Pocket Zen

For a little while there, I found that I'd lost faith in Zen.

But who could blame me? After Eido Shimano's foibles came to light, a good many others did, most notoriously Dennis Genpo Merzel and his big ...mind.

I thought a lot about my own experiences with the "men of zen". I reflected on the experiences of other women, too. And I found myself more and more disgusted by the writings of men in defense of their zen: realer, truer, betterer, certainer.

And just like that, I let go of the zafu. Because really, who needs this? And what on earth are we doing, anyway, trying to organize ourselves around the empty part of the wheel? Why do it at all, when it seems only to cause this inexcusable sort of pain?

And just like that, my rakusu turned into a pile of fabric and thread, and ink.

For a moment.

And then I remembered an experience I had on my since-discarded zafu; and then I realized that experience was actually just the ever-present now, separate from nothing, and including everything-- zen-men, angry women, and piles of fabric and thread, and ink.

Today I happened to find a very sweet video that teaches moment meditation, or as I like to think of it, "pocket zen". Because, truly-- have you thought about fitting a whole ango into a single, quick moment?



Perhaps if we spent more time counting backwards-- meditating not for 90 minutes, not for 45, or even 30, or even still, just 1-- perhaps we could lose our expectations about what power our next breath might carry: priesthood. abbothood. sainthood. famehood. enlightenmenthood. Suddenly, the power of that period, that session, that sesshin, that ango becomes less about being better, and only about being.

Then and only then will a rakusu turn into a pile of fabric and thread, and ink.

Family Zen

Addressing Shimano (...in 8 Easy Steps)

"What we call 'Buddhism' might be seen simply as a remarkable collection of stories about practice," writes Barry Gibbs over at his creatively thoughtful blog, Ox Herding. "If you have an interest in Buddhist teaching, you might try re-telling a story that has meaning for you. My experience suggests that you'll learn more about the teachings. And also about yourself."

Barry was talking about classic Buddhist stories, of course; beloved tales of ancient masters and their bumbling students, etching clarity out of the bricks of our consciousness since the Buddha's fateful date under the Bodhi Tree.

But I've been wanting to address a Buddhist story of a different nature-- a nature, as it turns out, that has been around since before Buddha's fateful date under the Bodhi tree. I've been wanting to address the issue of Eido Shimano, the Rinzai founder of Dai Bosatsu Zendo and Zen Studies Society. At issue is the sickening history of Shimano's sexual abuse of his students that has come to full exposure in recent months. Yet what seemed to begin in the summer of 2010 with a New York Times article actually had been known since the 1960's-- a reprehensible, irresponsible example of misused power, passing-the-buck and getting off with a slap on the wrist.

Long awed by the marriage of enlightened bliss and the hells of human error, I've followed the tales of the sexual exploits of clergy like something of a press-hound. What began (for me) with the shocking discovery of altar-boy abuse in my (native) Catholic Church expanded with televangelist Jimmy Swaggart's tearful admission in prime-time, "I have sinned." I suppose these things fascinated me because as a girl, I too experienced the most profound betrayal by the misjudgment of an adult whom I was supposed to trust.

But this time, it's personal. This time the transgressions were committed by a member of my own clergy-- of my chosen religion, not my ancestral one. This carries an extra weight, for although we know "no one is immune," and never-minding Christian doctrine, Buddhists are supposed to be peaceful people unhindered by their emotions, right? (...riiiight.) Yet even more profound than this "insult" to my personal spiritual judgment is this: that unlike my childhood betrayal by adults whom I should have been able to trust, Eido Shimano's sexual predation marks a shocking betrayal by an adult whom I had enlisted to trust*.

So what is a girl to do? Once again, as in childhood, I find myself in a sort of deer-in-headlights situation: if the folks you were supposed to trust turn out to be wholly untrustworthy, and if the folks who support them work as hard as they can to maintain normalcy at the cost of truth (including indirect and watered-down terminology such as in this address), it begs the question, what can one trust?

Dharma is what most would answer. And I would tend to agree, because the so-called bedrock of my faith is my own experience-- not what somebody said I would experience. Perhaps Buddha's own final teaching sheds the most light: Be a lamp unto yourselves. "The truth is out there"-- find your own Bodhi tree, and sit on down.

So this morning I shall follow Barry's good idea and apply an Old Story to a new (?) predicament: my inability to handle Eido Shimano's sexual abuse of his own students in a graceful, Buddhist way. How shall I address it? By composing my own version of the Eightfold Path, of course. You may find some other wonderful "stories" regarding this dear, elemental teaching on sites I discovered in my research, such as Handful of Sand and Explorations and of course good ol' Wikipedia. But in this moment, the most important teacher I must learn from is the teacher of my own understanding.

