Presence not Preference

Let's start with the image this time. After teaching for three weeks in the UK, I took the Eurostar through the Chunnel (the improbable tunnel under the English Channel) from the Ashton Station just outside London on to the Gare du Nord in Paris. Although I had visited Paris several times before, I had never experienced it in the Springtime. It was lovely, busy, overcrowded, beautiful, inspiring, overwhelming, expensive and amazing. Like life, it was everything. But, of course, it was also Paris!

Sitting Place de Vosges

I took this iamage with my iPhone through the window of a gallery bordering the Place des Vosges in the heart of the Marais. Obviously the sitting figure caught my eye, but then more appeared. The meditator is steady, balanced, but insubstantial. He or she sits in stillness and silence against a background of color, movement, and passion. In the distant background in the far left corner is a solitary figure standing alone, head down. How many things can you project onto these images? What do these images show you about you? I could see so much of my own practice in this one glimpse through the window, this momentary capture with my ever-present phone.

Following up on last week's Deepest Longing Deepest Fear I spoke about our natural tendency to complicate things, with a prejudice for our personal preferences rather than pure and simple presence. We sit as best we can, coming to realize that there is no life devoid of the “red thread” as it is called in some old Zen stories — passion, embodied, juicy life, with all the emotion that goes with it. In addition, there is the inevitable solitariness we encounter while active and chaotic life swirls around us. This is some of what I saw through the window that afternoon. What do you see? Check out the Inquiry recording and hear what came forward for others when preferences meet presence.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-05-26-inquiry-flint-sparks

Deepest Longing Deepest Fear

Having just returned from three weeks of teaching in the UK, I am filled with gratitude for the opportunities I continue to receive to practice with many wonderful and dedicated people. From the chilly Lake District in the North, to the rollings moors of the Peak in the Midlands, and finally on to the warmer fields of Sussex in the South, wholehearted students encouraged each other in practicing the dharma. I led two three-day non-residential retreats, one five-day residential retreat, a sangha day on engaging Buddhist practice, a therapist training day on IFS and Applied Mindfulness practices, and an evening for new students on the fundamentals on Inquiry. It was a fantastic experience which I could not have done without every person’s kind support and gentle care.

A strong theme emerged from the various events. Over and over I found this tension revealing itself in the conversations among students in every event. They spoke with me about how much they longed for authentic love and deep connection. In doing so it was as if they were letting me in on their most precious secret, but this secret seemed to be universal. The other side of the tension was that with this longing came an equally powerful struggle to engage and accept love when it was offered. I began to see that our greatest longing calls forward some of our greatest fears, and that the willingness to sit in silence and stillness alongside others somehow called the secret out of the shadows. This vital intersection of longing and fear is a rich place for practice because embodied, relational practice invites both our most primitive instinct for connection and care to surface while, at the same time, evoking our deepest emotional vulnerabilities. Longing and fear are intimate practice partners.

Most of us hold a secret hope is that if we could somehow satisfy our incessant longing for connection and finally get the love we want, that this would quiet our fears. But this is not how it works. Instead, we often find ourselves oscillating between a fear of abandonment (loss of love) at some moments and the discomfort of engulfment (being overwhelmed by love) at others. Back and forth we go seeking our personal “middle way” — a relaxed body, a peaceful mind, and a warm heart. I would wager that few of us grew up being shown by clear example how to navigate this vulnerability. Were you patiently mentored by someone who guided you by revealing their own tender heart while also demonstrating how to sit with the natural longing for secure attachment? Were you helped to understand that clinging to the idea that you can be certain of satisfaction in your longing is a painful fantasy? Were you helped to realize that rejecting the unpredictability and chaos of human relationships is another sure way to suffer? Instead we are more often taught—even encouraged—to expect a sure and certain proof of love and also to be vigilant for the ways in which it is denied, distorted, withheld or forced on us in ways we dislike. Ignoring the whole messy thing doesn’t help either. To ignore this core dilemma is to slowly dry up, both emotionally and spiritually. This is the intersection where vitality swells and recedes depending on our response to life’s difficulties and joys. Practice helps us become a larger container for life energy so it can flow more freely and fully. Ultimately will not get everything we want in just the way we want it, but we can learn not to contract in the face of this reality in ways that are designed to protect us but end up ensuring that we are relatively “safe” but inevitably and deeply disappointed. We hope to be less vulnerable by trying to manage this turbulent boundary between longing and fear, but more often end up feeling small and empty. However, there is an alternative. Steady, well-grounded practice, with the help of patient spiritual friends (and teachers), does offer the freedom we long for, but it does not come in the form of personal satisfaction. It arrives as a freedom from the demand that we are personally satisfied. In this brief Inquiry we begin to touch on this universal theme of longing and fear.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-05-20-inquiry-flint-sparks

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Inquiry 101

Recently, just before sitting I was thinking that for most of us there seem to be two primary entrees to spiritual practice — great pain or great inspiration. Difficult things happen that bring us to our knees, compelling us to seek answers outside ourselves — beyond our ordinary coping and solace. At other times we are so inspired and blown open by unexpected experiences of immense love and profound grace that we seek a way to integrate these incomprehensible experiences. Either way, we want a way to meet our questions about the inconceivable, the unbelievable, the paradoxical, and the awesome nature of life.

I asked myself, “What would a first-time visitor to Inquiry need to hear? What kind of orientation could I offer that would keep it simple and yet make the way clear?

I jotted down some personal notes and joined the large group for our sitting.

At the end of meditation I launched into my brief talk with joyful enthusiasm. I felt energized and urgency because these things mean a lot to me. When I finished and began to invite people to come forward with their questions I realized I had forgotten to turn on the recorder. The talk was lost – Impermanent – Ephemeral – Just this moment.

I recall reading that when asked what it means to be a priest, Dogen Zenji, the thirteenth-century monk and founder of the Soto Zen school in which I am ordained replied, “One continuous mistake.” Apparently so! With this realization I pressed the appropriate button and recorded the relational part of the session. Although I was disappointed not to have captured the reflection from my notes, I see once again that engagement with the questions is the most important part. The immediacy and intimacy is the space through which the teachings flow. This is how we meet in Inquiry, Buddha to Buddha, because this is the way the Dharma is expressed and how the Sangha comes to life. The teachings were there, after all, coming forward personally – intimately.

Nonetheless I was asked to share my notes, so here they are. They are not a full narrative, just personal reflections from which I spoke. The portion of the recording I did capture is below (if you are reading this on the blog). I hope you find something of use for your everyday practice.

INQUIRY 101

Meditation

  1. In order to gain some stability of heart and mind, we sit. Hopefully, without too much manipulation, we come to recognize and rest in the stillness and silence that has nothing to do with movement or noise, the essential and primary awareness that is always and already with us, which is always on our side. Basic awareness, our natural state, does not move, does not comment on experience, and has no preferences. Awareness is the unobstructed space in which all conditioned phenomena arise and pass away.

