The Matrix

When Rinsen (my primary teacher) talks about what enlightenment is not, he often makes a matrix reference, saying that it is not like you can suddenly see the matrix code. The world seen before this incredible insight is the world that is seen after.

From what I have seen in this life, primarily in the teachings of enlightened beings and my observations of them, this appears to be so.

However, analogies are limited and can be applied in a variety of ways. So without disputing Rinsen's observation or claiming to have reached a great enlightenment, I'd like to make the statement: I have seen the matrix.

It was early in the morning, just the other day. The environment was quiet. My mind was quiet. Then as I moved into the shower, I became keenly aware of myself as the observer of my own mind. The incoming data (warmth, wetness, stiff muscles, eyes squinting against bright lights) was being filtered through my experience and seen by my mind.

In computer science with Mr. Murphy back in the mid 80's, we learned that data is just data. Although the program and the data need each other to make things happen, data flows forward without intent or value until it is processed through a program, or if you will, a matrix.

That program or matrix can take that data and use it to detonate a bomb, make blips on a heart monitor or tell you when the oven is hot enough to bake cookies. The nature of the program determines the nature of the data.

Our minds are very much the same way. The direction, intent and adaptability of our mind will determine how it processes the day that unfolds before us. This is not to say the solution is to just stay positive. For me the key seems to be mental flexibility, but I digress.

What I am getting at is the idea that our minds are the matrix. I believe it is possible to see the nature of one's own mind.

In that moment, moving to the shower, I saw the possibilities of the day that lay ahead. Not in the data, but in the clarity and pliability of the matrix that would process it. The day unfolded in a seemingly ordinary way. Pleasant and unpleasant things came up. I'd like to say that I did not let my mind amplify any of the negative things. I can't though. I can say I saw it, caught myself, and to the extent that I could, I made it better.

I like my analogy. I recognize that it is being used in a very specific way. In the end, what do we see when we see the matrix? We see a day. Just a day. Unlike any other.

My Ducks

(picture taken last Spring with my eldest daughter)

Recently I was able to attend a Sunday service at TZC. The format usually makes for a fairly short talk, but this one was one of the more notable ones I have heard in a long time.

Rinsen spoke of ducks.

The gist of it was the nature of ducks vs. our tendency to want our ducks to be in a row. As he explored this, my mind tried to identify it's ducks. (given that the mind is one big duck to begin with) Today however, I found one of the more disorderly bunches of ducks that I have been hanging with. Collectively, they are my house.

In August we had some flooding in our basement and the repair work (covered by insurance) has been very slow. The contents of our basement were moved to our living room and our garage. The short of it is that our living space consisted of a kitchen, 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms for 3 months. I have been very stuck in the mind that says "I'll be happy when all of this is done and I have my house back". Although I am happy that the repairs are almost done, I can see that I have been playing a very dangerous and unhealthy game with my own mind.

As drastic as the damage to the basement was, I have to recognize that even now there are issues. Things to be worked on and repaired. The new paint and carpet will get dirty or chipped. The idea that there is a perfect way for my basement to be, is a static view of a dynamic situation. Even as the ducks seem to be coming into line, I have to recognize that they will drift apart again.

This was basically what Rinsen was getting at, but it is much more useful when these things can be seen in our own lives and not just as abstract concepts.

I am going to go downstairs now and play with my ducks.

Why Me?

Lately I have been going through some minor plagues. Nothing major, just a torn calf muscle and some colds and flu's. But for most of the time I was going through it, it FELT major. It felt terrible. I felt terrible. I felt like my entire life was crumbling around me. It took some time to create the space I needed to work through it, but once I did, I spent some time thinking about how situations like this arise.

What I found was not earth shattering, surprising or even new, but it came from a different angle and provided some insight.

In the physical universe, there are countless bodies in motion. Every body has a gravitational field and that field acts on every other body in the universe. This creates an infinitely complex and dynamic relationship between everything in existence. Pull back far enough and it can be seen that there is a geographical center to the universe, and everything is moving outward from that. Some theories hold that the universe will eventually collapse back to that point in the Big Crunch.

But that is not where we live. We live in eddies of activity and drama. We exist in currents of dynamic drama with people we did not know 10 years ago and who will not always be a part of our lives. We live in homes that will decay and eventually be abandoned, regardless of how much time and money we put into them during our lives.

We move through these swirls of life and activity from which there cannot be perceived a center. There is only motion, in even in stillness.

Then a moment comes. We might perceive some subtle agency behind a collection of our circumstances that brings us to wrongly pursue a line of thought based on an idea that we are getting more than our own share of suffering and calamity.

What is your due portion of calamity? Really?

