Encountering Fukanzazengi

By: Bob Zeglovitch

Today we began our exploration of Dogen’s Fukanzazengi (Principles of Seated Meditation). As evidenced by our discussion today, some of this “meditation manual” leaps off the page as clear as a bell, across the centuries and the ocean. However, this is a 13th century text from Japan, which incorporates various references and bits of teachings on meditation from hundreds of prior years of Ch’an Buddhist tradition in China. Many of the references are cryptic and need to be deciphered according to an ancient culture and lore that is unfamiliar to us. The Ch’an tradition itself is a product of cultural contact and transformation—the meeting of Indian Buddhism and Taoism in China. To make matters even more complex, we are working in the field of a translated text, which necessarily carries with it the potential for different meanings and misunderstandings.

While one could certainly be forgiven for asking why we should make the effort to penetrate the writings of a medieval Japanese monk, so far from our culture and time, here are just a few reasons to consider. First, this short writing is a distillation of a wisdom tradition that has been passed on from teacher to student for well over a thousand years. There is a good chance that there is something precious to discover here. Second, like with any work of philosophy or great literature, we are required to return again and again to the text, to become accustomed to new concepts, to uncover layers of meaning, to let it sink into our bones and become part of our lived experience. Third, encountering teachings from another culture and another time holds the possibility of illuminating ways of being and understanding that have previously been inaccessible to us given our cultural conditioning and blind spots.

Ultimately we are involved not only in reading a translated text, but also in a process of embodied cultural translation as we practice the Buddhist teachings with others in our own culture. While we may decide that it is important to realize as best we can the actual meaning of Dogen’s teaching and practice, invariably it will in practice be something a bit different. The evolution of human wisdom, and the Buddhist tradition, did not stop in the 13th century. We might ask what sources in our American cultural and spiritual tradition resonate with this teaching, elaborate it, make it more directly meaningful to us and others. If we are Vipassana practitioners, or sometimes practice the mindfulness teachings, how might that practice complement or inform this "just sitting” style? Lastly (only for now), what might our Western psychological tradition have to offer?

Yesterday I came across this passage from the writing of Paul Shepard, a provocative thinker and human ecologist, which seems pertinent to the project of cultural translation:

“Not only the genome and ecosystem but human culture, genetically framed and socially created, is also an integrated and lively conglomerate. Specific art, tools, and beliefs are sometimes gained or lost, moving from culture to culture, carried by people or shared by neighbors. Trailing bits of the context they arrive rough-edged and isolated, but are eventually assimilated as part of the whole. Genetic systems, ecosystems, and cultures are mosaics that share a common mobility. Genes pass from parent to offspring. Life forms move within and between natural communities by their own power or are carried by other organisms, wind and water. Cultural elements are borrowed or transported by the migrations of peoples.”

I hope that this study and practice of Fukanzazengi is enlivening and opens up new horizons of practice-enlightenment for you.

Playing with the Hindrances

By: Bob Zeglovitch

During our recent sessions, we have suggested the incorporation of a sense of play in our dharma practice. In Deep Play, Diane Ackerman states that “as a reservoir of deep play, games, sports, religion and art have much in common, and may even be interchangeable.” At our last session, I read the following quote from the Dutch cultural historian Johan Huizinga’s book Homo Ludens:

Play. It is an activity which proceeds within certain limits of time and space, in a visible order, according to rules freely accepted, and outside the sphere of necessity or material utility. The play-mood is one of rapture and enthusiasm, and is sacred or festive in accordance with the occasion. A feeling of exaltation and tension accompanies the action.

This reminds me of meditation practice. We sit down in a certain place for a certain time period, for no particular utility, and of our own choice. There is a certain order to what we are doing, in that we have a “practice” or set of rules that we choose to accept for the duration of our session (although we may promptly find ourselves deviating from those “rules”!). There is a sacredness to our efforts, and while we may not always experience rapture or exaltation, that is certainly one possibility.

If we take our meditation and broader dharma practice too seriously, we can become dry and pretentious. This drains our energy and joy rather than serving as a wellspring for enthusiasm, curiosity and happiness. What might happen if we were to regularly approach our formal practice (and the rest of our life) with a spirit of play? Play calls forth freedom, responsiveness, creativity, vitality, alertness, and joy. Perhaps we might take some risks, try new approaches, and be creative with practices both old and new to us. We might not be so concerned about “failing” and be willing to allow ourselves to become unstuck from habitual patterns. It seems to me that this is a particularly helpful attitude to try out when it comes to meeting the hindrances, as they can have a heavy and somewhat oppressive quality.

There will certainly be times when play may not seem available, or even appropriate. We face serious difficulties in life and in practice. But, even in challenging times we can check to see if there is an opportunity to play.

Tsoknyi Rinpoche, a prominent modern Tibetan Buddhist teacher, gave this beautiful response to a question about how playfulness influences his practice and how it offers a way out of the trappings of the self:

Nature is very playful. In nature, everything is playing: trees, wind, mountains. But reification makes everything frozen. When we’re in this frozen state, then we can’t laugh at ourselves. There’s no humor. Meditation helps us cultivate a sense of openness so that we become less frozen and less fixed in our sense of self. Then we can let everything come and go. Everything—thoughts, emotions, phenomena, beautiful monsters—arises from openness, and then dissolves. When we observe this, humor is the natural response.

