My mind feels a little more fluid, less likely to get stuck in thoughts and ruminations, easier to settle into my body, contemplate my knees and my back, pay attention to my breath. It might bounce back up into a thought, but easier to settle back down. All those thirty-two body parts doing their own meditation — my head hair, body hair, nails, teeth, and skin, et cetera — have found their own meditation.
We've been studying the Sutra of Turning the Dharma Wheel, and it says, grasping the five skandhas is suffering. In brief, it says, grasping the five skandhas is suffering. So here on day three, I'm not holding on so tightly to the form skandha. I'm able to let go a little bit of holding on to pain here and there, and just let it settle. Let that body part settle into its meditation. I'm a little less attached to feelings. I'm not thinking so much about — is the zendo warm enough for me? Is it too warm in the afternoon? Letting go of that feeling skandha, or at least holding on to it a little more lightly.
As I said earlier, I'm less caught up with stuff that comes up in my mind — conceptions, formations. Those are the elaborations and refinements that we go on and on with when a thought arises. So I can let go of those a little bit, a little bit more. I think that's what the sutra means. Letting go of those five skandhas, treating them a little more lightly — it's a little more peaceful. I'm a little more settled with that light touch.
Remember Bhikkhu Bodhi, when we looked in the class at the eightfold path? He says that when you really work on that eightfold path, when you watch your speech, there's not as much harsh speech, or not as much criticizing of self or others in your head. If you're looking at the precepts in your life, if you're keeping a modicum of effort going so that you're paying attention to practice and mindfulness, that kind of smooths things out in your life a little bit — especially when it comes to finally sitting down on the cushion. If you've got some of those bases covered, it's easier to sit down on this cushion and not have ruminations of regret or shame.
And when you can start settling into your meditation with fewer and fewer conceptual images, just sitting here with the breath — which is pretty neutral, we don't get too hot and bothered about this breath or that breath — if we can keep our conceptual images down to a minimum, then Bhikkhu Bodhi says it's just a short jump into the non-conceptual realm of liberation, wisdom, and nirvana. He calls it a breakthrough. You get so close to that membrane between conceptual thinking and non-conceptual settling down, and you just make that breakthrough into wisdom, liberation, and nirvana. I thought that was a good image. Everything just settles down. You've worked hard on the eightfold path. Things are pretty clear. Not much is coming up. And you just kind of break through into liberation and nirvana.
Dogen looks at it with just different words, different images, maybe. He says that thinking, not-thinking, or non-thinking is that light treatment of thoughts — not too different than the meditation Bhikkhu Bodhi describes, but just treating those thoughts lightly, not going on and on, letting them go. It's a really different treatment of the thoughts, letting them go. When we're out there in the world, asked to make decisions here and there, at work or at home, we're going on and on. And even after the decisions are made, we keep asking ourselves, did I do the right thing? Is this the right direction?
But with this practice that Dogen recommended to all people — zazen — he said, don't hold on. Just say, "Oh, that thought is in my life. I'm going to let it pass through." It's already passed through this body that's treating all thoughts and movement a little differently. Dogen says, just let it pass through, treat it lightly. And then Dogen says this practice and enlightenment are not different. They're not two things, as would be thought by an ordinary person. This is the practice-enlightenment described by Dogen. Just holding those thoughts lightly and not clutching at them, not grasping them.
As I said earlier, this is not different than Suzuki Roshi, who says just putting ourselves in this posture, this posture of Buddha with the mind of Buddha, just sitting here — is the right frame of mind. We don't have to do anything but decide. That's the whole of right effort according to Suzuki Roshi. We just have to decide to crawl up here on this cushion, and whatever thoughts come up and whatever way we treat them, we're doing it a little bit differently than we usually would. To use the "Self-fulfilling Samadhi" line — these thoughts are rolling widely around in us in a way that we don't usually use. And so we're shifting.
Even when we think, "This pain is too much, this can't be the bliss and joy that Dogen described" — Suzuki Roshi lovingly says, nope, just to sit up here in Buddha's posture is the whole works, the whole works.
