by Kim Boykin
Sesshin is an especially good opportunity to practice and experience the liberation from "self' and suffering that the Buddha taught-to practice and experience our inherent freedom to live a life of joy and compassion.
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Practice
Zazen: Shikantaza, or "Just Sitting"
The Japanese word shikantaza means "nothing but precisely sitting" or, more succinctly, "just sitting." Shikantaza is, in a way, the "purest" form of zazen. There is no technique, nothing to do. We do not sit in order to become enlightened or in order to become anything. We just sit. We sit as a manifestation of our inherent enlightenment, and we sit in the faith that we will one day realize our inherent enlightenment.
We are unaccustomed to doing nothing. In counting the breath, we are doing a little something that helps us approximate doing nothing. Following the breath is a closer approximation of doing nothing. And shikantaza is doing nothing.
Shikantaza is both the easiest Zen practice to explain and also the most difficult to explain. Here are the directions:
• Just sit.
Or if you'd like a little more elaboration:
• Take the posture, and just sit and be aware.
That's it. But since I know that these directions, though simple, can be mystifying, I'll say a bit more.
In all the other forms of Zen practice described in this book, you focus your attention on something in particularbreathing, walking, eating, or whatever-and when you realize that your attention has wandered off, you notice the thought and return your attention to that something in particular. Shikantaza is different in two ways. First, the attention is not focused but opened to include everything happening right here and now in the space where you're sitting. Second, thoughts are not treated differently from physical sensations. You don't "return from" the thoughts "to" the physical sensations. It's all just something to notice. Both the thoughts and the physical sensations, both the "inner" and the "outer," are part of what's happening here and now. In Buddhist psychology, there are six senses: the five that Westerners traditionally count-sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch-plus mind. Just as the object of hearing is sound, the object of mind is thought. In shikantaza, you observe the entire flow of consciousness, the objects of all six senses.
In shikantaza, you just sit, aware, observing whatever floats through consciousness. Let it all be. Let it come in, and let it go out. Don't grab on to thoughts and sensations, and don't push them away. Just observe them. Most of the time, we grab on to our thoughts and sensations or we push them away. We get involved in attachment or aversion. In shikantaza, we just sit here and observe. And when we do cling to thoughts or push them away, we just sit here and observe that.
So the practice of shikantaza might go something like this:
I notice the feel of the air expanding my belly. I notice the sound of a bus going by outside the Zen center. I notice the fidgeting of the person on my left. I notice my annoyance at the fidgeting of the person on my left. I notice the feel of my lungs expanding and contracting as I breathe. I notice my eyes itching because of my allergies. I notice that I just spent several minutes rehearsing a phone conversation with my mother. I notice the feel of my breathing in my hara. I notice the feel of the waistband of my pants against my belly. I notice the tension in my shoulders. I notice my restlessness. I notice the feel of the breath coming in and out of my nose. I notice the feel of my breathing in my hara. I notice the thought that maybe I should leave the Zen center right after the talk, instead of staying for two more sitting periods. I notice my wish that my mind were quieter today. I notice the feel of my thumbs touching together. I notice the feel of my breathing in my hara. I notice that I'm controlling my breathing. I notice my thoughts about what a hard time I have letting go of my breathing. I notice my eyes itching because of my allergies. I notice the smell of the incense. I notice the sound of a motorcycle going by. I notice my thoughts about whether I need to get the oil changed soon and whether I need to stop by the market this afternoon. I notice my feeling that these chores are burdensome. I notice that I was just putting my experience of zazen into words because I want to describe it in my writing. I notice the feel of my breathing in my Kara....
Shikantaza is a difficult practice. Even though there's nothing to do, it requires a certain state of mind. Yasutani Roshi says, "You must sit with a mind which is alert and at the same time unhurried and composed. This mind must be like a welltuned piano string: taut but not overtight." If counting the breath is like riding a bicycle with training wheels, and following the breath is like riding a bicycle without training wheels, then shikantaza is like riding a unicycle. There's no support at all. I'd recommend beginning with the bicycle, but when you get the hang of that, you might want to try the unicycle.
The Essentials of Shikantaza
• Find a sitting posture that allows you to have an upright spine and to be stable and completely still.
• Keep your eyes open, with your gaze lowered at about a 45-degree angle, soft-focused, eyelids droopy.
• Take one or two slow, deep breaths. Then let your breath be however it is.
• Let your attention settle in your hara (about two inches below the navel).
• Optional: Spend a few minutes counting the breath, to settle in.
• Let your awareness expand to include the entire flow of consciousness.
Notice whatever is happening right now,
and now,
and now,
and now,
and now,
and now ...
The Changing Weather
Here is an image that has helped me feel how to just sit and be aware of whatever is here.
