Dangerous Friends on the Path

Last week, our teachers Chozen and Hogen each gave a way-seeking mind talk. These are autobiographical accounts of the path that has led a person to the dharma as they now practice it. Talking about our lives in this way, processing past events through the lense of practice, is often deeply therapeutic to the individual speaker. To those in the audience, learning more about their fellow-practitioners builds a sense of community and an appreciation for one another's trials and triumphs.

It was quite unusual and special to hear these two teachers recount their lives in some detail. Many of their trials and transitions are deeply moving, and hearing about them gave me a new perspective on some of my more recent adventures.

Even in casual conversation, asking an experienced Zen teacher about their life and path of practice often leaves me feeling deeply impressed, as if I'd been touched by a very personal lesson about faith and perserverence. (The monastery has hosted three large teachers' meetings in the last year, and by now I know more zen teachers than most people do!) Beyond getting acquainted and fulfilling some social niceties, learning about their life and path of practice tells me something about my own life. The real miracle in all these strories, much more striking a person's flair with language or the energy of their presence, is that they have continued to sit for years, in spite of the distractions, and in spite of staggering setbacks.

These people are not obvious superheroes, and it's not always clear how the sweet and humble (or blustering and canny) person before me has managed to endure, and continues to endure, a galaxy of impossibilities and challenges. It's so easy to project great nobility or power onto the teacher, but the fact is, a life in the Dharma is neither easy or glamorous.

The most important thing in their lives is the Dharma, the teachings of Buddhism in all their unfurled wisdom and transformative potential. More than the abstraction of these teachings, what seems to propel these individuals is the compelling burden and joy of maintaining the warm human aspect of the Dharma. They were, without fail, so deeply connected to their teacher that they can live no other way than by continuing their own teacher's work.

I realize that, for my own life, simply resolving to sit for thirty years is an ingenuous proposition; I have no hope of sitting with any kind of intensity of purpose for even ten years, without first becoming bonded to a teacher. From what I can tell, "bonded" is an accurate term-- a kind of committed, voluntary "bondage."

I have been going along thinking that I want a teacher who will parent me, and feeling somewhat shallow and childish for harboring that desire. It seems reasonable, though, to seek someone I can trust completely, and with whom I really resonate. I want (and fear that I'll find) someone who speaks directly to my heart, who will guide me and really have my best interests at heart.

Theoretically, one could study with whatever teacher was available, and many people had no choice about doing so back in the 60s and 70s. One could also marry anyone and make it work; given the vulnerability and total catharsis of practice, why not find someone with whom you have a real affinity, with whom you can readily fall in love?

However, as Chozen pointed out the other day, there are truths that are too harsh to tell to someone you love. To really serve the student's best interest, the teacher has to be ruthless. They cannot cherish the student in any sort of self-serving way, no matter how platonic. So I have to be willing to put myself at the mercy of someone who I deeply trust and can relate, while simultaneously knowing that they are charged with separating me from my dearest delusions by any means necessary.