Sounds like something most of us might want to check out.

To give-up our suffering looks an awful lot like the opened amaryllis. It is fully bloomed and reveals itself in a vulnerable, transparent face towards the light. It also looks like these three faces: the old Zen monk who, although close to the end of his death, continues to plant chestnut tree seeds everyday; the old priest called out of retirement to work for a year in a place that struggles to survive and the old Buddhist nun who is asked to start a monastery for young women.

What do they have in common?

They have given-up their suffering and offer the best of their bloom in a vulnerable, transparent face knowing they will never see the rewards of their work. There is nothing in it to gain because there is no one there to claim the gain.

Christ in the Beatitudes tells the crowds the same message when he exclaims,

Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of God…[1]

All we are asked to give up is our suffering by giving up and go without our desire to get what we want, to be a know-it-all and to claim ownership of just about everything.

To be able to give up our suffering we need to be poor in spirit. We need go without the clinging ego and face that reality is not under the control of our wants, our knowledge nor our claims of ownership. And in this reality we bloom and give wanting nothing, knowing nothing, and having nothing. It is in this emptied out of desire where we do our best. We no longer worry, clang, drift and wander in the material, restlessness of self-gain.

To ease our suffering we follow a path of renunciation continuously and we do it continuously. In other words, we starve the ego.

“But? …you say.

There are no excuses. As long as we make excuses we cling to our old familiar habits of wanting it our way, thinking we know what we know and that’s what we want and claiming ownership.

We practice giving up the ego’s natural tendency to be in charge, to be comfortable, to take the easy road, and to get the pleasures we want. We resist this tendency to be self-involved, self-absorbed and self-important. We go without the self and see what happens.

At first we may be disoriented, unanchored as well as fresh, bright and loosening our grip. We are not used to going without the self but it is all we are asked to go without to be poor in spirit. It’s not to fake it, not to pretend you are nobody, going nowhere…it is a dropping, starving, stopping the wanting, controlling, demanding self by resisting the tendencies to be self-absorbed, self-involved and self-important. It’s a practice of nothing in it for me.

This is the culmination of the path. It is not something the ego can conjure up. We surrender the self, go without it and take refuge in the Source. And we do this in the spirit of constancy.

Begin…it’s not too late.

 

 

[1] Matthew 5:3, Title is from Kennett Roshi

Whereas most mammals maintain a protected internal environment for the growing fetus, birds use an external protective covering consisting of calcium called a “shell.” This protective shell provides an isolated environment to allow the developing chick to thrive but once the chick is ready to survive in the outside world, this secure vault needs to be opened. The chick needs to break open the shell without help, in its own time frame and only the chick’s internal clock knows when it is time to emerge.

 

 

Early in my training as a Zen student I vividly recall an explanation my teacher gave to me regarding a Zen student and a Zen teacher. I was told that Zen students are like hatchlings in a nest and the Zen teacher is the mother bird. She went on to tell me the work of a Zen student like a hatchling is to push from the inside towards freedom and the work of the teacher was to peck from the outside until the hatchling is free. She took this metaphor to heart as did I. I felt pecked, but I never felt free.

