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.

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.

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.

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.

Zazen in the Modern Age

Finding time for zazen is a challenge while living in the modern world. However, since few of us can retreat to a monastery to pursue our studies, we must find ways to do so within 'the real world'. This is especially important for anyone who – like me – leans towards the Soto school, which stresses the primacy of zazen in Zen practice.

One of the hurdles many people may face is finding the 'right' place in which to sit. There is tendency to gravitate towards a quiet spot outdoors or a room where we can listen to special music or a table where we have candles and a Buddha statue. Time of day can have an impact too, as we tend to prefer sitting when outside noise or interruptions are at a minimum. These preferences partly stem from popular images about what serious meditation looks like. However the preferences also arise because, when we first learn to sit in zazen, it's easier to do so in a controlled environment. After a while, this preference becomes habit and then hardens into practice.

The problem with this is that zazen is how we learn to discipline the mind. As a result, we should be developing the discipline to sit in zazen and reach samadhi in less than ideal situations. If we never learn to do so without pretty candles, the right music, and/or total quiet, then we clearly are not developing much control over our mind and thoughts. It isn't really zazen. It's an emotional indulgence with no more spiritual power than getting a foot massage, taking a hot bath, or indulging in a chocolate dessert. These activities also induce a sense of peace or happiness, but they do not teach mental discipline or help us get to Everyday Zen.  

Candles, music, lighting, and favored quiet spots are crutches. They can be justified - perhaps - for the beginner but, as we learn to discipline our minds, we shouldn’t need the cooperation of the world to practice. We shouldn’t need do-dads or gizmos or pretty sounds to create the right ambiance or 'get in the mood'. A fundamental point of Zen is that our environment does not dictate our mental state; we do! So, ultimately, a truly disciplined practitioner would be able to sit in zazen and achieve samadhi with bugs crawling all over them, a jack hammer rattling away, and the smell of garbage wafting about. 

My arrival at this realization was probably very atypical. It happened because my first experience with the power of zazen occurred almost twenty years ago, long before I was a Zen Buddhist or had engaged in any form of meditation. Far from being achieved while I was sitting in a quiet room with wind chimes tinkling around me, my first conscious experience of samadhi was while I was sweaty and gross and in the middle of practicing karate in a dojo.

So here's the story. In the dojo, our sensei would have us do forms - that is, a specified series of blocks, kicks, and punches done in smooth succession. He'd correct or make us start over again depending on any errors we made, because we had to get the forms right to be allowed to test for the next belt. As a student new to martial arts, I really had to focus because it's not just doing the moves in the right order but making sure form is correct throughout: How's the angle of my back foot? Is my fist at the right height when I punch? Are my fingers making a correct fist? Am I facing the correct direction? You get the idea; it's a lot to get right over the course of ten to twenty moves.

One day, I came to the dojo pissed off (about what I can't remember). I was steamed and annoyed and tense, and I'd been that way most of the day. After class, though, I had completely calmed down. I had simply stopped thinking about and feeling about whatever it was that had riled me. Obviously, the physical exertion of practicing karate was an outlet that must have helped. But, as I thought about it while leaving the dojo, I realized what had really led to my change of mood was not a gradual change due to physical exertion. It was a relatively quick change that occurred while I had been practicing forms.

What happened? The focus required to do forms in the proper manner forced me to rein in my mind. Instead of letting external situations and my emotions dictate my mental state and carry me away, I was focused on what I was doing in the moment...and nothing else. There was no past, there was no future. All I was concerned with was my forms. And it was a healthy focus. I was not worried about doing well, stressed about it, or anything like that. The focus of my mind was simply limited to the action of the moment. In fact, while I was very alert about what I was doing, I'm not sure I was thinking about anything at all.

As I walked home, totally sweaty and tired, I nevertheless felt mentally reinvigorated and was very happy. At the time, I'd read a tiny bit about meditation though I knew nothing about Zen Buddhism. I specifically remember thinking as I walked home that "there's something to this" and that I needed to explore it.