Sometimes I see myself as a mountain, massive and solid and stable, rooted in the earth, surrounded by wide open sky. And my thoughts are clouds moving by the mountaintop. Sometimes they're just wispy little clouds, and the bright, clear sunlight shining down on the mountaintop is hardly blocked at all by the passing clouds. I feel the sun shining warmly on me in the thin, dry air. I feel the spaciousness of the sky. Sometimes huge storm systems blow through so that the mountaintop is completely obscured by storm clouds and rain. But the storms always pass. And they always return. Clouds, clear sky, clouds, clear sky, rain and thunder and lightning and hail, clear sky, clouds, clear sky-I feel the rhythm of the changing weather. The sun is always shining, whether the sunlight reaches the mountaintop or not. The sky is always clear above the clouds. All the weather, "good" and "bad," happens within the wide open space. And the mountain is just here.
Our job when we sit is to be the mountain, to experience all the changing weather in the wide open space, whether it's gray and cold, sunny and warm, noisy and scary, or cool and invigorating. Just experience it all. Be it all. Be a mountain in the bright, warm sun. Be a mountain in the cold, wet rain. Perhaps you prefer the sunny times to the rainy times. That's fine. Just experience that. Be that.
I'd like to warn you about two common misunderstandings here. These apply not just to the practice of shikantaza but to all forms of Zen practice.
First, please note that Zen practice is not about climate control. It's not about making all your weather seventy-five degrees and sunny. I think you know that that's impossible anyway. I suspect that you would not be exploring Zen unless you had begun to face that scary fact about life: that no matter what you do-no matter what-there will always be storms. The good news is, that's absolutely fine. The sun and the stormsit's all OK. Our preference for sun rather than storms-that's OK too. The end of suffering that the Buddha taught is not lib- erationfrom the storms but liberation in the storms-and in the sun. It is not necessary to control the weather.
A second common misunderstanding is that Zen practice is about indifference to storms. But that's not it either. Zen practice is not about indifference to the weather. It's not about not caring about the weather, having no preference about the weather, insulating ourselves from the weather or from our feelings about the
weather. That's not liberation or equanimity; that's depression. Or else it's what Yasutani Roshi calls "itdoesn't-matter Zen with no practice and no enlightenment." We are not liberated from our dislike of sweltering heat or our enjoyment of powdery new snow; we are liberated within this human life, including our feelings and preferences.
One winter night in Boulder, my friend Anne and I were walking home from the grocery store on snow-packed streets, with the temperature in the teens. Anne is from San Diego and I'm from Los Angeles, and we both hated this weather and were really unhappy about being so cold. Then we thought, What would the Zen attitude be? Our first thought was that we were supposed to be OK with this weather, but then we realized that that wasn't it. Rather, it was that we could be OK with how much we hated this weather. So we happily hated the weather the rest of the way home-yucky, icky, nasty cold weather!
Zen practice is not about controlling the weather; nor is it about indifference to the weather. It's about awareness of the weather. Experience the endlessly changing weather. Be the endlessly changing weather.
The Flowing Stream
Here's another image.
Sometimes I imagine my mind as a stream. When my mind is busy and noisy, those are the rough, tumbling, noisy places in the stream, the places where the water is flowing over a jumble of rocks, where it's all white and foamy. And when my mind is relatively still and open and quiet, those are the clear, calm places in the stream, the places where the stream bed is smooth and flat, where you can see right through the water to the bottom. I just flow along-rough and noisy, then clear and quiet, then rough and noisy and rough and noisy and rough and noisy, then clear and quiet.
All of it is fine. The rough parts are not "bad." They do not need to be eliminated. Zen practice is not about steamrolling the bottom of the stream nice and flat to eliminate the white water. It's about the freedom of simply being the flowing stream, with all its variations. Of course, sometimes we dearly, desperately wish that we could steamroll the bottom of the stream. Sometimes the rough parts of the stream do not feel like they're fine at all. That's fine too. Those feelings do not need to be eliminated either. They are another natural variation in the flowing stream.
We just flow along, opening compassionate awareness to all the variations in the stream.
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One More Thought
If It's Worth Doing, It's Worth Doing Badly
You've probably heard the aphorism, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing right." I suppose there are people who need to hear that, but I'm not one of them, and I suspect you're not one of them either. Zen seems to attract a lot of perfectionistic, selfcritical types who think we should do everything "right." This attitude tends to have the unfortunate side effect that there are many worthwhile things we don't do at all rather than doing them "wrong." If you approach Zen practice with this attitude, you may not practice at all, or you may practice only in occasional, exhausting bursts of "excellence."
So I would like to commend to you an alternative aphorism: If it's worth doing, it's worth doing badly.
I discovered this bit of practical wisdom about ten years ago, in a magazine article called "The Joys of Mediocrity: Anything Worth Doing Is Worth Doing Badly." The author had recently realized that her perfectionism had been squelching her enjoyment of life. So following the example of her husband, who had great fun playing the tuba badly, she had let go of her need to do everything well and was having great fun dancing badly.
Some years later, I learned that it was G. K. Chesterton who coined the saying "If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly." In a book I was reading on prayer, the author quotes Chesterton and comments that prayer, which is worth doing, "requires the humility to attempt it knowing we will be clumsy."
