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]
Saturday, October 16, 2010
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.
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