UnMind: Zen Moments With Great Cloud

DOGEN ON ZAZEN

Upon returning to Japan from China in 1227, at the age of 27, Master Dogen composed the first draft of Fukanzazengi, the tract in which he outlines the principles of seated meditation, or zazen, that he had learned under the tutelage of Master Rujing. In one of  the English translations, about two-thirds of the way through the text, he asks a question of the reader:

Now that you know the most important thing in Buddhism, how can you be satisfied with the transient world? Our bodies are like dew on the grass and our lives like a flash of lightning, vanishing in a moment.

At this point in the piece, he has said many things about the physical method of meditation, interwoven with suggestions of the philosophy, attitude adjustments and correctives to conventional wisdom that accompany the practice. So what he means to indicate as the most important thing is subject to speculation. This may reflect a translator’s choice anomaly, a known issue in the art of interpreting ancient teachings.

To home in on this most important thing more closely, let’s look at a brief, pointed poem, “Zazenshin,” that Dogen paraphrased from a Chinese version. It means something like “Acupuncture Needle” or “Lancet” – a very sharp instrument – for or about zazen:

Zazen-shin - Shohaku Okumura, trans.

The essential-function of each buddha

            and the functioning-essence of each ancestor.


Being actualized within not-thinking.

Being manifested within non-interacting.

Being actualized within not-thinking, the actualization is by nature intimate.

Being manifested within non-interacting,

            the manifestation is itself verification.

The actualization that is by nature intimate never has defilement.


The manifestation that is by nature verification

            never has distinction between Absolute and Relative.

The intimacy without defilement is dropping off without relying on anything.

The verification beyond distinction between Absolute and Relative

            is making effort without aiming at it.

The water is clear to the earth; a fish is swimming like a fish.


The sky is vast, extending to the heavens; a bird is flying like a bird.

So from this we may take it that the most important thing has something to do with not thinking and non-interacting, and not distinguishing between the absolute and relative. It is pointing at something intimate, undefiled by conventional wisdom, and that has nothing to do with our reliance on common understanding, and goal-oriented efforts. To which we can only respond, “Hmmm. Thank you Dogen, for clearing that up.”

MATSUOKA ON DOGEN

Clearly, this message is about something beyond words, that language can only point at, if it is beyond thinking itself. Let’s explore some more contemporary quotes from Matsuoka-roshi to see if we can zoom in on the meaning of these passages. O-Sensei simplified Dogen Zenji’s instructions for his American students, condensing them into three discrete areas: posture, breath, and attention. The following are three expressions he would use frequently, addressing questions about zazen:

Keep aiming at the perfect posture never imagining that you’ve achieved it

You have to work your way through every bone in your body

When your posture is approaching the stage of perfection,

            it will feel as if you are shoving your head against the ceiling

The first, about aiming without achieving, makes Dogen’s “making effort without aiming at it” a bit more concrete by narrowly defining “it” as the upright posture. This is in keeping with the Zen premise that the zazen posture is the full expression of enlightenment, not merely a means to the end of enlightenment. It also reminds us that there can be no separation of body and mind in Zen, nor, indeed, in reality. And that the natural process of Zen is open-ended, based on aspiration as opposed to expectation.

The second indicates that this is going to be a steady, slow process on a visceral level, sitting “with muscle and bone,” as my senior dharma brother in Chicago, Kongo-roshi, titled one of his talks. There are a lot of bones in your body. And the bones, of course, are not separate from the skin, flesh, and marrow, the connective tissue, as Master Bodhidharma taught. “Working your way through” recalls the famous dictum from the poet Robert Frost, paraphrasing, “the only way out is through.”

The third seems to contradict the first, when Sensei describes what he frequently referred to as the “sitting-mountain feeling” that eventually comes from zazen. We are to aim at it without concluding that we’ve achieved it, because “Zen goes deeper,” as he would often say. No matter how seemingly complete and transcendent our immediate experience, it is not the end of the process, an attitude adjustment first articulated by Buddha himself in the “Fifty False States” section of the Surangama Sutra. The main admonition is that, no matter what happens in your meditation, not to imagine that you are now completely enlightened. Even Buddha returned to meditation for the fifty years of his life following his profound insight.

But this “shoving your head against the ceiling” sensation is something that I can personally attest to from my modest experience on the cushion. I suspect that when we pull back on the chin, stretching the back of our neck with strength, a specific detail of the posture emphasized by Matsuoka-roshi, it has the effect of shoving our skull against the scalp, which would then feel like the resistance of a solid, external surface like a ceiling. The entire body is a tension-compression structure, much like a camping tent, where the bones of the skeleton are the compression members under stress from the surrounding membrane of musculature, tendons and ligaments, like the canvas and ropes of the tent.

HAKUIN’S GAS PEDAL

The other end of the “tentpole” is the  base of the spine, connecting to the coccyx, or tailbone. Hakuin Zenji, a famous Rinzai priest whose life span bridged the 17th and 18th centuries, from 1686 to1769, recommended that we push forward and down on the lower spine until we feel a bit of pain there. That sensation derives from stretching the hard tissue of the discs between the large lower vertebrae. Even more today than in his time, our posture tends to be c-shaped, sometimes referred to as a “cashew,” when we sit in the driver’s seat of our vehicles on the expressway, or the chair at our desk. The natural position of the spine is an “S-shape” curve, bending the lower back in the opposite direction, like a cobra rising from the floor, dancing to the tune of the snake-charmer’s flute. 

I call this Hakuin’s gas pedal. Like the accelerator of your car or truck, if you keep your foot on it, pressing forward and down, the vehicle moves. If you let up on it, it slows to a stop. On the other hand, if you go pedal to the metal, it speeds out of control. The Middle Way again, in all its manifestations.

So the most important thing, as regards the posture, at least, may be keeping these two pressure points in play while sitting. If you do so, you can’t go far wrong in terms of sitting upright. Breathing and attention also come into the picture, but that may be a subject for another UnMind. Let me close this segment with a couple of aphorisms that have come to me in my practice.

ME ON ZAZEN

I do not claim to have the depth of insight and understanding of our ancestors, and recognize that context, while not determinative of Zen experience, certainly counts. What Buddha, Bodhidharma, the great ancestors in China, and Dogen himself managed to accomplish under relatively primitive conditions in no way compares to what we may expect to realize under relatively cushy but geometrically more complex circumstances. But as they did in their times we must do in ours — namely use what we know to inform our efforts in exploring what we do not know, and cannot know, in any ordinary sense. So, here, I want to introduce two terms that may have no counterpart in their language. 

PROPRIOCEPTION MEETS VERTIGO

Proprioception is a term from modern physiology, defined as:

Perception or awareness of the position and movement of the body

Vertigo is defined as:

A sensation of whirling and loss of balance, associated particularly with looking down from a great height, or caused by disease affecting the inner ear or the vestibular nerve; giddiness.

In terms of our experience in zazen, then, proprioception would be akin to samadhi, or at least its early stages, when, as Matsuoka-roshi said:

When posture, breath, and attention all come together in a unified way, that is the real zazen.

Now, if there is “real” zazen, it implies that there must be “unreal” or “fake” zazen, or the false impression that we are doing zazen when we are not, really. Samadhi is a jargon term that I hesitate to use, as it implies that I know what it means while suggesting that you probably do not. Which sets up the false dichotomy of “you and I,” “us and them,” the in-group cognoscenti versus the great unwashed. Sensei also pointed out, at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago, paraphrasing, “When you become dizzy, concentrate on your knees.” And “When you get nauseous, concentrate on your forehead.” Or it may have been the other way around. The main point is that you probably will get dizzy, and you probably will get nauseous, in zazen.

This brings up another coinage, for which I claim authorship:

Let not the spiritual be the enemy of the practical

I detect a vestigial strain of puritanism in the American culture that can infect our understanding and presentation of Zen, as a kind of belief system, a set of doctrines that one must subscribe to, in order to penetrate the inner sanctum of Zen’s purported spiritual secrets. This is anathema to the real Zen, as I understand it.

All of Master Dogen’s instructions in Fukanzazengi are physical, not mental, as Carl Bielefeldt points out in his “Dogen’s Manuals of Zen Meditation,” a wonderful, incisive line-by-line analysis of Dogen’s two extant revisions compared to the Chinese original. So let’s stay focused on the physical, and not get distracted by any woo-woo “spiritual.”

If we continue sitting without expectation, implementing the two pressure points until we feel tMatsuoka-roshi’s “sitting mountain feeling” of great stability — our head “pressed against the ceiling” — the body and mind will take us where we need to go. We trust our teachers’ intent and wisdom, and we trust our Original Mind, as indicated in the title of Hsinhsinming, the earliest Ch’an poem chanted in Soto liturgy.

If we sustain this posture — sitting still enough and straight enough for long enough — it will work its magic. Equilibrium will set in in the tension-compression system of muscle and bone of the body, leading to equipoise of the mind. Sustained for some time, the constancy of our proprioception will inevitably lead to vertigo — the flip side of solidity.  “Mountains are always walking” — the planet is falling through space. There is “not even a toehold.” Emptiness is innately form, form innately emptiness.

In the next segment of UnMind, we will put a cap on “Election Year Zen,” my tenth and final concluding commentary on the 2024 campaign, now that we know how it all turned out. But like a centipede, or millipede, there are surely many more shoes to drop.

The DharmaByte™ version of this segment will post in the STO newsletter the first week of November. This UnMind podcast will drop on Wednesday after election day, which is November 5th. The next segment of Election Year Zen will be posted on December 4th, barring unforeseen circumstances such as an outright armed revolution — or “the new civil war” as it has been billed in some quarters — an implied threat depending upon the outcome of the election. In Zen, of course, all future circumstances are unforeseen by definition. Unless you believe in prophecy.