I played a bit of poker in my life. I know how the odds work. In Hold'em, if you are chasing a flush after the flop, you have approximately a 36% chance of making your hand. But YOU WON'T ACTUALLY hit that flush 36% of the time. You'll die first. To get what the odds say you should get you'd have to play poker forever. The closer that your time playing gets to infinity, the closer your outcome will reflect the odds. Despite this, many players decide poker is rigged because they are hitting their hands less often than they "should". Others feel they have something called "luck" on their side because they seem to make their hands more than they "should".

What is your due portion of luck? Really?

So what happens when my world is collapsing around me? Having made the error of thinking there is a certain amount of luck or calamity that I should have, I place myself in the center of the universe. This is a terrible place to be. When you are at the center of the universe, the universe is either running away from you, leaving you alone and isolated, or it is rushing towards you, threatening to crush you.

When I slip, it is a slip into the center of the universe.

For me, when I break out of these frames of mind, it is usually the result of displacing myself from the center of the universe. I might see it through the suffering of another person, or even from just looking up and truly seeing the unblemished sky that covers all the beings of this planet.

Parks and Rec

Julie asked why I was putting trip reports on my Zen blog.

Where else would I put it?

I know it is not particularly reflective like most of my other posts, but there is more to contemplative life than reflection. There is also awe and living. Short trip that this is, there is a many layered beauty in it. The movement through this country is parallel to the movement through this life. The depth of connection between Julie and I, although it is always there, can ride at the surface of our awareness in those brief moments away from familiar places and faces.

There is beauty.

--------

Friday night we went to bed early. I won't say it was a mistake, but in the morning we knew we had to force ourselves to sleep long so we would be better able to handle the day.

Saturday morning we went for a walk in the rain after breakfast, and got our hands on a coffee and an umbrella. Julie made an appointment to get her hair done for the wedding and we did a little shopping at Zellers and Winners.

We had a lot of time to kill until the wedding, so we looked at a map and I suggested the Elizabeth Lake Bird Sanctuary. We learned from our cabbie that this used to be a popular duck hunting spot. It would be a popular ANYTHING spot.

Eventually, one of the paths let us exit back into Cranbrook's suburbia. We walked and talked, and I kept Julie laughing a lot of the time. If for no other reason, this trip has been worth it for the time we have had alone together. After a lot of walking and a little garage sale-ing, we called a cab. It was time to rest and get ready for the wedding.

Dave is a friend of ours from high school. We were not best friends, but we ran in the same crowd. He is one of 2 friends whom we have stayed in contact with more or less consistently since 1990. We went to different universities and after school he pretty much went straight out to Penticton BC to work as an astrophysicist at a radio observatory. We would see him every few years, and we even drove out West and saw him after I started teaching full time. There are few things in my life that I would change at this point, but being closer to Dave is one of them. He is a source of goodness in the world. A positive soul whom I am better for knowing. I am so very happy for him and Jackie on their big day.

Going to this wedding, Julie and I have already been married for 18 years. It is an amazing thing watching our friends just getting started on this journey. Last night was a celebration of the day. Their coming together as individuals, remaining individuals but become a single thing. If I could offer them anything about marriage it would be this...

Look closely at yourselves and your lives and see that you, as individuals are not set, static, unchanging beings. Your experiences, likes, dislikes, dreams, goals and biases have been in flux for almost 40 years. This is living. This is being in tune with life. You will continue to be so. As a couple, grow together. Don't let yourself attach to some unchanging image of who the other is. Celebrate this growth and change. Explore how your love and friendship develops and changes. Revel in its robust moments, nurture and sooth its weak moments, cherish every moment.

Lose the ability to hear the phrase "you're not the person I married" as a complaint. It is an observation that points to the unique path you will create together.

I wish you all the best. I love you both.

Full Body Scan on the First Date

A couple of interesting things about the rest of our flight to Cranbrook...

During our layover in Calgary, Julie got a massage to help her combat one of her tension headaches that started coming on yesterday. To get to that part of the airport, we had to go out of the secure zone, which meant we eventually had to go through a security check before our next flight. Being a big city, international airport, they have all the bells and whistles. I was randomly selected for a more thorough scan. My security concierge gave me a couple of options, but I didn't really listen. I was zoned in on the one I wanted; the electronic full body imaging.

Why the excitement? Because it is SOOOO Star Trek. The thing looks like a transporter. It actually functions more like a time machine. It transported me 15 seconds into the future, and there is no getting that time back.

After the scan, a female agents voice came over the radio, asking my security guard to pat down one of my pockets. Yep, somewhere in Calgary, there is a woman who got to see this...

you're welcome.

