:...and my life is your life."
So goes a song the kids sing in the Sunday Dharma School at the monastery. (I think Genmyo composed it because he wanted the kids to know about Bodhisattvas.)
There are people, even now, for whom events have colluded to generate a strong sense of purpose. These individuals work and struggle; they encounter great loss, face terrible decisions, grieve and act, steadily, to try to address the terrible immediacy of the realm where they find themselves.
They may not always agree with one another. But we would be extremely foolish to think that we are not intertwined with them in the most intimate and immediate way. I could not be myself, and my life could not be my life, just as it is, if there were no war in Iraq, for example.
This is not even remotely a political blog. I am not interested in politics; I am interested in people; in the cause of suffering and the end of suffering.
Nevertheless, I have noticed that the US has been embroiled in Iraq. For some time now.
And so I've added some really fascinating blogs to the sidebar...mostly because I want to keep up with the experience of people half a world away who are in the midst of a reality I can barely imagine. For them, the matter at hand goes far beyond politics.
You can draw your own conclusions about Bodhisattvas.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Saturday, April 29, 2006
The Wheel Turns
I've been lost in some other time—
found a Victorian baby's ring to fit my tiniest finger.
I'm not sure how I left behind the things I did:
the cherry-blossom citadel in the mountains;
the city on dark waters;
the shining field where my heart still lives.
Why all this yearning? Why not turn forward, to feel the future forming?
But I want what I thought I knew; what I left; who I was.
Even though at that time
Nothing was good enough.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Appreciation
Today Shokyo (aka Rich) wanted to back his trailer up our driveway to carry off the sod he'd spent the morning unearthing.
But there was a mysterious car already parked in the driveway. It had a flowery "Peace" sticker on the outside, and on the inside were fresh lilac blossoms, and groceries overflowing from a handmade basket. Typical, thought I.
I wrote a note and put in on the windshield.
"Dear Friend," it read, "We would have appreciated the use of our driveway this morning. Please ask before parking here next time."
(This is my aggressive mode.)
I thought about what I'd just done and it struck me: contrary to what I said in the note, if the car hadn't been there, we wouldn't have appreciated the use of the driveway at all. Rich would have backed his trailer in, collected the sod, and been on his way, and none of us would have given a moment's thought to appreciating a clear driveway.
(Even so, I did not rush to put a second note of thanks on the offending car.)
The car owners came—friends of Abby's—a few minutes after Rich gave up and left. Just then, several burly men in a giant truck equipped with a cherrypicker arm pulled up—blocking off our driveway entirely—put down some orange cones, and started hacking great swaths off a tree that was growing near the power line.
"Instant karma," perhaps, but I feel sad for the tree.
But there was a mysterious car already parked in the driveway. It had a flowery "Peace" sticker on the outside, and on the inside were fresh lilac blossoms, and groceries overflowing from a handmade basket. Typical, thought I.
I wrote a note and put in on the windshield.
"Dear Friend," it read, "We would have appreciated the use of our driveway this morning. Please ask before parking here next time."
(This is my aggressive mode.)
I thought about what I'd just done and it struck me: contrary to what I said in the note, if the car hadn't been there, we wouldn't have appreciated the use of the driveway at all. Rich would have backed his trailer in, collected the sod, and been on his way, and none of us would have given a moment's thought to appreciating a clear driveway.
(Even so, I did not rush to put a second note of thanks on the offending car.)
The car owners came—friends of Abby's—a few minutes after Rich gave up and left. Just then, several burly men in a giant truck equipped with a cherrypicker arm pulled up—blocking off our driveway entirely—put down some orange cones, and started hacking great swaths off a tree that was growing near the power line.
"Instant karma," perhaps, but I feel sad for the tree.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Relics of the Buddha
About a year ago, a dear dharma friend gave me some Buddhist relics. They left the monastery with me, and they are enshrined in a small wooden stupa in the upstairs hallway of my house.
The purpose of this post is to say what they mean to me, right now. But first I have to say what they are supposed to be. And what they have meant to me in the past.
They are similar to the ones in the large collection that has been touring the world to raise funds for the Maitreya Project.
(borrowed)
(A brief aside on the Maitreya Project: The distinguished teacher Lama Zopa Rinpoche has undertaken to build a colassal multi-storey statue of Maitreya, the Buddha of the Future, at Kushinagara, in India. When the statue is completed, it will be possible to ascend within the statue and to visit the relics, which will be enshrined at various chakra levels.)
I not only visited the relic exhibit when it came to San Francisco in 2003—I also rode in the heavily-decorated relic transport van, with a human-size model of the proposed Maitreya colossus as my seatmate. Just a week before it was stolen.
I will confess that I started out an amused skeptic on the matter of relics. The notion that tiny jewel-like deposits are found in the cremated remains of great masters seemed a bit far-fetched. Western Zen is so populated with sicentific, rational types—just like my old self—and we don't put much stake in crazy Eastern superstitions. Uncomfortable with things that smell like religion, we endeavor to dissect the valid, therapeutic aspects of an ancient tradition away from its useless "religious" trappings. As if such a thing were beneficial, or even possible.
It is true that Buddhism didn’t start as a religion—it was the Dharma, the “truth”, taught by the historical Shakyamuni, remembered and practiced by his disciples, analyzed and codified and studies through the centuries. But it was not a cold, scientific context: Buddhism was born in a time and place where the structure and function of the human mental and psychospiritual realm was exhaustively characterized and studied. And it has flourished when the religious side of human reality has been honored as valuable and true.
Extremely sophisticated schools of Buddhist philosophy and logic have arisen over the centuries, and in some forms of practice, an erudite discourse dominates. mystical side is rarely explored; in others, the mystical element predominates. As the dharma travelled an increasing distance from its home in theancient Indian philosophical tradition, its truth has been conveyed in a more impressionistic and artistic manner—leading to poetic and mystical works. And for laypeople unable to submerge themselves in exacting scholarship and monastic practice, mystical, “easy”, and expeditious routes to attainment were emphasized; the Japanese Shin and Nichiren Buddhist schools come to mind.
There is a tendency, in my Western culture and overeducated demographic, to devalue the supernatural aspects of Buddhism with the same disdain as for supernatural anything. Most of my rational zen friends snicker at the thought that paying homage to the Lotus Sutra, or Amida Buddha, would have any impact on anything. The rational, materialist view of the world sees the Buddha as historical fact, and the power of practice in psychoscientific terms. Yet in much of the world, Buddhism has had mystical aspects. Is religion subordinate to science? Have our dharma cousins been deluded for lo these many centuries?
