Zen and the Art of Debauchery

Every summer on Salt Spring Island, the Saturday market brings droves of tourists in their cars and campers to the village of Ganges. Much time is spent circling the blocks hoping someone else will leave the market and vacate their spot. Inevitably, someone came up with an apt bumper sticker: Zen and the Art of Motor Vehicle Parking in Ganges.

Ever since Eugene Herrigel's book, Zen in the Art of Archery, and later, Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, a plethora of  "Zen and the Art of ..." books have sprung up, ranging from Zen and the Art of Knitting to ... Zen and the Art of Competitive Eating.

Much has been said about the "Zen" of activity beyond effort. Two of my favourite bloggers wrote about it this month:

In letting go of “trying”, in letting go of any intellectual idea of how archery should be done, these archers are simply totally, wholeheartedly merged with their activity. The years of practice in a very easy way, in a relaxed way, comes through.  The archer, the arrow ... are all one movement and one whole. Subject and object merged. This is what one might call effortless effort.

- Beyond Effort by Judith Ragir at Byakuren's Zen Practice Blog

... Dogen Zenji propounds the concept of ... gujin ... which means “the full exertion of a single thing.” That may sound like yet another form of striving, but it is actually quite the opposite. Far from adding another burden, the practice offers a path toward total rest.

Gujin has been variously translated as “total realization,” “total penetration,” “total manifestation”—and, most often, “total exertion.” The scholar and translator Francis Dojun Cook, an authority on Dogen, explains the concept in this way:

From the angle of the person who experiences the situation, [gujin] means that one identifies with it utterly. Looked at from the standpoint of the situation itself, the situation is totally manifested or exerted without obstruction.

- The Labyrinth of Exertion by Ben Howard at One Time, One Meeting

I suspect we all experience this from time to time. Splitting wood with an axe, no matter how hard I try to hit the centre of a log, I always seem to miss, but often as soon as I stop trying, the axe splits the log exactly in the middle, even cutting the little dot in the centre of the growth rings in half.

Debauchery.  One definition is "seduction from virtue or duty". Also, debauch: "to make disloyal", "to lead away from virtue or excellence" and "to corrupt by intemperance or sensuality".

I realize they are only human, but fresh (to me) news of Zen masters behaving badly always triggers a little letdown.

In the ‘60’s, Philip Kapleau’s The Three Pillars of Zen was the first Zen book that really touched me. Kapleau’s teacher Hakuun Yasutani Roshi, who founded the Sanbo Kyodan school, became one of my Zen heroes. I even wrote him a letter asking for advice (he didn’t reply).

One of the little letdowns was learning that, as most notably published in Brian Daizen Victoria's book Zen at War, both Yasutani Roshi and his teacher, Harada Daiun Sogaku Roshi, held extreme right wing, militaristic, and in the case of Yasutani, anti-Semitic beliefs.

Kubota Ji'un, the 3rd Abbot of the Sanbo Kyodan wrote:

I personally became Haku'un Yasutani Roshi's disciple at the age of 17 and kept receiving his instructions until his death. So I know very well that Yasutani Roshi did foster strongly right-winged and anti-Semitic ideology during as well as after World War II, just as Mr. Victoria points out in his book.

- Apology for What the Founder of the Sanbo-Kyodan, Haku'un Yasutani Roshi, Said and Did During World War II

I find the following quote from Harada Roshi particularly disquieting, perhaps because it takes the form of “Zen and the Art of …”:

Forgetting [the difference between] self and others in every situation, you should always become completely one with your work. [When ordered to] march -- tramp, tramp; [when ordered to] fire -- bang, bang; this is the clearest expression of the highest Bodhi-wisdom, the unity of Zen and war.

- quoted in Daizen Victoria, "Japanese Corporate Zen," Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 12.1 (1980:65)

Victoria’s book has not been without criticism:

It is right to uncover actual corruption, and Victoria has done a great service in shedding light on a dark time in our history, but nearly destroys his argument by his questionable methods and exaggerated conclusions. … Let’s keep up the good fight to uncover wrongs, reflect and atone, make things right. But let us do so in a forthright and honest way. One must not manipulate and straighten twisted vines.