  2. Through regular and steady sitting we also begin to have access to insight associated with the contents of awareness. Resting in the boundless we meet the every day with less obstruction. We learn to bring stability and spaciousness to each thing that arises. Boundlessness meets conditioning with wisdom and compassion with which life flows.

Meeting Suffering

  1. What do we notice as we turn toward suffering? — Our favorite bad feeling, a habitual and predictable ditch we fall into over and over, our addictive cycles of grasping and aversion, the power of shame or fear, and a seemingly endless list of other forms of distress and dissatisfaction. We sit to settle with a modest amount of stability in order to realize what is arising and to see the arising as an object of our consciousness, not as our identity. This shift from identity with the objects of our awareness to the unobstructed flow of awareness is the first gateway to inquiry.

  2. As we open in stable awareness we can then turn toward whatever we become aware of, all the contents of awareness. In doing so we do not attempt to move up and out of experience in an attempt to transcend suffering (remember “trying to outrun suffering” from our last Inquiry?). Instead we move down and into embodied immediacy of present moment experience. Practice does not take us to a place of no suffering. It helps us meet the inevitability of suffering in a new way. The true gift of spiritual practice is not bliss without suffering. It is the peace of not being caught by suffering.

  3. What are some typical ways we come to know suffering? Whatever we discover we can bring to Inquiry.

    1. In the body. Pain, discomfort, ease, pleasure, numbness — anything within the body, as the body. This is the primary source of information in the immediate present.

    2. Primal reactivity in the body-mind. We begin to notice very natural and automatic habits of grasping and recoiling from experience. We may even notice strong traces of the autonomic nervous system’s reacting with flight, fight, or freeze. This all happens in the body before concepts can even be formulated and this is another reason for the cultivation of steady awareness of the body and its reactions.

    3. Thoughts and feelings arise together. We can see the ways we cling to patterns of emotion/thought despite their often painful and unsatisfying results. This is the common territory of psychotherapy. Thought and feeling dance together, inform each other, and create the “self-centered dream” in which we can become entangled. They are gateways to freedom when met in a skillful manner, they are not simply painful symptoms of “pathology” or distress.

    4. Entrancing stories emerge from emotion-thought. Stories are not the problem. Believing our stories is the problem. An alternative would be to simply witness them as creations of our entire body-mind. These are the movies we unconsciously inhabit and then mistake for reality. Through Inquiry we become aware of how we create these virtual realities and react to them rather than relating to the ongoing and contingent flow of the lived moment.
These four ways we come to know suffering correspond generally to the Buddha’s Four Foundations of Mindfulness.
  1. The next question that inevitably arises in this turn toward suffering is: “Are you truly willing to meet all of this, and are you also willing to have all of this seen and met?” It is common to encounter some shaky limitations to seeing and being seen, to meeting and being met, to intimacy and the willingness to engage suffering deeply.

    1. Are you willing for others to bring their own mature stability and insight to meet your vulnerability? This is the question as we engage with trusted teachers and good spiritual friends.

    2. Are you willing to dedicate yourself to practice in order to cultivate your own maturing stability and insight? This might allow you to be a liberating resource for others.

  2. Your life is your answer to the question, “How should I live?” Inquiry does not answer your questions about life. It questions your answers, which is your lived experience of your life. Inquiry is not the answer, it challenges your life which, to this point, is the manifestation of your answer to life’s challenges.

    1. Meet everything, both inside and outside, with Curiosity and Patience

    2. Cultivate an attitude of Intimacy and Care for everything and everyone
Refer to A Few Practice Principles from an earlier blog.

Reactivity Shifts to Resourcefulness

  1. What beliefs about the world do we hold as true? For example: The world (people and experience) is — terrifying, a never-ending challenge, a sad place, full of pain, delightful, awesome, boring, beautiful, one problem after another, full of wonderful people, full of complicated and difficult people...And the list continues.

  2. Truth is, life is everything that it is!

  3. The world IS. I am in this body, at this time, under these conditions, with these people. Therefore, I must ask myself if I am committed to taking good care of myself and my life NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS? This is the self-responsible key to freedom!

A New Relationship With Experience

  1. Practice until it is a habit, not a special “thing” you do now and then.

  2. Always turn toward what arises with curiosity and patience, intimacy and care.

  3. Commit to embodiment. There is no freedom hanging out in the transcendent, as tempting as this may be.

  4. Remember the primary vow – “I will take care of myself and I will be responsible for my life no matter what happens.”

  5. Through practice realize that “self-care” reveals itself ultimately as care for everyone and everything.

The Inquiry Sequence Summary

Remember, (1) engage in meditation in order to mature into enough stability so that you can (2) turn toward suffering, including your resistance to suffering. This will allow (3) a shift from reactivity to resourcefulness. Ultimately, you begin to realize (4) a new relationship with experience.

Thanks for hanging in with this long post and these incomplete notes. The recording includes the Inquiry meetings themselves. The image is by Cassy Weyandt.

image-1

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-04-14-inquiry-flint-sparks

Lover of Truth

As I was thinking about what to offer in this Inquiry, I remembered these turning lines from Mark Nepo's poem Accepting This:
My efforts now turn
from trying to outrun suffering
to accepting love wherever
I can find it.

Stripped of causes and plans
and things to strive for,
I have discovered everything
I could need or ask for
is right here—
in flawed abundance.
What would it mean to make this simple turn in practice — abandoning our attempts to outpace ever-present suffering and instead, opening to the immense spiritual and emotional nourishment all around us? This was the core question for Inquiry. Going beyond ordinary thinking, relinquishing our habitual strategies for coping, and setting aside the endless striving for something that is right under our noses all along, we can be transformed into a lover of truth. In doing so our world opens, "in flawed abundance."

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-04-07-inquiry-flint-sparks

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Renewal and Original Mind

In this week's Inquiry, I spoke about renewal. It is Spring and the Texas wildflowers are beginning to come forth in profusion. Everything is green and lush. The theme for our recent Intensive at Appamada was "Seasons of Practice," so I have been continuing to reflect on the seasons in my own practice. I was also asked to deliver the Sunday sermon at Wildflower Unitarian Church a few weeks ago. There I spoke of simplicity. I was asked to bring a reading so this is what is copied below, an edited piece drawn from several chapters of the classic Zen Mind Beginners Mind by Shunryu Suzuki Roshi. There is much to contemplate here so I offer it for your reflection. The Inquiry recording (see below if you are reading this on the blog) includes the teachings that emerged and the immediacy of the questions that were met.

