Podcasts about unmind

As I mentioned in the last installment, when thinking about content for the next Dharma Byte or UnMind podcast, I turn to my collaborators for inspiration: Hokai Jeff Harper, publisher of the newsletter, and Shinjin Larry Little, producer of the podcast. Jeff responded to a recent call for suggested topics with: • To everything there is a season• The wax and wane of householder zazen practice• What we are feeling right now IS impermanence manifesting itself In the last episode I delved into the first of these three, the seeming seasonality of everything as a universal principle. We might take a moment to remind ourselves that seasonality is also considered natural, as the waxing and waning of the four seasons. And, while somewhat arbitrary as a concept, is considered causal in terms of the natural sciences of biology, botany, and even psychology — as in "seasonal affective disorder." Arbitrary in the sense that, as Master Dogen says, "You do not call winter the beginning of spring, nor summer the end of spring." Now that we have gotten off the planet, any middle-schooler knows that the root causes of the seasons is a universal phenomenon. Unless they are being home-schooled by a flat-earther, that is. In this segment we will take up the second, the waxing and waning of householder practice, moving the discussion to the social level. Which, of course, is part and parcel of our personal sphere of activity and influence. Whether Hokai meant to point out the usual periodic waxing and waning of our personal commitment to meditation in the context of the many distractions assailing your average householder; or a more societal angle on how householder engagement has grown and diminished over time through the various Eastern countries of origin, compared to its prevalence and intensity in the West modern times, I am not sure. I think it may be more instructive to consider the alternative — monastic practice — and how it colors our perspective on our own, personal options for pursuing the dharma in the midst of life. Zen householders often harbor a misconception that because we are householders — and not monastics — that we cannot hope to penetrate to the fundamental meaning of the teachings of Buddhism. This seems to be a widely shared meme in the Western culture, perhaps particularly in America. And it is based on a fundamental misconception — namely that the social sphere of Zen trumps the personal sphere —that you can tell a book by its cover, when it comes to Zen practice. But you can't. Because we interpret the history of Zen Buddhism as primarily monastic, from its inception in India and its transmission through China, Korea, Japan and the Far East, we presume that the approach of material renunciation — leaving the householder life for that of the mendicant monk, nun, or hermit, or wandering on pilgrimage — is the most effective way, the only way, of recovering our Original Nature, or Buddha Mind. While traditional prescriptions for practice definitely include divesting ourselves of our dependency upon, and predilection for, the pleasures and problems of our times, the renunciation recommended in Zen is not limited to merely rejecting and replacing one lifestyle for another. It is more a matter of seeing through the delusional aspect of any way of living. Including monasticism. This is true spiritual poverty. Master Dogen articulated four levels of renunciation that members of his monastic community were either able or unable to embrace, which I have discussed in more detail elsewhere. They range from the ability or inability to relinquish attachment to family, home, inheritance, et cetera, to the inability or ability to relinquish our own opinions and biases regarding our own reality, regardless of outer appearances. The latter — Dogen's highest level of renunciation — would apply equally to monastic or householder. So apparently the main difference between the two lifestyle choices is that the former is relatively simpler compared to the complexities of the latter. In terms of the ability to realize the truth of Buddhism, lifestyle is just another form of pomp and circumstance. If you find your practice — by which we usually mean meditation — is waxing and waning beyond your intentions and control, you might want to take a radical departure. Stop. Quit, with all the negative connotations that may have in our goal-oriented culture and society. Admit that you have failed, once again. Or rationalize that Zen may work for others, but it does not work for you. In doing so — in "not doing Zen" — you will confirm your bias, and prove to yourself that, like everything else you have tried in life, it just didn't get the job done. Zen did not live up to your expectations. Now that you have resolved that untidy business you can get on with your life. Good luck with that. It turns out that this kind of discernment, that Zen is something we started doing, so it is something we can stop doing, is a category error of the first degree. There actually is no such thing as "Zen." Zen is what we call this particular meditation sect of Buddhism, but like any other sect, it only exists as a construction of our societal mind. It is a learned thing that upon examination evaporates like a puff of smoke, or a cloud in the sky. The etymology of "Zen" is one example of this misinterpretation. As I have pointed out elsewhere, the term Zen is actually a misnomer. It is phonetic Japanese for Ch'an, which is phonetic Chinese for Dhyana, which is a traditional form of contemplative meditation that the Chinese pundits assumed Bodhidharma was demonstrating when he would abruptly turn his back on them, facing the mountain wall instead. But the great sage was not doing dhyana. He was not contemplating anything in particular. He was demonstrating what is referred to in Japanese as shikantaza, which according to Master AI, means: Shikantaza, often translated as "just sitting," is a foundational Zen practice that involves sitting in a quiet, meditative posture without focusing on any specific object or thought. It's about being present, aware, and simply experiencing the present moment. If even this barebones definition does not capture the implications of the term, we have no one to blame but an artificial intelligence summarizing who knows how many verbal references on the large language model on which it has been trained. Defined as: A large language model (LLM) is a type of artificial intelligence that can generate human-like text based on the context provided. LLMs are trained on vast amounts of text data and learn to predict the next word or sequence of words in a text, allowing them to perform tasks like natural language processing, machine translation, and content generation. So it has come to this. We are using artificial intelligence to define artificial intelligence. With such developments as AI adding to the present overload of distractions, threats, alternative career choices, endless learning curves, and entangling relationships at home, work and play that householders have on their plates today, we can be forgiven for developing some ambiguity around adding to the list, or continuing to follow, yet another demanding regimen: Zen. Again, category error. We are already practicing Zen, from the moment we are born — and even before we are born, in the traditional Buddhist view — whether we know it or not. Everybody else is likewise. "Zen" is what we call that fact. Zen is a word that points at something that is not a thing, and in fact does not exist as an isolate or instantiation of anything. It is "the whole catastrophe" to quote Zorba the Greek. If Bodhidharma was contemplating anything, it was everything, which beggars the concept of "contemplation." In closing, let me quote myself again, from my closing statement from the last segment: Next month we will take up the second suggestion, the waxing and waning of householder zazen practice. Been there, done that. "Been there, done that" is not exactly true. I never began Zen practice, it began me. And I will never quit, though it may appear to be so to the outside observer. Zen is not something we can do. It is not in the realm of doing. So we cannot stop doing it, either. We either do it poorly or do it relatively well, like most things in life. Zazen is not something we have to do; it is something we get to do. Zen cannot wax and wane; it only seems to in our imagination. Perversely, there is no choice in the matter. The worse it gets, the better it is. "The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences." Including a preference for what we