1. I see that sexual abuse exists, and I suffer from it because my own hope that one day it will not exist. I cannot change what has already happened, or what will happen again. But I can escape the suffering of it. I will repeat this over and over and over until I finally get it.

2. No, really-- suffering ends. Suffering will end. But I intend to get beyond suffering. What is beyond suffering? And most importantly-- does "beyond suffering" erase the need for action against the sexual abuse that has been done by Eido Shimano, or anyone else? (..a closer look commences.)

3. First off, I'm thinking, this is a pretty awful situation. An awful lot of people are hurt and stuck and scarred-- the victims, and the perpetrators. Everyone, stuck. Trying in their own way to break free, to get rid of something. To gain something. But I'm going to say something about it, because to be quiet does no one any good in this situation. Sexual abuse is not acceptable; protecting the perpetrator is not acceptable. Expecting the Dharma to protect or explain is ...missing the point of Dharma. So I am going to say, very clearly: there is sexual abuse happening. Eido Shimano is abusing his students. People are being hurt. A decisive STOP must be applied.

4. I'm acting with the clear understanding that by signing a petition to remove Eido Shimano the abuser, I will help ensure that he does not have access to other potential victims. And I'm signing this online, and writing about it online, so that others may learn about this horrendous activity, pass the word along, and bear witness so a) the perpetrator can get real help, and b) the victims can receive support, in whatever way, in hearing a chorus of voices say "NO, this is WRONG."

5. I'm going to affirm life by celebrating what is possible: the perpetrator can learn and change; the victims can heal and grow. I'm going to be giving and offer this information very freely: Sexual abuse happened. The perpetrator Shimano must get real help; the victims must receive healing. I'm going to honor the body by noting one more time: sexual abuse is wrong in ANY form. And I'm going to honor truth by stating the obvious of that: sexual abuse harms both the abuser (Shimano), and the abused (the entire Sangha). And I'm going to proceed clearly by saying that again: sexual abuse harms both the abuser, and the abused. What is the "perfection" of this? If both the abuser and the abused can admit that harm has been done, healing can happen. We're all in this boat together: abuser, abused, and witness. Not a single one of us is exempt! We've all got the same chance here to make things right. It's not about being angry: it's about understanding, very clearly, that we're all in this together. We have an amazing opportunity here.

6. It has been an old mistake of mine to 'keep quiet' because of shame, fear, ignorance... But really, who is at fault, ultimately? There is not a single person that I can point a finger to, and hope for some resolution. So my effort will include all the truths of the matter: we are all in this together, and we must bear the discipline of its address.

7. This address of course begins with me, begins with my own mind. I must bear the truth of it-- the blamelessness, the urgency-- and attend my actions with the correct spirit. For while it is not imperative that Shimano "do time", it is urgent that Shimano be wholeheartedly helped to understand the fault he has committed. And it is urgent that the victims-- indeed, the whole sangha-- must have their suffering recognized and witnessed.

8. Finally, it is not up to me to cast off suffering. Enlightenment, after all, is not a state of mind: nothing is lacking, nothing needs to be changed. Suffering exists, and beyond suffering does not mean one ignores suffering. Therefore I approach the very real suffering of Eido Shimano's actions as I approach zazen: knowing full well that my posture and my attitude will be the expression of practice-enlightenment. Not one thing is lacking. I embrace all of it, every part of this wiry self, for the simple reason that there is nothing to do but live that honesty.

In Gassho,
Pilar Teishin Goldstein-Dea
*who is not a "direct" student of Eido Shimano, but an indirect student having read (and learned from) his translations of parts of Shobogenzo, and nevertheless suffers as directly as any in our Mahasangha.

A loving memory-

She used to get a bit of a twinkle in her eye, you know. An impish, wondrous twinkle. "They're all going to be jealous," she said, speaking of all the other grandmotherly zen teachers in her circle, "when I tell them my sangha has a baby!"

And she warmly welcomed my baby, just a bit over a year old at the time and very (rambunctiously) mobile, into the very intimate group we had that met on Tuesdays at Healdsburg Yoga Studio. Darlene shared his free spirit; you could tell that she, too, was in love with the world. This open, clear penetration was evident in everything she did, in the way she made you feel. All at once I was warmed by her, mystified by her, and a little intimidated. (You don't come into contact with that kind of clarity without feeling a wee bit so.)

I've always known she would die. She spoke openly about her experience with chronic pain and cancer, as these very points were the cornerstones of her own practice. Yet it was a shock to read that she had died, just yesterday, while here in Boston the snow was flying. The glorious snow was flying, our neighbors were sharing a laugh and a grumble in a shoveling extravaganza, and life was going on. Life and death juxtapose so strangely on some days. Do you laugh? Do you cry?

"You do both," she'd say. For it was from Darlene Cohen that I finally learned to accept all of my emotions, and understand them as vital parts of myself, and vital to my own practice. "Nothing is pushed away," she'd say. "Not one thing needs changing. Except maybe your orientation to it."