I, however, have since come to see the misunderstanding of such a relationship. I suppose the first truth is that no one can free another person by any means. It’s a relief to know this firsthand. The second truth is that I am free from the worry of finding the right teacher who is up to the task of pecking me to freedom. I must admit I worried for some time that I needed to find another teacher who would do the honor of pecking me to death.
I was lucky. The several teachers I bumped into never were willing to take up the strike against the defensive ego-egg nor were they able to give any guidance to what I needed to do.
Over time it became clear to me that neither they nor I knew what a teacher was supposed to do and what I was supposed to do as a student.
It wasn’t for lack of effort that I found myself in this sad, disheveled state. I groveled, pleaded, and beseeched those who carried the title “teacher” to help me. I found disinterest, self-interest, and indifference.
Some had programs I could follow; sign-up sheets to enlist in their particular brand of spiritual work and some had mistaken me for someone that I fortunately knew I was not. Others had membership fees, dues and lots of regulations. None of it suited me.
In all honesty, it was my misunderstanding stemming from the chicken and the egg explanation given early on as well as a delusion that clouded and covered over what I really needed. The delusion took quite a few hard knocks before I realized I carried a delusion that teachers should help. I thought those with a title of such magnitude as a Zen teacher should be willing to help anyone who sought their assistance. That was a delusion!
I am quite thankful for reality and the suffering associated with coming to grips with it. It was my best tutor.
Before long I began to realize that I wanted something in addition to my delusion of getting help. And furthermore it became apparent that those I sought help from (Zen and other teachers) shared a similar problem; we were each invested in self-interest.
It took many years to finally stop the search for someone to peck me out of my babyhood; this someone who would help me become a somebody in a line of many other some-bodies.
This is all good luck, although not pain free. On the contrary, it was very painful to give up the delusion that others are there to help peck me into the Eternal Way. It was painful to relinquish the wish to join the ranks of the legitimate lineage of professorial Zen. But mostly it’s been a relief.
Soon after this realization I entered into the wilderness of don’t know which was a greater stroke of good fortune. For a time, I felt adrift and seemingly lost until I realized this don’t know place was Zen. And it was here that I realized there is no one better equipped to reveal the Dharma than the steady, faithful and solitary practice of everyday. It was for the most part simple but not easy.
It’s ordinary.
This ordinary and common struggle with the ego conditions of the day-to-day is the work of Zen. It requires I be both mother and baby in every situation. It means I enter another place known by many who practice contemplation as a cell. But this is a cell not like the outer shell of an egg but of an inner reality of confidence. It is the destination of ceasing suffering.
No one can set anyone free. The inner resolve of the baby chick (you & me) and the outer conditions (everyday conditions) naturally break us free. This is the eternal work which has no name.
Fidelity, watchfulness, and steady commitment to this solitary path protect the hatchling from counting on conditioned delusions to bring about a birth of awareness.
The mother and father birds (those who give tips and pointers) provide warmth, quiet, and a predator-free environment while the hatchling struggles to crack through the protective membranes.
The baby eggshell is for the most part calcium carbonate, a chemical compound found in rock and has the quality of cement when protein mixes with it. It’s as if the hatching is buried alive inside the egg. It takes strength and fortitude for the baby to want to live outside this protected shell.
When the hatchling reaches a certain size it needs to break through the inner layers in order to find oxygen or shrivel up and die inside the egg. Many birds grow what is called an egg tooth, a sharp hook on their beak which is used to break out of the once protective shell. It is called pipping.
Along with strength and neck muscle the hatchling starts to pip a small air hole in order to breathe and absorb nutrients while it smashes through the cement-like barriers.
The hatchling at this point needs no help. In fact, if anyone including the parents tries to help the pip, there is a great risk that the baby hatchling will bleed to death.
The hatchling goes it alone. The baby hatchling has simply outgrown the need for such strong and dependent protection.
The work of life shifts to getting nourishment from the parents. In other words, the work is up to the newly born bird. This mutual assistance is a reminder of the nature of benevolence.
It was for me.
I needed a steady, solitary faithfulness to the practice of breaking through the baby shell. Without this self-mothering I found myself going round and round in circles reviewing old, dead fish brought up in storms in the mind. I needed and continue to develop the strength and determination to break through opinions and views of the self. I had to grow out of and outgrow these confining, protective shields.
A spiritual life, especially a contemplative one is a matter of growing up, spiritually growing up.
The work is up to me. The egg in hand is me receiving the benevolent favor from the Divine in the form of good luck and lucky conditions.
When I consider it, I rest in serene work within, live day-by-day in the hand of the unborn and undying and when I am very lucky I remember to be grateful.

Copyright ©2015 A Single Thread

Quote Credit: Retrieved: 9/24/15 http://www.birdchannel.com/bird-species/baby-birds/the-egg-tooth.aspx

I remain fastened to steadiness. I stay connected to something bigger than the usual stories, to the usual desires to repair the apparent broken limbs of being alive. It is to be with what is given and to stay with it. This is practice.

The weather change of spring began in May with a departure through the doorway of death. My old friend Henry left suddenly. In the middle of his disappearance Bear was diagnosed with a life killing heart disease followed by an astonishing emergence of another dog, Harald Godwin, a 10 week old standard poodle.

In mid-July my young grand-niece was struck with a massive middle cerebral arterial stroke and was in ICU for 24 days. She suffered further complications with staphloccocus aureus pneumonia (MRSA), sudden diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes, and heart failure. Day 22 she woke up. She is soon to be transferred to an LTAC (long-term acute care) with an unknown prognosis.

In late August another niece celebrated the upcoming birth of her son with a lovely high tea ceremony in a restored Victorian mansion. As we drove the 87 miles to the event I watched the speed of the cars zig zag across four lanes between other cars in a cutthroat spirit to get somewhere.

I edit a first novel and revise a web page. I contemplate this practice and devote myself to it.

It’s been a cool summer. Cloud bursts of water and big banging thunder together with startling lightning come and cool the trees and flowers. Sections of the backyard 6’ fence blew down in a microburst chipping off bits and pieces of the zendo siding and leaving a grand gaping hole into our displeasd neighbor’s yard.

The last edge of summer promises an early frost with her breezy, chilly air. Everything seems fresh and unruffled as it gets ready to turn and leave.

My health wobbles as I make changes to stabilize it. I consider the word refuge and find myself laughing. Refuge, a shelter of safety?  I cannot fathom such a place, except to stay connected to something bigger than the usual stories and the usual desires to repair the apparent broken world. When I am not stumbling around in ignorance I take refuge in God, in the ability to stay fastened to something bigger, and to relinquish my usual stories and my usual desires. I understand the emptiness of promises for anything else and return to the bigger something that cannot be expressed in words.