- “Zen At War” Author Brian Victoria’s War On Zen by Jundo Cohen at Sweeping Zen

We practice Zen for the benefit of beings. Selflessly seducing a student or skilfully slaughtering another being - on the battlefield, the electric chair or the barnyard is using Zen as a means to an end that doesn’t justify the means. To me, this is Zen and the art of debauchery.

Bodhin Kholhede, dharma heir of Philip Kapleau, has this to say:

Now that we’ve had the book on Yasutani Roshi opened for us, we are presented with a new koan. Like so many koans, it is painfully baffling: How could an enlightened Zen master have spouted such hatred and prejudice? The nub of this koan, I would suggest, is the word enlightened. If we see enlightenment as an all-or-nothing place of arrival that confers a permanent saintliness on us, then we’ll remain stymied by this koan. But in fact there are myriad levels of enlightenment, and all evidence suggests that, short of full enlightenment (and perhaps even with it—who knows?), deeper defilements and habit tendencies remain rooted in the mind.

- Yasutani Roshi: The Hardest Koan Tricycle Magazine, Fall 1999

And finally, thanks to Koun Franz for this kindly reminder:

There is another conversation in all of this, one that I find more troubling: “He wasn’t a real Buddhist, because a Buddhist could never do something like this.” The math behind this is very simple: If a Buddhist could never do this, and if I am a Buddhist, then I am incapable of doing [this]. And if he and I do not share the same capacity for doing good or bad, then he and I are fundamentally separate.

It doesn’t work that way. We may want it to, but it doesn’t. The fact is, there’s nothing that a human being (any human being) cannot do. The difference, if there is one, is that Buddhists might know that. …

I wanted to say there’s a limit and I’ve found it, that here, finally, I can say, “I am not that.” But that’s not the truth. I know. Whether through practice or the constant asking or just advancing age, I know better. ...

The question for us is how—not just, “How could he do it?” but “How could I do it?

- What Are the Depths to Which You’ll Go? at Nyoho Zen

With Bliss-Bestowing Hands Searching for the Ox

The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures are traditionally considered to represent stages along the path of awakening. The first picture is of a beginner; in the last picture, the beginner has become a master. For present purposes, I'm skipping the steps in between.

The beginner appears to be intent on seeking. The master seems to have found, mastered, and transcended whatever he was looking for, and now, for lack of better words, is blessing everything he encounters.

The boy in the tenth picture looks remarkably like the beginner in the first - perhaps a hint that beginning never ends, or in T.S. Eliot's words, the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

In Original Dwelling Place, Robert Aitken Roshi wrote:

I spend time with inquirers disabusing them about absolutes. When someone who has read a little in Zen Buddhism asks me if I am enlightened, I respond without hesitation that I most certainly am not. When someone asks me how many koans I have passed, I respond that I am still working on my very first koan and that I haven’t passed it yet. This is not false modesty but is true to the very bottom. There is enlightenment beyond enlightenment, passing beyond passing. Each milestone on the path may seem a be-all and end-all experience. Everything falls away. The everyday self disappears. Yet the path continues to open out.

Experience is the moment; the path is endless practice.

The tenth ox-herding picture brings to mind words from another tradition:

… I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. (Revelation 21:6)

The point I seem to be trying to make is that it’s never too early to spread kindness. No need to ‘attain’ something first. Just do it. The marketplace awaits your bliss-bestowing hands.

Oh and the flip side of that is, do we really believe there is something to attain? Or, perish the thought, that we have attained it?

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Lately I've been discovering the music of Libera.

I am the day, soon to be born

I am the light before the morning

I am the night that will be dawn

I am the end and the beginning

I am the Alpha and Omega

The night and day, the first and last

Blowing in the Mind

I feel a little thrill whenever I see flags flapping in the wind. I usually gaze and listen for a while and then come back to earth, noticing that my feet are plodding along the pavement as usual and that some litter has blown up against a fence.

This is the 29^th koan of the Mumonkan:

Two monks were arguing about a flag. One said, "The flag is moving."

The other said, "The wind is moving."

The Sixth Patriarch happened to be passing by. He told them, "Not the wind, not the flag; mind is moving."