"Zen in Our Time" and "Connecting the Dots" are themes that I have hit upon for 2025, forming the thread running through (one meaning of "sutra") all of my DharmaByte newsletter columns and online UnMind podcasts this year. Contextualizing the teachings and legacy of Zen in modern times — without throwing the baby out with the bathwater — is key to transmitting Zen's legacy. Connecting the dots in the vast matrix of Dharma — while bridging the gap between 500 BC to 2025 CE in terms of the cultures, causes and conditions — is necessary to foster the evolution of Shakyamuni's Great Vow, from the closing verse of the Lotus Sutra's Lifespan Chapter: I am always thinking: by what means can I cause sentient beings to be able to enter the highest path and quickly attain the Dharma? As in so many aspects of our overloaded society, when contemplating the next column or podcast, the question always arises, "Where do I begin?" I turn to my collaborators — Hokai Jeff Harper, publisher of the newsletter, and Shinjin Larry Little, producer of the podcast — for clarity and inspiration. Jeff responded to my call for suggested topics with an intriguing trio: • To everything there is a season• The wax and wane of householder zazen practice• What we are feeling right now IS impermanence manifesting itself Instead of choosing one over the others, it occurred to me that all three are important. And they are interrelated, in a kind of fish-trap narrowing of focus, from the universal span of spacetime as a causal nexus for humankind; then homing in on the social level, considering the modern householder's vacillation in attempting to pursue what began long ago as a monastic lifestyle; and finally zeroing in on the personal: the intimacy of realization within the immediate flow of reality. I will attempt to treat them in succession over the next three installments, in the context of transmission of Zen's Original Mind. TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASONIf you find the 1960s Pete Seeger song popularized by the Byrds running through your brain, you are not alone. If you recollect the poem from Ecclesiastes — which I studied in a unique, small-town high school literature course — you may be hearing echoes of: To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. Or from Tozan Ryokai: Within causes and conditions, time and season, IT is serene and illuminating And finally, from Dogen Zenji: Firewood becomes ash and it does not become firewood again.Yet do not suppose that the ash is future and the firewood past. You should understand that firewood abides in the phenomenal expression of firewood, which fully includes past and future, and is independent of past and future. Ash abides in the phenomenal expression of ash, which fully includes future and past.
 Just as firewood does not become firewood again after it is ash, you do not return to birth after death... Birth is an expression complete this moment; death is an expression complete this moment. They are like winter and spring; you do not call winter the "beginning" of spring, nor summer the "end" of spring. There are many more such incisive and insightful references to time in the literature of Zen, as well as Western thinking, of course, most notably Master Dogen's fascicle titled "Uji," which translates as something like "Being-time," "Existence-time," or "Living time," as Uchiyama-roshi renders it. This 13th Century writing is said to have anticipated the theory of Relativity, Einsteins' prodigious accomplishment, perhaps the most important scientific breakthrough of the 20th Century. But these few recollections from the rich legacy of Zen's written record will suffice for our purposes of connecting some of the dots in Indra's Net, or the modern components of the "Matrix of the Thus-Come One" as described in the Surangama Sutra. Scanning the Biblical poem, it is striking to see so many various activities and reactions to the obligations and behaviors of daily human life listed in equally dispassionate terms, not implying false equivalencies, but for example to blithely assert that there is "a time to kill" and "a time to heal"; "a time of war" and "a time of peace" — in the same breath — is in itself breathtaking, considering the admonition against killing, or murder, found in the Ten Commandments as well as the first Five Grave Precepts of Buddhism. Jumping to Master Tozan, or Dongshan, the founder of Soto Zen in 9th Century China, we find a hint of some resolution of the "whole catastrophe" in his reference to "IT" being "serene and illuminating," regardless of time and season, causes and conditions. This "it" appears in various Buddhist sayings and teachings, as tathata in Sanskrit — the inexpressible; or inmo in Japanese — the ineffable, the essential. These all point to what I analogize as a "singularity of consciouness" that emerges in zazen, where we pass the event horizon of conventional perception — the mind collapsing inward of its own mass — returning to and revealing our Original Mind, merging subject and object, duality and nonduality, in mokurai — the resolution of all apparent dichotomies. Earlier in Tozan's Precious Mirror Samadhi, or Hokyo Zammai, from which the above quote is taken, he magnifies the central place of this "it" in the experiential realm of Zen realization: Although IT is not constructed, IT is not beyond wordsLike facing a precious mirror, form and reflection behold each otherYou are not IT but in truth IT is you Master Dogen's coinage of "the backward step" captures this 180-degree attitude adjustment in the way we usually approach learning, self-improvement, and general development as human beings on the learning curve of reality. "From the very beginning all beings are buddhas," as Hakuin Zenji, 18th Century Rinzai Zen master, poet and artist states in the first line of his famous poem, "Song of Zazen." For every thing there may be a season, but when it comes to the most important thing in Buddhism, there is fundamentally no change — from beginning to middle to end — of this "poor player," life, strutting and fretting his/her hour upon the stage. In another line from Chinese Zen, the third Ancestor in 6th Century China captures this succinctly: Change appearing to occur in the empty world we call realonly because of our ignorance. So, somehow, once again, we are getting it all wrong, backwards. Our recourse is, of course, to get our butts back to the cushion; trust the original mind; take the backward step; and embrace the revolutionary notion that WE are not IT, but in truth IT is US. I cannot resist the urge to close this segment with one of my favorite quotes from the great Master Pogo: We have met the enemy and he is us. It may be a comfort to realize that "mine enemy grows older" as we age. We just have to outlive our enemies, including our own ignorance. Next month we will take up the second suggestion, the waxing and waning of householder zazen practice. Been there, done that.

Steve Peralta, co-founder of Unmind, discusses the problem with the majority of corporate mental health programmes, why the world of work so often leads to deteriorating mental health, and how psychology-backed tech platforms can help.   Unmind is workplace wellbeing platform that partners with brands to offer employee mental health support. Peralta co-founded Unmind in 2016 having previously from a corporate wellbeing background alongside former NHS clinical psychologist Dr Nick Taylor. Peralta explains how so many workplace wellbeing policies are reactive, waiting from problems to occur before they even begin to try to help.