When his questioner noted the practice is nevertheless very serious, Tsoknyi Rinpoche responded: “It’s serious, but that doesn’t mean we need to take it so seriously. We need a light touch. With a light touch we can learn to let go. And that’s how we find freedom and liberation. That’s how we break free from samsara.” (Tricycle, Winter 2022)

Some Ways to Consider Buddha

By: Bob Zeglovitch

At our Rohatsu sesshin last Saturday, we recited the Shakyamuni section from the Transmission of Light by Keizan Jokin, the “second founder” of Soto Zen in Japan.  I made some short comments about some different ways we might consider the story of the Buddha and his awakening—as myth or archetype; as the journey of an actual historical figure (where what little details can be conjured up vary from the myths); as a stand-in for the collective energy and striving of many dedicated practitioners; and as a pointer to our own potential and/or actual true nature.  Any of these may serve to inspire us, depending on our orientation. 

The above list just scratches the surface of how we can consider Buddha, and what Buddha has meant over time. In my comments I mentioned an interesting article by the Buddhist scholar Bernard Faure titled “The Myth of the Historical Buddha.”  You can read the article here (hopefully!).  Faure was interviewed on Tricycle’s podcast, and I highly recommend giving the conversation a listen here (he has a distinct French accent so you have to listen carefully; the article covers much of the same information but the conversation is worth the effort, in my view).  Among other things, he argues that the power of the Buddha is found in the various myths and stories about him, rather than in the stripped down historicized versions that seek to make him a “scientific” philosopher Buddha.  Faure draws attention to the fact that the myth of the Buddha has been constructed in different ways over time and in different cultural contexts, and that this process continues. He has recently published a new book titled The Thousand and One Lives of the Buddha, which covers this terrain in detail.   

Vow: Continuous Practice

By: Bob Zeglovitch

At our retreat this past Saturday, we continued our investigation of vow with the help of some passages from Dogen’s Gyoji (“Continuous Practice”). This is the longest fascicle in Dogen’s great work Shobogenzo. In it, he recounts the various ways in which dharma ancestors from Shakyamuni Buddha forward manifested continuous practice.

Here are some quotes that give a flavor of Gyoji. While the expression “continuous practice” could strike one as daunting, I think that instead what emerges from Dogen’s language is a sense of practice that is natural and imbued with ease.

“On the great road of buddhas and ancestors there is always unsurpassable practice, continuous and sustained.  It forms the circle of the way and is never cut off.  Between aspiration, practice, enlightenment, and nirvana, there is not a moment’s gap; continuous practice is the circle of the way.”

“As a result, the practice is not done by forcing oneself to do it and it is not done by being forced to do it by someone else: it is a ceaseless practice that is never tainted by forcing.  The merits from this ceaseless practice sustain us and sustain others.”

“The underlying principle of this practice is that the whole universe in all ten directions receives the merit of our ceaseless practice.  Though others may not recognize it, though we may not recognize it ourselves, still, it is so.”

“If we wish to grasp what ceaseless practice is, we should not make a special case out of every new thing that comes along.”

Bowing Practice and Vow

By: Ava Stanton

We are in the first half of our spring practice period, Living By Vow in Daily Life.   For this period, as much as I can, I have a daily practice of bowing.  Bowing is a great fit for me, for my personality, my weaknesses, for the encouragement of my practice.  Bowing is a good expression of Vow for me.

I try to be intimate with my weaknesses.  That is essential for a bodhisattva practice, wouldn’t you say?   I tend to space out, so a moving, embodied practice is great for me.  I do well with a beginning, middle and end (of what?), like a kid.  I can engage with my discomfort, irritability and malaise when I bow.  When there is peacefulness, I can offer it up, when I remember it is a gift, not a personal achievement.  Bowing reminds me, in a “can do” kind of way, that my job is to turn toward, turn toward, “approaching (myself) with peaceful and attentive confidence.” (Meditation on Metta)

When I am finished bowing, I can see the part of me that wants to check things off a list, to “be done,” with kindness. At least I bowed today!  The part of me that wants to engage, that wants order – I honor those needs in this practice.  At the same time, here I am, a body moving, acknowledging the infinite awesome mystery, as I touch my forehead to the floor, and bow to it. Here, in this repeated gesture, part of something I will never understand, expressing gratitude in the face of the unknowable.

Katagiri Roshi’s poem on Vow starts:

Being told that it’s impossible,

One believes, in despair, “Is it so?”

Being told that it is possible,

One believes, in excitement, “That’s right.”

But whichever is chosen,

It does not fit one’s heart neatly.

Practicing with a vow allows us to not fall into self-criticism, despair, or self-aggrandizement, and to be kindly with this endless “not fitting.”  He ends:

Just practice right here, now

And achieve continuity

Endlessly

Forever.

This is living in vow.

Herein is one’s peaceful life found.

Staying curious, practicing turning toward yourself with kindness, trying again – bodhicitta can arise and make peace with this endless not fitting. 

