Shundo David Haye – Zen Priest

I was thinking of writing about this weekend in terms of ups and downs, but as it unfolded, I also started thinking about it in terms of the sustenance of different sanghas.

On Friday evening, our neighbours across the street invited us to an event; the husband is an artist, and was launching a book, at a historic building a short way down Montgomery. There were half a dozen people from our block-long street in attendance, so we chatted and caught up. The owners of two of the oldest buildings on Telegraph Hill were also in attendance, one of whom I had met recently while out walking with Georgie. Dogs are of course a great way to get to know your neighbours, but I have been pleasantly surprised since we moved here at how friendly people are in this little enclave. 

Another attendee had many stories about what had happened in the building we were in, and various incidents from his life, which may or may not have been factual, but were engaging to listen to. Certainly we felt we were in the middle both of the history of the neighbourhood, and a very rewarding present community, and we walked back up the hill feeling very content.

The next morning, while I was down at the Ferry Building farmers’ market, Ruth went to her car on the next street to find one of the side windows had been smashed, seemingly at random, as nothing had been taken. It was sickening to have to deal with the endless shards of glass, and a painful reminder of her car being stolen not long after we moved here. 

In the afternoon, less rested than I had intended, I rode over to Golden Gate park. It was cloudy and very humid, but we had a good turn out for the dahlia-based roam, with just about everybody being a regular. I enjoyed catching up with various people once we had admired the flowers and set off for the lower slopes of Mount Sutro, and I also enjoyed that others could catch up with their roaming acquaintances, as part of this supportive community. 

I rode on Sunday morning, though I decided not to go to the top of San Bruno Mountain, as the fog was dense and damp. After lunch I stopped in at the Rainbow block party; they have been going strong for fifty years, and I have been shopping there loyally for half of that time. I met a few people I knew, and enjoyed the ambience, but I also had to get over to Berkeley for Shalamah’s priest ordination. 

There, I met old friends from Tassajara and City Center, friends from Wilbur and also some of Shalamah’s family who I remember from her jukai (though none of us, even Zenju Osho, could remember exactly how many years ago that was). Greg and Linda were garcious hosts for the proceedings – I haven’t been to Berkeley Zen Center that many times, but one of the other occasions I remember was their wedding twenty years ago.

The ceremony was long enough for my legs to be hurting by the end, but there were some very moments in amongst the ritual words and actions, especially when Zenju Osho talked about ancestors as she passed on the kechimyaku, the blood vein lineage. This is one of the ways we take refuge in sangha – across time as well as space.