From Zen Mind Beginners Mind:
People say that practicing Zen is difficult, but there is a misunderstanding as to why. It is not difficult because it is hard to sit in the cross-legged position, or to attain enlightenment. It is difficult because it is hard to keep our mind pure and our practice pure in its fundamental sense.

In Japan we have the phrase shoshin, which means “beginner's mind." The goal of practice is always to keep our beginner's mind… Our "original mind" includes everything within itself. It is always rich and sufficient within itself. You should not lose your self-sufficient state of mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few…

I discovered that it is necessary, absolutely necessary, to believe in nothing. That is, we have to believe in something which has no form and no color—something which exists before all forms and colors appear. This is a very important point. No matter what god or doctrine you believe in, if you become attached to it, your belief will be based more or less on a self-centered idea… So it is absolutely necessary for everyone to believe in nothing. But I do not mean voidness. There is something, but that something is something which is always prepared for taking some particular form, and it has some rules, or theory, or truth in its activity. This is called Buddha nature, or Buddha himself. When this existence is personified we call it Buddha; when we understand it as the ultimate truth we call it Dharma; and when we accept the truth and act as a part of the Buddha, or according to the theory, we call ourselves Sangha. But even though there are three Buddha forms, it is one existence which has no form or color, and it is always ready to take form and color. This is not just theory. This is not just the teaching of Buddhism. This is the absolutely necessary understanding of our life. Without this understanding our religion will not help us. We will be bound by our religion, and we will have more trouble because of it…

So the most difficult thing is always to keep your beginner’s mind. There is no need to have a deep understanding of Zen. Even though you read much Zen literature, you must read each sentence with a fresh mind. You should not say, "I know what Zen is," or "I have attained enlightenment.” This is also the real secret of the arts: always be a beginner. Be very very careful about this point. If you start to practice zazen, you will begin to appreciate your beginner's mind. It is the secret of Zen practice.


Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-03-31-inquiry-flint-sparks

Bluebonnets

If you want a taste of freedom...

I recently spent a week teaching and leading retreats in Madison, Wisconsin where I have been fortunate to travel twice each year for nearly 15 years. This recent trip happened to be the week following the death of Tony Robinson, a 19-year-old young man shot by a Madison police officer. The city was in shock. As my good friend Suzanne drove me from the airport into town we were diverted by police barricades cordoning off the block where people held vigil at the site of the shooting. It was painful to witness the peaceful crowd, mostly silent, as we drove around the protected blocks and continued on our way. In the retreats that followed I heard people speaking of their anger and sadness, the disbelief that such an event could have occurred, and a mixture of outrage and grief. People reached out to the family of the boy who was shot, sensitive to their unthinkable loss. People reached out to the officer and his family, also caught in the cycle of terrible suffering.

I am no expert on these complex matters. I mostly feel impotent and humbled in the face of such tragedy. I happened to have a small book of quotes with me on my trip, given to the participants at a 50th birthday party right before I left for Madison. As we began the retreat I opened this treasure and found the two quotes I've included below, each from someone who has lived more intimately with these matters than I. I hope their words will resonate somewhere in your heart and mind. I brought them to Inquiry as our prompts for practice. You may hear the recording of this session on the blog post itself.

From Harriet Tubman, a brave woman who helped free slaves by establishing the Underground Railroad:
If you hear the dogs, keep going. If you see the torches in the woods, keep going. If they're shouting after you, keep going. Don't even stop. Keep going. If you want a taste of freedom, keep going.
From the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality...I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.
Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-03-17-inquiry-flint-sparks

Notes on Beginning a Painting

I love the way that creativity in the arts and imagination in spiritual practice inform each other. A very loving student of mine sent a list to me a few years ago after encountering it in an exhibit of Richard Diebenkorn's work at the De Young Museum in San Francisco. She told me a lovely story of how she was suddenly stopped as she read it inscribed on the wall at the entrance to the galleries displaying his work, and how she scrambled to find a piece of paper in which to copy what she had discovered. After receiving her generous gift of the list I filed it in a special place knowing I would use in Inquiry at some point. It was one of those treasures that I put away for safekeeping and ends up hidden as a result. I rediscovered it this week and am finally sharing it with you. I hope you find it as inspiring and challenging as I did. The list was found among Diebenkorn's papers following his death in 1993. The list could be a set of practice instructions for meditation or equally a challenging set of directions for an amateur photographer like me. Here is the list, including the spelling and capitalizations as they appeared in the original as it was found.
  1. Attempt what is not certain. Certainty may or may not come later. It may then be a valuable delusion.

  2. The pretty, initial position which falls short of completeness is not to be valued — except as a stimulus for further moves.

  3. Do search. But in order to find other than what is searched for.

  4. Use and respond to the initial fresh qualities but consider them absolutely expendable.

  5. Don't "discover" a subject — of any kind.

  6. Somehow don't be bored — but if you must, use it in action. Use its destructive potential.

  7. Mistakes can't be erased but they move you from your present position.

  8. Keep thinking of Pollyanna.

  9. Tolerate chaos.

  10. Be careful only in a perverse way.
This is the kind of list that is worth staying with and revisiting, like an old koan, a good poem, or a lovely painting. With intimacy it continues to open to you. Below is the Inquiry session we shared with the list.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-03-03-inquiry-flint-sparks

If you are interested in Diebenkorn's work, I would invite you to check out this Ocean Park Series. You can see some of the images and read an excellent review linked here. A review from the L.A. Times reflecting on these "large abstract paintings Diebenkorn made in his Santa Monica studio between 1967 and 1985" describes them as "translucent veils of vaporous color (which) seem suspended in shifting space from a tremulous linear scaffolding...". With humility and gratitude I offer this image in response to these grand paintings. This is the sky and ocean on the north shore of Molokai.

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Ordinary Mind: Everyday Life and Death

In a recent Inquiry I asked a basic question regarding practice: "How simple are you willing to let this be?" I followed this question the very next week by including a few basic practice fundamentals: Curiosity and Patience, Intimacy and Care. By discussing practice in these everyday terms, dropping any excessive complexity and formality, I hoped to encourage students to see that profound practice is possible in our everyday lives. Interestingly, there is an old Zen story that points to the same attitude and these same basic attitudes regarding practice. The well known story to which I am referring is Case 19 in the Gateless Gate, one of the classic collections of koans or Ancestor stories of the Zen school. Remember, these koans are simply accounts of encounters between a student and a teacher in which something significant is at stake and an unexpected turn helps the student see their life in an entirely new way. This story is about Joshu who would later become one of the great masters of Chinese Chan meeting his teacher Nansen. Here is the story.

