives.  What is meant by ritual and what are the purposes of ritual?  Do we have existing rituals?  Can we bring new meaning to them? Can we develop new rituals, either by incorporating or adapting existing Zen forms or by creating our own?  Are there other ways that we can realize the home as a sacred space of practice? We will take this time to encourage you to explore a ritual (or rituals) you choose, or an area of your life you choose that you’d like to bring awareness to. 

We hope this will lead to uncovering the challenges and opportunities that are manifesting with kindness, curiosity, experimentation.  This inquiry and learning are essential to making a practice your own.  Throughout the practice period, we will try to stay attentive to our experience in relationships with others in our household, or with ourselves if we are alone.   If you live with other people, Is there an activity you might like to invite your partner or family to engage in with you, like the ritual of setting the table for dinner?

The Second Month

In the second month, we will invite you to experience your rituals as practice over time.  What do you learn as they become habitual?  How do we stick with a ritual we are irritated about, or when we are overcome by feeling?  Can we challenge ourselves not to comply but to come fully in to the moment?  Simple ritual can be the container for transformation, for healing.  As a sangha, we will continue practicing together the rituals of bowing, walking, chanting and sitting together.

The Third Month

The third month will focus on the body.  As lay people, we interact with the world in complex ways involving our bodies.  We are gendered,  perhaps sexually active or sexually aroused or aware.   We make efforts to look a certain way, or appear in different roles (like working at home).  We consume and make choices about what we buy, what we eat, how we use vehicles,  heat and water.  We notice changes in our bodies as we are confined by COVID or as we are sick or aging. Focusing our practice in this very body, we can ground our practice and take it out of theory and talk. As the Buddha said, "within this fathom-long body and mind is found all of the teachings." 

Structure

The practice period will begin with our regular Friday morning session on February 5th at 7:30 am to 8:45 am (Pacific Time).  We’ll then have a half day retreat on February 6 from 8 am to 1:00 pm.  The core of the practice period will be our Friday morning sessions, although participants are encouraged to also attend our regular Monday morning sits from 7:30 am to 8:00 am.  We will conclude with a full day retreat on May 1.  There will be sitting and walking, dharma talks, individual meetings with the teacher, Ava Stanton and with the teacher’s assistant, Bob Zeglovitch, as well as dyads and group discussion.  We’ll each make our own commitments for practice during the period, taking into account both our aspirations for deepening our practice and our recognition of the limits and responsibilities of our lives.

Contact me at ava@insightla.org if you would like the Zoom link or if you have questions about the practice period.  Also, please drop me a line if you plan to participate, so we can plan accordingly.   

Yasodhara's Path, The One Who Stayed

By Ava Stanton

Amid losses that bewilder our counting and our hearts, and without an end date certain, we know that the pandemic will end, and we hope the institutions of democracy hold.  Yet for now, we are in a moment of deep uncertainty.

Like you, I am constrained by quarantine.  In our own ways, each of us is constrained, tripped up by conditions we assumed and used to count on. I wonder, what is sacred in my forced retreat from the world?  What practice offers itself to me? How from my position of privilege (I can work at home) do I support the world?

While the Buddha has been my source of inspiration for many years, it’s now his wife, Yasodhara, with whom I feel a deep kinship.

 She was a single mother left with her in-laws after the Buddha departed on his quest, and other than that, we know nothing. There is no sutra, not a word.  This is a first way I feel invited into her mystery.   What word actually captures your experience, or mine?  Isn’t the utter silence of Yasodhara the perfect complement to the thousands of pages of words the Buddha is reported to have spoken?

 I can guess: She parented, most likely failing and succeeding in meeting her young son’s need for reassurance.  She sorted her possessions.  She managed her relations with her in-laws. She looked in a mirror. Perhaps she lived through a plague. She has been called “The One Who Stayed.”  These private moments – we have them too. Can we stay with them?  How can these be our field of practice?

 How about the practice of looking in the mirror?  Here’s another way I look for Yasodhara.  What courage does it take to stay with the moment, not excluding or being controlled by our memories and embodied reactions to our face in the mirror? What is alive and unknowable about this moment?  How do we find our footing when we lose the moment to shame, to pride, to fear?  Didn’t she do this too?

 Making my bed, pulling on clothes, pulling myself from my computer, moments that feel private and unseen – can I be “The One Who Stays”?   These practices feel the most real to me as I face an unknowable future. 

 I know I need a spiritual community, as well as guidance and encouragement from teachers on the path. Then there are the ways to know my own private moments through an unfolding present. In this effort that I make on my own, I feel the mystery of Yasodhara’s silence, her breathing in and out.  Without words, with the pain or lack of resolution of the moment.  This is the unrecorded path of the house-holder. 

 May we join her in this ever-present.  May we stay with the tasks at hand:  our democracy, the end of white violence, taking action for the climate, or those whose lives are destroyed by COVID and it’s consequences, our in-breath and out-breath.  Let’s stay without a sutra, in the privacy of this moment.

Ava