A whole-hearted, unrestricted cooperation with the unavoidable

Bowing had long felt right physically and befuddling mentally.  The dissonance stopped a few years ago so that it encompasses everything - aspiration, acceptance, union, and most deeply - gratitude.

I love this exploration of bowing and the conceit of self, because it did seem that I needed to get over myself - but I had never thought of it as needing to actually bow to my idea of self in appreciation and affirmation.  Conceit "manifests in the ways we contract around a sense of “self” and “other”; it lies at the core of the identities and beliefs we construct, and it enables those beliefs to be the source of our acts, words, thoughts, and relationships..." rather than what is taking place in this present moment.  This concept of self (the article explicates this nicely) is yet another daydream.

A teacher was asked, “What is the secret to your happiness and equanimity?” She answered, “A whole-hearted, unrestricted cooperation with the unavoidable.” This is the secret and the essence of a bow. It is the heart of mindfulness and compassion. To bow is to no longer hold ourselves apart from the unpredictable nature of all of our lives; it is to cultivate a heart that can unconditionally welcome all things. We bow to what is, to all of life. By liberating our minds from ideas of “better than,” “worse than,” or “the same as,” we liberate ourselves from all views of “self”and “other.” The bow is a way to the end of suffering, to an awakened heart.

(Clearly, I should have read the Fall 2008 issue of Tricycle sooner.)

What is this?

I was wading through some old, unread Buddhist magazines and came across this piece by Martine Bachelor on a Korean Zen koan (Tricycle 2008).  I am noting it here because something about the use of this question to cultivate a bone deep sense of perplexity resonated.  (Honestly, I think I live in a state of perplexity!)  


Perhaps it was how Bachelor described how to work with the question:

The practice is very simple. Whether you are walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, you ask repeatedly, What is this? What is this? You have to be careful not to slip into intellectual inquiry, for you are not looking for an intellectual answer. You are turning the light of inquiry back onto yourself and your whole experience in this moment. You are not asking: What is this thought, sound, sensation, or external object? If you need to put it in a meaningful context, you are asking, What is it that is hearing, feeling, thinking? You are not asking,What is the taste of the tea or the tea itself? You are asking, What is it that tastes the tea? What is it before you even taste the tea? 

My own teacher, Master Kusan (1909–1983), used to try to help us by pointing out that the answer to the question was not an object, because you could not describe it as long or short, this or that color. It was not empty space either, because empty space cannot speak. It was not the Buddha, because you have not yet awakened to your Buddha-nature. It was not the master of the body, the source of consciousness, or any other designation, because those are mere words and not the actual experience of it. So you are left with questioning. You ask, What is this? because you do not know.

I learned today that here is a distinction between formal koan practice (in which you verify with a teacher that you've "passed" the koan) and working with a question; in the Korean tradition it seems this can be a question you work with for a lifetime, uncovering and looking more deeply as new layers of meaning are revealed.


What engaged me most was the illustration of using this koan to address working with old patterns of behavior, specifically daydreaming!  Here's how Bachelor characterizes daydreaming:

Imagination is a function of the mind, but daydreaming is a proliferation of the imagination with disadvantageous consequences. It takes you away from what really is happening, and it can cause frustration, because what you daydream of often does not happen.

 I have always taken pride in my imagination and can clearly narrate a long line of stories that are a background narrative of my life.  Each day taking place in relationship to the story that I tell myself about the meaning and measure of the day.  This is a problem?  Yes, in the context of my Zen practice and a vow to live mindfully, to be present, and to fully live and act from this moment.  Living in these dreams is not where I want my life to take place, but after all these years, can I even be sure when I am here and when I am there? I don't just daydream occasionally; thinking back to the days on the swings in Bronx playgrounds, weaving stories of my future life as I looked across to High Bridge, I see a practice of putting myself deep into those dreams. 

..Meditation can also make you discover the specific taste of thoughts. Daydreaming is very seductive; when the thoughts “If I were. . . If I had. . . ” come up, they pull you in; they taste yummy, like something sweet and gooey, with their promise of enchantment. If you are a prisoner in a jail, then daydreaming is vital, it helps you to survive. But as I was discussing this specific pattern of mind with a young prisoner I met in South Africa who was keen on meditation, he told me that he would daydream in moderation and only used it as a safety valve when he felt very oppressed by his incarceration. If he did too much daydreaming, then he became frustrated and aggressive. 

Try being conscious,of how often you slip into dream; do it just for a day.  I tallied 9 times just on the 40 minute ride to work - and I consider myself to be a pretty attentive driver.  (All the more reason to stay in the right lane on cruise control...)  The rest of the day just became a wonder.  And I found myself wistful; I am my dreams - for a better life, for a better world, for possibilities of love and compassion.  But perhaps if I can reclaim some of the dreamtime, I can find more time to make those dreams happen!

Bachelor is not saying to not daydream, rather to be aware when it takes us away from being fully in our lives.

So the point is not that we cannot daydream, but that we should see the effect this pattern has on us and know when it is useful and when it is detrimental. When we ask the question What is this? it will bring us back to the moment. 

If you see me muttering to myself, looking a bit perplexed, now you know...