One of the worst things about the internet, is anyone can put up anything. One of the best things about the internet is ANYBODY CAN PUT UP ANYTHING. This is the case with Project for awesome. It is not about any one thing. It is a collection of Youtuber's who make a special attempt, once a year to draw extra attention to causes and charities that make the world a better place.
This past week, I had an absolutely horrible time at work. Probably the most stressful week of my career. But, I got through it. I got through it largely because I was able to keep from completely turning inward and focussing only on myself. I reach out to help others who needed me and it made me very bouyant in difficult times.
That is basically what project for awesome is about. We connect with others who care to help others who need it. John Green of the Vlog Brotehrs put it wonderfully...
"As humans we have a bad habit of imagining that people who live far away from us or in different circumstances from us as fundamentally other. "
Things like P4a and Youtube (when harnessed appropriately) can help us make the connection to that far off strange person that makes them more my brother or sister, and less of a distant other.
Here is my contribution to p4a. Lord knows I am not an A1 Youtuber, but the hope is that it helps.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Whirlpool
One of the great challenges I find in this practice is maintaining a ceaseless willingness to encounter and address my own conditioning. This is coming up a lot lately, largely due to the amount of suffering I am encountering. It takes many forms: the death of a friend, the stresses of the holidays, difficult people, etc. In all of these there is a familiar and seductive layer of conditioning that I am trying to work with.
All encounters involve people with a particular story or agenda. When that comes to bear in an angry or painful way, it can be difficult to not to get pulled into the story and the drama. When that happens, being fully present and open to these moments seems impossible. (make the slightest distinction and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart).
The reaction might be anger, or gossip, but when the story is spun, we can get caught in the fabric, and make it our own. From within that fabric, we can see nothing but what we are weaving that moment. To take in the entire fabric and the environment is to see in context of the whole. As I develop the ability to realease the conditioned story (to which I may feel VERY entitled too), I believe I am starting to understand what it means to "forget the self".
All encounters involve people with a particular story or agenda. When that comes to bear in an angry or painful way, it can be difficult to not to get pulled into the story and the drama. When that happens, being fully present and open to these moments seems impossible. (make the slightest distinction and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart).
The reaction might be anger, or gossip, but when the story is spun, we can get caught in the fabric, and make it our own. From within that fabric, we can see nothing but what we are weaving that moment. To take in the entire fabric and the environment is to see in context of the whole. As I develop the ability to realease the conditioned story (to which I may feel VERY entitled too), I believe I am starting to understand what it means to "forget the self".
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Outward
When things get difficult in my life, my conditioned experience feels like a contraction. I can't even begin to get into how natural and seductive that conditioning feels. However, this past week, a practice resurfaced in my life that has really helped reverse that contraction.
Meta practice is a practice of directed intention. It is employed in different ways, but essentially, it takes a target and offers the intention that they may be safe, healthy, happy and at ease/peace. For all beings, it would look like this...
May all beings be safe.
May all beings be healthy.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be at peace.
It is simple. It can be directed at anyone, although I will admit that it is often more difficult to do Meta for those who try my patience. Regardless, I find great nourishment in turning my desire toward the well being of others.
This is similar to the practice of praying for others. My tradition as a Catholic practices this informally and formally (in the prayers of the faithful / intercession). What I like about Meta practice is its progression from safety, to health, to happiness and finally on to peace.
Having taught History and Social Science for over a decade, I am big fan of Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs. In short it is a theory that states that human needs are prioritized in an order that begins with survival, moves on to safety, a few others, and finally ends with self-actualization. Although it is not always the case, I have found the heirachy to be true. It also suggests that in an aspect of our lives, a need must be met before we can consider the next need to be a priority. This can be seen in early industrial cities where workers would accept very unsafe working conditions because failure to do so, all but ensured starvation for them and their family.
Seeking and intending for all beings to be safe, healthy, happy and at ease is fundamentally identical to our own actualization. Seeing this brings a greater clarity to the impossible vows of the Bodhisattva.
Beings are numbers, I vow to free them.
Delusions are inexhautable, I vow to end them.
Dharma gates are endless, I vow to enter them.
The Buddha Way is unattainable, I vow to embody it.
Meta practice is a practice of directed intention. It is employed in different ways, but essentially, it takes a target and offers the intention that they may be safe, healthy, happy and at ease/peace. For all beings, it would look like this...
May all beings be safe.
May all beings be healthy.
May all beings be happy.
May all beings be at peace.
It is simple. It can be directed at anyone, although I will admit that it is often more difficult to do Meta for those who try my patience. Regardless, I find great nourishment in turning my desire toward the well being of others.
This is similar to the practice of praying for others. My tradition as a Catholic practices this informally and formally (in the prayers of the faithful / intercession). What I like about Meta practice is its progression from safety, to health, to happiness and finally on to peace.
Having taught History and Social Science for over a decade, I am big fan of Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs. In short it is a theory that states that human needs are prioritized in an order that begins with survival, moves on to safety, a few others, and finally ends with self-actualization. Although it is not always the case, I have found the heirachy to be true. It also suggests that in an aspect of our lives, a need must be met before we can consider the next need to be a priority. This can be seen in early industrial cities where workers would accept very unsafe working conditions because failure to do so, all but ensured starvation for them and their family.
Seeking and intending for all beings to be safe, healthy, happy and at ease is fundamentally identical to our own actualization. Seeing this brings a greater clarity to the impossible vows of the Bodhisattva.
Beings are numbers, I vow to free them.
Delusions are inexhautable, I vow to end them.
Dharma gates are endless, I vow to enter them.
The Buddha Way is unattainable, I vow to embody it.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Practicing My Body
Today, for the 22nd time in my life, I donated blood. I have been doing this for a number of years as a practice of gratitude for the blood that sustained my father through various open heart surgeries and other proceedures for the 20+ years he survived following the first of several heart attacks.
My pulse has always been good but over the last 15 years my blood pressure has slowly climbed into the pre-hypertension range. The fact that I am overweight does not help either. I am fairly active and I have lost weight in the past from both deliberate effort and as the byproduct of running for competition and health.
Today, like many adults in the West, I find myself knowing that I need to change something for the good of my own health and for the good of those who rely on me. And like many others, I know this would have been a wiser idea 10 years ago.
However, I don't intend to diet to that purpose nor exercise to that purpose.
What I am encountering today is an overwhelming feeling of the need to practice my body. The need to practice my health.
I don't know how explain why this is different, but it is. The physical things that need to be done are obvious, regardless of the motivation. I need to eat better and be more active. What I can identify as different is the source that this feeling comes from. It comes from practice.
There has been a notable shift in my practice since I took the precepts with the Toledo Zen Center last winter. The practice and my life are increasingly expressing as one continuous thing. Taking better care of myself is a natural extension of this.
Most of my poor dietary choices grow out of laziness and mindless reaction to situations. Social eating is a good example. The seeking of comfort food is another ingrained trap. The shift starts not with form, but with intent. It begins with the intention to manifest the mindfulness of practice more fully and skillfully to the way I use and care for my body.
When I last lost 30 pounds, I did it "to lose weight". When I took up running, it was for competition and general health. These are fine motivations, but what seems to be emerging for me now is more integrated. Rather than being something that I do, it is more "me".
There is research to be done and preparations to be made, but the work is in the moment to moment mindfullness that envelopes this life.
I am not sure how it will unfold, or the form it will take, but it is like a crying child in the corner of the room. It needs attention, effort and compassion.
My pulse has always been good but over the last 15 years my blood pressure has slowly climbed into the pre-hypertension range. The fact that I am overweight does not help either. I am fairly active and I have lost weight in the past from both deliberate effort and as the byproduct of running for competition and health.
Today, like many adults in the West, I find myself knowing that I need to change something for the good of my own health and for the good of those who rely on me. And like many others, I know this would have been a wiser idea 10 years ago.
However, I don't intend to diet to that purpose nor exercise to that purpose.
What I am encountering today is an overwhelming feeling of the need to practice my body. The need to practice my health.
I don't know how explain why this is different, but it is. The physical things that need to be done are obvious, regardless of the motivation. I need to eat better and be more active. What I can identify as different is the source that this feeling comes from. It comes from practice.
There has been a notable shift in my practice since I took the precepts with the Toledo Zen Center last winter. The practice and my life are increasingly expressing as one continuous thing. Taking better care of myself is a natural extension of this.
Most of my poor dietary choices grow out of laziness and mindless reaction to situations. Social eating is a good example. The seeking of comfort food is another ingrained trap. The shift starts not with form, but with intent. It begins with the intention to manifest the mindfulness of practice more fully and skillfully to the way I use and care for my body.
When I last lost 30 pounds, I did it "to lose weight". When I took up running, it was for competition and general health. These are fine motivations, but what seems to be emerging for me now is more integrated. Rather than being something that I do, it is more "me".