I am reminded of two Jewish teachings, tikkun olam, repair the world and Psalm 139. I find comfort in the truth of them.

 Tikkun Olam – Repair the World

Before a baby is born…the angels hold the baby and give instructions…

“When you are born, please do good to repair the world.”

 

As the baby is about to be born, the angels say, “Wait! We need to know if you understood our instruction.”

 

The baby, nods, “Yes, yes. I understand.”

 

“Ok, let us see?” say the angels. “When you do good works in the world and others praise you for it, take delight in the good you do and tell you how good you are, what do you do?”

 

“Oh!” says the baby. “I say thank you.” “No! No!” say the angels. The baby tries again. “Ok. I guess I say, I did a good job! Yippee!” “No! No!” repeat the angels. The little baby is confused and asks, “What do I say?” “You say, I am still a failure.”

 

Suddenly the baby screams and is born.

Psalm 139

You formed my inmost being;

You knit me in my mother’s womb.

I praise you, because I am wonderfully made;

Wonderful are your works! My very self you know.

My bones are not hidden from you,

when I was being made in secret,

fashioned in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw me unformed;

in your book all are written down;

my days were shaped before one came to be.

 

Today the sky darkens with the anticipation of recurring thunder and lightning. I watch the wind blow itself out over the Great Lake under the darkened heavens and remind myself of my promise to work for peace with the restless mind, the wild impulses and rash words.  It’s practice with Buddha eyes.

 

Written by Yao Xiang Shakya ©

Photo and art credit:Yao Xiang Shakya 2015©

 

When we are not emotionally bound to any worldly thing, we are free to choose. It is the decision made by Siddhartha Gautama when he rose one night and left his family and his life of luxury behind. A decision is not a guess or the unquestioned adherence to rules. It is the crucial dilemma of Sister Simplice in Les Miserables and of Kausika, the Brahman, sitting where the rivers meet. It is in fact a telltale sign of liberation and the knowledge of the Divine.

In his excellent translation of the Mahabharata, William Buck includes this confounding anecdote:

Kausika the brahmana, who is now roasting in Hell, set his heart upon Virtue and in all his life never told a lie, even in jest. Once, having seen their helpless victim run past him and hide, Kausika, sitting there where the rivers meet, answered the thieves, “That way.”

In his voluminous Les Miserables, Victor Hugo creates a beautiful character, Sister Simplice, a Sister of Charity, who faces a dilemma similar to Kausika. She is vowed to obey the Commandment to tell the truth. But when asked where an innocent man is, she lies and misdirects his persecutor.

William Buck includes the scriptural admonition: So be as the swan, which drinks from milk and water mixed together, whichever one he choose, leaving the other behind.

Clearly, Sister Simplice was able to separate the milk from the water; and Kausika was not.

Before we discuss the circumstances of the situation in which Sister Simplice makes her choice, we also need to introduce two other characters, the hero, Jean Valjean and his nemesis, Inspector Javert.

Jean Valjean, in his youth committed thefts and jail-escapes and is therefore a fugitive. Years pass, he has assumed a new identity and is now a town Mayor. He is a rich man who lives a virtuous life, using his position, wealth and power, to do good for others.

Inspector Javert, Valjean’s nemesis and former prison guard, suspects the true identity of the Mayor, and is obsessed by worldly authority and the need to bring Valjean to justice.

As Hugo records the scene, Valjean is hiding in a room:

The door opened. Javert entered. The nun did not raise her eyes. She was praying. The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light. Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.

On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire.

But there was also another duty which bound him and impelled him imperiously in the opposite direction. His second movement was to remain and to venture on at least one question.

This was Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie in her life. Javert knew it, and held her in special veneration in consequence.

“Sister,” said he, “are you alone in this room?”

A terrible moment ensued, during which…she… felt as though she should faint.

The sister raised her eyes and answered:–

“Yes.”

“Then,” resumed Javert, “you will excuse me if I persist; it is my duty; you have not seen a certain person–a man–this evening? He has escaped; we are in search of him–that Jean Valjean; you have not seen him?”

The sister replied:–

“No.”

“Pardon me,” said Javert, and he retired with a deep bow.

The difficulty and the wisdom that Sister Simplice and Kausika face are the same yet Kausika is fixed to an idea of virtue that blinds him. He chooses, but his choice leads to hell. Sister Simplice is not fixed to her ideas of virtue which allows wisdom to rule. She chooses, but her choice leads to paradise.

Both Inspector Javert and Kausika share a common spiritual illness. They suffer from spiritual certainty. They foolishly think that ideas of right and wrong lead to paradise. Both are in the dark. They are like anchored ships that have not unfurled the sails.