One of Kobun's students transcribed his lectures from sesshin, and this was said by Kobun a decade or so ago, in a Buddha's Birthday sesshin. "Sitting Still" is what the student titled this lecture:
> We have a wonderful opportunity to make time to sit in sesshin without trying too much to know who we are or what we are doing, what we are supposed to be achieving. We don't pay much attention — a judgment of oneself upon each sitting is absolutely not necessary. Yet, enormous effort goes into the sitting, which shows that you are giving up self-centered choices of your activities. In doing so, you find you are accepting yourself as you truly are. You might even be giving room for evil, so to speak, to exist around you. It's not always there, but you are giving some room for a chance that you might be evil. You can even question, "Maybe my whole entire life is just a waste." Now you have room to observe your short life, your short life dynamic among so many living existences.
Maybe that's the rest of us — those "so many living existences."
> And you can also observe what good you can do for yourself and all existences around you. This is a very important time. Sitting still is like a person who just shot an arrow and senses the arrow is moving all right.
You know, Kobun studied the art of archery — the Japanese art of archery. And a story is told that he took a group of his early students to the cliffs out at Davenport to practice archery. And he pulled back the bow, and off the cliff he just shot an arrow over the cliff and out into the ocean — and then said, "Bull's eye!" Favorite story of mine of Kobun's.
> Sitting still is like a person who just shot an arrow and senses the arrow is moving all right. It's left from your realm but you sense it's running well. Stillness is like that. In the stillness you see that the intuitions you are sensing are going all right. You are facing yourself. Sitting does nothing to you but it reflects everything you have. Not just a shadow of you but what you are. So when you fall into anxiety or self-hatred you become extremely clear about it.
> For a long time I thought that sitting still for many, many years of practice causes compassion or wisdom to be created. But it's not true. Compassion and wisdom is what we are originally, and it's just specks of misunderstanding and illusory knowledge about yourself causes you to forget. Sitting is returning to what you are actually, and what you are is discovered in sitting by you — nobody else. You are becoming your good, your closest friend who you wanted to meet.
That's a nice way of looking at our sitting — this launching an arrow. Maybe because Kobun had studied archery he had a little confidence that the arrow was at least going in the right direction. And I think our sitting is like launching that arrow. We've got a little confidence that this sitting is pointing us in the direction of Buddha, in the direction of our life.
I think that's why we keep coming back. Despite the discomfort we might feel in sesshin, despite the hard work — I mean, I was getting emails from Mary day after day long before sesshin started, and shopping lists, and Nanette and I met a few times long before sesshin. We put a lot of work into just carving out time to come here. And then our knees hurt and our shoulders are stiff and it's chilly in the morning and it's muggy in the afternoon. And yet we keep signing up — the sign-up sheet goes on, we put our names there.
And I think it's because we've all been here before. We've got a little confidence that this practice — slowly, slowly letting go of those barbs that get us stuck, slowly reaching Bhikkhu Bodhi's place of non-conceptual images, over and over again, letting those thoughts just drift through, letting go of the five skandhas — of course, that's what Dogen said was dropping body and mind. I think the fact that we've done this, we've got a little confidence that we're setting that arrow aflight. We don't have so much control. We don't know what thoughts are going to come up, we don't know what's going to appear in our bowl at lunchtime, we don't know what the temperature is going to be in the afternoon. But we've got a little confidence that that arrow's pointing in the right direction — that it's going to be a bull's eye every time.
Kobun says:
> The human condition is very much arranged to reveal constant dualism, and the continuous struggle of living is an example of this.
I think what he means here is the fact that most of the time we live in a world of "this and that." I have to pick up this cup, I have to bring this cup here, I have to go wash the dishes. We live in a world of objects that we identify. I think that's what he means by dualism — our conventional life filled with this and that.
> This is a dilemma unless we realize that this dualism is prepared for the sake of skillful means. On one hand, we want to become all-sided, all-knowing existences, and on the other, we eternally want to keep the secret of ourself. We don't want to be known by anybody — not because of self-sinfulness or our many errors, but we want to remain pure in an unknown state. Yet you want to know everything about everybody else. We go back and forth, knowing that in the end we have to give up everything. We know that it's best to keep light-bodied, light-minded, very close to zero. But before that, we want to have everything. Before you lose everything, you want to have everything — isn't that strange?
