Reflections on Tao/Way/Dharma-Vehicle

By: Armin Baer

I’m writing with some reflections on Bob Zeglovitch’s talk on September 15, a recording of which can be found on the Dharma Talks page of this website.  Bob quoted David Hinton (China Root, Taoism, Ch’an and Original Zen) on the philosophical Taoist meaning of Tao:  “…a generative cosmological process, an ontological pathway by which things come into existence, evolve through their lives, and then go out of existence, only to be transformed and reemerge in a new form.” 

Hearing this again brought back many things I had read in my learning about Taoism years ago and also how much Taoism may have influenced and been a source for the development of Zen in China.  One thing I had been told was that early translators of the Indian Buddhist texts into Chinese had to borrow terms from Taoism to introduce the new concepts.  At first I had assumed that the term “dharma” would use the character for Tao, since both describe an unbounded, universal truth of the nature of things.  But later I learned that the word “dharma” is translated using a different Chinese character meaning “law.”  And the Chinese Buddhists then also used the term “Tao” in its original Taoist meaning, and included it as part of Buddhist concepts, even if it didn’t have a counterpart in the Indian texts.   

So in the version of the Fukanzazengi that we are reading, I am struck by the term in the first paragraph, “dharma-vehicle” used as a synonym for Tao/Way. So what does it mean to say that the Tao/Way is the vehicle for carrying, or perhaps expressing, the Dharma/Law?  In philosophical Taoism, the Tao is not only the cosmological source, it is beyond our knowing and describing, and it is endlessly dynamic, like a river that in which we are ever swept along.  One either flows with it and live/dies/re-emerges in harmony with that movement, or one resists the constant movement and suffers.  Hinton writes that Zen followers were often called “those who flow along with Tao.”  Perhaps as we embrace the Buddha’s instruction on the nature of karma, ignorance and liberation from suffering, we are enabled to stop resisting and begin to live in harmony with the dynamic flow of the Way.

One other reaction I had to Bob’s talk had to do with the contrast that he played with between the Christian idea of original sin and the Dogen’s portrayal of the Way/Tao in Fukanzazengi as “perfect and all-pervading” and “the whole body is far beyond the world’s dust.  Raised in the Roman Catholic faith, I can understand what he was pointing to. 

My thoughts were drawn to a different pair of Christian theological concepts that I think are very apt in this discussion of the Tao: immanence and transcendence.  In Christian monotheism, God the Creator is the sole and boundless source of all that is, and the concept of immanence includes the idea that the Creator’s divine love expresses itself in the existence of everything and everything that is created is not separate from that divine love.  That existence by its very nature might then be called perfect and all-pervading.  Transcendence describes, in part, the impulse of the divine nature that exists in everything that is created to become one with the Creator through the act of existing and at the cessation of existence (return to the divine Source?)  I’m using words here that are probably not theologically accurate in terms of Christian texts, but I believe they roughly express the basic concepts.  If we take the anthropomorphized aspects of the divine out of the Christian concepts, there is some overlap with the Tao as creative source of existence and the cycles of return and transformation.   Ever since I first learned about philosophical Taoism, I’ve been intrigued by the resonances between these ideas.  Of course, there are many and fundamental differences, but how wonderfully rich this all is!  

Fukanzazengi: Thinking is Not Outside of the Way

By: Bob Zeglovitch

On some days when we sit, our minds may be relatively quiet.  On other days, there may be a profusion of thoughts.  The practice of shikantaza calls for us to be fully engaged and awake to both thinking and not thinking, as they present themselves, with our whole body-mind.  The point is to “show up,” awake for what is present. 

If our minds are quiet, we can engage that condition, seeing if we can do that without hanging on to it.  Perhaps we begin to notice a layer of subtle thinking that we could not see previously, or perhaps we taste the awareness from which thoughts emerge.  We may notice the pleasantness of this state and our desire for it to continue, seeing what it is like for it to end. 

If waves of thought come and go, we have the rare opportunity to come face to face, intimately, with thinking “just as it is.”  We spend much of our ordinary waking hours thinking, but most of the time we are truly unaware of our thoughts.  Also, there are many thoughts that we suppress in the midst of ordinary activity.  These may find their way to our awareness when we come to sitting.     

