The Illusion Of Security

In a previous post on the difference between happiness and contentment, I noted that chasing after 'happiness' can lead to a deluded mindstate that creates suffering rather than happiness. This is because the human condition includes suffering. As a result, happiness cannot be maintained as a permanent state of being. We should appreciate happiness when we have it, but clinging to happiness is doomed to failure.

Permanent happiness is not the only illusion which can ensnare us into deluded thinking. Another is the mirage of 'security'. As with happiness, the desire for security is essentially natural and healthy. The problem occurs when we attempt to maintain security as a permanent condition. In other words, when we try to pretend that suffering and uncertainty are not as natural to the human condition as are happiness and security.

While clinging to happiness leads us to chase our tails and stress out, grasping after security leads us to become pawns of fear. We will fear losing security due to not having enough money, terrorist attacks, being lonely, or any number of threats. A deluded mindset driven by fear takes hold. Fear drives how we look at life, prioritize, and make decisions. By clinging to security, we permanently lose it. We end up in a paranoid state of mind, looking for and fending off every potential threat. We are reduced to a basket case always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

As you can guess the ultimate root of this suffering we create arises from no longer being in the moment. Instead of engaging with what is happening right now (good or bad), we focus on some idealized state of security in our imagination and then we compulsively compare our present situation against it. We spend our energy making plans and taking actions to avoid losing our sense of security. This often involves worrying about things that are not true threats or are unlikely to happen. We live in a world of what might be as opposed to what it.

This is an absurd mindset because, in truth, we never are truly safe and secure. No matter what we do, our lives can always be derailed by the suffering innate to human existence. We contract diseases, people we love die, friends move away, we lose jobs, etc. Even at the most fundamental level, we cannot be truly secure. No one ever expects to be in a car accident, a plane crash, or struck by lightning. However, in an instant, any one of these events could disrupt, irrevocably change, or even end our lives.

This may seem like a very depressing way to view the world! But it isn't. It is depressing only if we have a mindset that clings to security. In contrast, if we accept that we are vulnerable to suffering, then we can exist in the present moment and not fear potential threats. Yes, I could be hit by a car tomorrow...but I could also win the lottery. I could contract and die of cancer by Spring...or I could live to be 120. I might walk into work tomorrow and be fired...or I may be offered a promotion. Since anything is possible, it is foolish to spend time worrying about (or celebrating) any of these possibilities. The present moment is all that is real.

Of course, this outlook doesn't mean we should not work towards our own security, pass measures to fight terrorism, drive safely to avoid accidents, etc. It only means that we accept there are limitations to how much we can do to fend off these threats. This enables us to exist in a dangerous world and act in sensible ways to protect ourselves and those we love. Most importantly, it allows us to draw lines we should not cross or set aside things we should not sacrifice in order to provide an illusion of security.

The benefit of such in the moment thinking is that when uncertainty or insecurity inevitably come our way we will react to them calmly, from a place of sense and strength. This will allow us the possibility of remaining content even while we suffer and, in some cases, make our suffering of a shorter duration. We also will have the ability to be happy in life, rather than constantly looking over our shoulder for threats and problems that might happen. In other words, serenity.

A Disciplined Mindstate in Everyday Life

One of the biggest challenges many Zen Buddhists face is to maintain the disciplined mindstate we achieve during zazen in everyday life. Despite our best intentions, life’s barrage of deadlines, multitasking, pet peeves, fire drills, curve balls, petty conflicts, and bottlenecks seem calculated to drag us into a reactive, deluded mentality. This, despite the fact that we know such a mentality leads to our own suffering.

Everyday life can seem like a minefield to our centered state of mind. The cat vomits all over the carpet when I’m already late for work. The idiot ahead of me is driving at ten miles per hour under the speed limit. It’s raining, and I forgot my umbrella. And the typical office environment? Wall-to-wall bear traps! The distance between how we act in everyday life and the centered mindstate we achieve in zazen can make a trip to Pluto look inconsequential!

It’s so difficult to carry a disciplined mindstate into day-to-day life that some people believe the only way to reach one’s full potential as a Zen Buddhist is to abandon everyday life and take up a monastic existence. While this is probably true to at least some extent, it’s also true that everyday life cannot be completely hostile to a centered mindstate. If it were, then Zen Buddhism would have no practical value.

Therefore, no matter how annoying our day has been, we need to accept that the problem in bringing a proper mindstate into everyday life is not what we encounter in everyday life. The problem is that we tend to ignore our training during day-to-day living and, by deactivating the wisdom we need to discipline our minds, doom ourselves to unnecessary suffering.

"Zen Logo" by vargux

So how do we activate - or perhaps more accurately - hold onto the wisdom we gain from Zen Buddhism so as to benefit from it during daily life? I’ve found that doing so requires: 1) developing an instinctive sense of when we’re slipping from a disciplined mindstate, and 2) the ability to instantly reactivate a centered mindstate. While this is not as easy as it sounds, everything we need to develop these two skills is available to us via zazen.

Of course, the rest of this post assumes you engage in zazen on a regular basis and have done so for a relatively long period of time. A few sessions of sitting or visiting a zendo once a month is not going to give you a command of these skills to most effectively resist the undertows of everyday life. In addition, my thoughts here are only what I have personally found to be true. This is not a how-to guide, because there are few (if any) how-to guides in Zen Buddhism. It may not even be right for you. So with these disclaimers made...

First, how can one develop an instinctive sense of when we’re slipping from a disciplined mindstate? Through regular zazen practice. During zazen, we slowly learn what a centered mentality ‘feels’ like. Let me clarify. In early stages of training, we associate the ‘feel’ of right-mindedness with actual feelings: relaxation, serenity, compassion, etc. However, in Zen Buddhism, these feelings are only side effects of a disciplined mindstate, not indications of the actual state itself.

A disciplined mindstate involves letting go. It’s devoid of expectations, value judgements, attachments, and desires. We’re completely in the moment. We’re not thinking about how we got here, how we feel about it, what it will lead to, what we’re trying to accomplish, etc. This is mindstate often conflicts with everyday life because so much of everyday life involves goal-oriented activities and/or making value judgements. However, once we have trained ourselves to know what a disciplined mindstate ‘feels’ like, then we will know when we’re drifting away from it. We just have to pay attention and be focused.

