Showing posts with label experience. Show all posts
Showing posts with label experience. Show all posts

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Zazen, Pure Experience

Recognize that a concept is just a concept, and not reality. --Joko Charlotte Beck

Generalizations. Assumptions. We all make them. And they cause all of us grief. The world as it is. Reality is not an assumption. It's not the way we want things to be, or the way we think about things to be. "Each moment, life as it is--the only Teacher. Being just this moment--compassion's way."

Joko Beck writes in her book, Nothing Special, Living Zen, about the Sufi sage and fool, Nasrudin who was once said to have been in his flower garden sprinkling bread crumbs over everything. His neighbor saw what he was doing and asked him why. To which Nasrudin replied, "to keep the tigers away!" The neighbor laughing, said, "but there aren't tigers within a thousand miles!"
"Effective, isn't it?" said Nasrudin.
Beck writes, "we laugh because we're sure that the two things--bread crumbs and tigers-- have nothing to do with each other. Yet as with Nasrudin, our practice and our lives are based upon false generalizations that have nothing to do with reality."

If we base our lives, most often unconsciously, upon generalizations or assumptions, and we do not ask ourselves or others about what is happening in our lives in this moment, in this day, like Nasrudin we build our understanding upon false notion, upon false generalizations. "Such generalities obscure the specific, concrete reality of our lives."
In fact says Beck, "life is not general, it is specific." Sitting practice, or zazen cuts through the unconsciousness, the grey lights that obscure the more specific observations that we might otherwise make about ourselves and others, views which lead to the questions of how, why, what is this about, or what is necessary?

For example, "instead of I can't stand myself when I do such and such, we [then come to] see more clearly what's going on. We're not covering events with a broad brush" of assumptions, generalizations, powerful emotions--energies that take our focus elsewhere, away from our experience, our situations.

Often, in conversations, we exchange notions and we are like two ships at sea, continuing on, lost in a grey murk of conceptual material, of analytic, virtual thought. Avoiding experience, no contact takes place. It may be a form of Zen combat, or it may be without of an experience precisely for that reason-- experience is what we fear to know about.'

"In Zen practice, we tend to toss around many fancy concepts: Everything is in perfect being as it is, we're all doing the best we can, things are all one, I [you, we are] one with him. We call this Zen bullshit, though other religions have their own versions."
And it's not that the statements are false; they have a universal truth. But, says Beck, "if we stop there, we have turned our practice into an exercise of concepts, and we've lost awareness of what's going on with us right this second. Good practice [zazen] always entails moving through our concepts... recognize that a concept is just a concept, and not reality."

When we "notice our thoughts... then we have to experience the pain that accompanies the thought." Why? Simply because it is our thought, and our pain. We have made them both; they are our very own.
"When we can stay with the pain as a pure physical sensation, then at some point it will dissolve, and we can move into the truth... But we have to move from experience which is painful, into truth and not plaster thoughts over our experience. Intellectual people are particularly prone to this error."
The rational world of concepts is a mere description of the real world. In contrast, when we allow this pure experience of our own, we come into zazen.

As Bassui says, "clearly seeing into one's nature is called practice. And the seat that puts an end to analytic thoughts is called Zazen."
And only when we "move through [to] the experiential level does life have meaning. This is what Christians and Jews mean by 'being with God.'
Experiencing is out of time: it is not the past, not the future, not even the present in the usual sense." Unable to say in words what it is, we can only learn to be of it. Some call it 'an-other world,' or 'living in the spirit.'

Catholic Christian writer, theologian, mystic and Pope, John Paul II, exhorted the practice, saying that "it is not enough to have, we must instead be." He emphasized that we must not only, for example, be in love, to have love, but we ourselves must be that experience--we must be love itself. We must not only have pain or grief, but we must, moreover, be that pain and grief.

A challenge indeed for those on the Way. We all have our favorite notions, our concepts of ourselves and others. They can become 'frozen in time.'
We are caught by the thinking that emphasizes permanence. Yet the world, ourselves, and others are not permanent. At any moment, any cloud, any storm may take us far away to other shores in other places.
Remember that practice is just what is; it is not unusual or exotic. It is not only open to the few; all beings have experiences. Learning to live fully those experiences is what in traditional Buddhist terms, is being buddha-nature itself. "Compassion grows from such roots," emphasizes Joko Beck.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Real Lifework

"I was not happy. I hated what I was doing." Being Zen by Ezra Bayada

Many times, many of us engage ourselves and our time in occupations and jobs that while we may be successful and we may be quite competent with the tasks required, there is the nagging thought or a feeling that this just isn't for us, it isn't the right thing to be pursuing.

Ezra Bayada writes in his book, Being Zen, that "I was not happy. I hated [my work] what I was doing and anguished for more than a year over finding my "life work... A fellow practitioner suggested that every time anxiety arose over what kind of work would be right for me, I refrain from thinking about it and instead attempt to feel the physical reality of my life at that moment."

