Start Where You Are

Yesterday morning, as I was driving to the Harvard Unitarian Universalist church to offer the Sunday worship sermon, I listened to NPR on the radio. They were giving a summary of Trump’s first week as President. They reported on his executive orders to begin building the wall, to place an immediate stay on entry to the US from a number of countries, and to elevate the power of Steve Bannon’s position. None of these actions surprised me, but all of them disheartened me.

Arriving at the church, where I have often preached before, people were happy to see me and several said they really needed to hear what I had to say in these disturbing times. I had spent several hours preparing my remarks, but felt totally inadequate to the task at hand. How could I comfort and reassure people when I myself was feeling disturbed and overwhelmed?

Having few good options, I began speaking about what was actually going on for me. ‘This is how it is for me this morning.’ I acknowledged that others might be feeling this way too. And that others were certainly feeling other ways as well. I guess this is where we always have to begin. How is it for me right in this moment? What is the state of my inner world? Am I fearful and discouraged? Hopeful and energized? Empty and dull? What is actually so in this moment?

When we take the time to acknowledge the weather conditions of our inner world, several things happen. First, we don’t have to fight it anymore. Most of us would like to feel good all the time, so when we feel something else, we tend to ignore it, fight it or try to fix it. All this takes energy. When we are able to admit where we are, it can often be a relief – it’s just where we are. We don’t have to like it, but we don’t have to waste energy pretending or fighting or fixing.

The other possibility that comes with being present to the state of our self is the opportunity to see that what we feel (and think) is never just one thing. In taking the time to appreciate what is here, we begin to see that even in discouragement, there may be other kinds of energies as well. There may be anger or sadness. Or some faint glimmers of possibilities and hope. Or some energies that we have never quite noticed before.

When we pay this kind of attention, we can also begin to see for ourselves that our world of feeling, thought and experience is constantly changing. We are part of the vast perpetual motion of life. Just like the weather on our blue-green planet of life, our inner weather is always moving and changing. The clouds cover the sky and drop piles of snow, then the sun shines bright. The strong wind comes in the morning, then dies down to a breathless evening.

So I began my sermon from where I was and somehow found my way. I was touched to find myself together in community and to speak the truth as best I could. Others said it was useful.

I am always surprised and grateful.

The Coming and Going Retreat

This will be my last writing until the end of January.

Tonight, January 2^nd, we begin our annual three-week retreat, the Coming and Going Sesshin, here at Boundless Way Temple. The tradition of setting a particular part of the year for intensive study and practice honors the spirit of the Buddha’s three-month rainy season practice with his disciples.

Here at the Temple, we will be keeping a ‘sesshin’ schedule. (Sesshin is a Zen meditation training retreat.) We alternate periods of sitting and walking throughout the day. There are dharma talks, individual meetings, work practice periods and chanting. Like all sesshin, we will hold silence throughout most of the retreat. We won’t be writing or reading or facebooking or texting. These practices are a way of simplifying our lives to allow us to be more present to ourselves and to our experience of each moment.

Going to sesshin is always a wondrous and challenging opportunity. In the silence and stillness, we work together to support a profound turning toward the source of life—toward the aliveness of each moment. This form of practice is both deeply personal and, at the same time, essentially communal. We support and rely on each other in the silence. We are alone together.

One of the things that distinguishes our Coming and Going Sesshin is that we allow participants to join in for any part of it that is possible for them. Some people are coming for the whole three-weeks, others just for several days. Others will come for just a few periods of practice in the afternoon or before or after work. You are welcome to come by the Temple for any practice period whenever you can. If you would like to stay overnight and join the retreat for a day or more simply, register here.

I would also invite everyone reading this to join with our retreat right where you are by finding some way to deepen your spiritual practice over the next three weeks. What is it that reminds you of what is most holy and sacred in your life? What is the practice that brings you back to your heart? Your practice might be meditation or prayer. It might be reading or walking in the woods—attending church, knitting sox or writing in your journal. Whatever you do that moves you closer to God, I encourage you to do just a little more than usual these next three weeks. And as you do your practice, know that you are joining with us. You are not alone.

