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Newsletter of Dharma Rain Zen Center Portland, Oregon Volume XXV Number 6 November-December 2000
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| Ven. Mahagosananda, most senior monk of the Cambodian Buddhist Sangha, ties a red string on the wrist of Sylvia Wetzel, a Vajrayana Buddhist from Germany. Ven. Gosananda and His Holiness the Dalai Lama attended the Buddhist Teachers in the West conference at Spirit Rock in June. His Holiness blessed the red strings and knotted them, but had to leave before giving them, so Ven. Gosananda did the honor. Kyogen and Gyokuko still have theirs on, which can, apparently, last for several years. We'll see. | |
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by Joe Niski
In April, my employer sent me to India to take care of business in Bombay and Delhi, representing the company in our first international project. Knowing that Shakyamuni spent his life in the northeastern part of what is now India, I immediately thought of making a pilgrimage of some kind. My fiancée Nanette, who has meditated and had an interest in Indian religions her whole adult life, was able to come along. We planned the trip so I would spend the first week working and then we'd have two weeks to ourselves. We'd do a little tourist sightseeing, but try to take most of the time as a personal retreat. We decided to spend a few days on the Ganges River in the Hindu holy city Varanasi (Benares), then stay a week in Bodhgaya, the town that has grown up around the site of the Buddha's enlightenment. Although the weather would be extremely hot we'd be there in the off-season and wouldn't encounter many other Westerners. "Under the Bodhi Tree" shows part of the tree and some of the sculptural
detail of the Mahabodhi Temple (most of which was built during Emperor Ashoka's rule)We were fortunate that our primary business host was a devout Hindu. Like many of the Indian people we met, he was very interested in our interest in meditation, and took us to visit a number of temples and holy sites around Bombay and Delhi - places that our guidebook said non-Hindus generally couldn't go into. He was familiar with the deities, legends, rituals and symbolism and was able to explain the regional differences in the temple architecture and imagery. Some of the temples, especially out in the country, had an ancient, earthy, powerful feeling. The devotion of the local people as they made offerings, chanted and decorated statues with flowers or bathed them in milk, was very moving and I felt privileged to witness it. I tried to stay aware of my feelings and reactions inside the temples while showing respect. We made gassho and bowed where appropriate, put a few rupees into the donation boxes and accepted prasad (sanctified food) from the Brahmin priests after passing the altars.
Yet despite this intimate up-close view, I felt uncomfortable and out of place in several temples. I was very interested in what I saw but I didn't feel a personal connection to the religion. At one temple in Delhi, built in a southern style with deities carved from coarse black stone, I stopped in my tracks in front of a shrine containing a fierce-looking Ganesh, the elephant-headed god. His wide eyes and assertive stance seemed to be asking, "What are you doing here?" and I felt completely at a loss for an answer. If anything, I noticed myself reacting defensively - "This is not my practice, I believe that. What am I doing here?"
That was the same feeling I had during our few days in Varanasi, the most auspicious place for a Hindu to die or be cremated. The old part of the city consists of a maze of narrow shop-lined alleyways crowded with people, cows and motor scooters, so cramped and thick-smelling in the 110-degree heat that the claustrophobia sent us back to our room for refuge after an hour or two outside. There are small temples and shrines every few meters in the old city and the deities are portrayed in a raw, earthy style. Our hotel was directly above one of the ghats, the broad steps leading down to the river. We could see smoke rising from the pyres, watch pujas or ceremonies taking place in small shrines along the steps and see the everyday life of people bathing, washing laundry, and playing cricket along the holy river, "Mother Ganga", the Ganges. One morning we participated in the very tourist activity of a sunrise boat ride. Again I was moved by the devotional energy of people as they prayed, chanted, and ritually immersed themselves in the river - but watching from only a few yards away, more than ever I was aware that I was observing someone else's faith and devotion and that I was very much the foreigner.