Sister Simplice knows something they don’t know. In this one moment Sister Simplice finds she is at sea, no longer anchored to the way she “should” respond. She is the Buddha Self saying “yes,” saying “no.” All of the speculation, supposition, and guesswork are gone and she decides. Her response shows she is free. She does not rely on duty, obligation or rules. Her sense doors are of no use, she relies on Buddha eyes.

How do we know the wise choice to make?

Surprisingly, the answer is quite personal and much like Sister Simplice’s decision is not an unchanging set of rules that are written in stone and guaranteed. The simple answer is to live out the life of the Buddha Self, morning, noon and night. That is the simple answer. There is no other. It is not to debate, argue, review, intellectualize, explain, defend, or refute the pros and cons of whether to lie or not.

When we are the living Buddha Self, we know. Others may determine our choice as good or bad, but we no longer concern ourselves with what others may say. Saints often act quite bizarrely when measured by worldly standards of right and wrong, but saints do not give a damn about measures of the world because they truly hear and live by a different drum. The caveat is “don’t pretend to know how to live the Buddha Self and don’t pretend to be a saint.”

Wake up and see with a Buddha eye.

 

 

 

Yao Xiang Shakya, Buddha Eyes © 2015

Yao Xiang Shakya Buddha Love Image © 2015

 

 

A Zen Buddhist Contemplative Practice

We are a new order rooted in the ancient teachings of Zen. We are inclusive, contemplative and are what we like to call a backyard practice.

After many years of spiritual practice we discovered an inward inclination to live a more contemplative life. Despite living in an urban setting, we live the life of quiet reflection without rule or imposed structure. As we practice we find silence, meditation, solitude, study and work to be the Way to finding and being our true Self.

We maintain a small zendo, look after two dogs and are friendly to our neighbors.

We welcome those who might be inclined to live a contemplative life right in the middle of ordinary circumstances. We offer little in the way of imposed structure or rule but point the way to find the Dharma through essays, good words, books, art, lay and priest ordination and contemplative practices. If you feel drawn to a contemplative life right where you are and might find some connection to others beneficial, please contact us by e-mail.

We hold no bias toward any particular cultural expressions of Buddhism and embrace varied and multiple approaches to practice and teachings according to the needs of the individual or group.

All faiths are welcomed.

There are no fees, no membership cards, and no bylaws.

We offer the Dharma.

Yao Xiang Shakya

 

 

 

Photo credit: Yao Xiang Shakya, efh ©

By Yao Xiang Shakya, efh

I came to love tea as a child sitting at one end of an old table and my mother at the other. She often sat facing the kitchen door while I sat facing her. We shared the silence over a cup of tea. The morning silence rooted in things being just as they are is the spirit of the mystical peak. It is the karma of when tea is offered. There was nothing else; no regret, no remorse. The distinctions were unnoticed.

The kettle boiled and steamy hot water was poured into a teapot full of black odd shaped leaves. Justice and injustice never were mentioned or even any consideration of vice or virtue. Nothing got counted for or against.

When she spoke to me she placed her hand on her hip to declare her given authority and say things in a riddle. I wasn’t surprised by them since I understood she wanted to say something even though the enigmatic words were unfathomable.  But her words somehow belonged on the table in amongst dusty plastic flowers, a soiled envelope with words from her hand… bread, milk and Newports and unwashed dishes from the night before.

The words fell off the mantle above the table from glassless prints of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and Our Lady of Perpetual Help.  She mouthed them in the King’s English, bold and brassy.  I think my mother was forever making plans to find the truth in these bottomless words. It sounded important when she’d turn to me and crown my bent head with “The devil has your soul.” I figure these words were her attempt to tell me about eternity. I think she thought they were true, but I can’t say for sure. I never responded to these words since I didn’t have a response. When she’d say these words, encouragement to speak shrunk up and disappeared.

It’s taken a lifetime of making plans to find the truth to realize “When tea is offered” is the same tale as the two Zen monks walking along a dirt and dusty road. One monk says to the other, “This is the top of the mystical peak,”´ the other monk replies, “What a pity!”  The morning tea ritual was ordinary life on top of the mystical peak where one monk says, “The devil has your soul.” and the other replies, “What hard luck!”

 

 

 

In 1981 the villagers of El Mozote, El Salvador were systematically massacred by the Atlacatl Salvadorian soldiers. The village men were taken into the church, women and children were held prisoner in a local house. After cruel interrogations, the soldiers began to kill; first the men, followed by the young girls, who were raped, then slaughtered and finally the older women. The young boys were hanged and stabbed in an open field.

