Dharma Rain Character

Still Point

Newsletter of Dharma Rain Zen Center

Portland, Oregon

Volume XXIX Number 4

July-August 2004

 


     
     
     


"The Spring wind has blown across the fields, and the light of summer controls all directions. The lord of enlightenment emerges, and on this day the Dharma has been fulfilled everywhere. Nothing disturbed us for ninety days and all trainees were at peace. The power and virtue of the teaching protected us, and we are deeply grateful. With respect and devotion we chant the names of Buddha and bow to the Bodhisattvas who guard this temple."

At the end of the Spring training term, the Kanin, or temple director, recites these lines during the closing ceremony. Then, along with the large gong, we all recite, "Vairochana Buddha, pure Dharmakaya, Lochana Buddha, complete Sambhogakaya..." Then the Kanin continues:

"The virtue obtained by chanting the names of Buddha protects the True Law and bestows on us the Blessings of the Earth. We beseech her and all the Bodhisattvas to share the force of their spirit with us, that our deeds will be fruitful, our joy pure, and our bliss eternal and selfless." The Abbot and Kanin are then seated on either side of the altar, and everyone takes their seats. The Kanin invites each person to make a brief statement about how the practice term went for them. Then the Kanin and Abbot make a few remarks. When this done, they go back to their places in the hall and the Abbot recites:

"The Dharma has been fulfilled, and I deeply appreciate the efforts of all trainees. I thank everyone from the bottom of my heart (makes a standing bow). All of us are travelers on the same pilgrimage. Today our training period is over. When this ceremony is finished please feel free to go wherever you wish." Then the Shuso goes to the altar, blows out the candle, goes to the abbot, bows, returns to his/her seat and says in firm voice:

"Rest."

This ceremony is based on the one described in the chapter "Ango," which means "training term," in Dogen Zenji's Shobogenzo. I've always been struck by the way the Abbot releases all the monks from the formal vows of practice they undertake during Ango. Of course, all monks remaining in the monastery are still under the basic rules of discipline, but the schedule is no longer as strenuous, and more attention is given to practical matters. In large training monasteries, most of the monks there for training would return to home temples, and only a few would remain to maintain the monastery. This tradition harkens back to the early days of Buddhist monastic life, when the monks would gather together during the rainy season to devote themselves to focused meditation practice. During the dry seasons, they would scatter to do more solitary practice while wandering and begging for alms. Settled, permanent monastic communities grew from this early practice of spending three months in concentrated meditation.

Here at Dharma Rain, a temple that focuses on lay practice, this model still serves us well. There are times in our lives when the Way-Seeking Mind is particularly strong. It rises to the top of the priority list, so to speak. When that happens, it is good to clarify what it is that is impelling us at that time. Underneath it all, of course, is the primary quest, the main reason for practice, which is Anuttara-samyaksambodhi, or "unsurpassed, complete, perfect enlightenment." We have an instinct for this, rather like homing pigeons, or swallows returning to Capistrano. But at any point in time there are more specific, more personal motivations that impel us. Perhaps it is the recognition of time passing. Perhaps it is a realization about suffering, such as how our personal relationships all seem to go awry in the same way. It may be the recognition that we need to assert ourselves more forcefully and more clearly. When we put a finger on this specific matter, we have a personal koan, and we can name our aspiration. This is where vows of practice can be helpful. Clarifying these aspirations, writing them down, and deciding to direct practice and intention in a particular direction for a period of time is helpful in keeping our attention and effort focused and not slip into what Thich Nhat Hanh calls "lapsing into forgetfulness." So at the start of a training term we suggest that people take on vows of practice, or at least take a look at their intention for the coming three month period of time. Such vows include options for flexibility, and have a specific end date. It is good to put them down in order to gain some clarity and to reassess.