Their habitual way of thinking about flags in the wind was stripped away, leaving – something else.

About two hundred years later, some monks were debating the koan. Zen master Miaoxin overheard them and said,

It's not the wind moving, it's not the flag moving, it's not the mind moving.

Something else was stripped away, leaving – what?

This progression reminds me of the first few times I attended our Zen centre. The first time I went, the abbot gave a dharma talk during the second sit, which I thought was pretty profound. The same thing happened the second time I was there. The third time I went, he just sat in silence. I remember thinking to myself, what could be more profound than that? Well, the next time I went, he wasn’t there at all…

I suspect “mind” is one of the most difficult words to define. There is mind meaning thought; there is the subconscious mind; there is no-mind and there is mindfulness; there is little mind and there is big Mind; there is original mind and everyday mind and there is beginner’s mind and there is don’t know mind.

Then there are the Three Minds (sanshin):

Magnanimous Mind (daishin) is like an ocean or a mountain: calm and steady, yet accepting and nourishing countless beings and situations without differentiation. The ocean is serene because it accepts the many rivers without resisting.

Nurturing Mind (roshin), literally "old mind", is akin to the attitude of a kindly grandmother or parent who delights in caring for others. It is the spirit of the bodhisattva, the fully mature person.

Joyful Mind (kishin) is the joy that comes from deep in our hearts even in the midst of difficulty. It arises from the insight of zazen, that we live together with all beings and are not separate.

(These originated with Dogen Zenji and were propounded by Kosho Uchiyama Roshi (Opening the Hand of Thought) and subsequently by his successor, Shohaku Okumura Roshi (Realizing Genjokoan), founder of the Sanshin Zen Community, from where the above quote was taken.)

Rational thought insists on trying to compartmentalize and categorize mind in order to comprehend it, as it does with the rest of the world. Except it can't. The best it can do is ask interminable questions.

If it would only shut up and pay attention, it might notice something important.

I don't know much, but I know enough not to vex my brain or anyone else's by trying to think up - or worse, suggest - answers to these questions.

What is it that flaps in the wind? What is it that watches the flag through my eyes? What thinks about the flag with my brain? What is asking this question? What wants to know the answer? What opens and unfolds, withers and dies all at the same time? What suffers and at the same time seeks out and relieves suffering? What is both nowhere and everywhere? What is neither one nor more than one? Neither nothing nor something? What is writing these words? What is reading them? Wouldn't a cup of tea be nice?

It occurs to me that I may have overstepped my bounds. I don't want my aimless musings / infantile burblings to be mistaken for teachings. As an unordained layman with no qualifications, verification, rank, transmission or lineage, I'm not really anything. If I must be something, perhaps the litter blown against the fence.

Another Batch of Poems

Surrounded, and rather overwhelmed, by the media coverage of the 9/11 anniversary, I put up a few more poems, some posted elsewhere and some new, as a little oasis from the storm.

Tiger eats the strawberry
Cliff eats the tiger
Strawberry eats the cliff

~~~

Crabs in a tank
Money to the clerk
Crab in the sea

~~~

Knock on a thousand doors
The same familiar face
Answers each one

~~~

Orchid
The moon
Pointing to a finger

~~~

An old tree
Sharing a moment
Cheek to bark

~~~

Smiling eyes meet
Waves bow
A cow is spared

~~~

Reflection
Connection
Affection

~~~

Fearlessly unfolding
Destination unknown
The oak tree in the garden

~~~

You and I
High five
One hand claps

~~~

From the wood
Of the table top
My face looks out