So anyway, when we finally boarded our last flight, we got on a small, two prop plane. How small you ask? Here was the view from my seat.

Honestly, it was a lot of fun. The flight was only 30 minutes, but I could see forward as we flew over the Rockies. When we descended, there was a time when all I could see out the front was the ground. Given the design of the plane, it was very loud. When we arrived at the Canadian Rockies INTERNATIONAL Airport, we were the only plane on the tarmac. It was very quiet. A good transition from travel to rest. That is, once we took care of some shopping.

Blogging on the Fly

Julie and I are on our way to Cranbrook BC for our friend Dave’s wedding. There are a lot things to be excited about, including not being at work on a Friday, having a 3 day vacation with Julie, Dave getting married, but the thing that I always get a huge kick out of is flying.

Despite the seeming drudgery of waiting in the airport and sitting still in public for long periods of time, flying excites me. To borrow from Louis CK, after all, you are sitting in A CHAIR IN THE SKY!

For all of that amazement, it is moving through the airports that I find amazing. If each person is a thread in the fabric of life, the weave is tightest and brightest in the airport. I am overwhelmed by the infinite number of stories, or at least possible stories, that each person carries.

• The 30 year-old, red-blooded hunter, off tocash in on his moose tag.

• The tired businessman en route to the meeting he could not care less about.

• The thin, grey haired woman on her way to Africa to build schools for the poor.

• The university grad with the backwards cap, heading to visit friends in Fort McMurray, while he contemplates what to do with an English Lit. degree.

• The young family travelling back home to visit a grandparent who probably won’t see their granddaughter
  ’s next birth day.

I know I don’t know these things, but ultimately, they are true. Across this world, millions of people are bored in airport terminals, watching in-flight movies, and sleeping on undersold flights.

We are travelling. Infinite destinations, infinite purposes, infinite stories. Being infinite, they are baseless, and at the same time an accurate picture of reality.

Like the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, I can know the velocity of that story, but can’t localize the story without its blurring.

All I can do is hop on a horizontal escalator and weave my thread toward the Western shore of this fabric.

It COMES with fries

Earlier this week, while I was walking from my car into the place where I work, I saw an airplane taking off. It was a cold and grey morning. The ground was dry, but the air held a certain promise of rain. The plane pulled my attention away from the too many things that I was carrying, as it prepared to break through the clouds and disappear.

For a moment, I was seized by the notion that I wanted to be on that plane. I wanted to be going where they were going, and not into work.

Planes taking off have always held an exotic mystery for me. Uncertain of their destination, I am able to imagine that they are going to the exact place I would like to go myself, even if I can't name it at the moment. On cloudy days, I know that they will soon reach a world of white, billowing carpets, blue skies and blinding sun, leaving me in this grey, unfinished basement.

But really, where am I? I am in the circumstances of my choosing. Whether I have chosen through spectacular actions,

"Julie, would you marry me?"

"Mom, we're moving home."

or by the the equally powerful in-actions that keep me working on what is in front of me, I have chosen this path.

I could have dropped my things, walked back the car, gone to the airport and got on a plane. But even then, I could never actually step away from where I am.

Even if I had the power to jump into other lives, that then would be my life, and that life would be different from all of the other possibilities.

Considering this, I can sense the faint faint flavour of victimhood in wishing to be on that plane.

Next week, I will be the one on the plane. As we take off to the West Coast, I will looking down people on their morning commute, wondering where they are going.

Anger

Does anyone harbour anger against another, and expect healing from the Lord?

-The Book of Sirach

This small passage was part of the first reading at mass today. It hits on a few things that have been very important to me in my practice as of late. I'll start with the words "against another". Sometimes it feels as though we drastically underplay the importance of the relational nature of our ethical lives these days. Looking at the news and politics of global economies, it is very easy to see the world as a series of wars, crises and disasters that are to be conquered. People are often either allies or obstacles. Those who seem to stand against us seem pretty deserving of our anger and wrath. After all, they are standing in the way of our noble vision of how things should be (whatever that is). But if we really look at our place in this vast world, such anger and the energy that we might devote to defeating those who oppose our vision of the world is a huge misdirection of time and energy.

There are close to 7 billion people on the Earth today. That is a lot of people to expect to conform to our view. As daunting an exercise it would be to just focus our mind on wanting each of these individuals to be the way we would want them to be, none of these people are autonomous. They know each other, and for each person they know, their actions and behaviours are influenced by these relationships moment after moment. To just spend the mental energy wanting a person to be other than exactly what they are is akin to trying to make the ocean calm by pressing down on the waves on a beach.