I once met a nun, a Sister of St. Joseph of Carondelet, who was experiencing a second diagnosis of cancer and treatment.  She told the support group, “I am saved.  That doesn’t mean I am safe.”   When we surrender “I” and substitute awareness that is not-knowing, we can perhaps glimpse what she meant. I don’t hear Catholic doctrine or belief, I hear Vow or bodhicitta or faith in action.

What practice are you choosing to help you bring Vow into your daily life?

Aspects of Just Sitting: Hands

By: Bob Zeglovitch

What do you do with your hands when you are just sitting? In the Soto Zen style of sitting, the hands are held in a very particular way. Suzuki Roshi describes this in Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind:

Your hands should form the “cosmic mudra.” If you put your left hand on top of your right, middle joints of your middle fingers together, and touch your thumbs lightly together (as if you held a piece of paper between them), your hands will make a beautiful oval. You should keep this universal mudra with great care, as if you were holding something very precious in your hand. Your hands should be held against your body, with your thumbs at about the height of your navel. Hold your arms freely and easily, and slightly away from your body, as if you held an egg under each arm without breaking it.

If you are new to this style of sitting, these instructions about what to do with your hands might seem unimportant, a bit fussy, or even esoteric. That is understandable, but I suggest that you give it a try and stick with it for a while. There is utility in holding your hands in this manner. You can get a sense from Suzuki Roshi’s instruction of the quality of mind (great care) that is being expressed directly by the cosmic mudra. Also, the hands are not separate from the mind—they function as a barometer for the mind’s condition. If you find that your hands are pressing tightly against each other, or that you are holding them up rigidly, it is an indicator that you are perhaps striving too hard in your meditation or otherwise grasping and clinging. You can relax a bit and ease up on the mudra to find that quality of “great care” again. If you find that your mudra has collapsed, such that the “beautiful oval” is no longer present, you are probably drifting off in hazy thoughts or becoming sleepy. You can adjust by finding the mudra again with some precision, and seeing how the mind wakes up accordingly.

If your hands are resting in your lap, the oval will likely be centered around the hara (soft belly and lower abdomen), which is considered the seat of the body’s physical and energetic power in Asian medical traditions and many Western mind/body therapeutic systems. This helps to serve as an embodied reminder to to rest your consciousness in this place, grounding yourself and getting out of your head. You may need to experiment a bit with where your hands rest naturally, so that you can maintain the mudra with some ease while also allowing your shoulders and arms to be relaxed.

Bodhicitta

By: Bob Zeglovitch and Ava Stanton

We are in the second week of our Spring 2022 Practice Period on the Four Great Vows—Living By Vow in Daily Life. The Four Great Vows are a succinct expression of the Bodhisattva path. This morning, we discussed bodhicitta (enlightening mind or awakening mind)—the fundamental intention or quality which the Four Great Vows express. Buddhist teacher Ken McLeod states that bodhicitta is the intention to awaken to life in order to help others awaken to life. Today we touched on several different ways of understanding bodhicitta—seeing it is a seed present at the very beginning of our practice, as something profound and precious that arises mysteriously and auspiciously and without fabrication in the course of our practice over a long stretch of time, and as a quality that we can cultivate.

On the Readings page of this blog, we have posted excellent quotes from McLeod, Taigen Dan Leighton, and Norman Fischer that provide further perspective on this fundamental aspect of Zen practice. We quoted them in whole or in part this morning—they are relatively short and worthy of reading and reflection. Bodhicitta is a deep and complex topic and we will return to it next week and have some more material posted on the readings page at that time. Our remarks on this topic from this morning’s session can be listened to on the Dharma Talks page of this website.

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.

The Human Predicament

By Kate Savage

Here is a quote from Gregory Kramer’s book A Whole Life Path: A Lay Buddhist’s Guide to Crafting a Dhamma-Infused Life that I used in my talk on the precept against misusing sexuality. The recording of my talk on November 5, 2021 can be found on the Dharma Talks page of this website.

The Human Predicament 

You and I are so sensitive.  Virtual clouds of nerves wrapped in skin, we are drawn to or repelled by every touch.  The slightest changes of light trigger responses in the eyes; the slightest changes of air pressure alert the ears to the unexpected. Molecules from afar touch the nose; those nearby touch the tongue.  Electrochemical changes in the brain register as thoughts that touch the mind.  And when what contacts our senses is perceived as another person, neural and hormonal processes that evolved with the brain itself activate. All these things are happening right now, as you read these words.

Your sensitivities and mine are meeting right here.

This is how we meet the whole world.  Placed in an environment in constant change, we organisms seek air, food, safety, and the comfort of others.  Affection and loneliness, competition and fear, anger and isolation join the sharp and soft touches of the material world.  But that world is out of our control.  Hungers drive us, but we can’t have what we want.  The fragility of the body assures a constant flow of pleasure and pain, injury and illness, aging and loss.  We feel belonging and isolation, protected and traumatized.  This sensitive life culminates in our own death and the death of those we love.

The body-mind’s sensitivity is 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.  We interweave with others to satisfy cravings and enhance protection; relationships and groups also become loci of action.  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.

