Saturday, April 18, 2009

A Path with Heart

This was one of those weeks of nothing is going to go quite as planned, and yet...

Early in the week, I learned that a dear friend died. This man, who lived at a sister temple in New Mexico, had been a source of great encouragement, warmth and humility for me. 4 years ago when I began the practice of Okesa, or sewing the Buddha's robe as is worn by Soto priests, his humor and humble dedication really shone a lamp upon the truth of zen practice and why we pursue it; and he remained as much through the years since then. I had always assumed I would be able to return to my heart-home temple to practice with my friend, and while I am glad for his passage out of the suffering of his illness, I am sad that the possibility I'd hoped for is gone.

So that was a big not-planned-and-yet-somehow-fated moment; it was odd, but it felt right-- certainly not unexpected, but strangely shocking all the same to lose a friend.

Smaller moments persisted in the theme of unplanned-yet-fated, such as leaving the house way past the time I'd intended, but meeting a new neighbor because of it. Finally, this morning I had intended to arrive at the Center with enough time to cut fresh flowers for a ceremony to honor my friend's passing, but my son's teeth had other plans for me. My baby awoke much earlier than usual with a high fever from teething pain and a need to be held. So as my husband left for work with instructions to tape a note on the door for our sangha, I maintained mama-zazen posture on the couch, where my child slept, half-nursing, for two hours straight.

As it was, the day flew and my boy felt better eventually, and so after dinner my little family gathered at our family altar, and there, without too much ceremony and still covered with dirt from the day's gardening, we lit a candle, offered incense, and chanted the Heart Sutra for our dear one.

And I can honestly say, this was the first occasion where I've had to chant to a beat as offered by a 2-year-old, where the usual rhythms of the chant were interrupted by our laughter as the child took off with our mokugyo, or joined in with a rung bell at the "wrong" time... And, it was brilliant. It was quite possibly the most heart-felt Heart Sutra I've ever offered.

At the end of it, we had our little son ring the large bell 3 times as we bowed in offering to Buddha, to Dharma and to Sangha. It was his first introduction to Buddhist ceremony, and he was so very happy to see that his parents were so pleased with his "ringing".

That is the truth of this path with heart, as my friend taught me not so long ago: meeting each moment not as you plan to meet it, or think you might meet it someday, but directly, honestly and humbly as you are, now. The gifts that ring out from that kind of meeting are innumerable, and eternal.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Buddha's Birthday

Today we offered a simple celebration to honor Buddha's birthday: by pouring a little water over a small stone in an offering bowl decorated with a single dogwood flower, we mark the birth not only of Buddha, the awakened one, but indeed of all things.

Our ceremony was a little echo of the Hana Matsuri or "flower festival" that traditionally is celebrated on April 8th in Japan. The marking of Buddha's birth has been handed down since early Buddhist times in India, and as Buddhism came to Japan, the ceremony became known as Kanbutsu-e, or "the ceremony of ritual ablution". In this observance, a small baby Buddha is nestled in a flower-bedecked shrine meant to mimic the garden in Lumbini, where he was born. Visitors to the temple pour a little sweet tea over the baby statuette and imbibe a little themselves.

Being short on baby statuettes-- I've got a little boy who is more into trucks these days than dolls-- I chose to represent the infant Buddha with a small pebble chosen from my yard. In this small way, the little pebble honors the awakened nature of all the Earth, including you and me. The Japanese Hana Matsuri is a flower festival to boot, and I think there's no mistake in the time of year chosen to honor Buddha's birth, as the northern hemisphere bursts to life once again with a party of fresh blooms. So the blossom that festooned the water surrounding our little Buddha was that of the dogwood, and other blossoms on the altar came from a pear tree.

Why celebrate the birthday of Shakyamuni Buddha? It might seem strange that a religion that places the most focus on "enlightenment" would bother at all with something seemingly so trivial. There is a lovely essay on that matter at the Zen Friends site that illuminates much about "precious human birth"-- the condition, according to Buddhist teachings, that allows enlightenment to occur in the first place.

But my teacher would caution about not getting too caught up in that idea. Rather, in my practice, honoring this birth day is a precious opportunity to gather in the raw abundance of life itself, to take it in and notice it without too many labels or ideas, and experience it as directly as one can without the noggin' getting in the way of it. What is the Buddha's birthday? Just pour water; just drink tea.

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Something to Count On

Quite a windy morning at the zendo! Blustery spring days like this are hard, aren't they? For wind not only kicks up dirt and leaves; very often it seems to sneak into the mind itself, kicking around inner dust and leaves, like the little aggravations that won't go away or annoyances that nip, nip, nip at the psyche. Such days always leave me feeling tired and a bit exasperated, as there is just no way to tidy up when the atmosphere is so unsettled.

This experience got me to thinking about my practice of late, and my own unsettled feelings about where I am in my life and what I'm doing. It's a typical self-questioning that ultimately lands me square in the lap of, "who am I?" And, just like any good seeker, I return to the assurances of my practice: form is emptiness, there is no self, and emptiness is form.

This last for oh, about a minute, and like the blustery day outside, my mind inside scuffles up the debris once again...And again, I return to Buddha's assurance...And again, the leaves fly...And again, Buddha...

This is exactly why they call it "practice", for on and on it goes!

Luckily, there are some nice little techniques one can use to trick the mind at its own game. In zazen, newcomers are taught to sit and "count your breath" in episodes of 10 out-breaths. But this is not just a "newbie" practice; make no mistake, in zen we honor the beginner's mind, the mind of not-knowing, the mind of a fresh, open approach to each and every moment. And so, each time we sit facing that wall, we count: one. two. three....

Keep in mind, the practice is not about counting; indeed, you're not aiming to "get to 10" by any means. This is an effortless effort, so no such goals are necessary. Instead, you are counting to give those blustery thoughts a focus, a project to attend to while the rest of your body settles into meditation.

I began the period feeling crooked and wild-minded. I gave myself a moment to find my composure, accepting my senses and feelings just as they were, deciding not to fight them. Once I felt a little more bottom-heavy, I began to count those slow out-breaths. I was elated to make it to ten; I stifled the elation, and in the next go, made it to 3 before I realized I was planning the night's dinner. Back again... and realizing I'd just counted "13". Slowly I pointed back to "1".

And on it went, until I realized: My thoughts are quieter now. My senses are a little sharper. I can feel things more succinctly in my body. And so I dropped the counting, and simply sat in that freshness, shikantaza, or "just sitting".

There really is nothing we can count on in this life, but for change itself. Practicing zazen helps one come to a deep appreciation for that change. And counting the breath offers a great way to approach raking leaves in the wind.