Putting down a vow, letting go of specific intentions, is a return to naturalness, and this brings me back to the end of term ceremony. During the summer months, the schedule at Dharma Rain is relaxed quite a bit. It's not done away with entirely, mind you, but we reduce the formality quite a bit as a way of emphasizing the naturalness of practice. Summer in Oregon is glorious. What better practice than to make enjoying it our intention? Plus, I have to say, it always does me good to see people yearning for more structure by the time the fall term comes around. Absence of form, as the saying goes, makes the heart grow fonder. What follows here are some thoughts a number of the members have contributed about this particular form of practice, focusing on the relaxation of form.-- Kyogen Carlson

As we come to summer and start to think about letting up a bit on practice, I always find myself revisiting the old koan about what is practice and what is not practice. In my early years of coming to DRZC, being a heavily "green" person (thank you Gyokuko for such great classes on the wisdom energies!), practice meant doing lots of things at the Center. Lots of zazen, Sunday service, Wednesday classes, taking on jobs and helping out with whatever projects I could. By the time summer came along I was ready to drop it all, and often I did just that. But it was interesting to notice how practice (now read zazen) had snuck into my life and changed how I saw things and how I reacted to the world. Even when I wasn't practicing.

Now, I have come to think of practice as anything that requires the effort of my attention. During the year when we come together to practice, my attention is turned more to the forms we hold as a sangha and the space we create when we practice together. During the summer months my attention is on my garden, leisure time with my family and other such things. There is very little structure to it all, but because of my practice with the forms, there is still the attention. And I find my whole life is fuller because of it.-- Gwen Kisei Martin

As a farmer, I am truly grateful to engage in work that allows me to deeply engage formal practice in the winter and the natural loosening of the form in the summer. My life mirrors the old tradition of the rainy season retreats. Summer becomes my unchaperoned return to the world, ironically, the marketplace - which is literally where I go, distributing lettuces and zucchini. It is a rich practice place, obvious in its range of human expression that swings between desire and grace, and I've yet to clarify bliss bestowing hands. Though I struggle, this farm I work for is the perfect training grounds - a small community gathering for the season, intimately sharing an unrepeatable ritual together. There are altars everywhere and nature as a strict teacher. I spend much of my off time with the growing Eugene Zendo sangha, who are close to my heart and are familiar friends of the farm as well. As a group, we hope to build a meditation hall on the property to support sesshins we have held out here for the last three years.

Nonetheless, summer accentuates the issue of my distance from Dharma Rain - an increasingly difficult experience for me of late, the lack of contact and continuity with teachers and dharma friends who I have come to know between long absences. It is some consolation to feel as if I am participating with the energy of the group according with the change of pace DRZC follows during this time. When the air first begins to cool, the late summer schedule here holds the seed of the return in the autumn. There is the purposeful drive north on I-5 that I have done for many years now - to see the smile of a good dharma friend, to hear the tone of the teacher's voice. It is strange from where I write at the farm, that I should know this other house on Madison so well - its blue shag rug, which button to press on the phone to make an out-call, the cupboard where the blue bowls belong, whose footsteps are coming down the stairs. Though surrounded by green and quiet today, there's something about that incongruous walk across the street to the zendo before the distant city skyline that makes me remember.-- Debra Seido Martin

The compassion of the Buddha is very great, very gentle, supporting us wherever we may find ourselves. One of the ways that this manifests abundantly is through Sangha, though this may not be recognized at first. I have been a practitioner at Dharma Rain for almost two years now and my second summer is approaching. I did not realize what a treasure the Sangha truly is until last summer, when the forms I had been depending upon dropped away. Suddenly I felt isolated and fell into despair. I could not understand why there needed to be a summer break. I tried unsuccessfully to carry on the usual schedule on my own. Angry, discouraged, and feeling spiritually crippled, I limped along and finally found a level of practice that I could maintain. As my confidence in practice took root I even came to enjoy my practice away from the Center.-- Todd Fifield

I sometimes think of my practice here in Germany as an extended period of what I think of as "summer practice." For me, that means practice without the support of the forms such as regular service and attending classes. It has been a challenging time, but also a time of pleasant discoveries. Practicing away from all the supports of formal practice has allowed me to see what of the practice I have really internalized and hold on my own, as well as those aspects of practice that definitely need more work. Being away from the sangha and forms, I am discovering a great trust and reliance on the amazing power of the simple practice of zazen. So much wisdom comes from the simple act of stopping and listening. I am also seeing the truth of what one teacher told me when I asked about the value of practicing alone. I was told, "This is not so good. Practice with others when you can."-- Jody Shintai Dungay

I used to abhor and fear the light summer schedule. Formal practice gave my life meaning and - as I saw it - was the only thing that allowed me to make any progress in meditation or in character work. The chaos of life without an external schedule allowed me to lapse into laziness, torpor and forgetfulness. How quickly it seemed that my mind would slide back into pre-practice mode: periods of frenetic activity punctuated by depression, all within a thick mind-smog. I would try to finagle practice agreements out of my fellow trainees so our mutual expectations would provide at least some structure. They resisted and resented me.