The other important word for me in this short quote is "harbour" ("harbor" for my American readers). We tend to treat anger like an infant we have won in a contest. (WHAT?). I know, strange analogy, but by this I mean that we treat anger as something we feel entitled to and something that we need to care for and nourish. When we react with anger to some wrong done to us, we take some version of the stance that "they MADE me angry". Accepting that position blindly, we take the position that we have no choice in being angry. Granted, there is a thing such as righteous anger that arises very naturally. Heat is sometimes the natural response. But something shifts when we hold onto, play with, and nurture that anger. It grows and deepens. It poisons and consumes us. We rage outwardly trying to beat out fire with more fire, until we exhaust ourselves.

I get angry, I get happy, I get sad. But with all things, a time comes to let them go. I suspect that we tend to hold onto anger beyond its natural shelf live with a greater regularity than other things.

I know how hard it is to let go of anger in the face of people and situations that seem determined pour crap on you and the universe. I run into this difficulty every day and I meeting with varying degrees of success and failure. But I also know that I can't get angry enough to end the anger. I can not "expect healing" until I release it.

I heard this teaching as I sat beside my wife in church, in about the same place my father and I used to sit. My daughters were working in the sacristy as altar servers, and my in-laws were singing in the choir. In the midst of all of this, I felt the room shrink. Everything became closer and more personal. Everyone became closer and more personal. In some way, I could feel that there was less room for anger.

Relentless

In terms of comings and goings, it has been a pretty active summer.

At the end June I joined a sesshin with the Toledo Zen Center, leaving early to see my oldets daughter in a gymnastics performance.

For the month of July, I was in residence at Zen Mountain Monastery.

In August we had a flood in our basement that means replacing drywall, painting it, getting new carpet and replacing some contents. Evelyn got her braces, and both girls just keep on growing. I tore a muscle in my calf that does not seem to be healing properly, and I went on another sesshin with TZC.

As active as things have been, it has been a fairly calm month. Learning to live this life and play it with some skill, I seem to be more in stride right now. It invigorates my life and my practice. It energizes my loving and my prayer. I look into the eyes of my children and know them as best I ever have. (However, I'll admit that working with the insurance company frays my nerves considerably)

This comes through some effort. There are a lot of troubles in the world. There are a lot of difficult people who make my path less smooth than it could be. Much of this work is keeping the focus on my own thoughts and actions first. Seeing where I judge, hate and ignore. It is being able to stop or delay the tendency to react out of my condition or my story about who I am or how things should be.

Why would I wear away my ego? Why would I shelve my story? In some ways I don't. This practice (for me) is not about destroying the self as musch as it is being able to put it to the side, to see past it, and not let the story I tell about who I am take up the entire lense of reality.

What's left? I don't know what to call it, but THIS is what sees so deeply into my daughter's eyes.

This too is human nature.

No Home, No Mountains

Photo by Sara J. Heidt

During my month-long residency at Zen Mountain Monastery, I became very aware of the richness of the experience.  The intensity of the mindfulness that was supported by the monastic schedule, the reminders of the physical environment and extended living within a community of people dedicated to practice is no small thing.  I can remember thinking that I would have a lot to share with others about my experiences.  Having returned home, what I thought I would share was gone like smoke in the wind.

I could talk about the experience of being held by the schedule, flowing with the movement of the community throughout the day.  But when I describe the details, they seem very narrow.

I could talk about the people.  Each person, like me, looking to find something or deepen something.  Each person bringing an openness and sensitivity to each meeting, or at least more than we would assume of the stranger who is gassing up his truck next to us at the service center.  Again, saying it, it feels narrow.

I could try to explain how the weather nurtured me.  Soft sunsets, blazing hot days, pouring sweat in the Zendo, waking up cold at 3 am.  Narrow.

In the end, if I was going to offer anything about the time spent there, it would be zazen.  The work was there, but that does not mean the work was in the zendo.

My first meeting with a Zen teacher was about 14 years ago.  Alone with Daido Roshi (founder of ZMM) I asked him how I could go about bringing the clarity I found in zazen into the rest of my life.  He said "sit more" and rang the bell, ending our meeting.  I left in shock, certain that I had been blown off.  It must have taken everything in his power not to scoff at my question.  Brushed off.  Yep, that was it.  But despite my initial reaction, I had learned enough about practice to trust that there was something there;  something to take a look at.

That exchange has informed my practice ever since.  How does a person close the gap between zazen and the rest of their life?  I tried mindfulness practices, little signs, mantras, you name it.  In the end, the only thing that seemed to close this gap was more zazen.  Over the years, the more I sat, the more readily that focus, that mind, was available.  The gap bewteen zazen and everything else I saw or did began to close. 

