Several weeks ago, the local newspaper published a feature article on our Zen group. Since then, we’ve seen an unprecedented influx of new people coming to practice: both this week and last, we’ve had a full house with 12 people occupying 12 meditation cushions.
Our parent Zen school is the Kwan Um School of Zen, “Kwan Um” being derived from the Sino-Korean name of the Bodhisattva of compassion, Kwan Seum Bosal. (“Kwan Um” means “perceive world sound,” so “Kwan Seum Bosal” is the Bodhisattva who hears the cries of the world.) With Zen centers and groups like ours all over the world, the Kwan Um School of Zen is almost (but not quite) evangelical in its zeal: although we don’t proselytize on street corners, we have Dharma teachers leading practice sessions in prisons, nursing homes, adult education centers, schools. Someone once asked our founding Zen Master whether it disturbed him that Christians believe Buddhists will go to hell, and he responded, “Going to hell is no problem. If I go to hell, I’ll make a Zen center there!” Given this outreach-oriented outlook, long-time practitioners have sometimes joked that we should change the name of our school to the “Count ’em School of Zen” since we regularly ask the leaders of other centers and groups how many people come to their sessions.
There’s nothing wrong with counting, only with being attached to the result. If you’re attached to the notion of gaining lots of followers, you’ll be disappointed when few (or no) people show up for practice, and when people do come, you’ll treat them like anonymous numbers. During the five years that our Zen group has met in various towns in New Hampshire, there have been many weeks when no one has shown up; in the eight months that we’ve had practice sessions here in Keene, we’ve occasionally had nights when only one or two folks have come to practice. This, our founding Zen Master would opine, is no problem: whether there are twelve people practicing or only two, what’s important is that each of those individuals is heeding the present moment. In a sense, the philosophy of our Zen school is “sit there, and they will come”: if you perservere with your practice, if you try to create a welcoming environment for new people, and if you try, try, try, eventually people will show up. The Dharma is a seed, so if you give it shelter, nourishment, and plenty of time, eventually it will blossom.
This being said, many people investigate our brand of practice and choose not to continue. Last night several newcomers left in the middle of practice, something that is not uncommon in larger centers and on retreat. Although “just sitting” sounds (and essentially is) simple, formal Zen practice can be scary and off-putting: how strange it must seem, I’m sure, to have quiet people in long flowing robes asking you to chant in Korean or sit silently for 30 minutes? When I first began meditating, I was hugely intimidated by the formal aspects of Zen practice: as a Christian, I recoiled at Buddha statues and presumably idolatrous chanting, and I resented the fact that I was “supposed” to be quiet and “supposed” to act mindful. Although part of this response was due to my own spiritual baggage along with the peculiarly quietistic bent of the first Zen school I practiced with, formal Zen practice can be very uncomfortable for newcomers. In our school we try to do everything in our power to make beginners feel comfortable–and, to our credit, many folks remark that our sessions are much more friendly and “open” than those of other, stricter styles. Still, though, sitting through a half-hour chanting service can be extremely scary, off-putting, and outright strange at first.
Apart from the oddities of formal Zen Buddhist trappings, however, meditation practice itself, even when stripped to to its bare bones, can be very difficult. Again, “just sitting” sounds (and essentially is) simple…but it can be very difficult to do. Pausing to examine your mind often involves uncovering those very things that you’ve spent your entire life ignoring. Since many people come to meditation practice looking for clarity and calmness, they are alarmed to find themselves becoming (seemingly) more anxious, tense, and distracted. The first step toward becoming calm and clear is realizing how anxious, tense, and distracted you really are. For folks who have buried these emotions under decades of overwork, overactivity, and other distractive coping mechanisms, the process of slowing down can be terrifying: right here and now you get to face all the psychic crap you’ve been avoiding. I’ve often likened meditation practice to a combination roller-coaster/amusement park funhouse ride punctuated by thrills, chills, and quick turns as the ghosts and beasties of your own past pop out at you from every direction.
Although I don’t often refer to the life of the historical Buddha, preferring to focus my practice and teaching on the realities of this present moment, the mythological story of how the Buddha attained enlightenment is actually quite interesting. According to traditional accounts (which are, incidentally, vividly depicted in the film Little Buddha in which none other than Keanu Reeves plays Lord Buddha himself: whoa!), right before Prince Siddhartha attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, he was beseiged by Mara the Tempter who used three tried-and-true ploys to distract Siddhartha-who-would-be-Buddha from his practice.
First, Mara tried to tempt Siddhartha with desire, sending his three beautiful daughters to dance lasciviously before him. Second, Mara tried to push Siddhartha off his game through fear, sending a torrent of arrows right toward the spot where he sat. And third, Mara tried to stop Siddhartha from practicing by raising the shadow of doubt, whispering in his ear one naggingly simple question: “Who do you think you are?”