The terrain of thinking is wide and nuanced.  In our shikantaza practice (and the rest of our life), there can be obsessive thoughts, fragmented thoughts, complex ideas, dreamlike thoughts, fanciful thoughts, mean and dark thoughts, imaginative and creative thoughts, compassionate thoughts, greedy thoughts, fearful thoughts, shamelessly self-aggrandizing thoughts, thoughts of images, thoughts of emotion, complex ideations, thoughts of beauty, thoughts of dharma and enlightenment.  Sometimes our thinking may be a long and complex chain that unfolds with seeming deliberation and logic; at other times thoughts can flash in and out of our consciousness with striking rapidity, leaving karmic effects which we may not glimpse.  What a parade!    

If the “way is basically perfect and all-pervading” as Dogen states in the Fukanzazengi, then this parade of thoughts is of course very much a part of the way.  The continuous, moment to moment practice-realization that Dogen outlines does not seek to avoid this territory.  Sitting still, with awareness engaged and relatively stable, we can see delusions, grasping, moments of letting go, moments of hindrance and lack of hindrance, the mind that squirms and tries to escape and the mind that has equanimity.  As we leave thoughts alone, we see their impermanence and their not-self nature.  We see that there is no solid “I” that is creating the thoughts, or at least we can relax the sense of that “I”. 

In Body-and-Mind Study of the Way, a piece that Dogen wrote at about the same time that he wrote the edited version of the Fukanzazengi that we are studying, he makes quite clear that the world of thought is not separate from the enlightened mind.  He says:

 “[t]o study with the mind means to study with various aspects of mind, such as consciousness, emotion, and intellect….There is the thought of enlightenment, bits and pieces of straightforward mind, the mind of the ancient buddhas, everyday mind, the triple world which is one mind.  Sometimes you study the way by casting off the mind.  Sometimes you study the way by taking up the mind.  Either way, study the way with thinking, and study the way with not-thinking.”  

Some Preliminary Thoughts About Thinking and Nonthinking

By: Bob Zeglovitch

In our sangha’s study/practice of the Fukanzazengi, we have reached what may be the key passage: “Think of not-thinking.  How do you think of not-thinking? Non-thinking.  This in itself is the essential art of zazen.”

In a further play on “thinking,” the somewhat enigmatic nature of Dogen’s language makes it clear that we cannot simply “think” our way through this portion of the text.  Instead, it is our task to realize it through practice.  We can, however, perhaps use our thinking to clear away some of the brambles so as to have some appreciation for the starting gate for the practice, or the general nature of the field in which we are playing.  I offer some preliminary and tentative thoughts here.  I use the word “tentative” because this feels like the best attitude to take in response to working with an instruction such as this, in a translated text from another culture and another time.  This attitude can help us remain open to different possibilities, to see complexity and paradox, to keep from getting stuck on an initial conclusion, and to have a spirit of experimentation and flexibility in our practice.  Because the topic has much depth and possibility, I’ll follow with some additional posts. 

I do think it is fair to say that the consensus view of modern teachers and scholars is that Dogen is not telling us to deliberately attempt to cut off all thoughts.  Dogen is not offering instructions aimed at entry into a deep state of concentration where thoughts are not present (referred to in the early Buddhist tradition as a “jhana” state).  There is some evidence from drafts of the Fukanzazengi and from Dogen’s other writings that helps to flesh this out, which I hope to develop in a later post. 

It is also seems clear that Dogen is not advising that we actively engage our thoughts.  We can intuitively see that getting involved in our thoughts or deliberately thinking during zazen is most likely not what he means by “nonthinking.”       

Even if we understand intellectually that stopping our thinking mind is not the point of Zen practice, there still may be a tendency for us to be disappointed, critical of ourselves, or even disregulated by the thoughts that arise during our zazen.  If we tend to encounter a significant amount of thinking in our practice, we may struggle with it and try to get rid of it, thinking that we are “not good at meditation.”  We may report that a peaceful and relatively quiet session was a “good” one and be less charitable toward ourself if there has been considerable thinking during our meditation.  Why is this?  Principally I suspect it is because the quiet mind is generally pleasurable and a relief.  We then mistake this for the goal of our practice.  Dogen is pointing us toward something deeper and more liberating than simply a calm state of mind. 