In this segment I will encourage you to vote, which I understand may not be necessary. Indeed, I have already voted. I have no desire to influence how you vote in terms of partisan politics, or in favor of which candidate or party conforms more closely to my own view. You should “vote your conscience,” in the current term of art. Or vote for the future — which seems contradictory to Zen’s “being in the moment.” Remember, in Zen we do not deny the possibility of the reality of karmic consequences occurring over the “Three Times” of Buddhism — past, future, and present.

Low voter turnout is a concern of the professionals in this election and has always troubled me somewhat. I mean, how important is all this political posturing, when a large segment of the populace does not even exercise their right to vote? I do not mean to suggest that 100% turnout would somehow cure the many ills that befall our system of elected government. For one thing the third or more eligible voters who fail to turn out are not likely to be informed on issues, or qualifications of candidates on the ballots, let alone cognizant of the long-term effects of their vote.

I feel confident, however, that readers of my DharmaByte™ column and followers of my podcast share a significant enough degree of concern, and have a sufficient grasp of the stakes in the outcome, to make intelligent and caring choices. Otherwise, you probably would not be listening to this.

As I mentioned in the last Election Year Zen segment, I believe the most important measure of merit for a party or candidate to take office is the degree of their conformance to the principles of buddha-dharma, as I understand them. Quoting myself:

I leave it to you to decide whether or not, and to what degree, your candidate for the highest office in the land, the most powerful secular position on Earth, are in harmony with these compassionate aspirations. But remember that the teachings of Buddhism were never meant to be held up to criticize others, but to reflect back upon yourself and your own behavior. The “mirror of Zen reflects all” — the good, the bad, and the ugly — without discrimination. You and your behavior are also reflected in that Precious Mirror.

President Jimmy Carter made news recently, first by surviving to his 100th birthday, then by declaring that he wanted to live long enough to vote, one supposes for the opportunity to elect a non-white non-male president for the first time in history. I met President Carter during his successful run for the presidency, when he visited the office of the consumer research company that I joined in moving to Georgia in 1970. What do you suppose is so important in his mind about this election, that he expressed his intent to vote for or against one of the candidates? As the former president most famous for his contributions to humanity after his term in office, what do you make of this kind of commitment to the democratic process? I think we can assume that he harbors a belief in the long-term viability of the benefits of the democratic republic for the future of the human race, on a larger timeline than the next four-year election cycle.

Let us turn back to the acronym: V-O-T-E, with which I titled the opening haiku poem. One interpretation that came to me is: “Vote Once for Time Eternal.” At my age, it becomes obvious that however I vote, it will probably have little effect upon my personal sphere, with what little future time I have left. But it raises a question.

What are we voting for, exactly? The current trope is, “for the children.” Commentators and candidates take up the theme, appealing to the sentiment or question of what kind of country we will leave for the next generations of children and grandchildren.

I suggest that we expand our time horizon to a relatively infinite scale. In the Lifespan Chapter of the Lotus Sutra, on which I gave a dharma talk recently, the point is that Buddha’s physical death, or Parinirvana, is only apparent. The truth is that Buddha is still here, forever, but cannot be seen by ordinary vision. Thus, what Buddha was, or is, has only a circumstantial and temporary connection to the person known as Siddhartha Gautama, the conditioned self of incarnation.  

Similarly, can we look at the act of voting in this election in a larger context? Not in the light of its connection to the short-term effects it may or may not have on the social sphere in the immediate aftermath, but more in line with the long-term vision expounded by Buddha, or at least attributed to him by his successors? That is, from the perspective of the natural and universal spheres, in which the personal and social are nested? From the “Loving Kindness” or “Metta” sutra, we find the following passage:

Let no one deceive another nor despise any being in any state

Let none by anger or hatred wish harm to another

Can there be any clearer directive than this as to how to conduct ourselves in the social sphere? Another pair of admonitions comes from the second Five Precepts we receive in the Soto Zen Discipleship ceremony:

See only your own faults — Do not discuss the faults of others

Know self and other as one — Do not praise yourself at others’ expense

Can we see the current campaign in these terms? Which of the protagonists — if either — is adhering most closely to these guidelines? Which is most blatantly violating them? If we interpret all political dialog as equally duplicitous, equally guilty of deceptive and despising attitudes and behavior, equally wishing harm to others, discussing their faults, and praising themselves at the expense of others, then we have no basis on which to make a choice. But abstaining from voting is, in itself, making a choice. We are all complicit in, if not responsible for, the result.

This is not to put all our eggs in the one basket of the social sphere, and the limited sub-sphere of political opinion. We should not be distracted from the natural sphere, in which we are witnessing the long-term consequences of self-centered actions of the species for survival and comfort of an ever-expanding mass of humanity, particularly in the form of climate change. Nor from the universal sphere, where we face potential extinction in the context of the geologic time scale, wherein even the history of the human race appears as a blip on the screen. Why vote at all, when the forces shaping reality have so little regard for our place in it? Mother Nature is no respecter of persons, let alone political parties.

Returning to the personal, we can detach, on the level of the absolute, from any implications of the present political climate, while engaging in action — voting, for example — on the level of the relative, understanding that our deeper aspirations may not work out in this lifetime.

I think we can presume that Buddha’s teachings were not meant solely to affect his followers at the time, but to set the bar for future generations as well. Even though the members of the original Order did not record them in written form for posterity, they went to great lengths to codify and chant them, enabling their memorization and preservation from one generation to the next over a period of four centuries or so. What we are doing in Zen today is, I believe, carrying on this tradition, in the modern milieu and vernacular. We are taking the long-term view.

A careful reading of the founding documents of the American experiment, such as the Federalist Papers, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution and its amendments, the Bill of Rights, et cetera, reveals a similar aspiration. Stated principles of freedom — the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness — do not represent temporary expedients, but hopeful wishes for the future generations of people operating on their own free will. Notwithstanding the contemporaneous exclusion of slaves and women from the privileges enjoyed by white men of means, owners of private property. Like much of our retrospective reading of the history of Zen, we have to resist our penchant for interpreting cultures of a couple of centuries or millennia ago as if they were occurring in the light of modern social science.

So vote. But I suggest doing so in the spirit of buddha-dharma. Realizing and embracing the reality that you may not see any beneficial effect on your personal life, at least not anytime soon. We take this approach to meditation, which is, after all, the inmost personal experience possible. We set aside expectations as to the positive effects it may bring about, while continuing to hold an aspiration to realization. We approach it with the famous “don’t-know-mind” of Zen, assuming that whatever comes of it will be the natural consequence of the manifestation of our Original Mind. We sit not because we have to, but because we get to. We vote, not because we have to, but because we get to. Master Dogen said somewhere that at last, we are left with ambiguity. Enjoy the non-knowing.

Welcome to UnMind podcast, number 165. In this segment, with a sigh of relief, we turn away from the horror show that is the climactic crescendo of the current 4-year election cycle, with its implications for climatic consequences — as we are witnessing with the 1-2 punch of Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton, Mother Natures’ odd couple of the moment and probable precursors of more to come. It is as if God’s eraser is being applied to the original plan for this nation, eradicating whole swaths of our occupation of what was once Her sacred wilderness.

In the face of such catastrophe — which we consider “unprecedented,” in the worn-out superlative of the day, “only because of our ignorance,” according to the great Ch’an poem Hsinhsinming, Trust in Mind. Whether innocent or willful, this ignorance causes us to question the bedrock assumptions we make about the importance and relevance of our most personal aspirations in the practice of Zen. Of course, the Earth has endured much worse in its lifetime, known as the “five major extinctions,” where many of the species prevalent on her fragile surface did not survive the change intact. The human species may now be facing a similar extinction, ironically, as an unintended consequence of our success in dominating the planet, or so we are told.

In this context, there seems to be little point in paying attention to the relatively trivial aspects of coping with everyday life, let alone hoping that the outcome of the election is going to make much of a difference, but that is precisely what I would like to share with you in what follows. Zen practice is eight days a week.

For the last year or so, I have been more committed than usual to regularly attend morning meditation at the Zen center, which for me incurs only a 10- to 15-minute drive, depending on traffic, from our home. Nonetheless, because it starts at 6:00 o’clock am, I have to exercise some diligence in going to bed a bit earlier than I might like, as well as getting out of bed, and out of the house, to arrive in time before the others do. In a city like Atlanta, the commute — to work and back, or anywhere else — becomes a part of the calculation. So I thought it might be interesting to you to hear a blow-by-blow account of what I go through as my morning routine. Perhaps it will encourage you to endeavor to visit the zendo in person more often, as one of many of the “damn your lousy excuses” from that chapter in “The Original Frontier.”  Let me touch on some of the repeat highlights of negotiating daily practice around regular sitting in a non-monastic setting.

Getting There

Master Dogen reported that his teacher in China, Nyojo Zenji, made a vow to leave his bed “like a pair of old shoes” each morning. I am not sure of what kind of shoes they wore in those days, but in my case at least, old shoes can be a lot more comfortable than new ones. And with the process of aging, getting up and getting going each day can be a real adventure in recovery. Moving from the horizontal to the vertical in proprioception becomes an exercise in defiance of gravity.

Setting the Alarm

A great luxury of being semi-retired, or retired into full-time Zen, as I like to think of it, is the non-necessity of using an alarm. At last I have come into accordance with the old Zen saying, “When tired I sleep; when hungry I eat” — a description of reality, and a prescription for practice, from a time in which no one had a clock, let alone a motherboard embedded in a slab of silicon. I reluctantly set the alarm for 5:30 AM in order to be sure to arrive at ASZC in time to open for the 6:00-7:00 AM sit. When the alarm went off, I was already half-awake. As if my subconscious mind was aware of time as measured by the tick-tock of battery-operated electrons.

Dressing in the Dark

Committed to attending every morning for five weekdays, and to leaving the house just in time, my morning routine is quick and simple. I keep my Zen outfit readily available, so I can dress as quickly as possible, pick up the things I need, and be out the door.

