The return of Zen Games.  Frankly, since C was born, I have been too exhausted to move creatively.  But tonight was really good to play with Zen again. 

We sat, and as we sat, I spoke into the room 2 versions of the same koan:

"A Zen master slept and dreamt he was in a future in which the Way was lost and people were slaves to their desires, worries, suffering and thoughts.  He was invited to speak.  He said to the people 'The true Way to freedom is beyond doctrine, beyond religion, beyond rules and advice.  Listen, Listen"

and again, in Zen Classic (tm)

" Yangshan dreamed he went to Maitreya’s realm and was led to the third seat. A senior monk struck the stand with a gavel and announced, “Today, the one in the third seat will preach.”

Yangshan arose, struck the stand with the gavel, and said, “The truth of the Mahayana is beyond the Four Propositions and transcends the Hundred Negations. Listen, listen.""

We walked, we had tea, and then we began the experiment:

I asked everyone to take a moment and find a thorny problem that has been the source consternation.  One that they found themselves stuck on, then to raise a finger.  Soon there were 9 fingers. 

Then we sat for a few minutes.  Everyone was asked to let their mind do what it usually did- solve the problem.  Tease it out.  Turn it over and over.  Reason with it. 

Then we discussed what that process looked like:

Like holding my breath.  Like a rush of thoughts and ideas I have had before, so often I was bored.  A monologue from my inner critic.  Trying to see patterns.  Fear that I was doing it wrong.  A list of pros and cons.  Fear that I was upsetting people with what I wanted.

After everyone had shared, we sat again.  This time, everyone was asked to try problem solving the Zen way- listen, listen.  Just notice, and be intimate with what you hear.  And then?

It was like three contradicting emotions, fear, love, and vulnerability but the certainty of what I would do even though I had no certainty on how it would go.  The problems diluted by sounds and life all around me, seeming distant, with plenty of space between the anxiety and me.  A rip in the pattern-hearing tenderness and love under the criticism; a love that doesn't how how to speak itself so it comes out angry.  Colors, life and yes.  Noise, voices, but the negatives gently turned to positives.  Acknowledgement that the problem was ancient and then facing it with courage. 

It was a lovely evening.  Thank you everyone for coming and sharing.

Listen, listen. 

Last night's koan work became a game.  First of all, we sat with a very full house.  13 people in the end, though the attendance had a sad note too as Marika and James are leaving the Sangha.  Hopefully for only a while. 

Marika begins adventures around the US, leading kids through national forests and parks.  James is working an archeological site in Athens.  He will be back in September, but we will miss them both- their practice, their sincerity, and their spirit. 

The koan we worked with went, with some embellishment, like this:

A student served his Master as attendant since before he could remember.  The master often called for him.  Sometimes it meant a break from work:  "Attendant?" "Yes?"  But more often, it came in the morning, before the sun had risen "Attendant" "Yes?", during meditation "Attendant?" "Yes?"  or in the night "Attendant?" "Yes?"

One day, after calling his attendant, the Master said "I was about to say that I was ungrateful to you. But the fact is that you are ungrateful to me.”

This was, to me, a puzzling koan at first.  So the group was asked to name a master that they served without fail, in their life.  Oh, the responses were lovely, and many heads bobbed up and down in agreement and many hands went into gasho to thank people for sharing their stories.

Practice and the feeling that we need to be mindful, Clients for an entrepreneur, Work, a wife calling out from upstairs, a child crying out in the night.  Habits, that internal monologue stating we are not doing it right.  Fear.  Freedom- the siren call of the road.  A cat who needed and got attention.  Our elderly parents making demands.  A belief that their is a purpose in life and the quest for it.  Food, and the endless fascination with it, eating it or not to eat it.  Desires. 

We realized we all served masters, and that their call, while sometimes it felt impossible, was always answered and we could in the end, rise to it.

We opened up the discussion and people's comments poured in.  C gave historical background on the koan and put it in a context. 

