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.