On Taking Shoken: A Reflection

One thing I really like about Zen practice, is that if you try to stand to one side or hold on to a particular view, you will be knocked down and the view you hold will evaporate. So I guess that when I say I 'like' it, what I really mean is that I appreciate it.

Sitting in Zazen, the mind can rest enough to notice the things that pull it. We see it, let it go and return to the breath. When we stand to do Kinhin, we put that mind into motion. When we leave the zendo, it is (or at least should be) no different. However, we lose focus, get distracted and tend to fall back into a world defined solely by our relative realities where we think we are the things we think.

So we go back to the zendo for a tune up, or start sitting at home, or, even better, we go on Sesshin and really dig into the mind that can rest enough to see how fluidly things arise out of nothing and eventually return to nothing, only becoming seemingly solid for as long as we imbue them with those characteristics through our mental effort.

This is a big part of why I love Sesshin. Within the schedule of Sesshin, surrounded by like minded practitioners of the Way, there is nowhere to hide. If you are pissed, you are pissed. Usually people can see it, but at the very least, you definitely can. It's not that you can't hide from others, but on Sesshin, when you really engage it, you can not hide from yourself.

For me, this is at the heart of becoming a Shoken student. Making my practice a public offering to the community is a challenge to turn the light of practice onto the shadowy places where I tend to hide.

Some of the places we hide are pretty obvious. The mind of avoidance is a particularly seductive one. Obviously we should not put ourselves in harmful situations, but when the mind that conveys that wisdom is wielded in a clumsy or lazy way, it can easily become an excuse to shy away from anything unpleasant. It might be a conversation with my daughter that is likely to be very emotionally charged. It could be that person at my job who I must work with despite their aggressive, poisonous mindset. Or it could be that phone call to a relative that I have been dreading to place. It is easy to find my way into the mind that sweeps these things aside or carves a story about how horrible it will be when it happens.

The more subtle hiding place is in the stories I tell myself about who I am. Some of these stories can feel very positive. I am a creative person. I am a reflective person. I am a compassionate person. Good stories. Honestly I need to hear them sometimes. However, when not used well they can separate me from others. "I am compassionate" can become "I am more compassionate than they are". It's actually very easy to do. "I am compassionate" already has separation woven into it. Turning it into a direct comparative just widens the gap.

The negative stories create the same distance from reality, but they are a little more blunt and obvious. I am just making it up. I have no willpower. I can't deal with this conflict. I can't possibly like a person like you. Negative stories. They can be turned and used as a call to practice, but often, when they hit, they hook and stick and hang around longer than they should.

I don't think I am particularly beset by struggles in my practice, at least not more or less than anyone else. This is just a representation of how it tends to show up for me.

Looking back on what I have just brought forth, I could have saved a lot of words by invoking Dogen's phrase "ceaseless practice". Developing that way of being where we refuse to turn away. In this process, we are blessed with forms that allow us to face and engage our lives and engage our practice from an increasing number of angles until it pervades everywhere.

When we sit zazen, we actively decide to anchor ourselves, floating in midair, encountering what arises.

When we go in Sesshin, we actively decide to sustain that mind as we sit, walk, eat, clean and rest for an extended time, never turning away.

When we take Jukai, we actively decide to apply the same unwavering attention to the way we engage the ethical implications of being human.

In becoming a Shoken student, it feels like putting up a sign on my practice that reads "Open 24/7" and promising to the Sangha and my teachers that I will realize and manifest this way, whether walking, running, stumbling or flying until I and all beings are free from suffering.

With only a week having passed since my Shoken ceremony, I am left with a gratitude for my teachers who have vowed to guide my training and the Sangha who provide the formless field in which I play. It is an aching warmth that starts deep inside me and radiates outward, until I cannot see its origin or edge.