Crow Zen

Yesterday afternoon, I took my class outside for a short writing exercise about autumn. I asked them to write about the current weather, and then tell the rest of the class three things they saw that were signs of the season. As I looked around myself, noticing the bare tree limbs, and fallen leaves of various shades of orange and red, I heard a call. Shifting my eyes until they were filled with crow - a very large one, perched atop a tree across the street - I forgot my class for a little while.

The sun had fallen behind the houses, and there was a slight, cool wind: just enough to make the skin shiver. I found myself standing still, letting it all in: my students discussing vocabulary, the cool air, the bare tree limbs, the quiet houses, and the crow. It, too, was still and, occasionally, very loud. Almost too loud to just be viewed as another bird in a tree making noise. I kept looking back at this big, black bird that somehow so easily sat on the edge of a thin reed of wood, as if it had given up worrying about logistics, and simply was being who it was in the moment. I heard my students discussion vocabulary, struggling to string together sentences in a second language, as this bird and I took in the world together.

What I find really interesting is how I seem to be more and more drawn to the commonplace. Everyday conversations with friends and family. Simple walks through my neighborhood. Crows and squirrels, two of the most common animals in the city. I have always been someone who loves being outside, loves the natural world to the point of refraining from deliberately killing even it's not so pleasant of manifestations. And yet, it wasn't too long ago that a crow in a tree, a falling leaf, or a scampering squirrel were just things going on that I mostly ignored.

In a lot of ways, Zen practice, or any spiritual practice worth its weight, is about stripping away the need for the extraordinary. Not that rare, unusual things, ecstatic states, or colorful events are bad, but we seem to have too much desire for them, at the expense of the vast majority of our lives.

The sound of that crow cawing rattled its way through my body as yet another reminder to pay attention to your life as it is. And as it did, I noticed the talking had quieted down, and the writing had almost stopped. I looked at one of my students, and she asked me a question. It was time to go back in, and finish the rest of the class.

Quick note: the little bird in the tree of the photo is not a crow.

Violence Within and Outside Of - No Separation

Thanks to Arun at Angry Asian Buddhist, I found this blog post on the debates over Buddhist Chaplains in the military. It's a complicated issue, and in light of the recent mass murders at Fort Hood, all the more important in my opinion. I continue to be compelled to examine the roots of violence both within myself, and out in the world. No separation, right?

This morning, on the way to the zen center on my bicycle, I noticed that old, familiar tightening in my stomach that occurs when cars come too close, or ignore my safety, or do something I just "don't like." my practice when I notice this, or even beforehand if possible, is to chant the Jizo Dharani. Jizo Bodhisattva is, among other things, a protector figure for travelers(not a God per se, but a manifestation of buddha energy in the world). As such, the chant is perfect for people on the go, and I have found it especially helpful in working with anger, fears, and violent energy that arrive during biking trips through the city.

It's a simple chant.(Om ka ka kabi san ma e sowa ka)

Easy to remember, and rhythmic enough to break through the muck that is arising. Sometimes, I chant it for an entire bike ride, and sometimes just for a few blocks. The original impetus, to stop getting so angry at careless drivers, has morphed into a deeper awareness of the very act of traveling brings up all kinds of challenging emotions and energies. And when I don't pay attention to those energies and emotions, they get lodged in my body, and control my thinking. Arriving at work after an "unconscious" bike ride, for example, can bring on a depositing of negativity on co-workers or my students that didn't need to occur. This is how violence begins on a small scale. People dump on each other, or jump on each other in small ways, and over time it builds up. If those builds up go unexamined, and uncared for, violent outbursts can be the result. At an extreme level, people rape, torture, blow up things, and kill each other. Do you really think that you are all that different from Major Malik Nidal Hasan? I think we can condemn his actions and, at the same time, see how razor thin the difference is between people who snap like him, and the rest of us.

In fact, it seems imperative, in a world filled with violence and hatred, to take these kind of steps. To stop separating people into rigid victim and perpetrator categories, and start examining how the roots of violence are in us all.

How are you working with violence in your own life? In your community? Around the world even? Sitting with, and reflecting on these questions, and others like them, seems like an important place to start this work. May we all give non-violence in all it's manifestations our best shot.

The First Precept, Mass Murders, and Male Gun Obsession

Every time some American man shoots up a building full of people, I feel a deep sense of outrage. Even with years of meditation and Buddhist training, it's still there. No matter how many arguments I have heard from gun rights advocates, I've never been able to swallow the obsession with guns many men in the U.S. have. I'm aware that this is true in other nations - and clearly armed groups of men terrorize people in war torn and oppressed countries all over the world. However, given the last few days in the U.S., I feel called to question again, as a man, why we American men are so attached to our guns.

Many of you probably heard a few days ago about the Major who killed a dozen of his fellow soldiers and injured at least thirty others in Fort Hood, Texas. And then yesterday, a disgruntled former employee walked into his old workplace and killed one person and injured half a dozen others. Two days - thirteen dead, dozens of others injured. Is this another form of war?