Joshu earnestly asked Nansen, “What is the Way?”
Nansen answered, “The ordinary mind is the Way.”
Joshu asked, “Should I direct myself toward it or not?”
Nansen said, “If you try to turn toward it, you go against it.”
Joshu asked, “If I do not turn toward it, how can I know that it is the Way?”
Nansen answered, “The Way does not belong to knowing or not-knowing. Knowing is delusion; not-knowing is a blank consciousness. When you have really reached the true Way beyond all doubt, you will find it as vast and boundless as the great, empty firmament. How can it be talked about on a level of right and wrong?”
At these words, Joshu was enlightened.

The Inquiry talk goes further into this koan, but suffice it to say that the phrase that is important here is Nansen's answer, "Ordinary mind is the Way." There are five Chinese or Japanese characters that make up this translation. The first two modify each other and could be translated as "ordinary, everyday, natural or usual." The the third character stands for "heart-mind, essence, existence or whole being." The fourth could be translated as "just" as in "justice" (not as in "simply") and the final character means "way, road or path" and modifies the previous character. So a crude translation might be something like "Everyday heart-mind is the true path." Of course, we think that everyday mind is the problem, not the solution. But practice shows us that whatever arises in our heart/mind is a potential gateway to freedom, not a barrier to liberation, if we meet the arising with patient curiosity and an intimacy expressed as care. This is simply another way of talking about the encounter between Joshu and Nansen.

I was prepared to speak about this old story because it reflected the more contemporary way I was talking about practice, and then something unexpected happened. A dear friend and sangha member suddenly and shockingly lost her husband. I knew she was going to be at Inquiry so I considered changing my topic. However, meeting the pain of unexpected loss and the attendant suffering, is ordinary life; life and death are everyday matters and the core of practice. I think you will hear in the Inquiry recording the ways in which the sangha supported each person as they sought to turn toward the shocking and incomprehensible fact that we are alive now and someday we will not be alive. Turning toward what we usually avoid with courage and gentleness is the "just" way of meeting our heart and mind. This is everyday mind. Ordinary mind.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-02-17-inquiry-flint-sparks

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A Few Practice Essentials: Curiosity, Patience, Intimacy and Care

In the last post I focused on Simplicity in practice. I thought it might be useful to follow up and say a bit more about the bare essentials of practice. As I sat and reflected on what was most basic and clear for my practice, two word-pairs arose and these were the foundation for our Inquiry.

The first pair were Curiosity and Patience. With simple curiosity we engage beginner's mind. Whether we are sitting, walking, standing, or lying down (the Buddha's four noble actions) we commit to turning toward unfolding experience without being caught in belief or expectation. Of course these things do inevitably arise and with them come hope and fear, so our practice commitment includes remaining curious about their arising. This requires a good deal of patience, the willingness to make space for not knowing, and to acknowledge that things take time. Sustaining patience, we remain curious. Engaging curiosity opens a greater capacity for patience. This seems like a good place to start — curious and patient.

The second pair of basic practice pointers that arose were Intimacy and Care. Our practice is to engage intimately with our experience, both inside and out, and in doing so we meet life as it is. Neither leaning in too strongly nor away too reactively we aim for the Middle Way, intimate with everything. Remaining intimate with each moment is also a way to invite the immediacy of care. Caring for our body, for our thoughts and feelings, and for our relationships is a deeply intimate act. This intimacy flows back as care. This seems like a generous cycle for practice.

In the Tibetan tradition it is said that practice is "good in the beginning, good in the middle, and good in the end." I would say that practice is characterized by gratitude in the beginning, gratitude in the middle and gratitude at the end. Gratitude is the ground from which practice grows and is the ultimate fruit of wholesome practice. And in the middle, gratitude is a complete practice in itself.

So here are the simple pointers: Opening to gratitude, we ask ourselves to remain curios accompanied by an attitude of spacious patience. Practicing intimacy with each thing and each moment we offer ourselves as a lively expression of care. Care is both intimate and patient. Intimacy is an expression of patient care and gratitude is the realization of patient curiosity and intimate care.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-02-10-inquiry-flint-sparks

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How Simple Are You Willing to Let This Be?

It is easy to make things complicated. It is harder to allow them to remain simple. This is most essential when approaching spiritual practice and meditation. This Inquiry reflection is on what it means to let go of every instrumental definition of meditation. It is an invitation to see what it means to truly engage in a meditation practice without any ideas about what it “should” do for us. How simple are we willing to let it be? When thinking about what I might say I ran across this small poem by the Nobel Prize-winning poet Wislawa Szymborska. The attached photograph is mine and the recording of the Inquiry session can be found on the blog post itself.

The Three Oddest Words

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no nonbeing can hold.


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Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-02-03-inquiry-flint-sparks

Control and Self Surrender

I recently spent a wonderful week co-leading a retreat in Taos, New Mexico. Late January is a lovely time to be in the mountains of northern New Mexico although the dry, thin air can be challenging for those of us who live near sea level. The cold sky can be crystalline and clear but it can also be dark and dangerous. We had both that week, but on one particularly stormy night, it actually felt threatening and dangerous. Only a few minutes after tucking myself into bed I heard something fall and break. It sounded as if there had been an accident in the room next to mine or maybe in the kitchen which was one floor below. The violent wind gusts were battering the old adobe structure and something kept banging. I was concerned that a window may have come unlatched or a screen door had blown open and I was going to have to listen to its noisy dance with the wind all night. I finally got up to see if I could locate the clatter but all I could detect was an odd wind rattling the door to my room and then rushing past me down the stairway when I opened it to check the hallway. Something wasn't right. I finally turned in the opposite direction to the far side of my large room and discovered that a window had blown out. I stood there dumbly looking at the flapping curtains and the snow blowing through the perfectly square opening in the bedroom wall. I had no idea what had happened and little idea about what to do. I looked more closely and discovered that the glass had not blown into the room nor had anything hit the window to cause it to break. I could see the entire pane shattered in the snow on the roof of the kitchen below. No pieces of the glass remained in the sill. Apparently the entire pane had released itself and flown away from the frame out into the storm. What was this mysterious force that had caused the pane to jump cleanly off the frame out into the storm?