On her birthday, which was a day shared with the Halloween holiday, she'd come to sit zazen with us in full costume. On other days, she'd sport the most amazing earrings... oh, her collection of earrings, you would not believe some of these bits of artful extravagance! Nothing is pushed away. Darlene sat with her whole self, warts and pain and all, and in this her gift to us was an attitude of complete acceptance-- of who we were, of how we were, joyfully.

I left California, and our little sangha, in September of 2008. I daydreamed of returning to share the women's retreat with Darlene and my teacher, Angie, at Grace Schireson's Empty Nest Zendo. I daydreamed of the letter I'd send Darlene and the sangha in the meantime-- or at least, the birthday card that I meant to send this year. Always life flares up and always, these precious intentions are left on the back-burner.

Turns out, that's precisely where our zen practice cooks the most: the back-burner of intentions, wishes, hopes and best-laid plans. Things we'd like to ignore, things we pray will change... we can push any number of things, sure; but the truth of it is, they do not go very far away.

Thank you, Darlene, for reminding me to stir that pot.

Resolution

Resolution*: the process or capability of making distinguishable the individual parts of an object

To study the Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things of the universe. To be enlightened by all things of the universe is to cast off the body and mind of the self as well as those of others. Even the traces of enlightenment are wiped out, and life with traceless enlightenment goes on forever and ever. Dogen Zenji, Genjo Koan

Resolution: a rule of inference used for automated theorem proving

I've long feared that my practice wasn't "good enough". Even my practice of nyoho-e, "sewing the Buddha's robe", was punctuated by nightmares of black-robed monsters pulling out my stitches while fiercely admonishing, "you're doing it wrong." They appear again and again even now, in my day-to-day. It's been a strain, parlaying practice from temple to home.

Resolution: a formal expression of opinion or intention made, usually after voting, by a formal organization, a legislature, a club, or other group.

Zen practice and instruction in the west is lame, weak and watered down. Norman Fisher? Puhuleeze.

Resolution: a measure of the amount of detail in an image; the level of information in a display device; the capability of an optical system to discern and distinguish different frequencies or details

Eye awareness is not existent in the eye. It is not existent in form, nor in the space in between. What is constructed dependent upon the eye and form is erroneous.

If the eye does not see itself, how can it see form? Therefore, the eye and form are insubstantial. The remaining sense spheres are also similar.

The eye is empty of its own substantiality. It is empty of another's substantiality. Similarly, form is also empty, and also the remaining sense spheres.

-Nagarjuna, Seventy Verses on Emptiness

Resolution: the move of a note or chord from dissonance (an unstable sound) to a consonance (a stable sound)

Resolution: the point in a literary work at which the chief dramatic complication is worked out

Reposting: Motherhood as Spiritual Practice

I rarely like to do this, but this time I'm making an exception: I'm re-posting here something I've written on my "personal" blog. For finally I was able to translate into words and images some of the things I have been experiencing as my practice has made the transition from "temple" to "home". The hardest part of this, of course, has been to accept that this practice is indeed "real" and "worthy", just as real and worthy as a more focused sangha-in-a-Buddhist-setting practice.

I have read too many times that one's dedication and determination cannot be as true as what is the norm in temple practice. Indeed, in some circles there is much chatter about the superiority of Zen Temple practice. And I have looked at this scant little blog of mine, and felt much guilt about my lack of sangha, my inability to "get thee to a nunnery", or somesuch of a hot-bed of focused, intense practice.

Slowly, slowly I am learning otherwise, through wonderful books (like Grace Schireson's and Perle Besserman's) that opens the can of worms that is a woman's domestic practice (among other types, of course), and through my own experience.

I have been surprised at my inability to continue my Boston Dharma Center exploration with any regularity, and I suspect now there is a reason for that: the Teacher that is pointing to right here, right now. There really is no other option, is there?

Enjoy-
~


The morning after my ordination (Tokudo), I had an interesting vision: a wide field opened before me. Anything felt possible. I could not see into the future; it was as if my friend foresight just breathed out all chance, and the grass-grains bent in unison as an invitation to come. experience. In those days, I took it as some sort of sign that my mind had opened somehow. Not that my mind was enlightened, but more receptive.

Or, something like receptive.

A year and a month and six days after my Tokudo, I found myself at the edge of a well-worn waterway. The ancient redwoods and grandfather oaks bore witness to the child I bore in my belly, and the ring I took- and gave- to another human being. More vows, more joy; more open possibility, more open to chance. My heart felt more open, more receptive.

Or something like receptive.

Because the truth of motherhood revealed to me that I was still very much closed; still very much embroiled in all my old patterns of desire, of anger, of complete and utter cluelessness. Anything I thought I understood quickly washed away (...like a baby with the bathwater?), and everything I reached for dissolved (...like taking candy from a baby).