~~~

Leaves of thought
Bud, flourish and fall
In an eyeblink

~~~

Round cushions
Square mats
Kind hearts


You can find other poems at Some Poems, Some More Poems and Poems Batch 4.

A Cautious Homage to Words

"A woman without her man is nothing."

Demeaning ... but wait ........ the punctuation is missing.

"A woman: without her, man is nothing."

Words have great power to uplift or to crush.

I love what you do!
I hate what you do!

Small change, big difference.

Used by some, words can be instruments of healing, teaching and nurture; wielded by others, they can be weapons of war and instruments of destruction.

Realist landscape paintings use many brushstrokes to convey a detailed scene.

Sumi-e paintings use only a few strokes to capture their object.

In the same way, a verbal description can be highly detailed, or, like haiku, stark but capturing the essence of a moment.

Although enormously powerful, words have enormous limitations. In the same way that a flat picture can only suggest a three dimensional scene, words can only suggest the objects they describe.

To make me imagine a full moon, you only have to say, "full moon" ... unless I have never seen one.  Then you will have to use more words to describe it, and even then, the image created in my imagination may be very different from the one you are trying to convey.

But the crux is that words are not the object.  They are only a finger pointing at the moon.  I tend to think that the closer you get to 'the moon', the more you run into contradictions and paradox because, in the end, words fail.

This is the dangerous realm of koans and word games. I could say that the finger is not the moon, and you could say that the finger and the moon are one. I could say we are both correct, and you could say that neither of us is correct. We are at the place were every opposite is true ... and false.

Does this mean we can't use words to describe what is beyond description, to convey what is outside words and scriptures? In the Heart Sutra, we recite, "Form is none other than emptiness. Emptiness is none other than form." So, yes, we can. But I would add, with extreme caution. To pursue this subject any further is way above my pay grade.

Because words are both powerful and severely limited, they are dangerous. In the hands of a Zen master with the wisdom to see the state of a student's realization, a few skilful words spoken at the right moment may help the student's awakening to unfold. In unskilful hands, the same words could lead the student far astray.

Which is to say, we who are not Zen masters ought to steer well away from this danger zone - especially if we are seen as any kind of font of wisdom. In our eagerness to be compassionate (how wonderful!) may we remember to treat words with respect and use them wisely.

After all, actions speak louder than words.

Acts of Kindness: Does Size Matter?

One morning I noticed a tiny insect drowning in a cup of water and rescued it. As I watched it drag itself to safety, a flood of emotions took me by surprise: love for the little creature, joy that it didn't drown, and gratitude that I happened to notice it and could help. Fortunately, I had to leave for work before I really started wallowing in feelings.

I walked to work with a glad heart, and a sort of koan took shape: What effect does saving the short life of a tiny being have in the grand scheme of things? When I reached the office, more pressing matters took my attention and I forgot about it.

That evening, I read a beautiful blog post over at ZenDotStudio called Gladdening the Heart which reminded me of the question. A couple of days later, a simple but moving story called Three Gifts at Mind Deep reminded me again that the question was not going to go away.

One of my all-time favourite movie scenes is near the end of Schindler's List where Itzhak Stern (Ben Kingsley) gives Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) a ring made from a gold bridge given by one of the 1,100 Jews he saved from the gas chambers by employing them in his factory. He essentially bought their freedom with his own money. He realizes to his dismay that he still has an expensive car and a gold pin that he could have sold, and in that heart-wrenching moment he breaks down, crying "I could have got more out, I could have got more - but I didn't!"  (Watch the scene here - make sure you have hankies.  It gets me every time.)

The inscription in the ring is from the Talmud:  "Whoever saves one life saves the world entire."

That line is reminiscent of the statements attributed to the Buddha: "On the day I became enlightened, the whole universe became enlightened," and to Jesus, referring to feeding the hungry and caring for the sick: "Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of one of these, you have done it to me."

One thing is for sure: because of the interconnectedness of every single thing with every other single thing, there is no way that our tiny intellects can ever calculate every possible outcome of a simple action. Science fiction stories have described how a seemingly trivial event could prevent Hitler from being born, averting the second world war. Perhaps a child watching you rescue a stranded worm from the wet pavement will be inspired to become another Mother Teresa. Or perhaps the child will just think you're a nut.

You could say that saving an insect matters because it's connected to everything, or that it matters because it is everything, or, that it doesn't matter.

So the question remains: In an act of kindness, does size matter?

The ox goes through the window