This tension forms into a core sense of self, an “I” or a “we” that would be protected and satisfied.  The self’s appetite keeps us off balance as it clings to one thing (or person or group) and then another.  Gripped by its project of satisfaction and becoming, the body-mind is blind to the fact that its suffering is self-inflicted.

There are no moments, no events, no interactions, no relationships that do not affect the body-mind.  Every thought and action, here and now, combines with all we have done and said to determine the direction and tenor of our individual lives and society as a whole.  Learning, memory, and family and cultural conditioning collude to form how we perceive the world.  There is no moment when we, as individuals and as a society, are not navigating the body-mind’s responses to the world, because every moment conditions the next.

The question is, how are we navigating these responses?  If we choose to let wisdom guide us, our responses are intentional and our movement through this life is conscious.  If we choose to ignore our power to learn, our responses are habitual, and our movement through life is unconscious.  Depending upon which choice we make, there is suffering or there is peace;  there is cruelty or harmlessness.

The Precept on Intoxicants

By Sarah Breckenridge:

I’d like to share some thoughts about my work during our recent practice period with the precept on refraining from intoxicants. I like the way that this precept is described by Reb Anderson in his book Being Upright:

The precept of not intoxicating the mind or body of self or others is for all of us who have difficulty remaining upright in the midst of our suffering. It encourages us to trust being upright, instead of using intoxicants, as the best way to deal with our restlessness, anxiety, and pain. In the turbulence of our changing lives, with their waves of pain and pleasure, it is difficult to be quiet and still. But as Dogen says, “Here is the place; here the way unfolds.” Without any tampering or manipulations of what is happening, the way of freedom from suffering unfolds here.

The word upright reminds me of a metaphor shared by my former Zen teacher Darlene Cohen.  She described our practice as somewhat like having a staff as we cross a stream with rapid current.  We use it to plant in the stream bed, amidst the swirling waters, offering something to lean against, and to keep steady while going on, moving it step by step to create steadiness for crossing through the turbulence.  I think using an intoxicant, whether it’s actually a mind altering substance or a habit that takes us away from being fully aware of what’s going on inside or outside of us, is like sitting on the bank and not entering the stream, or like entering the stream without the staff, likely to lose our footing.  In my life, the bigger challenge for me is to break the habit of sitting on the bank, avoiding the things that are new or intimidating, unpleasant or scary.  Working with this precept was a very helpful and hopeful practice.  I did try to enter the stream and use the staff of my intention and awareness and to enter some new territory.  It wasn’t as difficult as imagined.

I had a thought about the practice of intentional focus yesterday as I was doing my morning routine in the bathroom. I thought of something really simple, the color red, and then noticed the red things in my bathroom.  There were only three visible, but when I really looked at them with extra attention, they were more vibrantly red, and I felt that sensation of omg, how can red be so wondrous and beautiful.   Very strange, like looking at a painting.

So I thought I would work with the other precepts, and see what I can discover, going one at a time.  It won’t be as simple as looking at red things, but I expect it will be a good way to start the new year.  Here is where I’m beginning in January:

  Life is not to kill.

  Let the buddha seed grow

  and succeed to the life of wisdom

  of the buddha taking no life.

  Life is not killed.

  —Dogen, Essay on Teaching and Conferring the Precepts 

Aspects of Just Sitting: Finding Alignment in Your Sitting Posture

By Bob Zeglovitch

In Soto Zen meditation, we place considerable emphasis on the details of posture. Think of this as helpful rather than fussy! In Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, Suzuki Roshi commented: “These forms are not the means of obtaining the right state of mind. To take this posture is itself to have the right state of mind. There is no need to obtain some special state of mind.”

Playing close attention to your posture helps you to not be lost “in your head.” Zen meditation is not “what you think” (in more ways than one!). Instead, it is an integrated expression of body/mind. Suzuki Roshi captures this as follows: “Our body and mind are not two and not one. If you think your body and mind are two, that is wrong; if you think that they are one, that is also wrong. Our body and mind are both two and one. We usually think that if something is not one, it is more than one; if it is singular, it is plural. But in actual experience, our life is not only plural, but also singular.”

Where you sit—whether on a chair or in the various ways that one can sit on a meditation cushion or bench—does not matter. What is important is the proper alignment of your body. If you are not well-aligned, extra effort will be required to maintain your seated posture. You will be fighting against gravity and tension and holding will arise. This will cause pain and discomfort in the body as well as agitation in the mind. Here are some basic keys to proper alignment in your sitting posture:

• The pelvis should be elevated higher than the knees. This enables the pelvis to tilt forward slightly, which in turn places the upper body so that it can rest directly above or even a bit in front of the sitting bones of the pelvis. If you are on a chair, you may have to put some kind of pillow or cushion on the seat in order to elevate your pelvis. If you are on a cushion this will be natural, although you may need to experiment with the height of your cushion to find the right angle for your body and to have your knees resting on the flat cushion (zabuton).

• If you are on a chair, avoid sitting with your back resting against the back of the chair if you are able. Instead, come forward on the seat of the chair a bit and allow your spine to be supported by your upright posture. If you need some support, try putting a small pillow or bolster at your lower back and then keep the rest of your back off the chair back. If your feet do not reach the floor, rest them on a cushion or small bench that is the right height.

