Silence is the sound
Going through its business.
Silence is the sound
Going through its business.
‘Indeed, everything is empty, but emptiness is wonderful existence.’ (There is no Suffering)
Does this align with what I was saying yesterday or not? Quickly now!
‘Turning against present awareness, you lose the essence of your own mind; pursuing comparative and wrong awareness, you falsely recognize external sense-objects. All day long you use mind to grasp mind, use illusion to take illusion as an object.’ (quoted in Swampland Flowers)
As I was typing this out, at the end of a long day, feeling sleepy, I thought how many of these admonitions boil down to ‘this is wrong, and its opposite is also wrong.’ What option does this leave us, except for fluidity, not holding to either side? Then let go of that idea too, before it gets sticky.
‘It is a splendid thing to dwell within causes and conditions as they are.’ (Unfathomable Depths)
To me, this means not one ounce of resistance to reality – not so easy.
This is about the midpoint of my visit, and after the constant movement of last week, now I am staying put for more than a week down in Cornwall; since there isn’t a car I can drive, I have only my feet to carry me about.
The weather, similarly, has settled down, with sunshine and clear skies, after the changeable fare of last week. I was fortunate then to be able to take a walk along the Thames outside of London last Tuesday with one friend, and along the seafront at Brighton on Friday with another.
In between those two events, there was a fair amount of travel, mostly by car, as I headed to East Anglia on Wednesday to see an aunt and uncle. That journey took longer than expected, as did the wet drive north from their house to visit Carol and John’s group in Norfolk the following morning, after which I pointed myself back towards London, enduring an hour on the North Circular before I could drop off the car and continue by train to the south coast.
The last of the journeys was on Saturday, six hours and four trains, through a mostly rainy day down to Liskeard, parts of which are, at least, my favourite stretches of railway travel.
With the Norfolk group, and with the Brighton Deshimaru group that I was invited to speak to on Friday evening, the theme was lay practice, and practising in the city – or the village, in the first instance. The discussion in Norfolk was rich, so we tackled a number of topics. In Brighton, I deviated from whatever notes I had made, and was probably waffling rather until Clare asked me a question, after which I felt like I ended up saying something close to what I had intended (when I get back, I will do my best to edit and publish that talk, and maybe one of the others).
Part of what I wanted to convey was something that came from my thoughts about the third Bodhisattva vow (‘Dharma gates are boundless, I vow to enter them’). Temples and monasteries are fine places to go and learn about ritual and ceremony, and indeed, that is one way that you come to embody the practice, which is what we have to do – much more than merely understanding, as many posts on here have pointed to. But if we think we have to go somewhere special to practice, we are missing the point. At the same time, the rituals in the temple are teaching us that every activity is worthy of our careful attention and concentration, without distinction between ‘sacred’ and ‘mundane’. So how do we take that knowledge out into our everyday lives? Similarly, as far as I see it, how can we take our open, curious mind of meditation out into all our daily activities? As my recent post from Suzuki Roshi illustrated, it is very easy to do that at the monastery; lay life requires much more determination.
Both groups welcomed me warmly, and still I was aware, as it was my first time visiting both of them, that I had to pay attention to the forms. My suggestion in Norfolk that we sit first, mainly so I could gather myself after the ninety-minute drive, obviously broke with precedent, but the request was kindly accommodated. When we turned around for a short service after sitting in Brighton I realised that I didn’t have any idea of what might happen – chanting the Heart Sutra in Japanese was at least familiar. This happens whenever you visit a new group; even the three branches of San Francisco Zen Center have subtle differences in how things are done.
It was only at the end of the week, having stayed in five different houses in the course of the seven days, that I realised I was doing the same thing as a guest: trying to discern the forms of the kitchen especially – finding my way around, learning where things belonged, how they were arranged, which sponges were used for which function.
At my father’s house, the forms are long established, though now I am more in charge of carrying them out, especially with my stepmother taking my presence as the cue for a week’s break from care-giving. I learn again which milk to put in the tea, and, most importantly, to ensure there is a spoon for the breakfast honey.
During the day I try to make myself useful, clearing the gutters, gathering kindling from the twigs and branches that were blown off the trees in last week’s high winds, picking apples. Otherwise I make myself available to my father, whose mobility is limited now, in case he needs something. Typical monastic practice really.
The Thames Valley near Bourne End on Tuesday. A lovely walk with a pub lunch at the end.
The skeletal remains of the West Pier in Brighton, on a bright but blustery Friday.
The Somerset levels seen from the train on a wet and gloomy Saturday.
The Exe estuary a little further along on that journey.
I always find crossing the Tamar by train magical, however dark the clouds.
Picking apples with my stepmother on Sunday, as we did last year.
The road to my father’s house as it crosses the stream that runs at the bottom of the garden.
‘In my experience, there is a lot of basic trust involved in Buddhist practice. First of all, I trust in my basic potential to wake up. This is a basic, fundamental trust that I touch in with every time I sit down on a meditation cushion. If I didn’t trust that I have capacity and basic goodness, then I wouldn’t be doing any of this. Even if, as a famous teacher once said, “Zazen is good for nothing,” I still trust that it’s a good thing to do. Figure that one out. I also trust – or suspect, or hope – that my teachers and tradition know what they’re talking about. This is a big one. The tradition of Buddhism has been around for a few thousand years, and it’s included some of the most brilliant, dedicated religious figures throughout time all getting together to study, meditate, practice, and debate the issues. So… maybe it has something useful to say, you know?’ (Bow First, Ask Questions Later)
I had this quote lined up a few weeks ago, and I thought of it last week in my discussions, as it encapsulates much of how I feel about the teachings. I have been recommending Gesshin’s book widely over here.
‘This meditation hall is sometimes quite warm in the summer, and somewhat cold even in early winter, but we always feel it is just right when we have tea together in the kitchen. This is our miracle, and we are satisfied and happy – what else could we want?’ (Eloquent Silence)
My experiences of practice in England usually involve cups of tea, and it always feels just right. It was noted the other day, when I was talking about rituals and ceremonies in the temple and how they can inform everyday practice, that tea is an everyday ceremony for the English.
The round pearl has no hollows,
The great raw gem isn’t polished.
What is esteemed by people of the Way is having no edges.
Removing the road of agreement, senses and matter are empty:
The free body, resting on nothing, stands out unique and alive. (The Book of Serenity)
This is one of the best-known zen stories, and here it is in its entirety, from ‘being stumped by a nun’ (at least he has some humility about it) to the little boy’s stump of a thumb (like the story of the second patriarch, it wasn’t necessarily a literal severing, if you are squeamish about that kind of thing).
‘In a beloved community, our sacred incarnation is honored and loved. In a beloved community, “unacceptable” embodiments of the larger society are accepted. The protection, refuge, healing, guidance, and companionship found in sanctuary are prerequisites for our happiness and well-being. Finding personhood, dignity, and respect are the soil in which we can plant our feet in a true home. When all is well, love is sanctuary and sanctuary is love.’ (Sanctuary)