The other part is how - when we sense we’re drifting - to bring ourselves back to center in an instant. Again, everyday life doesn't give us any breaks. It doesn’t allow us to chant mantras during a tense conversations, close our eyes while driving, or not own any goals. So the challenge is to find a way to - literally within seconds and without stopping what we’re doing - shepherd our mind back to center.

image taken from theunboundedspirit.com

Again, the answer lies in our experiences during zazen. During samadhi, we are acutely aware. We can feel when a stray breeze touches our skin, study dust in sunlight, be aware of soft ambient sounds, etc. This focus occurs when we have cleaned our minds of chatter and exist only in the moment. To center ourselves in everyday life, we can find such details in any given moment and use them as anchors to stand firm against the currents of what is happening around us. Then we can quickly reassert control.

In this way, by working to apply what we learn and experience during zazen, we can train ourselves to identify when our mind is undisciplined and then correct ourselves so as to retain the centered mindstate we cherish. I’ve been able to successfully apply this process many times...although I have a long way to go before I will probably be able to do it consistently.

In the end, applying these skills has allowed me to view everyday living as a kind of practice. Much the way zazen is practice.

Zen Humor

This strip is not focused on Zen as a rule, but the humor of this one is a bulls-eye if you practice. Laughed out loud when I read it, and thought I'd share.

Form and Ritual in Zen

Many forms and rituals can be used in Zen

The latest issue of Bodhidharma magazine is dedicated to exploring form versus practice, that is, the way we practice versus the practice itself. All religions wrestle with this, and the magazine provides some great thought around the questions entailed. How important is form/ritual? What should it consist of? What do you do to practice your faith? Is there a better or best way? Are there certain things you should not do? Practice usually leads to many such questions about form. My belief is that - in Zen Buddhism - form is irrelevant. In other words, any form you choose is acceptable as long as it doesn't become an impediment to practice.

What does this mean? Let's take zazen as an example. Some Zen Buddhists practice with their eyes open and others prefer to close their eyes. Some emphasize breathing while others ignore it. Some people practice zazen while seated in a specific place, while others do so while walking down a street, working out, or in any place they feel like. None of these forms are better or worse than the others. We're free to practice zazen standing on our heads with clown hats on our feet if we want, so long as we successfully discipline our minds and enter samadhi.

However, form encompasses more than just how we meditate. It also includes ritual and 'things' that go with ritual. Do we tap a gong to start and stop zazen? Do we light candles? Are there certain clothes we must wear? Do we play music? Do we chant mantras? Are all of these things to be avoided? Just as with the form of zazen, the accouterments of its ritual (or lack thereof) is neither good nor bad, so long as we successfully discipline our minds and enter samadhi.


Given these points, it is clear that form is irrelevant to zazen and - by extension - to Zen Buddhism more generally. Some may balk at this, but the fact is that it would be silly to say no one can effectively sit in zazen while playing music (or not playing music). That one must be in a group (or alone). That one must chant, or light candles, or have a 'special Zen spot' (or that any of these things absolutely preclude successful zazen). Bottom-line: Disciplining the mind does not have anything to do with details of ritual or form, so we can never designate a particular form as a requirement.

That doesn't mean ritual and form are useless. In fact, they are often extremely positive aspects of practice. Some Zen Buddhists find some or all of the items mentioned above very useful in practicing zazen and reaching samadhi. As such, they are helpful and should not be categorically rejected. Form and ritual are never a problem unless they become an impediment to zazen practice or if we endow them with intrinsic importance. In other words, if we view a form or ritual as anything other than a tool or a means to an end, then it will become a barrier to effective practice and are detrimental. We cannot forget that practice only requires what is inside us; it never demands a ritual or an object outside of us.

When we assign intrinsic importance to ritual and form, then they are naturally used to assess the quality of practice rather than focusing on the actual practice itself. We will find ourselves thinking things like: "I can't sit in zazen today because I ran out of candles" or "I can't reach samadhi today because group meditation was cancelled" or "until my iPod is fixed, I won't be able to play the music that quiets my mind enough to practice." When put in this way, we see how negative the reliance on any form or ritual can be. It distracts us from the fact that we can achieve samadhi at any time and in any place.

So while form and ritual can be very helpful, we must always keep them in their proper - and non-essential - role. A person who cannot achieve samadhi or quiet their mind without the right ambiance or the proper ritual possesses a questionable level of mental discipline. Such is person is unlikely to bring the mind state they achieve in zazen into day-to-day life and, as a result, will reap minimal benefit from their studies. And if we are unable to apply what we learn or the wisdom we gain, then it is it questionable whether we have learned anything or possess wisdom.

So how do we navigate ritual and form with other practitioners? Must we set up rules or dogma about what is and is not correct? Should we debate these rules with others? Should we discourage what we judge as ineffective practices when we encounter them? The answer is a resounding "NO!"

Since form and ritual possess no intrinsic value, there is never any justification for debating about them with other practitioners or concerning ourselves with them beyond what we like to do in our own practice. For example, if I enter a zendo where practitioners chant mantras and that is something that I see little purpose in, then my proper action is to "go with the flow". The forms may help those around me, and I should be disciplined enough so that engaging in them will have no negative impact on my practice. If the fact someone lights a candle or engages in a ritual prevents you from sitting in zazen with them, it is not their fault. It is yours! Work harder to discipline your mind.

Of course, following this line of thinking is hard (perhaps impossible) to those who are just getting started. Quieting the mind during zazen and achieving samadhi takes much practice, and if we find that certain rituals or forms help us get the hang of it, then we should most certainly use those rituals or forms. If we find ourselves in a challenging environment, we should look at it as an opportunity to see how disciplined we have become.

All practitioners, new or old, must always guard against any ritual or form hardening into dogma or being mistaken for the discipline we are developing. The latter - not a lit candle or a successfully followed ritual - is the true measure of the effectiveness (or lack of effectiveness) in our practice.

Proud to Run 5K

With the Supreme Court coming down in favor of gay marriage, I don't think it's exaggerating to say this year's Gay Pride takes on a special significance. So it was wonderful to be a part of things by joining in the Proud to Run event, my second 5K since I started jogging in December.