• Locate your sits bones at the base of your pelvis. You may want to reach down and find them with your hands. Feel yourself planted firmly on your cushion or chair on your sits bones. This is your foundation.

• Sit upright, without leaning right or left or forward or backward. Let your spine settle into its natural S-curve. Find this upright and straight position by rocking your body left and right, and forward and backward, in gradually smaller movements, until you land at your center point.

• Arrange your body so that your pelvis, belly and lower back, chest and upper back, neck and head are stacked vertically, like a set of building blocks. Imagine that your head is suspended from the ceiling by a string that is connected to the top of your skull. Tilt your chin down just a bit to elongate the spine at the back of your neck. Pay particular attention to resting your head at the top of your neck so that it is not tilting forward or backward. Your head weighs about 12 pounds—but if it is tilted forward it can add up to 30 pounds of abnormal leverage on the cervical spine. This can pull the entire spine out of alignment, and can also result in a significant reduction in vital lung capacity.

• Relax your shoulders, imagining that the back of your shoulder blades are dropping into your back pockets. Lift and open your chest a bit, without straining.

Each time you take your seat to meditate, attend to these basic principles of alignment deliberately and with care. You are taking your seat and sitting in a dignified posture, like the Buddha. During your meditation, you can remain aware of your alignment and make subtle corrections from time to time as appropriate. Over time, you will begin to notice that your body and your mind are, as Suzuki Roshi observed, not two and yet not one.

Additional Resources:

I cannot recommend highly enough a slim volume called The Posture of Meditation: A Practical Manual for Meditators of All Traditions, by Will Johnson. I wish I had discovered this book decades ago. Johnson is an experienced meditator with training in various Buddhist traditions and a practitioner of Rolfing, so he is intimately familiar with the structure of the human body. The next couple of blog posts will be drawn from his work.

For a wonderful discussion of how just sitting, or zazen, is different from other forms of meditation because it emphasizes the holistic body/mind instead of a psychological process that seems to occur in the head, see the article “Zazen is Not the Same as Meditation” by Rev. Issho Fujita. Reverend Fujita was the Resident Teacher of the Pioneer Valley Zendo in western Massachusetts for many years. I’ve also included an excerpt from the article on the Readings page of the Just Show Up website.

Aspects of Just Sitting: Wholehearted Practice

By Bob Zeglovitch

The spirit of practicing wholeheartedly is central to "just sitting" meditation. This spirit also applies to our entire life.  In the words of Dogen, "It is not a matter of being smart or dull, well-learned or foolish, but that when one practices wholeheartedly to find the Way, that is nothing but the accomplishment of the Way."  I find these words to be encouraging.  You don't have to measure up to a standard of perfection or to have an idea of accomplishing something in your meditation. Return, again and again, and do your best to fully engage with your practice.  Maezumi Roshi, the founder of the Los Angeles Zen Center, commented that practicing wholeheartedly means, "to become one with whatever you do."  How do you do this in your meditation?  Throw your whole self--body, mind, heart and soul--into the practice of just sitting.  Do this without reservation and as an expression of your life, just as it is.  Sit with urgency but without expectations.  Dogen captures this sense in the Fukanzazengi: "You have gained the pivotal opportunity of human form. Do not waste your time in vain. You are maintaining the essential workings of the Buddha way."

There will be times when you feel depleted or distracted and cannot give one hundred percent of yourself to the practice.  In a talk I listened to recently by Norman Fischer on Dogen's Bendowa (Talk on Wholehearted Practice of the Way), he said that on those occasions where you can only give a quarter of a half of your heart, then that is okay--you should do that wholeheartedly, while being aware that you are aiming for full wholeheartedness even if you cannot martial it.  This is further encouragement.  Do the maximum that your circumstances permit.  Then do your best to avoid judging yourself when you feel that your meditation is somehow “not good enough.”

Note: This post includes links to the referenced talk and texts.

Aspects of Just Sitting: Clarity About Your Practice

By Bob Zeglovitch

When you sit down to meditate, are you clear about what you will be practicing?  This essential detail is very easy to overlook, even for very experienced meditators.  Through habit, inattention, confusion, or doubt, you can find yourself on your meditation seat without really knowing what you are about.  Is your intention to follow the breath, to count the breath, to practice some form of vipassana (there are many varieties, many objects of awareness to be mindful of), to engage in concentration practice, to practice metta, or to engage in just sitting?  If you don’t have a clear sense of what your practice is before each session, then you will likely wind up practicing some form of confusion!  It will be more probable that you will drift off, fall asleep, or hop from object to object of awareness

These blog entries are about the specific practice of just sitting.  The point here is not to elevate one style over another (another practice may be more suitable for you)—but instead to emphasize the importance of being clear about what you happen to be practicing.  If you take up or experiment with just sitting, you can remind yourself before you sit that this is what you intend to practice. You can also play with intentionally placing a particular aspect of just sitting “in the foreground.” You may discovery that it is helpful to begin a session of just sitting with a few minutes of “settling” (e.g., breath counting or following the breath) — another thing to be clear about at the outset of a session.  You’ll then know what to return to when you wander off during meditation.  If a teacher asks you what your practice is, you will be prepared to answer the question. You’ll be developing your practice with purpose. 

