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Newsletter of Dharma Rain Zen Center Portland, Oregon Volume XXIV Number 4 July-August 1999
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"In the same way that a parent cares for an only child, keep the Three Treasures in your mind." 1
- Dogen Zenji in Tenzo Kyokun
It was spring of 1237. Dogen, the founder of a fledging monastic community just south of Kyoto, had finally finished his Tenzo Kyokun, "Instructions for the Chief Cook." This was one of a series of operational essays he had been developing for the monks in training. He was setting forth monastic regulations in the tradition of the Chinese monasteries where he trained over ten years earlier. But most importantly for future generations, Dogen was also describing how enlightenment is actualized within normal daily activity. In the Tenzo Kyokun, Dogen presents three attributes or qualities of mind that define a mature Buddhist practitioner, a Chief Cook: kishin (joyful mind), daishin (magnanimous mind), and roshin (parental mind). The quality of roshin, parental mind, is the selfless concern that exemplifies a parent's devotion to his child. Dogen says this attitude is how all tasks should be approached and how all things should be used. " . . . When you handle water, rice or anything else, you must have the affectionate and caring concern of a parent raising a child."Dogen was characteristically precise in his selection of parental mind as the expression of loving concern for the qualities of parental mind uniquely portray enlightened activity. For example, parental mind expresses the attentiveness that naturally arises from the oneness beyond the physical body. The child is the immediate extension of the parent's biological reality. Parent and child share the same background; they hold the same family history, hopes, and dreams; for better or worse, they stand in the same karmic stream.
As a metaphor for enlightened activity, parental mind expresses loving concern without attachment. Every action springing from a parent's concern ultimately has but one purpose -- to prepare the child to leave home and to dissolve the dependent parent-child relationship. The successful parent, regardless of his circumstances, does not hinder this separation. He nurtures his child and prepares the child to make his way as a responsible adult, unfettered by emotional, psychological, or financial attachments.
Parental mind, like enlightened activity, responds and adapts, expressing loving concern according to circumstance. The attention of the infant's parent focuses on the basic needs -- food, warmth, and protection. But as the child grows and his experiences widen, the parental mind responds to the expanding needs to teach and to discipline. Ultimately, as the child becomes a young adult, parental mind is expressed passively, the parent becomes the yardstick, against which the young adult will compare new belief systems and will test the bounds and consequences of his actions.
From his early youth, Tettsu Gikai displayed fortitude, strength of character, and directness of vision. As a young monk, he became an accomplished practitioner of Buddhism. He was ordained as a Tendai monk and mastered the Pure Land sutras. He became impatient with Tendai establishment and desired a more direct approach to Buddhism. Therefore, he joined the Daruma sect of Rinzai Zen, practicing under the guidance of Master Ekan. Later in 1241 when Gikai was only 22 years old, he, his teacher Ekan, and other monks of Ekan's Daruma-shu entered Dogen's community. Gikai and Ekan wholeheartedly accepted Dogen's teachings and remained with him. But within ten years of joining Dogen's community, Ekan became terminally ill. During Ekan's final days at Eihei-ji, his friend and disciple, Gikai, nursed and cared for him. On his deathbed, Ekan transmitted the Rinzai Daruma-shu lineage to Gikai and recognized him as his successor, apparently with Dogen's approval.
This attribute called parental mind, this quality of action-expressing-enlightenment, becomes a frequent theme in Dogen's later writings and lectures. Even during his last days at Eihei-ji, as Dogen was making last minute preparations for a trip to Kyoto commanded by his patron for medical treatment, he found time to admonish a monk for not cultivating parental mind. The monk, Tettsu Gikai, reported that Dogen had chided him once before and now, during Dogen's final preparations, a second and a third time for not cultivating this quality exemplified by a parent's selfless concern. In that autumn of 1253, Dogen knew his illness was serious and that he probably would never return to his mountain monastery. It was imperative that he remind this promising monk, a future vessel of the Dharma, to develop the attitude of roshin, which Dogen also referred to as robashin, grandmotherly mind. At that time, Gikai had been a member of Dogen's monastic community for over 12 years. Dogen's urging deeply touched Gikai; parental mind became a koan for him because he did not understand why Dogen would repeatedly urge him to develop this quality.
What did Dogen see in Gikai? What was this monk like who evoked the loving admiration of Master Dogen? From his accomplishments, we can surmise that he was a man of action, a man who responded to challenges and got things done. He played a significant, but somewhat understated , role in the formation of the early Soto School, and established a firm spiritual and temporal foundation for Zen to flourish in rural Japan.