> The more you strive for purity, the more the realization of yourself is hopeless, helpless, and unreachable. Stained realization. The countless contradictions within us are examples of dualism. What shall we do?
> Everybody knows that seeking your own peaceful spirit is up to your own practice, and it's a way to learn to live — which means you accept yourself totally as you are. Everybody wishes to be a truly satisfactory person — satisfactory to yourself. But this doesn't happen by hearing anybody say how well you do things or how wonderful you are. You will never be satisfied until you say yes to yourself.
"Way-mind" — it's a word of his, it's hyphenated. I think it just means the mind that we develop sitting here, pointing, shooting our arrows at our self, at our Buddha-self. Way-mind comes from that area. So saying yes to yourself — that's where way-mind comes from.
> Each individual has spent many lifetimes just to reach this life. Many lifetimes' effort just to reach this life. You are continuing this effort. That is the kind of self we have got.
Each of us just saying yes to yourself. Maybe that's also part of right effort, part of our practice of the eightfold path. Letting go of the five skandhas — maybe that's just saying yes to our self. Maybe this "yes" is greeting our best friend, that original self that's not made up of all of those skandhas that have been formed over the years of habits and experiences in our life. Maybe when we can let go of those skandhas, we get closer to our original self. We say yes to our best friend — "Come on in."
As we've been thinking about Suzuki Roshi's long river that has no beginning and has no end — and for a brief time we're these little particles, these little drops, as we go over that waterfall of life — but we're connected always, intimately, to that never-beginning and never-ending river. Maybe that's our original self that we're saying yes to. Maybe we're remembering that, when we're dropping those five skandhas and saying yes to our lives. Maybe we're remembering and greeting that best friend — our original life, our original self, that's with us always.
I want to say a little more. I want to hear a few more of Buddha's words at the end here, about his birth. Any thoughts? We've been — for those of you who just came — we've looked at some of the Buddhist ideas on birth and death and rebirth. Suzuki Roshi's idea about the flow of the river. The traditional Buddhist idea about karmic energy joining up with the next embryo. And what do we believe? What do you think Kobun believed when he said, "We've spent many lifetimes' effort to be able to sit here and try to say yes to ourself"? What are those many lifetimes? Any thoughts?
Andrew: Yeah. Maybe — I can see this going a couple different ways. But in one sense, it lends itself maybe to this feeling of responsibility, maybe even obligation. So there's been this monumental effort generated over and over again, and now it's been given to me in some way, and I have to do with it what I please. That's one sense of it. I know we were talking about reincarnation — like, this life and the next life, or this moment and the next moment — a couple days ago. It reminded me of the han outside when it talks about, "Don't waste time." And I think for me, sometimes, if I entertain the thought of there being a lifetime after this, it kind of gives me an out, an excuse — like, "Well, I'll do it tomorrow, I'll do it in the next life." And it sort of relinquishes any responsibility I might have. But looking at it this sense, it gives me more of a sense of, "Okay, well, don't waste this precious opportunity to do something with the momentum that's been generated." So maybe it depends on the day or the moment. I'm feeling the heat of the afternoon and maybe I need a little push, and maybe I can lean more towards Kobun's interpretation here. And maybe there's a time to rest on one's laurels for a few moments before the next moment happens.
Patrick: Yeah, it's interesting to play with them. And I like hearing Suzuki Roshi's description of effort — of just coming to the cushion. It sounds so simple. Thank you.
[Pause — group discussion, inaudible]
Dessert. This is Buddha showing us the huge expanse of his birth. This is an early Mahayana sutra, a little different feel.
When the bodhisattva who is to become the Buddha is still up in Tushita heaven, he gives a lecture on one hundred and eight luminous doors. Some of them are pretty good:
Faith is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads to an undivided intention. Great pleasure is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads the confused mind to a state of serenity. Whatever brings joy is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads a body to become clear and light. Joyfulness is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads to purification of the mind. Mindfulness of Buddha is a luminous door — it leads to pure seeing of the Buddha.
