Dharma Rain Character

Still Point

Newsletter of Dharma Rain Zen Center

Portland, Oregon

Volume XXIX Number 6

November-December 2004

 



by Kyogen Carlson

Edited and revised from a Dharma Talk transcript from several years ago.

Not too long ago I gave a dharma talk on "Grasping the Will." I said then that it was to be one-half of a two part talk; this is the other half. The image that I used then was struggling to lift a bowling ball with no holes out of a bucket filled with oil. There's not quite enough room to get your hands under the ball, so you're left trying to grip this slippery, heavy object with no leverage and no handle. Squeezing and scratching at it doesn't help. Then you figure out that by simply applying pressure steadily to the ball, holding your hands in one place over some time, the heat in your hands creates some tack, and you get some adhesion. With steady, continual pressure you can grasp it firmly enough to lift it if you move it slowly and deliberately.

Our practice of zazen, shikantaza, or "just sitting," is very much like this. Sometimes the practice may seem quite easy, and at other times it may be very difficult. We usually find it easy when we are at ease, and difficult when we are agitated or distracted. If you keep at it long enough, however, at some point you will find it necessary to understand what it means to grasp the will directly. After a year or so in the monastery I realized I had been using anger as a handle, an extra device, to grasp the will. I had learned to use a preliminary step, winding myself up with a subtle form of anger to get motivated to do many things in life, and I took this pattern into the monastery. Once I realized this method was no longer appropriate, that it would not work there, the "handle" came off my bowling ball. I had to find a way to get a grip directly on my own intentionality. This was a very important phase of the practice for me.

The ability to grasp the will directly is necessary to overcome habit energy, patterns of karmic conditioning that we learn to recognize in our meditation and precept work. Eventually we can see the things that trigger our karmic responses even as they happen. Then the ability to hold ourselves still, not taking the conditioned action, opens a door to transformation. Grasping the will in this situation is the hard work of practice, and has to do with "cessation," non-action, more than with action. The example that I used in that previous talk was encountering a sticky door. Pushing on it as it resists, we tend to apply more and more pressure against it. The force applied goes up along with the frustration. Grasping the will in that situation can be to recognize when pushing any harder is futile, perhaps counterproductive, dropping that approach, and coming back to zero. Other possibilities can then present themselves.

This is a story from Zen Flesh, Zen Bones:

When the nun Chiyono studied Zen under Bukko of Engaku she was unable to attain the fruits of meditation for a long time. At last one moonlit night she was carrying water in an old pail bound with bamboo. The bamboo broke and the bottom fell out of the pail, and at that moment Chiyono was set free. In commemoration she wrote a poem:

`In this way and that I tried to save the old pail,

Since the bamboo strip was weakening and about to break

Until at last the bottom fell out.

No more water in the pail!

No more moon in the water!'1

That poem has been really important to me. When I first went to the monastery I determined that I would immerse myself completely in meditation practice for a year to find out what zazen is all about. After that year I realized that despite my effort at complete immersion, I was in only up to my ankles. So I came back for a second year, and this time I put much more of myself into it. I was investing more of myself in the practice.

So I threw myself into it again with what I thought was complete effort. At some point after that I realized I was wet, perhaps, up to my knees. So, back I went, over and over. All of this had to do with grasping the will and recognizing those parts of myself that needed to go into the venue of practice - to be recognized identified, understood and embraced as practice. This was a time of deepening zazen, but now grasping the will - wrestling the bowling ball - was in recognizing the real significance of the precepts as they reflected on me. Instead of being some ideal way of behaving, they were beacons to show me where my effort needed to be. They shone a light on my karma and habit energy, habitual points of departure from original, innate bright mind. Understanding and really concentrating on the precepts was as a way to investigate myself and to uncover the hidden parts I needed to put into the practice.

