Looking Into Life-and-Death

Tonight we begin our fourth non-local Zen retreat here at Boundless Way Temple. In ‘the before-days’ our retreats meant a wonderful influx of human beings into the Temple and any number of days of hushed and vibrant activity. Now it means gathering ourselves where we are and practicing together from a distance. It’s surprisingly powerful and intimate as we weave meditation into the rhythms of our everyday lives. Together from a distance, we support each other to set aside several days of our lives to look into the great matter of life-and-death.

This being human is not a picnic. Or it is a picnic, but the weather is wildly unsettled. Sometimes the sun shines, the breezes are fair and the food is delicious. Sometimes a storm blows in and cold rain drenches us and ruins our ideas of a pleasant outing. However we turn the image, the reality of our lives often refuses to conform to our wishes and desires. For most of us, the reality that we are not in control of the universe is quite disturbing.

But, when we begin to accept the truth of our real position in the universe, we can finally find some place to rest. Recently, one student reported what a relief it was to notice that she was not in charge of breathing her breath. Breathing out and waiting, she noticed that the in-breath came on it’s own. Breathing in, that the out-breath as well needed no instruction. The intelligence of the mind-body is stunningly brilliant. But usually we’re too busy with our schemes and worries to notice the natural wisdom that courses through every cell and every molecule of our being.

Sometimes it’s easier to appreciate this primal intelligence in other life forms. Personally, I’ve always admired the gray whales that migrate up and down the west coast—a 12,000 mile round trip which they make at the leisurely and determined pace of five miles per hour. How do they know where to do? How do they keep going? After spending the summer feeding in the nutrient rich Arctic waters off the coast of Alaska, they swim the length of the North American continent to have their babies in the warm lagoons of Baja, Mexico. During their annual pilgrimage, they even swim while they are sleeping! (Warning: do not try this at home.)

And consider the knowing of the trees that have now dropped their leaves and wait without complaint or fear for the coming cold. The tilted earth that predictably spins as it hurtles around our dependably exploding sun. The sound of traffic, the smell of moist air, the taste of our food and drink—all this is a manifestation of the intelligence of life. We were exactly created for this world. Or, it might be more accurate to talk about our lives as the marvelous meeting between us and what is not-us.

Many vibrations come into my ear, but I only call sound that which resonates with the structure of my body-mind. We live in the world perception that our mind-bodies co-create. Everywhere I turn my attention, I perceive something. Even blankness or darkness – even absence is a perception, is a something.

In the midst of this mutually arising world, we human beings have the fore-knowledge of the future that awaits us. We will, each one of us, die. Being human is like setting out to sea in a boat that you know will sink. No one in their right mind would do that. But here we are. Zen meditation and perhaps all spiritual paths and religion arise in response to this human conundrum.

In Zen, we call this the great matter of life-and-death. For the next three days, three dozen or so of us will be studying this matter—not as an intellectual investigation, but through being present with our own experience. We say that it’s all happening right here—this life-and-death is not some philosophical abstraction, but rather is the experience of breathing in and breathing out. Each moment contains our life—is our life. And this life can never be separated from our death—hence we call it life-and-death.

Such a mystery and such an invitation to briefly abandon the myriad concerns that usually occupy our minds—to step back from our consuming busyness and consider the whole enchilada. ‘Who am I?’ ‘Why am I here?’ and, with a bow to Mary Oliver, ‘What do I intend to do with this one wild and precious life?’

(Note to regular readers: I may be sporadic over the days of the retreat but will definitely be back on Monday.)