Remembering Confidence

“Where do FAITH and CONFIDENCE come from? In other religions, people rely on God, Jesus, Allah – and Zen Buddhists rely on something “non-dual” that’s hard to express in words… what is it? What is it?” from an email from a friend

The great 9^th century Chinese Zen Master Linji taught that each one of us is already a Buddha—already awake. The problem is that we are sure that we are lacking something so we run off searching somewhere else for what is already here. Our frantic searching leads us away from the very life which is freely given to us in each moment. Linji says: ‘It’s only because you lack confidence that you seek something outside of yourself.’

Paradoxically, part of our spiritual journey is giving up looking elsewhere. What if it’s true that you already have everything you need? What if it’s true that the place you have been longing for all your life is right where you are? For most of us, this doesn’t really make sense as the truth of our deficiency feels quite self-evident. Many of us feel ‘I am clearly not wise enough, grounded enough, patient enough, loving enough.’

So, as my friend asks, how do we find the confidence that Linji speaks of? The confidence to wait and be present right where we are, when the circumstances of the moment can be exceedingly unpleasant? The confidence to do what it is we know we should do but are resisting?

The English word ‘confidence’ comes from the Latin roots of ‘con’ ‘fideles’ which mean with fidelity or with authenticity. Confidence is not the same as arrogance, but rather it is a commitment to be fully present right where you are. Sometimes this means stepping forward and opening your mouth. Sometimes this means staying put right where you are and not saying a word. We can be fearful or at ease and still follow through on what we are called to do. Confidence is not as much a set of feelings as it is a willingness to show up as yourself and see what happens.

True confidence comes from remembering. Remembering, or recollecting, is one of the essential practices of many spiritual traditions. As human beings we are sometimes deeply touched and inspired by something more than ourselves. In these moments we may feel a certainty and clear direction for our lives. But these moments come and go. In the morning I remember that I want to give my life wholeheartedly to whatever arises during the day. By lunch I am lost in worry about the many tasks on my to-do list that are still undone.

So when I flag in my confidence, when I lose my sense of direction and commitment, I can stop and turn inward. Stopping and taking a moment to experience myself right where I am. What am I feeling? What are the sensations in my body? What are the thoughts going through my mind? What is here right now? This stopping and touching what is already here is touching the ground of truth in this moment.

Then, I turn toward my purpose or my deeper intention. What is it I really want? What is the purpose I want to dedicate my life to? What is most important in this fleeting life? For me, when I remember this deeper source, I often feel both a sense of relief and direction.

After stopping and remembering, is simply to do the next thing. We don’t have to wait to feel a certain way or to have some major revelation. Once we touch that deeper source, at whatever level is available to us, we just take the next step. Just make the phone call. Just cook dinner. Just sit down and do nothing.

Organizing My Self

On my virtual calendar, each month is a clearly demarcated grid of five rows of seven boxes stacked one upon the other. Each box has a number, starting at one and usually going to thirty or thirty-one. In the box that represents ‘today’, the number is held in a small circle of blue to set it apart from all the other numbers on the grid. In the boxes to the left and above, the numbers are all faded. I call this ‘the past’. The higher numbers, to the right and below, are ‘the future’. They appear in dark type and each contains more numbers marked ‘am’ and ‘pm’ as well as a few cryptic words.

When I switch to the weekly view, the grid shifts. Now larger numbers range across the top of seven columns, advancing right to left. Above each number is a three-letter name. SUN, through SAT. As in the view of the month, the number for the day I call ‘today’ is highlighted with a blue circle. To the left is all washed out but today and the rest of the week are still vivid.

I faithfully consult my virtual calendar. The weekly view is quite colorful. My various appointments and commitments indicated by bright boxes holding white type with someone’s name or the description of the activity I am supposed to be participating in. On my calendar, green represents my coaching clients, red indicates activities related my role as a Zen teacher, blue is personal and purple is everything that is tentative.

The most amazing part of my calendar is that each day when I wake up, it has already been filled in. This is the work of my past self. He is a shadowy figure who I can never quite get a hold of. I sometimes think of him my personal assistant. Mostly he makes good decisions but he does have the tendency to over schedule me. Looking ahead at some full days, I question his sanity. His enthusiasm, while admirable, does not always take into account the full complexity of things, nor the fact that life itself is nowhere near as neat as the colorful boxes he uses to order me around. But I keep him on because I can’t find anyone else to do the job.

I have tried to explain this all to my fourteen-month-old grandson, but he seems more interested in pushing small plastic objects through the appropriately shaped openings and in digging random holes in the garden beds. I suppose he’ll learn eventually.

In New Territory

I’ve been writing and posting daily for over a month now. At first, it was quite exciting and I was so filled with ideas that I had to keep a list of everything I couldn’t write about. The possibility of helping others (and myself) through a time of crisis was a strong motivation—strong enough to move me into action. I’ve now run out of low hanging fruit. Most mornings now, I wake up early without a clear sense of what is important enough to write about. I wonder if I am just writing to prove something to myself or if I really have something worthwhile to contribute.

As the stay-at-home orders remain in place in this semi-indefinite way, the initial adrenaline that fired me up is gone. At first, I felt a clear purpose; to survive and to help others during this time of crisis. But crisis, when it goes on for more than a few weeks, becomes life itself. The burst of energy we needed to psychologically and physically survive the radical change has come and gone—like a rocket booster that burns to get the ship into orbit and then falls away once we escape from the gravity of what used to be. Now we’re in a new orbit—weightless within the space capsules of our homes and apartments.

When a space ship is in orbit its unimpeded momentum forward is perfectly balanced by its endless falling toward the gravitational center of the object it is orbiting. It is perpetually falling but never crashing into the object it is orbiting because it is simultaneously heading out into the vast emptiness of space. This situation is not really forever because everything eventually slows down. Orbits decay and objects circling around planets eventually fall into the gravitational center.

Are we humans orbiting around some inconceivable center of gravity? In spite of all our stories of self-importance and self-direction are we merely following the trajectory that was set in motion before we came into being? Perhaps our lives really just an endless falling that is both free and constrained. Freely orbiting, we are headed toward our eventual unification with that center of gravity when we will fall from our life of orbit. Will we eventually burn up and come to rest in the center itself?

But I digress.

This place of uncertainty is (as I just demonstrated) actually quite an interesting place. I don’t like it as much as the beginning place. I’ve lost a certain sense of confidence and purpose. Some things I say and write feel quite clear and of obvious value. But as I move into this new territory, I’m not as clear. While I like the initial energy of new beginnings, this place of less clarity, if I can bear the uncertainty, is where something truly new is more likely to emerge.

My prayer is that my actions (and yours) might be of service to something larger than ourselves. That in this territory of uncertainty we may be guided and protected. That we may use our lives to support each other on this journey of being human.