Reorientation
Things continue to settle. Things continue to settle, which does not entail that things stay still.
Perhaps it means only that things move less and in fewer unpredictable ways. There is a steady paycheck, and there are occasional gatherings with family. There is frequent communication with new and old friends and the promise of travel to California and New York, though neither till the New Year. Till then, Wisconsin is home, a welcome statement as daylight diminishes and the cold creeps.
One thing that remains unpredictable, however, is my schedule—by which I mean my work schedule—for it is that that determines where other things do or do not appear. Some days, I awake at 3:30 AM. On other days, I return home not long after 10:00 PM. As a result, I find it challenging to engage in activities that are supported by (in my experience) performance at regular times.
I find it frustrating, too. I experience great frustration.
For instance, I intended to write a something on the third verse of Dongshan Liangjie’s “Five Positions of Ruler and Minister.” I wrote about 1,000 words, too, before I lost the motivation necessary to continue writing.
What happened? Where has it been for the last few weeks?
I am unsure if it is correct to describe “energy” as something that can “stubbornly refuse,” as in, “It is stubbornly refusing to show up.” I find it to be that way, though; it feels that way.
Another option is that energy has been directed toward a question more pressing than what arises in me when reading:
In nothingness there is a road apart from the dust. If you don’t break the taboo on mentioning the Emperor’s name you will surpass the eloquence of the previous dynasty’s worthies, who cut off tongues.
And no matter what I try, that energy will stay directed in that direction until something changes.
W. H. Auden begins a poem with:
Coming out of me living is always thinking, Thinking changing and changing living
Yes, and now I am beginning to appreciate that always-changing-thinking and always-changing-living do not always yield thinking and living changing in ways that I want.
I am half-surprised.
Over and over in Book 1 of Shobogenzo Zuimonki, Dogen Zenji encourages the patch-robed monks not to delay their practice of the Way.
At the end of Section 2, in response to a sick person who does not consider themselves a “vessel for the Dharma,” he says:
If you do not study and practice the Way in this present lifetime, in which lifetime will you become a person of [exceptional] capability or a person without sickness? Simply, do not be concerned with your corporeal life, arouse the mind of awakening, and practice. This is what is most essential in studying the Way.
Similar admonitions are given to those concerned about clothing, food, shelter, and wealth and to those who attain some realization and recognition.
If we wait until furnishings are ready and our shelter has been prepared before beginning to practice, we could spend our entire lifetimes in vain. […] The genuine Buddha Way does not depend on such things.
Students of the Way! Even if you have attained realization, do not think that you have reached the pinnacle and stop practicing. The Way is infinite. Even if you have attained realization, continue to practice the Way.
These exclamations and others all conclude in the same way:
“You must exclusively concentrate your efforts on the Way.” Needless to say, as children of the Buddha we should give up all other affairs and wholeheartedly devote ourselves to one thing. We must keep this in mind.
We die moment by moment. Ultimately speaking, we do not stay [alive] even for a little while. While you are alive, do not spend your time in vain.
The words “do not spend your time in vain” appear elsewhere. Notably, they are the final line of Shitou Xiqian’s poem Sandokai (Harmony of the Relative and the Absolutely). Shinryu Suzuki translated that line as:
Do not vainly pass through sunshine and shadows.
What does it mean to spend one’s days and nights in vain? What does it mean not to vainly pass through sunshine and shadows?
Although Dogen instructs the patch-robed monks not to be concerned with their corporeal life, give up all other affairs, and practice the Way exclusively, he reminds them, “We should not begrudge our lives; we should not fail to take care of our lives.” The brashness of Dogen’s words above notwithstanding, there is some balance to be sought and found, even for a short period.
Koan Gary Janka Sensei, my now-late first teacher, was a student and Dharma heir of Egyoku Wendy Nakao Roshi. At some point, Egyoku Roshi shared with Koan Sensei what she considered the question for our time and place as practitioners of Zen in America.
How does one be a monk in the world?
Before I left Santa Barbara, California, for Lafayette, Indiana, Koan Sensei shared that question with me. I sense now that he sensed then that I would need it in the future—and I do. And I cannot help but wonder, not if he needed it, too, but when.
How do I continue to practice the Way? How do I continue to embody the vows I took one year ago when so much of my life now feels so very different from how it was then? These are the questions that are more pressing than an exploration of Dongshan’s poetic verses.
Dogen writes that “[Becoming a buddha or an ancestor] depends only on whether or not we enter a monastery; [becoming a dragon] depends only on whether or not fish pass through the Dragon Gate.”
Where is the monastery for us—the eclectic and sometimes rag-tag practitioners of Zen in America—today? Where is the Dragon Gate?
How does one be a monk in this part of the world?
Other recent offerings include:
What a wonderful read, my thoughts and feelings lately have been of a similar nature. Rinse and repeat! Thank you for articulating the “ughhh” in your work