Tettsu Gikai won the confidence of Dogen and Koun Ejo. Both of them relied on him to undertake critical tasks for the survival of the community. Examples abound. In 1243 at the end of the summer ango, Dogen moved his community from Fukakusa near Kyoto into the mountains of Echizen. However, the itinerant band of monks had to wait out that first winter in a mountain hermitage because the land at the site that was to become Eihei-ji had yet to be cleared. During this transitional period, Dogen assigned the position of the Chief Cook to Gikai. This was a weighty responsibility, especially during that first winter when the unsettled community was isolated and holed up until spring. Early stories describe how Gikai traversed the windy, snowbound mountain passes on foot each day to find food and supplies for the monks' two daily meals.
From these beginnings in Echizen to the end of his life there, Dogen depended on Gikai's assistance in difficult situations. Even during those last days when Dogen was ill and preparing to leave Eihei-ji, he entrusted Gikai with the temporary administration of his monastery until Ejo, who was accompanying him, returned from Kyoto. Dogen chose Gikai, who at that time was not a temple officer, over other disciples to care for Eihei-ji at the same time he admonished him for not practicing parental mind.
When Dogen died in that fall of 1253, his community at Eihei-ji was confronted with a series of obstacles. Dogen's desire to develop a Chinese-style monastery at Eihei-ji had not been completely realized. Eihei-ji lacked a total complement of monastic buildings. In addition, the monastic codes, etiquette, and rituals had not yet been fully revealed and incorporated into the monastic routine. Most of the members of the community were Japan-born and educated; they lacked the knowledge of traditional Chinese architectural design elements and of proper Ch'an monastic procedures. Koun Ejo, Dogen's successor and second abbot of Eihei-ji, asked Gikai to undertake the hazardous journey to China to visit Jingde, the monastery where Dogen trained under Rujing, as well as other Ch'an monasteries, and to acquire the direct knowledge and information for the completion of Eihei-ji. Of course, Gikai accepted the perilous challenge and returned to Eihei-ji after a few years in China with design drawings of monastery buildings, information on the proper use of these structures, and copies of monastic codes and ritual practices. Thus, he was directly responsible for the final implementation of Dogen's vision for a Ch'an-style monastery at Eihei-ji.
Koun Ejo transmitted Tettsu Gikai in Dogen's lineage in 1255 before he traveled to China. He later succeeded the ailing Ejo as the third Abbott of Eihei-ji in 1267 at the request of the temple's patrons. After Dogen's death, Ejo and Gikai discussed Dogen's chiding of Gikai for lack of parental mind. Gikai finally came to realize the great difference between enlightenment which encompasses all activity and enlightenment which is actualized only within activity. While everything is enlightenment, there can be no enlightenment without wholehearted participation in everyday activities. Gikai also realized that it is not what is accomplished in the name of enlightenment but wholehearted participation expressed in the selfless striving of parental mind that actualizes enlightenment.
Gikai served as Abbott of Eihei-ji for only about five years until 1271. He resigned and then built a hermitage nearby to care for his aging mother. Although he had retired from the administrative duties at the monastery, he returned in 1280 to nurse his dying friend and teacher, Ejo. Also, it was Gikai who performed Ejo's annual memorial services at Eihei-ji for the seven years after his death.
In 1293, Tettsu Gikai left the mountains surrounding Eihei-ji with a group of disciples and founded a new Zen monastery, Daijo-ji, in Kaga. He remained there actively participating in monastic life until his death in 1309. There have been many speculations about why Gikai left Eihei-ji and much has been made of the so-called Sandai Soron, the third-generation schism. This idea was first advanced more than 150 years later by 15th-century monks representing the strong factional sectarian interests of the time. They described Gikai's leaving as part of a major schism between factions representing Gikai and the other successors of Dogen and Ejo. Modern interpretations find no reliable evidence for a schism. Instead they suggest that the several early Soto communities did communicate regularly and did assist each other in times of need. Also, Gikai's preeminent disciple, Keizan Jokin, studied with the Gien, fourth Abbott of Eihei-ji and with Jakuen, Dogen's disciple and the Abbott of Hokyo-ji; it is unlikely that this would have occurred without Gikai's cooperation and approval. Perhaps the reason for Gikai's leaving Eihei-ji is more basic and reflects his personality and his desire to share the Dharma. After having faithfully served his three teachers, Ekan, Dogen, and Ejo, having honored their memories, and having met his filial duties to his mother, Tettsu Gikai at the age of 74 was ready for a new challenge.
Gikai served as Abbott of the Daijo-ji community for five years and was succeeded by Keizan in 1298. Although he was semi-retired, Gikai still assisted with the spiritual training of the newly ordained monks. He was particularly impressed with the spiritual maturity and talents of one young monk, Meiho Sotetsu, whom he later recommended to Keizan as Keizan's successor at Daijo-ji.