More important than solving this mystery was closing the opening. It was very near zero-degrees outside and the wind was quickly chilling the room. I contacted the on-call maintenance person and we managed to secure the rupture with cardboard and tape, shoving a large armoire over the patched space to add some measure of protection. It was 50-degrees in the room by the time I got back in bed around midnight. By morning the storm had passed, the sun was shining brightly and the world was white and soft. A new pane was cut and glazed into place. Through it all I was reminded of how weak I feel in the face of nature's impersonal chaos. And the very next day I ran across a post in BrainPickings, a wonderful online source for amazing reflections on life, spirituality, literature, art and how to live a good life. I might not have even looked at this one except a friend had mentioned the author and the exotic (and out of print) Scandinavian children's book from which this post was taken. It caught my eye and then took me deeper as I discovered the beautiful little story of the Moomintroll and his night this a raging snow storm. You can read the excerpt here. I also used it for Inquiry the following week at Appamada and that recording is posted on the blog site and available for listening.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-01-27-inquiry-flint-sparks

Mabel Dodge

Make of Yourself a Light

We are in the last full day of the Leadership Pilgrimage Intensive retreat in Taos, NM. Our theme for the week has been "Becoming a Compassionate Leader," and our study text is Norman Fischer's Training in Compassion. During our last morning meditation I spoke about the way in which becoming a compassionate leader is, in a sense, becoming a light in the world. I was reflecting on the Buddha's final teaching and the famous quote from the Mahaparinibbana Sutta which chronicles the events and teachings at the very end of the Buddha’s life — “Be a light unto yourself.” Much could be said about this statement, but in my comments I was suggesting that he was recommending that we practice in order to bring light where there is darkness and sight where there was once blindness. He is suggesting that we become that light and learn to have faith in our own life-light.

A very wonderful Japanese teacher, Kobun Chino Roshi (1938-2002), would often use “light” as a metaphor for sitting practice and for life energy. He was a delightful teacher and a poet. One of the first quotes given to me by my own teacher (Zenkei Blanche Hartman) was the following from Kobun Chino. She gave it to me before the first seven-day sesshin I was about to enter with her.

"The main subject of this sesshin is how to become a transmitter of actual light, life light. Practice takes place to shape your whole ability to reflect the light coming through you, and to regenerate your system, so the light increases its power. Each precept is a remark about hard climbing. Maybe climbing down (to the very ground of your being). You don't use the precepts for accomplishing your own personality or fulfilling your dream of your highest image. You don't use the precepts in that way. The precepts are the reflective light world of one precept, which is Buddha's mind itself, which is the presence of Buddha. Zazen is the first formulation of the accomplishment of Buddha existing. The more you sense the rareness and value of your own life, the more you realize that how you use it, how you manifest it, is all your responsibility. We face such a big task so, naturally, such a person sits down for a while. It's not an intended action, it's a natural action."

There is an enormous amount of teaching that can flow from this statement by Kobun Chino, certainly much more than I will comment on here in this small post. It made a big impact on me the first time I read it and it has stayed with me through the years, continuing to unfold its meaning. I discovered the truth of “climbing down” in practice, just as I had in psychotherapy, but the difference was that in zazen I was climbing toward nothing; no gain: no accomplishing of my own personality or of fulfilling the dream of my highest image. This was naturally something that made me sit down for a while, and I’ve remained on the cushion in one way or another since then.

Here is another beautiful reflection on the use of “light” by Kobun Chino Roshi. It is found in A Light in the Mind: Living Your Life Just As It Is, an homage to Kobun Chino’s life and teaching by his long-time student and Zen teacher Carolyn Atkinson. In this segment she is describing a moment late in his teaching life.

“We sit,” Kobun began slowly, “to make life meaningful. The significance of our life is not experienced in striving to create some perfect thing.” He looked down at his hands as he spoke. He was quiet for a long time. Then he continued, “We must simply start with accepting ourselves. Sitting brings us back to actually who and where we are.” Again he waited, as he perhaps reflected upon his own life. “This can be very painful. Self-acceptance is the hardest thing to do.” Once again, he paused, so long at this point that I wondered if perhaps he had finished. But finally, he continued, “If we can’t accept ourselves, we are living in ignorance, this darkest night. We may still be awake, but we don’t know where we are. We cannot see. The mind has no light.” He stopped and looked around at us in our small circle. He moved from face to face with his eyes, seeing deeply into each one of us, his long-time, oldest students. Finally, he nodded slightly, and concluded, “Practice is this candle in our very darkest room.”

She captures what I imagine was a tender moment with her teacher, sitting together in stillness and silence. His “life light” must have touched everyone in the room. Such illumination was not brought about by his being grand or special, but by being ordinary and wholehearted. His vulnerability opened the way for wisdom. His willingness to nakedly face himself and his students opened the way for compassion. This is being a light.

Interestingly, the American poet Mary Oliver has written a poem entitled “The Buddha’s Last Instruction,” speaking to this same teaching about becoming a light. It underscores the relational quality of our practice-realization and life-transformation. Over time we inevitably discover that this is not a solitary practice that will lead us to individual achievement. It is a practice of profound meeting and intimacy.

The Buddha’s Last Instruction
~ Mary Oliver

“Make of yourself a light”

said the Buddha,

before he died.

I think of this every morning

as the east begins

to tear off its many clouds

of darkness, to send up the first

signal - a white fan

streaked with pink and violet,

even green.

An old man, he lay down

between two sala trees,

and he might have said anything,

knowing it was his final hour.

The light burns upward,

it thickens and settles over the fields.

Around him, the villagers gathered

and stretched forward to listen.

Even before the sun itself

hangs, disattached, in the blue air,

I am touched everywhere

by its ocean of yellow waves.

No doubt he thought of everything

that had happened in his difficult life.

And then I feel the sun itself

as it blazes over the hills,

like a million flowers on fire-

clearly I’m not needed

yet I feel myself turning

into something of inexplicable value.

Slowly, beneath the branches,

he raised his head.

He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.

“Clearly I’m not needed/yet I feel myself turning/into something of inexplicable value.” Relinquishing self and reveling out True Nature; Kenosis (self-emptying) and realizing identity with the Divine; Mind and body of themselves, dropped away. There are many ways this essential paradox has been expressed. And in the end, “He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.” The poet doesn’t say, “and then everything was OK.” She also does not imply that, “then he gave his final wise teaching.” The suggestion is that the looking itself was the teaching. This is life light — this willingness to look and truly see. This is what enlightens and frees all beings. This is making ourselves a light.

Evening light at Mabel Dodge Luhan House in Taos.
Taoslight

Experiments in Trust

I recently heard a quotation from the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr that will likely be familiar to some of you: “Salvation is being on the right road, not having reached a destination.” This is so resonant with our own teaching of practicing with "no gaining idea." Yet, we do have ideas about what we want and the things that motivate us to practice. When we receive such teachings we might wonder what we can trust. How do we know we are on the right road? Is our practice the practice that will deliver salvation, freedom, enlightenment, an open heart and a clear mind? We can't know exactly. But we can cultivate a faith that does not rest outside of ourselves, outside of Buddha Nature. We can come to see our practice as an ongoing experiment in realizing faith in our True Nature.

Suzuki Roshi once said, “Big mind is knowing that we have to see the world through our small mind.” Dedicated practice slowly relieves us of the false (and often tightly held) hope that we will eventually become someone else. Commitment to zazen, study, and working with a teacher eventually demonstrates to us that we will not become something else other than human. We will always be limited, impermanent humans that can paradoxically imagine and awaken to the limitless and the inconceivable. Everybody sees the world through their own eyes and with their own unique perspective. We are naturally under the illusion that what we are seeing is real and whole. But, by definition, we are limited creatures using limited equipment, meeting other limited beings and impermanent things in a never-ceasing flow of change. As a result, we are anxious.