My personal experience has been: you go deep enough, and you'll end up in the religious zone. Doesn't matter who you thought you were.
No matter what you think the relics really are, there was an unmistakable atmosphere in the van, and at the viewing. Without understanding how or why, people become lighthearted, even silly, and a sense of well-being and lightness reigns. When I mentioned this to one of the nuns on tour with the relics, she said that an emotional shift happens all the time— and that forbidding and sexist hosts at some of the hundreds of practice centers they visited just melted and turned sweet and silly in the proximity of the relics.
Supernatural considerations aside, it is only in the past few decades—and only in our rather deviant society—that anyone has imagined Buddhism to be a self-improvement project that conforms to scientific standards. It is something far greater, outside the purview of scientific discourse. (The Dalai Lama's book The Universe in a Single Atom discusses this beautifully.) It is the way of truth in this life, and the path to liberation. Regardless of what the relics “truly” are, they serve as a reminder of the promise—the inevitability—of awakening as the ongoing result of dedicated practice.
So the relics, these little shining flecks of bright gravel, are great treasure to some people, and a foolish oddity to others. Others don't presume to know what they are. I’ve seen senior practitioners deride them; scientific types dismiss them; and true believers prostrate themselves. For myself, I do not doubt that the relics are holy: their impact is too marked, and the ones in my care have changed appearance since I acquired them.
But I do sometimes doubt that I am at all worthy of their stewardship, of practice, of membership in the sangha. I feel so destroyed these days. I don't know who I am, except that with practice, I am more sensitive and easily-disillusioned than I knew. I don't seem to get along with anybody I know very well; I suspect this may have more to do with my mindset than with my associates. I am reclusive, grumpy, and sad. I regret bridges I've burned.
After throwing all security to the wind three years ago, I am ready to appreciate the little things: money; a place to live safe from others' whims; a partner; taking care and being taken care of. At the same time, I am fascinated by the untamed women in my life: my mother; Mushin; Ruby; women who are completly free of the subjugation of self that the partnered female so often displays. I wonder if I will ever feel safe in this world. I wonder if being safe is as crucial as it feels.
In the end, it doesn't matter if I'm "worthy" to hold the relics or not. They hold me. And they embody the promise of personal transformation, accessible to everyone: that in this life and upon death, something mysterious carries forward, symbolized by these shining stones in their little wooden stupa.
I do not know if what I am becoming approaches the promise that the relics embody, or denies it. I am not who I was four months ago; I am not myself at all. I am more spiritual in my orientation. And yet much less interested in living in a defined spiritual community. And yet here I am. Kichu gave the relics to me because he was inspired by my practice and wanted to support me. All I was doing then, and all I can do now, is to surrender to the world, and to this changing bodymind that is becoming something far different than I ever envisioned.
The purpose of this post is to say what they mean to me, right now. But first I have to say what they are supposed to be. And what they have meant to me in the past.
They are similar to the ones in the large collection that has been touring the world to raise funds for the Maitreya Project.
(borrowed)(A brief aside on the Maitreya Project: The distinguished teacher Lama Zopa Rinpoche has undertaken to build a colassal multi-storey statue of Maitreya, the Buddha of the Future, at Kushinagara, in India. When the statue is completed, it will be possible to ascend within the statue and to visit the relics, which will be enshrined at various chakra levels.)
I not only visited the relic exhibit when it came to San Francisco in 2003—I also rode in the heavily-decorated relic transport van, with a human-size model of the proposed Maitreya colossus as my seatmate. Just a week before it was stolen.
I will confess that I started out an amused skeptic on the matter of relics. The notion that tiny jewel-like deposits are found in the cremated remains of great masters seemed a bit far-fetched. Western Zen is so populated with sicentific, rational types—just like my old self—and we don't put much stake in crazy Eastern superstitions. Uncomfortable with things that smell like religion, we endeavor to dissect the valid, therapeutic aspects of an ancient tradition away from its useless "religious" trappings. As if such a thing were beneficial, or even possible.
It is true that Buddhism didn’t start as a religion—it was the Dharma, the “truth”, taught by the historical Shakyamuni, remembered and practiced by his disciples, analyzed and codified and studies through the centuries. But it was not a cold, scientific context: Buddhism was born in a time and place where the structure and function of the human mental and psychospiritual realm was exhaustively characterized and studied. And it has flourished when the religious side of human reality has been honored as valuable and true.
Extremely sophisticated schools of Buddhist philosophy and logic have arisen over the centuries, and in some forms of practice, an erudite discourse dominates. mystical side is rarely explored; in others, the mystical element predominates. As the dharma travelled an increasing distance from its home in theancient Indian philosophical tradition, its truth has been conveyed in a more impressionistic and artistic manner—leading to poetic and mystical works. And for laypeople unable to submerge themselves in exacting scholarship and monastic practice, mystical, “easy”, and expeditious routes to attainment were emphasized; the Japanese Shin and Nichiren Buddhist schools come to mind.
There is a tendency, in my Western culture and overeducated demographic, to devalue the supernatural aspects of Buddhism with the same disdain as for supernatural anything. Most of my rational zen friends snicker at the thought that paying homage to the Lotus Sutra, or Amida Buddha, would have any impact on anything. The rational, materialist view of the world sees the Buddha as historical fact, and the power of practice in psychoscientific terms. Yet in much of the world, Buddhism has had mystical aspects. Is religion subordinate to science? Have our dharma cousins been deluded for lo these many centuries?
My personal experience has been: you go deep enough, and you'll end up in the religious zone. Doesn't matter who you thought you were.
No matter what you think the relics really are, there was an unmistakable atmosphere in the van, and at the viewing. Without understanding how or why, people become lighthearted, even silly, and a sense of well-being and lightness reigns. When I mentioned this to one of the nuns on tour with the relics, she said that an emotional shift happens all the time— and that forbidding and sexist hosts at some of the hundreds of practice centers they visited just melted and turned sweet and silly in the proximity of the relics.