There is research to be done and preparations to be made, but the work is in the moment to moment mindfullness that envelopes this life.
I am not sure how it will unfold, or the form it will take, but it is like a crying child in the corner of the room. It needs attention, effort and compassion.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Strength in Number
No, the title is not a typo.
There are times when I catch myself thinking far too much about this practice. Not in an obsessive way, but rather, I catch myself thinking too much about an experience, trying to make something of it. Sure enough I catch myself eventually, and these days I seem to be striking a more natural balance between the work the mind needs to do in daily life, and the ability to be present to the raw, unfiltered experience of life.
Late last week, I had an experience that was very lightening to my spirit. I refrained from focussing on it too much at first, because I did not want to crush it with the weight of the story. However, I would like to share it. It is short and seemingly unspectacular.
Driving home from Aikido last week I was listening to a podcast about the 4 Noble Truths. I had been under a lot of stress lately. There were things that were happening at work, an impending test at Aikido, and concerns that I needed to be doing more at home. Again, nothing spectacular, but I had developed a heavy feeling, wondering when it was going to end. Then at some point, a forgotten line about the noble truth of suffering triggered it.
"No one is going to release me from this. I am on my own". Yup, that's it. It was not so much an articulated thought but an experience. As a thought, the words seem a bit depressing, but the experience did not feel that way. In the experience, there was a release of tension. With no one to "get me out of this", there was the simultaneous realization that I was not helpless. Instantly the light of ridiculousness was shone on any expectation I had that others were supposed to swoop in and make it okay. Again, what happened did not emerge so much as an articulated thought, but an experience. Putting it into words is making it dead and lifeless, but the experience was lively and freeing.
There are times when I catch myself thinking far too much about this practice. Not in an obsessive way, but rather, I catch myself thinking too much about an experience, trying to make something of it. Sure enough I catch myself eventually, and these days I seem to be striking a more natural balance between the work the mind needs to do in daily life, and the ability to be present to the raw, unfiltered experience of life.
Late last week, I had an experience that was very lightening to my spirit. I refrained from focussing on it too much at first, because I did not want to crush it with the weight of the story. However, I would like to share it. It is short and seemingly unspectacular.
Driving home from Aikido last week I was listening to a podcast about the 4 Noble Truths. I had been under a lot of stress lately. There were things that were happening at work, an impending test at Aikido, and concerns that I needed to be doing more at home. Again, nothing spectacular, but I had developed a heavy feeling, wondering when it was going to end. Then at some point, a forgotten line about the noble truth of suffering triggered it.
"No one is going to release me from this. I am on my own". Yup, that's it. It was not so much an articulated thought but an experience. As a thought, the words seem a bit depressing, but the experience did not feel that way. In the experience, there was a release of tension. With no one to "get me out of this", there was the simultaneous realization that I was not helpless. Instantly the light of ridiculousness was shone on any expectation I had that others were supposed to swoop in and make it okay. Again, what happened did not emerge so much as an articulated thought, but an experience. Putting it into words is making it dead and lifeless, but the experience was lively and freeing.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Searching for Stillness in Activity
This fall is the busiest that I have had in a very long time. There a lot of exciting things going on. A Nidan test, a new season for card nights, starting up the meditation group, the kids starting a new school, and a last minute decision to coach tennis are added in to one of the more stressful school years I have encountered. And while I don't feel as thought I am exhausted or at the end of my rope, I do find things difficult.
Although the things that seem to make all of this difficult are external circumstances, what is really "making it difficult" is coming from within. At times I feel simultaneously pulled out of my center and extremely self-focused. After all aren't "I" the one who is experiencing this difficulty? Am I creating it?
I can feel myself tightening up and pulling in and even lashing out. In these moments I need to turn, very deliberately to my practice. I can sense the need to reach outward to those that I encounter, and in doing so, find my center.
Time to sit.
from the Pang family...
The Layman was sitting in his thatched cottage one day [studying the sūtras]. "Difficult, difficult," he said; "like trying to scatter ten measures of sesame seed all over a tree." "Easy, easy," Mrs. Pang said; "like touching your feet to the ground when you get out of bed." "Neither difficult nor easy," Ling Zhao said; "on the hundred grass tips, the great Masters' meaning."[1]
Although the things that seem to make all of this difficult are external circumstances, what is really "making it difficult" is coming from within. At times I feel simultaneously pulled out of my center and extremely self-focused. After all aren't "I" the one who is experiencing this difficulty? Am I creating it?
I can feel myself tightening up and pulling in and even lashing out. In these moments I need to turn, very deliberately to my practice. I can sense the need to reach outward to those that I encounter, and in doing so, find my center.
Time to sit.
from the Pang family...
The Layman was sitting in his thatched cottage one day [studying the sūtras]. "Difficult, difficult," he said; "like trying to scatter ten measures of sesame seed all over a tree." "Easy, easy," Mrs. Pang said; "like touching your feet to the ground when you get out of bed." "Neither difficult nor easy," Ling Zhao said; "on the hundred grass tips, the great Masters' meaning."[1]
Thursday, October 7, 2010
A Face Full of Ch'an
From Master Seng Ts'an:
The Great Way is not difficult
for those who have no preferences.
When love and hate are both absent
everything becomes clear and undisguised.
Make the smallest distinction, however,
and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart.
There is an enormous difference between hearing about a thing, and experiencing it. Although I have heard this passage from the "Faith Mind Poem" of Master Seng Ts'an before, this past week I experienced it in a powerful way.
There is more depth and texture to this short passage (of a much larger poem) than I understand. However, the aspect I encountered was how far apart strong practice and poisoned practice can feel. In Zen, we hear about the three poisons; greed, anger and ignorance. These are the sources of suffering. This past week, I ran into all three.
Coming into this past week, I felt very good. Challenges were met, things were perfect in their imperfections, and life unfolded in its own way. And then I had a "bad" day. The day itself was pretty stressful. Not the worst I have ever had, but it was rough. What made it "bad" was how I tightened up. I internalized the difficulties of the moment, and began to weave stories. The story of how I was a schmuck. The story of how others had failed me. The story of how I was hard done-by. In some form, we all know this story. At that moment I wrapped myself in the stories and as Seng Ts'an warned, perfection and reality seemed to be thousands of miles apart.
The hooks of the ego were in very deep. At first, when I saw this, I just created a new story. "WOW, I can see it but I keep on weaving the story, my practice is very weak.". The I remembered something my teachers told me. Even when we can't seem to step back, just taking note of our delusion is a big step, and it makes a difference. When we allow ourselves to be patient with ourselves, we fan the embers of compassion.
In time, I settled. To be more accurate, I relaxed. I allowed things to be; without resentment; despite discomfort. There were still things to be done and problems to be solved. But in the moment that I realized this, I came home to my life (even with its hard days). Heaven and Earth were one. Imperfections were perfect, and once again I could feel it.
What the mind knows is realized only through living. This was my lesson for the first week of October.
The Great Way is not difficult
for those who have no preferences.
When love and hate are both absent
everything becomes clear and undisguised.
Make the smallest distinction, however,
and heaven and earth are set infinitely apart.
There is an enormous difference between hearing about a thing, and experiencing it. Although I have heard this passage from the "Faith Mind Poem" of Master Seng Ts'an before, this past week I experienced it in a powerful way.
There is more depth and texture to this short passage (of a much larger poem) than I understand. However, the aspect I encountered was how far apart strong practice and poisoned practice can feel. In Zen, we hear about the three poisons; greed, anger and ignorance. These are the sources of suffering. This past week, I ran into all three.
Coming into this past week, I felt very good. Challenges were met, things were perfect in their imperfections, and life unfolded in its own way. And then I had a "bad" day. The day itself was pretty stressful. Not the worst I have ever had, but it was rough. What made it "bad" was how I tightened up. I internalized the difficulties of the moment, and began to weave stories. The story of how I was a schmuck. The story of how others had failed me. The story of how I was hard done-by. In some form, we all know this story. At that moment I wrapped myself in the stories and as Seng Ts'an warned, perfection and reality seemed to be thousands of miles apart.
The hooks of the ego were in very deep. At first, when I saw this, I just created a new story. "WOW, I can see it but I keep on weaving the story, my practice is very weak.". The I remembered something my teachers told me. Even when we can't seem to step back, just taking note of our delusion is a big step, and it makes a difference. When we allow ourselves to be patient with ourselves, we fan the embers of compassion.
In time, I settled. To be more accurate, I relaxed. I allowed things to be; without resentment; despite discomfort. There were still things to be done and problems to be solved. But in the moment that I realized this, I came home to my life (even with its hard days). Heaven and Earth were one. Imperfections were perfect, and once again I could feel it.