The Precept on Giving Freely

By Armin Baier

In working with the Second Precept, “I vow not to steal,” I was moved by contemporary reframings of this vow that challenge me in ways I had not considered.  One of the most poignant to me was the discussion of this precept in Diane Eshin Rizzetto’s book, Waking Up to What You Do: A Zen Practice for Meeting Every Situation with Intelligence and Compassion.  She reframes the precept this way: I take up the way of taking only what is freely given and giving freely of all that I can.  I this way, she allows us to understand that giving is an essential part of the vow   I have come to see that this makes sense to me in practice.

As I was preparing to give a dharma talk on the precept, a cartoon in the New Yorker showed up in my phone strikingly on point. The cartoon depicts two young gentlemen who seem well-heeled and enjoying their lives of trendy leisure.  One man is saying with apparent astonishment to the other, “So you’re saying that just a little bit of giving will distract from the relentless taking?” 

Even if I don’t share too much in common with these characters,  I know there is a distinction I can make every day between giving freely and giving with conditions, giving in order to get something, or to justify my taking.  As I practice with this precept, I am increasingly aware that my truly giving freely to others has a distinct feel to it, an opening of myself.   My giving to others, doing for others, loses a kind of weight it would have if I do it only from obligation or with resentment.  It has a Zazen aspect to it:  Instead of angrily washing the dishes my husband left in the sink, I’m just doing the dishes.  I’m not even necessarily giving this to him as a gift in that moment, I’m just “giving freely.”

The ability to make that shift isn’t constant.  Sometimes it feels like the last thing I’m willing to do.  But it is also informed by another way of experiencing this moment of giving. There is a slogan in the Alanon 12-Step program that has new meaning for me:  Give Time Time.  Time doesn’t have to be just a scarce commodity that I can’t get enough of.  I can also give my attention to time, be with what is in time.  If I am rushing to take my dog outside in the few minutes between work sessions, I can notice my rushing and shift to just being with my dog, outside, for that couple of minutes.  That is a form of giving freely that I had never noticed in that way before.

Aspects of Just Sitting: Introduction

By Bob Zeglovitch

I’ve begun working with some of the members of our sangha who are newer to Zen, giving some guidance on traditional Soto Zen meditation practice.  In connection with this effort, I’m going to write a series of posts to capture some of the unique elements of this style.  I’m hoping these posts will be of interest to others as well.  My goal is to highlight one aspect of the practice in each post, although it may turn out that certain aspects deserve more than one post.  I’ll do my best to keep the posts relatively short.  This practice is subtle and deep. I don’t pretend that my entries will be fully comprehensive or an “authoritative word” on the matter!  This posting is an introduction--I’ll move into the details of the practice in future entries. 

There are many varieties of Buddhist meditation.  It is perhaps an obvious point but it is worth saying anyway--they are not all the same practice!  The core meditation practice in Soto Zen is shikantaza, or “just sitting.”  This is sometimes referred to as a “methodless method.”  The classic Zen texts on just sitting contain much commentary, with a lot of beautiful poetic language, but not too much detail on how the practice should be done.  This is likely purposeful, because just sitting is not a step-by-step practice where you “get better.”  You might say that it is more direct, more “immediate”.  You are not concentrating or focusing on a particular object of your awareness, blocking out thoughts or the “outside world”, working with images, or reflecting on anything.  You are not engaging in thinking (and yet thoughts may come and go).  You are not trying to make anything happen or go away.  But you are not indifferent or drifting off.  You are “just sitting” with vital awareness of the totality of the ever unfolding present moment, together with the universe. 

Of course, most of us come to meditation for a reason, trying to improve or to get something for ourselves.  Our current cultural milieu supports this—I’m thinking in particular of the mindfulness movement and its emphasis on the clinical benefits of meditation.  And we invariably want to know, “am I doing it right?”  So the practice of just sitting presents us with some challenges and requires a major shift in perspective.  Further, while this is not a goal oriented practice, we take care to avoid complacency or an attitude of “anything goes.”  

For starters, you might just allow yourself to be curious about what it means to “just sit”.  In Dogen’s seminal text Fukanzazengi (Universal Instructions for Zazen), he states: “This zazen [meditation] I speak of is not learning meditation.  It is simply the dharma-gate of repose and bliss, the practice-realization of totally culminated enlightenment.”  Can you allow yourself to sit like this right now, without trying to figure the meaning out or trying to achieve anything and regardless of what feelings of deficiency or lack you may have?  Going forward we’ll try to flesh this out a bit. The complete text of Fukanzazengi is found on the Chants/Foundational Texts page of this website.  

A historical note:  The founder of the Soto lineage in Japan (referred to as Caodong in China, where it originated) was Eihei Dogen (1200-1253).  Dogen’s great awakening, realized while practicing just sitting, took place in China, where he was studying under Tiantong Rujing (1163-1228).  Another key figure in the lineage is Hongzhi Zhengue (1091-1157), a prior abbott at Rujing’s temple.  Hongzhi taught the practice of “silent illumination”, which is essentially another name for shikantaza/just sitting.  The just sitting practice has roots that go way back in the tradition of Chan (Zen) Buddhism in China.  Elements can be found in the writings of the eighth-century Chinese master Shitou Xiqiang (700-790) (the author of the Harmony of Difference and Equality) and his successor, Yaoshan Weiyan (745-820).  (The text of the Harmony of Difference and Equality is found on the Chants/Foundational Texts page of this website). And the origins go back even further.  We may return to some of these masters and their writing in future posts.