 

One girl, unlike the others, was heard singing hymns after being raped, stabbed in the chest and left for dead on the street. The soldiers heard her singing hymns. Soon, however, her relentless

tribute began to wear on the soldiers, so they shot her. Although weakened, she continued her heavenly songs. Dumbfounded by her insistent singing, several soldiers gathered around her and stood watch over her until their weariness grew to rage. They shot her yet again. Her song continued. The confusion and astonishment among the soldiers twisted around their rage to fear. No longer able to withstand her heavenly praises, several of them drew machetes and severed her neck. The singing stopped. But her unyielding songs of allegiance remain as our good fortune.

 

The 17th century Japanese Haiku master, Basho, gives us strong advice on what to do with such a story:

 

“Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise; seek what they sought.”

 

Basho lifts us off of our human tendency to imitate and encourages us instead to discriminate. Seek what they sought. This nameless girl knew something that most of us fail to find. Her legacy is in her spontaneous persistence.

In the middle of a guerilla war, in the mountains of El Salvador, this young girl apparently was able to meet violence with songs of praise. She lay in her own bloodbath singing hymns to the Blessed One. “Seek what she sought,” advises Basho. Plead, beg and long to find what she must have known. And when we find it, we find our true nature.

Ram Dass, well-known author and student of the Hindu saint Neem Karoli Baba, refers to himself as a “holy man.” Yet, this “holy man,” during a near death experience from a massive stroke, did not turn towards what he admittedly thought was the center of his life. He did not sing praises but was fearful of his death. He admits wanting to live to do more things.

In a recent interview, he explains that prior to his stroke he lived what he felt was above the physical plane and gave very little attention to his body. The stroke, which he affectionately calls, a stroke of grace, pierced through these high states of consciousness and reminded him of his own physical frailty and death. And more importantly, the stroke reminded him he still has work to do.  He thought he knew

 

God, he had spent his whole life in what he thought was service to God. He prided himself on “helping” others. In fact, his guru sent him off with a life mission “to help others” and he even wrote a book, “How Can I Help?” But the stroke showed him it wasn’t enough. Although on a holy path, he was missing something; his near death experience showed him he was going to die and that he was not yet full of grace.

“Everyone said, ‘Poor Ram Dass, poor Ram Dass’ and I thought my guru’s grace had deserted me,” says Ram Dass. “I doubted God. My practice wasn’t strong enough for the physical, emotional, and spiritual pain I was feeling. I talked to my guru’s picture and he spoke to me, he was all around me.”

“I realized that stroke was Maharajji’s grace,” adds the inspirational speaker and author. “I had been superficial and arrogant and the stroke helped me to be humble. I had gotten power from helping people and now I need help for everything. That was the grace. The stroke happened to the ego, and when I could witness the pain, my life got better.”

http://ramdasstapes.org/usatoday%20article.htm

 

Now he works to willingly accept his dependence on others to help him as the grace of his guru. The stroke has left him aphasic leaving gaps and pauses in his speech. During one of his lecture circuits he admonishes the audience “not to wait” for him to speak.

“Don’t practice waiting during the silences. That’s not a good thing to do….A lot of people, when I’m silent up here, are waiting…because that’s what their mind is doing — waiting. Silly thing.

That was a moment when you could have been finding God.” (http://www.marin.edu/disabled/ramdass.htm)

Don’t wait to accept what is the grace of the Buddha Self right in the middle of whatever is arising. But we need to know the Buddha Self in order to accept what happens as grace. His stroke allowed him to discriminate in such a way that he admitted after years of claiming holiness that he was missing something. The skeptic among us might say he has no choice but to accept his situation. But even in situations where there is no choice, we do not necessarily turn the hardships of our life into a good fortune. Many are left eating a harsh, bitter fruit. It’s the nature of spiritual discrimination to be able to differentiate between subtle distinctions and variations in order to see the good fortune in all things.

 

Discrimination is a rather immense topic, it includes just about everything in the ordinary world as well as beyond it. In the everyday dealings of life, where we spend our time paying bills, looking after children, relationships, food and shelter, clothing and our health we find plenty of how-to-succeed books for discerning directions. The proliferation of such books suggests strongly we need some help to distinguish which way to go. Zen, as well, has directions. The precepts cover just about everything we need in order to behave in a decent and principled manner. It’s spiritual common sense to follow them.

Don’t kill, cheat, steal, lie or get drunk are the basic principles to follow in everyday commerce and discourse with others. The consequence of not following these honorable and respectable traditions often leads to all sorts of trouble. It is prudent to give such things regard. Yet, we find time and time again that we fail to do so for one reason or another. The failure to regard principles such as the precepts leads to worldly problems again and again until we stop the egregious behaviors or are

 

stopped by force or legal circumstances. Most likely this line of reason is nothing new. Although not new, we still require a caution not to skip Zen’s directives around moral behavior.

The precepts help us discriminate, but following the precepts does not mean we have joined the ranks of “holy sages.” To a very large degree the precepts help calm the mind from worry, doubt, and self- hate, but they do not guarantee a willing acceptance of life’s circumstances. They are not enough to leap clear of the material world. We use the precepts as an indicator of spiritual location. They are a place marker. We are more a rank beginner than a holy sage. Everyone starts somewhere.