It lists the four Brahma Viharas. Loving-kindness is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads to unsurpassable glory of meritorious giving of material gifts. Compassion is a luminous door — it leads to the virtue of doing no harm. Joy is a luminous door — it leads to the clearing away of displeasure. Equanimity is a luminous door of the Dharma — it leads to contempt of desire.
So the bodhisattva-to-be was giving this lecture in Tushita heaven, just before he descended to our Saha world. On earth, King Shuddhodana and Queen Maya were getting a few hints that something was about to happen.
> O monks, while the bodhisattva was still residing in Tushita heaven, he examined the time of his birth and caused eight signs to manifest at the pure abode of King Shuddhodana and Queen Maya. First, the grounds became cleared of weeds. This was the first precursory sign. From the Himalayas, the king of mountains, came flocks of birds — parakeets, parrots, jays, cuckoos, swans, herons, peacocks, geese, nightingales, pheasants, songbirds. They flew over the pure abode of the king and queen. This was the second sign. All the flowering trees and fruits of different seasons suddenly came into bloom. This was the third sign. At all the ponds, thousand-petaled lotus blooms the size of chariot wheels appeared. This was the fourth sign. They never ran out of butter, honey, or sugarcane juice — they never ran out of sugar and stuff to make things with, even though they used them in abundance. The lutes and harps and flutes and cymbals all played without being touched.
I'll say — something was happening.
> Through Queen Maya's right side, he entered in the form of a small white elephant with six tusks. His head the color of cochineal — what is that? Reddish, pinkish? Cochineal red. His tusks of gold. His limbs and organs all without imperfection. Having entered her womb, he remained at her right side, never moving over to the left. Queen Maya saw this all in a dream. Then she tells that dream to King Shuddhodana.
> As soon as he was born, the bodhisattva descended to the earth, and a great lotus arose from the depths of the earth to receive him. The naga kings Nanda and Upananda, showing the upper half of their bodies in the expanse of the sky, caused two streams of cool and warm water to flow to bathe the bodhisattva. Then Shakra, Brahma, the guardians of the world, and hundreds of thousands of deva-putras sprinkled the bodhisattva with perfumed waters and flowers. Two fans and a jeweled pedestal appeared in the air above him, and the bodhisattva stood on a great lotus, surveying the ten directions with the gaze of a lion, with the gaze of a great being.
> Like a fearless lion, the bodhisattva recalled the thought of goodness which is free from longing, free from fear, and free from terror. Knowing the thoughts and conduct of all beings, he took seven steps towards the east, unsupported by anyone, and said: "I will walk at the head of all dharmas which have virtue as their root." Above him as he walked floated a great parasol and two fans. Beneath him, lotuses sprang up wherever he set foot.
> The bodhisattva took seven steps to the south and stated: "I will be worthy of the offerings of both gods and men." Taking seven steps to the west, like a lion well satisfied, he said these words: "I am the finest in the world, for this is my final birth. I shall put an end to birth, old age, sickness, and death." He took seven steps to the north and said: "I will be unequaled among all beings." Taking seven more steps, he faced below and stated: "I will destroy the devil and his army. I will extinguish the fires of hell with rain from the great cloud of the Dharma, filling beings in hell with [?]."
> He faced upward and said: "It is on high that I shall be visible to all beings."
So we heard a similar version from the Theravadan sutras.
Let's finish with Kenneth Patchen. He wrote in the late thirties, forties — a heterosexual poet with lots of trouble with women and children and trying to support them all with the poet's income. And of course, because of all of that, he was beloved by the Beats, who came a decade or so later, and all of their trouble. This is called "Creation":
> Wherever the dead are, there they are, and nothing more. > But you and I can expect to see angels in the meadow grass that look like cows, > And wherever we are is paradise — > In furnished rooms without baths, and six flights up, it's all God. > We read to one another, loving the sound of s's slipping up on the t's, > And much is good enough. > Hair on our heads like Rilke and Owen — > Any person who loves another person, wherever in the world, is with us in this room, > Even though there are battlefields.
Any last thoughts as we settle into walking meditation?
Edie: Buddha's confidence — or the confidence that we gain by sitting — it's just amazing confidence, that I feel like I don't have. Where does that come from? Where's that seed of inner confidence that radiates out of the Buddha's birth, such a strong, confident position?