The Precept on Not Killing

By Susan Suntree

Here are some excerpts from my recent talk on the Precept of Not Killing.

Long ago I vowed to follow my root teacher, Robert Aitken's model of carrying out the cockroach, which I attempt to emulate even as I falter. And if I do not "carry it out," I consciously make a decision to kill. And to express appreciation for the life I've taken.

***

Not Killing is a vow taken by we humans who, with every heartbeat, every cell division, every act of digestion, are in constant motion and evolution as is the very nature of our cosmos. Not killing is impossible. Breathing, walking, drinking water all kill some life form.  Even so, that fact does not alter my responsibility to avoid dishing out suffering. And killing causes suffering. Old Man cockroach runs like crazy to find safety from me. The plants send chemical signals to warn of invading insects or other blights. Life is hell bent on Living!

This precept is appropriately placed at the top of the list because it cautions against inflicting suffering by my taking what is not offered, my giving or withholding my words, treasure, ideas, my body to others in ways that generate suffering. Yet suffering is the First Noble Truth. There is no escaping being implicated in receiving or offering suffering. Suffering is not personal. And so we turn toward the Precepts for guidance, though how to enact them is not defined.

What is a killing:  Is abortion killing? Yes, no, maybe. Is self-defense killing acceptable? Yes, no, maybe. Is there a "Good" War? Are forms of agriculture like intense use of pesticides and monoculture, clear cutting, mining especially open pit mining, fossil fuel extraction, factory fishing and farming -- killing? Does my pension's portfolio in these kinds of actions make me a killer?

Should I be vegan or vegetarian? In my research, the question of what to eat came up more than any other. Not killing human beings seems to be widely accepted (though what about the fact that over 50% of my Federal taxes go toward war, not to speak of the billions in fossil fuel subsidies Thus we are all implicated in killing ourselves and every other being!). In my research of the First Precept, I found many approaches to eating or not eating animals. For example: One should eat whatever is placed in your alms bowl, whatever is served, whatever is killed though not specifically killed for you. Don't eat exotic species, organ meat etc.

***

There is no life without death and no death without life. We are all food. Eating is a sacrament; we eat and are eaten as part of the great web of life. Perhaps the point of the vow Not To Kill is to urge me to intimately understand this.

It seems to me that the foundational teaching of Not Killing, and all of the precepts we have considered, is to deeply cultivate the practice of kindness. Thich Nhat Hanh named his version of the precept of not killing “Reverence for Life”:

Aware of the suffering caused by the destruction of life, I vow to cultivate compassion and learn ways to protect lives of people, animals, plants and minerals. I am determined not to kill, not to let others kill, and not to condone any killing in the world, my thinking, and in my way of life.

The False Speech Precept

By: Bob Zeglovitch

In our Practice Period on the precepts, we have been encouraged to consider writing the precepts in a way that reflects how we are working with them. My formulation of the precept on not speaking falsely is:

I vow to avoid deception of myself and others, through body, speech and thought. I vow to cultivate humility so that I do not rashly proclaim what I take to be truth, without proper reflection and care and without listening to other viewpoints that might help me better understand the truth of the situation. I vow to cultivate the courage to speak the truth as clearly and kindly as I can and to recognize when I am holding back out of fear.

Zen Celery

By Kate Savage

The majority of my meditation practice has been in the insight tradition. I have a beloved mentor now, (Ava Louise Stanton) who is a Soto Zen lay entrusted teacher, and so I've joined her sangha for a three-month practice period. The Soto Zen lineage is unfamiliar to me and the different form has been uncomfortable at times. This has forced the issue of the "don't-know mind," not just as a concept, but as a lived experience. I'm aware that Zen form is just a form, and it exists independent of me and my reactions to it, and so there is much to learn. It has also allowed me the opportunity to examine some of my fixed views around meditation practice, how compassion is expressed in different traditions, and what refuge feels like to different folks. I've had moments of intense aversion, and also I've also had some interesting revelations around my biases about formal and informal practice. 

During this practice period, we practitioners have been encouraged to choose a mundane life task to practice as a daily ritual. As I already make fresh celery juice to drink every day, I chose the multi-step process of washing and cutting celery, juicing the celery, and then cleaning the juicer.

In our small sangha, we've discussed pace and persistence - slowing down and staying with the chosen daily task in order to learn about ritual, habit, the speedy mind and missed opportunities. I was grateful to connect with the confidence my long-time meditation practice has given me to hang with whatever arises. I've started bowing to the celery and to the juicer each day, sometimes with a little smile or chuckle. It brings gravitas and joy to the task.

I've been pondering: what is the balance between contrivance and what comes naturally? Although bowing and chanting may feel like a contrivance to me right now, I imagine after time it becomes natural. Is it possible to move from awkward contrivance to natural state without the ritual then becoming a mindless habit? This is where Right Intention and Right Action come into play with Right Mindfulness.