These three temptations are very interesting because they are precisely the kind of things any practitioner, newbie or veteran, regularly experiences during practice. When you sit to meditate, you are invariably flooded with all sorts of desires, wishes, likes and dislikes. I’m hungry. My leg itches. It’s too noisy here. I love the person on my right, and I hate the person on my left. Just when you’ve started to deal with this “desire mind,” then fears arise. Did I unplug the iron before I left to come to practice? What if someone sneaks up behind me while I’m meditating and tries to rob me? My heartbeat sounds irregular…maybe I have a heart condition! And just when the voice of fear has begun to quiet itself, self-doubt arises. Who the hell are you, thinking you can get enlightenment! You’re the most scattered and neurotic person I know! You’re ugly, stupid, you can’t write or take pictures, yet you have this deluded notion that you can actually achieve enlightenment and teach others about it, fool!
In the case of Siddhartha-about-to-become-Buddha, each of these temptations proved to be illusory. Once ignored, Mara’s daughters grew bored and wandered away. Sitting firm and undeterred, Siddhartha watched as those oncoming arrows turned into a shower of flower blossoms, his greatest fears being imaginary. And when Mara asked that troubling question “Who are you,” Siddhartha refused to respond with a laundry-list of his titles and accomplishments. Realizing that confidence comes not from what we do but from our connection with the present moment, Siddhartha simply touched the earth with the fingers of his right hand, calling all of creation to bear witness to his impending enlightenment. Right here, right now I touch earth, and that’s all the confidence I as an incipient Buddha need to face even the most troubling doubt.
New meditators have yet to learn that even veteran practitioners struggle with practice: even the Buddha himself struggled. Sometimes it takes all the energy you can muster simply to sit still in the face of temptation, distraction, and doubt; sometimes even I want to run screaming out of the meditation room. But one thing you learn from hours of “just doing it” is that we all harbor a secret strength that is greater than even our strongest desire, fear, or doubt. Some years ago on retreat, a newly-arrived retreatant packed his bags and crept out of the monastery, convinced that he couldn’t continue a rigorous daily regimen of bowing, chanting, and sitting. Realizing that someone was leaving the monastery, the monk leading the retreat raced onto the deck overlooking the path toward the parking lot and broke the monastic silence to shout, “You’re stronger than you think!”
I can’t count the number of times I’ve reminded myself of that burst of impromptu advice: you’re stronger than you think! Zen practice can be off-putting, and our minds can be alarming to consider. Sitting quietly watching your own mind can be the most annoying, terrifying, and intimidating thing you’ll ever do. And yet, if we don’t watch, what sobering moment will transpire as on our deathbed we realize the show’s over and we slept through the whole damn thing? Our minds and their delusions are strong, but the jewel of true awareness is even stronger, a diamond cutting through mire. You’re stronger than you think. Given this strength, do you dare begin and then continue?
Jul 8, 2004 at 8:44 am
Hardly, but I want to.
That was a strong piece. You remind me that I want to get off my own ‘home-cushion’ and do practice in a centre just like yours instead of always alone. Belong to a centre such as yours. Strong people. Wise people who can teach me something.
I have looked into this before but didn’t find a centre in Holland that I felt comfortable in. Perhaps I was shortsighted, and scared.
For this reason I wish I was in America. There are so many more centres there, and opportunities to go in retreat. Coincidentally last night, I spent all the hours between dinner and sleep researching the internet to find a place where I can do a long retreat. A silent retreat or meditation retreat. My results are poor, sadly.
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Jul 8, 2004 at 9:44 am
Where was that second photo taken?
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Jul 8, 2004 at 9:51 am
A very encouraging meditation, Lorianne. Thank you. I’ve been sitting for years now, but only last week I got up off the cushion midway through, too distracted to continue. Alternatively, it’s also easy to fall in love with sitting–its silence and stillness–and to become attached to those sensations, as well. Some discomfort seems to be a useful ingredient of practice, always honing the knife’s edge of understanding.
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Jul 8, 2004 at 10:22 am
Anne, it’s very difficult when you live in an area without practice centers or teachers. This is why my husband & I started this little group of ours: after practicing & living at the Cambridge Zen Center, we missed having a practice community here in New Hampshire, so we started our own group. In the absence of a teacher, simply practicing with other people is helpful: my school has centers & groups in areas of Europe where teachers visit only occasionally, but people meditate together between visits. If you have a home-cushion, all it takes is one other person (a meditation buddy!) to bring their cushion to your house for shared practice: it isn’t the same as a Zen center, but it’s the first step toward sharing practice with other people. Good luck: I know how difficult the solitary path can be.