Slowly, so slowly, I am finding now. That now includes what I think, however misguided. That now includes all I could ever hope for, as well as what I already have. The meanness, the gorgeousness: nothing is lacking.

I am grateful for this constant shifting, this ebb and flow they call "motherhood", this Universe folding and unfolding upon itself like a shining, terrifying Mandelbrot, this constant moonlight. It is a spotlight, the most honest critique that I can't possibly evade, and ever I am brought to my knees and humbled, again and again. I said I was leaving home, and home indeed was taken away; but that wasn't the point. The home was the coziness of my own opinion. I took one step out that door, and ironically enough I found a child in my arms, a husband in my heart and a new hearth to warm my bones by.

So for this zen mother, a koan of irony: the practice of learning to embrace totality, the grace of living in its reciprocal embrace... and the gift of it, sensing that renunciation might actually look something more like reception.

The Bird's-Eye Veiw of Home Practice

You can find this wonderful view of the English village of Warkworth here.

Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to be a witch. Not just the pagan god-loving, earth-hugging, mud-stomping kind, but a real witch-- the broom-riding, hearty-cackling, soulful old crone who steals our imagination every year in the Autumn season.

And I must admit, aside from being able to talk to (and turn into) cats and bats and other furry morsels, the flying was the piece that impressed me the most. For long have I tended toward the quieter side, the reclusive side, so that the thought of experiencing a whole town, all at once the whole of it and in perfect secrecy, thrilled me.

And so it is that Halloween, or more properly the Celtic Samhain, is my favorite holiday of the year, for the celebration of it allows this imaginative soul to indulge in such wonderful play as pretending to be exactly who it is I think I should be, to its fullest expression.

And so I did; and clutching my wide-brimmed hat to my head against the cold evening wind, I drifted through the twilight new-dark of our neighborhood, spooked and spooky alike, powerful as the old crone as I longed to be, and just as stealth, too; for who questions the presence of a flying witch, on Halloween?

To study the self is to forget the self, and to realize that all that is lives its existence through you; that is my lesson from the greatest shape-shifter of them all, Master Dogen. For truly, we are anything and everything, and nothing at all. When viewed in view of the liminal nature of Samhain, Dogen's teaching breathes the most powerful magic of all: the living truth of an interconnection and inter-weaving so very tight, and constant; an experience of self so expansive and inclusive, all boundaries fall away, so indeed there is nothing to include, and no expanse at all. This truth rings to me as clear as a crisp witch's cackle.

Samhain offers a chance for one to look upon the yield of what was harvested over the last several months of effort. The fields are clear, the table is set, and the ancestors themselves are invited to feast with the living on the fruits of their collective labors.

This year, I survey my empty field, and my harvest, and the theme becomes clear: after so much struggle, heartbreak, and chaos, What is this Zen for? What is the purpose of this faith?

My teacher is understanding as I recount my past "successes" in practice, and my present dissatisfactions. She quotes Kodo Sawaki Roshi: Zen is good for nothing. "Wonderful things happen in zazen," she said. "But if we attach to them, life becomes a disappointment.

"If we try to kiss ourselves goodbye-- all those nasty, brutish things that we are, 'goodbye'-- that's just death, the limitation of form, our value judgments. If we attach to the beautiful side, it's harder to cope; it's not realistic. It is what it is. We are part of it. It is us."

I thought I already understood this, but in fact it's not just an understanding, but a bodily sense we must cultivate often, even in the worst of times, when it's hardest. Oh, and how hard it is, when it is hardest!! "But how do you suffer?" I asked her; "How do you cope, when the coping is itself unbearable?" Her answer reminded me of the wise old crone on the broom: cry. curse. out loud. And, sit, a lot, when you're confused, because "you can see a lot more of what's happening," just like that witch, resting easy on the swoosh of her broom, taking in the aerial view.

I told her I'd been attempting to create Home Retreats, but aside from some calm, I didn't find too much success in them. "Retreats are a monastic practice," she reminded me. "Not facing the whole thing at once-- that's the way of the monastery. Trying to duplicate monastic life in the household with a small child isn't realistic.

"Rather, make yourself available to your life, with mindfulness practice, remaining in the center of your life, continually reminding yourself to be where you are, to be with it.

"I don't think we can perfect ourselves; I think the best we can do is try to help each other."

And so it turns out I'm the witch after all: the mom crafting herbal potions to ward away the discomforts of cold weather; the seeker in contemplative, dark garb, settling in the seasonal quiet; the wild woman at once soaring high above, gathering a sense of the 'big picture', yet still fully part of it, adding her own unique expression in concert with everything else. All the more reason to practice the "good for nothing"... All the more reason to embrace, and celebrate, this dark season of the Witch.