I slowly started seeing how my celery practice spilled over into other areas of daily life. How obvious! How beautifully simple! It's not a new concept, continuity of practice, and I've experienced it often on retreat, but I've noticed more fully how this intentional, body-based practice is making a more seamless bridge to daily life. For instance, I seem to take more pauses throughout my day to connect with my breath. Without consciously trying, I realize that I've "formalized" the practice of lying in bed after first waking in the morning with my hands resting on my body for several minutes before I arise. Or driving, I'll suddenly notice my hands gripping the steering wheel and then allow them to soften. All of this IS practice.

I'm aware that I have still have a bias for formal sitting practice as "real" practice, and while it's still my main and most valuable practice (I definitely drop into deeper states of relaxed concentration), it's certainly not the only way.

Liminal Moments

By Armin Baier

I am aware more and more these days that my mind wants to turn everything into a task, a list of things I do or will do or have to get done. So I pay attention to these task moments and I lose awareness of everything in between: walking from room to room, dressing, even eating or drinking, and falling asleep. Bob Zeglovitch brought this beautiful Zen essay to my attention, and it speaks powerfully to me about these in-between experiences, liminal moments of my life that I live but to which I am not fully alive. The author is David Rynick, a Zen teacher and writer at the Boundless Way Temple in Worcester, MA. His website and blog can be found at https://davidrynick.com.

1. It snowed all day yesterday. Not in a serious kind of way, but more as if point were atmospheric rather than accumulative. Maybe three or four inches of the fluffiest crystals landed around the Temple. Not a lot by Worcester standards. Still it was pretty and enough to have to do something about. The gasoline driven environmental polluter snow blowers which have saved my back and given me hours to sit inside instead of shoveling endlessly came out occasionally, but a couple quick passes with a snow shovel worked as well for most of the clean-up.

As this morning dawns, trees are laden and streets are white. It’s a lovely sight, this monochrome coating. As if some child was charged with whitewashing the world but only managed to get the topsides of things before she lost interest and moved onto something else. Vertical surfaces, tree trunks and sides of houses are their natural color while roofs and branch tops and sidewalks are all fluffy white.

2. I woke early this morning without much feeling. I always check, first thing, when I’m just beginning to know I am me, to see how I am doing. ‘What is the state of the Dave?’ as a friend of mine likes to inquire. I begin with bodily sensations, then go on to emotions and thoughts. It’s a fuzzy process as there is no specific moment when I’m asleep and then suddenly become awake. Some hazy process lies in between—a place where the snow of sleep is not deep or restricting but is still everywhere to be muddled and waded through before arriving definitively in the land of consensual reality.

3. The in-between places, the boundary places, the liminal places are the most interesting. And since nothing is really fixed or permanent, life is, essentially, only and always in-between. Though the words I use imply clear (and useful) distinctions, my actual experience is much more fluid, borderless and inclusive.

Awake is a state. Asleep is a state. Then there is the vast expanse of waking up and falling asleep. Even within awake and asleep, there are infinite variations. A friend has a watch that charts her sleep. She can read out the story of her night on her computer screen the next morning as a line of peaks and valleys with some plateaus along the way. I would suspect any measure of ‘awake’ would also have to include the sluggishness of the late afternoon and the arousals of various events and times of the day.

4. In the book HOW EMOTIONS ARE MADE, Lisa Feldman Barrett makes a compelling case for emotions as complex constructions rather than fixed responses in regions of the brain that are triggered by outside events. Things don’t happen and ‘make us’ feel a certain way. We experience emotions based on the concepts and words we have learned. We interpret the signals we are receiving from the various parts of our body and make creative guesses about what it is and how we should respond. In order to appreciate the subtlety and variation of our emotions lives, Ms. Barrett encourages expanding our awareness of the particularity of our moment-to-moment experience, learning new words that describe specific emotional states, and even making up words that describe specific new states.

5. This morning, as I lay awake in my warm bed on a cold winter morning, I wasn’t particularly tired nor particularly anything at all as far as I could tell. I was just slightly reluctant to get out of bed even though I was looking forward to a quiet morning of writing, sipping tea and looking out the window at the new fallen snow.

I have decided that this feeling of slight to moderate disinclination to get out of bed should be called an instance of beddrag. (Pronounced as a combination of bed and drag with the emphasis on the first syllable.) Beddrag is the feeling of reluctance to exit the warm comfort of the horizontal life of dreaming and enter into the vertical exertions of daily life. It doesn’t refer to the dread of facing life again or the exhaustion that sometimes accompanies morning, but just that almost sweet disinclination to change state. Perhaps one might even experience some beddrag after reading a good book in a comfortable chair and then having to get up to get on with life.

Exploring with this new concept, we might even begin to distinguish different versions of beddrag based on the temperature in the room, whether one is sleeping in flannel or regular sheets, whether one sleeps alone or with a four-legged or two-legged partner(s). A whole new universe opens up with one word.

6. The morning light has fully arrived. Snow and icicles decorate the neighborhood. It’s quiet and cozy here on the couch looking out through the windows. I’ll just enjoy a few more moments of beddrag before I get up to go out to clear the front steps.