It is safe to say that if we disregard a set of spiritual precepts, whether the number is 5, 8, 16 or 311, the indicator reading for such blatant disregard suggests that we are sure to enter hell amidst the world of others. When we kill, cheat, lie, steal and are drunk as a way of life, we suffer.

Ram Dass found out, that even after years of devoted practice of helping others, that a near death experience left him worried about the fleeting gains of his own success. He wanted to write another book, he had more to do, the stroke was inconvenient and went against his plans.

The precepts are foundational and helping others is inevitable, but the leap requires a discipline unfettered by black and white rules and the attachment to the fleeting world.

An over quoted religious ideal suggests that we are “to sell off everything for the sake of the treasure.” It is not a literal, concrete sale of all goods, but emblematic of giving up or selling off the interior stronghold of the false self, which is characterized by self-involved cravings to do one more thing. The nameless, dying girl of El Mozote appears to have known the greater treasure. She did not cry out to save herself, but instead tirelessly sang praises to the Blessed One.

Shitou Xiquan, our venerable 8th century Chan ancestor, in the appealing “Song of the Grass Roof Hermitage” reminds us that whatever we put together, whether it is a book of wise sayings or a house filled with children, spiritually speaking, it is of no lasting value.

“I’ve built a grass hut where there’s nothing of value. After eating, I relax and enjoy a nap.” Shitou Xiqian

 

In fact, he encourages us to just rest, relax, and take a nap. Sure, we do our best, but not as part of a merit-seeking treasure hunt. But more as a bride or bridegroom who readies the wedding chambers for the Blessed One. It requires humility to see that there is nothing of value that we might offer, but to be ready, nonetheless.

The nature of all forms, whether handmade or the handiwork of nature, is without lasting value. When we clear the mind of banking on these transitory treasures, the greater treasure, the original master, is there without doubt. So why not STOP banking on transitory treasures! It requires the ability to distinguish between the fleeting, transitory dream and that which is not fleeting and transitory in the sensual realm. It requires spiritual discrimination. It requires firsthand knowledge of the Buddha Self.

 

The universe of sense experience is a great book; and he who reads through to the end with discrimination will know at length there is nothing but God [the Buddha Self]. Patanjali

The book of sense experience is for most of us a difficult book to comprehend. We often swing between one extreme to the other through the sense doors of pain and pleasure. We either want more of something or less of it in order to get comfortable, to be content or satisfied. Our sense experiences, however, are the basis of many of our human troubles, if not all, of our troubles. It changes when we realize through discrimination that all sense experience is nothing but the Buddha Self. This truth is worth repeating. All sense experience is nothing but the Buddha Self. Our discrimination is when things are good, it’s the Buddha Self and when things are bad, things are bad. This mistake comes from our self-seeking discrimination.

In the simplest terms, our senses are for the most part for animal survival, but we fail to realize this plain and uncomplicated truth and rest all sorts of ego importance on sensual experience. We set value on whether we are warm in a mansion versus being warm in a hut. This type of discrimination, valuing one thing over another burdens our mind and blinds our ability to see that all sense experience whether in a mansion or in a hut is nothing but the Buddha Self. It requires seeing a stroke as fierce grace as Ram  Dass did. His massive stroke was a stroke of grace. He’s quite lucky.

When we fail to recognize the Buddha Self in all sense experiences, we become believers of our conditioned, relative and unreliable ego-self. Hoodwinked, we get taken in by it in just about every circumstance imaginable.

It gets worse.

 

We become soldiers and fighters for our personal, ego desires. We begin to believe that we should harm others in order to get what we want. It’s pervasive and touches every aspect of our life. We are sensual beings on the hunt for sense experiences.  Our fight is not with the flesh and blood of others, but with our inner delusions and self-cherishing. If we look carefully, we are able to see that just about every quarrel is tied to a sense door. We are inclined to bind our mind to getting things. This tendency makes Patanjali’s statement seem preposterous. It may be difficult and more so for those of us who have sunk our life energy into the ways of the world. But it is far more helpful to the spiritual seeker to know that we are not trapped by this human tendency. And when we begin to come into line with Patanjali’s insight, all of our sense experience is nothing but good, spiritual luck. When we know we are lucky, willingly accepting whatever happens, we are grateful and join the ranks of holy sages. But don’t try to fake it! Unh-Unh-Uh-Uh!

Patanjali’s declaration is a declaration of an awakened man. Only an awakened man is able to include everything under the sun and beyond as nothing but the Buddha Self. Those who are not awakened, not only find themselves squabbling and bickering over the most ordinary and commonplace items, but also go as far as to dispute the sage who makes such a claim.