In 1300, Keizan Jokin presented a series of Dharma talks at Daijo-ji on the lineage ancestors. These talks would later be compiled as the Denkoroku . His final talk discussed the life of Koun Ejo. He did not include Tettsu Gikai as the final ancestor because Gikai was still alive, as the monk trainees knew all too well, and to do so would have breached etiquette. During his later life, Tettsu Gikai's deeds came to embody the quality that Dogen called roshin, parental mind. And even afterwards, as the concerned spiritual parent of his future lineage, Tettsu Gikai provided a place for nurturing his descendants' spiritual well-being. His temple and his style of practice continued alive and vibrant in our lineage through Keizan and his senior disciple, Meiho Sotetsu, on through generation after generation of Daijo-ji abbots, century after century, on through the devastating rise of the Tokugawa, and on through the great 18th-century reformer of Soto transmission practices, Manzan Dohaku. Our lineage at the Dharma Rain Zen Center is identified as the Manzan line; even he first served in Tettsu Gikai's seat, "keeping the three Treasures" as Abbott of Daijo-ji.
1.(For more detail, see William M. Bodiford's Soto Zen in Medieval Japan, University of Hawaii Press, in the temple library.)
I began the in-town Denkoe with thoughts about the sangha members and teachers who were at Camp Adams for sesshin. Part of me felt as though that was where the "real" retreat was happening. But I quickly found all the pieces that make for a complete retreat right here. I had the support of a steadfast group of people to sit with that helped me cultivate the great silence I cannot find when I do zazen alone. I had the presence of a lay teacher who gave Dharma talks and interviews that spoke to my heart. I offered a verse for mondo that was met with questions that gave me a glimpse of how my understanding has yet to deepen. I saw all the peaks and valleys that are such familiar territory while on sesshin. Amazing - the real retreat was happening exactly where I was!
Working in the retreat kitchen is what I would call a great opportunity. There is a lot to please my senses. The drama of color, texture and taste is everywhere, and I always try to use a few ingredients of the season like squashes and beets in the fall and rhubarb or strawberries in the early summer. Of course there's basic brown as in chocolate, always appropriate to the time of year. Getting wet and smelly and other enjoyable activities are part of the practice. However, hiding myself away, an equally fond habit of mine, is quite impossible. The kitchen is unavoidably full of humans and other beings, and someone is always looking for the tenzo. Through tenzo practice, investigating my koan of hiding, I have come to know the part of myself that wishes very much to be seen, recognized and appreciated.
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Another reason that I ask to work in the kitchen is that it is very much like family life, a practice that we all know is both very easy and very difficult.. At a retreat, even more than at home, I can practice mindfulness in each task, taking the opportunity to express joy and show gratitude for the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. Still in all, every meal also turns out to be a chance to work with karma, and become one with the results of my efforts. Not making a big mistake is absolutely impossible. When the bread is too crusty, the filling escapes from the sandwiches and falls those long inches to the plates, and the plops and splats are heard by everyone in the Zendo. When this very thing happened recently at Segaki a fellow student said to me: "Bukkai, how you always like to challenge us!" I cannot tell you how many times I have counted and recounted the people in a room, only to find that I did not have enough cups, requiring a mad dash back to the kitchen.
Preparing food for a retreat begins at my yellow kitchen table many miles away and many days before the retreat. Evaluating, planning, and careful counting is a tenzo's practice, but sometimes does lead to re-evaluating, re-planning and recounting (as well as sleeplessness) before the time to leave home comes. Arriving at the retreat, the list of work activities becomes much longer. Everything is included as a practice task.
Working on projects at a retreat, a student is sometimes told that it isn't getting it finished that matters, it's the doing itself. However, when the tofu isn't well drained and sputters and will not fry, that will surely be the very moment that the Chief Junior sticks his head in the door and asks "Will we be on time for lunch?" Yikes!
Cultivating the unchanging nature of the mind of meditation is a good way to prepare for working closely with Chaos, and the very best thing to do in the weeks prior to a retreat is a lot of zazen. In the kitchen, everything is always changing rapidly right in front of our eyes. Because we are moving a good part of the time, the most beneficial preparation is stillness. The retreat kitchen is very intimate. A most helpful quality is self-containment.. The tenzo and assistants work amidst lots of noises, and it is very hard to keep silence. Again, strong medicine can be found, during the weeks before, in a quiet room.
I have an affinity for the hard thing and a taste for adventure, and I sometimes imagine both are useful qualities in a tenzo. However, my teacher says that at the monastery a point was always made to have people do jobs for which they were not well-skilled. In other words, if you were really good at something, you could be sure that you would not be asked to do it at the monastery. So I am fooled again.
By the end of the sesshin, like everyone else, we are usually very, very tired but happy. As you might have gathered from my stories, working in the kitchen at a retreat is often satisfying and sometimes embarrassing, but the food elements and the tools are never concerned about it. The kitchen, the food, the tenzo, and the assistants are perfect just as they are.