But it's tail does not
Why was the little bug saved?

An Ancient Tree Blooms: The Awakening of Compassion

Break open a cherry tree and there are no flowers,

But the spring breeze brings forth myriad blossoms.

~ Ikkyu Sojun

They say that the fruits of Buddhist practice are the awakening of wisdom and compassion.  As we grow in our practice, we first notice, then nurture, the blooming of these precious flowers in ourselves and others.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how this manifests in our society, especially our attitude to the suffering we inflict on women, other races and religions, gays and lesbians, the disabled, the addicted and mentally ill, and also other species.  There is a pattern that seems to repeat as we strive with each of these issues.

Schopenhauer said that every new truth goes through three stages:  First, it is ridiculed.  Second, it is violently opposed.  Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

It’s easy to imagine the mustachioed chauvinists in the men’s clubs of the last century smirking about the ridiculous notion that women should have equal rights.  As the women’s liberation movement gained momentum, their casual dismissiveness escalated to righteous indignation and then to frightened fury.

First, the law was changed, making a woman no longer a man’s property, then women were permitted to own property, then vote, then hold office.  Today it’s a no-brainer that our sisters are equal to us in every way.  Sadly, it’s not yet so self-evident to our brothers in all parts of the world.  Or for that matter at home, where you still hear us say “the wife” and “the little lady”.

The same pattern repeated with the abolition of slavery, then segregation, then racial prejudice – at least in the eyes of the law.

It’s heartening that many things we considered to be ‘politically correct’, such as gender-neutral language, are now just plain ‘correct’.  In hindsight, the whole political correctness issue seems like an awkward adolescent phase we were going through.

I feel a twinge of sadness when we slip a notch or two, as with the introduction of things like live crab vending machines and (*sigh*) meat-eating furniture…

Recently, on the animal liberation front, we seem to be at Shopenhauer’s second stage with several states proposing laws to make it illegal to take or publish pictures of the mistreatment of animals in factory farms and slaughterhouses.  To wit: [a] person who photographs, video records, or otherwise produces images or pictorial records, digital or otherwise, at or of a farm or other property where legitimate agriculture operations are being conducted without the written consent of the owner, or an authorized representative of the owner, commits a felony of the first degree.

On the cheerier side, it’s a joy to read about our steps forward, as last year when Catalonia became the first region in Spain to ban bullfighting, and when Illinois abolished the death penalty earlier this month.

Reminders of evolving compassion are everywhere.  The photo is a Vancouver bus that accommodates motorized wheelchairs.

I think the internet and the social media networks are playing a major role in accelerating the flowering of compassion.  We can participate by forging links, one person at a time, by taking every opportunity to share and be kind, and above all, by remaining diligent in our daily practice, for without that, it’s all just words.

Who is asking this question?
What wants to know?
An ancient tree blooms

Stepping Off The Flagpole

Leaves of thought

Bud, flourish and fall

In an eyeblink

All through the day, random thoughts form in my head.  Some are welcome, like an insight into a problem or a spontaneous urge to express affection.  Others are merely distractions.  The special ones are thoughts of envy and resentment and superiority.

All thoughts are just things my brain produces. If I hang on to any of them, they will get in the way of whatever I’m doing next.  My aim will be off.  I have to let them all go.

Paddling down the rapids
No time to reflect
On skilful strokes

What about the special thoughts?  Of course I have to let them go as well.  But envy and superiority remind me that I continue to compare myself with others, to see myself apart from others, and as being separate from everything else.  They present a wonderful opportunity to let go, just for a moment, of my illusion of being just the temporary whirlpool in the river, and for a second or two, to be the river as well.

Until the next thought comes along.

Stepping off the flagpole
A hundred times a day
A cup of tea would be nice

The Oak Tree in the Garden

Fearlessly unfolding

Destination unknown

The oak tree in the garden

Sometimes when I set out to write a new blog post, I lose my nerve, thinking of all the wonderful, brilliant, heartfelt posts being written every minute. I started blogging because I wanted to make a difference, and felt sure there was more I could do on the internet than click the Hunger Site every day.

I want to make a dent in all the suffering out there, but my problem is believing the fallacy that I need to make a dent that is significant to me.

But how is it possible to know the effects of even the smallest action? In a very real sense, I have no idea what I'm doing or what the universe is doing.

The first of the Bodhisattva Vows is a daunting proposition:  "All beings without number I vow to liberate". To keep our vow, we can only speak and do the things that seem right at the moment - hopefully things that are kind, helpful and sincere - and leave the consequences to themselves.