Now don't get me wrong, I still hit that gap a lot in my life.  But today it is smaller, and it does not last as long when it arises.  I have no doubt that zazen has been the key to this.

When I left for ZMM, I kept fixed in my mind that I was not running away from my difficulties.  Those places in which we have trouble are not in the nature of the external circumstances of our lives, but how we use our mind when we encounter them.  Sure enough, the shadows of my difficulties were cast at ZMM as well.

However, living in a practice community that is designed to help people wake up to their inherent nature, I was able to dive deep into a relentless, ceaseless awareness.

ZMM itself is an amazing place, but it is still just a place.  The work of the sangha and teachers is a marvelous activity, but it is still just making soup, editing audio, cutting grass, and talking to people. 

In these early years after the death of Daido Roshi, nostalgia is abundant.  Sometimes it evens starts to cross the line into deification.  He shaped a community and a form that presents countless entry points to practice, but the mind that built this place is not to be found in the stone building, the mountains or the rivers.  During a retreat talk in July, Ryushin Sensei, the current abbot of ZMM said "you want to know Daido Roshi?  Sit Zazen.  That's him."

I went to that place.  It was just a place.  I left that place.  Still just a place.  But what moves from here to there and back is this changing life.  I appreciate the time spent.  I appreciate the training. It helped.

So go.  Go to the mountain, but never leave the city.  Then go back to the city without leaving the mountain.  Maybe your mountain is in the Catskills.  Maybe your mountain is in Toledo.  Maybe it is on a cushion in the corner of the living room.  Maybe it is in line at the gas station.  Just go.

That's how it felt.

32 Days on the Mountain

The peach tree when I arrive

I just got back from spending the month of July in residence at Zen Mountain Monastery in the Catskills of New York State. This is a residential monastic community in which lay practitioners follow the monastic schedule along side of the monks. I am still unpacking the impact that it has had on me and my practice, but I thought I would say a little bit about the place and what goes on there.

I first went to ZMM for a weekend about 14 years ago. I returned the following summer for sesshin, and I had always wanted to go back. My wife and I planned early on this past year for me to go in July, and I owe her a great debt for helping me to make this happen.

Much of the form of what goes on at ZMM is held in the daily schedule. Most weeks it looks like this...

4:20 AM Wake-up (Rule of silence observed until work practice)
5:00 - 6:30 Dawn Zazen/Dokusan (Be seated in zendo by 4:50)
6:30 - 6:50 Morning Service
7:00 - 8:00 Body Practice/Art Practice/Academic Study
8:00 - 8:30 Breakfast
9:00 - 9:45 Caretaking Practice
10:00 - 12:00 Work Practice/Retreat Sessions
12:00 - 12:30 Dinner
1:30 - 5:00 Work Practice/Retreat Sessions
5:00 - 6:00 Zazen and Evening Service
6:00 - 6:30 Light Supper
7:30 - 9:00 Evening Zazen/Dokusan
9:30 PM Lights out

Work practice was varied. Turning compost, harvesting vegetables, planting herbs, weeding, fixing stone paths, moving garbage, mowing grass, cleaning the monastery and updating an audio database card catalogue. The work is approached just like zazen. It is treated as an invitation to intimacy in the moment, with whatever is going on.

It is hard to say much more than that without giving the impression that that is what was important. What was important was the work with the mind: in Zazen, liturgy, walking to the cabin, speaking to people. Ultimately this is the same work I have always encountered. The only work I could encounter. What the residential training did was provide an extended, supportive environment that relentlessly points back to that focus. Even in difficulty, there emerged and equanimity of mind.

It was a wonderful experience, but what really made it worthwhile was what I saw in myself. I am grateful for that, because if it were anything else, it would not be something I could bring with me. The place is just a place. No magic powers, just a community working towards awakening themselves and everyone there.

Sitting here now, it feels as though writing a blow by blow account would miss the point. I set out now to manifest this mind in my everyday life.

May in July

The South side

The peach tree when I left

Away

I will be away from my computer for the month of July.

I'll tell you about after my techno hiatus.

until then...

There is always a storm, and there is always the sky.

I spent the weekend in stillness.  Even in the challenges of sesshin, there was a peace.

I came home, and shortly after saw that Osama Bin Laden had been killed.

I saw people celebrate.

I saw people shy away from jubilant expression.

I saw people of both minds be critical of each other.

Then I took my girls out for ice cream.

I went and got some frozen yogurt at a friend's store and the girls got scooped ice cream around the corner. I waited for them in the King's Navy Yard Park.  While I waited, I thought about peace.