Then, in closing, we were asked- and who is YOUR attendant?  Who answers your call:

Technology- cell phones, computers, spreadsheets called to do our bidding.  Hope- ever alive and serving us.  Serendipity, which arose unfailingly to bridge the gap between desire and current position.  God, that soft ever pervading force looking out for us.  Being needed by social inequity.  Our bodies, always true and honest and supporting.  Music, the muse that serves and orients.  A pet that is always present and lavishing affection. 

At the close I asked people to remain aware of those relationships throughout the week and notice how waves of gratitude rise and fall. 

Ironically, nearly as many people as attended had to cancel due to work...

That said, there was a great turn out this Saturday for Zen at Work, a discussion of the sometimes seeming contradiction between our meditative practice on the cushion and our practice at work. 

David Weinstein led the conversation which was spirited, wholehearted and vigorous the whole afternoon.  It seemed everyone wanted to talk about what happens 9-5. 

So we sat with the koan "Master, I am new to this monastery, what can you tell me about my practice that will help me?''. "have you had your breakfast?" "yes."  "then wash your bowls". 

So we discussed how we wash our work bowls.  How we know when its time to get up, when its time to scratch our noses when when gets painful or dull, or flat for us. 

Kate and Andy were the cooks this Saturday.  As you can see, we didn't much care for the lunch.

After lunch, David introduced the koan:

"Work and getting things done correlate to one another.  The entire world is work, what is the self?"

It was a great afternoon, and my gratitude to those who came and contributed so much of themselves to the discussion. 

I feel like I am getting an amicable divorce from my mind.  We still have our issues, and our lives will be forever intertwined, but we are seeing less of one another and we are getting on with our lives. 

As I told someone lately, I feel like my broke is broken. No matter how I look at me these days, I don't really have a problem with it.  Its more interesting than shameful, or any other story.  I guess that is what koans do, if you are wondering, or at least what they did with me. 

And recently, when I work with a koan, I feel endless outpouring of gratitude.  Strangely, the most acute this appreciation gets is right when the koan is as stuck as it gets.  I go "Oh boy!".  I mean, seriously, what is wrong with me?

I wonder how to communicate this to people.  I give away free little koans.  Its like crack dealers- the first hit is free.  Its been a successful business model for drug dealers.  Maybe I should hang around school yards.  Tell kids "Hey kid, wanna try a koan?  It'll set you free..."  Can I serve time for this?

At practice last night, we were saying goodbye to Marika Ishmael and Mick Lorusso, two long time sangha members hitting the road to find their path.  As a result, it made sense to sit with this koan:

I go out into wild places, searching for my true nature;   Where [what] is my true nature?

We sat with the koan, poured tea, then played a simple but more focused game.  We sat for only one minute, where we were asked to pay special attention to how we searched.  What was that process like?  Where did that go, how did we move?

Some people noticed a tension with the koan.  One on hand, they felt like the "right" response was to say that our true nature is right here, on the other hand, they felt like they had seen great value in understanding their true nature when they traveled, or wandered.  Many people started their investigation with a physical pain, or discomfort, then looked under that.  People responded that they visualized the inside of their mind, and saw it as a jungle, with monkeys and noises and large looming trees.  People reported that as they felt like they were closer in their searching, the more they felt like the searching might, in fact, be their true nature. 

The interesting thing to me was that no one hesitated that they had a true nature, or that they knew where to look.  Everyone had some instinct. 

Then we went to Rocket Fish and said goodbye to Mick and Marika.  There was sake and a really nice red wine (thanks C).  We had sushi and seaweed, and peas and mushrooms.  Mick dedicated some art to the zendo, which you can see when you come and sit with us.  If you have to leave, it was a nice way to go. 

As many of you are already aware, June 4, Wind-in-Grass will be presenting its 5th full day meditation workshop.

The theme will be Career and Meditation ("Zen and the art of making a living"?).  Broadly, we will be exploring the seeming contradiction between a meaningful career and its responsibilities, and a spiritual practice and discussing how to navigate, and combine the two.

But I thought it would be an interesting experiment to give the Sangha the opportunity to shape the talk that affects us all (well, not you trust fund babies):  What interests you about this subject? 