Rain threatened to ruin the day all week long and, even as late as the night before, the weather was pretty awful. In the end, aside from a cold wind in the early morning before the race, the sun and the weather cooperated and we had a great race day.

This time I ran the entire 5K course, without walking. I also felt as if I recovered very quickly. Within a few minutes, I'd caught my breath and didn't feel wiped out at all. Despite all these successes, I unfortunately did not improve on my time. I completed the course in 32 minutes, about a minute slower than my last 5K. Nevertheless, it was great fun!

Given how quickly I recovered, I'm thinking that my next race should be a 10K!

First 5K Run

Heading into the finish

I have kept running since I started over the Christmas holidays (excepting a week or two where the temperature never rose above the single digits and the wind chill was well below zero). Running has become a lot more enjoyable than I expected it would be. Not that there aren't some days where I groan at the idea of getting out there, but it is a nice way to make sure I get outside more. As the weather has improved, it's great to be outside and running is one more way to do that. Running has also proved to be a great way to enhance cardiovascular fitness, and it helps me calm my mind and face the day with positive energy. I've even noticed that my legs have become harder (i.e., stronger) and my sense of physical balance is improving a lot.

It was slow going at first, but I'm now running close to two miles each time I go out. This is an important goal, because the train station is two miles away from our house. So, if I can do two miles, then I could sometimes run home from the train station instead of taking the bus. That would increase the number of runs I do each week in a convenient way and further increase my endurance.

Over the past few months, I've learned a lot about running. Pacing is really important. It's easy to burn out by running too hard, too fast. Breathing is key, too. Of course, it's kind of hard to succeed at anything if you stop breathing! However, in running I had a tendency to gulp air or breath shallow. It's important to pay attention to breathing and keep it as natural as possible. That is very similar to what some people do in meditation.

This weekend, the work all paid off. I ran my first 5K run and completed it in 31 minutes! Quite a milestone since I ran almost the entire race (very little walking), even though it was a longer course than I'd ever attempted before. So I suppose I need to find ways to keep pushing myself.

The Garden of Adonis, Suite for Flute and Harp - Hovhaness

A couple years ago, I wrote a post about Diabelli's Serenata Concertante op. 105, because I often play it right at the start of Spring. After the harsh winter we suffered this past year, I'm more than eager to welcome Spring with open arms and listened to Diabelli this afternoon on the way home from work.

Another composition that evokes the return of Spring for me is The Garden of Adonis, Suite for Flute and Harp by Alan Hovhaness (1911 - 2000). Like the piece by Diabelli, this one is made up of multiple movements. There are seven movements, in fact, but each is quite short and the entire piece is only 16 minutes long.

Hovhaness was an American composer, and the only music I have of his is the pictured album featuring Yolanda Kondonassis on harp. The album contains several pieces, which are all wonderful. However, The Garden of Adonis is especially ear-catching with its mystical melodies and muted beauty.

Mumonkan, Koan 34: Nansen's "Reason Is Not The Way"

Nansen said, "Mind is not the Buddha; reason is not the way."

The Buddha in the tree at a temple in Thailand
(photo from the blog "Life as you make it...")

At first, this koan seems to directly contradict what I learned in koan 33 and to also contradict Baso's words in koan 30 ("This very mind is the Buddha"). My first reaction was that these statements cannot both be true, however this is not so.

The issue is using words to speak about Zen. Words are imprecise, which is why Zen is usually transmitted wordlessly. The statements are contradictory if we focus specifically on the words and what they mean, but if we read between the lines at the understanding that these words are trying to convey, we can conclude that both statements are true and are in agreement.

We find Buddha nature through our mind, and it is the only place we can find it. However, we cannot say the mind is Buddha in a concrete way because the mind is an object just like a book or a couch or a TV set. Living things have Buddha nature, but that does not mean a cat or a whale or myself are the Buddha.

Wine has flavor, but it is not flavor. A balloon is filled with air, but it is not air. The mind is the Buddha, but the mind is not the Buddha. No object, concrete or abstract, is the Buddha. But all living things are the Buddha.

I think this is the best I can do to explain.

Bitchslapped by Koan 34

Once I've worked through a koan, I move on to the next one naturally enough. In this case, I received a big surprise when I read koan 34 given my solution to Koan 33.

Koan 34 reads: Nansen said, "Mind is not the Buddha; reason is not the Way." The first part of this directly contradicts my solution to koan 33! Hmmmmmm......

Well, koans are intended to challenge us! This should be interesting to say the least.

Mumonkan, Koan 33: Baso's "No Mind, No Buddha"

A monk asked Baso, "What is the Buddha?" Base answered, "No mind, no Buddha."

The first thing that must be noted about this koan is that it's almost identical to Koan 30: Baso's "This Very Mind is the Buddha". So much so, that any attempt by me to extract a separate meaning from this koan versus that one felt forced at first.

The repetition made me think of Bodhidharma's Bloodstream Sermon. (Note: I read the translation of this sermon by Red Pine in his book The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma). In this sermon, Bodhidharma spends a lot of time saying "buddha is mind" and "you mind is your nature" and "your nature is buddha" in a bunch of different ways. His repeating this over and over made me think of why Zen is not transmitted verbally. He can preach the same simple message all day and all night, but if we don't understand it then it doesn't matter how many times we're told.

In any case, his point matches the message of koan 30. However, Bodhidharma also makes a related point in the Bloodstream Sermon that outside our mind or nature, there is no buddha to be found. This would seem to be the point of koan 33. So I suppose there is a difference in between the two koans. Buddha is mind or nature, and then there is nothing outside of your mind/nature to find. Kind of says the same thing, but from two separate vantage points.

Perhaps Mumon felt this point was important enough to dedicate two similar koans to it...or that the two sides of the point need to be understood to really 'get' it.

[PS: After arriving at my solution, I read Mumon's comment about this koan: "If you understand this, you have finished studying Zen." So that's pretty good evidence that he felt this koan and koan 30 speak to something essential in Zen.]