Sitting on the edge of a beautiful fountain, I was held gently by the cool evening air.  The river, a few meters away was as smooth and calm as I have ever seen it.  It was utter tranquility.  However, the Napoleonic cannons and the various flags in the park reminded me that I was sitting on the site of a great machine of war, some 200 years past its prime.

It is from this location that the British Navy and Provincial Marine staged its efforts in the War of 1812 to defend Upper Canada from American invaders.  When the war ended, the borders were restored, the US and Britain quickly resumed cordial trade relations and 1000's of families began picking up the pieces of the lives shattered by the loss of a loved one or the destruction of a home or farm.  Even in this place of quiet tranquility there was the memory of war.

On the shores my own town, on the shores of Normandy, at Ypres, and in the deserts of Afghanistan, my countrymen have fought to ensure (among other things) the preservation of a peace in which my children and I have had the fortune to live our lives.  Then, as I waited, I took notice of the other people encountering this moment with me.

A young girl out for jog,  an old couple strolling in the park.  A grey haired man slowly making his way to the Legion, and a mother letting her children run in the grass.  They too, along with my family and I were building the very peace that others fight elsewhere to protect.

If you know me, then you my deep affinity for those who put themselves in service of their country, for they do the hard dirty work of preserving peace.  But here, at home, in the park, we build it.

We go about our business and are tolerant, if not respectful of others as they go about theirs.  We pass masses of people each day.  I do not take issue with their congregations, nor that they express their opinions publicly, nor that they worship differently than I, nor that they differ from me in race, gender, and so on. They, in turn, do not take issue with me.  Some of this small town cohabitation is based acceptance, some on tolerance, some on begrudging tolerance and some on obliviousness.  But regardless of the base it rests upon, it rests there with weight and inertia.  It is the repository of peace.

When this peace is disrupted we can feel it.  We have created many laws and moral codes (spoken and unspoken) to deter such disruptions.  We cherish this balance.

This peace may have been protected in Flanders, Tripoli, Queenston Heights and Iwo Jima, but it was not created there.  The difficult, messy actions that may be required to preserve peace can not create it.  It may be preserved on the battlefield, but it is built in the town hall, at the ice cream parlour, the breakfast table, and in the kindergarten classroom.

While I don't want the people of my community to ever lose sight of what has been sacrificed to preserve the peace,  I would hate to think that we might see violence as a tool for creating it.

All peace, of any true and lasting nature starts in your own heart.  Not the general "you" but the INSERT YOUR NAME HERE________________________ you.  From there it radiates outward.  The only question is "how far?".  When communities are built in this way, they know peace.  It is a peace that can be bruised and broken, but can also be healed.

May communities that do not know peace come to this great fortune.

Today the world takes note of a man who has been killed.  It is not the first time people have set out to kill to protect peace, nor will it be the last.

In the end, I am not entirely sure how I feel about the events of these last days.  But I know this:  As I set about my daily activities tomorrow, I will be more keenly aware of whether I am making war or peace with others and in my heart.

Standing

I have often heard that one of the jobs of the Zen teacher is to pull out the rug from under the student's feet,  help them up, and then pull it out again and again until the student  does not fall anymore.

The student learns to stand on their own two feet.  Stable and solid.

Lately I have become increasingly aware of those places where I am not standing on my own two feet.  Specifically, those times when I am deliberately trying to lean on others in order to stand.

I am not talking about the supports that an ordinary human being needs.  We are, by nature, social.  We work together and operate in various groups and achieve more than we could on our own.  What I am seeing are those places in which my sense of stability, success and authenticity are dependent on validation from other people.

For me, I notice it out of the corner of my mind.  At first awareness it seems like a subtle coating to moment.  When my attention turns to it, I can see the gateway into all of my fears and insecurities.

I have stood at this gate before.  Many times actually.  I generally find a quick reason to run the other way. A distraction or something big and pleasurable.

This time however, I think I will walk through that gate and stroll down its path.  It is lined with things that are uncomfortable.  But they aren't really scary.  How could they be?  They are familiar, like old friends.  They have been with me my entire life.

Putting Aside the Button.

Today was good.

Things did not necessarily go good.

Things were not really bad.

It was just... good.

I had a moment that really anchored the day, though it happened late.  I found myself in the presence of one of my greatest conditioned responses.  I felt "OMG! here we go again" arise.  I felt my body begin to move to leave.  Then I stopped.

A small voice "what is the big deal?  Do you really need to run away from this?".  So I settled in, tuned in , listened and engaged.

Nothing happened to changed the trigger mechanism.  The pushing element continued.  I just put aside the button.

The moment and reality that I thought I "knew" so well were transformed, from the only place that it could be.  It shifted, because I shifted.

The moment, in one sense was exactly what it had always been.  But in the sense that I experience it was transformed.  Simply, subtly, profoundly.