So, a meditation center and a community of practitioners is a laboratory for trust in the face of this anxiety. "Can I experiment in this environment with simply being myself? Do I even know who this person is? Is it OK to be this person?" As we meet these inevitable questions, it is important to remember one thing: This is not a practice path that helps us necessarily trust others or our surroundings or conditions to deliver the freedom we seek. Everything is contingent and without an abiding self, so we can't reliably place our trust elsewhere. This road is about trusting ourselves. Practicing in this way, with our small minds, reveals to us the larger perspective that salvation is, in fact, trusting ourselves to be ourselves. Profound acceptance is the road of Big Mind and we travel it with small mind.

I would venture to say that pretty much all of the optional suffering in the world derives from our not wanting to be ourselves, especially not wanting to feel what we feel. There is pain and suffering in this world that we can’t do anything about, but the rest of it comes from not wanting to be "this person." Rather than learning to be with and to greet all the parts of ourselves that arise in response to the challenges we meet along the road, we resort to habitual patterns and automatic habits of protection and coping. Sitting in stillness and silence in zazen is an experiment in trust. "Can I be this person? Can I sit with all of this and meet it with a wholesome attitude—with an open heart and a soft mind?" This is the road of Big Mind.

But to sit in stillness and silence can bring up powerful things that might feel like barriers to Big Mind. Stillness and silence shine a light on the little nooks and crannies of our being like nothing else. When we relinquish our habit of coping and protection and sit in the naked now, things are reveled that would otherwise not be shown to us. Here are a few that were manifest during our recent Integrated Intensive. These, and many others, can become dharma gates for our release, rather than perceived barriers to practice. These are the challenges to liberation and they show us where we are shaky and lacking trust in our True Nature. This is where we can meet and transform that which we have lived with all of our lives, often with a sense that we are stuck, trapped, or that nothing will ever change. We hear about mediation practice and enlightenment hoping that this will be the magic we long for. But when we enter the practice path of sitting in silence and stillness, this is what we may actually encounter:
  1. In some families, silence was used as punishment. So when we are asked to sit in silence, this painful feeling might arise. We have a chance to meet this suffering differently and find some freedom if we have skillful support.
  2. We might also be asked not to make eye contact during a retreat. However, looking away and “ignoring” is one powerful way that shame in triggered, especially when we are young. Once again, the light of awareness can bring forward these tender parts that carry shame.
  3. For those who lived in a violent or otherwise unsafe environment as child, being still can be experienced as terrifying. We might feel a profound sense of danger, especially is we are facing a wall and things are going on behind us that we cannot see. Not speaking might be construed as harsh suppression or being muzzled, another painful or terrifying possibility. Practice does not become "safe" by avoiding these realities. We build a life of trust and safety by transforming these embodied memories and habits through practice and new relational experiences that disconfirm our embodied beliefs.
  4. Sometimes stillness for long periods is proclaimed to be “not me” – “I'm the kind of person who needs to move.” Such a statement is a description of a preference or a habit pattern that might feel quite good and might be truly healthy and beneficial to a body-mind. This is in no way discouraged as a lovely and wholesome practice. However, in our Way, stillness brings forward what is not shown in movement. Movement can be a healing and generative practice, but it can also be a spiritual bypass for the parts that arise only in stillness. Restraint can be felt as bondage, but the deepest bondage, in truth, is from the fear held by our exiled parts that protective and active habit patterns continue to cover.
  5. The attentive silence and steady stillness of zazen can be misconstrued as seriousness and heaviness. Zen students or mediation practitioners can take on an unnecessary attitude of rigidity and harshness that is totally unnecessary. It is as if people carry a false belief that “spiritual” somehow means “serious and heavy.” This path is the road to freedom from suffering, which is joy and ease. We engage in activities that bring forward all the parts of us that are not joyful and at ease so that they can be met fully. An affected attitude of seriousness and heaviness is not an antidote to pain.
  6. Likewise, mindfulness is not about being lost in inner reflection, going inside over and over, and moving in slow motion. Mindfulness is not dissociation from the immediacy of experience and is not a replacement for the actual lived experience of the moment. Mindfulness is resting in and as the embodied presence of the moment, but it requires us to accept this body, this mind, this heart, and these circumstances as the reality to be met. Can we trust this?
  7. As we learn to trust ourselves in this moment, we also discover that meditation is not the practice of waiting. The road is right beneath our feet and seat. We are not moving into silence and stillness so that something new and better will happen. We are sitting to accept and trust this moment as the fullness of life right here and now.
This body is the altar—a shrine if you will—the manifestation of the Buddha’s Body, our True Nature shining forth. Nothing can disturb the unconditioned (Big Mind) even as we live with the disturbances of our conditioned selves (small mind). Big Mind is knowing that we always see through small mind. This is the road of salvation, not the road to liberation.

So we live with the questions: “Am I willing to actually be this one? Can I trust myself to meet it all?” Here is the Inquiry reflection and the meetings that ensued. If this does not show up in the email, please go to the blog itself to hear the Inquiry session.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2015-01-13-inquiry-flint-sparks

Stillness and Movement

One of the many things I love about visiting the beach is the way in which peaceful stillness and powerful movement can come together. When we sit in the stillness and silence of meditation, we discover a vibrant aliveness. There is subtle and fluid movement in true meditation, otherwise we would become rigid and disembodied. Likewise, when we move gently in yoga, we discover the profound stillness at the center of each gesture and every posture. In both practices we become intimate with the stillness in movement and the movement in stillness.

This is precisely what I recognized in this photograph taken on Molokai last November at Popahaku beach — the power of the oceans unrelenting movement alongside the quiet stillness of the tidal pool. In the wave I feel the vital elements of power and change. In the stillness of the pool I sense the reflective quality of my mind in meditation. Which is the real ocean, the crashing wave or the quiet pool? It is all water. Which is my true mind, unceasing thoughts or quiet spaciousness? It is all Mind.

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The Song of the Grass Roof Hut

We are in retreat at the moment at Appamada, and we are using a poem written in the 8th century by the Chinese teacher Shitou (Sekito Kisen in Japanese) as our source for study and practice. Shitou was also the author of another very famous poem that is often chanted in Zen temples and monasteries (Sandokai or Merging of Difference and Unity), but this poem is very personal. It is accessible and speaks of a modest hut and everyday affairs. I offer it here for your enjoyment. Please stay with it, read it, let it work on you, meet the person in the hut, and find your way through the grasses and weed of daily struggles.