This can be tricky territory for us, not only because calm states of mind are pleasurable, but also because the practice of just sitting can naturally give rise to states of concentrated quiet calm.  There is nothing wrong with this.  The challenge is to not seek after or become attached to these states--or in a rather subtle and blind fashion to abandon the just sitting practice for something quite different.  I don’t mean to suggest by this that just sitting is the only valid meditation practice or that choosing to engage in specific concentration practices is without merit—but rather that we remain as clear as we can be about whatever it is that we are practicing, and do our best to avoid lapsing into delusion and attachment with our practice.

So what is this practice of nonthinkng?  Different teachers express it differently.  Uchiyama Roshi calls it “opening the hand of thought”, or in other words, letting go of grasping at something with thought.  John Daido Loori tells us to “simply allow everything to be as it is [including thinking].”  Barry Magid says to “let thought just be thought, not something we have to do anything about whatsoever.”  Here are some starting places for our practice.  There are many other expressions.  Scholars have taken very different views on this aspect of Dogen’s teaching. 

I am reminded, as I have been many times, of a teaching line that I have heard from the excellent Insight Meditation teacher Steve Armstrong in numerous retreats: “Everything [that happens in meditation…[and otherwise] is nature.”  The wind brushes against the skin, the bird calls out, the stomach grumbles or the legs ache, and thoughts come and go in all of their variety.  All nature, all natural.  I imagine that Dogen might agree.  We could perhaps see the practice of nonthinking as non-interference, letting nature take its course.  What happens to our thinking then, when we just leave it alone and don’t give it any extra energy?  Letting go of the content, what can be seen about the process of thinking?  What is its nature?  What else may be known beyond our mere intellect?     

Fukanzazengi: No dust, no mirror

By: Bob Zeglovitch

At our session last Friday on the Fukanzazengi, we touched briefly on the following reference from the text: “Indeed, the whole body is far beyond the world’s dust.  Who could believe in a means to brush it clean?”  This is a reference to the legend of Huineng, the Sixth Ancestor in the Ch’an/Zen tradition.  I say “legend” intentionally, as historical scholarship has called into question much about the veracity of this story.  It is best to take it lightly as a statement of fact.  Instead, it highlights different approaches to practice, or ways of expressing the dharma.

According to the legend: Huineng was an illiterate wood cutter in 7th-8th century China who had an awakening experience upon hearing lines from the Diamond Sutra chanted in the marketplace.  He joined a monastery lead by Daman Hongren (the Fifth Ancestor in a lineage descending from Bodhidharma—another legendary figure with shadowy historical origins who is taken as the figure who brought Ch’an/Zen practice from India to China).  Given his lowly status, Huineng was assigned to kitchen work in the monastery. 

Hongren announced a contest to determine his successor, which called for poems to be written to express an understanding of the dharma.  Everyone expected his senior student, Shenxiu, to be chosen as the successor.  Shenxiu wrote the following poem anonymously on the monastery wall, supposedly lacking the courage to present it to Hongren:

The body is the bodhi tree

The mind is like a bright mirror’s stand

At all times we must strive to polish it

And must not let dust collect.

Hongren was not satisfied with the poem and gave Shenxiu another chance, but Shenxiu was unable to compose another verse.  Huineng heard Shenxiu’s verse, learned of the contest, and then spoke his verse to another monk who wrote it down:

Bodhi originally has no tree

The bright mirror has no stand

Fundamentally there is not a single thing

Where could dust arise?

Another version of this poem is:

Bodhi originally has no tree

The mirror has no stand

The Buddha-nature is always clear and pure

Where is there room for dust?

As the legend goes, Hongren recognized Huineng as his successor (after wiping away his poem) and gave him his robe and bowl in secret.  He told Huineng to leave the monastery because the other monks would not accept that a “southern barbarian” had the deeper realization.

In the Ch’an tradition, the two poems became illustrative, respectively, of the so-called “gradual” and “sudden” approaches to enlightenment, or the “Northern” and “Southern” schools.  You can see Dogen pointing to the latter approach and the legend of Huineng in his brief reference in Fukanzazengi.  Shitou, the author of the Harmony of Difference and Equality, is commenting on this from another viewpoint when he states, “The Way has no Northern or Southern ancestors.”  There is much more to say about this legend, its genesis, and its implications, but I’ll leave it at this for now.       