Supernatural considerations aside, it is only in the past few decades—and only in our rather deviant society—that anyone has imagined Buddhism to be a self-improvement project that conforms to scientific standards. It is something far greater, outside the purview of scientific discourse. (The Dalai Lama's book The Universe in a Single Atom discusses this beautifully.) It is the way of truth in this life, and the path to liberation. Regardless of what the relics “truly” are, they serve as a reminder of the promise—the inevitability—of awakening as the ongoing result of dedicated practice.
So the relics, these little shining flecks of bright gravel, are great treasure to some people, and a foolish oddity to others. Others don't presume to know what they are. I’ve seen senior practitioners deride them; scientific types dismiss them; and true believers prostrate themselves. For myself, I do not doubt that the relics are holy: their impact is too marked, and the ones in my care have changed appearance since I acquired them.
But I do sometimes doubt that I am at all worthy of their stewardship, of practice, of membership in the sangha. I feel so destroyed these days. I don't know who I am, except that with practice, I am more sensitive and easily-disillusioned than I knew. I don't seem to get along with anybody I know very well; I suspect this may have more to do with my mindset than with my associates. I am reclusive, grumpy, and sad. I regret bridges I've burned.
After throwing all security to the wind three years ago, I am ready to appreciate the little things: money; a place to live safe from others' whims; a partner; taking care and being taken care of. At the same time, I am fascinated by the untamed women in my life: my mother; Mushin; Ruby; women who are completly free of the subjugation of self that the partnered female so often displays. I wonder if I will ever feel safe in this world. I wonder if being safe is as crucial as it feels.
In the end, it doesn't matter if I'm "worthy" to hold the relics or not. They hold me. And they embody the promise of personal transformation, accessible to everyone: that in this life and upon death, something mysterious carries forward, symbolized by these shining stones in their little wooden stupa.
I do not know if what I am becoming approaches the promise that the relics embody, or denies it. I am not who I was four months ago; I am not myself at all. I am more spiritual in my orientation. And yet much less interested in living in a defined spiritual community. And yet here I am. Kichu gave the relics to me because he was inspired by my practice and wanted to support me. All I was doing then, and all I can do now, is to surrender to the world, and to this changing bodymind that is becoming something far different than I ever envisioned.
Time for a Break
I'm trying to do a million things (well, four projects) all at once, and I'm becoming fretful. I have been forgetting things (like the time when my Japanese class meets).
This morning I picked up this contract I'm working on; I looked at the incredible scrawl—and the words "This is my mind," came forth.
Everything jumbles at once, in this life of trying to cobble something together, needing to survive and needing to stay true to a deeper call. It is well and truly time for a break.
In the monastery, you may be exhausted, but you do one thing, not twelve. You work hard, but you do not have to strategize your life. You have very little, but you know you will eat.
Thinking I would go to sesshin at Great Vow this week, I had requested time off from the store—an expensive proposition that hit me hard last time. As the date approached, it became clear that transportation would be difficult (and expensive). Plus there will be a jukai ceremony here, in Corvallis, on Sunday morning.
Happlily, none of this is a problem, because there happens to be a zendo in my back garden! So this afternoon I'll be starting my own three-day retreat, supported by my housemates Rob and Mushin.
My intention is to relax, completely. To become a natural human, to return to a state before words. To just. Sit.
Dig/dirt.
Be/breath/body.
Yes.
To be grateful, and—not knowing the future—to pre-remember bountiful good fortune; to sense just-the-right-thing on the horizon; to be open and ready, knowing the way will open and become clear.
Gassho—to everything, everywhere.
This morning I picked up this contract I'm working on; I looked at the incredible scrawl—and the words "This is my mind," came forth.
Everything jumbles at once, in this life of trying to cobble something together, needing to survive and needing to stay true to a deeper call. It is well and truly time for a break.
In the monastery, you may be exhausted, but you do one thing, not twelve. You work hard, but you do not have to strategize your life. You have very little, but you know you will eat.
Thinking I would go to sesshin at Great Vow this week, I had requested time off from the store—an expensive proposition that hit me hard last time. As the date approached, it became clear that transportation would be difficult (and expensive). Plus there will be a jukai ceremony here, in Corvallis, on Sunday morning.
Happlily, none of this is a problem, because there happens to be a zendo in my back garden! So this afternoon I'll be starting my own three-day retreat, supported by my housemates Rob and Mushin.
My intention is to relax, completely. To become a natural human, to return to a state before words. To just. Sit.
Dig/dirt.
Be/breath/body.
Yes.
To be grateful, and—not knowing the future—to pre-remember bountiful good fortune; to sense just-the-right-thing on the horizon; to be open and ready, knowing the way will open and become clear.
Gassho—to everything, everywhere.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Intercultural Conversation & Joy
I was working in the store one day last week when a passel (I think that's the correct term) of Japanese girls came in. They were so cute, and they were even cuter when they made surprised noises in response to my attempts at Japanese. To be fair, I think my pronounciation is OK, but I am far-from-impressive in vocabulary and grammar. I wasn't showing off, though; I wanted to practice my Japanese—I'm sitting in on a Japanese class this quarter, and loving it in a really deep and visceral way.
The girls responded favorably to my suggestion that we do language practice together, and several rounds of email later, I was hosting Easter for three young ladies: Yuki, Yuri, and Satomi. We decorated eggs....
There were some extremely artistic examples; these are a little family, including the dog.
We had an Easter Egg hunt, meaning Rob and I hid eggs before they came. And our guests gamely searched for them high and low....
After all that, we had snacks and tea—their first time trying black tea with milk and sugar!
It was interesting to me, when I stopped to notice, how completely I threw myself into making Easter happen for these girls. They had only vaguely heard of the holiday; they were here to learn about American culture. Perhaps it's because I was so well taken care of in Japan? Or maybe it's beyond knowing. There was a familiar feel to the bustling around, making dye and pudding beforehand, shopping for candy and baskets to hold the eggs...it reminded me of preparing for guests at the monastery...like a completely warm and open heart that takes pleasure in another's inquistiveness and joy.
Fortunately for everyone, these girls were good at being guests. They didn't blink at the Buddhist images everywhere, and they were pleasantly intrigued by the zendo out back. They were interested my attempts at a sugar-free lifestyle, and let us take them to the Co-op afterwards to buy stevia; they took home leftovers; they didn't worry about being taken care of. And I was so happy. It was a good thing, all around.