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By this time I needed to feel that I really belonged somewhere in India. Arriving in Bodhgaya was a huge relief, as I already felt a deep connection to the place. As the cab took us from the train station through the countryside to the small town I felt excitement, gratitude and a surge of hard-to-define emotion. We found a room, dropped off our bags and walked through town, following the signs to the place - the Mahabodhi Temple, built on the place of the Buddha's enlightenment next to a descendant of the original Bodhi tree. The town was far less crowded and compact than Varanasi but still we had to walk past the shopkeepers, souvenir vendors and rickshaw drivers trying to get our attention. The base of the temple was built during Emperor Ashoka's reign and the garden setting was the greenest place we encountered on the entire trip. As soon as I walked through the gates, I felt a calm, peaceful energy that we hadn't encountered anywhere else - despite the steady stream of Indian tourists it was actually quiet.
The Mahabodhi Temple resembles many of the Hindu temples we saw, though larger than most. It's a four-sided tapering stupa made from stone, elaborately carved on the outside, maybe a hundred feet tall. The Bodhi tree spreads its broad branches like a big embrace across one side of the building. At ground level there's a shrine room with a large seated Buddha figure on an altar about four feet high. There was a steady stream of Indian tourists who entered, bowed, touched their foreheads to the altar, made a donation and left. Upstairs there's another shrine, where the local Theravadan monks who tend the temple chant in the evenings, and where visitors can meditate throughout the day without other visitors walking through. On our second day, the monk at the entrance recognized that we were there to sit and directed us upstairs - such a blessing, to sit in quiet in that special place!
Mahabodhi TempleDespite my pious joy, there were two things about the Mahabodhi Temple that gnawed at me increasingly as the week wore on. First, in the center of the floor of the downstairs shrine there was a round stone, set apart from the floor by a low wall. It resembled a lingam (a sort of phallic symbol seen in temples to Shiva) and many of the Indian tourists seemed to view it as such, touching their foreheads to it or placing flowers on it. Second, there's a large lotus-filled pond on the temple grounds with a sculpture of a seated Buddha shaded by a large cobra. It's not uncommon for Hindus to consider the Buddha an emanation of Vishnu - on a few occasions we saw a Brahmin priest performing Hindu rituals at the side of the lotus pond, facing the statue. "What's going on here?" I caught myself thinking, "I thought I could get away from that creepy Hindu stuff here. What does that have to do with Buddhism?"
During the week we walked all over town visiting other temples. Bodhgaya is like a living museum of Buddhist temple architecture with representative examples built by Tibetan, Japanese, Chinese, Bhutanese, Thai and other groups. In many of the temples, scenes from the Buddha's life, from Prince Siddhartha's days in his father's palace to a serene seated Shakyamuni radiating golden light, were depicted in paintings on the walls. It was almost overwhelming to see so many different visual styles, although after several visits I began to appreciate the differences in imagery. The Tibetan Buddhas looked somewhat severe, while the Taiwanese looked plump and almost jolly; the Thai Buddhas all seemed to sit half-lotus, their topknots pointing upward like a flame; the Japanese Buddha was peaceful in an expressionless sort of way. The ancient Indian figures, like so much of the Hindu imagery we saw, seemed downright sensual - pleasant faces in a slight smile and hips tilted gently to one side. "Sujata Temple" is a simple little shrine in a viallage a few kilometers outside Bodhgaya, on the site where Sujata offered Siddartha the bowl of rice. The style is very much like the rural Hindu shrines we saw. I continued noticing a certain unease in myself; even as I appreciated the diverse expressions of Buddhism, I felt a need to define myself and my practice in relation to it all. "That Tibetan stuff is a little too mythological for me, the Thai Buddhas don't look quite right, the Hotei figure in the Taiwanese temple is so fat he seems sinister,"I found myself thinking. I was surprised at how relaxed and "at home" I felt in the Japanese temple, until I realized that most of the Buddhist imagery I'm familiar with is from Japan and China.