What the mind knows is realized only through living. This was my lesson for the first week of October.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
A Day in a Life
Each night the stars watch over the remnants of a busy day. It may have been an ordinary day. It may have been a good day, or it may have been a day like today.
Today I had one of the most difficult days I have had in 12 years of teaching. My day lasted, without stop for over 15 hours. Some moments were beautiful, but the core of the work day was very intense. There were moments when I felt like I could not breath, and as though there was no space. I found myself deep inside difficult situations that I was involved in creating, one way or another.
As I pulled up to my home, with my children sleeping inside and my wife patiently awaiting my return. As I looked up at the stars I saw the thread of my life. These same stars looked down on me as I walked home from my first high school dance in grade 9, where I had my first real kiss. the watched over me I as I sat in the center of york, England at the age of 17, waiting for my cousin to find us a room for the night. They watched as I travelled home from the hospital the day my Father died of a heart attack. No matter the content of my days, they have watched me, steady and constant.
In the night sky, I see God.
In the night sky I see my very life.
In night sky I see the unblemished.
In the night sky I see that which sustains me.
Because of this, even on a cloudy night, I can see the night sky.
When I sit in zazen, there is a particular flavour to the moment in which I realze that I have zoomed in on a train of thought and I am able to release it, opening up to the whole of the moment. Passing through the difficulties of today had a similar taste. As they unfolded, there were times when I was zoomed in on the difficulties, and they filled the universe. When I relaxed; when I zoomed out these moments (though still important and needing to be dealt with) could be seen as part of a rich and dynamic fabric that was today.
Today I had one of the most difficult days I have had in 12 years of teaching. My day lasted, without stop for over 15 hours. Some moments were beautiful, but the core of the work day was very intense. There were moments when I felt like I could not breath, and as though there was no space. I found myself deep inside difficult situations that I was involved in creating, one way or another.
As I pulled up to my home, with my children sleeping inside and my wife patiently awaiting my return. As I looked up at the stars I saw the thread of my life. These same stars looked down on me as I walked home from my first high school dance in grade 9, where I had my first real kiss. the watched over me I as I sat in the center of york, England at the age of 17, waiting for my cousin to find us a room for the night. They watched as I travelled home from the hospital the day my Father died of a heart attack. No matter the content of my days, they have watched me, steady and constant.
In the night sky, I see God.
In the night sky I see my very life.
In night sky I see the unblemished.
In the night sky I see that which sustains me.
Because of this, even on a cloudy night, I can see the night sky.
When I sit in zazen, there is a particular flavour to the moment in which I realze that I have zoomed in on a train of thought and I am able to release it, opening up to the whole of the moment. Passing through the difficulties of today had a similar taste. As they unfolded, there were times when I was zoomed in on the difficulties, and they filled the universe. When I relaxed; when I zoomed out these moments (though still important and needing to be dealt with) could be seen as part of a rich and dynamic fabric that was today.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Inexhaustable
I love this practice. It nourishes me, challenges me and keeps sending me back to my center. I am immensely grateful for the many circumstances that have lead me to this point in my life. What is standing out to me today, are the boundless opportunities my life is presenting me with these days, in which I can be of service.
This fall is the busiest I have seen in many years. Work, family, coaching, training and teaching Aikido, the Amherstburg Zen Meditation Group and the Toledo Zen Center. Inside each of these environments there are demands on time, attention and emotional energy. In the past, I have been ground down by less.
In addition to an incredibly supportive wife, I am finding great comfort and stability in the support that my practice gives me. Rooted in sitting and the bodhisattva path, I am not exhausted by this life. It feeds me. Present in each moment as a practice (no different in essence than sesshin) I am at home in the world as it is, seeking to help. In the terms of my Christian faith, I feel God's hand supporting me. In the silence I hear His voice.
Though dinner is on the table, one child doing homework, the other practicing piano, and the impending need to leave for class, there is a stillness that is perceiveable. I do not have a name for it, but I can feel it on me like my own skin. It flows through me like blood.
This is how I feel today. May I engage this life fully.
This fall is the busiest I have seen in many years. Work, family, coaching, training and teaching Aikido, the Amherstburg Zen Meditation Group and the Toledo Zen Center. Inside each of these environments there are demands on time, attention and emotional energy. In the past, I have been ground down by less.
In addition to an incredibly supportive wife, I am finding great comfort and stability in the support that my practice gives me. Rooted in sitting and the bodhisattva path, I am not exhausted by this life. It feeds me. Present in each moment as a practice (no different in essence than sesshin) I am at home in the world as it is, seeking to help. In the terms of my Christian faith, I feel God's hand supporting me. In the silence I hear His voice.
Though dinner is on the table, one child doing homework, the other practicing piano, and the impending need to leave for class, there is a stillness that is perceiveable. I do not have a name for it, but I can feel it on me like my own skin. It flows through me like blood.
This is how I feel today. May I engage this life fully.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Thank you Qui-Gon Jinn
I wasn't feeling so hot this afternoon, so while the girls went out to a family pool party I curled up on the couch and watch Star Was: Phantom Menace. Now, while I will admit that I am asucker for anything from the Star Wars, Star Trek and Monty Python franchises, I really do like the Jedi. Even before I read about how George Lucas had modeled various groups after different Earthly cultures, I could tell that there was a lot of Zen Buddhism in the Jedi code.
This afternoon, the line that stuck with me is one of my all time favorites. Speaking to a very young Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon says "Always remember, your focus determines your reality". For me, this is a time of year when the opportunity to engage this practice is made very obvious.
As I get ready to go back to work this week, I feel a lot of things. I have enjoyed the summer with my family and going back to work means that I have less time each day that I can dedicate to them, but this is something I have learned to take in stride. What is interesting about returning to school is that there are no feelings that sit on the fence. For me, the experience of returning to school is very polarized.
On the one hand I love working with the kids. These days I teach special needs students at the high school level, and they are wonderful. I have never worked with a group of young people who are so open and joyful about what the day has to offer. Sometimes things don't go well, but they have great capacity for moving on to the next thing. In fact, the school as a whole is full of "potential energy" in September. Just walking through the halls energizes me.
On the other hand, there are difficult people to. People who seem bound and determined to be unhappy and who want to spread their negativity.
When I am at my worste, I walk down the hall and I can only see the dark energy. Surrounded by hundreds of people, I only perceive the negative ones. So for a long time, I set out to see only the good. I worked very hard at cultivating the ability to see the positive and to use them to blockout the negative. However, this never worked. Invariably something bad would happen to shatter my utopian day dream, whether it was a fight, and argument, or people who just want to swim up stream.
What my practice has helped me see, is that a true focus includes all these people and their stories. Things may not be perfect (in a building with over 1000 teenagers, really?), but they are never as bad as the worst of it would indicate. When I can pull back my focus to include all of the students and the staff, what I find is an enormous and detail mosaic. It is a movie with a cast of 1000's and each is the principle character. Every day is the best day, and the worst day for someone in the building.
My hope and practice for this school year is to encounter all of them as they are, in the time, place, condition and degree in which I find them.
I love being a teacher. It is how I keep learning.
This afternoon, the line that stuck with me is one of my all time favorites. Speaking to a very young Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon says "Always remember, your focus determines your reality". For me, this is a time of year when the opportunity to engage this practice is made very obvious.
As I get ready to go back to work this week, I feel a lot of things. I have enjoyed the summer with my family and going back to work means that I have less time each day that I can dedicate to them, but this is something I have learned to take in stride. What is interesting about returning to school is that there are no feelings that sit on the fence. For me, the experience of returning to school is very polarized.
On the one hand I love working with the kids. These days I teach special needs students at the high school level, and they are wonderful. I have never worked with a group of young people who are so open and joyful about what the day has to offer. Sometimes things don't go well, but they have great capacity for moving on to the next thing. In fact, the school as a whole is full of "potential energy" in September. Just walking through the halls energizes me.
On the other hand, there are difficult people to. People who seem bound and determined to be unhappy and who want to spread their negativity.
When I am at my worste, I walk down the hall and I can only see the dark energy. Surrounded by hundreds of people, I only perceive the negative ones. So for a long time, I set out to see only the good. I worked very hard at cultivating the ability to see the positive and to use them to blockout the negative. However, this never worked. Invariably something bad would happen to shatter my utopian day dream, whether it was a fight, and argument, or people who just want to swim up stream.
What my practice has helped me see, is that a true focus includes all these people and their stories. Things may not be perfect (in a building with over 1000 teenagers, really?), but they are never as bad as the worst of it would indicate. When I can pull back my focus to include all of the students and the staff, what I find is an enormous and detail mosaic. It is a movie with a cast of 1000's and each is the principle character. Every day is the best day, and the worst day for someone in the building.
My hope and practice for this school year is to encounter all of them as they are, in the time, place, condition and degree in which I find them.