Finally, as one summer approached, I told a senior I felt abandoned during the summer. She asked me why I didn't take a break, too. A light suddenly dawned on me, and possibilities stretched out before me I can rest! I can revel in a simple appreciation of my environment! I can spend more social time with other people! I can engage in independent spiritual practices that I don't get to do during the formal practice term, such as backpacking. I can revert to my own internal clock, which keeps me up into the glorious wee night hours but doesn't wake me up until 8am. Since then, summer has seemed too short rather than too long. Before I could allow myself to take a break, however, I had to slowly build my faith in myself and in the practice. I trust that the structure will come again, and know that when it does, I will meet it wholeheartedly.-- Domyo Dawn Sater

My practice tends to heat up in the summer. I love the Stillpoint retreat as an opportunity for profound stillness in the midst of summer activity. Years ago when I first began attending at Dharma Rain, the whole place closed down for a month, and for another month all activities were available only to members. It felt to me like a spiritual desert when my first encounter was a one-day intro retreat in May, and then for two whole months I couldn't come to the center. As the summer after that approached, this became a strong motivation for me to become a member! Every year after, there was less of this dropping off, and more pieces of the schedule remained for the duration of the summer. Maybe that was because of people like me who have a natural inclination to deepen the practice during the heat of the year.

Another thing I like about summertime is the opportunity for deepening sangha ties and friendships. We share our individual dharmas as peers through less formal conversations. We bring our focus outward to each other. Summer seems to be the time for spiritual tourism, and many guests pass through to check the place out; some never to be seen again, and others who have obviously stuck around. --Heidi Enji Hoogstra

Over a few years my view has shifted from shock & dismay (I thought we were supposed to have our hair on fire... what's this break about?) to realizing my practice is my responsibility, wherever and whenever and whatever, to just this.-- Joseph Mugaku Engum

As a teacher, I really love summer activities, because I can often participate in them in ways that are more difficult during the school year. Oddly enough, I can rarely do the Stillpoint sesshin, because it always seems to conflict with a manager's retreat and my master's class weekend. That will be true this year as well. I really miss that.

I really liked it when we made the summer Sunday schedule the same as the winter schedule (i.e., starting zazen at 8:30 instead of 9am). And I enjoy the discussions we get to have in the summer. I do think we could be more purposeful about Wednesday night encouragement talks, but I appreciate getting to sit and at least touch base with everyone on Wednesdays.

Even if I don't participate in everything, it really helps me a lot to know that the opportunity is there.-- Sylvan Genko Rainwater

 

by Allison Yuko Kreiger

I wait with bated breath for the explosion. In just a few weeks the garden will be large and in charge, bursting forth with more harvest than we can eat fresh here at Great Vow Zen Monastery. I am the head gardener, and, armed with gloves, pocket knife, and buckets, I'm braced and ready for the work that lies ahead.

The first gardening position I ever took was on the East Coast in 1998. Familiar only with gardening theories, I was nervous to actually raise vegetables, thinking that their susceptible plant-bodies would fail to thrive if I turned my glance away for a moment. By the end of that season, after working first-hand with tenacious roots, aphid-defying tomatoes and hail-proof stalks, I was a humbled believer in the power and strength of life itself ‹ that energy which grows a garden, the deer that invade it and the compost that feeds it.

In the gymnastic classes I took as a child there was what was called a "spotter" - a person who stood beside as tricky moves were executed, ready to catch a fall with open arms - and that is how I view my role in the garden now. Every year, nearly invisible seeds turn miraculously into intricate, fragrant, strong plants. My only job is to watch it all unfold with the eye of a spotter, catching and fixing any imbalances that arise within the garden.