            This involves pulling on clothing in the dark, including my long-sleeved tee-shirt made of bamboo. Proceeding by touch in lieu of vision offers three ways to get it wrong, and only one way to get it right. If the garment has a label at the back of the neck that can be felt, it provides tactile clues to orientation to put the shirt on correctly. But If not, you might put it on backward; inside out; or inside out and  backward. In one recent instance, I thought I had it right, because in lieu of a label at the back of the collar, my pullover has a small triangle on the front that can be identified clearly through touch. But when I returned home after zazen, and looked in the mirror, I found that the shirt was not on backward — but it was inside-out.

            The pants I wear to sit in are also made of bamboo, soft and stretchy, so they tend to be clingy when I am pulling them on, so I perch on my bureau, or chest of drawers, and pull them on one leg at a time — they have tie-strings in front, so no problem in getting the front-to-back and inside-to-outside orientation correct there — but my left foot always tries to find its way into the pants pocket. I have to remember to put my socks on after my pants, because the enhanced friction of cloth-on-cloth increases the likelihood of becoming tangled in the leg of the pants. 

Driving to the Center

At 5:30 AM it is still dark in Atlanta at this time of year, so I turn on the headlights. Our car does not have an audible warning if the lights are left on, so I have to be careful about turning them off once I reach the Zen center, and even more so after I return home, when it is light. I have managed to run the battery down more than once. Just another mindfulness moment.

            Neighborhood traffic is light at this time of day, though where we live is very much an inner-city location. The route to the Zen center is only three miles or so, as a crow flies, but it passes through six stoplights and one stop sign at the various intersections along the way, which takes about ten minutes. Potholes are the bigger nuisance, and I know from the school of hard knocks where each and every one of them is. Sometimes, half-asleep, I forget, and am rudely reminded by the sudden bump and loud noise, like the kyosaku stick, which, as Matsuoka-roshi would often say, will “wake you up.”

            If all goes well, I arrive within fifteen minutes or so of the start time, turn on the lights, burn a stick of welcoming incense, and settle in at the Doan, or time-keeper, station. One of our current fulltime residents is an early bird, so she is usually there to unlock the door and meet and greet any attendees even before I arrive. But residents are, by nature, transient. Again, we are not monastics, and the modern Zen center is not a monastery. It is more like a bivouac, a temporary gathering place where we reconnoiter to rest up and regroup before reentering the fray of the battle of everyday life. Retreats, or sesshin, are an extended version of this hunkering down, more like an attack on our life issues, than a retreat from them.

Attending

Soon, I am sitting in my spot with the clock, gong, and clacker-sticks at the ready to time the alternating bouts of sitting and walking meditation. If others arrive in time, I strike the gong three times at precisely 6:00 AM, which signifies the beginning of the period, marking the three bows the head priest usually makes before joining the group in zazen. If I suspect someone is coming but may be late, I wait until 5 minutes or so after to strike the gong. You can hear the cars arriving in the parking lot outside, and it is better to let the late-comers join before striking the starting gongs.

Sitting

Settling into the posture includes embracing the stubborn resistance of tendons and ligaments in the legs and knee joints to being folded into the pretzel-like figure of crossed legs or kneeling, the so-called “lotus” and “seiza” postures. I favor the more relaxed “Burmese,” or native American style of tucking the legs under, instead of twisting the knee joints to rotate the ankles and feet to turn the soles up, in the classic posture illustrated by various iconic statuary and images of the Buddha and bodhisattvas. Fortunately, these aspects of “sitting upright in Samadhi” are less important than that the spine, neck and head be oriented in one straight, vertical line, “between heaven and earth,” as Matsuoka-roshi used to say.

Timing

Being responsible for timing the sitting, both for oneself and for others, puts a different slant on our perception of time. We typically sit for two 25-minute periods with walking meditation of 5 minutes in between. I do not like looking at the clock, or timing my own sit at home, but when attending on others, I have to keep track of the time for their benefit. So the apparent friction between “self-and-other” raises its unlovely head, sometimes arousing a mild resentment, to accompany the natural resistance of the body to sitting still. When the time for walking meditation (J. kinhin) comes, we ring the bell twice, and strike the clacker sticks, twice at the beginning, and once at the end, of the five minutes or so. All signaling is non-verbal, in order to relieve the participants of the irritant of the human voice.

Chanting

At the end of the last period of sitting, we strike the bell once before beginning the morning service. The sound of the big gong (J. kane) is said to be the “voice of Buddha.” Reciting the daily feature chant from our “Zen Practice at Home” manual, we are reminded of the various teachings of our Indian, Chinese, and Japanese ancestors. When someone is in need of training, we stay behind for a half hour or so to go over the protocols or leading the service, or whatever details they want to review more closely.

Leaving

After “leaving no traces” by restoring the zendo to its pristine appearance, and shutting down the facility, I drive home by the reverse route that I followed coming to the morning session, with variations depending upon the local morning traffic that has increased dramatically over the span of a couple of hours. I know all the shortcuts to avoid the morning rush on the main north-south route of the neighborhood commute to work, as well as local parents escorting their progeny to the bus stop, to be picked up and safely transported to the local schools. It reminds me that Master Dogen once commented that what we are doing in Zen — zazen meditation and Dharma study — is developing “true intelligence.” I find myself hoping that the children being herded to their public and private institutions of learning will someday be exposed to this Dharma, the most refined level of education.

Arriving Home

Within a time span of approximately twice the duration of the earlier commute to the Zen center, given the exponentially increased traffic load, I arrive home again in the daylight of the rising sun. (Although, of course, the sun does not rise, nor does it set, technically speaking. But I digress.)

            Sometimes, along the way, I will stop and pick up a couple of large lattes — one regular, one decaf — and perhaps a breakfast croissant, from one of the three or four coffee shops along the way, one of the perks of living in a lively inner-city setting. I am reminded of the historical factoid that coffee shops were once banned in the cities of Greece, when they had become hotbeds of revolutionary fervor. The social or political downside of being over-caffeinated, I suppose.

            Other mornings I will make my own breakfast, or crawl back into bed, depending on the after-effects of the prior evening’s schedule and activities. Then, in 24 hours or so, I do it all over, once again. With enough repetition, it becomes routine, this daily practice of public, group zazen, bookended by sleep, work, rest and re-engagement in the passing pageantry of life. Best way to start the day.

Returning to the twists and turns of the endless, meandering 2024 campaign for POTUS, and looming uncertainty of threatened challenges to the vote promising to bollix up the results, the question arises as to what this may have to do with Zen.

The dedicated Zen guy who produces the UnMind podcast suggested that we take up the premise of the “Bodhisattva ideal” in Buddhism, comparing and contrasting behaviors and apparent attitudes of the candidates — and politicians in general — to this lofty ideal and aspiration.

Somewhere in the copious Zen literature I came across the proposition that governmental leaders find themselves in positions of power owing to karmic merit accumulated in past lives, apparently whether they know it or not. We can suppose that this quaint notion arose in the context of predominantly Buddhist societies, such as that of Ashoka the Great in India, or in the later empires or principalities in China. It requires quite a stretch of the imagination to interpret our current political situation from that standpoint, though an online meme that one of the candidates is the “chosen of God” is even more ludicrous to contemplate.

Looking at the meaning of “Bodhisattva” thorough the eyes of Google, the first hit that comes up is from the University of Washington, Seattle-based home of the Huskies, the first thing that comes up on their homepage. We will defer any consideration of college football as the key branding element of UW, and higher education in general, for a later segment. Their more-or-less traditional definition of the Bodhisattva assumedly comes from their comparative religion department:

Bodhisattvas are enlightened beings who have put off entering paradise in order to help others attain enlightenment. There are many different Bodhisattvas, but the most famous in China is Avalokitesvara, known in Chinese as Guanyin. Bodhisattvas are usually depicted as less austere or inward than the Buddha. — https://depts.washington.edu

Parsing this definition, I have a few quibbles. We prefer the use of “enlightening” beings as it indicates a process in which all of us comprise a work in progress, whereas “enlightened” indicates a state of completion. No true bodhisattva would ever claim to be enlightened in that sense. In the sense of enlightened self interest and the best interests of others, yes.

Then there is the idea of “entering paradise.” The Buddhist term “Nirvana” is not pointing at another dimension or plane of existence, but the true nature of this world in which we find ourselves — so-called “Samsara.” As Master Dogen reminds us, “actually, the Other Shore (of Nirvana) comes to us”; we do not go to it. As Shohaku Okumura-roshi once mentioned, “Everybody says they want to go to Nirvana. But when you go there, there is nobody there. Only bodhisattvas can go to Nirvana, and they choose to stay here. So our charge is to change Samsara into Nirvana.” This is what Dogen means by saying the other shore comes to us. 

The reference to “many different Bodhisattvas” and the most famous being Avalokitesvara, Guanyin in China, or Kanzeon in Japan, reinforces the notion that bodhisattvas are a special class of beings, outside the kin or ordinary mortals — much like the icons of other religions, such as canonized prophets, saints and saviors, or demigods. My understanding of the Zen ideal is that we are all bodhisattvas, whether we know it or not. 

And finally, the reference to their relatively diminished austerity seems somewhat overwrought. My reading of the original teachings attributed to Shakyamuni reveal a profound humility and accessibility, and a remarkable empathy for his audience, that any bodhisattva would aspire to emulate. Awakening of the Bodhi mind is concomitant with the Bodhisattva vow — to help all others before reaching the other shore — according to Dogen, who should know.

So how do our current carriers of partisan banners stack up against this image?