I love being a teacher. It is how I keep learning.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Endless Spring
In the study of Aikido, one of the principles that has always been emphasized to me is Shoshin. Literally, this means "beginner's mind". The opening words of Suzuki Roshi's Zen Mind Beginner's Mind puts it this way: "In the the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's there are few".
Studying this concept in the dojo means avoiding the trap of "oh, I've done this before. I know it." While it is definitely true that familiarity and practice refine technique, what shoshin addresses is the state of the mind as it proceeds through each moment. Being present and alive in this very moment, and giving yourself fully to that moment is the true practice of shoshin. Making supper, answering the phone, using the washroom; each moment encountered is the precious and unique activity of your life.
As I get ready to go back to school, there is much activity. My children are starting a new school, my Nidan test is approaching, and soon the Amherstburg Zen Meditation Group will be opening. So many things continually unfold before me as I live my life. How could I see each moment as anything other than vibrant and unique? Yet, when my children are arguing, or I get irritated by people, the conditioned attitude of "oh, not THAT again!" can come up instantly. Note what I am saying here. When I deal with my children or my co-workers, I don't ignore what I know about them. I don't pretend that there is no history. Rather my goal is to avoid acting like it is a rerun.
I may know the past. I may conceive of a possible future. However, the only moment I can act in and affect is now. Fully present in this moment, I seek to act freely. Not shackled by the past, not hesitant about the future. Though I may consider the past and weigh the future possibilities, when the time comes for action, it unfolds freely, as a joyous outpouring of my life's energy. (even when that moment is cleaning out the litter box)
I look forward to these next months. There are many possibilities; not just because of major happenings, but because I am beginning to see more and more that this endlessly unfolding moment is fresh, alive and always in my senses.
Studying this concept in the dojo means avoiding the trap of "oh, I've done this before. I know it." While it is definitely true that familiarity and practice refine technique, what shoshin addresses is the state of the mind as it proceeds through each moment. Being present and alive in this very moment, and giving yourself fully to that moment is the true practice of shoshin. Making supper, answering the phone, using the washroom; each moment encountered is the precious and unique activity of your life.
As I get ready to go back to school, there is much activity. My children are starting a new school, my Nidan test is approaching, and soon the Amherstburg Zen Meditation Group will be opening. So many things continually unfold before me as I live my life. How could I see each moment as anything other than vibrant and unique? Yet, when my children are arguing, or I get irritated by people, the conditioned attitude of "oh, not THAT again!" can come up instantly. Note what I am saying here. When I deal with my children or my co-workers, I don't ignore what I know about them. I don't pretend that there is no history. Rather my goal is to avoid acting like it is a rerun.
I may know the past. I may conceive of a possible future. However, the only moment I can act in and affect is now. Fully present in this moment, I seek to act freely. Not shackled by the past, not hesitant about the future. Though I may consider the past and weigh the future possibilities, when the time comes for action, it unfolds freely, as a joyous outpouring of my life's energy. (even when that moment is cleaning out the litter box)
I look forward to these next months. There are many possibilities; not just because of major happenings, but because I am beginning to see more and more that this endlessly unfolding moment is fresh, alive and always in my senses.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Practice on the Road
Recently, my wife and I took our children on an grand driving vacation. We went across Ontario, Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Maine, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio in just 11 days. Oi!
In general, the vacation was splendid. It only rained when we travelled. We had nice hotels and wonderful visits with family and friends. We had ideas about what we wanted to do, but we left a lot of wiggle room and just figured it out as we went.
There was nowhere to go, but where we were. There was nothing to do but what was in front of us. That is where the real magic of the vacation took place. Being on the road provided an incredibly rich opportunity for practice. What is made it so rich and so easy to engage, was the very fact that we were on the move. It was impossible to see each day and each moment as anything other than fleeting and fluid.
Somedays we woke with only vaguest ideas of what we wanted to do that day and where we were likely to be at it's end. Even the days that were well planned involved places and activities that were so new that this raw, open, welcoming state of mind was naturally arising.
In terms of practice, the challenge to this flow state came once we got home. When the settings were once again familiar and the schedule re-emerged, I could feel my expectations gaining weight. Some of theme became downright obese. However, being school teachers we have the summer. As such, there are only so many constraints on our time.
The great challenge before me this season is embodying this fact: The ease of mind on our trip was not a function of the places we were, or of our timings. This is a function of mind.
Despite the weather, the scenery and the activities, there was still the possibility for stress and anxiety to rule the day.
-We drove over 5000 Km with 2 girls in tow, ages 8 and 10.
-the air conditioning died late in the trip.
-we (I) had a difficult with one way streets in Old Quebec.
-We drove in downtown Manhattan.
-We often had very different ideas of how to spend our time.
It would be easy to tell the tale of a vacation in which these were the dominant factors. They weren't. They were part of the texture of each day, just like the back roads of Maine, the zip-lines in Moncton, the friends in Long Island and whales in St. Andrew's.
Over those 11 days, my very life taught me a wonderful lesson about how it should be lived.
I vow to take up the practice of embodying this each day.
In general, the vacation was splendid. It only rained when we travelled. We had nice hotels and wonderful visits with family and friends. We had ideas about what we wanted to do, but we left a lot of wiggle room and just figured it out as we went.
There was nowhere to go, but where we were. There was nothing to do but what was in front of us. That is where the real magic of the vacation took place. Being on the road provided an incredibly rich opportunity for practice. What is made it so rich and so easy to engage, was the very fact that we were on the move. It was impossible to see each day and each moment as anything other than fleeting and fluid.
Somedays we woke with only vaguest ideas of what we wanted to do that day and where we were likely to be at it's end. Even the days that were well planned involved places and activities that were so new that this raw, open, welcoming state of mind was naturally arising.
In terms of practice, the challenge to this flow state came once we got home. When the settings were once again familiar and the schedule re-emerged, I could feel my expectations gaining weight. Some of theme became downright obese. However, being school teachers we have the summer. As such, there are only so many constraints on our time.
The great challenge before me this season is embodying this fact: The ease of mind on our trip was not a function of the places we were, or of our timings. This is a function of mind.
Despite the weather, the scenery and the activities, there was still the possibility for stress and anxiety to rule the day.
-We drove over 5000 Km with 2 girls in tow, ages 8 and 10.
-the air conditioning died late in the trip.
-we (I) had a difficult with one way streets in Old Quebec.
-We drove in downtown Manhattan.
-We often had very different ideas of how to spend our time.
It would be easy to tell the tale of a vacation in which these were the dominant factors. They weren't. They were part of the texture of each day, just like the back roads of Maine, the zip-lines in Moncton, the friends in Long Island and whales in St. Andrew's.
Over those 11 days, my very life taught me a wonderful lesson about how it should be lived.
I vow to take up the practice of embodying this each day.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
A Dance of Life and Death
One of the things I really enjoy about practice is that it helps me to see the continuously dynamic nature of practice. Phrases like "You can never step into the same river twice" point to it, but do not capture it. Every moment, the universe is changing. This means that all of it is changing - the actual cosmos, this planet, myself, the stuff in the fridge that I am pretty sure is meat. As well, since my understanding and view is continually developing, even if the world could stay static, the mind that perceives it keeps changing.
I enjoy the fact that I can reread a book or a poem and get something completely new out it. And if what I see is not actually new, it is different angle or a subtle shift of the same thing. The reflection that put me on this train of thought was something from a talk given by my teacher Rinsen.
At the conclusion of a retreat, Rinsen Osho spoke on the practice of Zen and Seshin in terms of "Meticulous Kindness". Coming at the end of a seshin, I was well primed for the "kindness" aspect of the talk. In Seshin, so much focus is put into zazen as the study of the self, that all aspects of practicing our lives get magnified and amplified. This is true of both the joys and the difficulties. Having a track record of being hard on myself for my failures, the message helped me to take these difficult moments when I might feel I have fallen short, and accept them lovingly WITHOUT giving in to them. In addition to helping me to view all of my experiences as precious parts of my life, I began to feel more whole than I have in my adult life.
However, all good teachings are like an enormous and detailed painting. There are so many places to look, and each one offers a beautiful and dynamic reality, unified and coexisting with the whole image. Feeling safe in the "kindness" aspect of meticulous kindness, I find I am now focussing more on the "meticulous" side. In the security of the integrated whole, I am starting to notice so many opportunities to turn up the heat on practice.
The heat that is arising would have crushed and discouraged me three years ago. These days it has the flavour of a dance. I still misstep in this dance, and in fact I catch myself more readily these days. In seeing my snags, it was once along the lines of "Dang, I did it again!" today it often feels more like the "Aha! there you are" of finding a child while playing hide and seek. This is a dance of life and death.