I grow with the vegetables. We live together, the months marking transformation in us all as our lives pass with the changing rains and temperatures. In experiencing the birth and death of so many lives every season, I become a bit more comfortable that this is my nature, too - to grow, to open and share, to fall back to the earth when this body is done.

The garden is a community, and each creature out there has its own purpose, its own drive. Sometimes it seems as though they are antithetical to one another - the gardener wants to erase the slug, who wants to eat the lettuce, who wants to grow and spread its seed. In observing the garden over time I grow in acceptance, learning again and again that we are a community together, mysterious and thriving, and that if that slug were gone, so would be the garden as I know it.

May you and your garden grow well this summer.

Ed. note: The following article highlights changes in how formal Sanzen will be offered, changes that will be implemented this summer, and continue when Fall term begins.

Sanzen (in the Sôtô school, more commonly called dokusan), means something along the line of "going for Zen" or "going to meet the high seat." It is considered to be as old as Buddhism, first practiced between Shakyamuni and his disciples.

Sanzen is a private, formal exchange between a teacher and a student. In many Zen centers, it is reserved for those in a long-term relationship with a teacher because, over time, it is a subtle and intimate experience. At Dharma Rain, anyone can participate, but there is a specific form and intention involved. The information here describes the formal practice we do on Sundays, during retreats, and occasionally at other times.

Certain topics are best addressed in longer, private conversations with a teacher, which we call "informal sanzen." This is a kind of spiritual counseling, and is appropriate for dealing with problems of daily life, emotional crisis, or more complicated instruction on practice. To make this kind of appointment, we encourage practitioners to call the center.

We often speak of sanzen as being about "question and answer," but this is not completely accurate. The purpose is to present yourself - your practice - as it is at that moment, in a focused and undefended way. This may be expressed as a question, as a statement, or even without words. It is a brief experience of allowing one's life to be seen without disguise or decoration, and to receive comment, direction, or teaching without resistance.

Sanzen is not intended to be an opportunity to catch up on the details of one's life in a conversational way. Students are encouraged to come to sanzen when they feel something growing or changing in their practice, or when they are confused or struggling to articulate an experience. The teachers ask that the students come with their minds centered on the specific quality of their question or practice, rather than in an unconsidered or unformed state, even if they find it difficult to express in words.

The exchange is intended to be quite brief, no more than a few moments. The teacher will "ring out" the student when he or she feels the interview has come to a conclusion. This may leave the student with more questions than he or she brought, and a sense of bewilderment or dissatisfaction is common. This is an on-going process, and the student is expected to then puzzle out the next step and bring it forward at a later time.

If you want to go to sanzen, you must be at the zendo before the first zazen bell at 8:30, and sign a list. The number is limited due to time constraints. (If time runs out before your turn, you will be given the opportunity to return the following week.) After zazen begins, the jisha will make an announcement, either inviting the first half of the list or the entire list to come out. You wait for sanzen either in chairs or on zabutons, continuing to do zazen in silence until your turn.

If you need instruction on the form at this time, the jisha can provide it quietly before you take your seat.

Each person rings a bell before entering the room. You will know it is your turn when the person before is "rung out" by the teacher. At this time, quickly rise, go to the calling bell, and strike it once loudly. The teacher will ring in answer and you should immediately enter the room, closing the door quietly, and make a brief bow at the waist in gassho; this is an entering bow and not directed at the teacher.

Then turn toward the altar and make one full bow, rise, side step to the seat in front of the teacher and greet him or her with a bow, and take the seat. Begin immediately. When the teacher rings the closing bell, rise without any further exchange and without straightening the zafu, make a bow from the waist in front of the altar, then go to the door and leave while making a half-bow from the waist. Please close the door quietly behind you.

 

Submit!

The newsletter is put together in the first week of every other month. Submissions are very welcome: short or long articles, which can be on any point of practice, including travel, research or personal experience; descriptions of events we've had; the occasional poem or drawing.

Send your items to: newsletter@dharma-rain.org, or by regular mail, or drop it off in the newsletter slot in the Center house office.

 

 

 

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STILL POINT edit of 21 June 2004
archive edit 30 October 2004
Dharma Rain Zen Center Newsletter
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Volume XXIX Number 4 July August 2004
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