Today I met with one girl, Yumi, who couldn't make it on Easter Sunday. Although our rendezvous was at a friendly neighborhood Starbucks, we quickly repaired to a nearby pretentious hippie eatery to get a bit to eat and do some "serious" conversation practice. Yumi helped me write a letter to a Japanese friend, and I helped her with some idiom homework. We talked about "dork" and "geek" and "nerd"—with me doing impressions of these things (not much of a stretch ;-)
Yumi asked if she could use these expressions in other countries. Why no, I said, and I launched into British vs American English, and how chips and fannies and calling can have such different (and embarrassing) meanings in the two cultures. And how, when you apparently speak the same language, misunderstandings can carry a lot more sting than if a non-native speaker were to say something accidentally off-color.
I told her, in glowing terms, about a very good book, Bum Bags and Fanny Packs. It's a fascinating and hilarious dictionary that lays out the differences in the two languages.
As we stood up to leave, a man who had been pecking away at his laptop nearby said (in what I would call a British accent), "Excuse me. I couldn't help overhearing you talking about idioms. That book you mentioned—did you know you can find it online?"
Why no, I didn't.
"Well, it took me about a year to write it," says he.
Incredible. We were talking to the author, Jeremy Smith!
We shook hands. He said that no, he hadn't overheard people discussing his book in public before. Although "Corvallis is a special place, and there seem to be fewer degrees of separation here."
Indeed. With that in mind, I wonder who I'll meet next?
The girls responded favorably to my suggestion that we do language practice together, and several rounds of email later, I was hosting Easter for three young ladies: Yuki, Yuri, and Satomi. We decorated eggs....
There were some extremely artistic examples; these are a little family, including the dog.
We had an Easter Egg hunt, meaning Rob and I hid eggs before they came. And our guests gamely searched for them high and low....
After all that, we had snacks and tea—their first time trying black tea with milk and sugar!
It was interesting to me, when I stopped to notice, how completely I threw myself into making Easter happen for these girls. They had only vaguely heard of the holiday; they were here to learn about American culture. Perhaps it's because I was so well taken care of in Japan? Or maybe it's beyond knowing. There was a familiar feel to the bustling around, making dye and pudding beforehand, shopping for candy and baskets to hold the eggs...it reminded me of preparing for guests at the monastery...like a completely warm and open heart that takes pleasure in another's inquistiveness and joy.
Fortunately for everyone, these girls were good at being guests. They didn't blink at the Buddhist images everywhere, and they were pleasantly intrigued by the zendo out back. They were interested my attempts at a sugar-free lifestyle, and let us take them to the Co-op afterwards to buy stevia; they took home leftovers; they didn't worry about being taken care of. And I was so happy. It was a good thing, all around.
Today I met with one girl, Yumi, who couldn't make it on Easter Sunday. Although our rendezvous was at a friendly neighborhood Starbucks, we quickly repaired to a nearby pretentious hippie eatery to get a bit to eat and do some "serious" conversation practice. Yumi helped me write a letter to a Japanese friend, and I helped her with some idiom homework. We talked about "dork" and "geek" and "nerd"—with me doing impressions of these things (not much of a stretch ;-)
Yumi asked if she could use these expressions in other countries. Why no, I said, and I launched into British vs American English, and how chips and fannies and calling can have such different (and embarrassing) meanings in the two cultures. And how, when you apparently speak the same language, misunderstandings can carry a lot more sting than if a non-native speaker were to say something accidentally off-color.
I told her, in glowing terms, about a very good book, Bum Bags and Fanny Packs. It's a fascinating and hilarious dictionary that lays out the differences in the two languages.
As we stood up to leave, a man who had been pecking away at his laptop nearby said (in what I would call a British accent), "Excuse me. I couldn't help overhearing you talking about idioms. That book you mentioned—did you know you can find it online?"
Why no, I didn't.
"Well, it took me about a year to write it," says he.
Incredible. We were talking to the author, Jeremy Smith!
We shook hands. He said that no, he hadn't overheard people discussing his book in public before. Although "Corvallis is a special place, and there seem to be fewer degrees of separation here."
Indeed. With that in mind, I wonder who I'll meet next?
Friday, April 14, 2006
A Brief Cinematic Thought
Two movies have devastated me lately. Everybody knows about Brokeback Mountain. But another film, different in premise, yet slyly poignant and saddening, is I Capture the Castle.
It's based on a book by Dodie Smith, who also wrote 101 Dalmations (a novel of skill and promise mostly unknown in its original form). I Capture the Castle is written in diary format, and the resulting movie makes strong use of the narrative voice of the 17-year-old protagonist.
In both Brokeback and I Capture, an initial stage of the story deals with a romantic coming-together: a partnering that seems impossible proceeds anyway, to the great relief of certain primal desires. What makes these movies similar, and unlike others, is that they don't stop there; they deal with what comes after "happily every after," which is not happy or simple at all.
I Capture had an added impact because I have never been a cowboy. I have, however been a diary-obsessed 17-year-old, madly trying to make sense of the life into which I'd been cast in a befuddled and idealistic role. Reality so readily transgresses the adolescent storyline of adolescent and turns hard, real and complicated. By the time the movie ends, nobody has behaved entirely honorably, or as they "should," and things end happily only because of an unlikely and unexpected truth-telling.
Unlike Cassandra in I Capture the Castle, it took a few more iterations of reality to convince me that that life was not a game, that I was capable of wreaking—and suffering—great devastation. And telling the truth about uncomfortable internal realities—I'm still not very skilled at that. But that's really the only hope for a future where you can have a simple and free relationship with yourself, and with others.
The heaviness and hopelessness of Brokeback Mountain came from the fact that truth was denied and covered-up; hidden-in-plain-sight, yet never acknowledged. Telling the truth seemed impossible in the short run; but in the long run, falsehoods poisoned everything, including the magic they were intended to protect.
I wonder if the hardest truths to tell aren't, in fact, the most important.
It's based on a book by Dodie Smith, who also wrote 101 Dalmations (a novel of skill and promise mostly unknown in its original form). I Capture the Castle is written in diary format, and the resulting movie makes strong use of the narrative voice of the 17-year-old protagonist.
In both Brokeback and I Capture, an initial stage of the story deals with a romantic coming-together: a partnering that seems impossible proceeds anyway, to the great relief of certain primal desires. What makes these movies similar, and unlike others, is that they don't stop there; they deal with what comes after "happily every after," which is not happy or simple at all.