I would suggest that their motivations have little or nothing to do with entering paradise, for one. So in that, they are like bodhisattvas — but focusing their efforts on the present and immediate future of prosperity in the secular sphere — not the spiritual realm. In American politics, and perhaps that of Western countries in general, there is an underlying implication that behavior in the societal sphere is indicative of one’s “values,” which tend to land in the ethical, moral, and spiritual column. This may be a vestigial remnant of the puritan ethic that pervaded the early migrants to these shores, the after- effects of which we witness today, including in the performative permutations of partisan politics.

But, quoting myself in an earlier UnMind segment, there are brute behaviors of our fellow-travelers in this particular time and space that cannot be excused as politic: 

When it comes to indiscriminate bombing of civilians and children, we are no longer in the realm of “politics.” If we are silent, we become complicit. Buddha, I believe, would have spoken out against this betrayal of compassion and wisdom. As did Matsuoka Roshi, concerning the corrupt regime in Vietnam, and other atrocities of his time. We can look to the teachings and meditation practice of Zen Buddhism to find a degree of solace and sanctuary from these insults to humanity, but we cannot run, and we cannot hide from them, ultimately. But we do not have to join the partisan divide, either.

In the same episode, we provided some historical context by referring to the foundational documents of the Founding Fathers, including the Declaration of Independence, with particular attention to the second section:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

This begins to sound a lot like the Bodhisattva ideal applied to the salvation of others, at least in the secular realm. If we are all equal, we all have equal potential to wake up in the most comprehensive sense, as did Shakyamuni Buddha. We also innately deserve to be treated with the highest degree of respect from our peers. And each and all have equal claim to life — within the realistic constraints of aging, sickness and death; to liberty — in the sense of true liberation from our own ignorance, and the imposition of that of others upon our lives; and the pursuit of true happiness, which does not derive from materialistic sources.

Perhaps our political leaders are doing their level best to secure the rights, at least in their secular manifestation. But compare to the Bodhisattva vows, which address serving, or saving all beings, on another scale altogether; two translations give us a better insight into their broader and deeper meaning:

Beings are numberless I vow to free them

Delusions are inexhaustible I vow to end them

Dharma gates are boundless I vow to enter them

The Buddha way is unsurpassable I vow to realize it

However innumerable all beings are

      I vow to free them all

However inexhaustible my delusions are

      I vow to extinguish them all

However immeasurable the dharma teachings are

      I vow to master them all

However endless the great way

      I vow to follow it completely

I leave it to you to decide whether or not, and to what degree, your candidate for the highest office in the land, the most powerful secular position on Earth, are in harmony with these compassionate aspirations. But remember that the teachings of Buddhism were never meant to be held up to criticize others, but to reflect back upon yourself and your own behavior. The mirror of Zen reflects all — the good, the bad, and the ugly — without discrimination. You and your behavior are also reflected in that Precious Mirror.

When we mention Zen practice these days, we usually mean sitting in Zen meditation, or zazen. It was not always so. In Bodhidharma’s time, “practice” meant observing the Precepts in daily life, discerning to what degree our behavior is comporting to their admonitions. If memory serves, this is found in “The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma” by Bill Porter, AKA Red Pine.

Similarly, when we speak of studying the Dharma, we typically mean reading the written record. It was not always so. When Buddha was alive, the teachings were spoken. You literally had to go listen to live lectures and, later, memorized recitation, to hear the Dharma. This was apparently true of all teachings of all sects at that time; the oral tradition prevailed. It was some four centuries after the Buddha’s death, when his utterances were first committed to written form.

With the advent of the Internet we have many more opportunities to “hear the true dharma” — a Dogen coinage with a deeper meaning — as expounded by others in the form of podcasts such as UnMind, audiobooks and other modern marvels. But we have to call into question whether we are hearing the Dharma truly. Whether the meaning we extract from listening to the efforts of others to express this subtle and inconceivable teaching is anywhere near to the original meaning that the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, intended, or for that matter that of any of his many successors in India, China, Korea and Japan, and the other countries of origin.

I am not suggesting that we engage in a scholarly examination of the provenance and evolution of the Three Baskets — or Tripitaka in Sanskrit. I propose that we are challenged to attempt to render the meaning in the modern idiom, which involves extracting them from their original cultural context, and embedding them in ours, as well as expressing them in the vernacular, including the language of modern science and philosophy.

For one thing, this means divesting the ancient liturgical passages of jargon — primarily the obscure and seemingly mystical terms, mostly from Sanskrit — such as “samadhi” for example —  that some contemporary writers seem prone to sprinkle liberally throughout their publications. The downside to this tendency is that it creates an impression that the author actually knows what these terms mean, whether you, dear listener,understand them or not.

Another consideration is what is called the “theory-laden” aspect of the semantics of language, as well as our interpretation of direct perception. This conditions the impact that Zen masters’ behavior, as well as that of their “turning words” — in Japanese, wato — can have on their students. This concept was introduced to me by George Wrisley georgewrisley.com, a Professor of Philosophy at the University of North Georgia, author of texts on Dogen and Zen, who generously made several technical contributions to my books, “The Original Frontier” and “The Razorblade of Zen.”

Professor Wrisley pointed out that, in the now-famous records of Zen students’ exchanges with their masters, including extreme gestures they resorted to, in trying to help the student wake up to the reality of Zen — shock tactics such as shouting, and sometimes striking with a fist or staff — each student’s reaction to the abuse was entirely dependent upon their belief, or innate “theory,” that the teacher was enlightened, and so could “do no wrong,” to oversimplify the point.

Ordinarily, if someone hits you with a stick, your reaction would not be one of profound insight, and undying gratitude for the “grandmotherly kindness” of your abuser. Today it would likely trigger a lawsuit.

The ancient ancestors of Zen seem to have an intuitive grasp of the importance of language and its effect on our perception of reality, as indicated in lines from the early Ch’an poems, such as:

Darkness merges refined and common words

Brightness distinguishes clear and murky phrases

And:

Hearing the words understand the meaning

Do not establish standards of your own

In Zen, of course, experience comes first, expression a distant second. The interim state, and where we can get it wrong, consists in our interpretation of direct experience, both on the cushion and off. As another ancient Ch’an poem has it:

The meaning does not reside in the words

but a pivotal moment brings it forth

And yet another:

Although it is not constructed

it is not beyond words

Hopefully we have, or will have in future, experienced this pivotal moment. Meanwhile, we are dependent upon words to parse this teaching, and to express it, both to ourselves as well as to others. We can use words to encourage all to go beyond language, and even ordinary perception, in direct experience in zazen. In the face of this design intent of the Dharma, the past efforts to translate it into various languages, and the present effort to paraphrase it into the modern idiom, seem worth the time and trouble.

In this spirit, let me share with you my paraphrase of the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra, or Great Heart of Wisdom Teaching, with which, hopefully, you are familiar. This is a work in progress, subject to revision.

The typographical layout available on the UnMind podcast page is designed to facilitate scanning and reading the text while chanting it aloud, usually accompanied by drum and gongs. You might follow it with your eyes, while you follow my words with your ears. In this way, you will absorb a multi-sensory experience, which may be more revealing than hearing or reading alone. I will simply recite it here, a capella:

ESSENTIAL TEACHING OF PERFECTING WISDOM

When any and all Awakening Beings

deeply and directly experience the process of perfecting wisdom,

they clearly see that all five traditional components of sentience

are fundamentally free of permanence and separate self-existence;

this insight relieves all unnecessary suffering.

Respected seekers of the truth, know that:

the apparent form of our world is not separate from its impermanence;

impermanence is not separable from appearances;

“form,” or particles of matter, is innately “emptiness,” or waves of energy;

conversely, emptiness is innately form.

All sensations, perceptions, and underlying mental formations,

as well as consciousness itself, also manifest as complementary.

All existent beings manifest elemental impermanence,

imperfection, and insubstantiality:

they neither arise nor cease, as they appear to do;

they are neither defiled nor pure, but nondual in their nature;

they neither increase nor decrease in value or merit.

Therefore know that, given the relativity of the material and immaterial,

there can be no fixity of form; no tangibility of sensation;

no persistence of perception; no infallibility of mental formations;

finally, there can be no absolute entity of consciousness.

More immediately, the principle of complementarity entails that there can be

no eyes, ears, nose, or tongue, as such; and thus, no body;

likewise there can be no “mind,” as a separate substance;

it follows that, in spite of appearances,

there can be no independent functions of

seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, or touching;

nor can there be unconstructed objects of the mind;

no independent realm of sight, nor that of any other sense organ;

nor any realm of mind-consciousness as a whole.

This means that there can be neither ignorance in the absolute sense,

nor any extinction of ignorance in the relative sense.

Neither can there be sickness, old age and death as absolute states;

Nor any extinction of sickness, old age and death as relative states.

In light of the implications of this insight,

suffering intentionally inflicted upon oneself and / or others can come to an end,

stemming as it does from confusion as to root causes;

while natural suffering such as aging, sickness, and death cannot end.

Thus there can be no isolated “path” leading to cessation of suffering;

there can be no essential “knowledge” to gain, in any conclusive sense;

and no “attainment,” of any consequential kind.

Since there is nothing to attain,

all Awakening Beings rely totally on simply perfecting their wisdom;

their body-mind drops away, functioning fully with no further hindrances;

 with no dualistic hindrances, no root of fear is to be found;

far beyond confused worldviews,

they abide in nondual spiritual liberation.

All Awakening Ones of past, present, and future

rely on the perfecting of this deepest wisdom,

thereby attaining unsurpassed, complete, insight

and letting go of the attainment.

Rest assured that perfecting wisdom

is the most excellent method;

the serene and illuminating discipline; the unsurpassable teaching;

the incomparable means of mitigating all suffering;

and that this claim is true, not false.

We proclaim the transformational perfecting of wisdom:

Gone, gone to the other shore; attained the other shore; altogether beyond the other shore, having never left; the other shore comes to us; wisdom perfected!