I remain increasingly grateful for this practice and all I encounter in it.
Go too far to one side and it is too slack. Go too far to the other side and it is far too damning. Be meticulous and be kind
I enjoy the fact that I can reread a book or a poem and get something completely new out it. And if what I see is not actually new, it is different angle or a subtle shift of the same thing. The reflection that put me on this train of thought was something from a talk given by my teacher Rinsen.
At the conclusion of a retreat, Rinsen Osho spoke on the practice of Zen and Seshin in terms of "Meticulous Kindness". Coming at the end of a seshin, I was well primed for the "kindness" aspect of the talk. In Seshin, so much focus is put into zazen as the study of the self, that all aspects of practicing our lives get magnified and amplified. This is true of both the joys and the difficulties. Having a track record of being hard on myself for my failures, the message helped me to take these difficult moments when I might feel I have fallen short, and accept them lovingly WITHOUT giving in to them. In addition to helping me to view all of my experiences as precious parts of my life, I began to feel more whole than I have in my adult life.
However, all good teachings are like an enormous and detailed painting. There are so many places to look, and each one offers a beautiful and dynamic reality, unified and coexisting with the whole image. Feeling safe in the "kindness" aspect of meticulous kindness, I find I am now focussing more on the "meticulous" side. In the security of the integrated whole, I am starting to notice so many opportunities to turn up the heat on practice.
The heat that is arising would have crushed and discouraged me three years ago. These days it has the flavour of a dance. I still misstep in this dance, and in fact I catch myself more readily these days. In seeing my snags, it was once along the lines of "Dang, I did it again!" today it often feels more like the "Aha! there you are" of finding a child while playing hide and seek. This is a dance of life and death.
I remain increasingly grateful for this practice and all I encounter in it.
Go too far to one side and it is too slack. Go too far to the other side and it is far too damning. Be meticulous and be kind
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
This is not what I signed up for
When I first encountered Zen meditation, it was immediately evident that there was definitely something nurturing to my spirit. Given my past, it didn't have to be much, because honestly, I liked the wrapping.
When I was little I was incredibly interested in asian culture. Some station in Detroit would broadcast Golden Harvest films on Saturday and Sunday. There would be the occasional Bruce Lee flick, but usually they were these cheesy kung fu flims that were set in some version of ancient china. When I had the chance to study Tae Kwon Do, I was very excited at the prospect of participating in this aspect of the culture.
Many years later when I learned about Zazen, the trappings of Japanese culture which framed my first exposures touched the same nerve in me. After sitting on my own for a couple of years, without any regular connection to other practitioners, Zazen lost the Asian character I initially perceived. It was just "my practice". It informed my humanity. It informed by faith as a Christian. It nurtured the part of me that sought to be a good husband and father. What began as very Japanese practice in my mind had melted into being a human practice.
What I was doing in Zazen also went through a similar transformation. Like a lot of people who come to a spiritual practice, I came looking for something. I felt broken and lacking. I wanted to feel whole. Like so many other solutions I had tried in my life, I looked to Zazen to give me that missing component. What is interesting about Zazen however, is that it never adds anything to this fractured self. It can't.
Zen teaches that there is nothing to add and nothing that can be added. It teaches that our deepest essence is perfect and complete, lacking nothing. Although I understood the meaning of these words early in my practice, their truth was exterior to me. I was still looking elsewhere. Maybe I still am sometimes, but the understanding is deepening. How do I know? I am not sure, but there are changes. I am finding it easier to trust myself. I am finding it easier to forgive myself (at the same time holding myself to clear ethical standards). I find that although I still have the capacity for anger, I don't swim in it like I am the only kid on the block with a pool in August. Despite how I came into this practice, I am finding all of these things in me. I am just getting better at accessing them.
When people used to ask me why I practice Zen, I used to say that it helped me be calmer and more focussed. This answer does not fit anymore, and I am not quite sure how to respond. What I have written here is only a dash of expression. The feeling and experience present in the moment of my life feels ever expanding. How can it be fully described in a paragraph?
My view of practice is so very different than it was at the start. This is not the practice I signed up for, and I am grateful.
When I was little I was incredibly interested in asian culture. Some station in Detroit would broadcast Golden Harvest films on Saturday and Sunday. There would be the occasional Bruce Lee flick, but usually they were these cheesy kung fu flims that were set in some version of ancient china. When I had the chance to study Tae Kwon Do, I was very excited at the prospect of participating in this aspect of the culture.
Many years later when I learned about Zazen, the trappings of Japanese culture which framed my first exposures touched the same nerve in me. After sitting on my own for a couple of years, without any regular connection to other practitioners, Zazen lost the Asian character I initially perceived. It was just "my practice". It informed my humanity. It informed by faith as a Christian. It nurtured the part of me that sought to be a good husband and father. What began as very Japanese practice in my mind had melted into being a human practice.
What I was doing in Zazen also went through a similar transformation. Like a lot of people who come to a spiritual practice, I came looking for something. I felt broken and lacking. I wanted to feel whole. Like so many other solutions I had tried in my life, I looked to Zazen to give me that missing component. What is interesting about Zazen however, is that it never adds anything to this fractured self. It can't.
Zen teaches that there is nothing to add and nothing that can be added. It teaches that our deepest essence is perfect and complete, lacking nothing. Although I understood the meaning of these words early in my practice, their truth was exterior to me. I was still looking elsewhere. Maybe I still am sometimes, but the understanding is deepening. How do I know? I am not sure, but there are changes. I am finding it easier to trust myself. I am finding it easier to forgive myself (at the same time holding myself to clear ethical standards). I find that although I still have the capacity for anger, I don't swim in it like I am the only kid on the block with a pool in August. Despite how I came into this practice, I am finding all of these things in me. I am just getting better at accessing them.
When people used to ask me why I practice Zen, I used to say that it helped me be calmer and more focussed. This answer does not fit anymore, and I am not quite sure how to respond. What I have written here is only a dash of expression. The feeling and experience present in the moment of my life feels ever expanding. How can it be fully described in a paragraph?
My view of practice is so very different than it was at the start. This is not the practice I signed up for, and I am grateful.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Working on it
Tomorrow, at the end of my work day, I leave for sesshin. Sesshin is a zen retreat that focusses heavily and almost exclusively on zazen. It is very hard work and extremely fulfilling. Zazen is so much more than sitting quietly. For me, one way to say it is that it is the pure working of the mind. Letting the stories go, letting the dramas go, there is just mind perceiving whatever arises and not getting hooked by it. Sounds simple, but it takes a lot of work.
The availability of sesshin in my life has changed a lot over the last year and a bit as the sangha of the Toledo Zen Center has continued to grow and develop. It has reemphasized to me, how important community is. Family and friends have their function in our lives, but so does the spiritual community. Although the work of zazen sits solely on my shoulders, sitting with others makes it easier. Although I can sit at any time in the course of the day, being able to meet with people regularly makes it easier.
For me, sesshin is the Nth degree of this. Coming together as a community, simplifying the retreat schedule to emphasize this individual effort, we all sit together. Isn't that wonderful?! On paper, it does not seem like much. to paraphrase my teacher...
We sit a bit, take little bitty walks, eat some rice. We rest a bit too. To someone who has done sesshin, there is humour in that description. What is there when the mind is at rest? Not asleep, not tuned out. Rather, when it is settled but aware, quietly perceiving what arises. Nothing more, nothing less.
Tomorrow, I will once again look closely at this question.
Have a great weekend.
The availability of sesshin in my life has changed a lot over the last year and a bit as the sangha of the Toledo Zen Center has continued to grow and develop. It has reemphasized to me, how important community is. Family and friends have their function in our lives, but so does the spiritual community. Although the work of zazen sits solely on my shoulders, sitting with others makes it easier. Although I can sit at any time in the course of the day, being able to meet with people regularly makes it easier.
For me, sesshin is the Nth degree of this. Coming together as a community, simplifying the retreat schedule to emphasize this individual effort, we all sit together. Isn't that wonderful?! On paper, it does not seem like much. to paraphrase my teacher...
We sit a bit, take little bitty walks, eat some rice. We rest a bit too. To someone who has done sesshin, there is humour in that description. What is there when the mind is at rest? Not asleep, not tuned out. Rather, when it is settled but aware, quietly perceiving what arises. Nothing more, nothing less.
Tomorrow, I will once again look closely at this question.
Have a great weekend.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
404 is not an error
In my journey to understand the self, sometimes I feel like Sherlock Holmes. Not that I feel masterful or skillful, but that I a forever discovering what the self is not, and that what remains, however unlikely, is it.
Yesterday I received a great compliment. I am AWESOME!
Today I dropped the ball on a meeting for work. I am HORRIBLE!
Last night I was unskillful in parenting my youngest. I am HORRIBLE!