In the previous segment of UnMind, titled "the least important thing," I closed with a call for submissions; quoting myself: If you have any topics or areas of interest in Zen that you would like me to explore in 2025, please let me know. You know where I live. Having received little response, I can only assume that this podcast is not gaining much traction out there, in spite of near-weekly continuity for the past three or so years. Or that those of you who are following it don't have any topics of interest related to Zen, at least none that you would like me to take up. Or some combination of both. In this segment, the last one of the year, let me start with the obvious: the fact that actually, you do not know where I live. That is, none of us really knows what the rest of us are going through, on a year-in-year-out, day-to-day, hour-by-hour, moment-to-moment, basis, except in the most general sense. And that's okay. But we have to wonder whether everyone else is dealing with the same kinds of issues, such as anxiety over aging, sickness, and death, those personal dimensions of dukkha that Buddha taught we all face. Anxiety stems from the unsatisfactory nature of living in the face of impermanence, imperfection, and insubstantiality, universal aspects of the koan of existence. Are you feeling the angst? Can you remember when it first dawned on you that this life — which seems so substantial, so perfect in so many ways, and that we once took to be permanent — is insidiously deceptive in that regard? That the causes and conditions of it are not part of what you bargained for, opting into birth? Assuming you had any choice in the matter. Few of us would credit a claim of any real intentionality on our part that preceded birth. But in fact Buddha does, explicitly — or at least implicitly — in his explication of the Twelvefold Chain of Interdependent Origination. It is his model of how things got to be the way they are — including, most crucially, our own presence in this world of sentient being. According to this cogent analysis, we come into being owing to our very desire to exist — the desire for knowing, or consciousness itself. Considered dispassionately, how could there be any simpler explanation for life? Upholders of theism would have us believe that there is a separate intent to life, an intelligent "designer" operating behind the scenes, as author and director of its creation. The adherents of deism hold that the creator god is not directly involved, but simply got the ball rolling, perhaps by means of the Big Bang. Atheists deny outright any possibility of such disembodied intent, and agnostics try to walk the tightrope between belief and disbelief, according reality to the limitations of their senses and intellectual understanding. No woo-woo, in other words. Most religious thinkers are resistant to the idea that we are simply a fluke of some kind, the result of a secular-reductionist chain of events beginning with material elements combining physically in a random process; yielding organic chemistry; leading to one-celled organisms; finally culminating in human beings, the absolute apex of evolution, or God's greatest creation. In our human opinion, anyway. Most rationalist thinkers would probably push back on the equally simplistic notion that some creator god is to be given credit, or to be blamed, for our being here, and its corollary, that we have to pass the test of Her intent. On the one hand, this doctrine conveniently relieves us of the burden of accepting responsibility for our own existence; on the other, it tasks us with noodling out exactly what that intent might prescribe for the behaviors and attitude adjustments necessary to pass muster. One logical consequence of this notion is that we assume that our reward will be in heaven, if anywhere, but certainly not on this earth. But we cannot escape or postpone the inevitable onset or aging, sickness and death, simply because we hold to a belief, however compelling. Unless you believe in a scientific possibility of eternal life as suggested by sci-fi speculations such as technologically-enhanced consciousness, uploaded to digital hardware and/or downloaded to new bodies, or the same old carcass rejiggered with endlessly replaceable parts, grown in tanks from genetic sources. With apologies for that discursive ramble into weirder pastures, let us return to the focus of Zen on the present reality of the moment, devoid of any beliefs — religious, scientific or fantastical — that we may tend to turn to for comfort. The Heart Sutra of Buddhist liturgy — a central, condensed summary of Buddha's teaching chanted on a frequent basis in Zen centers, temples and monasteries around the world — takes us through a long litany of what might appear to the uninitiated to be a thoroughgoing denial of reality as we know it. Testimony as to what the iconic "Bodhisattva of Compassion" (Skt. Avalokiteshvara; Ch. Quanyin; J. Kannon) realized through meditation begins with the cryptic statement that s/he "clearly saw that all five aggregates are empty and thus relieved all suffering." Remember that this model of the "five aggregates" (Skt. skandhas) represented the best science of the times as to what, precisely, sentient existence consists of, in its ultimate finality. Today we would paint a much more complex picture, but Buddha had to work with the sum total of information available at the time. Then he goes on to reduce all of reality to one fundamental dyad, which, like all dual pairs, cannot be separated: Form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form; form itself is emptiness,emptiness itself form; sensations, perceptions, formations, and consciousness are also like this. Form, or appearance (Skt. rupa), constitutes our normal cognizance of the material world, with its near-infinite variations — the "myriad things," or "ten-thousand things" — and the names we give to them (Skt. nama), taken together as "name and form" (Skt. namarupa), "the one and the many," for short. This would be roughly equivalent to current terms such as phenomena and noumenon: particular things, and unitary sameness as their essence. This is a thread running through Zen teachings, indicating the nonduality of duality, or the "Harmony of Difference and Equality," as the famous Ch'an poem, "Sandokai," would have it. In our modern idiom, we would speak of the interchangeability of matter and energy. The other four skandhas — Sensation, Perception, Impulse, and Consciousness itself — are similarly subject to deconstruction, though their position on the spectrum of energy and the psychological plane makes for a more convoluted analysis. Suffice it to say that the prefatory phrase, "given Emptiness" (Skt. sunyatta) indicates that all five are not what they seem to be, just as solid, liquid or gaseous matter is permeated with space, as we know today. The monolog then goes on to negate all of the familiar dimensions of consciousness, including the Six Senses or realms (Skt. dhatus) of the Buddhist model of awareness: Therefore given emptiness there is no form; no sensation; no perception;no formation; no consciousness — no eyes; no ears; no nose; no tongue; no body; no mind — no sight; no sound; no smell; no taste; no touch; no object of mind; no realm of sight; no realm of mind-consciousness. That last, the non-reality of "mind-consciousness" itself, indicates that the various findings, conclusions, and recommendations for practice, as well as all broader implications of insight into reality deriving from it, must also be set aside: There is neither ignorance nor extinction of ignorance; neither old age and death nor extinction of old age and death; no suffering; no cause; no cessation; no Path; no knowledge; and no attainment. So where, we might be forgiven for asking, does that leave us? According to Zen, right back where we started. Nothing has changed; nothing that is not already real and true can be revealed by our meditation. Sitting still enough, upright enough, and long enough will simply allow us to see the delusionary aspect of our own interpretation of our own consciousness. "Until we come to no consciousness also," as the first translation that we recited at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago expressed it. Let that percolate for a moment. If indeed Buddha, or Avalokiteshvara, or any one else, can come to a state of "no consciousness" — and come back from it, alive and well — what are we to make of that? This ultimate finality is what I like to call the "singularity of consciousness" —"That of which there is no whicher," as Alan Watts, my brother's favorite commentator on all things Zen, put it. The AI summary leading off the search results (which may be the go-to virtual Zen master, or "buddha of the future," otherwise known as Maitreya) paraphrased: to describe something beyond comparison, an ultimate reality or absolute that cannot be measured or ranked against anything else Which is eerily similar to a concluding section of the longest Ch'an poem in Soto liturgy, the Hsinhsinming—Trust in Mind: No comparisons or analogies are possible in this causeless, relation-less state; take motion in stillness and stillness in motion; both movement and stillness disappear; to this ultimate finality no law or description applies. So there you have it. All things are like this, to cadge another repeat Dogenism. Let me close with best wishes for a happy new year; a happy new month; week, and/or day; happy morning, afternoon and evening; a happy hour or half; a happy minute, second, or moment. They are all equally empty. As the same poem reminds us in closing: The Way is beyond language for in it there is no yesterday no tomorrow no today.