It was a good day.

Cold Hell

What stops you? Deep down, do you know your achilles heel? It might not be so obvious. When you see it, really see it, you recognize it right away. You might even feel foolish for not really recognizing its presence there all along. Maybe you saw it all along, but didn't know its name.

I have seen mine. To put it into word, it is expectations. Yours. Who you think I should be and what you think I should do. Depending on who you are, your expectations might be a big obstacle for me. You might be the person whose expectations of me are easy for me to get over.

When this comes up strong, it is a cold hell. I am frozen, unable to move. It passes, but the odds are I missed an important moment to act during that time.

I can tell myself that I am trying to avoid being rash. It's true, but it can also be a copout.

I can tell myself that I am trying to avoid being a jerk. It's true, but it can also be a copout.

Standing on the edge and desperately wanting to act.

Act.

act.

Helping Haiti

The Vlogbrothers are 2 of my favourite people on Youtube. They don't come from any religious direction and they are not an organization themselves per se, but they are made of awesome, and they do help to reduce world suck. In Dharma speak, they practice good and avoid evil.

TZC

March Break affords much freedom, and this week, Julie and I took some for ourselves.  While our parents each took one of the girls, we went to Toledo do do some shopping, spend sometime alone together, and visit the Toledo Zen Center.

This is my immediate sangha, 2 hours and one nation away.  Over the years that I have been going down to there, it has changed from a arduous adventure, to a quick little jaunt.  I attribute this partially to familiarity, but mostly to the increased importance of Sangha in my life.

Touching in with people who practice always has a nourishing affect on me.

I am still the one who needs to sit, work with anger and difficult people, be mindful of the precepts and practice compassion to all beings.  (No one can take my naps for me ;) )

Despite all of this, it remains important to me to connect with other practitioners.  It helps me keep my arrow pointing north.  It helps me to not get lost.  It helps me to not get overwhelmed.

It improves my practice.

In Kinhin, we take the focus cultivated in Zazen and put it into motion.  We endeavour to develop a working samadhi that functions in all actions.

In the Sangha we engage others with the mind of practice.  Others who also practice, and support us.  We endeavour to manifest the same compassion and fresh mind when we meet the rest of world.

When I can't be there, I still have other supports.  My wife, the TZC forum (toledozencenter.org) and the podcasts (thedrinkinggourd.org) are big helps.  But being able to maintain a sense of a larger community of practice feeds my spirit.

I take refuge in the sangha.

Lent and Ango

Today is very important day for Roman Catholics around the world.  We are on the eve of Lent, the period of preparation for Easter.  For most of my life in the Church, I never gave Lent more than passing attention.  Most of what I gave up was for dietary and life style reasons, and WHAT I gave up was fairly insignificant (such as chocolate).  On top of that, I had never been able to keep these tiny sacrifices.  I never really understood why.

In the end, I realized that I what I tried to do in Lent was for myself, and in the grand scheme of the universe, that motivation didn't cut it.

A number of years ago, largely out of frustration with a lifetime of failed Lenten sacrifices, I decided to give up something that would be hard to casually forget.  I gave up all meat and alcohol.  This was made more difficult by the fact that there was no one around me sharing in this particular package of self denial.  However, something shifted during that lent.

The extent of the inconvenience continuously brought me back to the question of why I was doing it.  It drew my mind back to the purpose of Lent as a time to prepare yourself to receive, accept and embrace the redemption that was brought to humanity in Christ's death and resurrection.  Now that particular spiritual message may not be what floats your boat, but it helped me better understand the experience of spiritual preparation or seasonal training.  All traditions have it, whether it is Lent, Ramadan or Ango.

Ango is a period of intensified practice in Zen Buddhism that dates back to much earlier times.  Ancient monks would spend much of their time on pilgrimage, but in the rainy seasons they would gather together and practice.  Various groups practice this in North America, albeit in a modified form.  Since I don't live close to a community that engages in Ango, I have had a hard time paralleling the experience.

So this year, I am making a vow to a personal Lenten / Ango schedule.  In addition to my Lenten observances this year, I am making a vow to sit more regularly.  The primary form of this is to begin each weekday with Zazen.  I have set out to increase the frequency of my sitting at different times in the last 12 years, with varying degrees of success.  However, these past years of Lenten practice have helped me to clarify my understanding of this time of seasonal preparatory training.

The Lenten portion will take me to the last weekend of April, but my vow is to maintain this practice for 90 days, which will take me into June.  I won't explain what I plan for the traditional Catholic Lenten practice.  A priest who used to be in my parish always emphasized the value of keeping such things close to the chest, and that it was more important to DO something, as most motivations for giving up things in Lent tend to be self serving.