Roshi Kennett used to say that in order for awakening to occur, a student has to hit bottom, to get to the end of their rope. That would drive me nuts. I hated that idea. There I was improving in my zazen, getting it together and learning about the precepts and learning about myself. I was cultivating the paramitas, and I saw my practice as a gradual upward path. How was I supposed to hit bottom when I was going the wrong way?

I could get pretty annoyed when she emphasized this, but eventually I got to a point where I realized there was something I just couldn't do. One day I admitted to myself that there was a naturalness and an ease in some of the people around me that showed in the way they did their practice. These were people who had "done it." They had been recognized as having had the kensho experience. Even as I wondered how I might go about doing that myself, I knew there was no way to make it happen. It seemed so unfair that something like that could be so arbitrary and seem to happen without much rhyme or reason. All I could do was continue trudging away on my upward "lesser" path. I saw people doing exactly what Roshi Kennett described; getting fed up, desperate, and then having this "opening" experience. How do you go about getting fed up and desperate, and how can it lead to awakening? I could have put on an act, wound myself into a good tantrum, but somehow, that didn't seem quite right.

The thing is, we cannot will our way into enlightenment, just like we can't will ourselves into samadhi. It can't be done, but at the same time we can't sleepwalk our way into awakening either. It's a paradox. Effort and non-effort, doing and non-doing, the "gateless gate," a complete contradiction that we cannot figure out. It's the perfect koan.

Once I recognized this naturalness in others, however, it pushed my own effort into a new realm. I think the it was the simultaneous realization of the truth of the experience along with the impossibility of figuring it out that changed the quality of my effort. About that time I read a passage from Shinran Shonin, the founder of the Jodo Shin Shu branch of the Pure Land Sect of Buddhism. He wrote:

Whether sage or fool, whether good or bad, we have to simply give up the idea of estimating our own qualities or of depending upon self. Though entangled in sin and depravity, even in living the life of the most despised outcast, we are embraced by the all pervading light of grace; indefatigable faith in salvation itself is a manifestation of Buddha's act of embracing us into (this) grace.

(Our salvation is) "natural as it is" in the sense that it is not due to our own device or intention but provided for by Buddha Himself. It is "natural," because we need not think of our own good or bad; everything has been arranged by Buddha to receive us into (this grace). It is "natural" because (this) grace is intangible and invisible and yet works by "naturalness" to induce us to the highest attainment.2

I'd read things like that before, but at that time in my practice it struck a chord. It resonated. It offered a clue, something that I needed to hear right then. Shortly after that I developed my own mantra: "Please make me worthy of this grace." Even as I formed it I had no idea to whom it was addressed. It stood on its own: "Please make me worthy of this grace." What did it mean to be worthy of it? Right here, right now, we're already completely worthy of it. Not only that, we're always immersed in it. Yet somehow, for some reason, the aspiration had to arise in me in that form. I had come to the end of reliance on my own devices.

Now let's look back at the poem by Chiyono. The reason it is so significant to me is that she says: "In this way and that I tried to save the old pail." She was binding it with bamboo. This is the absolutely essential effort we put into our practice. This is grasping the will, cultivating zazen, investigating and keeping the precepts. This effort includes everything we try in order to improve ourselves. All of these things were my effort to patch up this rusty old bucket of imperfect self.

While these efforts don't suffice, it is also utterly useless to try to shortcut the process by kicking the bottom out of the pail. It's not until we put everything into the pail that the shift can take place. That's the point of the effort; it's putting our lives into the bucket, into the practice. That bucket became the whole of my life. It was all of my effort, all of my will and intention, and I had to pick it up and carry it. I had to keep at it until every part of myself went into it. First I had to recognize and identify each aspect, each piece, then place it in the bucket, immersing it in my practice. The last piece, I suppose, was reliance on self. Once everything was in the bucket, there was no place left to go.

There's a Zen saying: "Climb to the top of a one hundred foot pole. Then, take one more step." At this point, with everything in the bucket, I came to the top of the pole, but I could not yet take "one more step." I came, finally, to the place of no reliance on self.