For myself, I won’t be reading my beloved New York Times or doing this morning writing practice of exploring and sharing. I will be giving myself over to the daily rhythms of Zen meditation practice—doing my best to meet and appreciate each moment as it arises. No need to keep track of the journey nor to pursue purity and holiness. Just this. The teaching of Zen is that what we are longing for, the peace that passes understanding, is already here—in each moment. I vow to trust more deeply this constant arising life in all its manifestations and to meet what appears as the way itself.

May our practice together be of service to the world in this difficult time.

On Practicing Peace in 2017

I went to a New Year’s Eve gathering for peace last night. Sponsored by the Center for Non-violent Solutions, the First Unitarian Church of Worcester and the Islamic Center of Worcester, it featured short remarks by a number of local clergy (including Rev. Melissa Myozen Blacker) and professors of non-violence on the topic of how to practice peace in our everyday lives.

I was touched by two themes. The first is the possibility and perhaps the necessity of taking to the streets in the coming year. This year may require many of us to stand up and show up in new ways. We may be asked to join with each other to forcefully speak out against injustice and to stand with those who are being targeted by the government or other forces. There is power in joining together. There is power in action.

The second theme is the importance of reaching out across the lines that divide us. It’s so easy to slip into a bifurcated world of ‘us’ and ‘them.’ One speaker suggested the practice of looking around at the next gathering we attend. ‘If everyone you see looks like you, you’re living in a bubble,’ she said. Of course, we all live in a bubble, but perhaps, this year, we can intentionally reach beyond the invisible walls of our seclusion and build bridges to the other people in the world.

If we’re just nice to people who are like us, we inadvertently but decisively contribute to deepening sectarian divides. Another speaker mentioned that God’s instruction in the torah is not about loving our parents or children or neighbors, but about loving ‘the stranger.’ We don’t get credit for being nice to the people who are nice to us. Everyone does that. But to reach out to the stranger, the one without power and status, the one who has no voice; this is the work of peace.

Without intention, we just drift along and, more than ever, the status quo is not neutral.. As the great activist and historian Howard Zinn suggested in the title of his inspiring book on resistance and social action: You Can’t Be Neutral On A Moving Train.

So on this first day of the year, while the morning light is just beginning to grace the eastern sky, I once again vow to take up the way of Saint Francis. May I be an instrument of peace. I feel so inadequate to the task, but pray that my thoughts, my words, and my actions may ever so slightly incline the world away from the perpetuation of violence and greed and move us all toward the glimmering possibility justice and awakening.

Two Dreams on the Final Day

I’m headed into the dining hall for lunch. I’m hungry and need to find a bathroom. But in looking around, I begin to realize that it’s weeks into the semester and I haven’t been going to any of my classes. I can’t even remember what classes I’m taking. A wild panic rises within me. This is terrible. It’s Tuesday, do I have an afternoon class today? I don’t even know. I’m so far behind in everything, how do I get myself out of this mess? What can I do? I am truly lost. Is this really happening? I’m not a student anymore am I? Maybe this a dream?

I wake with a start. It’s five a.m. and I’m lying in my dark bed. I slowly realize that my terrible situation is just a dream. It takes me a few moments to fully wake. I am deeply relieved.

So the final day of the year begins with this familiar fear. Forty years after college, I’m still in school and suddenly realize that I haven’t live up to my responsibilities. I haven’t done the reading, written the paper, prepared for the test. I feel a sense of dawning panic and shame. I think I am doing fine, then come to realize that I’ve been fooling myself. I’m actually in a terrible situation with no way out. I’m a mess.

I wonder how to live into this dream in a new way? Maybe I need to withdraw from my inner college—to take a semester off. I think I’ll do that. Just go tell the Dean of Students that I need some time off to get my head together.

I’ll hitch-hike to the Baja and live by the ocean. Every morning I’ll walk the beach as the sun rises. I’ll learn to surf and fish.  I’ll build an easy life around the incoming waves. The water and the sun will be my teachers. Lunch and dinner will be my courses. I’ll get tan and learn to meditate.

Eventually, I just disappear into the waves.

‘Where did Dave go?’

‘Oh, he’s out there with the waves.
Way out. Way, way out.’

Almost New Year

Like lemmings over the cliff,
the years of my life now
disappear in accelerating succession.

What can be done?