In the last segment of UnMind, we looked at the implications of Master Dogen's expression, "the most important thing in Buddhism," from Fukanzazengi, the set of instructions for zazen he composed after returning from China. We speculated on what he could possibly have meant, by singling out one of the many points he made in the text. I suggested that it may be more useful to consider the "don'ts," rather than the "do's," such as: not thinking, notinteracting, and not distinguishing between the absolute and relative, rather than speculate upon a single bumper-sticker summation of his broader points, as the singular, "main thing to do." In other words, maybe he is pointing at something holistic, in the visceral realm, rather than the intellectual.This is in keeping with Buddhism's major teachings — that their meaning will be found in our direct experience on the cushion and in daily life, rather than in words, which can point at the truth but fail to express it in any comprehensive sense. So when we consider the least important thing in Buddhism, it may be helpful to turn to the written record of the spoken teachings of Buddha himself, beginning with the First Sermon, reputed to be what he had to say to the five ascetics he had been training and traveling with at that point in his spiritual quest. It starts out with come "don'ts." In that original dharma talk, Buddha essentially dismisses the extreme lifestyles of the rich and famous on the one hand — self-gratification writ large; and that of the ascetics themselves on the other, who had turned away from Siddhartha after witnessing him drinking goat's milk, violating their high standard of discipline, including virtual starvation. Buddha had landed in the Middle Way, after a night of extreme introspection. Here we have to reiterate that "extremism in the pursuit of moderation is no vice." In articulating the Middle Way between the usual pursuits of the lay hoi polloi and the monastic minority, Buddha indicated the futility of both lines of endeavor — self-gratification versus self-mortification. The most balanced and natural approach is nether to deny the cravings born of body, mouth and mind, nor to overindulge them. This suggests an innate trust in basic human nature — or we should say buddha-nature — our original nature, which is untrammeled by the limits and demands of biological needs and societal norms. Not exactly the noble savage, but the natural sage: a person who lives freely within the bounds of nature as well as those of society. Mr. Natural. Amongst the least important things in Zen would be concerns about our social identity. As one contemporary author's mother told him, You would be a lot less concerned about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do. We all see ourselves as the marquee character in our own movie, with all others playing supporting roles. The trouble is, everyone else sees their reality the same way, with us as the bit players. While the most important thing, or things, about Buddhism will necessarily lie within the personal sphere, the least important will be found in the social sphere. Those in the natural and universal spheres will fall in-between. For example, it is more likely that we can safely ignore developments in society that may indirectly threaten our livelihood, safety and security — such as which party is currently in power — than we can those from natural and universal sources — such as climate change, pandemics, and asteroids. The most important things in Zen revolve around personal applications of the method — zazen — and the results of such training in terms of its effects directly upon the body-mind as well as attitude adjustments regarding our misconceptions of buddha-dharma, and some that tend to have a halo effect upon social life. One major overlap is the practice of patience. Sitting upright, straight enough and still enough for long enough, we are forced to become much more patient with ourselves, our general ignorance and the monkey-business machinations of the discriminating mind — citta in Sanskrit — which serendipitously sounds like Cheetah, Tarzan's famous chimpanzee companion, making it easy to remember. Wisdom, or enlightened, mind — bodhiin Sanskrit — comes to the fore. Citta and bodhi, foreground and background mind, or analytical and intuitive mind, gradually or instantaneously, come into better balance: the original, unified mind, in which the apparent dichotomy is "not-two." Much like central and peripheral vision, which collaborate interdependently to make up the whole of the sense of vision, the two aspects of mind are not in opposition to each other. Not competitive, but complementary. The most important thing, then, would be to allow them to work in harmony. Vacillation from one to the other is the natural way that intelligence and consciousness work. The least important thing would be to worry about them as being antagonistic to each other. We do not have to "empty our mind of thoughts." In fact, if we try to, the monkey will turn into a 600-pound gorilla. We will lose that battle. Better to allow the monkey free range. It will wear itself out eventually. When citta finally exhausts its frantic coping mechanisms, it will lie down and take a nap. Then bodhi can manifest as the balancing act. The posture becomes a comfortable stretch, the breath like a sigh of relief. By relinquishing control, we sink into equanimity. The Buddhist jargon term that addresses centered balance, or settling into "calm abiding" (Skt. Shamata) — and is often defined as the platform for insight (Skt. Vipassana) — is Samadhi: usually capitalized to emphasize the veneration and importance it is accorded. While I think that — as much as possible — we should endeavor to reduce or eliminate the jargonized nature of much of the written record, it may be clarifying to characterize the method of zazen and its effects in terms of different kinds of "samadhis." The first, the traditional form of the upright seated posture of the body in zazen, we might call physical samadhi — less stress, more equipoise, or equilibrium — basically coming into alignment with gravity. The second, we might term emotional samadhi — less anxiety, more calmness. Since mind and body cannot separate, the most direct path to the "mind" is through the body. The third, mental samadhi — less confusion, more clarity — particularly regarding the true meaning of buddha-dharma, what the teachings are pointing to in reality, which is only accessible within our direct experience. Experiential truth is the only truth in Zen. But we can misinterpret what we perceive. All perceived reality is virtual. I propose that there is a fourth kind of samadhi, which I term social samadhi — less friction, more harmony — in relationships. This, of course, is what most people are looking for in the early stages of their meditative practice. But its manifestation is further down the road. It all begins with physical samadhi in zazen. Amongst the least important things, one of the most important is to avoid creating expectations of your practice of zazen. Setting expectations is the way we approach most activities we associate with learning. We hope to learn something new, to find what is missing. But zazen, and its effects, is not really gaining something new, but remembering something long forgotten, and primordial: the natural posture, the natural breath, the natural state of mind. If we imagine that there is something fundamentally wrong with our mind, and that we have to "fix" it, then we are making a fundamental error, a categorical mistake, defined as "treating abstract concepts as though they had a physical location." There is nothing fundamentally wrong with our mind, or for that matter with the entirety of existence. The only thing wrong is our interpretation of reality, our own ignorance and uninformed opinions. As Master Pogo said, "We have met the enemy and he is us." The least important things are TBD - to be determined. In your practice and daily life.As we close out the winter season of the old year and anticipate the opening salvos of the new year, let us remember that there is no such thing as a year, and practice with an open mind. Open to possibilities that lie beyond our imagination, and are right before, and behind, our original face. Don't look in the mirror for it. It is the most important thing. If you have any topics or areas of interest in Zen that you would like me to explore in 2025, please let me know. You know where I live.