A teaching says: "When the blossom is ready, it is opened by the spring wind." Somehow, there will be some causality that touches us when we're ready. There's no telling what it will be. For the monk I was named for it was a tile striking a bamboo. Toc! Awakening. For Chiyono, it was looking into the bucket as it fell apart. Awakening. Then, "No more water in the bucket. No more moon in the water." The moon in the water is the enlightenment we can cultivate through our effort. That's the extent of our enlightenment by "self improvement." Getting to "No more water in the pail. No more moon in the water" is impossible until every part of us is in that pail. Then the breaking of the pail, taking "one more step" is meaningful.

So, at this point in my story, getting all of my life in the bucket, or arriving at the top of my pole, then reading Shinran, I had to reverse field, so to speak, turn completely around, to understand what non-effort meant. At this point, all my striving seemed utterly pointless; I mean truly, utterly, without meaning or purpose. I came to a place where everything, including all my little insights, were irrelevant, without any real meaning, and everything became tastelessness, without flavor or texture. Roshi Kennett called this point in practice the start of a great ninety day training period, based on Dogen's "Ango" fascicle in Shobogenzo. This ninety day training period begins when you've put everything you have, everything you are, into the bucket and the practice becomes everything. By that I mean it feels as if nothing else exists, or even that nothing at all exists. She said that it usually takes about ninety or a hundred days from the beginning of this tastelessness to the time when the bottom of the pail is ready to break open.

Right about the 90 day point I spent a day with another monk climbing Black Butte, a group of overlapping dacite domes that is, basically, a big conical pile of angular volcanic debris rising about 2000 feet above the valley floor. It's situated across the highway and a little to the north of the monastery, and we decided to take photographs from the top of the butte to get aerial views of the temple for a brochure. The angle of incline is just about as steep as a pile of loose rock can manage, which makes for a difficult climb, and I was carrying a lot of heavy camera equipment, as well as food and water. We were unaware of a nice, easy switchback path that winds up the far side of the butte, so we spent hours scrabbling up the stupid thing on the wrong side. It was exhausting. I had borrowed a pair of boots that were one size too big, and before long I developed terrible blisters on both feet. We finally reached the top and took the photographs, and discovered the path leading back down the far side. We followed it down, and though we ended up fairly close to the road, we misjudged our position and walked the long way around, across terrain sloping sharply to our left, which is very hard on the ankles. By the time we got back to the monastery my feet were bloody and I was limping badly. It was very late, we had missed dinner and we were exhausted. I had developed a pounding headache.

Eventually we found something to eat and fell into bed. At the monastery we were permitted to sleep in if we had a day like that, and I took the option. The next morning I came into the monks' hall, the Shuryo, and found Roshi Kennett there. I was still aching and sore, so you can imagine how I felt after the day I'd had. As we sat there waiting for breakfast, she made a comment about a monk who, despite everything he had to do the day before, was in the zendo that morning, first thing. She said, "Now there's a monk who really wants the practice." I sat there thinking "Oh, sh*t. I've opened up my veins, giving everything I've got to this place and to this practice, I miss one lousy sitting period, and she praises this person for turning up this one morning. Well, thbbbt!"

I don't remember exactly what happened next, but I do remember burying my face in my hands. I felt empty in a numb sort of way, thinking "what the hell is the point?" Roshi asked me what was going on, pressing me, and I said, "There's just no love here." What I meant was that I felt completely unseen. That's what I felt. At that point she got up and walked across the room and looked into my eyes, muttered "hmmm," and went back to her seat.

About then breakfast arrived and the bell was struck. The other monks hadn't made it down from where they were doing the morning cleaning, so it was the two of us, and one other monk in the refectory. I sat there staring down at my bowls. She said to me, "Kyogen, look up." I thought, "Yeah, right." I'd heard that before. She said, "No, I mean it. Look up." So I straightened up a bit, but kept looking down at the table. To me this meant "Come on now, look on the bright side. Be cheerful. Be a good little monk and do everything with a bright shiny face!" I thought, "Oh, thbbbt." She said "Listen to me. Open your hands palm upward and look up." She came around behind me and took my hands and turned them over. I turned my gaze upward and ka-boom! I was overwhelmed by release and affirmation. I won't try to describe it all, but I ended up under the table, laughing my fool head off.