I Capture had an added impact because I have never been a cowboy. I have, however been a diary-obsessed 17-year-old, madly trying to make sense of the life into which I'd been cast in a befuddled and idealistic role. Reality so readily transgresses the adolescent storyline of adolescent and turns hard, real and complicated. By the time the movie ends, nobody has behaved entirely honorably, or as they "should," and things end happily only because of an unlikely and unexpected truth-telling.
Unlike Cassandra in I Capture the Castle, it took a few more iterations of reality to convince me that that life was not a game, that I was capable of wreaking—and suffering—great devastation. And telling the truth about uncomfortable internal realities—I'm still not very skilled at that. But that's really the only hope for a future where you can have a simple and free relationship with yourself, and with others.
The heaviness and hopelessness of Brokeback Mountain came from the fact that truth was denied and covered-up; hidden-in-plain-sight, yet never acknowledged. Telling the truth seemed impossible in the short run; but in the long run, falsehoods poisoned everything, including the magic they were intended to protect.
I wonder if the hardest truths to tell aren't, in fact, the most important.
Monday, April 10, 2006
The Whole Blog Thing. Plus Dogen.
I've hit a bit of a wall with blogging.
If you are thinking of getting your own blog (you should!), be warned: SiteMeter is dangerous. You may not know it now, but I can see you reading this blog. I can't see your name, but I can see your IP address; your location (hello UK!); the duration of your visit; the google search terms that brought you here; the number of page views on this site; and (often) your out-click destination.
We sat a mini-sesshin (intense!) at my house this weekend; somewhere in there I realized I run the blog, not the other way around. Too much is moving and shifting to be described in any sort of conceptual way. Rather than processing onscreen, I'm staying in bed and watching the sunlight move across the wall. Writing, and being seen, and knowing the number of page views—it's just too much sometimes. So..I don't care what the average visit duration is!
I have gotten a kick out of the search terms that have brought people to my blog. I guesss if I'm repeatedly coming up in searches for "Gempo Merzel" or "Zen Rakusu Instructions" maybe I should address those topics.
So here goes:
"Meave Garigan" is my sister. For you from JHU doing the background on Meave, take it from me: Do not trifle with the Meave. She is probably smarter, stronger, and more beautiful than you are; certainly she exceeds me. She's a good person to have as your friend; a bad person to have eat you for breakfast.
"Hogen Bays" is the co-abbott of Great Vow Zen Monastery. From personal experience, including living and practicing with him for a year and a half, I can say that he is extremely committed, insightful, and dedicated to teaching and manifesting the dharma. There are different styles of practice, and Hogen and Great Vow have a style that differs from others, but you will not find a better place to go deeply into Zen.
"Zen Rakusu Instructions" can very likely be obtained from a large practice center in your particular zen lineage. Great Vow Zen Monastery sews rakusus in the style that Maezumi Roshi brought to ZCLA. This style is distinct from the rakusus sewn by San Francisco Zen Center, its offshoots, and the Minneapolis Zen communities that spring from Katagiri Roshi's lineage. If you are in a position to sew a rakusu, you likely have a contact at one of these places. They will probably be happy to share; just google them.
"Choosing a Spiritual Teacher" is something to be done with all your heart, your instincts, and your faith. It is extremely easy to up and run when the going gets tough; it is also extremely easy to sell yourself body and soul to someone. A discussion of the psychological pitfalls you might encounter in working with a teacher would fill several screens. However, I do believe that (and yes, this is shouting): WORKING WITH A TEACHER IS ESSENTIAL FOR SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
Some would differ: everyone I've talked to who has felt this way has by coincidence seemed to have authority issues, and to be overly confident that they themselves are incapable of getting off course. If you've never made a mistake in your life, and you are a highly-realized person, you don't need a teacher, but you also aren't reading this. You're off being free and perfect and not wondering. However, if you are a regular human being, consider that regular human beings for thousands of years have found working with a teacher to be an integral part of the path—not a convenience, but an essential feature.
In choosing a teacher, it is imperative that you do your homework. Ask who they are, where they came from, how long they've been teaching, and what mistakes they've made. Chozen Roshi has said that it takes a year of watching and work to decide if a teacher is right for you. Even if they pass the basic ethical hurdles, the question of whether they serve you as an effective conduit for the dharma is one that requires some prolonged investigation.
It's true that there are self-appointed Zen teachers floating around; I would discourage working with someone who has spontaneously woken up and is now promulgating the True Dharma that all the other degenerate folk have lost sight of. You don't need separatist zeal; you need someone who will gently point out when you're getting full of yourself. Why go to a person who has that problem in spades? Any whiff of self-promotion should give you serious pause.
Inevitably, a teacher with a raging ego will run into ethical problems. Ask around (and google!)..find out if the person is a paraiah. Of course, every human being makes mistakes. If the person has done harm in the past, how have they acknowledged their errors and taken measures to ensure it doesn't happen again? (People's dirty laundry is a delicate topic and should be honored as such. But if it's absolutely taboo, or discussed with defensive vehemence, why not look elsewhere instead?)
Regarding "Genpo Merzel"—and the following opinions are entirely my own—I am personally uncomfortable with his self-promotion, and with his recurring appearance as a cast member in community upheavals. My knowledge is woefully incomplete, but the picture I'm getting does not inspire great confidence. (If you think otherwise, do tell me so.)
His personality—brash, confident, given to overuse of terms like "enlightenment"—is extremely attractive to some people, and repulsive to others. He certainly charges a lot of money and he certainly is friends with Ken Wilber. Gempo may in fact be a brilliant innovator, or else a self-serving perverter of the dharma: time will tell. Generally speaking, we have a very limited perspective; deriding dharma teachers (particularly large targets like Gempo Roshi) says more about the commentator than the subject. If Big Mind works for you, great. If you're skeptical, you're not alone, and fortunately there are other modes of practice available.
(Another large Love/Hate target is Tenshin Reb Anderson. My personal (incomplete) picture, having done a practice period with Tenshin Roshi, and having observed his and his students' conduct, is that he is a trustworthy teacher who has transmuted his experience with ethical missteps into powerful teaching. People tend to take him very seriously indeed, which probably isn't so helpful for them. Certain of his students may have have confused "effortless naturalness" with "gratification of instinctal desire", but that's a pretty universal practice issue for the passionate.)