I was reminded of this again when I heard a tape of a sermon by Fred Craddock, a well-known preacher whom my husband and I really like. The writer of the Letter to the Hebrews, Craddock says, is trying desperately, though not always gracefully or heartwarmingly, to save the church he is writing to, because he cares about that church. Craddock says, "It's been my observation that care frequently is raw, interferes, intrudes, says the wrong thing, has the wrong timing, disrupts, makes mistakes, frequently feels it needs to apologize. But one thing care never does. Care never lets anyone go completely." Caring is worth doing clumsily, inexpertly, imperfectly, rather than not at all.
If practicing meditation is worth doing, it's worth doing badly. If practicing compassion is worth doing, it's worth doing badly. You need not choose between practicing Zen "well" and not practicing Zen at all. Be a mediocre Zen practitioner, or a lousy Zen practitioner. Practice Zen awkwardly, sporadically, idiosyncratically. Do zazen in a noisy place with bright lights. Keep your eyes closed. Fidget. Slouch.
What we are practicing in Zen is the awareness that we have never been apart from our enlightened nature, that we cannot be apart from our enlightened nature. We are already buddhas. Sometimes we're fidgety buddhas, and sometimes we're still buddhas. Sometimes we're quiet buddhas, and sometimes we're chattery buddhas. Sometimes we're happy buddhas, and sometimes we're sad buddhas. Sometimes we're buddhas who think we should do everything perfectly, and sometimes we're buddhas who are willing to do things badly.
We open our compassionate awareness to all of it-now, and now, and now.
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Recommended Resources
Books
Zen Practice
The Three Pillars of Zen by Philip Kapleau A helpful "how to" book, especially the introductory lectures on Zen training by Yasutani Roshi.
Everyday Zen by Charlotte Joko Beck A straightforward and down-to-earth book about Zen practice in relation to everyday life, by the teacher at the Zen Center of San Diego.
Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind by Shunryu Suzuki A beloved classic of American Zen, by the founder of the San Francisco Zen Center and the first Zen monastery in the United States, Tassajara, in Northern California.
Basic Buddhism
What the Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula A clear and concise introduction to basic Buddhist teachings (the Four Noble Truths, no-self, meditation, and so on) by a Buddhist monk and scholar.
Awakening the Buddha Within by Lama Surya Das An introduction to Buddhism, organized around the Eightfold Path, by an American teacher of Tibetan Buddhism.
Radiant Mind: Essential Buddhist Teachings and Texts edited by Jean Smith A well-chosen collection of classic Buddhist texts and commentaries by contemporary teachers in the meditation-oriented forms of Buddhism.
The Shambhala Dictionary of Buddhism and Zen A useful reference book. Makes good browsing for learning more about Buddhism.
Practicing with _______
Full Catastrophe Living by Jon Kabat-Zinn On practicing with stress, pain, and illness, by the founder and director of the Stress Reduction Clinic at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center.
The Depression Book and The Fear Book by Cheri Huber On practicing with depression and fear or anxiety, by a Zen teacher.
Anger: Wisdom for Cooling the Flames by Thich Nhat Hanh On practicing with anger, by a Zen teacher.
A Year to Live and other books by Stephen Levine On practicing with death and dying, your own and others'.
Forgetting Ourselves on Purpose: Vocation and the Ethics of Ambition by Brian J. Mahan On practicing with your ambitions and transmuting ambition into vocation. Written from a Christian and Zen perspective. (OK, so the author is my husband, but it really is a good book!)
Zen and Christianity
Zen Catholicism: A Suggestion by Dom Aelred Graham A dense but well written and experientially oriented exploration of how Zen might help Catholics "realize more fully their own spiritual inheritance."
The Raft Is Not the Shore: Conversations Toward a Buddhist-Christian Awareness by Thich Nhat Hanh and Daniel Berrigan Based on conversations in the 1970s between the two authors, a Zen teacher and a Jesuit priest, both involved in peace and justice work. Recently back in print.
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Zen and the Birds of Appetite by Thomas Merton A collection of essays on Zen and Christianity by a Trappist monk who was one of the great spiritual writers of the twentieth century. This book is more academic than a lot of Merton's writing.
Zen Gifts to Christians by Robert E. Kennedy What Christians might learn from Zen. Kennedy is a Jesuit priest, a Zen teacher, a psychotherapist, and a professor of theology and Japanese.
Christian Contemplative Practice
The Cloud of Unknowing A classic of Christian mysticism. A practical guide to contemplative prayer by an anonymous medieval author. Several translations are available; I like William Johnston's.
New Seeds of Contemplation by Thomas Merton Wonderfully written reflections on the contemplative life, by a twentiethcentury Trappist monk.
Open Mind, Open Heart: The Contemplative Dimension of the Gospel by Thomas Keating Includes a brief history of Christian contemplative prayer and detailed instructions in "centering prayer."
The Way of a Pilgrim The story of an anonymous nineteenthcentury Russian peasant who wanted to "pray without ceasing" (I Thessalonians 5:17) and was introduced to the Jesus Prayer-the continuous repetition of "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner"-a practice from the Orthodox Church, with roots in the desert spirituality of early Christianity. Several translations are available.
Web Sites
www.mro.com The Web site of Zen Mountain Monastery includes beginning instruction in Zen meditation and "Cybermonk": e-mail your questions about Zen and get a reply from one of the monastics.