I do not claim to have captured the essence of the original chant. The afore-mentioned Buddhist scholar and Ch’an translator Red Pine, in his modern translation “The Heart Sutra,” tells us that this condensed version of the larger sutra extolling the emptiness of all existence, including the Dharma, was published in China around 900 CE. This was done in order to counter a prevailing trend toward erudition as the indicator of enlightenment, a distortion of the true Dharma that has occurred more than once in history. Another famous example is that of Master Huineng, sixth ancestor in China, who publicly tore up copies of the sutras to make a similar point. Buddha-dharma is manifest in nondual reality as lived, not contained in writing as doctrine.

In a future segment of UnMind, we will take up another of my hopeful efforts at paraphrasing the Dharma. Meanwhile I encourage you to try your own hand — or more precisely, your mouth and mind — at putting one of the historical teachings into your own words. You might want to compose your own version of the Precepts, for example. When and if you do so, it may force you to consider the true meaning of these teachings which — through the sheer repetition of chanting them repeatedly over time — begin to sink into our stubborn monkey minds. But the downside of repetition is that they may become rote recitation, in which their deeper meaning and direct relevance to our contemporary lives may be lost.

Not to worry, however — combined with the nonverbal silence and deep stillness of zazen, where we can begin to experience the meaning of the expression — we cannot go far wrong.

After taking a hiatus this summer, we return to the political fray with an eye toward its implications for our lives and our pursuit of a more perfect union with the teachings of Zen. It is a good thing that we did not try to say anything about the campaign at the beginning of August, in light of the whiplash nature of rapid-fire developments on that front. Anything we had to say regarding predictions or outcomes would have been instantly irrelevant on a day-to-day basis, rendered moot by the exhaustive political melodrama playing out in the media.

One of my online dharma dialogs brought up the question of agency, as in how much effect can one person really have on the direction the country is moving as a whole, not to mention the looming consequences of climate change on a global scale. It may help in setting the context, to recall my model of the Four Fundamental Spheres – those arenas of activity and influence that we all encounter on a daily basis.  

The four spheres, visualized as nesting in a concentric array, start with the Personal at the center; surrounded by the Social, which includes the political; then the Natural sphere, the world of our surrounding planet and its atmosphere; and finally the Universal, extending into outer space. Our sense of agency and influence diminishes as we move outward from the Personal, inversely proportional to the influence of the surrounding spheres on our personal bubble. It is necessarily an asymmetrical relationship, an understatement of cosmic proportions.

Politics is the social sphere on steroids, we might say. It is a mixed blessing in that even those who emphasize our worst angels in the struggle to swing a majority, reveal, unintentionally, the dark underbelly of human nature. Which can be clarifying and even healthy, depending on what we do with it.

These days , many of my online dharma dialog calls, dokusan in Japanese, reveal the anxiety that comes with the uncertainty of living in “interesting times,” as in the ancient Chinese curse. We might prefer to ignore the political realm altogether, but unless you are willing to become a hermit and remove yourself from society in some extreme manner, you cannot avoid the consequences of the political actions taken by others, in the cultural hothouse of modern civilization, whether urban or rural. The question arises: Is Zen (& zazen) merely a coping strategy? Or is it only reinforcing our personal status-quo? Or, conversely, can it enable us to change and adapt?

I solicited suggestions for this reboot episode from my producer and publisher, the former being an American citizen currently living in the Southwest, the latter a Canadian living to the Northeast. Here is a sample of what they suggested:

I think there's something in here about a cautionary tale for people looking to religious leaders for signals on how to vote. I've seen some other Zen leaders on social media endorsing candidates - which is fine, but they wield a lot of power, and Zen really is about thinking for yourself on your cushion. Maybe religion is separate from politics, and that's ok. 

It also might be interesting to discuss how to have compassion for the “other” – be it democrat or republican – as one cannot exist without the other; and neither are really separate.

I was gratified to see the reference to my past emphasis in this series on the value of independent thinking, and engaging in interdependent action, which I propose is one of the outputs of Zen training. As opposed to co-dependent thinking and action, another way of characterizing the partisan divide. If we are developing the ability to think independently of the political forces impinging upon us, and the freedom to act interdependently with cohorts on both sides of the divide, then our Zen training can contribute to evolving the more perfect union that is given lip service in the social discourse.

Referring back to the previous UnMind series of three segments on aging, sickness and death, the Three Marks of Buddhism’s worldview, I want to reiterate that the paranoid style in politics seems most likely to stem from irrational fear of aging, sickness, and dying, the personal dimensions of the universal traits of anicca, dukkha, and anatta, or impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and no-self. When we throw the “Three Poisons” of greed, hatred, and delusion into the mix, the result is a true witch’s brew. This is the old “divide and conquer” strategy.

The question of how to have compassion for the “other” – be it democrat or republican – goes to a more non-dualistic reading of the seeming divide between irreconcilable opposites. When we look at what conservatives are trying to liberalize, and what liberals are trying to conserve, we see that the labels are not really getting to the essence of the conflict, but merely exacerbating it. The issue of factionalism was raised in the early founding documents of the American experiment as a potential threat to the republic, but since one party cannot exist without the other, and neither is really separate from the body politic, they are mutually defining, and can be complimentary. The real conflict goes to the personal dimension, where we find the question of: “How much is enough?”

How much is enough to live happily, and is there enough to go around? Are the global shortages of food, drinking water, clean air, housing, and the hierarchy of physical survival needs real, or are they the consequence of negligence and malfeasance on the part of greedy, profit-driven special interests?

Have we as a species been on a decades-long binge of “Hotel-California-everything-all-the-time” wretched excess and the bills are just now finally coming due? Can we all downsize our lifestyle to a level that relieves the burden of the disposable consumption society?  

When we look to the example of our forebears in the history of Zen, and, indeed, in the early days of democracy in America, going back no further than my grandparents’ generation, we can detect vestiges of a much more moderate way of living that recognized reasonable limits to the answer to how much is enough.

Of course there were contemporaneous avatars of wealth and power, living out the lifestyles and fantasies of the rich and famous. And the human slaves of earlier periods in history have been replaced by the “energy slaves” of modern technology, as Bucky Fuller pointed out. In that sense, wealth, as the commonwealth, has been redistributed more widely, but there is still an unseemly preoccupation in some quarters with amassing financial resources beyond the scope of what any one person, family, or corporate entity, can possibly need, or spend, within one lifetime. Except, perhaps, as a defensive reserve to defend against future lawsuits. Or, perhaps, to invest in initiatives for future cultural evolution. But do we really need to terraform Mars, for example, when we cannot even make the Earth function as our home planet?

Back to the personal sphere of meditation, and its connection to the social sphere of politics. If we accept the suggestion that our Zen practice is indeed a kind of generalized coping mechanism, it begs the question, Coping with what? Master Dogen asks, about two-thirds of the way through Fukanzazengi–Principles of Seated Meditation:

Now that you know the most important thing in Buddhism

      how can you be satisfied with the transient world?

Our bodies are like dew on the grass

      and our lives like a flash of lightning

Vanishing in a moment.    

By this point in the long tract of instructions on physical method and philosophical attitude he picked up in China, the first piece he published as a manual of meditation for his student followers, he has made perhaps a hundred different points about what is important in Buddhism. So what he means by “the most important thing” is subject to some interpretation. Just as it is in our modern milieu. What is, after all, the most important thing? Not just in meditation, but in all your daily actions, as Dogen emphasizes in the same writing.

Media mavens, including pre-digital traditional channels and ever-expanding post-digital modes, are constantly promoting what they want us to pay attention to as “news,” what they consider the most important events and issues of the moment in the 24-7 news cycle. Most of it is designed to capture eyeballs, ears, and clicks, in order to develop ratings that are used to rationalize the cost of ad buys and other kinds of participation in the public arena, or direct sales. Which items are delivered to your doorstep in ever-greater frequency with minimal effort on your part. Except for disposing of the mountain of packaging and shipping materials.

Turning our attention back to the cushion and the wall, the most important thing at the moment cannot be the passing pageantry of the political campaign. Unless you are running for office, or working for someone who is. One important thing is to understand or appreciate the importance of the political to the personal, in particular, your personal sphere. While the central personal dimensions of aging, sickness and death can definitely be affected – directly or indirectly, positively or negatively – by the political arena, it is not typically the most proximate cause of any of the three. And the last thing that you are likely to be thinking, on your death bed, is that you wished you had spent more time on politics.

Some ancient sage said to “stamp life-and-death on your forehead and never let it out of your mind.” I am sure he was not morbidly obsessed with death, but that his life, and ours, takes a major part of its central meaning, and sense of urgency, from the fact that birth is the leading cause of death. This, to many, would seem to be wrong.

But if you think about it – or as Dogen says, “examine thoroughly in practice” – this idea that something is wrong, it appears that it may only be our opinion. We may be wrong. Reality cannot be wrong. Nature cannot be wrong. But we may be wrong. Only we human beings can get this wrong. And then we blame others, turning against our fellow human and other sentient beings. As the Tao te Ching says, “When the blaming begins, there is no end to the blame.”

We can blame our situation, with some justification, on others, including the pols. But the blaming does not solve the basic problem. Perhaps this is getting at the most important thing. Accepting and admitting that the suffering in the world that may be considered wrong, or unnecessary, is caused exclusively by human beings, based on their assessment of their world as somehow “wrong.” This is the kind of suffering that can end, seen in the clear light of emptiness in zazen.

* * *

Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Following on the previous UnMind series of three segments on aging, sickness and death, the Three Marks of Buddhism’s worldview, we will expand our scope to the broader world of international conflict, characteristic of our modern world, where Buddhism’s three conditions of existence are also manifested, if in a more universal form. Traditional definitions of these basic aspects of life are universal in scope: impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and no-self (Skt. anicca,  dukkha, anatta). We can see clearly that in today’s world, these givens of existence are not warmly embraced on the social level in America, let alone on national or global levels, which surely follows from their avoidance on the personal level.

