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.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
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.
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