So I learned very early that we can practice zazen and reach samadhi in non-traditional environments, and we don't necessarily need a ton of training to do it. Doing it is important, not only for ensuring we really are learning to discipline our minds, but that we can practice Everyday Zen. So if it's hard to find time to sit in zazen, think about some time during the day that may not seem ideal but that actually should be. Getting off the bus a few stops early to walk, eating lunch at your desk, sitting on the train. And, importantly, don't mourn about the noise and distractions around you. Use them to help you hone your discipline. 

Mumonkan, Koan 29: The Sixth Patriarch's "Your Mind Moves"

Prayer flags in the wind, Nepal
Photo: Stefanie Buehler

The wind was flapping a temple flag, and two monks started an argument. One said the flag moved, the other said the wind moved; they argued back and forth but could not reach a conclusion. The Sixth Patriarch said, "It is not the wind that moves, it is not the flag that moves; it is your mind that moves." The two monks were awe-struck.

The argument is based on interpreting what one sees with the mind, rather than simply having direct experience in the moment. As such, there is no right-mindedness while the monks argue about what is happening. They are removed from the moment. This is what is meant by "it is your mind that moves."

The argument is one of delusion since it is the debating of interpretations of reality - what each monk thinks about what they see - rather than reality itself. The distancing from reality is actually three-fold. First, there is the interpretation of reality. Second, there is the evaluation of the other monk's interpretation. Then third, there is the comparison of the evaluations against one another. Once we let our minds "move", we are quickly swept out of the moment and away from the moment into an intellectual hall of mirrors that is merely delusion.

The Sixth Patriarch was chastising the monks for their lack of discipline.

The Difference Between Contentment & Happiness

I'm figuring some of this out as I write, so there's no way this post represents a definitive line of thinking. I only know that the difference between happiness and contentment has increasingly recurred as a theme in my Zen studies and that understanding the difference between the two is important in getting to, and maintaining, right-mindedness.

In various places on Zen Throw Down I've drawn a distinction between happiness and contentment. While I love happiness and joy (and who doesn't?), I've come to understand that it's much wiser to seek contentment than happiness. This is mainly because contentment requires no striving and can be maintained in a world that is full of suffering. On the other hand, happiness constantly demands effort to obtain, disappears all too easily, and/or is merely a mirage on the horizon that beckons without getting closer.

This view of happiness runs counter to how many of us are raised. For example, in the United States the "pursuit of happiness" is inherently woven into our national identity. Cultures may differ, but the desire for happiness seems universal. Zen Buddhism, however, teaches us that happiness is something to cherish when one has it...but that one should never cling to it, mourn when we inevitably lose it, or chase after it.

I suppose what kicked off my thinking about happiness versus contentment was a common thread in the marketing on some book jackets, promotion fliers, or websites about Zen Buddhism, meditation, or self-help. These marketing efforts often contain blurbs or catch-phrases suggesting someone can help us "find happiness" or "achieve inner peace" or something of the sort. Personally I've always distrusted anyone who dangles happiness before me like a carrot, and one of the first things I learned in my Zen studies is that my state of mind is largely (or entirely) of my own making. That includes my happiness and suffering. No one can give me happiness.

Memes are not wisdom

Since we are largely responsible for the reality we face and our emotions about it, that means no one can give of us a path to happiness. Even if such a path existed, a person can't be made to consistently walk it or to keep from straying in response to the distractions faced in day-to-day living. Similarly, we can't be handed or told any knowledge that is a "secret" of being happy. Even if such knowledge existed, it wouldn't help us for the same reason that memes like this one posted on Facebook are nice but useless. We read them, smile and nod at the wisdom they contain, and then go right back to living our lives the way we did before. For knowledge to useful, it must be learned. Even when it is learned, we will not profit from it unless we put it into practice during everyday life. Without practice, knowledge is useless.