• For example- David Weinstein brought up the experience of having to work during sesshin for 36 hours in order to attend, and knowing others were having to make work calls there etc. 
• I was curious what to do with the fact that koan practice makes my mind so supple and flexible, that sometimes I feel like it might be harming me at work, where I need structure and plasticity. 

This has been sent around internally.  Some of the initial responses have been:

"At the end of the work day, I am all worked up, mind moving a mile a minute.  Its a high, its stressful, its exhausting.  After a day of meditation, its like the opposite- I feel calm, centered, relaxed.  The obvious answer to resolving the contradiction seems to be "make work your practice", but how can really do that?"

"Things that come to mind are: -Are my life [work] and my practice two different things?- Obviously that is a stacked question, because my experience is that they're not. But I do still watch my mind create that distinction. and from here are all the little assumptions that arise from making that distinction: I need time to have a spiritual practice Practice is what I do on the pillow Wanting to make a living is somehow wrong This should look different blah blah blah...."

"Does awakening mean I am going to have to leave my corporate job?"

"Should I chase my passion or be happy with 'just a job'? Where's the balance?"

PLEASE use the comment section to build the discussion, even if you are not thinking of attending, your experiences and questions are what this practice is all about

Last Wednesday, we had a short sutra service, which Marika led.  We added to the tradition Zen cannon this poem for the evening:

The Wolf God
By Anne Carson Like a painting we will be erased, no one can remain.
I saw my life as a wolf loping along the road
And I questioned the women of that place.

Some regard the wolf as immortal, they said.
Now you know this only happened in one case and that
Wolves die regularly of various causes--

Bears kill them, tigers hunt them,
They get epilepsy,
They get a salmon bone crosswise in their throat,

They run themselves to death no one knows why--
But perhaps you never heard
Of their ear trouble.

They have very good ears,
Can hear a cloud pass overhead.
And sometimes it happens

That a windblown seed will bury itself in the aural canal
Displacing equilibrium.
They go mad trying to stand upright,

Nothing to link with.
Die of anger.
Only one we know learned to go along with it.

He took small steps at first.
Using the updrafts.
They call him Huizkol,

That means
Looks Good in Spring.
Things are as hard as you make them.

This is a guest post from Toby Morris, who led the group at WiG in a Zen Game a few weeks ago:

I’ve been taking my practice “off the cushion” a lot these days. And maybe because I work in the field of nutrition, and just love food (and now that I’m pregnant I really love food), I think eating is the perfect opportunity to practice mindfulness. Mindful eating is in the media spotlight these days, the subject of many books by authors such as Jan Chozen Bays and Thich Nhat Hanh, even garnering attention from Oprah.

At Wind in Grass a couple weeks ago, we decided to get in on the action. We tried a simple experiment: we payed attention to eating a raisin. Quietly, we held a single raisin in our fingers, we examined it, we smelled it, we even listened to it. We placed the raisin in our mouth and felt its peculiar texture. We bit into the raisin, chewing slowly, noticing its flavors. And then we swallowed the raisin, feeling it move down our throats and disappear into our stomachs. We did this with a second raisin and noticed how the experience was different that the first. We expanded our awareness beyond our physical selves to appreciate all that went into growing, harvesting, and preparing this raisin for us to eat. Finally, we were offered a choice to eat the third raisin or not; some of us did and some of us didn’t.

The group shared their thoughts:

Several people noted how different this was from how they normally eat raisins—by the handful.

A felt a flashback to childhood.

B was a little annoyed by having to eat so slowly and admitted he swallowed the raisin without thinking.

C liked the burst of the skin and flavor in her mouth.

D was shocked to notice the automaticity with which he wanted to eat the third raisin—is this how he always eats? In the same way he compulsively checks the baseball score when a challenging work task lingers.

For E, the raisin solidified the koan we’ve been working with around Buddha and the body.

Such amazing things from three little raisins!

[Thanks Toby- it was a great game and a great time]

One of Wind-in-Grass' 4 stated missions is to make San Francisco a kinder and better place.  Ashley Callen volunteered to lead that charitable works group within our Sangha and has, over the last half year since she took over, done a marvelous job identifying opportunities for our Zen group to improve SF. 