Learning Doesn't Require Agreeing

Temple wall painting of the Buddha

In today's society, too much emphasis is placed on evaluating whether we agree or disagree with peoples' viewpoints. Even worse, this evaluation is often used to determine whether a person has anything useful to say at all. Contrary to common platitudes about how "we're all able to learn from everyone", in practice many people act as if those they disagree with can have no correct views on anything and therefore can teach them nothing. This is most evident in the realm of news media and politics. In this arena, many people pick a 'team' (e.g., conservative, liberal, Republican, Democrat) and agree with whatever positions their team stands behind and whatever spin of current events best promotes its goals. At the same time, they proclaim that everything the other team does is always bad.

This mentality can be clearly seen on social media. For example, each of us probably has a friend or two who insist on sharing their political views on Facebook. I've noticed that such posts are often followed by lots of comments from the poster's friends, all agreeing with the viewpoint. It seems to me that these posters are pontificating in an echo chamber, espousing views in forums where people share similar views. In such spaces, everyone agrees with each other and those who post a dissent of any kind are quickly, and virulently, slammed. As with the news media and political issues above, every minor issue is reduced to a means of showing that "I'm right (i.e., my team wins) and you are wrong (i.e., your team loses)".

In short, our society has become infested by a fear of alternate viewpoints. Even a disagreement on a minor issue is like ringing a bell in a boxing ring. Everyone comes out swinging for their team or party or "ism", determined to prove they are right and everyone else is wrong (and, by extension, that their wrong views are the cause of all difficulties in the world).

Without the 'weight training' of alternate viewpoints,
your mind becomes small and weak

While people naturally enjoy speaking with those they can relate to, surrounding oneself only with people and ideas we agree with is limiting. It's limiting because, most often, learning and growing occur when we are challenged by an idea or situation that doesn't fit neatly into our preconceived ideas or our comfort zone. In the simplest terms, it's the 'no pain, no gain' concept. No one gains pec muscles by lifting ten pound weights and never pushing beyond that level. Similarly, it's hard to grow spiritually or mentally if one stagnates within the same set of ideas and beliefs year after year.

Unfortunately, the echo chamber of stagnation is exactly what many people seek, treating contrary viewpoints as dangerous viruses that must be destroyed. The result an antiseptic mind-state where everything a person believes and thinks is right because they believe and think it. In this state, a person never challenges themselves, never learns where they have made mistakes, and never changes and evolves in light of new information, changing situations, or innovative points of view. Changing your mind is looked down on as moral relativism or "flip-flopping". Instead, one should "stay the course" no matter what happens.

Obviously, this is damaging in many ways. To a Zen Buddhist, such limited thinking related to practice creates complacency. Everything we're doing is right, and we never read books or hear speakers or ponder views that do not match our existing practice. We have no chance to learn anything new, because we do not listen. We evaluate whether we agree or disagree and that's as far as we go in evaluating a lot of ideas.

I was reminded of the value to be found from listening to people who we do not agree with after reading - and being impacted by - an article in Bodhidharma magazine. The article was "Are You Just Coasting?" written by Jim Willems and published in the Winter 2014 issue. Well aware of the potential danger of coasting as a solitary practitioner, I was eager to read the article to learn how I might be making this error. And Willems' premise is a very good one: that as we gain experience in meditation we can sometimes use it as a way to relax or cope with stress, which has nothing to do with disciplining the mind and training.

However, as I read Willems' well-written article, I found myself in disagreement with a good deal of his thinking about meditation. He consistently spoke about meditation having a goal and even  referred to an "ultimate goal". He also spoke of focusing the mind on a specific idea during meditation, such as "ending all suffering".  For me, this is all antithetical to Zen practice. Zazen and - more broadly Zen - do not have discrete goals or 'finish lines' that we seek to attain. Even if they did, the cessation of suffering would not be one of them since a tenet of Zen Buddhism is that we cannot escape suffering completely. I would even argue that enlightenment itself should not be sought after. Enlightenment is, instead, something that comes on its own, and it is certainly not the end-point of practice.

Critical thinking can be noise if it is undisciplined

So as I was reading Willems' article, I was engaged in an inner dialogue in my head: "Well, I don't agree with that." "Yikes, that just seems wrong." "Oh, I agree with what he says there." Now there is absolutely nothing wrong with critical thinking; we need it to function as intelligent people, Zen or no Zen. However, such thinking must be managed within a disciplined mindset or it becomes destructive. Given free rein it takes on a life of its own and we will listen to our opinions about reality - our assessment of it - more than we pay attention to what we have in the moment before us. Taking this to the extreme, our critical thinking can pre-set us to reject - or filter out - people whose ideas we disagree with and lead us to only accept information from the narrow band of people who seem to be in agreement with our beliefs. When that happens, we're clearly off the Path. And worse, we risk shriveling up into a narrow-minded fathead who does not think in any meaningful way about anything.

But if we open up, we stand to gain a great deal. For example, as much as I disagreed with Willems on many issues, I didn't stop reading his article because of it. As a result, I came across something of his that was incredibly impactful for me. It was the way he described samadhi: "With samadhi, we are single-pointed in our attention and our awareness is clear and sharp; our sense of intention is present and awareness becomes a fine tool" (italics mine). This description of samadhi resonated so much with me that I found myself considering it the next few times I sat in zazen. I worked on maintaining the single-pointed clarity of focus he wrote about (without invoking overt concentration on a particular object or idea). It helped me avoid coasting by making me think again about my zazen practice, which keeps it from becoming a rut.

So to return to the point of this post, agreeing with a teacher (or anyone) is not a relevant consideration in whether or not that teacher (or person) has something wise or useful to impart. If we are truly students, then we should not place limitations on where we find knowledge and wisdom. We should spend hold off on evaluating until we make sure we are listening.

Listening to contrary views can never be harmful, because the proper mind-state will never allow us to accept an idea that is unhelpful to us. More broadly, the quality of the ideas we accept and live by (in terms of ethics, truth, or whatever) depends much more on whether our conscious mind is disciplined than on whether we listen to someone who advocates something 'good' or 'bad'. By being open to alternate views and even seeking out ideas that contradict our own, we help ensure we have truly thought things through from all angles and that can only strengthen our understanding and, thereby, our conviction.