The goal is to deepen my practice, and in doing so, become more skilled in seeing each moment of my life as practice. 

Zazen, prayer, art practice, sesshin, cooking, bedtime stories, helping with homework, patience when it is called for, directness when it is called for.  As I continue to ask myself what the practices of this period are, my entire life comes up in answer.  

As the dark of winter begins to show the hints of the rising spring, I wish upon all that they find the renewal and growth of the season to be mirrored in their own lives.

Bows.

The Texture of Life

It seems that through most of my life I have looked at this existence as a journey of joy and "meh".  The tragedies that came along, though not really avoidable we things that derailed that path.  They brought sadness and gloom, and generally made life feel like it had slowed down or stopped for a time.

I imagine that it would be just as easy to see life as a journey of pain and disappointment, from which joyful moments occasionally provide distraction.  This sounds like the outlook of the pessimist, or the clinically depressed.  The problem I find with these models, is that they both focus intently on one aspect of life, while pushing away the other as though it was extra, or flawed.

 But what about a perspective or sense of a life that does not see these things as "other"?

The pattern of unhappy events is not constant, and it seems to be on the up-swing lately in my life.  Friends have died of cancer and of their own hand.  Some young children I know have been very ill.  Divorce and separation have shook the lives of people I care for in just about any direction I look.  Family members are confronted with the limitations of diseases and conditions that will end their lives sooner than expected.

In all of this I can feel different conditioned responses vying for my attention.

Life sucks dude.  The only things you can rely on are death and taxes


or

you just have keep your chin up and look at the silver lining.


These reactions fit the world very well.  Just about anyone I might turn to in these moments would offer me some version of this.  But what if there was a different way to see?

What if a heart could be so big as to hold the moment in which I read to my daughter before bed AND the sorrow I feel at the loss my friends Keith and Dale?

What would it be like to have an awareness that could perceive the suffering, joy, and "meh" of each moment, meeting it fully, accepting it all, turning away from nothing?

I still must be very mindful to avoid letting the condition responses rule the day.  However, when I approach this seeing, I am struck dumb by the fullness of life's texture and the magnitude of it's beauty.

Sick Day

I am amazed that it has taken me 40 years to learn how to be sick.  Getting sick is no problem, I can do that without even trying, but being sick is a relatively new skill for me.

Usually, when I come down with a bad cold or the flu, I spend a lot of energy being upset at the fact that I am sick.  I yearn for the many things I would get done if I was not ill.  Of course these thoughts come up, but in the past I spent most of my sick time with them.  Sometimes I would even ignore the fact that I was sick and try to muscle my way through the day anyway.

Even if I took the day off, I would see my time alone at home as a chance to do stuff I can't normally do.  I would tell myself I was resting, but I was very busy, and continually exhausting myself.

These days, I have learned that listening to the mind to the exclusion of the body is just as bad as listening to body to the exclusion of the mind.  Nowadays, these two companions walk with me through the day.  Working together, they instantly know when it is time to lay down and time to get up.  On their own, there is a great deal of confusion.

This state of "just being" is the very essence of zazen.  On the cushion, in the bed, or driving the car.  This is the presence of mind to have the mind present.  Fully.  Fearlessly.  

When you get sick, know how to be sick.  Hopefully it won't take 40 years to learn.

Shaken

I ring in this new year with a profound appreciation for being shaken.  This is one of the primary roles played by the Zen teacher, and at this point in my life, I am very lucky to have 2 who see into me.

One of the great struggles of my life is learning to be a stable and strong individual.  I become self-critical of the extent to which I rely on some things, like the approval of friends, and rush to rely on other things, like structures and definitions.  In Zen practice, this means examining what it means to be stable, strong and an individual.

Enter the Zen teacher...

Despite what I have read, even though I have seen the words that tell how all things change and the self is more than / not this bag of skin or list of accomplishments or labels, encountering that reality manifest in a person is real and powerful.  Face to face with my teachers, these things, in a great sense, mean nothing.  They don't help.

Out of habit, all our familiar tools are applied, but there is no friction, no purchase, they don't hold.  We continue to try, but nothing works.  At this point we are exhausted.  To our small mind we have tried everything.  No options remain.  Then, still on the spot, we take a wobbly step in a new direction.

Torn open and laid bare, I am just this being, alive and trying desperately to walk across the room.  The steps taken are shaky, but they are pure.  They are me.  They are free.

In 2010, I worked on not being surprised by the range of my reactions and those of others.

In 2011, I resolve to become friendly and intimate with this raw shaken feeling.  I have my suspicion that is...  freedom.