Beginning with Buddhism’s “compassionate teaching” – the Dharma – we find that along with the three marks of aging, sickness and death, Buddha promulgated the “Three Poisons,” usually rendered as “greed, anger or hatred, and delusion or folly.” What a witch’s brew is conjured, when we mix the six ingredients together.

In the context of aging, greed becomes the longing for longevity, the overreliance on meds to avoid the ravages of illness, and extravagant, catastrophic efforts at prolonging life at all costs. Anger and hatred arise when we are denied the ability to forestall aging, when we are overcome by a pandemic, and when we blame widespread death and destruction on others. Delusion and folly ensue when we act on our mistaken beliefs, attacking others for the natural consequences of our collective and individual actions. The unexpected consequences threaten us all, whether in our dotage or full-flowering youth, with the Four Horsemen – plagues, famine, and the predations of war, and not necessarily in that order. Just who is to blame for this situation and how can we hold them accountable?

In the worldview of Zen, everything, including charity, begins at home. To quote Master Pogo Possum, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” The first embrace of reality is to “study the self.” The second is to “forget the self,” as Master Dogen reminds us in his famous teaching, Genjokoan–Actualizing the Fundamental Point.Actualizing the fundamental point of existence requires that we embrace our own aging, sickness and death – the close-up-and-personal reality of impermanence, imperfection and insubstantiality, including our precious self – while recognizing that greed, anger and delusion are fueling the fires of discontent, leading to blaming others for our personal predicament. Sometimes, others are to blame for making things worse, of course, just as we are to blame for making their world more crowded. Stop the world and let me get off. Would it were so simple.

The blame game can range from blaming our parents for our birth, on one extreme, to blaming those others most distantly related to us by blood. I read somewhere that the furthest removed any human being can be from any other human, biologically speaking, is something like 26th cousin, if memory serves. One wonders, with the growth in population, whether that tenuous kinship is getting closer, or further apart, as time goes by, with 8 billion people and counting.

I also read of a laboratory experiment, some years back, where they used the classic maze of rats to find out what happens when you simply keep adding rats to the maze, without letting any escape. At one point of increasing density, the rats begin attacking each other. They “blame” the others for their own discomfort, apparently. The analogy to human population should not be lost on anyone. The anxiety and outright hostility associated with immigration on a global basis is too obvious a parallel to ignore.

Or we can aim all of our blame at the political system, or the candidate du jour. Now that the “debate of the century” has landed with a thud, the rats are having a hard time deciding which of the two leaders of the rat pack is most at fault.

Much of the anger and hysteria we witness on ideological and political fronts of the public discourse seems motivated by underlying fears, exacerbated by perceived worsening conditions, including density of population. The identified “foreigners” – bringing unintelligible languages, peculiar cultural customs, and bizarre belief systems – induce anxiety, stereotyping and suspicion amongst native populations, triggering the threat of the privileged being “replaced” by them in the great scheme of things. This probably arises from a tribal, protective social instinct, linked to the survival of “our kind.” Hyped to the max by political opportunists, into the bargain.

But on a more personal level, this anxiety, amplified by mob hysteria, surely finds its origin in the triple threat of aging, sickness and death, that is inborn with each individual. Birth is the leading cause of death, after all, like it or not.

This perceived threat, however irrational, is tied to what biologists call the survival instinct, or imperative. Reality is not a respecter of persons. But biology is designed to privilege survival of the species over all comers, adapting to ever-changing circumstances. Natural and artificial changes in context often outpace and outmaneuver biology, engendering threats to survival, to cycles of “extinction panic,” or to actual extinction of the species, potentially including humanity. Cultural evolution – our ability to pass on technological advances to the next generation, and their ability to further improve on their cultural inheritance – is ensconced in the social sphere. But it likewise runs into trouble when it is not agile enough to keep up with the rate of change of conditions to which it is adapting, in the natural and universal spheres. Such as climate change. Aye, there’s the rub.

“Survival of the fittest” is the shorthand catchphrase for dumbing down Darwin’s elegant and complex theory on the “Origin of Species.” To find a cogent example of society’s collective resistance to this notion that we privilege the fit, we need look no further than the recruiting, drafting and conscription of young men and women – the “fittest” – into the modern military – the main mechanism oriented to societal survival – across the globe. Civilian leaders, and those at higher command levels, manage to keep a safe distance from the front lines, so as to return to fight another day, one assumes. But the survival of the oldest is not Nature’s way. It is not natural to put younger members of the species at risk to protect older members. Witness the wolf pack.

This biological imperative dictates an age-related triage, protecting those most likely to survive, to survive longer, and to reproduce. Yet humans do the opposite in wartime, and did it again in the face of the pandemic, by sending younger first responders into the fray, while protecting elderly and senior leaders through isolation, quarantine and access to medical care. Notwithstanding how miserable a failure that effort turned out to be, the point is still well-taken. Of course, from a practical perspective, the young provide the necessary numbers, and the vitality, needed on the frontlines. Even if senior members of society were willing to take point in crisis conditions, the question would be whether or not they are able to.

Setting aside such considerations of the neurotic societal implications of turning younger generations into cannon and virus fodder, what will it take to finally bring about world peace? Can we beat our swords into plowshares, turn intercontinental ballistic missiles into spaceships, cyberwar into cyberfun?

The current national debate is styled as a contest between democratic governance “of the people, by the people, and for the people,” striving toward a “more perfect union” of the republic; versus power elites exerting autocratic control over a hopelessly divided populace. The appeal of the latter is understandable for the “haves,” those who already enjoy a relative elite status of economic and social privilege. They stand to come out on top, liberated from the messy business of compromise with those on the bottom end of income equality. Likewise, the uneasiness of the “have-nots” is easy to understand. They see themselves as already victimized by the unlevel playing field, touted as equal opportunity for all.

This, it would seem, is the real wall that is being built, not on the border, but right down the middle of the country. Its building blocks consist of the institutions installed by the founding fathers, rearranged to reassert the original privilege of white, land-owning males. But is all this – the daily fare being served up by the media and opposing forces – really the root of the problem?

Whether or not we believe in an eternal soul, or reincarnation, as did the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Hindus, or resurrection, as do modern Christians, we finally come to face our mortality, in person. In Zen, the only mate who will accompany us to the grave is our deeds. Whatever wealth, honor, or powers of reasoning we have accumulated in managing and manipulating the vagaries of behavior and vicissitudes of fortunes encountered in life, they serve us little in the face of death. The same may be said of family, though better to die surrounded by loved ones than alone, or surrounded by hostiles, I suppose.

On the cushion we sit “without relying on anything” as Master Dogen reminds us in his version of “Needle for Zazen (Zazenshin),” including all the tricks, trash and trinkets we have assembled in our toolkit. Try as we might to think our way to enlightenment, or to reason ourselves into insight, we find ourselves failing again and again. Finally we must surrender to the chaos of not knowing, and abandon reliance on reason itself, spawn of philosophy and the other kind of Enlightenment. We find verification of our practice in “making effort without aiming at it.”

Needless to say, this is a very uncomfortable place to find ourselves, at a pass that is not really negotiable, in any ordinary sense. All the stages of grief prove futile in the face of the relentless process and progress of biology. We need to confront reality when we are young and vigorous, as in “Stamp life and death on your forehead, and never let it out of your mind,” paraphrasing a truth long lost to attribution. Life takes its meaning in the context of death. If you find that too morbid, just imagine what life would be like if we did not die. Its meaning would be entirely different, and not entirely positive.

When the grim reaper arrives, we may want to embrace her / his relentless, unsympathetic and unforgiving scythe, as being not at all different from the sword of Manjusri, hopefully cutting through our final delusions. Just as hopefully, the passing pageantry of life, particularly the concurrent social-political dimension, will have little or nothing to do with the circumstances surrounding the last breath we take. Preferable to die on the cushion, of course.  

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Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Closing out our exploration of the “three marks” of dukkha, in this episode we will take a look, close-up-and-personal, at death. In summary, our confrontation with and embrace of the three marks varies according to their universal natures, as well as to our personal nurturing in their recognition and acceptance.

Aging is predictable, but typically sneaks up on us, moving far too gradually to register in our youth, even nowadays with our ubiquitous mirrors, selfies, and TikTok videos – none of which our ancestors had in abundance. Today’s living generations may be the most self-conscious in the history of humankind. The famous “polishing a tile to make a mirror” koan anecdote reflected the fact that mirrors were originally of polished metal. Narcissus, remember, fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. By contrast, Tung-shan, a 9th century monk, was enlightened upon seeing his face for the first time, reflected in the water. A contemporary stand-up comic, who shall remain nameless, asked, “Did’ja ever look in the mirror in the morning and think, “That can’t be accurate!”?

Sickness, whether life-threatening or not, can land like a ton of bricks, flattening you for the moment – and often for the foreseeable future – with the rate of recovery dependent upon many factors, including aging. Sickness can often be the death-knell, as a diagnosis of cancer once was. As one ages, the body becomes less immune to the predations of bacteria and viruses, it seems. Today the threat of mental illness, leading to suicide, also looms large.

Usually, the threat of death from natural causes may be safely ignored, postponed, or even denied, until it can’t.  But sudden death is even more unpredictable than sickness, and can come in such a variety of modes today, including natural and man-made disasters, which are popping up with greater and greater frequency, notably side-effects of climate change, such as the ever-increasing statistical rate of death from extreme heat. America seems to be the poster-boy for death by guns, accidental or intentional, now one of the major causes of death for children in the USA. Death from complications in childbirth is still far too common, particularly for non-white women. And then there is always stress, aggravated by habits such as smoking. If one thing doesn’t get you, something else will, in the end. Death and taxes, as we say.

I must note in passing that much of the hysteria we witness on ideological and political fronts of the public discourse seems motivated by an underlying fear, which appears to stem from the triple threat of aging, sickness and death. Witness the “worship of youth” culture, “self-improvement” programs, and anti-aging products aimed at prolonging vim and vigor and extending life itself as long as possible. 