Patrick: Well, you know, I think we talked a little about that yesterday, and somebody remarked that seeing Nanette's granddaughter jumping around outside has that same being full of self and exuberance, just without those words. And the sutra implies that this was the bodhisattva's strength of vow. The bodhisattva, Buddha-to-be, came to this Saha world to fulfill his vow to save all beings. He came with a mission.
And we talked about — when we were talking about reincarnation — Taigen wrote that some bodhisattvas with a strong vow are able to project that generation after generation, so that it keeps working and happening. And we wondered, how do we develop a vow so strong? Maybe that's what we're actually living out. Maybe that's another reason why we sit here day after day, sesshin after sesshin — because we love that vow so much. Yes, I'm going to work on the self-criticism that comes up, because that's getting in the way of my vow to save all beings. Maybe this is part of the joy — the great doors to the Dharma that the bodhisattva in Tushita heaven was talking about. I love my vow. I'm so committed to my vow that I have the confidence to sit here and work on quieting my mind, quieting my self-criticism, and just saying yes to my original vow to save all beings. Maybe it's all tied in there.
Nanette: I think tied in too is this image you brought in of shooting the arrow. It's part of that confidence too — of not shooting the arrow and then looking to see how far off the mark it is, or counting how many rings away it is from the center. You're shooting this arrow into the ocean with this confidence. And he says it in such a sweet, low-key way — something like, "I think it's okay." He senses that it's all right. This same spirit of confidence — not like "I'm going to conquer the world and here's the proof," but just rather this very — it's not measuring anything. Confidence that isn't measuring. But I love that. I hope that it didn't scare a fish.
Patrick: What's that?
Nanette: [I hope he was] confident it didn't scare [a fish]!
Patrick: Thank you, Sally. And then Andrew.
[Sally?]: And what I really love about that image of the arrow is that there really is no chance of failure whatsoever.
Patrick: If you're confident, there's nothing — and so, what confidence! That's Suzuki Roshi's arrow. There's no failure in this meditation. Just to be in this posture is the whole works. Yeah — no failure. Just say yes to that doubting self.
Andrew: Yeah, I love that. If I can't hit the broad side of the barn, I've always got the ocean to aim at.
That — yeah. So, on the confidence piece, one thing came to mind. Conceptually, confidence comes around fidelity — with fidelity. In the sense that if you're being unfaithful to yourself, or like in a relationship they call it infidelity if you're not faithful to your partner — maybe there's a sense of confidence being true to yourself, or not walking around with what you think might be your own agenda. I know for me, like, if I'm teaching a Qigong class and I come with this really prescribed, thought-out way of presenting information, and it has to go this way — I feel less confident as a teacher in the class. But the classes I've had where it's been more organic and I haven't really had much in mind to present, in retrospect I feel like I was more confident in those moments. Or maybe I was more true to the reality of the situation, and not my prescribed rules and rituals. Maybe a different way to play around with it.
Patrick: Thank you. I've been mulling around what Joseph said yesterday — we talked about whether we can really believe, or whether we can really connect with the language that's used. The way the sutras are written, it's just not our language anymore — the floweriness. And Andrew said it's almost like the words don't have any meaning. And I don't know whether this was your meaning, Andrew — or Joseph — but what I started thinking about was how we so joyfully jump into something like the Daihishindarani for a whole page of words that don't have any conventional meaning. But it's the richness of practice. It makes us intimate with each other. We're sharing words and intimacy and energy in our bodies. And that's where I went with your comment — even when I'm stumbling with some of the language in here, I can always remember the real joy that comes up when we're chanting something like the Daihishindarani or the Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo, where it's fullness of practice and filled with joy. So I thank you for your comments yesterday that have come to fruition in my brain.
May the merit of the lotus blossom, guarding us from the pebbles and the dualities of life, be forever under our feet. And may this dharma wheel turn at Warm Jewel Temple endlessly.
Beings are numberless, I vow to save them. Delusions are inexhaustible, I vow to end them. Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them. Buddha's way is unsurpassable, I vow to become it.