Discrimination at the highest spiritual level is an ability to know what is real in the midst of everything that appears and vanishes. It also is a clear, interior recognition of “not being in charge.” This sudden

 

realization comes when it comes, sometimes on a field of blood, sometimes in the middle of a stroke. The sage sees through the fleeting world of things and is able to see the Buddha Self right in the middle of it all. And when this happens, we eat, relax and take a nap.

The advice of the sages is threefold, Patanjali tells us that all sense experience is nothing but the Buddha Self and Shitou Xiqian reminds us in the discourse “Merging Sameness and Difference” …encountering the absolute is not yet enlightenment and there’s nothing of lasting value.

We cannot leave our skin bag, as perhaps Ram Dass attempted to do, in blissful states of consciousness. Although we delight in blissful states of consciousness, that is not yet enlightenment. We live in this skin bag, here and now, building and putting stuff together, but don’t take it all too seriously.

We might also do well to recall the nameless girl on the blood stained paths in EL Mozote. She suddenly sang. Seek what she sought. But remember, it’s a DIY approach, do it yourself; don’t pretend or imitate her, Ram Dass or the great sages. Don’t polish the little ego and become a know-it-all copycat. Find the hidden treasure.  Sell everything to find it.

We end with a whisper from a South American wine maker, who on his death bed, revealed the secret: “On his deathbed, a man of the vineyards spoke into Marcela’s ear.

Before dying, he revealed his secret:

 

“The grape,” he whispered, “is made of wine.”

Eduardo Galeano

 

Photo Credit: Yao Xiang Shakya ©

Communion with the Doubter

By Yao Xiang Shakya, efh

I rise at 4:00 am to the sounds of a whimpering, hungry sick, old dog. Waking up in the kitchen I recall the question given to me, “Do people really believe that the bread and wine turn into the flesh and blood of Christ?” As I open each little amber bottle of medicine and place the many capsules into the bottom of his bowl I answer, “I certainly hope so! Just as I know these food supplements strengthen his heart muscle and boost his immune system.”

In the silence and darkness of the early morning I stand before the granite counter carefully placing each capsule, tablet, and spoonful of the powder into the empty dog bowl. With wholehearted effort I concentrate on the numbers and amounts as I mix water with his dog food into the dissolving granules. He sits close by in soft anticipation for what I offer him. He is hungry after a long night of restless sleep. I kneel down as he sits looking up at me and place his food bowl in front of him. He glances at his bowl and waits for my words. He sits in perfect form and looks up and does not move until I say the word, “Free.” I watch what has been a familiar ritual between us now for some seven years. I am relieved and happy to see him gorge and gobble down what is offered hoping it changes into his body and blood for the better.

“Conversion” I whisper, “is a universal principle. Everything converts.”

I don’t know for sure what the change will be but I do know the medications, his food and even the water will convert into something that is undying and timeless. Everything is recycled as if it is the first time. It is all fresh in the transfer from the bottom of the bowl to the bottom of his belly. I see his breath change, his cough diminish and his appetite strong. Change remains seemingly an unending truth. I am cheering for him as he eats his biscuits and drinks his water.

I hear the doubter say, “Well, that is the result of science! The pills are supposed to work. That is not the same as bread and wine changing into the flesh and blood of some dead guy?”

I laugh and unfold a thin sheet of paper and show the doubter the tiny print. It’s the many warnings and cautions that came with his medications.

“Read it carefully, you might change your resolute doubts.”

“Nothing is foolproof here.” I say looking the doubter right in the eye. “I don’t claim certainty. Just as you can’t claim it doesn’t become the flesh and blood. Certainty is not the nature of the universe. If it was, there would never be a plane crash. We’d make sure of it because we love certainty. But certainty has a real downside which is often overlooked.”

These remarks silence the doubter’s claims for just a brief moment allowing me to continue.

“Certainty kills our inner need to revere and know what is sacred. It makes us into smug nutters. It happens in science and it happens in religion. It leads to a sense of superiority. It sets off a domino effect of judgment where you forget that the measure you use to judge will be the measure used to judge you. You’re better off not getting involved in certainty such as wanting to know some narrow proof.”

Sighs of disgust arise. The doubter asks in a pugnacious tone. “What does this all have to do with the business of the bread and wine, and flesh and blood? HUH?”

“Yes. Well… I think you’d agree that it is very hard to tell whether the medicine works to prolong his life or whether it doesn’t. If you read the fine print, some dogs fall dead, rather suddenly from this medical cocktail. Pinpointing what actually happens despite the belief in the scientific method is ambiguous at best. No one can say for sure, at least about the results. It’s sophisticated guesswork, but guesswork none the less. It has to be. To be other than guesswork is to eliminate the laws of nature. But there is something we can say for sure! We can say for sure, conversion is a universal principle. We do know some conversion of what we eat and drink occurs. Change is a certainty. I don’t need a scientific method or even a scientific education to know that. In fact, science relies on conversion and so does religion. But this may be as far as we can go together, as far as science and religion can go together.”