Well, now we know. That is, we know how the vote tally turned out. What we don't know for sure is what will happen next. As I said in closing the last podcast, we are waiting for the next number of shoes to drop. But many of our fellow citizens are worried that they know all too well what is coming, ranging from your worst nightmare to the final establishment of Valhalla on Earth. But this time the hall will include only the living survivors, not those who died in battle, as in the Norse myth. We have been here before politically, which will be remembered by all but those who voted for the first time in this election, who may have known only the recent history, and thus are doomed to repeat it, according to Churchill (who should know). The sanctification of former President George W. Bush by certain religious groups, particularly in his second campaign and term in office, presaged the elevation of the current President-elect to the status of being anointed by God to lead the country. Vilification by the other side reached similar levels of hysteria, if memory serves. One might regard the entire campaign as an example of confirmation bias on steroids. Both sides interpreted events — crowd size, 50-50 polls, mob hysteria at rallies — as confirming their most cherished hopes for victory. Only time will tell which, if either, is the extreme position out of touch with reality. Midterms may be the next major tilt of the teeter-totter. Meanwhile, let us return to the central focus of Zen — reality itself, the ultimate in vacillation. Like a Taoist shaggy dog story, this may be good, but it could be bad. Through this lens, the question arises as to exactly how important — how relevant — the political landscape can possibly be, to the living-out of our daily Zen lives? It might provide a bit of perspective to recall that Buddha did not buck the political establishment of his time in India. Which, if my poor understanding of history is correct, was based on the caste system — from the Brahmin, or priests at the top of the pyramid — to Sudra, or commoners, peasants and servants, at the bottom. Completely outside the box were the outcasts, out-of-caste members of the society — untouchables — who were employed as street sweepers and latrine cleaners. From an online search we find the following AI-assisted definition: India's caste system is a social hierarchy that divides people into groups based on ritual purity and is passed down through families. It has been in place for at least 3,000 years and is considered one of the world's oldest social hierarchies. The caste system dictates many aspects of a person's life, including their profession, who they can marry, and their social standing. The system apparently does allow for some upward social mobility as it functions in modernity, but it appears that originally, the level into which you were born pretty much determined your fate and future in society — what degree of influence you might have on the social sphere, and its degree of influence on your personal sphere. Needless to say, it was an asymmetrical relationship at best. Buddha was born into the Kshatriya, or warrior caste, second only to the Brahmin. Which makes me wonder if he was basically a late-blooming draft-dodger, or resistant to implementing the military misadventures of his overlords. I am fairly certain that had he been born into the lower classes, or as an untouchable, he would not have been able to carry out his program of establishing Sangha, the original order of monks and nuns. It is notable that many who joined him were of his same caste, some related to Siddhartha Gautama by blood. It is also noteworthy that whoever initially conceived the caste system, they justified it based on a notion of inborn “ritual purity.” Compare to today's stiff-necked, toxic, entrenched and unyielding attitudes on racial and ethnic superiority. In the last segment I encouraged you to vote, without consideration of how you vote or for whom, other than to vote your conscience and for the future. You may have been surprised, as I was, at the outcome, either distressingly disappointed, or irrationally exuberant. In either case, I suggest tempering your expectations as to what may transpire in the next four-year cycle. Again, we have been here, done this, seen this movie, and rode this rodeo, before. The pendulum swings. Though, admittedly, if it swings to far it may break its mount. Uchiyama-roshi, in “Deepest Practice, Deepest Wisdom,” which we have been studying in the Tuesday evening Cloud Dharma readings this year, encourages us to look at our present life as if we had been aborted at the beginning. That way, we would never even have been here to suffer the vagaries of our lifetime. A less extreme thought experiment is to imagine that you were born into another period in history. In any time, if you lived to the full “three-score-and-ten” lifespan of tradition, the passing political pageantry of a given period may or may not have had any substantial effect upon you. You may have perished in the Revolutionary War, or been enslaved during the Civil War, or you may have been so far removed from the fray that you survived relatively unscathed. In the context of geologic time, a human lifetime is equivalent to the blink of a gnat's eyelash in human time. In any case, how you lived and died mattered more within your personal sphere of experience and influence, than did the likely impact of your life on the social sphere. It is an asymmetrical relationship at best, and even more so as regards the natural and universal spheres. You may counter with the “great man” theory of history, but that assumes a lot, is over-simplistic, and in any case applies to very few individuals. Most of us are statistical placeholders. So, what to do? I like the old aphorism, “tend to your own knitting.” Not much actual knitting is going on these days, of course, but it points to the same idea as Matsuoka-roshi's response to the question of how to take up so-called “engaged Buddhism.” He would assume the zazen posture and say: This is the most you can do. A more ancient saying from