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I stepped out of a year's residency at the Zen Center House in June, feeling it was important to do so to let the process keep evolving. There's no magical formula for residents; it's as varied as the people who step into its flow. It never ceases to amaze me that Kyogen and Gyokuko are willing to be committed to such an undertaking and I am eternally grateful for the opportunity.When I took up residency, I recognized the need to step out of the bombardment of what was and let go of everything: possessions, hopes, knowing my future. And before, no matter how hard I tried to get on my zafu regularly, some task seemed to invade a consistent meditation practice. Living there allowed me to put zazen first and let all the other demands fall into other spaces. If you had told me I'd actually want to sit more often or longer, I'd have been aghast, but now it has become more natural.
There were other benefits as well. First and foremost, residency offered me the opportunity to look intently at the inner workings of my mind and begin to lighten the rigid grasp that my self-judgments and opinions had on me. Slowing down my frantic pace of life created an ability to move more effectively, to stand back from the habit of being so driven. What gradually developed was a sense of connectedness with the Dharma, not the misleading view I had held about intimacy.
The house has a stillness and an uncluttered atmosphere important in cultivating clarity. When we take up too much space there, we are invading others' sense of space. The paradox is that all the treasured things we hold on to can also limit us. It was radical to live in a well-run household, something I always aspired to have.
As a cook, Gyokuko never failed to amaze me. She is a true master at planning meals, buying in quantity and being resourceful with what is on special and in season. I have been nurtured by her direction, overcoming my feeling of drudgery about kitchen duties and learning to enjoy them. And I found the family-style meals invaluable; I had little experience with them since my parents chose to eat dinner in front of the TV. Kyogen has an infinite wealth of anecdotes, musings and memories to share. Mealtime topics ranged from fire ants to cars and beyond, from the hilarious to the profound.
Being around others who are practicing intently was another treasure. For me, it touched on a new idea of family since I dearly held the opinion of how great it was to be an only child. My brothers and sisters in the sangha have been a source of solace and strength for which I am so grateful. I'm also grateful for the great capacity that both Kyogen and Gyokuko have to embody generosity and kindness.
Through this experience I have begun to "put my house in order", to regroup and establish a determined focus. And, wonders of all wonders, stop drinking so much coffee!
The Apprenticeship Committee was formed a few years ago by the Board. Its purpose is both practical and spiritual. We needed to respond to our growing numbers and the increasing complexity of administrative and maintenance tasks, a shifting pool of volunteers, and an overload of responsibility on the priests and shuso. At the same time, we wanted to provide practice opportunities that took advantage of historical traditions and hierarchies in Zen communities. The committee's task is simply to, in consultation with the priests, fill and arrange for training in the many jobs available in running the temple, and generally keep an eye on how the work aspects of the temple are going and where more training is needed.
Typically, members of Zen communities have little choice in their work, and are trained in one-to-one, apprentice-journeyman fashion. It is also traditional that trainees be put to work in areas where they do not necessarily have competence or experience. In a residential community with the luxury of time, a seamstress may be sent to weed the garden and the woodcutter might need to learn to sew. Such opportunities give us a chance to 'play to our weaknesses' instead of our strengths, face our fears and confusion about self-identity, and give our energy to the community where it is most needed instead of where it is most comfortable. At the same time, an extrovert may be given an invisible task and a shy trainee taught ceremonial roles, and so on. Thus the important knowledge (both practical and spiritual) of the community is passed on even as the members of the community are "facing the mirror" in every task.
However, because we are a lay, volunteer community, we can't be quite so patient! It is impossible for us not to take advantage of the skills and experience people bring here; we could not keep the temple going otherwise. Thus, seamstresses are quite likely to be sewing here and gardeners are more than welcome to weed - and learn to sew, too.
We are, though, trying to keep to tradition in other ways. It was common several years ago to simply ask for volunteers for a particular task.
Now you are more likely to be asked individually to take on a particular job. But no one will be turned away; everyone is encouraged to come forward when able to help in any way. An effort is made to put newer members in 'entryway' positions which provide good opportunities to experience work as mindfulness practice and get to know how the temple runs. An effort is also made to offer extended periods of practice for people in positions requiring much training, such as precenting. Certain positions, like the ceremonial roles, are reserved for senior members, and a very few positions are reserved for lay disciples. In every role, we each begin as raw apprentices, and become journeymen only after long experience. Even the most senior members are beginning anew and learning from scratch regularly - often from each other. This is one of the gifts of community, to give and take like this. We begin in close proximity to a mentor, and then make of a given job what we will. Even the simplest task can be refined and improved upon. Each job gives us a chance to do our best for the good of the entire community, even as we learn more about ourselves.
The current members of the Apprenticeship Committee are Jody Shintai Dungay, Rick Fumyo Mishaga, Sallie Jiko Tisdale and Christine Homitsu White. The current shuso sits in on committee meetings as well. If you have any questions, complaints or energy to spare, let us know.
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