Lastly, and most importantly, one can't be taught to be happy because happiness itself is a temporary condition. No one can maintain it no matter what they are taught. In Zen Buddhism we are taught that all beings suffer; it is simply part of life. So it is foolish to cling to happiness or to try avoiding all suffering because we cannot maintain the one or avoid the other. Further, both states are temporary. We are happy until something goes amiss, and then we suffer. We suffer until things start going our way again, and then we are happy.

This circle of joy and suffering drags most people into a deluded mindstate, as they spend all their energy trying to evade suffering or to capture happiness. This is all wasted energy because no matter how happy we become, suffering will always eventually come back to us. In short, trying to maintain happiness as a permanent state is like trying - to quote a lyric from The Sound of Music - "to keep a wave upon the sand." We waste our time and energy running around in this circle.

This is why contentment is a better goal that happiness. While happiness is the absence of suffering, contentment allows for suffering. To explain what is meant by this, imagine a time when you were suffering. It's unlikely you could have said to yourself: "Everything is so awful, but I'm happy anyway!" (If you could say this, then it's questionable whether you were really suffering!). However, it's totally possible - especially from within a disciplined, centered mindstate - to be unhappy and yet to be content on some level.

We can be content even when we suffer because, despite the pain or sadness or anxiety we feel we can look at ourselves in the current moment and know that we're okay. We may not be happy, but we are able to let things slide off our backs and be patient with ourselves.

And this is the crux of the difference between happiness and contentment: while happiness vanishes the second anything goes wrong, contentment can be maintained even in quite averse circumstances.

Mumonkan, Koan 28: Ryutan Blows Out the Candle

Tokusan asked Ryutan about Zen far into the night. At last Ryutan said, "The night is late. Why don't you retire?" Tokusan made his bows and lifted the blinds to withdraw, but he was met by darkness. Turning back to Ryutan, he said, "It is dark outside." Ryutan lit a paper candle and handed it to him. Tokusan was about to take it when Ryutan blew it out. At this, all of a sudden, Tokusan went through a deep experience and made bows.

Ryutan said, "What sort of realization do you have?" "From now on," said Tokusan, "I will not doubt the words of an old osho who is renowned everywhere under the sun."

The next day Ryutan ascended the rostrum and said, "I see a fellow among you. His fangs are like the sword tree. His mouth is like a blood bowl. Strike him with a stick, and he won't turn his head to look at you. Someday or other, he will climb the highest of the peaks and establish our Way there."

Tokusan brought his notes on the Diamond Sutra to the front of the hall, pointed to them with a torch, and said, "Even though you have exhausted the abstruse doctrines, it is like placing a hair in a vast space. Even though you have learned all the secrets of the world, it is like a drop of water dripped on the great ocean." And he burned all his notes. Then, making bows, he took his leave of this teacher.

This koan is full of metaphor. Inside the room with Ryutan, there are answers and light. As Tokusan leaves, he finds total darkness. There is no value in light and answers which desert a person the moment they leave the side of a teacher. What we do not know in and within ourselves, what we cannot carry with us into the world is not knowledge. Further, light or answers that are given like the candle Ryutan gives to Tokusan can be taken away. That is not possible with true knowledge or insight.

While I do not understand the reference to the "words of an old osho", the meaning of Tokusan burning all his notes is clear. The notes are like the lighted room and are not needed. Everything in the notes Tokusan has either absorbed or not absorbed. The former will not be lost by burning the notes; the latter was never his to lose.

Extending this further, perhaps he also realized his teacher should not be needed either. Either he was enlightened (or perhaps he needed solitude for a while before returning). In a way, entering the darkness or leaving his teacher is a way to avoid staying in the lit room with given answers. It's a way to confront what he does not know rather than stagnate with the security of what he is told. Of course, the other side of this is that we should never view a teacher as exerting such control. We should be able to enter the darkness even while letting the light of a teacher point the way.

Perhaps that is the real meaning of the candle being blown out: "Despite whatever teaching I give you; you must ultimately find your own way."