a Ch'an poem of about 600 CE — third patriarch Sengcan's Hsinhsinming; Trust in Mind — takes this idea to a new, nondual level: In this world of suchness there is neither self nor other-than-selfTo come into harmony with this reality just simply say, when doubt arises, “Not-two.”In this “not-two” nothing is separate, nothing is excluded.No matter when or where, enlightenment means entering this truth. So I suggest that when doubt arises in the context of concerning and confusing developments in the social sphere — or even the natural or universal spheres — that we simply double down on Zen. In Zen, even the opposing political parties and their policies are “not-two.” This is not simple. Nor is it easy. But where are you going to find the answers to the social and political dilemmas we face today, if not in your meditation? Remember the old spiritual, “O sinner man, where you gonna run to? All on that day?” Well, every day is “that day” in Zen. I remember an old friend quoting an Indian guru, repeating over and over: “Every day, every day, every day — you must die a little to become the Buddha!” He would do it with an exaggerated East Indian accent, his voice rising higher and higher with each recitation, until he had you in stitches, your stomach hurting from laughing. But, you say, this is not a laughing matter. Are you so sure? It's either laugh or cry, as we say. Only you can determine whether your life is a melodrama, a tragedy, a comedy, or a tragicomedy. The frustration we feel in our inability to influence the outer spheres of our reality to move in the direction we want to see them evolve stems mainly from the futility of any such endeavor. The most we can do to have a direct influence is to put our attention and effort into the personal sphere, beginning on the cushion. The ripple effect hopefully ensues. The Bodhisattva Vow to “save or free all beings” is not a directive to take to the streets and lead the charge toward the elusive “arc of the moral universe bending toward justice.” MLK was a modern bodhisattva who appreciated the limits of what he could do in this regard, but expressed a deep faith that however futile his efforts might be, this is the inevitable direction of existence. In Buddhism, it is the wisdom of waking up to reality, in which we pray “May all beings be happy.” But with reality as it actually is, with aging, sickness and death baked into the cake. By their example, bodhisattvas help all beings to save themselves from their own ignorance, beginning at home, like any form of charity, and up close and personal. We have to get our oxygen mask firmly in place before we can effectively help anyone else. We do so by sharing with them the excellent method of zazen. In the next episode of UnMind, the last segment of 2024, we will return to our primary focus on the practical aspects of Zen in daily life. The “design intent” of Zen and zazen, so to speak. Stay tuned. 2025 is the 85thanniversary year of Matsuoka-roshi's coming to America. Please celebrate by intensifying your practice.

When it comes to employee wellbeing and mental health, Megan Kille is pretty much our dream guest! Megan is the VP of People & Talent at Unmind, who are on a mission to transform mental health at work through the power of science and AI. And she shared insights from both perspectives: how the companies who use Unmind approach wellbeing, and how she's facilitating that internally within the company. Timestamps: 0:00 Intro to Megan 3:18 The current state of wellbeing 8:52 Unmind's approach and product 12:24 Being data-led and context-driven 20:33 Accidental bosses 26:06 The signs that people aren't at their best 30:42 What Unmind are doing internally How to connect: Find Megan on LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/megan-kille-22403632/ Learn more about Unmind: https://unmind.com/ Learn more about HowNow: https://hubs.la/Q02Cbv6x0 Useful resources: Wellbeing Strategy Masterclass: https://unmind.com/handbooks/wellbeing-strategy-masterclass Leadership Skills Gap: https://unmind.com/handbooks/closing-the-leadership-skills-gap

DOGEN ON ZAZENUpon returning to Japan from China in 1227, at the age of 27, Master Dogen composed the first draft of Fukanzazengi, the tract in which he outlines the principles of seated meditation, or zazen, that he had learned under the tutelage of Master Rujing. In one of the English translations, about two-thirds of the way through the text, he asks a question of the reader: Now that you know the most important thing in Buddhism, how can you be satisfied with the transient world? Our bodies are like dew on the grass and our lives like a flash of lightning, vanishing in a moment. At this point in the piece, he has said many things about the physical method of meditation, interwoven with suggestions of the philosophy, attitude adjustments and correctives to conventional wisdom that accompany the practice. So what he means to indicate as the most important thing is subject to speculation. This may reflect a translator's choice anomaly, a known issue in the art of interpreting ancient teachings. To home in on this most important thing more closely, let's look at a brief, pointed poem, “Zazenshin,” that Dogen paraphrased from a Chinese version. It means something like “Acupuncture Needle” or “Lancet” – a very sharp instrument – for or about zazen: Zazen-shin - Shohaku Okumura, trans. The essential-function of each buddha and the functioning-essence of each ancestor.
Being actualized within not-thinking.Being manifested within non-interacting.Being actualized within not-thinking, the actualization is by nature intimate.Being manifested within non-interacting, the manifestation is itself verification.The actualization that is by nature intimate never has defilement.
The manifestation that is by nature verification never has distinction between Absolute and Relative.The intimacy without defilement is dropping off without relying on anything.The verification beyond distinction between Absolute and Relative is making effort without aiming at it.The water is clear to the earth; a fish is swimming like a fish.