Also last night I was very skillful in parenting my youngest. I am AWESOME!
Looking at my entire life in this way it gets pretty comical actually. Going back and forth between awesome and horrible is very tiring. I know there is a better way. In the midst of this roller-coaster I breathe, and I can taste it. Although I have heard words to explain it, it is in breathing the moment that I sense my pure potential. In each of these moments I hold the potential for awesome, horrible and everything in between. Present in the moment, the intuitive action meets the need.
No matter my intention, as I stumble I can be confident I will stumble again, to one side or the other. When I hit the ground, it hurts. When I fall on others, they are hurt. When I help, suffering is eased. With all these possibilities and potentials present in each moment, I vow to move forward with grace and compassion, cleaning up my messes as I go.
404 error Self not found.
Yesterday I received a great compliment. I am AWESOME!
Today I dropped the ball on a meeting for work. I am HORRIBLE!
Last night I was unskillful in parenting my youngest. I am HORRIBLE!
Also last night I was very skillful in parenting my youngest. I am AWESOME!
Looking at my entire life in this way it gets pretty comical actually. Going back and forth between awesome and horrible is very tiring. I know there is a better way. In the midst of this roller-coaster I breathe, and I can taste it. Although I have heard words to explain it, it is in breathing the moment that I sense my pure potential. In each of these moments I hold the potential for awesome, horrible and everything in between. Present in the moment, the intuitive action meets the need.
No matter my intention, as I stumble I can be confident I will stumble again, to one side or the other. When I hit the ground, it hurts. When I fall on others, they are hurt. When I help, suffering is eased. With all these possibilities and potentials present in each moment, I vow to move forward with grace and compassion, cleaning up my messes as I go.
404 error Self not found.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Faith
I have been thinking a lot about faith lately. This is not a comfortable word for a lot of people these days. Alone, it simply refers to belief. Everyone believes in something. I have faith that the Sun will come up tomorrow. I have faith that the oncoming car will stay in its lane. These types of faith or beliefs are not so hard. Belief in God, a greater power, or that the universe is more than it apperas; well, those get a mixed reaction from different people.
When I think about faith, my mind very often goes to the concept of blind faith. I like this concept because I think it is very misunderstood, and seeing how people react to this particular concept says a lot about their spiritual journey.
It is probably important to start off by saying what I understand blind faith to be. The discerning believer seeks to understand. Although it is important to know that there is a commandment that says do not kill, it is important to understand why that is. Hopefully the answer goes deeper than "if you kill you will go to hell!". It is important to understand our connection to others, to see the impact that killing has on other beings and to sense the disruption in the natural order that such a violent act has. When such clarification is sought and gained, "thou shall not kill" becomes a natural expression of my heart and mind, and not just item on a list of rules.
In the same way, when we seek to understand the divine, we can bring our lives in tune with its natural expression. However, at least in the tradition that I was raised in, it would be foolish to think that my finite brain, with its limited capacity could full understand the mind of God. The finite can not full grasp the inifinte, although it can reflect it. Belief in a God that I can never fully understand includes an expression of blind faith.
Often when I see people people use the term blind faith, they are descrbing something else. Often they are either invoking or criticising a faith that does not try to know. Having been told something once, they believe and never question. This has always struck me as a very young and underdeveloped form of faith practice. Although there are limits to what can be known, I have seen people just give up under label of "blind faith". In the worst examples, it seems to be a mechanism of an unexamined spiritual identity. Some version of "It doesn't matter what you say, I believe what I believe at there is nothing more to it". There is a line here, between confidence in one's own views and putting those views into a box. Although, as humans, we like to define and categorize things, putting concepts of faith into such clearly defined parameters is impossible. How do we define and contain that which is unknown or unknowable?
Even in Zen, which focuses on the mind and its function in our living, there is much that can not be known in the traditional sense. Not knowing is at least as important as knowing. The Zen student cultivates the ability to "not know", and to be at home in that space. This type of not knowing is an embracing of the moment. It is the accepting that what will come cannot be known, so we wait and work with what arises. In this form, "blind faith" might be seen as faith in what we are blind to.
I have faith that cars will stay in their lane, but they don't always. I have faith that the sun will rise, but some day it won't. I have faith that there is a better way, even if I am not always able to live it. I have faith that I can embody God's will, even as I sin. I have faith in my Buddha nature, even if I don't make choices that are in harmony with the Way.
In all things, I find faith.
When I think about faith, my mind very often goes to the concept of blind faith. I like this concept because I think it is very misunderstood, and seeing how people react to this particular concept says a lot about their spiritual journey.
It is probably important to start off by saying what I understand blind faith to be. The discerning believer seeks to understand. Although it is important to know that there is a commandment that says do not kill, it is important to understand why that is. Hopefully the answer goes deeper than "if you kill you will go to hell!". It is important to understand our connection to others, to see the impact that killing has on other beings and to sense the disruption in the natural order that such a violent act has. When such clarification is sought and gained, "thou shall not kill" becomes a natural expression of my heart and mind, and not just item on a list of rules.
In the same way, when we seek to understand the divine, we can bring our lives in tune with its natural expression. However, at least in the tradition that I was raised in, it would be foolish to think that my finite brain, with its limited capacity could full understand the mind of God. The finite can not full grasp the inifinte, although it can reflect it. Belief in a God that I can never fully understand includes an expression of blind faith.
Often when I see people people use the term blind faith, they are descrbing something else. Often they are either invoking or criticising a faith that does not try to know. Having been told something once, they believe and never question. This has always struck me as a very young and underdeveloped form of faith practice. Although there are limits to what can be known, I have seen people just give up under label of "blind faith". In the worst examples, it seems to be a mechanism of an unexamined spiritual identity. Some version of "It doesn't matter what you say, I believe what I believe at there is nothing more to it". There is a line here, between confidence in one's own views and putting those views into a box. Although, as humans, we like to define and categorize things, putting concepts of faith into such clearly defined parameters is impossible. How do we define and contain that which is unknown or unknowable?
Even in Zen, which focuses on the mind and its function in our living, there is much that can not be known in the traditional sense. Not knowing is at least as important as knowing. The Zen student cultivates the ability to "not know", and to be at home in that space. This type of not knowing is an embracing of the moment. It is the accepting that what will come cannot be known, so we wait and work with what arises. In this form, "blind faith" might be seen as faith in what we are blind to.
I have faith that cars will stay in their lane, but they don't always. I have faith that the sun will rise, but some day it won't. I have faith that there is a better way, even if I am not always able to live it. I have faith that I can embody God's will, even as I sin. I have faith in my Buddha nature, even if I don't make choices that are in harmony with the Way.
In all things, I find faith.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Live-in Teachers
Recently, our youngest daughter went through some educational / psychological testing. The short and to the point version is that she is me. My daughter has inherited the same basic make up that I had at her age, both psychologically and behaviorally.
I found a fair bit of stress in this confirmation. I did not have the easiest of childhoods (who does?), and there were a number of aspects, mostly social challenges that I desperately wanted my children to avoid. What I failed to see in all of this however, is the difference between my hang ups and her reality. I brought a lot of my own personal baggage to my view of how I wanted her life to be. Looking at her life however, I can see that she is happy, adaptive and has the biggest, most naturally expressing heart I have seen in a human being. Her life is wonderful.
I can no more control the parameters of her life than I can my own. Despite my intentions, I see that what I was worried about amounted to protecting her from the texture of life. Looking at it this way, I am reminded of the the Buddha's father and Marlin, from "Finding Nemo". It is comically silly when I look at it that way.
I love her, and I want her to get the best things out her life. Remembering to watch the way she engages her experiences would be a good practice. Even if there is a similarity between her struggles and those I had early in life, hers are totally different. What makes them different, is that they are hers. I will endeavor to see them as such.
I vow to stop trying to stack water. If I fail to realize this vow from time to time, I will also vow to not be surprised when it doesn't work (which will be every time).
Time to tuck my little teacher into bed and sing her a lullaby.
I found a fair bit of stress in this confirmation. I did not have the easiest of childhoods (who does?), and there were a number of aspects, mostly social challenges that I desperately wanted my children to avoid. What I failed to see in all of this however, is the difference between my hang ups and her reality. I brought a lot of my own personal baggage to my view of how I wanted her life to be. Looking at her life however, I can see that she is happy, adaptive and has the biggest, most naturally expressing heart I have seen in a human being. Her life is wonderful.
I can no more control the parameters of her life than I can my own. Despite my intentions, I see that what I was worried about amounted to protecting her from the texture of life. Looking at it this way, I am reminded of the the Buddha's father and Marlin, from "Finding Nemo". It is comically silly when I look at it that way.
I love her, and I want her to get the best things out her life. Remembering to watch the way she engages her experiences would be a good practice. Even if there is a similarity between her struggles and those I had early in life, hers are totally different. What makes them different, is that they are hers. I will endeavor to see them as such.