Mumonkan, Koan 2: Hyakujo's Fox

image: The Gateless Gate blog

I had forgotten to post this koan! Maybe I didn't because, back over four years ago when I first integrated the Mumonkan into my Zen practice, I wasn't sure if I was going to stick with it. Or it perhaps it's because I didn't think I had solved it. (Or maybe I just dreaded typing it!). Whatever. I went back into my journal so the Mumonkan thread would be complete.

When Hyakujo Osho delivered a certain series of sermons, an old man always followed the monks to the main hall and listened to him. When the monks left the hall, the old man would also leave. One day, however, he remained behind, and Hyakujo asked him, "Who are you, standing here before me?" The old man replied, "I am not a human being. In the old days of Kashyapa Buddha, I was a head monk, living here on this mountain. One day a student asked me, "Does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation of not?" I answered, "No, he does not." Since then I have been doomed to undergo five hundred rebirths as a fox. I beg you now to give the turning word to release me from my life as a fox. Tell me, does a man of enlightenment fall under the yoke of causation or not?" Hyakujo answered, "He does not ignore causation." No sooner had the old man heard these words than he was enlightened. Making his bows, he said, "I am emancipated from my life as a fox. I shall remain on this mountain. I have a favor to ask of you: would you please bury my body as that of a dead monk."

Hyakujo had the director of the monks strike with the gavel and inform everyone that after the midday meal there would be a funeral service for a dead monk. The monks wondered at this, saying, "Everyone is in good health; nobody is in the sick ward. What does this mean?" After the meal Hyakujo led the monks to the foot of a rock on the far side of the mountain and with his staff poked out the dead body of a fox and performed the ceremony of cremation. That evening he ascended the rostrum and told the monks the whole story. Obaku thereupon asked him, "The old man gave the wrong answer and was doomed to be a fox for five hundred rebirths, Now, suppose he had given the right answer, what would have happened then?" Hyakujo said, "You come here to me, and I will tell you." Obaku went up to Hyakujo and boxed his ears. Hyakujo clapped his hands with a laugh and exclaimed, "I was thinking that the barbarian had a red beard, but now I see before me the red-bearded barbarian himself."

Yeah, it's a long koan and it's rather unique because of its length. It's also unique because it contains this fantastical, supernatural story involving a form of 'divine punishment', which I find distasteful. After reading my notes about it in my journal, I think it's pretty clear I didn't really 'solve' it.  Maybe the length threw me?

My initial reaction had been to ignore the wacky story and focus on the interaction with Obaku. However, as I think about it now, that was probably a mistake (more on that in a bit). What I initially got out of this koan is how dangerous it is to give answers (this is why Obaku boxed Hyakujo's ears and why Hyakujo was so pleased that he did so). It's really suggesting that the old man's offense was not giving the wrong answer but because he gave an answer at all. To extend this, perhaps we are all foxes when we try to tell people 'answers' or hand them 'truths'.

Image: Marvin Schulz

This lesson also touches on perception through it's 'Russian doll' structure. The koan's structure is a story within a story within a story. The writer of the koan is telling us about Hyakujo, who has apparently related to him this story about an old man he met, and the old man is telling Hyakujo a yarn about being made a fox. So we are, at minimum, third or fourth hand from reality. This is another possible reason for Obaku to box Hyakujo's ears, for they were discussing interpretations of recollections of experiences, rather than dealing in direct perceptions.

Now, back to my mistake in dismissing the wacky story. In the story, Hyakujo's answer about whether an enlightened man is subject to causation is: "He does not ignore causation." This made me think of, how when I sit in zazen, thoughts always come to me as I clear my mind. What I've learned is that if I try to ignore those thoughts or silence them, they persist. It's better to acknowledge them, even as I do not pursue them. I imagine them as small helium balloon drifting towards me. I acknowledge each one and think "later" to send it away. Doing this make it much easier to clear my mind. This might be similar to what Hyakujo meant in his answer. Whether we are able to keep something from impacting us or not isn't the point; we cannot ignore it if we want to stay in the right mind state. Ignoring or suppressing something is an activity. An alert mind can be clear, but and active one? Probably not so much.