The most interesting aspect of this was my reaction to the Indian sculptures and the "unsettling" things I saw at the Mahabodhi temple. Was that sensuality trying to seduce me? Were those gentle smiles really the smirks of the dominant religion co-opting "my" religion? Disoriented by the diversity, I became obsessed with the question, "Where's the middle in this Middle Way? Where's the real Buddhism?"
Ever since I began practicing I've felt especially drawn to the writings in the Pali Canon, in part because the language seems relatively direct and accessible and unornamented compared to some of the Mahayana sutras, but also because my intellectual side feels that they best represent "what the Buddha really taught" simply because they're older. Part of the excitement of going to Bodhgaya, I realized, was to get closer to the historical Shakyamuni, the "real" Buddha without all the trappings of two millennia of translation and cultural adaptation. And yet, once I was at the geographic source of it all, I found myself rebelling against the presence and influence of the very culture that Buddhism emerged from. In the place that's a focus for pilgrims from every Buddhist tradition in the world, I needed to define myself "inside" one tradition and "outside" the others - but the tradition I felt most "inside" of didn't resemble the artifacts from Shakyamuni's time and place. In trying to step back from these reactions to my situation I saw how I'd grown very attached to certain assumptions and forms in less than two years of practice. I had made a point of keeping an open mind and heart when preparing for this trip only to discover how rigid I can be.
Left:"Gold Standing Buddha" is an old, old Indian scultpure from the Mahabodhi
Temple
Right:"Upstairs Altar" is from inside the temple - the upstairs shrine was available for people who just wanted to sit, while the steady stream of
tourists was directed through the ground-floor shrine room.There was another aspect of our stay in Bodhgaya that showed me how deep this rigidity really is. The busy season for western visitors is winter; Nanette and I, skin pale from a damp Portland spring, really stood out when there were few other Anglo-Europeans in town. We became acquainted with a few shopkeepers and local boys. One fourteen-year-old fellow in particular seemed to always be hanging around whenever we were out. He acted as a guide, finding a driver and showing us a few interesting places outside of town. He seemed genuinely nice and it felt good to get to know one of the locals. He invited us to his home in a small village a mile outside town one evening, so we bought some fruit and walked there together.
Bihar is the poorest and least-literate state in India. Although it's agriculturally productive, most people don't own the land they farm. The level of material poverty is hard to grasp without seeing it first-hand. As we shared our watermelon in his windowless two-room brick house with his sisters, our little friend shared his life story and circumstances (mother long dead, father almost too old to work, two younger sisters, one obviously disabled and no brothers) and we could feel where the conversation was going. He asked us to "sponsor" him, to send him money each month so he could help his family. While we felt as though we'd been emotionally manipulated in a very deliberate way, he obviously was in real need, so we said we'd think about it. The next day we spoke with one of the shopkeepers who'd befriended us. Several local boys spent time hanging out at his shop, and he obviously took caring paternal interest in them. He knew of several Americans and Europeans who sponsored local children directly, without going through a charitable organization, simply wiring money to a local bank account that could be easily set up. He offered to help us make arrangements if we wanted to. "Little Monks" is a closeup of a stone slab like the hundreds that decorate stupas and shrines on the grounds of the Mahabodhi Temple - you can almost see some of the original facial details. These rows of little seated meditators really moved me. Almost immediately after leaving his shop, another nearby shopkeeper pulled us aside and warned us about children asking for money and adults willing to help. We heard tales of some kids getting rich off the goodwill of multiple sponsors while the adult "facilitators" skimmed money from their accounts. Other boys warned us that our little friend wasn't in school, ran with a bad crowd and that the money wouldn't go to help his family. Other tourists mentioned that he offered to sell them drugs. We heard different stories from each person we spoke with - and many volunteered to speak with us. We confronted our friend with what we heard on the street and he responded in ways that sounded as convincing as everything else we heard. When we offered to buy clothes for him and his sisters or a bag of rice, he insisted that he really needed cash. When we confided to other adults that we didn't know who or what to believe, they responded with un-helpful statements such as, "Well, this is India!" and "All Indians are liars."