Kathleen, if you drive to the end of Railroad Street in downtown Keene (off the Square), the offices in the renovated Beaver Mills are on your right. That “walled” segment of Beaver Brook is on the left, off the road a bit (the road actually turns toward the left just past Beaver Mills & goes over this segment of the brook). Just be sure that you DRIVE CAREFULLY to get there! 😉
Kurt, I actually agree with you about discomfort/distraction: a little bit keeps you awake. I once heard a Christian minister say that there is no such thing as distraction in prayer: whatever is pulling at your attention is what you need to put before God. I’m not sure how this relates exactly to meditation, but it occurs to me that as much as we shouldn’t cling to our distractions, we also shouldn’t violently push them away, either. They’re part of this present moment, after all, so I guess we notice them with a gentle, nonjudgmental eye.
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Jul 9, 2004 at 3:32 am
Lorianne, that is such a great and brave initiative of you and your husband. Well, unfortunately I not only cannot find any centres near me that I could go to and feel good at: none of my friends, family, even vague acquaintances has some interest in meditation practice. Well, perhaps I can lobby with it some more.. The difficulty is that many people my age (in Holland at least) believe that meditation has to do with New Age magic, and that only eccentrics with long hair do it. And the generation above me seems to find it a little odd that I busy myself with it.. I noticed sometimes when I went to yoga classes or Zen centres.
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Jul 9, 2004 at 12:51 pm
I am trying to cultivate a gratitude for distractions. I am distraction personified, so cultivating a gentle appreciation for them seems only practical for the likes of me. But in that moment when I realize that, yet again, I have become distracted and must return, I have a tiny moment of perfect awareness. Like a tap on the shoulder that creates a space between what you were daydreaming about and whatever is “on task” for you at the time. I have a suspicion that what I am seeking is in that space.
And I don’t think it’s necessarily true that Christians think Buddhists are going to hell. Although hell seems like it must be full of opportunities to cultivate bodhicitta. So maybe it’s not so bad?
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Jul 9, 2004 at 6:22 pm
Anne, it sounds like fate has forced you into the Buddha’s own path. The Buddha didn’t have any teacher or companion to rely upon as he sat under the Bodhi tree, but he sat anyway. This is a difficult path, for sure…but if you believe in practice strongly enough, you’ll find that you harbor the Buddha’s strength within you. And maybe in time, the strength of your own practice will change the minds of your friends & family: they’ll see how meditation has changed your life & how you don’t follow the “long haired hippie” stereotype, and maybe they too will be drawn to practice. That’s how the Buddha gained a sangha of his own: he practiced, and people sought him out.
Again, good luck to you as you walk this arduous and lonely path. I have to believe that there are others in Holland who are interested in practice…you just haven’t met them *yet*. But if you keep practicing, I trust that the Universe will lead your paths to cross eventually.
Cody, what you say about distractions is perfect. The moment when you realize you are distracted & bring yourself back to the present moment *is* enlightenment. So with every distraction comes a split-second opportunity for enlightenment: pretty neat odds! As we say in my Zen school, “Fall down six time, get up seven.” Being distracted is no problem as long as you keep gently steering your mind back to the present moment, time & time again.
I for one am an (unconventional) Christian who doesn’t believe all Buddhists go to hell. But I also suspect that hell (like heaven) needs its own supply of bodhisattvas. Personally, I love the image of our founding Zen Master, a man who once said prison is a wonderful place to meditate, going to hell and teaching even the demons there how to follow their breath. If that impulse isn’t compassion personified, I don’t know what is.
Thanks for the insightful comments!
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Jul 12, 2004 at 7:22 pm
It’s so important to just do it and keep doing it. It’s pretty reliably right on the verge of a new insight that my mind kicks most stubbornly and tries to shy away from the cushion. Every once in a while I can harness that very shying away and use it as a motivation: “look, I’m really *desperate* to avoid meditating — I must be getting somewhere at last!” Just silly mind-games, of course, to be dropped when I actually sit down. But slightly more intelligent than the converse — the vague “Gee, I really don’t want to practice; that must mean I’m not getting anywhere!” — which I have often taken dead seriously.
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Jul 14, 2004 at 2:25 pm
Dale, it’s so interesting the different tricks our mind (or Mara/Satan/whoever) plays to keep us from practicing. This whole notion of progress/lack of progress is terribly distracting, of course. I remember once asking a Zen Master in an interview once how he could happily say “wonderful! keep this don’t-know mind” every time I came into interview and got a kong’an/koan “wrong.” “Ah,” he said, “it’s because I’m not attached to the result!” What a wonderful outlook! I wish I had it! 😉
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