These are all nice take aways, but I'm still not sure I've exhausted this koan. Perhaps that was the reason I didn't post it way back when I worked with it, and it wasn't until much later (Koan 12) that I really grasped that koan study cannot be viewed as a relay race. Not getting a particular koan isn't a bad thing, and it's not something to be stymied by.

The Power of Everyday Zen

Jenny Trout:
"I Wore a Bikini and Nothing Happened"

Everyday Zen is a term I use (and, I think, coined) to refer to the practice of bringing the mind state reached during zazen into everyday life. The idea is that, once discipline of the mind is learned through zazen, that it can be applied at any time...or even all the time. [Here are other posts about Everyday Zen on Zen Throw Down: Ordinary Mind is the Way & Everyday Zen and then later More on Everyday Zen.]

I thought of the power of Everyday Zen when a friend sent me a recent article by Jenny Trout called "I Wore a Bikini and Nothing Happened". It's a short, humorous piece about a serious issue: body image. In the article, the author (pictured) describes how she refused to allow others to dictate whether she should wear a bikini, how she should feel about wearing a bikini, and - most importantly - how she should feel about herself.

Trout never references Zen Buddhism or Everyday Zen in her piece, not even indirectly. However, I found the spirit of her thinking to be very much like the disciplined mindset of Zen Buddhism or Everyday Zen. In particular, the way she filtered out and refused to be influenced by the negativity of those around her. This attitude or mind state is in direct contrast with what we refer to in Zen Buddhism as a deluded mind state. A deluded mind state can be many (many, many, many) things, but it sometimes entails creating our own suffering through second guessing ourselves, creating self-doubt, or dwelling on negative thoughts.

Zazen, by disciplining the mind, teaches us how to recognize when we are engaged in the right mind state. For me, I've learned what the right mind state feels like. That way, through Everyday Zen, I can be like an adult providing a gentle course correction to a child who's learning to ride a bike. More precisely, I become both the child learning to ride and the adult making the correction. When I recognize I'm slipping from the right mind state, I can subtly correct myself. Instead of suffering the pain of a fall, I facilitate riding (even if I'm riding a bit ineptly).

I had a situation like this (and like Trout's) occur to me recently. A little while ago, I posted how I'd started taking guitar lessons. While I was considering whether or not to do it, I got discouraged when it occurred to me that most people start learning a musical instrument when they are a child. And then I thought that it might seem strange to people to see an adult doing this. What I was doing was inventing a worry or problem in my head that may or may not really exist and then allowing it to influence me as if it were real.

This is one of the many poisons of a deluded mindset: we convince ourselves everyone is focused on us to a degree that is simply unrealistic. We over think the situation and, in doing so, place ourselves on a rack of self-consciousness and self-doubt that makes us miserable. And/or we allow the thoughts and judgments of others - real of imagined - to direct our behavior. Delusion - simply put - is a torture chamber we create in our minds where we are both the victim and the sadist.

Luckily, I recognized that this was not right-minded. When that happened, I dismissed all those thought and concerns. As it turns out, I have not received any strange reactions from anyone. Of course, I'm not sure what other people think about me taking lessons but, importantly, I am not spending any time pondering it or trying to figure it out. It's ultimately not important and, truthfully, it's most probable that no one is giving me and my guitar lessons any thought at all. If I'd turned away from taking them, I would have deprived myself of a new experience for no reason.

Avoid the maze of delusion (although, in Zen philosophy,
'contentment' might work better here than 'happiness')

The way I caught myself, and the way Trout pushed back on other people's judgement of her wearing a bikini are small examples of the power of Everyday Zen. The important thing to realize is that, by disciplining the mind, we gain power over life. Happiness is much easier to achieve when we're not our own worst enemy.

This discipline also thrusts ownership for one's own life back on oneself (where it belongs). Ultimately, we can't blame our own insecurities on other people when we're the ones with the power to decide whether they or their opinions affect us. Everyone faces self-doubt or harsh judgement in their lives; how we deal with it is what determines whether we will be at peace or not. We can either let self-doubt and outside forces rule us or we can be free of them. If we allow it to rule us, we cannot forget that we are the ones who put the chains on and wear them.