One search term that still has me puzzled is "Dogen Irish Catholic"...I can see it now... Dogen Zenji, writing missives to his contemporaries—13th-century Irish monks—as Norman invaders slash their way across Ireland, raiding monasteries, building castles, levying taxes, and so forth:
When it's time to blog, just blog. When it's time to shut up, just shut up. And if you have any question or comment on what I've said, post a comment. Or email me at the following address: dgarigan[at-sign]gmail.com. Maybe I'll blog what we say.
If you are thinking of getting your own blog (you should!), be warned: SiteMeter is dangerous. You may not know it now, but I can see you reading this blog. I can't see your name, but I can see your IP address; your location (hello UK!); the duration of your visit; the google search terms that brought you here; the number of page views on this site; and (often) your out-click destination.
We sat a mini-sesshin (intense!) at my house this weekend; somewhere in there I realized I run the blog, not the other way around. Too much is moving and shifting to be described in any sort of conceptual way. Rather than processing onscreen, I'm staying in bed and watching the sunlight move across the wall. Writing, and being seen, and knowing the number of page views—it's just too much sometimes. So..I don't care what the average visit duration is!
I have gotten a kick out of the search terms that have brought people to my blog. I guesss if I'm repeatedly coming up in searches for "Gempo Merzel" or "Zen Rakusu Instructions" maybe I should address those topics.
So here goes:
"Meave Garigan" is my sister. For you from JHU doing the background on Meave, take it from me: Do not trifle with the Meave. She is probably smarter, stronger, and more beautiful than you are; certainly she exceeds me. She's a good person to have as your friend; a bad person to have eat you for breakfast.
"Hogen Bays" is the co-abbott of Great Vow Zen Monastery. From personal experience, including living and practicing with him for a year and a half, I can say that he is extremely committed, insightful, and dedicated to teaching and manifesting the dharma. There are different styles of practice, and Hogen and Great Vow have a style that differs from others, but you will not find a better place to go deeply into Zen.
"Zen Rakusu Instructions" can very likely be obtained from a large practice center in your particular zen lineage. Great Vow Zen Monastery sews rakusus in the style that Maezumi Roshi brought to ZCLA. This style is distinct from the rakusus sewn by San Francisco Zen Center, its offshoots, and the Minneapolis Zen communities that spring from Katagiri Roshi's lineage. If you are in a position to sew a rakusu, you likely have a contact at one of these places. They will probably be happy to share; just google them.
"Choosing a Spiritual Teacher" is something to be done with all your heart, your instincts, and your faith. It is extremely easy to up and run when the going gets tough; it is also extremely easy to sell yourself body and soul to someone. A discussion of the psychological pitfalls you might encounter in working with a teacher would fill several screens. However, I do believe that (and yes, this is shouting): WORKING WITH A TEACHER IS ESSENTIAL FOR SPIRITUAL GROWTH.
Some would differ: everyone I've talked to who has felt this way has by coincidence seemed to have authority issues, and to be overly confident that they themselves are incapable of getting off course. If you've never made a mistake in your life, and you are a highly-realized person, you don't need a teacher, but you also aren't reading this. You're off being free and perfect and not wondering. However, if you are a regular human being, consider that regular human beings for thousands of years have found working with a teacher to be an integral part of the path—not a convenience, but an essential feature.
In choosing a teacher, it is imperative that you do your homework. Ask who they are, where they came from, how long they've been teaching, and what mistakes they've made. Chozen Roshi has said that it takes a year of watching and work to decide if a teacher is right for you. Even if they pass the basic ethical hurdles, the question of whether they serve you as an effective conduit for the dharma is one that requires some prolonged investigation.
It's true that there are self-appointed Zen teachers floating around; I would discourage working with someone who has spontaneously woken up and is now promulgating the True Dharma that all the other degenerate folk have lost sight of. You don't need separatist zeal; you need someone who will gently point out when you're getting full of yourself. Why go to a person who has that problem in spades? Any whiff of self-promotion should give you serious pause.
Inevitably, a teacher with a raging ego will run into ethical problems. Ask around (and google!)..find out if the person is a paraiah. Of course, every human being makes mistakes. If the person has done harm in the past, how have they acknowledged their errors and taken measures to ensure it doesn't happen again? (People's dirty laundry is a delicate topic and should be honored as such. But if it's absolutely taboo, or discussed with defensive vehemence, why not look elsewhere instead?)
Regarding "Genpo Merzel"—and the following opinions are entirely my own—I am personally uncomfortable with his self-promotion, and with his recurring appearance as a cast member in community upheavals. My knowledge is woefully incomplete, but the picture I'm getting does not inspire great confidence. (If you think otherwise, do tell me so.)
His personality—brash, confident, given to overuse of terms like "enlightenment"—is extremely attractive to some people, and repulsive to others. He certainly charges a lot of money and he certainly is friends with Ken Wilber. Gempo may in fact be a brilliant innovator, or else a self-serving perverter of the dharma: time will tell. Generally speaking, we have a very limited perspective; deriding dharma teachers (particularly large targets like Gempo Roshi) says more about the commentator than the subject. If Big Mind works for you, great. If you're skeptical, you're not alone, and fortunately there are other modes of practice available.
(Another large Love/Hate target is Tenshin Reb Anderson. My personal (incomplete) picture, having done a practice period with Tenshin Roshi, and having observed his and his students' conduct, is that he is a trustworthy teacher who has transmuted his experience with ethical missteps into powerful teaching. People tend to take him very seriously indeed, which probably isn't so helpful for them. Certain of his students may have have confused "effortless naturalness" with "gratification of instinctal desire", but that's a pretty universal practice issue for the passionate.)
One search term that still has me puzzled is "Dogen Irish Catholic"...I can see it now... Dogen Zenji, writing missives to his contemporaries—13th-century Irish monks—as Norman invaders slash their way across Ireland, raiding monasteries, building castles, levying taxes, and so forth:
Think deeply in your heart of the impermanence of the world. It is not a matter of meditating using some provisional method of contemplation. It is not a matter of fabricating in our heads that which does not really exist. Impermanence is truly the reality right in front of our eyes. We need not wait for some teaching from others, proof from some passage of scripture, or some principle. Born in the morning, dead in the evening, a person we saw yesterday is no longer here today—these are the facts we see with our eyes and hear with our ears.
When it's time to blog, just blog. When it's time to shut up, just shut up. And if you have any question or comment on what I've said, post a comment. Or email me at the following address: dgarigan[at-sign]gmail.com. Maybe I'll blog what we say.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
The Great Way
The Great Way is not difficult for those who do not pick and choose—
When preferences are cast aside, the Way stands clear and undisguised.