I carefully instruct myself to
rest in the life of little things.
The taste of hot tea on the tongue,
a deep breath and a sigh,
tired muscles after shoveling wet snow—
all are invitations to infinite life.

With no choice,
why not jump
off the cliff
of how things
used to be?
Why not leap
over the precipitous
fantasy of how
things will be
into the great
freedom of how
things are
right now?

Avoidance or Respite?

I seem to have veered away from writing about our incoming President over the past week. I see this as both a good sign and a warning signal. Perhaps it’s just the diversion of the holidays. Perhaps it is a sign that I have gotten over the initial trauma of losing the election and having someone so crass and unconventional as the incoming President. But perhaps I am slipping into the new normal—falling into the convenient liberal bubble of hoping things will be OK.

How do I find a way of living into our new political reality that is neither panicked nor avoidant? The middle way?

For me, the new reality is that we have a President-elect who has little respect for the institutions of democracy in our country – including the press and reasoned discourse.   We have a President-elect who brags about his track record of being solely focused on enriching himself. I see no reason to expect he will behave differently in his new role as President. And if he’s only out to enrich himself and his friends, how will it be for the rest of us?

Yesterday, Ross Douthat, a conservative New York Times op-ed writer, reflected on some of the possibilities of our upcoming four years in a piece he called The Trump Matrix:

“…the possibilities for how Trump governs, runs from ruthless authoritarianism at one end to utter chaos at the other. Under the authoritarian scenario, Trump would act on all his worst impulses with malign efficiency. The media would be intimidated, Congress would be gelded, the F.B.I. and the I.R.S. would go full J. Edgar Hoover against Trump’s enemies, the Trump family would enrich itself fantastically — and then, come a major terrorist attack, Trump would jail or intern anyone he deemed a domestic enemy.

At the other end of this axis, Trump and his team would be too stumbling and hapless to effectively oppress anyone, and the Trump era would just be a rolling disaster — with frequent resignations, ridiculous scandals, Republicans distancing themselves, the deep state in revolt, the media circling greedily, and any serious damage done by accident rather than design.”

I am not hopeful. But this morning, I am determined to not look away—or rather, I am determined to look away and then look back again. Probably some kind of rhythm of turning toward and turning away will be a necessary survival skill for many of us over the next four years. We should not get caught up in every passing drama but should stay alert of moments when saying something and doing something will be important.

News Item

A friend of mine is considering starting a newspaper. Although it’s still in the development stage, I think it’s a wonderful response to the problem that many of us face in being overwhelmed with so much disturbing news. I also see it as an antidote to the ‘fake news’ that has been so troublesome recently. My friend sent the idea to me in an email and also gave me permission to mention it here.

First, some background on the founder: she is a long-time student of Arny Mindell’s Process Work and also has studied and practiced in the Sufi tradition for many years. She is also resolutely anti-hierarchical—a great believer in the power and authority of each human being. Because of this, she is a reluctant teacher and down-to-earth thinker.

Although she didn’t mention it, the newspaper would directly support the religion she has considered founding: ‘Wowism.’ In Wowism there is only one teaching: ‘Wow!’ This exclamation is the universal practice. When things go well, we appreciate them by saying ‘Wow!’ And when things fall apart, we appreciate that as well by saying ‘Wow!’ (I’m not certain about the exclamation point as the religion has no written texts, but it seems appropriate given the spirit of this considered religion.)

I can’t go on without mentioning another dear friend who has also stumbled upon the roots of this same religion. He wrote a Buddhist children’s song about it in which he presciently notes that dogs go ‘Bow-wow-wow’ but in Buddhism we go ‘Wow. Wow. Bow.’ And this takes me to a family worship service one summer when my little sister must have been five or six. One Sunday morning on vacation, my father was trying to get us to be worshipful and it wasn’t going well. Out of the blue, my little sister proclaimed ‘God is dog spelled backwards.’ We all laughed and things were about to get out of hand, when my father, to his everlasting credit, concluded the theological repartee with: ‘And dog is man’s best friend.’