Song of the Grass Roof Hut
~Shitou

I've built a grass hut where there's nothing of value.
After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.
When it was completed, fresh weeds appeared.
Now it's been lived in—covered by weeds.
The person in the hut lives here calmly,
not stuck to inside, outside, or in-between.
Places worldly people live, he doesn't live.
Realms worldly people love, he doesn't love.
Though the hut is small, it includes the entire world.
In ten feet square, an old man illumines forms and their nature.
A Mahayana bodhisattva trusts without doubt.
The middling or lowly can't help wondering;
Will this hut perish or not?
Perishable or not, the original master is present,
Not dwelling south or north, east or west.
Firmly based on steadiness, it can't be surpassed.
A shining window below the green pines—
jade palaces or vermillion towers can't compare with it.
Just sitting with head covered all things are at rest.
Thus, this mountain monk doesn't understand at all.
Living here he no longer works to get free.
Who would proudly arrange seats, trying to entice guests?
Turn around the light to shine within, then just return.
The vast inconceivable source can't be faced or turned away from.
Meet the ancestral teachers, be familiar with their instructions,
bind grasses to build a hut, and don't give up.
Let go of hundreds of years and relax completely.
Open your hands and walk, innocent.
Thousands of words, myriad interpretations,
are only to free you from obstructions.
If you want to know the undying person in the hut,
don't separate from this skin bag here and now.

For a wonderful reflection on the poem, see Ben Connelley's new book Inside the Grass Hut: Living Shitou's Classic Zen Poem

"Live to the point of tears"

Lately I have been finding my self “leaking” frequently. I am not sad or depressed. Nothing bad is happening and I have not suffered some serious loss. In my work with my students and most recently in the photography workshop in Hawaii, I realized I am being gently broken open and moved by the vulnerability and beauty around me. As I was reflecting on this, I recalled the line from Camus' Notebooks, "Live to the point of tears." This seemed to meet something in me that I hadn't quite been able to name. I wanted to find my own words to describe what I was experiencing, so I sat in silence and stillness to see what would arise. Three keywords came to mind.

First, I realize I am opened by an immense gratitude for all the natural beauty I see around me, and for the ways everyone is struggling with their vulnerability while simply trying to live their lives. When I open in this way, I then feel a great generosity welling up. I want to offer myself, in my own limited and vulnerable way, to my tender companions on the journey. But to do so evokes the last word, humility. Without humility, all that has arisen could become a personal project or endeavor, all about me. So, as I sat I realized that these three qualities that invited and encouraged my tears were, in a way, all the same. They were different aspects of the one thing — tender care.

In another book, Summer in Algiers, Camus wrote, “If there is any sin against life, it consists not so much in despairing of life as in hoping for another life and in eluding the implacable grandeur of this life.” And this is the invitation of Zen practice, to cultivate a capacity to live this life fully, not missing its incredible grandeur despite the inevitable suffering involved. Maybe some measure of gratitude, generosity and humility are what make a gracious life possible. Certainly everyone's life is worth a few tears.

As I was reflecting on these matters I received the following poem from a student. “Because of Our Wisdom” we can say, “I am hungry to know you.” How far will you travel for love? And, will you allow gratitude, generosity and humility be open as gateways to Divine Truth? Some of these questions arose in our Inquiry session this week.

Because Of Our Wisdom
—Hafiz

In many parts of this world water is
Scarce and precious.

People sometimes have to walk
A great distance

Then carry heavy jugs upon their
Heads.

Because of our wisdom, we will travel
Far for love.

All movement is a sign of
Thirst.

Most speaking really says,
“I am hungry to know you.”

Every desire of your body is holy.

Dear one,
Why wait until you are dying

To discover that divine
Truth?

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2014-12-09-inquiry-flint-sparks

Just This is It

Having just finished a week-long photography workshop — See the Light — I am remembering this Inquiry session that preceded that week. In it, we were reflecting on the traditional Zen saying "Just this is it." The truth is, things happen in just the way they happen. They do not happen in any other way. They happen just like this.

Our photos, if captured well and freely, reflect just this.

Something is always happening. Things arise and pass away — just like this — aside from the ways we wish, want, expect, understand or live them. However, we do wish, want, expect, try to understand and inevitably live out our self-centered dream. However, there are other possibilities:
  1. wish = It is easier to hope rather than meet experience with acceptance, immediacy, and engagement; wishing is passive, and not in our best interest;
  2. want = Wanting it more energetic, but with an edge of grasping and, hence, suffering;
  3. expect = This often suggests a form of entitlement; passively wishing and wanting to be met, and ultimately to be saved;
  4. understand = With this one we act as if conceptualization were the same as intimacy with all things;
  5. live = Our automatic reactions and habitual responses to what is happening is how we move in life rather than actually meeting what is happening; this is the function of meditation practice (zazen), to teach us to be with experience outside of habit patterns.
In this way, we come to realize that each moment has a stark reality to it — a sacred intense presence — just like this.

If we can actually meet life as it is — just like this — then we are better prepared to respond appropriately to life as it is, rather than merely through our wishes, desires, expectations, understanding, or habits. Meeting things — just like this — is not an invitation to be passive, but to be immediate and clear.

Inquiry recording:
https://soundcloud.com/appamada-zen/2014-11-11-inquiry-flint-sparks

Intimate vision

I have said in other posts that I see humans as “messy miracles.” Somehow we become so identified with our messiness that we forsake the miraculous in coming to know our true nature. The essential key to reunite what is so often separated seems to be our willingness to face our fundamental vulnerability and realize it as the gateway to freedom and joy. Of course vulnerability is the shaky, feared place around which we develop our basic strategies from childhood that both protect us and prevent us from receiving what we long for so deeply — the nourishment of real intimacy. I certainly see this in my clients, my Zen students, and most closely within myself. This is just part of being human and I am witnessing it this week in the See the Light photography workshop in which I am participating.

When I signed up for the workshop I expected to get expert training from the two principle teachers, Jonathan Kingston and John Barclay, and I also anticipated receiving inspiration and photo wisdom from Rikki Cooke and Dewitt Jones. What I did not expect was to find myself in a morning “sharing circle” in the pavilion at the Hui with tears streaming down my face as we talked about what the process of photography opened in us. I am used to this in my everyday work life. I just didn’t think that a photography workshop would reveal the same essential vulnerability in such tender and loving ways. I feel like I am participating in a meditation retreat, engaging in practices (shooting in nature and learning Lightroom), dharma talks (teachings about dropping the self, turning toward gratitude, and allowing the world to come to us), and practice discussion (meeting with the teachers, feeling vulnerable and stupid, showing them my innermost vision through my images, fearing judgment). Here were the same lessons I offer my students all the time: Loving presence is the foundation for how we do everything and meet everyone; Curiosity is the key to turning from habitual reaction to response and choice; Everything is relational and I am not the center of it all; Learn to look deeply and learn to allow yourself to be seen; Honor everything and turn to gratitude as a way to live; Humility is the appropriate response to meeting this tender world and to caring for each other. Everything belongs, so what do we ignore or avoid?