In contrast, if we make the mistake of treating ideas as potential toxins that we must vigilantly filter based on whether we agree with a person, we will most certainly avoid ideas that might be 'bad'. However, we will also sterilize our mind by not allowing in anything new to counter what we already know. This can only result in mental stagnation, and that is antithetical to Zen.

So put some yin in your yang (or yang in your yin)! Listen to or read something by a credible person that you disagree with in many ways...and, as you do it, do not think "they're wrong, they're wrong, they're wrong" all the way through. Instead, challenge yourself to find something in their words that is true and insightful. When I do this, I'm surprised at how often that is exactly what happens and how much I gain from the effort.

Mumonkan, Koan 32: A Non-Buddhist Philosopher Questions The Buddha

photo: Leh Ladakh Tourism

A non-Buddhist philosopher said to the Buddha, "I do not ask for words; I do not ask for non-words." The Buddha just sat there. The philosopher said admiringly, "The World-honored One, with his great mercy, has blown away the clouds of my illusion and enabled me to enter the Way." After making bows, he took his leave.

Then Ananda asked the Buddha, "What did he realize, to admire you so much?" The World-honored One replied, "A fine horse runs even at the shadow of the whip."

The Buddha's answer suggests that someone who has trained their mind does not need to be to be told they are on the Path or told anything in order to learn. Just as the mere shadow of the whip is enough to make the horse respond, the enlightened mind needs no overt words or guidance.

Further, there is something in this koan about how what we have learned manifests itself in our behavior. When we learn something...truly understand it...then it becomes part of our nature. We do not need to be told or preached to or reminded. If a person has been enlightened or come to an understanding of something, then they need no words and that learning naturally manifests itself in their life and behavior. If that isn't happening or reminders are needed, then it has not been learned and we do not really know or understand it.

There's a big difference between saying words and living the meaning behind them.

Mumonkan, Koan 31: Joshu Investigates An Old Woman

Trail to Taisan summit (photo by Scott on summitpost.org)

A monk asked an old woman, "What is the way to Taisan?" The old woman said, "Go straight on." When the monk had proceeded a few steps, she said, "A good, respectable monk, but he too goes that way." Afterward someone told Joshu about this. Joshu said, "Wait a bit, I will go an investigate the old woman for you." The next day he went and asked the same question, and the old woman gave the same answer. On returning, Joshu said to his disciples, "I have investigated the old woman of Taisan for you."

It's helpful - but not essential - to know that Taisan is a sacred mountain full of temples to which many people make pilgrimages. So the old woman's comment appears to be a criticism of pilgrims for their practice of going to a 'sacred place' of any kind. This is solid Zen philosophy: Place or location have little or nothing to do with the Path or gaining enlightenment. If you cannot find it where you are right now, moving 5 feet away to the left or making a pilgrimage to a sacred mountain will not make any difference. I believe the disciples tell Joshu about the old woman because they assume her criticism reveals an understanding of Zen.

Joshu investigates the old woman, perhaps to determine whether she truly does have some understanding. If that is the purpose of his investigation then, as soon as she answers the question in the same way and gives him the same criticism, he realizes she possesses no true wisdom.

First, to provide the same guidance or criticism to everyone you meet is wrong-minded. It is generally true that a pilgrimage is not essential to enlightenment, yet even so and even if we assume that most or all of the people who pass her have wrong-minded reasons for heading to Taisan, one still cannot mouth the same platitude to all of them and pretend that it is wisdom (or even relevant to the person being addressed). This is why Zen does not proselytize nor transmit wisdom through literal explanation. At best, even the greatest teacher can only point the way. A seeker must find the Way for themselves.

Second, since Joshu is a master who is clearly already living on Taisan at this particular time, the old woman's answer proves that she is merely mouthing a platitude - because in this case the platitude is completely meaningless. Joshu was not asking her the way Taisan because he wanted to go there (he already was there!) and not because he was seeking enlightenment (he already had attained it!). Thus her criticism is off the mark. She is not evaluating the situation or person she speaks to, her pronouncement is like the repeated words of a parrot.

Joshu's remark at the temple lacks an explanation of what he found for two reasons: 1) He found nothing, and 2) It would be wrong for him to feed his conclusion to the disciples. They must think over what occurred and what Joshu said and perhaps find their own understanding of this event. By not explaining his conclusion, Joshu avoids making the same error as the old woman.

Back From New York City

Gawking at a massive meteorite at the MoNH

I've been to the Big Apple a few times over the years, but it was always very briefly and always for business. So I never have had a chance to see much of the city. Recently, The New Criterion ran a review of the "Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs" exhibition at MOMA. It's an entire exhibition of 100 works brought together to provide an overview of Matisse's last period of creativity. As often happens when I read about such shows, I thought: "Wow, I would love to see that! Maybe I will just go to New York." In one hemisphere of the brain and out the other; I never act on this impulse.

However, as fate would have it, the same issue of The New Criterion also had a review of the Met's exhibition "Cubism: The Leonard A. Lauder Collection". This privately held collection of cubist painting and sculpture is being donated to the Met and includes 81 pieces by Picasso, Gris, Braque, and Leger. I looked up from the magazine and said to Jim: "I'm going to New York."

He decided he wanted to go too, so it instantly became a trip. For the first time, thought was transformed into action! Of course, once it became a trip, we planned other things to do as well. We decided to buy a Wolf Kahn...until we got the dealer's preview and saw that prices on his work have gone up quite a bit since I last priced them. Fail. More successfully, we went to see The Book of Mormon, bummed around Times Square, and hit the highlights at the Museum of Natural History.

It was a short but very enjoyable trip! Sometimes it's a good idea to act on impulses.

Tony Dekker - Prayer of the Woods (2013)

While I listen to all kinds of music, at any given point in my life there is usually one genre I most gravitate to. Over the past year, I've gravitated to music I call roots music. I made up the name because the music/sound I'm interested in doesn't usually match a single genre; it seems to drift amid the blurred borders of blues, folk, country, bluegrass, and rock. It's largely acoustic music, with a streak of Americana in the lyrics or the musical approach. Listening to roots music is likely one reason I started taking guitar lessons this past year. As I began writing songs, I searched for music that fit into my made-up genre, as it is the kind of music I would like to write.