The gun lobby, lead by the National Rifle Association, is powerful in the United States. It seems near impossible to get quality health coverage for all Americans, but you sure as hell can get a gun if want one. In fact, recent estimates suggest there is almost one gun per person in the U.S. And let's face it, even though a woman finally stopped the Fort Hood shooter, most of those owning the guns, and doing the shooting, are men.

The first Buddhist precept is a vow of non-killing. It's not an injunction against all killing, and indeed we are always, even in taking a breath, killing something. However, I believe that this precept calls us to examine deeply our desires to kill and to refrain from all killing that is unnecessary.

I can hear the hunters in the audience cringing a bit when I say this. Maybe they will even think I am judging them. Well, I've never had a clear answer when it comes to hunting. On the one hand, how many people in the U.S. have to hunt out of necessity. On the other hand, the common imbalance of populations of deer and rabbits, for example, create their own problems, and hunting, I suppose might be one solution to the problems they create. Hunting is, in a lot of ways, a separate issue from gun violence. However, groups like the NRA are filled with hunters whose numbers and financial contributions contribute to the blocking of laws that might prevent some of the gun violence that happens in the U.S.

But laws themselves are never enough. We men, especially those who own and use guns, must get reflective about why we're so collectively prone to violence. How much of our collective obsession with guns is a feeling that we are powerless in our lives? How much of it is a mistaken belief that in owning and using firearms, we might gain control of our lives? Why is it that it much easier to find men who are publicly, even politically passionate about guns rights than it is to find men who are as passionate about health care rights, just to give one example? And how much of this is driven by unexamined fears, including the fear to be a man who shows fear and vulnerability?

This is something I have never understood. If a man joins and serves in the military, he is heroic. It's especially true if he is killed while in the military. And yet, if a man devotes his entire life to quietly volunteering to nurse the sick, feed the poor, educate the next generation, etc., the word "hero" is almost never heard. Why is that? Why is military service privileged above that of doctors, nurses, teachers, farmers, community organizers, and a myriad of things people do that greatly benefit others?

Now, I've always found the word "hero" a bit dubious. It implies a sense of solid self and individual agency I don't really think is true. When we uphold someone as a hero, I think we often also continue the mythology of a fixed, separate self going on a public scale. And yet, since it's a term we hear often, it's worth paying attention to where it's used, and to question why it's being used.

Here's another question I have: when the word "hero" is applied to a solider who is killed, is this partly an attempt to deflect our attention from the violence that occurred?

Thich Nhat Hanh said the following about the first precept:

It is not just by not killing with your body that you observe the First Precept. If in your thinking you allow the killing to go on, you also break this precept. We must be determined not to condone killing, even in our minds. According to the Buddha, the mind is the base of all actions. It is most dangerous to kill in the mind. When you believe, for example, that yours is the only way for humankind and that everyone who follows another way is your enemy, millions of people could be killed because of that idea.

I've never supported state-sanctioned warfare of any sort, and thus all the questions about the military. However, this issue is much bigger than the military. When you live in a nation where there is almost one gun per person, and where over 9000people were killed by firearms in a single year (2008), and where men last year where demanding the "right" to enter Presidential candidate speeches armed with weapons, you start to wonder what the hell is going on.

Even though we are tiny minority of the U.S. population, we Buddhist practitioners have the tools within our practice to be peace, and help manifest peacefulness within our communities. We can do the hard work of examining our minds and our actions, and to learn and promote more non-violent ways of living together and dealing with conflict. Many members of other religious/spiritual groups are out there, doing different work with similar aims, and are ready to join us. Will gun violence and gun obsession disappear if we do this challenging work? Probably not. But if each of us, in the breadbasket of our spiritual practice, doesn't work to offer more nourishment to peace and non-violence, it's almost certain we will become surrounded by murder and mayhem.

Buddhist Bank Robber's Request for Cat Visitation Denied

My sister sent me this curious story yesterday. Essentially a German bank robber requested that his cat be allowed to visit him in prison because he believes the cat is a reincarnation of his mother. The bank robber, who is said to be Buddhist, told a judge "I know it is mummy. She looks after me just the way she did. I need to see her like other prisoners see their wives and children." My first response was a wild belly laugh. What a great story! And yet, clearly there have also been others who have had similar experiences to this man. Reincarnation is a tricky point of Buddhism for a lot of people. Some have a pollyannaish take on it, and walk around anointing every person, animal, and place as the reincarnation of saint X or buddha y. Others simply strip it off all together, and ignore any Buddhist teachings that speak of reincarnation. Both of these approaches are troubling.

The court's denial of the claim is also interesting.

"While we respect the religious freedom of individuals, the accused has not been able to furnish proof that his deceased mother has been reborn in a cat. Therefore, the request for visiting rights for the feline is rejected."

What "proof" could ever be furnished? Even Tibetan lamas who have demonstrated astounding levels of familiarity and recognition of places and people they never could have physically seen in this life aren't viewed, in rational, concrete terms as having "furnished proof."

How do systems of justice, built upon concrete laws and "reason," effectively address issues of a spiritual nature? Can they?