Bayada writes that as a young person and a person new to the practice, he initially didn't make a whole lot of sense out of the advice. It didn't jive with any of his previous experiences. Still he followed the direction, to stop, listen, look and feel "the moment," any moment in his daily existence and learn a new way to experience himself in his own skin. He says, "I didn't get any insights into what work to pursue, [but] I sensed something genuine about the quality of awareness that was apparent when I put thinking aside and focused on the "Whatness" of the moment... out of the blue, I realized my path..."

By continuing this way he writes that he also came to realize that by following his realization to become a carpenter, he would have to address many of his fears and self-beliefs that he knew held him back from having "a clear understanding of who we are and what our life is." He also observes that the tendency to live our lives through our minds' intellect, through ruminating, thinking, weighing and measuring, is really about the very natural desire to have solid ground beneath our feet. But isn't the ground already solid? What more do we need to add to it? Is it ground or is it me, who is the change?
Our personal feeling of "groundlessness" that often accompanies change is also natural. It can be frightening to let go and fall, trusting that the "ground" below will allow us to land on our feet. And yet it is the willingness to experience the sense of change, of temporary groundlessness that brings insight; it brings clarity.

Bayada offers a practice suggestion for those coping with the feelings of groundlessness related to change. He asks us to ask our self the question, "What do I have to offer[here]?" He asks us to ask this question often and to find what the answers are. We may be surprised. And we may realize more of our self.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Seeing Me, Seeing the Way

"Whether you can see the Buddha or not depends on you, on the state of your being." --Thich Nhat Hanh

Writing in Living Buddha, Living Christ Buddhist monk and teacher Thich Nhat Hanh recalls the adage that says "to encounter a true master is said to be worth a century of studying" of reading, of writing. Because in such a person we encounter a witness, "a living example of enlightenment. How can we encounter Jesus or the Buddha? It depends upon us." Many have looked squarely into the eyes of a Jesus or a Buddha and not seen anything, were not at the moment capable of the experience to see anything. Blessed Mother Teresa of Calcutta founded her works of mercy and charity upon this very point.

She served the poorest of the poor; of her faith-filled conviction, that in touching the broken bodies of the poor, she was touching the body of Christ; it was for Jesus himself, hidden under the distressing disguise of the poorest of the poor. Recognizing the Christ in everyone, she ministered with wholehearted devotion, expressing the delicacy of her love. Thus, in a total gift of herself to God and neighbor,

Mother Teresa found her greatest fulfillment. She wanted to remind all of the value and dignity of each of God's children; thus was Mother Teresa, as she said, "bringing souls to God, and God to souls," always remembering holiness of all; her ministry was devoted to seeing, to seeing the Way.

In another story Thich Nhat Hanh recounts that there once was a man in such a hurry to see the Buddha that he neglected a woman in dire need whom he encountered along the way. Arriving at the Buddha's monastery, he saw nothing. This tale repeats in the world many times since.

Says Thich Nhat Hanh, " whether you can see the Buddha or not depends upon you, on the state of your being." "I am understanding, I am love." It is not enough to simply feel love, to simply think about love. We, who practice, who seek the way, are called to be that love, to act that love. "Like many great humans, the Buddha had a hallowed [blessed] presence. When we see such persons, we feel peace, love and strength in them, and also in ourselves." Our courage to move forward is summoned.
There is an old Chinese proverb Nhat Hanh quotes: "When a sage is born, the river water becomes clearer and the mountain plants and trees are greener." When in their presence, one feels the ambience, a sense of peace, of light. Even if you did not recognize the sage, your proximity would gain all the greater light; your understanding the greater than by words alone.

Friday, June 5, 2009

False Generalizations

Recognize that a concept is just a concept, and not reality. --Joko Charlotte Beck

Generalizations. Assumptions. We all make them. And they cause all of us grief. The world as it is. Reality is not an assumption. It's not the way we want things to be, or the way we think about things to be. "Each moment, life as it is--the only Teacher. Being just this moment--compassion's way."
Joko Beck writes in her book, Nothing Special, Living Zen, about the Sufi sage and fool, Nasrudin who was once said to have been in his flower garden sprinkling bread crumbs over everything. His neighbor saw what he was doing and asked him why. To which Nasrudin replied, "to keep the tigers away!" The neighbor, laughing, said, "but there aren't tigers within a thousand miles!"
"Effective, isn't it?" said Nasrudin. Beck writes, "we laugh because we're sure that the two things--bread crumbs and tigers-- have nothing to do with each other. Yet as with Nasrudin, our practice and our lives are based upon false generalizations that have nothing to do with reality."

If we base our lives, most often unconsciously, upon generalizations or assumptions, and we do not ask ourselves or others about what is happening in our lives in this moment, in this day, like Nasrudin we build our understanding upon false notion, upon false generalizations. "Such generalities obscure the specific, concrete reality of our lives." In fact says Beck, "life is not general, it is specific." Sitting practice, or zazen cuts through the unconsciousness, the grey lights that obscure the more specific observations that we might otherwise make about ourselves and others, views which lead to the questions of how, why, what is this about, or what is necessary?