Tony Dekker's solo album Prayer of the Woods is one of the albums I've stumbled across in seeking out such artists (meaning I'm unfamiliar with the work of his band Great Lake Swimmers). Prayer of the Woods is totally roots music: quiet, melodic, and deeply imagistic songs performed with basic instruments played and arranged with great skill. The lyrics are very poetic, and brimming with emotion without getting maudlin or overdramatizing them in a 'tears in my beer' way.

In both lyrics and music, Dekker conveys emotional states quite effectively even though it's not usually clear what his songs are about specifically. Even on tracks that resolve easily into states of mind or portraits ("On My Way Back", "Final Song"), one feels Dekker drawing a curtain between the listener and himself. It's as if the truth or meaning of his song is always sitting just outside one's field of vision. Many artists who write this way leave me cold, but Dekker's writing, performing, and sound are so consistently evocative that one doesn't mind being mesmerized rather than being directly told a story or drawn a portrait of someone. 

His songs on the latter half of the album are the least concrete. Yet even there (and really throughout the entire album) there are enough clear anchors for the listener - in terms of locale and emotion - to make each song resonate as if you fully get it. For me, many of the songs feel like they take place in late winter or fall and in the woods or rustic landscapes (certainly not in a big town or city), which the title of the album would seem to confirm. Emotionally, a sense of recent loss pervades the lyrics and is sharpened through Dekker's soft guitar playing and gently toned - but clipped - vocals. Even when he's weaving a picture, as on "Under a Magician's Sky", there's a terseness to the delivery that prevents the album from becoming dreamy or abstract. You always know there is something concrete behind that curtain he's pulled down.

Every one of Dekker's songs works with great melody, and his two covers fit into the feel of the album so well that you might not suspect they were written by someone else. Only the difference between Gordon Lightfoot's sense of melody and Dekker's marks the final track ("Carefree Highway") as definitely by another writer. However, the most intriguing bit of composition is the title track, which Dekker apparently wrote around a poem by an anonymous source. It's almost as if in this litany of how wood from forests permeate our lives that Dekker is also drawing together the emotional content in the rest of the songs. Not only do we draw materials from the woods, but some of our deepest memories and experiences can be come from there as well. The prayer "harm me not" could then apply equally to treatment of the forest and to how we hope to interact with others and they with us.

Prayer of the Woods is a beautiful album, but despite this it is also one that comes across as basic as burlap or bark. The consistent, yet nuanced, style all the way through makes for a terrific complete listen. Highly recommended.

Another Point in the Orbit

I'm not much of a believer in New Year's Resolutions or for celebrating the New Year in general. While I certainly don't mind a party, I see little reason to designate a random spot in Earth's orbit as an especial time for new beginnings, of a year, or anything else. While the calendar seems to provide some justification for viewing January 1st as the start of a new year, the fact is that any point on the calendar is the first time we reach that day in a year's time and, hence, any and every day of the year may rightly be designated as New Year's Day. I've found that eliminating the concept of a new year is a very positive thing to do.

I may have been led to question the logic of New Year's Day as a result of Zen Buddhism's emphasis on being in the moment without deluding ourselves about that moment. Whatever the genesis of my turning away from the concept of a new year, not having one emphasizes that we can start over at any time. It allows for small changes during the course of a year that can roll-up into great change and progress over time. Most of us, in fact, engage in this behavior, but I'm not sure we always realize it, but it's important to take time to realize it and celebrate it. I like to think of this as the 'Another Point In The Orbit' celebration.

Here's how you do it. Whatever day it is, look back over the 365 prior days and identify your big accomplishments or experiences and put them on a rough timeline based on when they occurred or when you started them or when you hit an important related milestone. As you lay them out, think of (or discover) something about each event that was a new experience, a challenge to yourself, a major life lesson learned, an example of solving a problem, or simply a case of taking charge of life in some manner. Here's mine as an example:

• January - Wanting to be more active in supporting causes I believe in, I initiated my first annual Charity Shopping Spree. I calculated what percentage of my income I could afford to set aside for charities on an annual basis and then...went shopping! It's a morale boost knowing I'm doing something to support good work. And, best of all, the annual nature of the Spree means I will support causes I care about on a consistent basis. 
• April - Vacation in St. John, Virgin Islands. Amid the usual snorkeling, sunning, deep sea fishing, sunsets and stargazing, we did something pretty unusual Although we're not hikers, we undertook a fairly long hike into the rocky terrain on the south side of the island. One of the few hikes I've ever done in my life. Beautiful views!
• May - Officiated the marriage of two good friends: Stacy and Greg. I had to write the speech and vows that an officiator delivers and make sure they were unique but also made the day special for the couple. Totally outside-the-box experience and something I'll never forget!
• June - After taking stock of my career, I initiated a lot of healthy (and overdue) change. Sometimes, no matter what I bring to the table or how much I can help, some problems are not mine to solve (and perhaps cannot be solved).
• July - Sick and tired of not being creative, I stopped griping about it and did something to galvanize me into change: I signed up for guitar lessons. Since then, I've been practicing almost every day, started writing my own songs, and am even teaching myself to sing. Playing guitar is neither writing nor art - the two creative pursuits I've leaned on for decades - but by trying something different, my creative life is thriving for the first time years.
• August - Recognizing that I hadn't been reading much, I subscribed to sixteen magazines selected to reengage me with topics that I love (or want to love). To name a few: planetary science, world events, contemporary writers, art, and whimsically...whiskey! I'm indulging in my love of reading again, and I'm learning so much.
• September - With my weekly schedule not allowing for trips to the gym, I hadn't worked out for months. I did a lot of research and developed a new workout which I could do at home. Two sets of dumbbells, push-up bars, 20-25 minutes, and the willingness to rise early is all I needed to get back on the horse again.
• December - As an extension the new work-out, I wanted to do serious cardiovascular exercise now that I'm getting older. Martial arts was too great a commitment, biking was out during snow and rain so I landed on...running! Never done it before, and I was a very worried I'd wimp out. Despite a first run in cold weather that was difficult, painful, and thoroughly demoralizing, I pushed through and just completed my fourth run. I plan keep to training with the goal of doing my first 5K in spring or summer.

