225 Words or Less

There's something inherently daunting about trying to describe or talk about the Dharma or Zen or just the practice of sitting. Words can't reach it and the Zen adepts of old would often respond or teach non-conceptually by remaining silent, shouting, drawing an enso like the one above, or even hitting disciples who asked questions like: What is Zen? What's the teaching of the Buddha? What's the point of practice? Who am I? But sometimes it's necessary to say something and it's not just zen masters who get asked about it.

I've been co-leading a small (3 to 4 people) weekly nonsectarian meditation group in town at the local yoga studio and recently wrote something about meditation for their newsletter. Here's what I wrote (see below). What would you say about meditation, without using Buddhist or Zen jargon, in 225 words or less?

Meditation gives us a chance to bear witness to and reconnect with our inherent wholeness. It's a radical and ancient practice of throwing everything away and coming home to the breath, to this unique, non-returning moment.

For some reason, our personal narratives don't want to lose their authority over our lives, whether they say we're superior, fundamentally flawed, both, or somewhere in between. But with sustained practice and patience, it's possible to loosen their grip and we find that our strictly defined edges begin to soften. The sleep-walking fog begins to lift and we see more and more clearly that, in fact, we and the world are not two. There's nothing fundamentally outside us, nothing alien, nothing lacking. Yun-men, a 10th century Zen master, put it this way: "My body's so big there's no place to put it."

The ongoing challenge is to bring the practice into the very center of our busy lives where it can function for the benefit of ourselves and this planet. The less we're entangled in private agendas, the more we're able to step forth and live freely, authentically, and compassionately. Our work and relationships become fueled more and more—not by incompleteness or insecurity—but by a natural generosity of heart and mind. Many people find it encouraging, supportive, and enjoyable to sit with others regularly. Drop by any Wednesday morning!

The World Series, Your Life

Henry David Thoreau famously believed that the vast majority of people "lead lives of quiet desperation." Imagine Thoreau saying this today on Larry King Live or on Oprah!. I think he'd probably sound like some condescending dean or like he was getting ready to introduce the Thoreau Personal Empowerment Plan. But surely most people feel at some point that something profound is missing from their lives—a personal, direct connection to something sacred and eternal. It may be just a vague yet deep dissatisfaction, regardless of material wealth, success, fame, etc., a kind of gnawing discontent with things as they are. In any case, I don't think our culture really knows how to deal with this rich, existential aspect of being human--sometimes called the dark night of the soul at its most intense--other than providing ways to avoid it, numb it, or explain it away. This is of course prima materia for the arts and for most spiritual paths. I remember telling my Zen teacher early in my training that the universe was meaningless and I had no idea what to do with my life. He said, very sincerely, "Excellent. Now you can use that to really dig in and practice."

The so-called mid-life crisis is waking up in our 40s or 50s and realizing that we've neglected something important in all our doing and striving, and now we need to circle back--a very rich, important rite of passage for many people. And sometimes, as Thoreau knew, we never wake up. When people asked Buddha, "Are you some kind of god or deity?" his response was, "No. I am awake." Of course this is not the ordinary state of wakefulness which we distinguish from R.E.M. sleep. This is the great awakening to our mysterious, indestructible true nature.

In the 2009 World Series, Alex Rodriguez of the New York Yankees (love him or hate him) was struck by the baseball three times while at bat. Regarding the third hit, he said "...that at-bat kind of woke me up a little bit and just reminded me, 'Hey, this is the World Series. Let's get it going a little bit. So it worked out." He went on to hit a home run in Game 3 and drove home the go-ahead run in the ninth inning of Game 4 with what, he said, was the biggest hit of his career. The Yankees won the Series.

Well, this life is the World Series. Here we are, circling an orb of burning helium planted miraculously on this remarkable planet. Where did you come from? Where are you going? The stakes are much higher than winning or losing a baseball game. What wakes you up?

What time is it?

If past and future are private/social constructs and the present is ungraspable, how do we understand time? It's so easy to think of time as passing us by or passing quickly but aren't we right here in the river with it, as it?
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Nagarjuna (150-250 CE): "Time has no concrete reality."
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Robert Aitken Roshi (b. 1917 CE): "Time and no time, substance and the void, existence and nonexistence - these are the traditional dyads of the human program. With zazen we find the Middle Way and the hoary concepts of dimension drop away."
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Bob Weir (b. 1947 CE) of the Grateful Dead: "What I like best about music is when time goes away."