For example, "instead of I can't stand myself when I do such and such, we [then come to] see more clearly what's going on. We're not covering events with a broad brush" of assumptions, generalizations, powerful emotions--energies that take our focus elsewhere, away from our experience, our situations. Often, in conversations, we exchange notions and we are like two ships at sea, continuing on, lost in a grey murk of conceptual material, of analytic, virtual thought. Avoiding experience, no contact takes place. It may be a form of Zen combat, or it may be without of an experience precisely for that reason-- experience is what we fear to know about.

"In Zen practice, we tend to toss around many fancy concepts: Everything is in perfect being as it is, we're all doing the best we can, things are all one, I [you, we are] one with him. We call this Zen bullshit, though other religions have their own versions." And it's not that the statements are false; they have a universal truth. But, says Beck, "if we stop there, we have turned our practice into an exercise of concepts, and we've lost awareness of what's going on with us right this second. Good practice [zazen] always entails moving through our concepts... recognize that a concept is just a concept, and not reality."

When we "notice our thoughts... then we have to experience the pain that accompanies the thought." Why? Simply because it is our thought, and our pain. We have made them both; they are our very own. "When we can stay with the pain as a pure physical sensation, then at some point it will dissolve, and we can move into the truth... But we have to move from experience which is painful, into truth and not plaster thoughts over our experience. Intellectual people are particularly prone to this error." The rational world of concepts is a mere description of the real world. In contrast, when we allow this pure experience of our own, we come into zazen.

As Bassui says, "clearly seeing into one's nature is called practice. And the seat that puts an end to analytic thoughts is called Zazen."
And only when we "move through [to] the experiential level does life have meaning. This is what Christians and Jews mean by 'being with God.' Experiencing is out of time: it is not the past, not the future, not even the present in the usual sense." Unable to say in words what it is, we can only learn to be it. Some call it 'an-other world,' or 'living in the spirit.'

Catholic Christian writer, theologian, mystic and Pope, John Paul II, exhorted the practice, saying that "it is not enough to have, we must instead be." He emphasized that we must not only, for example, be in love, to have love, but we ourselves must be that experience--we must be love itself. We must not only have pain or grief, but we must, moreover, be that pain and grief.

A challenge indeed for those on the Way. We all have our favorite notions, our concepts of ourselves and others. They can become 'frozen in time.' We are caught by the thinking that emphasizes permanence. Yet the world, ourselves, and others are not permanent. At any moment, any cloud, any storm may take us far away to other shores in other places. Remember that practice is just what is; it is not unusual or exotic. It is not only open to the few; all beings have experiences. Learning to live fully those experiences is what in traditional Buddhist terms, is being buddha-nature itself.
"Compassion grows from such roots," emphasizes Joko Beck.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

A world of wonder: entering into the precepts

Recalling that the Simple Mind practice is one in which we come to a more clear understanding of the words of Practice Principles through experience:

Caught in a dream of self--only suffering.
Holding on to self-centered thoughts--exactly the dream.
each moment, life as it is--the only Teacher.
Being just this moment--compassion's way.

--Practice Principles

The order of the precepts Diane Rizzetto gives may vary from other traditions, however she states that "the order I have chosen is that which most accurately reflects one most commonly discovered by my students." In other words she finds that her students' practice usually follows this pattern or order. In addition, she notes that there are in fact 10 precepts traditionally given; however she feels that the two omitted are dealt with indirectly within the others. The complete study of the 10 precepts is included in her study therefore.

Precepts "encourage us to go beyond the just don't do it. They invite us to willingly grapple with the slipperiness [or messiness] of what's the best action to take given the circumstances of any given situation." They direct our focus to conditions here and now, presently. Precepts help light the way through the more muddy times, and times when we're not so certain.
Does then taking up the precepts, the Way, mean that we never have a mean or jealous thought, that we're not afraid? Of course not. these are natural, human things that at one time or another we experience.

The Self

In some traditions the self is spoken about as something to be parted with, as a suffering in itself. However in the simple mind, it is a continuation of the classic teaching that 'all life arises out of and continues forth as a vast, fathomless, pure and clear empty mind, or Dharma.
As Dharma, it is constant, unutterable, flawless, selfless and undifferentiated. Dharma is then, the unnameable source of all life and living. It includes our everyday simple minds. And Dharma is even more. It is the realization of a mutual dependency, the knowledge that nothing comes about on its own. Following Dharma is to take action that is in harmony or addresses the common good with relation to all things. Yet this is not to say that you, me, the neighbor, be without individuality. Clearly we are perhaps 99 per cent alike, but the one per cent, differentiates us from another;even so, Dharma shows us to be finally one part of the whole.

To study the self is to forget the self.
This means that I am this, but not only this. The core of our practice with the precepts and Dharma is to challenge ourselves to look carefully, closely, and question our assumptions about what it is that makes the world real to us; focusing us on the awareness that assumptions of permanence are exactly that, an assumption.
By working with the precepts, the Dharma, sitting quietly in practice, we can train our mind to be less reactionary, less stressed and more focused on the now, this moment. Dismantling our habitual reactions, questioning our beliefs can lead to real peace, joy and just this moment.