Fukanzazengi: The "Perfect" Way

By: Bob Zeglovitch

Returning again to the first line of the Fukanzazengi, Dogen describes the Way as “perfect and all- pervading.”  How does “perfect” land for you?  There is something about “perfect” that might seem off somehow.  Things often seem less than perfect in our world, both outer and inner.  But of course, the point of this sentence is not that the universe is always arranged just to our liking!  In Maezumi Roshi’s commentary on this sentence, he points out that the Japanese word that means “perfectly pervasive” can also mean “unhindered functioning.”    This has a slightly different feel to it.  Elsewhere, he says the word “perfect” is not quite adequate and suggests adding the word “complete,” as in: “Nothing is lacking; nothing is in excess.  No two things are identical.  Each of us is distinctly different, perfect, and complete.” (Quotes are from On Zen Practice: Body, Breath and Mind, Taizan Maezumi and Bernie Glassman)

I appreciate how Maezumi includes each of us, with all of our flaws and quirks, in the perfect and complete Way.  My take on this phrase is that it expresses how in each moment, the things of the world and our being and experience in the world cannot be other than they are, having been brought about by the karma of innumerable causes and conditions—and that the underlying reality far beyond our understanding is complete.  Of course we can take actions designed to bring about certain different future results, including in the very short term.  But this phrase, for me, reminds me that I am enmeshed in the complexities and mystery of the Tao, that it is good to have humility and perspective about my actions, and that the wise course is often to let things unfold without interference.     

Fukanzazengi: The Way

By: Bob Zeglovitch

Yesterday we examined the first paragraph of the Fukanzazengi, paying particular attention to the term “Way.” The first line of the Fukanzazengi reads: “The Way is basically perfect and all-pervading.” Way is an English translation of Tao. Thus, we can immediately begin to see the connection between Taoism and the Zen tradition that Dogen brought to Japan.

Tao originally meant “way” as in “pathway” or “roadway.” It still has this meaning, and one, somewhat limited but practical understanding of way is the Buddhist path that we are walking along. But, it seems apparent from the first sentence of Fukanzazengi that “way” must be more than this. The Chinese translator/poet David Hinton tells us that Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu, the great Taoist writers, redefined it as a generative cosmological process, an ontological pathWay by which things come into existence, evolve through their lives, and then go out of existence, only to be transformed and reemerge in a new form. In China, practitioners of Ch’an were often called “those who follow Tao”, or more literally, “those who flow along with Tao.” This brings together “pathway”, or practice, and the ultimate reality that is beyond intellectual understanding that Hinton points to as the deeper meaning of the term.

Kaz Tanahashi says, “Tao is a secret of the universe, the ultimate reality, which cannot be expressed, spoken about, understood intellectually; it has to be experienced through practice…”. This non-intellectual experiencing of the Way through practice, of flowing along with the Way, is the essence of the “just sitting” practice expressed in the Fukanzazengi.

Here is a great quote from Maezumi Roshi, providing yet another vantage point on “Way”:

What is the Way?  In technical terms it’s anuttara samyak sambodhi, unsurpassable supreme enlightenment.  This Sanskrit phrase can also be translated as the “Supreme Way”, the “very best Way”, the “unsurpassable Way,” or as “Perfect Wisdom,” which is what enlightenment actually is.  Enlightenment is synonymous with the Way.  The Supreme Way, complete realization, is perfect in itself, by itself.

What is wisdom? What is anuttara samyak sambodhi?  It is our life itself.  We not only have that wisdom, we are constantly using it.  When it’s cold, we put on more clothing.  When it’s hot we take some clothes off.  When hungry, we eat.  When sad, we cry.  Being happy, we laugh.  That’s perfect wisdom.

And this perfect wisdom doesn’t only pertain to humans, but to anyone and everything.  Birds chirp, dogs run, mountains are high, valley’s are low.  It’s all perfect wisdom!  The season’s change, the stars shine in the heavens, its perfect wisdom.  Regardless of whether we realize it or not, we are always in the midst of the Way.  More strictly speaking, we are nothing but the Way itself

This points us toward a central point of Fukanzazengi—that practice and enlightenment are not separate.

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 discover 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.