One of the projects that Ashley launched was habitat restoration.  Recently we moved our focus to McKinely park in Potrero Hill.  Every second Sunday of the month we meet and roll up sleeves and dig into the dirt doing weeding, and planting. 

There is the group, on the hillside.  As we work our way down, we are going to see if we can pull up some of those pesky red brick weeds.  They keep cropping up. 

Actually, the intent of the project is to restore, as closely as possible, the hillside to a natural SF habitat, before invasive foreign species took root.  It will largely be serpentine grass, wildflowers and pines.  You can see Marika and Ashley on the right and I think that is Angie on the far left trying to get out of the frame. 

Yes, hello ladies.

Sometimes, when you cannot help yourself, the best thing is to help others.  Especially when that other is tierra and cannot ask for help.  It was a good day in the sun, and it will be on the regular WiG schedule, second Sundays 10-12. 


 

Last night I spoke in Santa Rosa.  John had invited some time ago, and  It was an exhilerating and tranforming experience. 

We will start at the point that Ellen showed me to my cushion on my arrival.  In the front.  And center.  I nearly *&^% myself.  That part of the evening had never occured to me and I was just taking a seat in the back.  Frankly, I figured she must be mistaken, because teachers sit there.  None the less, I was suprised, then amused by my suprise, to discover that it affected my zazen not at all.  Though that said, there was a weird sense of community that was electric and immediate. 

After we had sat and shared tea and welcomes, we rearranged the zendo somewhat to accomodate the presentation I had in mind.  I introduced myself, thanked the sangha for having me, and explained the impetus behind the creation of Wind-in-Grass' zen games.  

Originally WiG hadn't a regular teacher as we do today with David Weinstein guiding the group.  I had no intention of anyone confusing me for a teacher, so it seemed to make sense to find create opportunities whereby the experience taught.  Right away it made sense for me to just pay attention to questions that arose, or places a koan really stuck with me, isolate the questions it brought up, and then turn it into a game.  (Game, I explained, was not what I named them, its just what they are called.  I can give credit to JZ, who originally began calling them "Zen Games".  Besides that, it has been my experience that human beings need play to grow.  Not all animals play after all.  Or, as Mark Twain might have said, need to.).  The games then gave me the opportunity to hear what was going on for everyone else.  And hearing those experiences has never failed to be the best teacher. 

So I asked people to number off, then turn right and left and partner up.  This was their zazen buddy.  They would not reach awakening without this person.  They were then asked to remove one of their two zabutons.  They were asked, without speaking to accord themselves on the remaining zabuton in any manner that was comfortable.  (People in chairs were asked to move the chairs until they were side by side).  There would be physical contact.  If this made anyone unfcomfortable, they were encouraged to notice that. 

Then we sat for ten minutes.  I encouraged people to notice the feel of the others' body, the rise and fall of their breath, how they shifted, how they felt, etc.  The bell was rung and we gathered around.  I asked the Santa Rosa group to observe the same rules that we do in SF...everyone puts something into the room- Extroverts have no monopoly on wisdom- and everyone is welcome to ask clarifying questions, but comments and responses will wait until we open up the discussion. 

And around we went.  Before I get into the details, I want to begin by giving my sincere gratitude to everyone who jumped in with both feet, and shared whole heartedly.  It was a predictably unpredictable result. 

There seemed to be some common experiences from the comments.  Many people commented how much more energy they felt, how peacefully attuned.  Others mentioned how quickly and quiet they mind became.  Several described an increase in warmth and heat.  Several other people described a feeling of peave and expansiveness that took up the entire spave.  Here are my best recollections of the other comments.  I cannot recall each one, but this is close:

A: told a lovely story about how the practice reminded her of hot summer nights with her husband when they were too hot to touch, so there toes would reach out and hold each other. 
B: told about how calm and quiet her head got- a theme that would repeat itself in many people's experiences. 
C: Noticed that she is always cold.  Between having her hands held and a dog fall asleep on her lap, she said she felt warm enough for a whole week. 
D: Noticed an energy in her sitting, instead of the usual evening drownsiness.  An alertness.  This also was a commonly experienced feeling
E: Said her Zazen felt sweet.
F:  Said that she felt strong, like she was sitting with a goddess.
G: noted how time was distorted, and she could not feel it passing, then the bell rang. 
H: noticed how the sounds, usually jarring, were "jarring in a good way",  and how she could hear everything.
I: Noticed how he felt embraced in his sitting. 
J: noticed how expensive he felt, open and warm.
H: Noticed how his instict was to move closer to the other person, and touch more.  How he had instant negative feelings abouta  game, but that he really liked this one.
J: Noticed his expectations were completely circumvented by his experience.
K: Said she was blown away.  Just loved the game and felt the warm rush of awkening.  She was just glowing. 
L: Felt the warmth of the pther person pressed against him, and noticed how after a while that warmth was its own thing and he could not tell where he left off and other began.  He also noticed how immediately docile and quiet his mind got. 
M: noticed how his breathing began to unconsiousless sync with his neighbor.
N: Noticed only one question "who am I?"
O: Noticed the sensation of being lifted upward
P: Noticed how acute his hearing became.  How he felt connected to everyone in the room.

I was asked which koan had inspired the game.  I am working on the koan Ruiyan Calls Master:

The priest Ruiyan called “Master!” to himself every day and answered himself “Yes!”
Then he would say “Be aware!” and reply “Yes!”
“Don’t be deceived by others!”
“No, no!”

It was this second to last line that lead me to ask, "What others?".  And I think that is the point.  At least it feels right.  But, that said, if there is no other, why do we practice in a Sangha, and why does it feel right and important to practice that way?

I am also intrigued by the idea of shaking up Zena  bit to see what happens. One constant about Zen is that our bodies are largely an after thought.  PZI in general is excited about exploring our bodies in motion right now [see our earlier post about The Body of the Buddha one day meditation], but I noticed that even in motion, zen is atraditionally a solitary practice, at least within the confines of the cushion.  What if Bodidharma had to share his cave with 20 or so others.  What then? 

In the end, I concluded with some thoughts.  The game reminded me of a time I lived in NYC and was powerfully lonely. I found great comfort by taking the train into and out of the city during rush traffic, solely for the experience of being crushed in with people. 

Most of us are familiar with the concept "no other", intellectually and by varying degrees by experience.  But if there is no other, then being surrounded by a chair, a carpet and a table should offer the same power and support as practicing with a sangha of humans.  But it doesn't. 

I recal my introduction to practice.  It came through biofeedback that I was doing to manage pain in my 20s.  Over the years it migrated from lying down, and listening to tapes, to sitting up and, well, just sitting there.  My girl friend asked me how long I had been meditating, to which I replied "I don't meditate".  Meditaiton is, as we all know, for hippies and weirdos. Then she suggested that I find some people to sit with.  I told her that it was a solitary practice, so it didn't matter, but the second I said it, I realized I was wrong, and so I followed her  suggestion to find a group with which to meditate. 

I ended up finding Boundless Way, in Boston, and on entering the zendo I knew, like you know your shower is hot enough, that sangha was a great treasure and somehow necessary to my awakening. 

The ticket, if there is one, lies in the fact that while tables chairs and carpets are themselves perfect buddhas, all of us the same perfect buddha, their awakening relies on their chairness, tableness, and carpetness.  Maybe their awakening requires being walked on, sat on or being polished.  But my awakening comes by being human, and being human, it means intereacting with others.  It means relationships and feelings and emotions, and only through those will I ever reach awakening. 

So there I was, driving (ok speeding), up to Santa Rosa, when I was struck with total gratitude for the small office tensions, for the heartbreak of lost love, for the monotony of waiting, for the anger of betrayal, for the joy of love, for the companionship of friends, for the uncertainty not knowing what to say in the face of tragedy, for my mom who I never fail to offend or dissapoint, and all the tiny failings and relationships that teach me about being human.  It seems like its because of them, and not inspite of them, than any of us are waking up to our true nature.