As you can see, the 'Another Point in the Orbit' celebration - aside from celebrating what we have accomplished - shows that we don't need New Year's Resolutions or to designate an arbitrary day as a time for new beginnings. Every day - every point in the orbit - can be a new beginning.

Anais Nin - "A Spy in the House of Love"

I know very little about Anais Nin other than her fame for her journals, that her life involved many famous artists and writers, and that a couple collections of her erotica were published posthumously. I also can't remember what drew me to read A Spy in the House of Love when I was in my 20s. Perhaps it had something to do with my having come out a few years before and, being in the city, my first feelings of freedom related to this. The only other book of hers I've read is Delta of Venus, and I also saw Bells of Atlantis, a short experimental film from the fifties, directed by her husband, in which she reads one of her poems.

It's both easy and difficult to believe A Spy in the House of Love was written in 1954. On the one hand, for anyone to openly discuss aspects of sexuality that live well beyond the roles accepted in society (that's openly, not explicitly) without positioning it politically or for obvious media attention is very rare even today. On the other hand, the milieu of the novel is heavily steeped in the post-war bohemian world of blues, jazz, and modern art. Her writing and voice could easily be transplanted to today, but the artistic circle she moves in lacks the tepid angst or bloated self-consciousness of today's artiste.

I've come back this novel (or novella, perhaps?) several times over my life, as I never feel I fully grasp what Nin is getting at. Certainly there are themes of identity, but there is also an aspect of perception and how we view ourselves - even analyze ourselves - that is unique in modern literature I have read. Further, Nin seems to position Sabina as living 'life as art' (or, more accurately, 'sexual life as art') and this is woven into both the analysis of identity as well as the fevered flights of her sexual 'adventures'. Each time I come back to the novel I find something very different.

This time around, in the last sections of the book, the description of Jay's paintings at the night club are what resonated for me. It crystallized an idea developed throughout the novel that we are all made up of multiple versions of ourselves, created by our experiences. No one version can be selected to represent us, yet it's hard to pin down who we are without reference to all of them. Her view may possibly apply most (or mostly) to artists or creative people, who interact with the world in a specific way in the process of creation.

In Sabina's case, the multiple versions come to be through her experiences with her lovers. There are different aspects of herself that come to the surface with each one. Taking this to a logical extreme, it speaks to the importance of sexual identity and sexual exploration in truly understanding ourselves. More broadly, it suggests a way of looking at all our interpersonal relationships - sexual or otherwise. We show a different facet of ourselves to different people based on who they are and what they mean to us. This isn't a facade or a pretense; it's a legitimate but limited part of ourselves. A shard of us. Sabina's quest is to find a way to express her totality with one person or to be able to continually express all parts of herself (which requires more than one lover). It's an interesting way of depicting identity and interpersonal relations.

That said, the novel is kaleidoscopic enough to allow for many avenues of thought partially because it's not clear whether Nin has fully resolved her ideas or if she is still figuring them out as she's writing. Stylistically, the novel is inviting and crisp, barring one section with heavy-handed Freudisms and Nin becoming too 'talky' as a narrator in the last quarter of the novel. Otherwise, A Spy in the House of Love is a well-conceived, fascinating, and unique addition to a collection of modern literature. Temporally it fits with few of the modern writers I've covered on Zen Throw Down (e.g., Gide, Camus, Sartre), but intellectually it's definitely in the same vein. Written in the fifties, I classify it as part of a 'last gasp' of modernism before the 'idealism' of the Baby Boomers and 60's counterculture banged its rattle on the high chair.

The Joys of Running: A Potential Prelude

Born to run?

For a long time, I had this fantasy of doing a triathlon someday. The idea is attractive because - aside from being a really great 'I did it!" moment - it would provide a goal to direct my rather hit and run relationship with fitness. I've tried lots of things to keep active and stay in shape, but I find I get bored pretty easily and need to move on often. Martial arts was the one exception, but it required a commitment that my work schedule (and now work commute) makes difficult.

Admittedly, another reason is that a triathlon seems tantalizingly within my reach. I've been biking for years, so that part's easy. While swimming in fresh water is more demanding than salt water, I've done enough of the latter to reasonably believe I could squeeze out a mile or half mile without tons of training. The only question mark is the running; I never, ever jog. Further, when I observe joggers braving winter from the warmth of my car, I think: "Crazy!!!" This is northern Illinois, after all.

However, many of my friends do 5K runs and all other kinds of runs. Their dedication made me think there must be some fun in it. This, along with the lure of the triathlon calling to me like a distant song of glory (or perhaps beguiling me like a siren song), finally got to me. As often happens, one day I just made up my mind: I'm doing this. When I make up my mind like that, obstacles cease to exist. Starting in winter? Who cares, I can bundle up. The fact I haven't even done treadmill running in over a year? I'll tough it out. When would I fit this in? I'll figure out the details later.

And so three days before Christmas, armed with a 'Couch to 5K' program and a half certainty I was going to hate the whole thing anyway, I went on my first run. My planned course was .8 of a mile, way below Couch to 5K standards. I also planned to use a run-walk-run approach so I could ease into it. Modest goals for sure. 

Sure enough, it was awful! My run-walk-run strategy turned into walk-run-long ass walk-run-walk. Meanwhile, in a delightful jab from Fate, it started to drizzle while I was running. I finished my .8 mile run in a far-from-Olympian 13 minutes. As I unheroically hurled my panting carcass through the imaginary tape at the finish line, my shins were burning, my feet hurt, I was winded, I was cold, and it was impossible to not think: "I'm an out-of-shape old fart". In other words, it wasn't fun in any way, shape, or form. 

But I had made up my mind. So I just didn't think about any of this and went on with my day as if nothing had happened. Two days later - still willing myself to ignore my first run - I forced myself to do a second one. Same course, but the results were much different. I still couldn't run the whole thing, but I was notably less winded. The amount of time I ran as opposed to walked was close to two-thirds of the course (an improvement, I'm embarrassed to admit). I didn't ache either (that day, 24 hours later my right thigh is stiff). Progress!

Am I looking forward to my third run tomorrow? No. But I'll be out there, knowing some driver will pass by me and think: "Crazy!!!" 

Let's see where this goes!

Holiday Bash 2014!

As every year, here are pictures from our annual holiday bash. Thanks to everyone who came and made it - as always - a special way to celebrate the season!