This is not to say that Everyday Zen solves all problems or guarantees life will be blissful and easy. Suffering is a part of life, and I have found there are always people who want to control me and who will punish me or try to hurt me if I do not let them. However, from experience, I have also learned that no matter how unhappy or painful their actions are in the short term, by maintaining the right mind state I will be content in the long run.

A saying by an ancient Zen Master named Dazhu sums it up best: "You are luckily alright by yourself, yet you struggle artificially. Why do you want to put on fetters and go to prison?...When will you ever stop?" (trans. Thomas Cleary).

Ordinary mind is the Way!

Zen Case Study: The Lightning Whelk

Everyday Mind is the Way
calligraphy by Nonin Chowaney

Something that can happen while in the right mind state is that we're present enough in the moment to see life lessons that are right before us. I call these Zen case studies. A Zen case study is never sought out nor created. It's not figured out or thought through. It happens like a bolt of lighting, yet it contains so much meaning that it resonates far beyond the specific event that triggers it.  They're also almost something that easily is missed if we're not paying attention.

As an example, many years ago we were staying at a beach house on Sanibel Island in Florida. The place is famous for shell collecting, but we were staying there off season to avoid the crowds. This meant the shelling was not at its peak, although it was still fun to walk the shore and look. During our stay, I immediately got in the habit of taking an early morning walk along the beach. No one was out, and even the sea birds seemed quiet. Just the wind and the waves.

I was walking very slowly, mainly because there was no reason to walk quickly. I wasn't going anywhere in particular, and I'd stoop from time to time to look at a shell or stare out at the sea. I also wasn't thinking much of anything. All the inner noise was silent, and I was only paying attention to the things that were happening right then and there before me. If someone had asked me what I was thinking, my answer honestly would have been: "Nothing".

At the same time, not thinking doesn't mean I was zoned out or a mindless zombie. I was totally aware of every gust of wind in my hair, the smells around me, the rising sun on my skin, the crash of the waves, the sharpness of sand and grit under my bare feet, and the coolness of water washing over my feet. So while I wasn't thinking, I was very alert of myself and of my surroundings. In short, I was in samadhi.

Eventually I decided to turn back. But even having a destination didn't alter my mind set. The decision to go back came and and went, and the only impact was that I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. My pace did not quicken, and I wasn't thinking about what I would eat or do when I got back. Nothing like that. I was still completely in the moment.

It was soon after I turned back that I noticed a disturbance in the surf that had not been there before. As I walked I noticed that each wave sliding up the beach recreated the disturbance, so it really was something unusual. When I reached it I found what looked like a piece of coral sticking out of the water. As surf fled back into the sea, it left a ten-inch long lightning whelk shell glistening on the sand before me!

The lightning whelk in question

Probably grinning ear to ear, I picked it up and washed it off in the surf. It wasn't the most pristine lighting whelk, but it was so unexpected a find that I was thrilled! It had clearly just washed up to shore within the few minutes since I'd passed the spot before. I held it and looked out over the sea, feeling like it had just given me a gift.  That's when the lightning struck.

I realized how easily I could have missed this gift from the ocean. I would not have seen it had I taken a more direct route back to the beach house, been staring at my phone, or walking quickly and looking somewhere else. It was a perfect case study for why we discipline our minds. Doing so let's us see the things that are right in front of us, things we know deep down but second guess or ignore while in the rush of daily life. And so much of what we need to know about ourselves and what to do in life is in those moments. If we just are open to it and not running away, wisdom washes up to our feet like this lighting whelk did for me.

Of course, once I was struck by the lighting of the Zen case study, my state of samadhi totally vanished! I instantly transformed into my ten year old alter ego, and I couldn't wait to show Jim what I'd found! Of course, I didn't say anything about the Zen case study. I feel it's best to keep Zen case studies to myself for a long time.  It helps them resonate more fully and cement themselves into my mind. Once we analyze them or talk about them, we tend to dilute them.