Verses of the Hsin Hsin Ming
Monday, April 03, 2006
Awareness is Always Available
In the dreariest days of winter
Not understanding how the heart and body do their thing
Hanging curtains, sneaking a smoke
Plotting my next move
Buying daffodils from brother and sister child flower-farmers
Proofreading a three-hundred-page doctoral thesis
on adult literacy education in Bangladesh
(With no notice, due in the morning)
I have some faith that it's possible to keep loving the Way,
to be devoted to the one
un-understandable
totally
intimate
truth.
Not understanding how the heart and body do their thing
Hanging curtains, sneaking a smoke
Plotting my next move
Buying daffodils from brother and sister child flower-farmers
Proofreading a three-hundred-page doctoral thesis
on adult literacy education in Bangladesh
(With no notice, due in the morning)
I have some faith that it's possible to keep loving the Way,
to be devoted to the one
un-understandable
totally
intimate
truth.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
In the Electronic Dharma Hall, A Discourse:
I asked Munen Josh Bartok if I could share these excerpts from our email correspondence. Josh is an editor at Wisdom Publications, a great thinker and speaker, and more importantly, a great friend.
Munen is responding to an email message that became a blog post back in February.
Munen:
First of all, when you say "mind creates the world" I wonder if you are looking at the Byram translation of the Dhammapada, published by Shambhala (because that's how he translates it). I think it's a really really unfortunate translation, to the point of being not what the Buddha taught (and I never let any of my authors cite it). But it's catchy, and it's from Shambhala, so these memes propagate.
Here's Byrom:
We are, of course, NOT what we think. This is the fundamental error that is the root of ignorance. We are not our thoughts, we are not our emotions, our ideas, our understandings, our perceptions, our personality, or our body. (These are the five skandhas/aggrates, with "formations" broken into several).
Consider this translation of the same material from Thanissaro Bhikkhu:
Or, consider this one,from Acharya Buddharakkhita:
And then there is this koan:
To say that "three worlds are nothing but mind" is one thing, but to say that "mind creates the world" is another. What creates mind? What is the world? What is "creates"?
And we can bring home to our experience in zazen:
When sitting in zazen, there aren't two kind of mental states. There are the kind we let go of and "the good kind". We let go everything that arises---we even let go of "letting go" itself. (And we let go of the one who lets go). And then there is only this.
And so, consciousness not only doesn't dwell "within this body" it also doesn't dwell "in" anything else, or anything at all. Perhaps objects, bodies, and we ourselves "dwell" in consciousness. But it's not "our" consciousness by any stretch of the imagination. It's the universe's consciousness. it's the universe itself. For me, this is the only conception of God that makes sense.
One modern writer, when asked if she believed in God, responded with, "Do you believe in trees?"
This is God of Meister Eckhart, the god who looks at us with the same eyes with which we look back. In Pure Land Buddhism, this is Amida Buddha, the universe/dharmakaya-as-compassion (and because this compassion is the universe itself, is every phenomenon, every dharma, every asising, it "pervades" everywhere). This is also not different from Maha Vairochana Buddha, the universe/dharmakaya as enlightenment (and because this enlightenment is the universe itself, is every phenomenon, every dharma, every asising, it "pervades" everywhere).
Shugetsu:
I do appreciate your point that anything I can express is a mental
formation. Trying to describe experience seems like a dangerous
undertaking. Until recently I had some notion that it was possible to
correctly "feel" the world, and it was only the verbalization of it
that was confounded by concepts. Lately I am finding glimmers of doubt
around the edges of that belief. Life still looks like life, but this
world is actually NOT as I believe it to be.
I've come to trust my "sense" of things, for example if someone is
relating to me with lack or respect, or with lust, or whatever. It's
just a natural emotional intelligence. But I'm realizing that if I'm
not clear, I can't trust those energetic impressions. And I don' t
know when I'm clear. If I get a huge hit of nasty-lust vibe off
someone..it could be them..it could be me..it could be anything,
traipsing through the local mind-territory.
Mark Unno (bless him) told me that practice has to be 51% of our
lives, the container that holds and gives perspective to everything
else. Integral to that orientation is the intuition that we are only
aware of a very small part of the mystery. I'm realizing that the
things I thought I had pinned down aren't known either!
Munen is responding to an email message that became a blog post back in February.
Munen:
First of all, when you say "mind creates the world" I wonder if you are looking at the Byram translation of the Dhammapada, published by Shambhala (because that's how he translates it). I think it's a really really unfortunate translation, to the point of being not what the Buddha taught (and I never let any of my authors cite it). But it's catchy, and it's from Shambhala, so these memes propagate.
Here's Byrom:
We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with an impure mind
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.
We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with a pure mind
And happiness will follow you
As your shadow, unshakable.
We are, of course, NOT what we think. This is the fundamental error that is the root of ignorance. We are not our thoughts, we are not our emotions, our ideas, our understandings, our perceptions, our personality, or our body. (These are the five skandhas/aggrates, with "formations" broken into several).
Consider this translation of the same material from Thanissaro Bhikkhu:
Phenomena are preceded by the heart,
ruled by the heart,
made of the heart.
If you speak or act
with a corrupted heart,
then suffering follows you —
as the wheel of the cart,
the track of the ox
that pulls it.
Phenomena are preceded by the heart,
ruled by the heart,
made of the heart.
If you speak or act
with a calm, bright heart,
then happiness follows you,
like a shadow
that never leaves.
Or, consider this one,from Acharya Buddharakkhita:
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought.
If with an impure mind a person speaks or acts suffering follows him like the wheel that follows the foot of the ox.
Mind precedes all mental states. Mind is their chief; they are all mind-wrought.
If with a pure mind a person speaks or acts happiness follows him like his never-departing shadow.
And then there is this koan:
Fayan decided to leave Dizang, the old teacher walked him out to the front gate and said, "You always say that the three worlds are only mind and that the myriad things are only consciousness. Is that true?" Fayan said, "Yes." Dizang pointed to a rock in the garden and said, "Tell me, is this rock inside your mind or outside your mind?" Fayan said, "It is inside my mind." Dizang said, "Why do you carry a rock around in your head?" Fayan could not answer so he put down his bundle, went back inside the temple to study further with Dizang.