The doubter looks up and I reply to his wide-eyed gesture. “I see I have your attention.”

“I reluctantly acknowledge that change is a law of nature.”

“Good. I’d be worried if you didn’t acknowledge it. SO…change in regards to the medicine I give my dog and the offertory of bread and wine all share the same law, it changes from one thing into another.”

“Yes.” The doubter sighs still willful.

“The question then seems to be in regards to the change into the body and blood?”

“Yes.”

“Well. I suppose I could ask you to prove that it doesn’t…how do you know it doesn’t? But you don’t need to answer it because you can’t prove that it doesn’t. Nor can I prove that it does using the same methods you use. I use different methods.  I do not use the imperfect but useful scientific method. Any scientist worth his salt would be curious enough to lay down his sword long enough to inquire about a different method. Wouldn’t he?” The doubter nods ever so slightly.

“A scientist who doesn’t runs the risk of being stuck in a paradigm. Kuhn in the 1960’s tried to shake up the paradigm shifts in science to be more revolutionary. It might be revolutionary for you to drop your scientific view and see for yourself a spiritual one. Surely, that is possible?”

“I am not sure that I can.” The doubter in halfhearted honesty shifts just a little.

“Fair enough. I am not trying to convert you, because I can’t anymore than I convert the medication I gave to my dog. He might be one of those who suddenly drop dead from this medicinal concoction? I don’t know and neither do you. The best we can do is to take a chance because we both realize the truth of uncertainty and the law of conversion.”

The doubter coughs. I continue.

“Proof, a verification of some sort actually results in statistical breakdowns. A certain percentage benefit and a certain percentage do not. For all I know you might benefit from my method and you might not just like the dog. It’s always a wait-and-see situation. We cannot get out of the laws of nature although we want to influence the change, but there are no guarantees. It’s not a matter of belief either. Science and surprisingly religion agree on this point. Both seek to act in hopes of a particular change to occur.  Both want to effect change in a particular direction. In the dog’s case, science wants to lower the death rate and increase the vitality of the dog.”

The doubter thinks.

I continue. “Are you with me?”

“Ummmm…”

“I am not surprised that you remain skeptical. Your methods have trained you to be doubtful. Fine. Fine. Fine.”

“It’s not apples and apples?” The doubter laments.

“Yeah. It’s not. “The method of religion is different than the method of science.”

“But you still look doubtful.”

“What is this method of religion you speak of…?”

“It is a mystical method.”

“Oh brother!”

“I didn’t say magical, I said mystical. It is the immeasurable, universal principle.”

“Sounds like boloney. What exactly is the method?”

“It’s an expressive, active method.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s the old saying the proof of the pudding is in the eating of it.”

“Are you saying you have to wait until the results to know if you got it or not?”

“Not exactly. Yes and no. It’s intuitive. Science waits to see whether the rat dies or lives. Religion knows death is inevitable. What I am saying is that you gotta do it yourself. Religion, the mystical  method is a do-it-yourself, sorta trial and error approach.”

“That sounds…”

“Difficult?”

“Yes. Well if you are after certainty and a formula and a surefire approach…yes, it would be difficult. But let me say out the outset it’s an adventure that requires a forfeiture of how you think it should go for how it is. It’s direct. It’s a solitary surprise of the nature of reality.”

The doubter covers his face with both hands.

“You look mystified.”

They both laugh.

I continue.

“The expressive, active method affords a large array of means. It’s a diverse approach, grand and magnificent. It’s closer to art than science but tends to use whatever is available. It makes us lucky. The luck is in the assortment which is a direct reflection of the Divine.”

The doubter shifts again, edgy with anticipation.

“Wanna try it? It doesn’t require much…hmmmm…specialization or apparatus.”

Doubtful the doubter assents to the query.

“OK. You are in luck. It’s up to you to actually do to try it. So here’s what I’d suggest. Take the question  “Do people really believe that the bread and wine turn into the flesh and blood of Christ?”  Keep in mind. If you have trouble remembering it, write it down and keep it with you. Ok so far?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. Wonderful. Rent the movie, Babette’s Feast and watch it. I recommend you watch in solitude, alone with just the question in hand.”

“That’s it.”

“Yes. This is what we Zen practitioners call taking the medicine. But just as in any regimen there are a number of medicinal selections. This is one. And just as I hope the medicine I give my sick dog helps him, I wish the same for you.”

The doubter sits up and remains quiet.

“I find it helpful to repeat the recommendation. I find it is hard to remember. Rent the movie Babette’s Feast and watch it. Watch it alone, in silence with your question. Remember, we have already discussed  the universal principle of conversion. So see for yourself. It’s the best and only way for you to know. OK?”

The doubter shifts as he searches for a pen and paper to write something down.

I end with…

“Good luck.”

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[i] ©A Single Thread 2015, efh