I vow to stop trying to stack water. If I fail to realize this vow from time to time, I will also vow to not be surprised when it doesn't work (which will be every time).
Time to tuck my little teacher into bed and sing her a lullaby.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Earth Hour
Last night was Earth Hour. From 8:30 to 9:30 PM, people world wide (their local time) were asked to turn off everything that used electricity in their homes. In our home we lit candles in the zendo and went and sat, without a timer. It was a very interesting experience and revealed a lot to me about the subtle way (as well as the gross) that I rely on technology in my life.
The process itself was very beautiful. Normally I use an electronic timer to mark my periods of sitting. Sitting without one of any type felt very open. I have sat down to sit without a timer before, but the agenda of the day often creeps in, quietly pointing out all the other things that need to get done. Last night, at least for an hour, there was no agenda.
In my sitting practice I am finding that there are both subtle and gross levels of commentary that creep up in the mind. Gross commentary is what we normally recognize as distraction in sitting. Some thought comes up and we follow it, feeding it, helping it to grow and develop. When we notice we have done this, we acknowledge it, let go and return to the practice. Not putting energy into the subtle commentary is more difficult. Subtle commentary is some form of "oh you are doing that again" or a charged spike of "ahhh-haaaa" or "hmmmmph". Early on in my practice, I found that the subtle commentary was very helpful, as it was the voice that pointed out the gross commentary. However, even on its own, the subtle commentary can pull us away from the moment. Although subtle commentary does not tend to grow and unfold if given energy, it still moves into the foreground of the mind, obscuring the broad scene. I have the sense that this too should float by without receiving undo attention.
We did not sit the whole hour. After a certain amount of time, we brought some of the candles upstairs, poured wine, sat down on the couch and watched the world sit and rest through our front window.
The process itself was very beautiful. Normally I use an electronic timer to mark my periods of sitting. Sitting without one of any type felt very open. I have sat down to sit without a timer before, but the agenda of the day often creeps in, quietly pointing out all the other things that need to get done. Last night, at least for an hour, there was no agenda.
In my sitting practice I am finding that there are both subtle and gross levels of commentary that creep up in the mind. Gross commentary is what we normally recognize as distraction in sitting. Some thought comes up and we follow it, feeding it, helping it to grow and develop. When we notice we have done this, we acknowledge it, let go and return to the practice. Not putting energy into the subtle commentary is more difficult. Subtle commentary is some form of "oh you are doing that again" or a charged spike of "ahhh-haaaa" or "hmmmmph". Early on in my practice, I found that the subtle commentary was very helpful, as it was the voice that pointed out the gross commentary. However, even on its own, the subtle commentary can pull us away from the moment. Although subtle commentary does not tend to grow and unfold if given energy, it still moves into the foreground of the mind, obscuring the broad scene. I have the sense that this too should float by without receiving undo attention.
We did not sit the whole hour. After a certain amount of time, we brought some of the candles upstairs, poured wine, sat down on the couch and watched the world sit and rest through our front window.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Warning Sign
As an addition to my most recent post, I noticed something about the energy when I am wrapped up in the small self. When I am spiralling in on my small self, I can often delude myslef that these thought s are justified and real. That they are the natural consequnce of my situation. At these times I feel my Ki focussed in my head and upper chest. When I relax and let the details be, ceasing to put energy into these circumstances (not telling the story), I can feel the Ki flow down into my abdomen and flow to other parts of my body. This feels like more than an issue of muscular tension. There is a shift in body mind and spirit at these times. I have no idea if one precedes the other, but when the tension goes, natural flow of energy takes its place.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Grand Funk (no Railraod)
For reasons that make no practical sense, I spent the last few days n one of the worst moods I have been in in a long time. Everything I encoutnered seemed to be flawed, wrong and crushing. My wife put in a lot of effort trying to help, but it did not seem to have an impact. Granted, that fact that she would not let this slide by forced me to find a way to address it.
Although there were lots of moments where my funk was on auto-pilot, I did find ways to engage this as practice. It has been a real benefit that recently I learned about the practice of just watching these patterns unfold, even when I did not feel I had the power to interrupt them. Putting attention on these feelings really did take the edge off, but they still remained.
Much of it came from two sources. First a feeling of being out of control (which actually has a deepr root, which is my attempt to control what is happenening beyond what is natural). I spent a lot of the last weeks getting things done. It happened at such a remarkable pace that I locked in to that frame of mind. When the tasks were done, the mindset was still strong and getting hot and heavy with the ego.
The second source is an older issue of not feeling valued. In the end it goes to the same root of trying to control things. This shows up for me as a feeling that everything I saw and do is being discounted or contradicted by others.
What happened here was a short lived, very un happy place. Practicing it, seeing that it is of my creation I was able to slow it down. Slowed down, I was able to get a much better sense of where it was coming from, and thus what work I need to do to reduce these tendencies. The whole thing was very emotionally tiring.
There was also a backdrop that I realized created furtile ground for this whole spiral. I have spent much of the last week very up in my own head. When that part of me got out of control, I robbed myself of many moments, prefering instead to intellectualize the things that were happening. As the process became pessimistic, that thought process was never a good thing.
Keep in mind that all of this unfolded rather quickly and all of this is post analysis. I am greatly appreciative however, of all the bodhisattvas that brought medicine. Mirrors, the practice, etc.
I endeavour to take up the way of better manifesting what I know to be helpful.
Although there were lots of moments where my funk was on auto-pilot, I did find ways to engage this as practice. It has been a real benefit that recently I learned about the practice of just watching these patterns unfold, even when I did not feel I had the power to interrupt them. Putting attention on these feelings really did take the edge off, but they still remained.
Much of it came from two sources. First a feeling of being out of control (which actually has a deepr root, which is my attempt to control what is happenening beyond what is natural). I spent a lot of the last weeks getting things done. It happened at such a remarkable pace that I locked in to that frame of mind. When the tasks were done, the mindset was still strong and getting hot and heavy with the ego.
The second source is an older issue of not feeling valued. In the end it goes to the same root of trying to control things. This shows up for me as a feeling that everything I saw and do is being discounted or contradicted by others.
What happened here was a short lived, very un happy place. Practicing it, seeing that it is of my creation I was able to slow it down. Slowed down, I was able to get a much better sense of where it was coming from, and thus what work I need to do to reduce these tendencies. The whole thing was very emotionally tiring.
There was also a backdrop that I realized created furtile ground for this whole spiral. I have spent much of the last week very up in my own head. When that part of me got out of control, I robbed myself of many moments, prefering instead to intellectualize the things that were happening. As the process became pessimistic, that thought process was never a good thing.
Keep in mind that all of this unfolded rather quickly and all of this is post analysis. I am greatly appreciative however, of all the bodhisattvas that brought medicine. Mirrors, the practice, etc.
I endeavour to take up the way of better manifesting what I know to be helpful.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
...are of supreme importance
Tonight, Just a little over an hour ago, I learned of the death of a dear friend of my family. The loss of Mr. Evans is raw and unfolding in my heart as I write this. There is something to express here, that simply would not have the same flavor if I waited to digest it.
The things that were so wonderful about my friend are not lost in his death. In this raw moment, I feel the love, humor and compassion that flowed so effortlessly from his being. I do not feel it coming to me from outside, but rather arising from inside my heart, my hara, my soul. Mr. Evans is in my being. Having connected with me in such an open and loving way in my life, he infused his compassion and joy into my being. Or rather, he nurtured it in me.
I did not see Mr. Evans on a regular basis. He knew me when I was a baby. Through my life, it was often years between visits. The visits themselves were casual and brief. However, my family and I did travel to stay with him and his wife in the summer a couple of years ago. There were no major sight seeing agendas or other legs to the journey. We simple went to spend time with them. We played cards, walked in the woods, shared meals, sent swimming and sat and talked. Looking back, it was spectacular. I have been to Disney, gone on a cruise, seen Las Vegas and toured the sights of Ottawa. I have drive across the country and climbed mountains. But this one visit was far more spectacular. For here, we just came together, as we were, and shared our experience. They opened their home to us and we all shared our lives. However briefly, we shared our lives. In the sharing, the most basic and beautiful parts of ourselves connected. (Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I thank you deeply for this.)
This is all any of us can do. We are here very briefly, and in that time we might run from sight to sight, and we might seek out some spectacular experiences, but out marvelous activity is in the sharing of our lives. The sharing nurtures love, joy and and compassion.
After I lose someone in my life, and experience an amplified affinity for those I encounter that is raw and tender. As the person leaves my life bodily, the love joy and compassion that I shared with them flows out of me into all my other relationships. It does not matter if it is a a friend, my Dad, the child of a co-worker or someone in my community whom I have never met. Cultivating that love, joy and compassion with all beings is the greatest work. The way of the Bodhisattva.