Through my own effort I eventually put everything, my whole life, into the pail, but that was not enough. With nothing more I could do, I got to a point of non-effort, but that was not enough either. Effort and non-effort came together in the act of looking up. It was an action of acceptance, turning toward something with open hands. For me it was where will and faith came together. There was faith that there was something to see or know, plus giving up all reliance on self, a surrender. But it also took taking the step off the 100 foot pole - an action. I had to come to the point of giving up on myself, that "I" could do it, while at the same time putting everything into it, holding nothing back. It is a bundle of contradictions, but Zen practice is nothing without paradox.

There are many different sects and styles of Buddhism, and each country has its own fullness of Dharma. The two largest traditions in Japan are the Zen Schools and the Pure Land Schools. There are many others that have important influence as well, but somehow Zen and Pure Land have a special relationship as the two biggest. There's a saying that, "Zen and Pure Land are two ends of the tunnel. If you come in by Pure Land you come out by Zen. If you come in by Zen you come out by Pure Land." The Pure Land tradition of Shinran puts complete faith in the "other power" of Buddha Mind to receive us into grace. The Zen school emphasizes "self power" of grasping the will, doing the practice, raising the bodhi seed. But in a profound way the two approaches complete each other in the way they emphasize self and not-self.

In the Pure Land world all you have to do is call on Buddha's name sincerely and you are born in the Western paradise. That is very easy, but it has a nice little hook; how do you do it sincerely, with a pure heart? I've heard it said that if you recite the name in a concentrated way for three days before you die you'll be ready. But how do you know when you'll die? You don't, so you'd better start right away. While the tradition rests upon reliance on the naturalness of grace already given, it can point you toward working hard to be ready to accept it.

Zen, on the other hand, goes at it the other way. You're told it's up to you to do the practice, and if you do you can break through, but guess what? Actually, there's no way that you can do it. Ha, ha, gotcha! You end up having to let go of the idea of self.

The idea of "self power" and "other power" complete each other. They are two ends of the tunnel we call practice. We are embraced by the Buddha's grace but we have to move toward it. We have to make the effort of binding the pail, but we can't make the pail break. The moment in the refectory of looking up was, for me, a completely empty-handed act of faith, a coming together of "self power" and something not-self.

One other interesting thing about it was that nothing changed after that. I had the same old practice, dealing with the same old stuff. Yet somehow, the view changed. Even so, it was the same world, the same people, the same events, but somehow, different eyes.

We will be starting Jukai this week, and in preparation we've talked a lot about the precepts. In the Kyojukaimon you can see the process I've been describing. The Tenth Precept is "Do not defame the Three Treasures," and part of the commentary says "To do something by ourselves, without copying others, is to become an example to the world, and the merit of this becomes the source of all wisdom." This corresponds with Shen Hui's teaching in the "Sermon on Sudden Awakening." Near the end he says: "Set yourself your own rules. Penetrate to your own heart." Ultimately, the precepts are not about conforming to a model of behavior. They challenge us to really know ourselves and be true to ourselves at the deepest level. That's what Shen Hui means by "Make your own rules." This does not mean to justify your impulses, but to penetrate to the depths of your own heart. It means to know yourself and be true to your deepest nature. Setting your own rules is simply about that. When you do that, however, all the precepts will be included, and that is what the story I've told you is about. To do this means to put everything into the bucket, it means taking that one really big step. This is doing something by yourself without copying others, because the process will be completely unique for each person. To do it, you cannot rely on conforming to an image of what practice should be. It's much riskier than that.