The journalist's take on the whole thing seems to be of "this is a joke, I want to make people laugh" variety. This is one of the powers, and dangers, of journalism - the ability to pass judgment on a story and then aim your readers towards passing the same judgment.

Even though I question the journalist's approach, I do wonder if this bank robber is simply lonely and wants to see his cat. Or if he feels like messing around with the courts is the only way he can get some control in his life. However, I'm also not willing to dismiss his story as not true.

This is an easy story to make fun of and laugh at. Hell, I though it was funny too! A guy wants his cat to visit him in prison. How can you not laugh? But there are some difficult, somewhat troubling issues behind it which also cause me to pause, and take a breath in the name of remaining open when it comes to stories links to spiritual beliefs.

* The cat in the photo is my mother's cat, who she believes is the reincarnation of a previous family cat. The jury remains out on that one.

Short Meditation on Anger

On the one hand, there is this from Aristotle:

Anyone can become angry - that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not easy.

On the other hand, there is this image, taken in front of my apartment building last winter:



I don't know about you, but most of my experiences with anger look like the latter. At least this body still has its "sea legs" working.

Questioning the convert Soto Zen obsession with Dogen

This post probably could be filled with citations, quotes, historical data, and every other form of research-oriented, "fact" based information to back up my point. But I'm not going there for now. Maybe later, but for now, I'm just going to say what comes.

Also, to my readers who aren't steeped in Zen, and who don't know Dogen, I apologize. Maybe this post will spark some interest in you anyway, or maybe not.

So, I've been wondering for a long time about what almost feels like an obsession with Zen Master Dogen's teachings amongst those who teach and practice in convert Soto Zen communities. Specifically, what I have experienced in my own sangha at times over the years, and have also seen in writings and blogs of others, is a some times exclusive pairing of Dogen with root teacher X's teachings (Katagiri, Suzuki, and Maezumi being the most prominent) as the gospel of zen. Clearly, some of this is a function of what those root teachers focused on and handed down to us converts. However, I also wonder if there is also some attachment to the view that Dogen was the best, and that the teachings of root teacher X are the modern presentation of the most important parts of Dogen.

Obviously, spiritual traditions tend to revere founders, and look to their words and lives as examples of enlightened living. And clearly, Dogen was an amazing teacher whose words continually spark something within me, even when I find myself disagreeing with something. Yet, sometimes I wonder if such a heavy emphasis on a 13th century monastic, who broke from the past by emphasizing a single practice, zazen, above all else - I sometimes question if his words and life are the most appropriate teachings for us 21st century "in the world" practitioners.

Here are a few issues I have specifically questioned when it comes to Dogen:

1. How does the focus on zazen and monastic living in Dogen mesh or not mesh with living in the world lay practice? And does it matter if the two clash?

2. How much can we truly learn about sex, money, politics and social issues from Dogen? I remember talk during a class about the Tenzo Kyokun last winter that applied its teachings to these issues, but how much of that was simply projection or extension of something that wasn't actually there?

3. Can we always rely on Dogen's teachings? In other words, does he sometimes hit the mark completely and other times not so much? Partly, I think of some of the teachings in the Shobogenzo-zuimonki that seem rather rigid, and even extreme. People love to chalk this up to poor translation, or misinterpretation, but really, isn't that just a justification for continuing the narrative that Dogen was the best, and should go unquestioned? Or that our questioning about Dogen must be kept in the realm of how his teachings illuminate the truth of our lives?

4. What does the over-reliance on a single historical teacher, no matter how wonderful, do to the practice as a whole, and to our individual practices?

So You Want to be a Bodhisattva, eh?

This post, which was just recommended by Barry over at Ox Herding, struck a chord with me for many reasons. One is that the Xinxinming, the dharma poem I have been writing about for awhile now, has equanimity as a driving force behind its words.

I have to say I'm rather attached to remaining, or appearing calm and "with it," under difficult circumstances. The same seems to be true for the author of the post. On trying to work with all that comes up during visits with her ailing, elderly mother in the nursing home, the author writes:

The practice of equanimity failed me over and over as I watched the steadiness I gained on the cushion fracture and words snarl out fueled by long-buried childhood wounds. Every encounter left me raw and bleeding, angered by the weakness of my practice and determined that there was some space to be inserted between the pain her words re-ignited and the protective rage that flashed. I told a friend one day, “I can last about 3 hours, then I lose it! And I hate myself for days after.” Three hours. She was flabbergasted. “Three hours? You need to lose sooner than three hours.”

I've felt this struggle myself many times. I hit a wall, start getting pissed or frustrated or simply try to withdraw from the situation, and then feel bad about it afterward. Not always, and probably less than in the past. But still enough to notice it's not a rarity in my life.

The post author brings up Jizo and other Bodhisattva figures - these wonderful representations of the manifestation of the most loving, most compassionate qualities in the world. I think it's a major challenge in our practice to be able to accept exactly where we are, and not gravitate to the binary of Bodhisattva or complete failure. How does one both hold an aspiration to be a Jizo in the world, and also to stay completely present with all that is actually happening, regardless of how un-Bodhisattva-like it is?