But back to the newspaper that does not yet have a name. To illustrate her concept, my first friend sent along the following proposed headlines/story ideas:

Squirrel Runs Across Power Line
A Gull Flies By
Window Reflects Early Morning Orange Sunlight

Other story ideas were:

Trees Still Stand Tall Offering Free Guidance To Those That Ask
Cloudless Sky Promotes Expansive Feelings
Dog Stares Out Window Waiting For Something To Bark At

She went on to elaborate: ‘The stories in this newspaper would be short and sometimes the headline would be enough. Mostly readers would fill the story in themselves by conjuring their own associated images and responses to the headlines.’

Since she’s just starting up, I’m sure she’s looking for reporters. I suspect the pay will be low, but job satisfaction will be off the charts. If you’re interested, you can start today. As you move through your life, keep your senses open for a good story.

Stories of interest would be situations and sights you might ordinarily pass by on your way somewhere else. When come across something, stop for a moment and consider how amazingly it is exactly what it is. Then you might even let yourself get a little dreamy and notice what associations and images arise. Finally, come up with a headline and send it on.

Good luck out there.

Already Here (Part 2)

“From the onset patch-robed monks have this field that is a clean, spacious, broad plain. Gazing beyond any precipitous barriers, within the field they plough the clouds and sow the moon.”

Zen Master Hongzhi   12^th century

Having established the possibility that this life we already have might be the ‘spacious, broad plain’ of grace, we now push on to how we might live in this illuminated field.

‘Gazing beyond any precipitous barriers’ – First instruction: ‘Don’t look in the dragon’s eyes.’ This advice is given to the hero (you and me) when he/she enters the dragon’s cave. There is real danger, real darkness in the world. This dark force has the power to seduce us, to draw us into its thrall. It’s best to be respectful of the darkness, yet we should be careful of gazing too long directly at it.

This is true in whitewater kayaking as well. Many years ago, I spent time dodging boulders in fast-moving water with a friend who was a skilled paddler. He was fearless and practical. He taught me how to ‘scout’ the rapids ahead when they were dangerous. Getting out of your boat, you walk along side the rapids to study the different channels and possible routes. But he always said to take a quick look, then get back in your boat because the longer you look at the boulder you need to avoid, the more likely you are to run right into it.

‘Gazing beyond any precipitous barriers’ means not losing our focus by getting lost in ruminating on the difficulties ahead. When I focus on all the things that may happen or will happen that are beyond my power to influence, I easily become overwhelmed. ‘Gazing beyond…’ encourages us to hold our heads up, even in dangerous water – to see the patterns of the bigger picture and to stay focused on what is most important.

‘within the field, they plough clouds and sow the moon.’ Now we get to Hongzhi’s description of the spiritual journey – the journey of being human. Within this grace of life that pervades us all, our job is to do the impossible and to be content with no results. A plough going through clouds leaves no trace. The moon cannot be plucked from the sky and covered over with dirt.

Yet Thoreau, who plied his trade not far from the spot where I write these words, spoke of ‘weaving moonbeams for the public good.’ What is worthwhile doing in this cloud-like life? We are usually encouraged to work hard and accomplish great things. We admire people who accumulate great wealth, or make important discoveries, or devote their life to political service.

But we so quickly grow old and all of us, each one of us, eventually leaves everything behind. The houses we build, the financial plans we carefully monitor, even the friends we love dearly—all this is much more cloud-like than solid. Our difficulties too, though they appear as precipitous, solid and urgent, are of this insubstantial nature.

‘plough the clouds and sow the moon’ invites us to the constant and joyous work of waking up. This is not a life of inactivity, but rather a life of full engagement in the particular manifestation of each moment. Realizing the evanescence of everything, we can give ourselves without reservation to the life circumstances we encounter, no matter what form they take. With no expectation of results, we are free to accomplish without attachment and sow seeds of love without expectation.

Already Here

I gave a short talk last night on a few sentences from 12^th century Chinese Zen Master Honghzi’s writing:

“From the onset patch-robed monks have this field that is a clean, spacious, broad plain. Gazing beyond any precipitous barriers, within the field they plough the clouds and sow the moon.”

Hongzhi lived in a time of great political uncertainty. The stability of the Tang Dynasty had disintegrated due to pressures from within and without. The fundamental forms and manifestations of Buddhism itself were reformulating. Scholastic Buddhism had been discredited by its close association of the failed ways of the past and the new Zen school was beginning to coalesce. Hongzhi is one of the early exemplars of the Soto branch of Zen school of Buddhism that flourished first in China, then in Japan and Korea. We here at the Boundless Way Temple in Worcester, Massachusetts, continue to claim his lineage and be inspired by his lucid and poetic teachings.