This went on for days. For several nights we sat up late, wondering how to tell where the truth was, wondering what to do. Send money and risk that it's not used as promised? Turn our backs on a situation when we could make a difference at little cost? Are we hardening our hearts to an honest plea for help or being deceived? The difficulty in sorting out small-town gossip among people we really didn't know was compounded by being in such a different culture that uses a different form of English and different body language. No matter how hard we tried to figure out what was really going on, the situation was hopeless - there was no way to know for sure. The Mahabodhi Temple became a refuge from this difficulty, as it was the only place in town where people would leave us alone. We found ourselves looking forward to the relief of leaving town.
The day before leaving we went to the local office of the Mahabodhi Society, an established international Buddhist charitable organization, and asked to speak with the head monk. He graciously offered us tea, listened to our dilemma and described the Society's work in the area - schools, clinics and a biweekly effort at picking up garbage. What was most helpful, he said, was manpower, the willingness to stay in the area and work. Local need was so great that spending a few months in the area working with the local people would have the greatest impact. He responded to our questions without resolving the dilemma of whether to send money to this particular boy. In the end we agreed to write to our young acquaintance, to try to maintain contact, leaving open the possibility of helping financially without committing to it.
It wasn't until I returned home and began writing this that I saw a connection between the two uncomfortable aspects of the visit to Bodhgaya. Both in trying to locate my Buddhist practice within all the different traditions and in the situation with the boy's plea for help, my initial reaction was to try understanding in a conscious, intellectual way. I tried to gather as much information as possible, thinking I could reach a conclusion based on the best available evidence. When it became obvious that information and intellect didn't hold the answers, that I couldn't analyze my way to the truth, I began to panic. I have a new awareness of how, for most of my life, I've been desperately attached to a sense of reality that assumes I can understand it. In reality, there is no "pure" or "historically authoritative" form of Buddhism - there are many forms of Buddhism, each with its own cultural and historical trappings. In reality a sincerely needy boy who lives on the other side of the world asked for money - and there's no way of guaranteeing how that money will be used, should we send it. In sanzen after I returned, one of the Dharma Rain teachers pointed out that the "middle" of this Middle Way isn't a point located halfway between two extremes, but a center that encompasses all. I think I might have come a little closer to what that means.
A billboard on the main drag in Bodhgaya-it gave me a chuckle every time I walked past. ![]()
(The following poem is made entirely out of lines taken from magazines and advertisements.)
Zen and now:
two hours of Zen-like back-and-forth,
this almost Zen-like fatalism.
I see packets of dehydrated food placed Zen-like on an austere table.
Hydra Zen face cream!
So Zen-like in its simplicity.Yelling at a stranger is its own kind of Zen moment.
So Zen, mellow, friendly, great.
But this was not a Zen moment.Warrior turned Zen-like counselor helps musicians focus, improve.
The NBA's Zen master coach -
He can arrive at each one in a calm, Zen-like state of mind.
Stars such as Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt have arrived at the Zen revelation that less is sometimes more.I'm not into messing my brain with deep stuff like Zen.
Zen and the art of the internet
Zen and the art of the deal
Zen and the art of SimCity 2000 -
Zen warriors of the info age.
Blues meets Zen in orbit.
Used as a device for waking, the Zen clock is unsurpassed.
Zen blends with a rustic outlook in an artist's retreat.I've gotten kind of Zen about things.
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Conference on Soto Zen Temple Administration
By Jiko Tisdale
In late July, I traveled to Los Angeles to attend a conference on "Zen Temple Administration and Religious Activities," sponsored by the Soto Zen Education Center. The conference was held at a hotel in Japantown, and we were able to walk a few blocks to Zenshuji, a prominent temple in the area, for zazen and services each day. The feeling of a strong Buddhist community supported by its neighbors fueled a weekend of intense talk - and excellent Japanese cuisine.