It takes this effort to penetrate to your own heart, the effort of binding the pail, before we understand what no-effort really is. Now mind you, however, we can understand this in small ways in daily life. I think all of us have. Have you experienced trying and trying and trying something, then stepped back and relaxed a minute, and then had the answer come? That is a moment of non-effort, a small example of the same principle. We chew away on a problem and then just take a day off. The next day, the answer comes easily. The same principle applies in a lot of different ways, but it also applies to this major cycle of our relationship to practice and to the Dharma.

1 Zen Flesh, Zen Bones " A Collection of Zen and Pre-Zen Writings compiled by Paul Reps, Doubleday Anchor, Garden City, New York, no date.

2 History of Japanese Religion, Masaharu Anesaki, Charles E. Tuttle Company, Rutland, Vermont & Tokyo, Japan, 1963, p.183.

by Zenkatsu

 

Shiny black Camaro,
someday
cinderblock junker

 

First snow
and last leaves,
falling together

 

Dharma Rain Zen Center -Board Minutes Summary

23 September 2004

Present: Jeanette Ryan, Gyokuko Carlson, Kyogen Carlson, Gary Oshiro, Kisei Martin, Genko Rainwater, Kat Strieby, Shisei Niski.

Absent: Dosho VanSant, Kei'un Lewis.

The meeting began promptly at 7pm.

1) Approval of Minutes from prior meeting: The latest revision of the minutes from the July meeting were approved unanimously.

2) Open Forum for Member concerns: Nobody brought concerns forward. We forgot to send an e_mail reminder to the Sangha. We'll try again in November.

3) Treasurer's Report: Gary presented Financial Position, Income & Expense and Profit & Loss statements. In general, income is down and expenses are up. To date, we're about $6000 in the red, even though contribution income is up over $6000. Zendo rental income varies widely from month to month, but is down $1700 compared to the prior year, and residential income is down $1900. We've spent roughly $3400 more on publicity this year, both in print and online. However, our cash position looks good at this time.

4) Membership Report: The new initiative of contacting renewing members and asking them to increase their pledge is gaining momentum. Kakumyo began tracking pledges vs. actual contributions for both new and continuing members, and discovered a notable discrepancy. Of the 30 new members this year, over two-thirds have joined since we began. mentioning membership at the Sunday Sangha Circle in the Spring.

5) Operations Report: The improvements related to the occupancy permit are our major focus. The sidewalk repairs for all three buildings came in under $2000. Upcoming money issues include: air-conditioning in the Zendo; carpeting in the Dharma house; and a new phone system. Also, as Kaiser has raised the premiums on our health insurance, the Carlsons will meet with their insurance broker to discuss our options.

6) Planning for Sangha Forum: Review strategic plan high points: membership, communication, transition, delegation/apprenticeship, and succession. Short & long-term vision, where we're going, becoming more program-driven, the Carlsons shifting into an Elder role, etc

7) Web Page redesign proposal: Kyogen has a proposal for a needed redesign for $2500. It includes re-organizing and updating the information, updating photographs, and using a consistent page layout. We'll provide the copy. The board agrees that an update is needed, especially given how many people find us via the web, and the proposal looks good - we can't wait to see it!

8) Upcoming Board Elections: Jeanette's second consecutive term is ending, so she cannot run this year. Shisei's first term is ending, and he will run again. Kisei will assist Kyogen again in recruiting candidates and preparing the ballots. At least one candidate has been identified.

NEXT MEETING: Thursday, November 11, 7 pm at the Sangha House.

The meeting adjourned at 9 pm.

Respectfully Submitted,

Joe Shisei Niski, Secretary

 

 

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.

 


 

Zen Center News

News now has its own, separate page. (Not to mention the cartoon...)Click here to go to the new page for November-December 2004.

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STILL POINT edit of 30 October 2004
archive edit 2/28/2004
Dharma Rain Zen Center Newsletter
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Volume XXIX Number 6 November December 2004
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