Honghzi expounds his central teaching in the first sentence. We (patch-robed monks) already have the peace that passes understanding—‘the field that is a clean, spacious, broad plain.’

For many of us, our life often feels like a sloping and rocky field with barely enough soil to nourish our life. We seem to move from one trial to the next. Plans fall apart, health is uncertain, and the weather is often stormy.

So what could Hongzhi be talking about? It may be tempting to dismiss him off as someone who is speaking to people who are not like us. Perhaps his insights only apply to people who are naturally serene and mostly live in beautifully austere Temples filled with the smell of incense. Perhaps, but I always find it more interesting to consider that he may be speaking to people like you and me.

What if this ‘clean, spacious, broad plain’ is not different from the geography of our lives right here and now? We often imagine that there is some other place we will arrive at and where we will find peace. Some other place. Some other time. Then we will become different people – we will be less disturbed and troubled. Then we will live in a state of ease and grace.

What if what we seek is already here? In the Zen tradition, we are not encouraged to ‘believe’ this, but simply to consider it for ourselves. What if in this moment, in the middle of all the worries and challenges of your life—what if this moment itself is filled with grace and spaciousness? What if you don’t have to fix things or become someone different? Is it possible to appreciate life just as it is? Sweet and bitter? Clear and confused. Emerging and falling apart?

As a Zen teacher and son of a Christian minister, I find this teaching central to both traditions. We live in a world of grace beyond our comprehension. We do not sustain ourselves by our own efforts, but are supported by some mysterious and sacred source that is always present.

I’m not interested in trying to prove or explain this teaching, but am quite interested in spreading the word and encouraging us all to see what happens when we consider the possibility of that the ground of ease and grace is the very land under our feet right now.

Coming tomorrow: How to ‘plough the clouds and sow the moon.’

Receiving Love

Christmas morning. The size and shape of the presents under the tree is now obvious, but the contents are still hidden. Hopes and fears abound. Each gift is an earnest reflection of the complex web of human relationships. This wondrous tangle of privilege, affection and mutual obligation is who we are.

This particular morning, many of us are preparing to practice the receiving part of this equation. Personally, I am steadying myself to do a good job, knowing that receiving love is sometimes a challenge for me.

But I remember Esshin. The impossibly cute and ugly bulldog puppy of a friend, she is my model of a joyful receiver. Esshin simply loved to be loved. She greeted every visitor in her space with the full and shameless expectation of receiving affection. When you bent over to pet her, she would roll over onto her back, splay her little legs outward and allow you to pet her soft belly. She would then lie in this state of obvious bliss and vulnerability; happy to receive your love and affection for as long as you were willing to give it.  And you felt momentarily honored to be in this sweet reciprocal relationship with Esshin, the four-legged love sponge.

Most of us are more ambivalent about this human necessity of receiving. We all want to be loved and approved of, but some of us are not certain that we really deserve it. Or if we are certain, we are fairly sure that there is not enough of it out there for us. Or if we believe there is enough love, we aren’t fully willing to receive it unless it is expressed in the exact way we imagine it should be. Or we’re hesitant to receive what is given because then we imagine we will then be obligated in some confining way. It’s truly complicated.

I consider myself a remedial receiver. In spite a lifetime of abundance and unwarranted affection, I cycle through the above categories at regular intervals. But this morning, I vow once again to gratefully receive what is given.

The presents, of course, are nice but they are minor parts of the rich and complex web of human relationship that sustains each one of us. The real presents have already been given. Parents that brought us into this world and guaranteed our survival when we were utterly helpless. Friends and colleagues and strangers that have been the fabric of our lives and stories since our earliest days. Without all this, we would not be here.

The deepest gift, is of course, simply being alive. The incomparable generosity of the endlessly beating heart and the lungs that unfailingly fanning the flame of our life. Of course we get lost in the thoughts and emotions, but perhaps today, in the midst of the unwrapping and cooking and cleaning up, we can once again appreciate what has already been given. Let us all splay the legs of our little souls and receive God’s endless patting of our tender bellies.