To say that "three worlds are nothing but mind" is one thing, but to say that "mind creates the world" is another. What creates mind? What is the world? What is "creates"?
And we can bring home to our experience in zazen:
When sitting in zazen, there aren't two kind of mental states. There are the kind we let go of and "the good kind". We let go everything that arises---we even let go of "letting go" itself. (And we let go of the one who lets go). And then there is only this.
And so, consciousness not only doesn't dwell "within this body" it also doesn't dwell "in" anything else, or anything at all. Perhaps objects, bodies, and we ourselves "dwell" in consciousness. But it's not "our" consciousness by any stretch of the imagination. It's the universe's consciousness. it's the universe itself. For me, this is the only conception of God that makes sense.
One modern writer, when asked if she believed in God, responded with, "Do you believe in trees?"
This is God of Meister Eckhart, the god who looks at us with the same eyes with which we look back. In Pure Land Buddhism, this is Amida Buddha, the universe/dharmakaya-as-compassion (and because this compassion is the universe itself, is every phenomenon, every dharma, every asising, it "pervades" everywhere). This is also not different from Maha Vairochana Buddha, the universe/dharmakaya as enlightenment (and because this enlightenment is the universe itself, is every phenomenon, every dharma, every asising, it "pervades" everywhere).
Shugetsu:
I do appreciate your point that anything I can express is a mental
formation. Trying to describe experience seems like a dangerous
undertaking. Until recently I had some notion that it was possible to
correctly "feel" the world, and it was only the verbalization of it
that was confounded by concepts. Lately I am finding glimmers of doubt
around the edges of that belief. Life still looks like life, but this
world is actually NOT as I believe it to be.
I've come to trust my "sense" of things, for example if someone is
relating to me with lack or respect, or with lust, or whatever. It's
just a natural emotional intelligence. But I'm realizing that if I'm
not clear, I can't trust those energetic impressions. And I don' t
know when I'm clear. If I get a huge hit of nasty-lust vibe off
someone..it could be them..it could be me..it could be anything,
traipsing through the local mind-territory.
Mark Unno (bless him) told me that practice has to be 51% of our
lives, the container that holds and gives perspective to everything
else. Integral to that orientation is the intuition that we are only
aware of a very small part of the mystery. I'm realizing that the
things I thought I had pinned down aren't known either!
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Updates from the Realm of Birth and Death
Mushin's father is dying. Valerie's mother passed last week.
Who knows where they go?
It's almost as if the customers are here to teach me something about myself. Last week there was a spate of young women with cancer, and nearly as many wearing saint's medals. In the midst of a lot of self-centered thinking, I was forced to really be grateful for my life.
Today, it seemed like every woman in the store was pregnant. Most seemed gloriously full: they had huge bellies, and a certain settled, cuddly feeling. Spring is certainly here; everything is bursting forth; and there are human babies incubating, biding their time.
Who knows where they come from? And being born, where their lives will lead? Something will hurt them; something will heal them; something will delude and deceive them. They will find a path through the hours and days, and they will grow old if they don't die young. From something, something else will arise: that's how it goes here in the realm of birth and death.
The third woman—she's very young, maybe 19— is a former employee who quit the store in a huff. But recently she's come by to see if we're hiring. And today I found out why she wants so badly to work.
She has a tiny little ring on her finger, and a diffident and vaguely-submissive boy by her side. But she's so small. And so young. Going for the ultrasound today; she doesn't know how far along she is.
That could have been me. Through karma, I am here and she is there: we stood by the shoes, looking at one another.
She has no idea what she's getting into. But then—none of us do. We do our thing and find our way and are driven by karma we barely comprehend. At the end, we die, and our death reflects the manner in which we've lived. The last thing we do bears all the marks of the habits we've cultivated, and of the life we've lived.
I am really seeing that mental habits and reactions have created this self. That the experience of being "me" in this moment.. and this one, is the product of years upon years of worldviews, reactions and responses.
I have become exactly what I created; I have arrived exactly where I was headed all along. How could it be any other way? And knowing that, where do I want to go? What do I want to become? What will I be when it is time to die?
I don't know what to say. I can look at this or I can hide.
Dharma teacher John King, the SF Zen Center teacher mentioned here in an earlier post—teaching still as he dies of throat cancer—recently celebrated a living wake with sangha members in San Francisco. My dear friend Kichu Jika, Michael Donnoe, has posted photos on his Flickr site:
May we all travel well.
Who knows where they go?
It's almost as if the customers are here to teach me something about myself. Last week there was a spate of young women with cancer, and nearly as many wearing saint's medals. In the midst of a lot of self-centered thinking, I was forced to really be grateful for my life.
Today, it seemed like every woman in the store was pregnant. Most seemed gloriously full: they had huge bellies, and a certain settled, cuddly feeling. Spring is certainly here; everything is bursting forth; and there are human babies incubating, biding their time.
Who knows where they come from? And being born, where their lives will lead? Something will hurt them; something will heal them; something will delude and deceive them. They will find a path through the hours and days, and they will grow old if they don't die young. From something, something else will arise: that's how it goes here in the realm of birth and death.
The third woman—she's very young, maybe 19— is a former employee who quit the store in a huff. But recently she's come by to see if we're hiring. And today I found out why she wants so badly to work.
She has a tiny little ring on her finger, and a diffident and vaguely-submissive boy by her side. But she's so small. And so young. Going for the ultrasound today; she doesn't know how far along she is.
That could have been me. Through karma, I am here and she is there: we stood by the shoes, looking at one another.
She has no idea what she's getting into. But then—none of us do. We do our thing and find our way and are driven by karma we barely comprehend. At the end, we die, and our death reflects the manner in which we've lived. The last thing we do bears all the marks of the habits we've cultivated, and of the life we've lived.
I am really seeing that mental habits and reactions have created this self. That the experience of being "me" in this moment.. and this one, is the product of years upon years of worldviews, reactions and responses.
I have become exactly what I created; I have arrived exactly where I was headed all along. How could it be any other way? And knowing that, where do I want to go? What do I want to become? What will I be when it is time to die?
I don't know what to say. I can look at this or I can hide.
Dharma teacher John King, the SF Zen Center teacher mentioned here in an earlier post—teaching still as he dies of throat cancer—recently celebrated a living wake with sangha members in San Francisco. My dear friend Kichu Jika, Michael Donnoe, has posted photos on his Flickr site:
May we all travel well.
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