The sky is vast, extending to the heavens; a bird is flying like a bird. So from this we may take it that the most important thing has something to do with not thinking and non-interacting, and not distinguishing between the absolute and relative. It is pointing at something intimate, undefiled by conventional wisdom, and that has nothing to do with our reliance on common understanding, and goal-oriented efforts. To which we can only respond, “Hmmm. Thank you Dogen, for clearing that up.” MATSUOKA ON DOGENClearly, this message is about something beyond words, that language can only point at, if it is beyond thinking itself. Let's explore some more contemporary quotes from Matsuoka-roshi to see if we can zoom in on the meaning of these passages. O-Sensei simplified Dogen Zenji's instructions for his American students, condensing them into three discrete areas: posture, breath, and attention. The following are three expressions he would use frequently, addressing questions about zazen: Keep aiming at the perfect posture never imagining that you've achieved it You have to work your way through every bone in your body When your posture is approaching the stage of perfection, it will feel as if you are shoving your head against the ceiling The first, about aiming without achieving, makes Dogen's “making effort without aiming at it” a bit more concrete by narrowly defining “it” as the upright posture. This is in keeping with the Zen premise that the zazen posture is the full expression of enlightenment, not merely a means to the end of enlightenment. It also reminds us that there can be no separation of body and mind in Zen, nor, indeed, in reality. And that the natural process of Zen is open-ended, based on aspiration as opposed to expectation. The second indicates that this is going to be a steady, slow process on a visceral level, sitting “with muscle and bone,” as my senior dharma brother in Chicago, Kongo-roshi, titled one of his talks. There are a lot of bones in your body. And the bones, of course, are not separate from the skin, flesh, and marrow, the connective tissue, as Master Bodhidharma taught. “Working your way through” recalls the famous dictum from the poet Robert Frost, paraphrasing, “the only way out is through.” The third seems to contradict the first, when Sensei describes what he frequently referred to as the “sitting-mountain feeling” that eventually comes from zazen. We are to aim at it without concluding that we've achieved it, because “Zen goes deeper,” as he would often say. No matter how seemingly complete and transcendent our immediate experience, it is not the end of the process, an attitude adjustment first articulated by Buddha himself in the “Fifty False States” section of the Surangama Sutra. The main admonition is that, no matter what happens in your meditation, not to imagine that you are now completely enlightened. Even Buddha returned to meditation for the fifty years of his life following his profound insight. But this “shoving your head against the ceiling” sensation is something that I can personally attest to from my modest experience on the cushion. I suspect that when we pull back on the chin, stretching the back of our neck with strength, a specific detail of the posture emphasized by Matsuoka-roshi, it has the effect of shoving our skull against the scalp, which would then feel like the resistance of a solid, external surface like a ceiling. The entire body is a tension-compression structure, much like a camping tent, where the bones of the skeleton are the compression members under stress from the surrounding membrane of musculature, tendons and ligaments, like the canvas and ropes of the tent. HAKUIN'S GAS PEDALThe other end of the “tentpole” is the base of the spine, connecting to the coccyx, or tailbone. Hakuin Zenji, a famous Rinzai priest whose life span bridged the 17th and 18th centuries, from 1686 to1769, recommended that we push forward and down on the lower spine until we feel a bit of pain there. That sensation derives from stretching the hard tissue of the discs between the large lower vertebrae. Even more today than in his time, our posture tends to be c-shaped, sometimes referred to as a “cashew,” when we sit in the driver's seat of our vehicles on the expressway, or the chair at our desk. The natural position of the spine is an “S-shape” curve, bending the lower back in the opposite direction, like a cobra rising from the floor, dancing to the tune of the snake-charmer's flute. I call this Hakuin's gas pedal. Like the accelerator of your car or truck, if you keep your foot on it, pressing forward and down, the vehicle moves. If you let up on it, it slows to a stop. On the other hand, if you go pedal to the metal, it speeds out of control. The Middle Way again, in all its manifestations. So the most important thing, as regards the posture, at least, may be keeping these two pressure points in play while sitting. If you do so, you can't go far wrong in terms of sitting upright. Breathing and attention also come into the picture, but that may be a subject for another UnMind. Let me close this segment with a couple of aphorisms that have come to me in my practice. ME ON ZAZEN I do not claim to have the depth of insight and understanding of our ancestors, and recognize that context, while not determinative of Zen experience, certainly counts. What Buddha, Bodhidharma, the great ancestors in China, and Dogen himself managed to accomplish under relatively primitive conditions in no way compares to what we may expect to realize under relatively cushy but geometrically more complex circumstances. But as they did in their times we must do in ours — namely use what we know to inform our efforts in exploring what we do not know, and cannot know, in any ordinary sense. So, here, I want to introduce two terms that may have no counterpart in their language. PROPRIOCEPTION MEETS VERTIGOProprioception is a term from modern physiology, defined as: Perception or awareness of the position and movement of the body Vertigo is defined as: A sensation of whirling and loss of balance, associated particularly with looking down from a great height, or caused by disease affecting the inner ear or the vestibular nerve; giddiness. In terms of our experience in zazen, then, proprioception would be akin to samadhi, or at least its early stages, when, as Matsuoka-roshi said: When posture, breath, and attention all come together in a unified way, that is the real zazen. Now, if there is “real” zazen, it implies that there must be “unreal” or “fake” zazen, or the false impression that we are doing zazen when we are not, really. Samadhi is a jargon term that I hesitate to use, as it implies that I know what it means while suggesting that you probably do not. Which sets up the false dichotomy of “you and I,” “us and them,” the in-group cognoscenti versus the great unwashed. Sensei also pointed out, at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago, paraphrasing, “When you become dizzy, concentrate on your knees.” And “When you get nauseous, concentrate on your forehead.” Or it may have been the other way around. The main point is that you probably will get dizzy, and you probably will get nauseous, in zazen. This brings up another coinage, for which I claim authorship: Let not the spiritual be the enemy of the practical I detect a vestigial strain of puritanism in the American culture that can infect our understanding and presentation of Zen, as a kind of belief system, a set of doctrines that one must subscribe to, in order to penetrate the inner sanctum of Zen's purported spiritual secrets. This is anathema to the real Zen, as I understand it. All of Master Dogen's instructions in Fukanzazengi are physical, not mental, as Carl Bielefeldt points out in his “Dogen's Manuals of Zen Meditation,” a wonderful, incisive line-by-line analysis of Dogen's two extant revisions compared to the Chinese original. So let's stay focused on the physical, and not get distracted by any woo-woo “spiritual.” If we continue sitting without expectation, implementing the two pressure points until we feel tMatsuoka-roshi's “sitting mountain feeling” of great stability — our head “pressed against the ceiling” — the body and mind will take us where we need to go. We trust our teachers' intent and wisdom, and we trust our Original Mind, as indicated in the title of Hsinhsinming, the earliest Ch'an poem chanted in Soto liturgy. If we sustain this posture — sitting still enough and straight enough for long enough — it will work its magic. Equilibrium will set in in the tension-compression system of muscle and bone of the body, leading to equipoise of the mind. Sustained for some time, the constancy of our proprioception will inevitably lead to vertigo — the flip side of solidity. “Mountains are always walking” — the planet is falling through space. There is “not even a toehold.” Emptiness is innately form, form innately emptiness. In the next segment of UnMind, we will put a cap on “Election Year Zen,” my tenth and final concluding commentary on the 2024 campaign, now that we know how it all turned out. But like a centipede, or millipede, there are surely many more shoes to drop.