Mumonkan, Koan 30: Baso's "This Very Mind is the Buddha"

Zen Master Baso

Daibai asked Baso, "What is the Buddha?"  Baso answered, "This very mind is the Buddha."

My first reaction was that this wasn't a koan. It's a question and an answer without any riddle or ambiguity. However, as I thought about it, I found myself considering the exchange itself. The question is an odd one to ask, since answers of this kind cannot be given to someone. Certainly not verbally.

If Zen could be transmitted verbally, I suppose this would be the way to do it. However, this answer doesn't give Daibai anything...even though it is correct. What he is asking about - what he seeks - must be found and experienced on one's own, not imparted in this manner.

Taking this line of thought to it's logical conclusion, asking such a question of another person in hope of gaining knowledge or instruction is wrong-minded.

Stevie Nicks - 24 Karat Gold (2014)

Given the long breaks between Stevie Nicks' studio albums over the last two decades, I never expected that only three years would pass between In Your Dreams and her next offering, 24 Karat Gold. It's a pleasant surprise, but this also isn't a standard solo album. To come up with the material, Nicks mined her backlog of demos - including songs written as early as the sixties - and properly recorded fourteen of them. A rerecording of "Twisted" and a cover of a Vanessa Carlton song bring the track total to sixteen. That's a generous offering by any definition.

24 Karat Gold's title and the sub-title ("Songs From the Vault") wisely steer us away from going into the album thinking about these songs as what they really are: outtakes. Or actually even worse than that: songs that never made the cut to potentially become outtakes. Nicks wrote almost all of these tracks at least three decades ago, recorded demos for them, shared them with her many musical collaborators...and yet they never once passed muster to be included on any Fleetwood Mac album or on any of her own seven solo albums. They also weren't chosen for b-sides, extra tracks on greatest hits compilations, content on her extras-laden 1998 boxed set Enchanted, or give-aways to dubious movie soundtrack albums. This would seem to not bode well for the quality of the material.

This is especially true since Nicks - who is a brilliant songwriter - has not batted 100 over the course of her career (no one does). Even the most rabid fan can point to misses Nicks has unwisely committed to vinyl. "Paper Doll" from The Chain was a half-baked mess, "Fire Burning" from The Other Side of the Mirror was hopelessly self-indulgent, and "Jane" was the sappy closer to Street Angel. Nicks' worst moment, "When I See You Again" from Tango in the Night, was so dreadful that you wondered what magic spell the Welsh witch cast on Fleetwood Mac to ram it down their throats. If the content of 24 Karat Gold didn't get chosen over these tracks, then how good could any of it be?

The thrill and impressive impact of 24 Karat Gold is in being bowled over by how fantastic these songs are. Every songwriter should dream of having outtakes (or non-starters) of this quality. The sprawling album kicks off with a bang through one of many positively stellar moments: "Starshine". This sassy rocker has a seventies' boogie vibe that easily conjures images of Nicks prancing and cavorting around the stage at the height of her powers. Another stunner is the title track, whose stinging, ominous guitar work is underlined by Nicks intent singing and then softened by the lush harmonies she and her back-up singers weave.

As "24 Karat Gold" closes and you're wondering how on earth it never got recorded, Nicks fires off three more killer tracks in a row. "Belle Fleur" has all Nicks' captivating drama and mysticism flowering within catchy melodies and then slathered over urgent guitar work. Synth-tinged "All the Beautiful Worlds" is a darkly mysterious incantation with a truly satisfying hook. Then, backed only by a piano, Nicks wails out her anguish and fears ("what will become of me?") in the totally relatable lyrics of the heartfelt "Lady". It's a four-track roll that would have been a highlight on any of her classic eighties albums (Bella Donna or The Wild Heart). Other top-notch tracks include twangy rocker "Watch Chain", the likely-about-Lindsey musings of "Hard Advice", gently grooving "Blue Water", and the upbeat pop-rock of "The Dealer".

Tally that up and you have over half of the sixteen-cut album composed of tracks that match her very best recorded material. That's enough to place 24 Karat Gold with Nicks' top recordings. However, in addition, the remaining tracks betray little overt weakness. "She Loves Him Still" and "If You Were My Love" are beautiful ballads, although the latter probably meanders a bit much for a non-Nicks fan. "Mabel Normand" has an edgy sting one doesn't usually hear from Nicks, and "Cathouse Blues" is a light-hearted take on Laura Nyro. In each case, these tracks were clearly not included on her solo albums or anything by Mac for stylistic, not quality, reasons.

There are a few tracks on 24 Karat Gold that suffer by comparison with these other songs. For example, this is third version of "Twisted" Nicks has released and, while it's a great song, the overly Byrds-ish guitar arrangement detracts from the song's 'Stevieness'. Another another hidden gem would have been a better choice. The cover of Vanessa Carlton's "Carousel" is merely competent. Which brings us to "I Don't Care". This is the only song on the album that I haven't warmed to. I love the energy and how it rocks, but it just seems overlong and aimless and I always seem to end up skipping to the next track long before it's over.

Another plus of this album is the way Nicks steps up to the plate vocally. It's unavoidable that listeners will regret Nicks didn't record some of these songs when she was in finer voice, but she certainly doesn't short change the material. Her energy and commitment are admirable and compelling. It makes one wonder if the whirlwind studio sessions that gave birth to this album drove Nicks to record her vocals more like a live performance than a studio recording. That kind of energy certainly shines through.

Beyond the music, 24 Karat Gold is being released in a beautiful format. A large (not quite album-sized) sleeve holds the CD and a thick booklet with the lyrics and a slew of polaroids Nicks took of herself over the years. Apparently, Nicks' work is being shown at a gallery in New York. While I wish she had included the year each song was originally written, the packaging itself is fantastic and well-worth the purchase for a fan. I appreciate the packaging all the more because I remember when buying music involved the visual aspect of album artwork and even the texture of the contents. I miss this quite a bit, and that makes this release extra-special.

As 24 Karat Gold makes its mark, Nicks joins the reunited Fleetwood Mac for a tour and, it seems likely, a new album. It's clear Nicks' late-career renaissance shows no signs of ebbing. "What will become of me?" indeed.