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One practice at a time, moment after moment, relationship after relationship, and with a commitment to cultivating attention and care as our vow, we slowly build a way of life that can gently hold our basic human vulnerability. Rather than bracing against our fears in automatic and habitual ways, we discover that real intimacy — the essential nourishment we will always require — becomes available in abundance, and then we can share it with each other. That is what I regularly feel in our warm sangha at Appamada and this is what I was experiencing in the circle in the photo workshop. The simple blessings that are appearing in this space of loving presence, the grace that is flowing through our warm connections, and the spacious intimacy that we discover together are the essential balms to life’s challenges and humiliations. This is what brought tears to my eyes. This is what opened my eyes.

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Another day, another rainbow...

This beautiful Sunday morning is the first full day of the See the Light photography workshop at Hui Ho’olana in Hawaii, and it is my first full day as a student in a retreat center where I have taught for the past 15 years. In fact, the Embodied Mindfulness workshop co-led by me and Donna Martin preceded this workshop by a week, so I have been on the island of Molokai for just over two weeks. As people were rousing to begin their day and as the sun peeked over the mountains behind us, a light mist began to fall in the morning sunshine. This combination of mist and sun means one thing to photographers – there is a rainbow somewhere!

And, indeed, there was, just where the morning rainbows always appear, beautifully and predictably when the conditions are right. The lawn outside of the lodge looked like it had sprouted tripods and everyone looked for just the right spot as the rainbow came and went.

photo

My initial response was, “another day, another rainbow,” as I drank my tea and watched the excited newcomers get into position. This is how it goes, isn’t it? We grow accustomed to the amazement that is actually our LIFE! We make ordinary what is extraordinary and lose sight of the mystery as it appears right before our eyes. It is in the beginner’s mind that things appear new, fresh and NOW! This is certainly the teaching I offer all the time and I was receiving it back once again on this first day as a “student.” This was not “another day.” This was not “another rainbow.” This is IT!

Suzuki Roshi’s famous statement in the opening chapter of Zen Mind Beginner’s Mind:
“For Zen students the most important thing is not to be dualistic. Our ‘original mind’ includes everything within itself. It is always rich and sufficient within itself. You should not lose your self-sufficient state of mind. This does not mean a closed mind, but actually an empty mind and a ready mind. If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything; it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert's mind there are few.”

And this is our path, to always remember beginner’s mind, to always remain curious and open to life, and to return to gratitude as the most essential nourishment. Erin and I were going to visit a friend a couple of days ago and we were a little early, so we decided to drive up the road a bit to look at the landscape. We eventually slowed and turned into the driveway at the Molokai Museum and Cultural Center in order to turn around. This is what stopped us in our tracks.

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This is what is always available and always has the potential to bring us to a stop along the path. But, if we don’t take the time for the aimless drive, dropping our narrowly focused agenda, we can't truly stop and make the turn – the “backward step” as Dogen described it 800 years ago — we will never “see the light,” and there is always light. This is not just another day, and not just another rainbow. THIS IS IT!

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Here are Dogen's words from his Fukanzazengi (Universally Recommended Instructions for Zazen): “You should therefore cease from practice based on intellectual understanding, pursuing words and following after speech, and learn the backward step that turns your light inwardly to illuminate your self. Body and mind of themselves will drop away, and your original face will be manifest. If you want to attain suchness, you should practice suchness without delay.”

This fleeting world...

Several weeks ago I was privileged to lead a two-day workshop in Brussels, Belgium titled “Nothing Missing.” We were exploring the intersection of Zen practice and psychotherapy, especially through the Internal Family Systems model. I had never been to Belgium and had never visited the older parts of the city of Brussels. In the old square, my friend Sophie and I came upon two young men energetically preparing something mysterious for the crowd of tourists. Their offerings soon emerged as ephemeral, beautiful, and playful. Huge bubbles began to float across the cobblestone square. People stopped to marvel at the fragile creations. Children ran after them, fascinated and determined to touch them, knowing that to finally capture the object of their fascination would be to destroy it. Time after time they stood entranced, waiting for the next bubble, repeating their joyful pursuit to the inevitable destructive ending, thrilled at the next opportunity to grasp at nothing.

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Each bubble was dazzling, but more interesting was the unending cycle of creation and destruction. As I watched, I recalled the famous lines of the Buddha responding to the question posed to him by his disciple Subhuti in the Diamond Sutra, “How are we to contemplate our conditioned existence in this fleeting world:” The Buddha responded:
A star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp, a phantom and a dream,
So is this fleeting world.

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Sometimes we are the ones creating the bubbles, mistaking them for substance, totally entranced by their evanescent beauty. It is as if they are the promise of something that can never be delivered. We sense the excitement rise as each loop is dipped in the soapy water, so there must be something real about these appearances. We can feel them. They have meaning in our agitated bodies. We anticipate the next creation, hoping that this one will be the one that satisfies – but satisfies what? If one bubble is good, maybe two will be better. I know that more of nothing is still nothing, but didn’t my nose get wet when the bubble exploded? Didn’t the others see it happen as well? Maybe the next one will last forever!

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There are times when we identify as the witnesses, satisfied to stand on the sidelines watching the dance, feeling its pull, but hesitant to jump in. And sometimes we simply stop and look through the whole thing. Or is it the looking-through that actually stops us? In the stopping we turn. This stopping and this turn is the entrance to practice. We turn and SEE!

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In seeing we come to realize ourselves not only as the bubbles, but as the bubble maker, the witness, and the child — no separation, nothing solid, and nothing missing.
With this realization we rejoin the dance. We can now plunge in with our whole body, with energy and creativity, knowing exactly what we are doing and being amazed that we are actually doing it. This clear seeing with full engagement is called Wisdom. Wisdom helps us realize that there is no escape from the impermanence of forms within conditioned existence, but nevertheless we celebrate and participate fully in form for the sake of everyone and everything. And this wholehearted offering and generous care for all is called Compassion.

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Seeing the shining faces of our friends reflected back through the veil of appearances, full of love and joy, we live out our lives. Our lives and the fragile bubble have only one sure outcome. Even so, we learn not to hold back from the inevitable. This is where human longing and heartfelt gratitude come to understand each other as the most intimate partners. This is how they eventually find their home in embodied immediacy in each moment until there are no more moments — until the bubble bursts.
And how is this accomplished in this fleeting, human world? By viewing life as the Buddha taught…
Like a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud.
A flickering lamp, a phantom and a dream.

Flint Sparks
Hui Ho’olana
November 18, 2014