This primal, largely subliminal fear is often projected onto the identified “other,” a form of transference that – like the old “I’m rubber, you’re glue” trope – deflects self-criticism, in favor of defining each and every conflict in terms of self-preservation, and resorting to blaming others. As the Tao te Ching reminds us, “When the blaming begins, there is no end to the blame.” Buddha’s original analysis of the constructed self’s fundamentally dissatisfactory nature of reality, and our place, individually and collectively, writ large. The most dissatisfactory of all affronts and indignities to our ego are the three marks.

If, on the other hand, we could all embrace, in all humility, the realities of aging, sickness and death as being perfectly natural and okay, the resulting equanimity of outlook might go a long way to ameliorating the insane intensity of conflict in the world. Aging gracefully includes embracing illness and death as built-in, intrinsic to the natural order of things. How much of our time, energy, attention and resources are dedicated to resistance to this fact – a fundamental denialism that leads naturally to the abdication of truth – in favor of our favorite fantasies as to the nature and central meaning of life?

A young Rinzai Zen priest named Hasegawa published a book titled “The Cave of Poison Grass.” He mentioned the fact that most people seem to postpone confronting reality until, finally, they are on their death bed. He declared that this is too late – “like eating soup with a fork” – a memorable phrase. He insisted that we have to confront this “Great Matter” of life-and-death while we are young, and have sufficient strength and energy to overcome it.

In the lore of Zen there is a Till-Eulenspiegel-like narrative that captures its sometimes irreverent attitude toward life and death, supposedly a true story. A monk realized that he was to die soon, and began asking other monks what they knew about, or had heard about, others dying. He was curious to know if anyone had ever died standing on their head, but nobody had. So sure enough, when the time came, he stood on his head in the corner and died. His sister happened to be a nun, and when she came to visit for the funeral, the corpse was still standing there in the corner. In disgust, she kicked it over, declaring that he had never had any respect for anything in life, and he still had no respect in death. The story goes that they buried him upside-down.

An old saying in Zen says to “stamp life and death on your forehead and never let it out of your mind.” This is not a mark of morbid obsession with death, but simply recognizes that there is no life without death – birth is the leading cause of death.

Instead of bemoaning the fact that life inevitably passes back into the great remix that is the universe – the wave returning to the ocean – we embrace the inevitability of “shuffling off this mortal coil” as a kind of relief. As Mark Twain was said to have asked, when in his old age reporters inquired as to whether he wasn’t afraid to die, why would he be afraid of returning to where he came from?

It is the stuff of science fiction to imagine a future in which medical science has treated the phenomenon of dying as an unnecessary aberration, a kind of illness, and come up with techniques such as cryogenic freezing of human remains, genetic mutation, and cultivating transplant organs and limbs to achieve what is, for all practical purposes, human immortality. The question becomes, would you really want to live forever?

Life takes a great deal of its meaning from the inevitability of death, which is often considered in opposition to life. But Master Dogen treats both birth death as another nondual, complementary dyad, from Genjokoan–Actualizing the Fundamental Point:

Just as firewood does not become firewood again after it is ash you do not return to birth after death

This being so it is an established way in buddha-dharma to deny that birth turns into death

Accordingly birth is understood as non-birth

It is an unshakable teaching in Buddha’s discourse that death does not turn into birth

Accordingly death is understood as non-death   

Birth is an expression complete this moment

Death is an expression complete this moment

They are like winter and spring

You do not call winter the beginning of spring nor summer the end of spring

In this wonderful analogy, Master Dogen places birth and death on a continuum, each as an “expression complete this moment,” and yet undeniably entangled. We might ask: An expression of what? and the answer would seem to be “life itself.” So birth, which we celebrate, and death, which we mourn, are seen to be inflection points, rather equal in import, in the continuum of life.

When my older brother was dying in hospice, I spent about a week attending on him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. I picked up a pamphlet at the clinic where he was cared for, called “The Eleventh Hour.” It was written by a Christian woman, a clergy member or teacher of some sort, but she never once mentioned Jesus or God. One line I recall said something like, “Birth is the death of whatever precedes birth. Death is the birth of whatever follows death.” Very Zen.

I hope this brief foray into the most dispositive and determinative factors defining our life experience helps to allay any unreasoning fear you may have of these time-honored Three Marks. Along with Buddhism’s Three Poisons of greed, anger or hatred, and delusion or folly, they form the nexus of all that is wrong with the human universe in the personal sphere. When we move into the next outer layer, the social sphere, we confront them on a more global scale as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Death, Famine, War, and Conquest. Today we might be coerced to add even more unintended consequences to the deluge, including increasing population pressure and worldwide immigration, as well as advances in technology that tend to frustrate, rather than facilitate, our presumably inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. 

Speaking of which, in the first UnMind episode of the upcoming month, we will look over our shoulder once again to the dread prospect of Election Year Zen, which is gaining on us, assessing whether or not we can see any light of compassion or wisdom at the end of that maddeningly long tunnel. Please add a seatbelt to your zafu and strap in.

The haiku poem on the “grim reaper” is from a 2020 series called “Dharma Dreams from Great Cloud.” The text, titled “Swords into Plowshares,” will form the basis of July’s UnMind. If you have any remaining questions as to why I feel it important to examine the current political pageantry from the perspective of ancient Buddhist teachings, which may strike you as outdated and irrelevant, please email me about it.

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Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Continuing with a consideration of the realities of day-to-day Zen practice in the context of Buddhism’s central teaching of dukkha – natural suffering writ large – the second of the “three marks,” or characteristics of existence from a human perspective, is usually named as “sickness” or “illness.”

Please note in passing that illness, from the perspective of Chinese medicine – which may be closer to its cultural connotations in ancient India – denotes a lack of centeredness, or balance. Something is out of kilter – the yinyang of it all – when we fall ill. Nowadays, of course, we have much more access to many means of tracing and tracking the origins of our maladies, to environmental and other sources.

Quoting from the Tricycle web site again, we find a less personal, less specific definition of the three:

...all phenomena...are marked by three characteristics...: impermanence (anicca), suffering or dissatisfaction (dukkha), and not-self (anatta). These three marks apply to all conditioned things—that is, everything except for nirvana.

Sickness is not called out specifically as one of the many causes of suffering or dissatisfaction, possibly for reasons of cultural context and medical acumen 2500 years ago. We will get around to that throwaway line exempting so-called “nirvana.”

I can personally testify to the dissatisfactory and suffering nature of sickness, from my experience contracting Covid-19 in 2022 and, more recently, a suddenly bloated GI tract blockage that had me hospitalized overnight, and bed-ridden for over a week.

The pandemic occasioned such wide medical suffering and social unrest that Shunei Oniuda, the president of Sotoshu Shumucho, Zen administrative headquarters in Japan, addressed it from the Buddhist perspective in a public message:

I would like to extend my heartfelt condolences for those who have lost their precious lives from the novel coronavirus (COVID-19) and offer a prayer that they may rest in peace. For those who have been affected by this illness, I pray that they will recover as soon as possible, and I would like to offer my deepest sympathy to their families and relatives who have also been affected by this illness. Also, my thoughts are with all those experiencing tremendous difficulties whose lives have been affected by the spread of this epidemic and the need to stay home.

Then Mr. Oniuda relates some interesting facts providing context for the present:

In the Kamakura Period of Japanese history when Dogen Zenji was teaching, there were times when cool summers caused by climate change often brought poor harvests. There were outbreaks of plague, and, during the Great Kanki Famine (1230-31), it is said that about a third of the population of Japan perished. In times such as these, Dogen Zenji emphasized that these were the very times to not neglect the Buddha Way.

Who is to know it the changes in climate at that time were as precipitous and global as those we are seeing today. As an island nation, Japan is likely more subject to extremes in weather because it is surrounded by ocean waters. A caveat – in our fraught divisive times, it may be necessary to point out that this recollection of similar disasters from the history of Zen – though on a much smaller-scale – is surely not intended to support either side of the ideological argument. Instead, it reinforces the premise that Zen is a practice fully prepared to meet, head-on, the vagaries of life, whether of natural, man-made, or a combination of those causes and conditions.

Note that he offers condolences to those who died first, rather than to the survivors; which is characteristic of Zen funerals. The sermon is actually directed to the deceased.

While emphasizing the need for disseminating accurate information, and recommending that all concerned follow the practical recommendations for exercising due diligence in preventing the spread of infection, President Oniuda refers back to the compassionate teachings of Zen’s founders, as they apply to this current, international crisis:

It is in such a time that the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha, Dogen Zenji, and Keizan Zenji are necessary. Shakyamuni Buddha taught right view, right speech, and right practice in the face of the sufferings of sickness and death.

Right view, speech and practice – conduct exhibited in crises – do not follow the mob:

Even if people are agitated or anxious in the confusion caused by others who are fearful and buy up or hoard food and other goods, let us act calmly. Let us act in accordance with the spirit of Dogen Zenji’s teaching of the intention of first saving others before ourselves and in accordance with the Bodhisattva’s Four Embracing Actions. This is to naturally practice the way of benefitting others.

Compare to the panic mode triggered by the pandemic in most circles of the population. Then the President’s message brings it home, uniting both social and personal spheres:

Also, Keizan Zenji taught that we should have compassion and love for all things, that we should sympathize with others’ sufferings as if they are our own, and that with the mind of compassion we should be diligent in the practice of zazen. I encourage you to endeavor to practice zazen during this time that we must spend quietly at home.[1]

So the prescription for practice in Zen remains the same in good times or bad, whether we find ourselves in truly dire straits, or operating under relatively ordinary pressures of meeting the daily needs of ourselves and the community: Hie thee thither – back to the cushion. His message is directed not just to monastics but to householders as well. And by no means is zazen prescribed as an escape from the wolves howling at the gate, but the most direct and efficacious way to meet them where they are coming from.