The things that were so wonderful about my friend are not lost in his death. In this raw moment, I feel the love, humor and compassion that flowed so effortlessly from his being. I do not feel it coming to me from outside, but rather arising from inside my heart, my hara, my soul. Mr. Evans is in my being. Having connected with me in such an open and loving way in my life, he infused his compassion and joy into my being. Or rather, he nurtured it in me.
I did not see Mr. Evans on a regular basis. He knew me when I was a baby. Through my life, it was often years between visits. The visits themselves were casual and brief. However, my family and I did travel to stay with him and his wife in the summer a couple of years ago. There were no major sight seeing agendas or other legs to the journey. We simple went to spend time with them. We played cards, walked in the woods, shared meals, sent swimming and sat and talked. Looking back, it was spectacular. I have been to Disney, gone on a cruise, seen Las Vegas and toured the sights of Ottawa. I have drive across the country and climbed mountains. But this one visit was far more spectacular. For here, we just came together, as we were, and shared our experience. They opened their home to us and we all shared our lives. However briefly, we shared our lives. In the sharing, the most basic and beautiful parts of ourselves connected. (Mr. and Mrs. Evans, I thank you deeply for this.)
This is all any of us can do. We are here very briefly, and in that time we might run from sight to sight, and we might seek out some spectacular experiences, but out marvelous activity is in the sharing of our lives. The sharing nurtures love, joy and and compassion.
After I lose someone in my life, and experience an amplified affinity for those I encounter that is raw and tender. As the person leaves my life bodily, the love joy and compassion that I shared with them flows out of me into all my other relationships. It does not matter if it is a a friend, my Dad, the child of a co-worker or someone in my community whom I have never met. Cultivating that love, joy and compassion with all beings is the greatest work. The way of the Bodhisattva.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Letting go and growing up
This morning, my wife left for the Dominican Republic with a friend of ours who was looking for a traveling companion for March break. The arising and unfolding of this vacation was an incredibly rich opportunity for practice.
My wife is amazing. She has always been very supportive of my efforts in Aikido, Zen and other things. She has made it possible for me to go to retreats, seminars, and weekly training. We have always approached our relationship in terms of doing whatever is needed to help the other grow and be fulfilled. She definitely needed and deserved this vacation.
However, I stumbled out of the starting blocks in the supportive husband category on this one. It was very comical, juvenile stuff. I have never been anywhere warm for March break. I have never been to the Dominican. She was taking her first "sit around and do nothing" vacation of her adult life and was doing it without me. I encountered a very old, familiar, small me in these moments. I reacted poorly enough that I actually made her feel bad about the vacation. I pouted. I needed to meet this moment better; for me, for her, for everyone.
I recently listened to a podcast by Ryudo Rinsen Osho (and if you did not find this via the Toledo Zen Center, please check out the link to the Drinking Gourd Podcasts at the bottom of this post, or search for them on iTunes). In this particular talk Rinsen Osho made a point about equating. For one thing to equal another thing, there must be two things, and thus separation. In this event, I had looked at my wife and our relationship in terms of equality. Now, in general equality is a good thing. Moving towards equality from a state of inequality has helped many aspects of our society improve over the last few hundred years. However, in the practice of my marriage, I see that this is not going to cut it.
In the vows I took so many years ago, I joined with my wife. In an age where promises are broken, contracts ripped in two and marriages torn asunder, we have never doubted that our union was permanent and that our lives were a loving, working relationship. In this, we have been extremely blessed. Although we are very different people, working and living for the benefit of both as one and one as both has been our greatest strength.
In the end, I got my feet back underneath me and found the joy in sending her on this wonderful experience with our good friend. Now, if I can just get caught up on laundry while she is gone, she is REALLY going to feel the love.
Friday, March 12, 2010
It's finally spring; or is it?
Today I came out the grocery store to greet a beautiful spring morning. Overcast and cool, the air was filled with singing birds and low drone of small town traffic in the early hours. Suddenly, I was hit with the memory of the same place as I experienced it in the dead night of winter. Cold, dark and desolate, it seemed like a very different place. But is it? Is this place a function of the weather it encounters? What about the buildings? 10 years ago, the parking lot was a back alley, high with weeds, cut by a dirt path formed by generations of foot-falls. This place is very clear to me, but the day, season, weather and urbanization are in continual flux.
In fact, the character of this place is subtle and unseen. At any one moment, each of these factors are part of the experience of the location, but the place is not these things. Thinking back later in the day, it still seems impossible to put a description to the ever present thread that cut through that parking lot, but its presence is undeniable. Is this Meton's "Rabbitness of God", or Zen's "original face before your parents were born"?
I realize now, that this indescribable, subtly perceivable character is not confined to the parking lot of my grocery store. It pervades everywhere, although most of the time I don't perceive it.
Stopping and breathing in the moment, I think to myself, "Spring has arrived". But the inherent beauty of the experience; the canvas on which these paints settle and dry is always present, containing the entire universe, following everywhere.
In fact, the character of this place is subtle and unseen. At any one moment, each of these factors are part of the experience of the location, but the place is not these things. Thinking back later in the day, it still seems impossible to put a description to the ever present thread that cut through that parking lot, but its presence is undeniable. Is this Meton's "Rabbitness of God", or Zen's "original face before your parents were born"?
I realize now, that this indescribable, subtly perceivable character is not confined to the parking lot of my grocery store. It pervades everywhere, although most of the time I don't perceive it.
Stopping and breathing in the moment, I think to myself, "Spring has arrived". But the inherent beauty of the experience; the canvas on which these paints settle and dry is always present, containing the entire universe, following everywhere.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
The Story So Far...
If I had to identify the two primary factors that set me down the path toward Zen practice, they would be Catholicism and ADDHD. Growing up I had a lot of difficulty sitting still and paying attention. When I was old enough to become an alter server, I took the opportunity. Being involved in the mass gave a sense of being involved in spiritual practice (and having something to do during church). Outside of church, my parents enrolled me in Tae Kwon Do so that I could develop some self-discipline to deal with my attention and hyperactivity problems. The middle school and high school years, these two activities served me well. When I went away to university, both fell to the wayside. Although those particular forms fell away, they left their mark. I continued to maintain a great interest in the spiritual journey and in Asian culture.
My university years eventually lead me in the direction of teaching. When I left teachers college, I was hired to teach history and World Religions in a small Catholic high school in rural Ontario. Although I had studied religion in university, the focus was purely Christian and Catholic. World religions were just never a part of what I interested in. I taught that first year from the textbook, and set into summer vacation with the intent of visiting places of spiritual practice in the major traditions. An internet search on Buddhism lead me to the homepage of Zen Mountain Monastery. That summer I made the day long drive to Mount Tremper and participated in an introduction to Zen practice retreat. I had prepared myself by doing some zazen based on descriptions I found online. The retreat itself was a pivotal experience in my life. Although it would take some time to clarify my new found drive, I sensed that there was a resonance that went much deeper than the trappings of the Japanese monastic model.
I did my best to maintain my home practice, which to me just meant zazen. The following year I returned to ZMM and participated in my first sesshin. This was another major experience in my life. For the next six years or so, I continued my home practice with a drive that both ebbed and flowed, but never vanished. Returning home to Amherstburg, I set out to find supports for my home practice, using ZMM's eight gates of Zen as a model. Pursuing my interest in Japanese culture, I began training in Aikido as a form of body practice. I also began looking for a sitting group that worked in the tradition of Zen Mountain Monastery. I contacted a man in Detroit, who redirected me to Toledo, where, in the spring of 2004, I met Jay Chikyo Weik.
Jay and his wife Karen ran the Toledo Meditation Group in a portion of Jay's Aikido dojo. Over the years I visited occasionally for some combination of Aikido and Zen practice, turning to Jay with questions periodically. As a satellite member of this growing group I observed many changes. Jay changed teachers, and he and his wife were given new Dharma names; Rinsen and Do'on. The community began to grow in size and depth. Rinsen began giving dharma talks, established the Drinking Gourd Podcasts, offering retreats and doing private interviews.
As the meditation group grew into the Toledo Zen Center, it's gravity pulled me in and helped my practice dig under my skin. In February of 2010, TZC celebrate two important ceremonies, the ordination of Rinsen and Do'on as Zen Priests, and TZC's first Jukai ceremony. I was fortunate enough t be part of that first group of 16 practitioners to receive the precepts.
That is the simple summary of the vast confluence of circumstances that has brought me to this point in my life. The forces that move my life are ever changing, and my choices thus far have lead me in a good direction. It is my hope that keeping this blog will be an enriching practice, and of use to others.
Gassho,
-Kaishin
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