Seventeen sanghas were represented by 34 people. Twelve of the sanghas were American monastic-style training centers and five were ethnic Japanese community parishes. They ranged in size from very small to quite large, from brand-new to venerable, and from strictly urban to rural mountaintop. The demographics of Dharma Rain placed us toward the older, larger, urban end of the groups attending.
We discussed topics of mutual concern, such as real estate purchases and zoning laws, member fees and fees for classes and retreats, how to meet the needs of children and families, and how to support teachers. We spent the greatest amount of time on two specific topics. The first was the general decline of Japanese ethnic parishes, even as Western zazen-oriented training temples grow. Even now, Japanese temples largely serve community needs for social connections and heritage, and are weak in serious meditation practice. American temples largely serve serious practice and are weak in social needs. We considered how American and Japanese Buddhists can work together, possibly even combining sanghas, and were treated to several moving accounts of how Japanese Buddhism first came to the United States and survived the internment of World War II. We also discussed at length the role of lay teachers, the place of lay transmission and the meaning of ordination, monk and priest. This last topic proved so full of potential that the SZEC staff suggested convening a conference on it next year.
I listened carefully to the accounts each sangha presented about their successes and failures, lessons and mistakes. A few patterns seemed to emerge relevant to our sangha. I was interested to note that the established, stable sanghas have grown at a slow rate, with periods of no growth, and have limited the range and number of activities they offer. Most sanghas require newcomers to go through more initiatory training than we do, and many limit common activities, such as sanzen or classes, to paying members. Most sanghas expect and generally receive higher regular pledges than we do and sometimes put considerable pressure on their memberships to donate.
Seen in the context of the other sanghas, Dharma Rain is unique in many ways. Our community falls neatly between the two basic models represented, offering both an emphasis on zazen, ceremony and retreat, and a dynamic family program. Our children's program was, in fact, far and away the most successful one represented and the envy of many. We provide a wider range of activities, meeting more diverse needs, for lower fees than most American sanghas. This is a wonderful quality in many ways, but I also realized we must take care to ensure that our financial base grows with our diversity.
I left the conference with the hope of attending more such gatherings, and with a new focus on increasing our donation base in order to ensure that Dharma Rain lives on as the rare udumbara flower it is.
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After completing a period of postulancy, Randi Getsushin Brox received formal monk, or unsui, vows in a public ceremony Oct. 7. Witnessing the event were a number of local Buddhist teachers including Chozen and Hogen Bays, Ani Paldrön, Eric Marcoux, Eko Noble and Ejo McMullen. (There is a rule that five ordained Buddhist priests should be present as witnesses.). A number of Getsushin's relatives and friends were also present. There are two crucial moments in the ceremony. The first is when the last portion of hair, called the "shura," which is at the crown of the head, is shaved off, indicating that the disciple gives the teacher permission to cut off the root of self attachment. The other is when the primary monk's robe, the kesa, is given and then put on for the first time. Gyokuko assisted Getsushin in this as all assembled chanted the robe verse.
Getsushin will focus primarily on work in the prison system, adding a needed outreach program to Dharma Rain Zen Center's growing presence in the community. Her new status as an ordained Soto Zen p riest will aid her in this work, which is for her a second career path, since she is retired from her position as a professor of French literature at the University of Oregon. Congratulations to Getsushin, and to the entire DRZC sangha for this important step. Kyogen and Gyokuko would like to thank Getsushin for taking on this commitment, and to thank the sangha for the heartfelt way this step was supported.
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The last portion of hair, called the "shura," which is at the crown of the head, is shaved off. |
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The kesa is put on for the first time. Gyokuko assists while all chant the kesa verse. |
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