Matsuoka-roshi would sometimes say, “If you get sick, you just get sick; if you die, you just die. But meanwhile, do what the doctor says.” He frequently made the point that his fellow countrymen and women were usually calm in the face of calamity, whether in the form of personal trauma of getting bad news in a clinical or hospital setting, or even a prognosis of eminent death. This equanimity he attributed to their having been raised in a culture that embraces aging, sickness and death as natural and foreordained, rather than in one that approaches them with fear and loathing. Even young children in Japan are, or used to be, exposed to the teachings of Buddhism, and the practice of zazen, as a regular part of their upbringing.

We like to think that Buddha’s experience under the Bodhi tree that night so long ago represented the absolute apogee of good health and wellness, in all its dimensions – physical, mental, emotional, and even social. Yet it included the robust embrace of the ineradicable marks of biological, sentient existence: impermanence manifested as aging; suffering manifested as illness, both physiological and psychological; and no-self arising as the specter of death, the fear of non-existence on the personal plane.

It seems that our modern obsession with youth and longevity lobbies against any wide acceptance of these natural marks, or transitions, of our existence as human beings. But all sentient beings are subject to their inevitability - no exceptions, theistic beliefs notwithstanding. Perhaps this may be seen as the true source of the neurotic aspects of this age of anxiety. We are confronted with these marks on a progressive basis, as we age and become increasingly infirm, or frail. It is best to engage them on the cushion, when we are young and strong, but better later than never.

In the next segment of UnMind, we will take up the meaning of death, in the context of Dharma as the compassionate teachings. Until then, do not hesitate to allow your view of aging, sickness and death, your personal take on mortality, to enter into your zazen. It cannot hurt, and cannot be avoided in the long run.

[1] Published on Soto Zen Net (www.sotozen-net.or.jp) on April 3rd, 2020

Translated by Soto Zen Buddhism International Center

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Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Returning from the political fray to the realities of daily life on Earth 2 — as the current popular trope would have it — I would like to delve into one of the teachings of Buddhism and Zen that may contribute to its misperception as being overly pessimistic. The “three marks” of dukkha, the Sanskrit word usually translated as “suffering,” or “unsatisfactoriness.”

Usually, “dukkha” is related to specific aspects of life, specifically “aging, sickness and death,” as the three characteristics of all sentient existence. From the Tricycle web site we find:

The Buddha taught that all phenomena, including thoughts, emotions, and experiences, are marked by three characteristics, or “three marks of existence”: impermanence (anicca), suffering or dissatisfaction (dukkha), and not-self (anatta). These three marks apply to all conditioned things—that is, everything except for nirvana. According to the Buddha, fully understanding and appreciating the three marks of existence is essential to realizing enlightenment. (It is a schema that is accepted in both Theravada and Mahayana schools, but more emphasized in the former.)

Here we find a much broader, less personal definition of the three than “aging, sickness and death,” but as human beings, we are naturally more concerned with how they apply to our wellbeing most immediately and intimately, than how they function as universal principles. It seem to me that much of the chaos and uncertainty that we are currently witnessing in the social sphere is animated by the unsuccessful resolution of our personal relationship to these three marks, along with the built-in resistance to embracing them fully, with any measure of equanimity.

As an octogenarian, I can personally testify to the inevitability of the first two, and their power taking precedence over all other dimensions of daily life, in due time. All you have to do is live long enough to find out for yourself. However, the Buddha apparently came to this conclusion, or confrontation, relatively early in life, in his mid-thirties, when we would expect him to be in the prime of life, though 2500 years ago, life expectancy was not what it is today.

Let us consider each of them one at a time, from a problem-definition and problem-solving  perspective. In passing, let me recall that the least emotionally-laden definition of dukkha is, simply, “change.” Nothing personal about it.

Buddhists may be said to believe these teachings, rather than “believing in” them, as some of the online commentary would have it. As with all of the “compassionate teachings,” one’s own first-person, experiential evidence will drive home the validity and veracity, as well as the long term priority, of these findings and conclusions of the Buddha. The only question becomes how – how do we comport ourselves in the context of these dominant aspects of our existence?

The existence of suffering itself Buddha said we are to fully understand. And from the above quote, that understanding must of necessity begin with recognizing and appreciating these three most immediate considerations of life, beginning with aging, or impermanence. It does not help much to place our own impermanence in the context of universal impermanence. Misery may love company, but not that much.

It might help to consider the question, When does aging begin? At the moment of birth? At the moment of conception? The current flap over in-vitro fertilization – as part of the larger ethical and ideological debate around all things related to birth control, or the larger category of reproductive health in general – illustrates that aging is actually well under way before conception. The eggs and sperm involved have limited viability, aging out of their own, micro-world shelf lives. 

Owing to a welcome assist from modern medicine, many of us can expect to live increasingly long lives, with notable exceptions in the form of further life-threatening causes and conditions attributed to the very success, and lack of due diligence, of the human species.

In Zen, we hear various expressions such as “every moment reincarnation,” from my teacher, for instance. We read Master Dogen’s framing of birth and death as “expression(s) complete this moment.” Buddha himself was said to have mentioned something to the effect that, owing to impermanence, there must be permanence. His monks were said to have been happy to hear this. One of the theories that I have read, attempting to explain the success of Buddhism spreading throughout history in its countries and cultures of origin, is that Buddha’s followers were so relentlessly happy.

So there is a kind of pervasive optimism in Zen and Buddhism, which is hard to explain in the context of impermanence and aging, let alone sickness and death. But just consider, in your own mind for a moment, the possibility that there were no aging. That we would all remain “forever young,” in the memorable phrase from the Bob Dylan tune. What would be the implications, both long- and short-term, of this reversal of biology?

What if we did not age? (We can leave the discussion of illness and dying to upcoming segments.) Buddha rejected such speculation as ultimately futile, if taken seriously, but here, we want to treat it as a mere “thought experiment,” for the sake of shedding light on the actual causes and conditions of our existence, no harm no foul.

In design circles this is a recognized process, called “synectics,” engaging in the seemingly irrelevant on the chance that it might turn out to be relevant. It is related to “Hegel’s Dialectic,” seeing the existing “thesis,” a present manifestation of reality as impermanent, enabling our recognition and even ability to predict the emergence of the “antithesis” on the event horizon. The model goes on to predict the merging of thesis and antithesis into the new thesis, which arises, abides, changes and ultimately decays and disappears with the next cycle. And so on, and on, forever.

Not coincidentally, this terminology of “merging” is used discerningly by Master Dogen in his envisioning the process of Zen realization in Shobogenzo Bendowa, if memory serves (emphasis mine):

In stillness, mind and object merge in realization

and go beyond enlightenment

If we consider aging in this startling, single-point reflection, how does that look? Buddha says, toward the end of his First Sermon:

My heart’s deliverance is unassailable

This is the last birth

Now there is no more becoming

If indeed it is possible to come to the end of “becoming,” is that tantamount to the end of aging? Is the essence of what Buddha and Dogen realized is that everything “else” is obviously aging and becoming something else? And must include the one observing the change. And that it has always been thus, from the very beginning. So what could go wrong?

Just consider: If the very conditions that we all naturally worry about – all too often to an excessive, obsessive degree – have always obtained in the universe, long before our birth in this lifetime, and likely to persist and pertain long after our death; how can there be anything fundamentally amiss? Not that it’s the best of all possible worlds, thank you Pangloss. But really, as a design-build professional, I can fantasize that I was in charge, and made the primordial decisions that determined that, if there is to be sentient existence, what will that look like? How do I make that work?

But most ordinary human beings do not have that kind of hubris. They palm the fundamental questions off to a divine entity, the wizard’s intent hidden behind the curtain of appearances. We simply accept the givens, try to understand and embrace them, and go from there. But there must have been a “before” – before the Big Bang, or the alternative Bounce. There must have been something – the “sound of silence,” and maybe nascent thought — preceding the “Word.” But then, all heaven and hell breaks loose, and here we are. In this moment.

None of this explains anything, of course. Whatever framework we have been given to comprehend the brute fact of existence was totally made up by others. You learned that. And it can be unlearned. Zazen seems mainly a process of unlearning what we think.

The very idea and ideal of longevity has only one value in this context, according to my feeble grasp of Zen’s teachings: A better chance to wake up!

In witnessing – or better, contemplating – aging, I am oft reminded of the unforgettable couplet from musical Zen master Dylan:

Ah but I was so much older then

I’m younger than that now

My sense of the relevance of aging and impermanence in the context of meditation and Dharma teachings is that, like the questionable linearity of the so-called “arrow of time” in theoretical quantum mechanics, taking the view that time is passing in a direction may be entirely arbitrary. What we may perceive — and more problematically, what we may interpret — as aging, may indeed be true, but only half the reality, as with all dualistic thinking. Perhaps we are growing younger at the same time, disencumbering ourselves with learned inhibitions, rules and regulations that no longer apply, as we mature to embrace emptiness.

My idle conjecture on aging represents yet another variation on the theme of thinking independently and acting interdependently. This bears repetition: Sitting in zazen with the Zen community, we are nonetheless sitting alone. Any time we sit alone in zazen, we are joining the larger community of Zen practitioners. Somewhere in the world – at any time, day or night – someone is sitting in Zen meditation. We need flexibility of mind to approach Zen practice in this nondual sense, outside of time and space.

In the next UnMind segment, we will take up the more abrupt, if no more tangible than aging, mark of “sickness,” which for some reason is not called out as such in the early translation. Maybe the prevalence of illnesses of all kinds was so much a part of daily life that it did not emerge as a perceivable isolate in the social awareness of the time.

Meanwhile, as Buddha himself suggested, don’t take my word for any of this. Check it out for yourself, on the cushion, and off.

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Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little