Welcome to UnMind podcast, number 165. In this segment, with a sigh of relief, we turn away from the horror show that is the climactic crescendo of the current 4-year election cycle, with its implications for climatic consequences — as we are witnessing with the 1-2 punch of Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Milton, Mother Natures' odd couple of the moment and probable precursors of more to come. It is as if God's eraser is being applied to the original plan for this nation, eradicating whole swaths of our occupation of what was once Her sacred wilderness. In the face of such catastrophe — which we consider “unprecedented,” in the worn-out superlative of the day, “only because of our ignorance,” according to the great Ch'an poem Hsinhsinming, Trust in Mind. Whether innocent or willful, this ignorance causes us to question the bedrock assumptions we make about the importance and relevance of our most personal aspirations in the practice of Zen. Of course, the Earth has endured much worse in its lifetime, known as the “five major extinctions,” where many of the species prevalent on her fragile surface did not survive the change intact. The human species may now be facing a similar extinction, ironically, as an unintended consequence of our success in dominating the planet, or so we are told. In this context, there seems to be little point in paying attention to the relatively trivial aspects of coping with everyday life, let alone hoping that the outcome of the election is going to make much of a difference, but that is precisely what I would like to share with you in what follows. Zen practice is eight days a week. For the last year or so, I have been more committed than usual to regularly attend morning meditation at the Zen center, which for me incurs only a 10- to 15-minute drive, depending on traffic, from our home. Nonetheless, because it starts at 6:00 o'clock am, I have to exercise some diligence in going to bed a bit earlier than I might like, as well as getting out of bed, and out of the house, to arrive in time before the others do. In a city like Atlanta, the commute — to work and back, or anywhere else — becomes a part of the calculation. So I thought it might be interesting to you to hear a blow-by-blow account of what I go through as my morning routine. Perhaps it will encourage you to endeavor to visit the zendo in person more often, as one of many of the “damn your lousy excuses” from that chapter in “The Original Frontier.” Let me touch on some of the repeat highlights of negotiating daily practice around regular sitting in a non-monastic setting. Getting ThereMaster Dogen reported that his teacher in China, Nyojo Zenji, made a vow to leave his bed “like a pair of old shoes” each morning. I am not sure of what kind of shoes they wore in those days, but in my case at least, old shoes can be a lot more comfortable than new ones. And with the process of aging, getting up and getting going each day can be a real adventure in recovery. Moving from the horizontal to the vertical in proprioception becomes an exercise in defiance of gravity. Setting the AlarmA great luxury of being semi-retired, or retired into full-time Zen, as I like to think of it, is the non-necessity of using an alarm. At last I have come into accordance with the old Zen saying, “When tired I sleep; when hungry I eat” — a description of reality, and a prescription for practice, from a time in which no one had a clock, let alone a motherboard embedded in a slab of silicon. I reluctantly set the alarm for 5:30 AM in order to be sure to arrive at ASZC in time to open for the 6:00-7:00 AM sit. When the alarm went off, I was already half-awake. As if my subconscious mind was aware of time as measured by the tick-tock of battery-operated electrons. Dressing in the DarkCommitted to attending every morning for five weekdays, and to leaving the house just in time, my morning routine is quick and simple. I keep my Zen outfit readily available, so I can dress as quickly as possible, pick up the things I need, and be out the door. This involves pulling on clothing in the dark, including my long-sleeved tee-shirt made of bamboo. Proceeding by touch in lieu of vision offers three ways to get it wrong, and only one way to get it right. If the garment has a label at the back of the neck that can be felt, it provides tactile clues to orientation to put the shirt on correctly. But If not, you might put it on backward; inside out; or inside out and backward. In one recent instance, I thought I had it right, because in lieu of a label at the back of the collar, my pullover has a small triangle on the front that can be identified clearly through touch. But when I returned home after zazen, and looked in the mirror, I found that the shirt was not on backward — but it was inside-out. The pants I wear to sit in are also made of bamboo, soft and stretchy, so they tend to be clingy when I am pulling them on, so I perch on my bureau, or chest of drawers, and pull them on one leg at a time — they have tie-strings in front, so no problem in getting the front-to-back and inside-to-outside orientation correct there — but my left foot always tries to find its way into the pants pocket. I have to remember to put my socks on after my pants, because the enhanced friction of cloth-on-cloth increases the likelihood of becoming tangled in the leg of the pants. Driving to the CenterAt 5:30 AM it is still dark in Atlanta at this time of year, so I turn on the headlights. Our car does not have an audible warning if the lights are left on, so I have to be careful about turning them off once I reach the Zen center, and even more so after I return home, when it is light. I have managed to run the battery down more than once. Just another mindfulness moment. Neighborhood traffic is light at this time of day, though where we live is very much an inner-city location. The route to the Zen center is only three miles or so, as a crow flies, but it passes through six stoplights and one stop sign at the various intersections along the way, which takes about ten minutes. Potholes are the bigger nuisance, and I know from the school of hard knocks where each and every one of them is. Sometimes, half-asleep, I forget, and am rudely reminded by the sudden bump and loud noise, like the kyosaku stick, which, as Matsuoka-roshi would often say, will “wake you up.” If all goes well, I arrive within fifteen minutes or so of the start time, turn on the lights, burn a stick of welcoming incense, and settle in at the Doan, or time-keeper, station. One of our current fulltime residents is an early bird, so she is usually there to unlock the door and meet and greet any attendees even before I arrive. But residents are, by nature, transient. Again, we are not monastics, and the modern Zen center is not a monastery. It is more like a bivouac, a temporary gathering place where we reconnoiter to rest up and regroup before reentering the fray of the battle of everyday life. Retreats, or sesshin, are an extended version of this hunkering down, more like an attack on our life issues, than a retreat from them. AttendingSoon, I am sitting in my spot with the clock, gong, and clacker-sticks at the ready to time the alternating bouts of sitting and walking meditation. If others arrive in time, I strike the gong three times at precisely 6:00 AM, which signifies the beginning of the period, marking the three bows the head priest usually makes before joining the group in zazen. If I suspect someone is coming but may be late, I wait until 5 minutes or so after to strike the gong. You can hear the cars arriving in the parking lot outside, and it is better to let the late-comers join before striking the starting gongs. SittingSettling into the posture includes embracing the stubborn resistance of tendons and ligaments in the legs and knee joints to being folded into the pretzel-like figure of crossed legs or kneeling, the so-called “lotus” and “seiza” postures. I favor the more relaxed “Burmese,” or native American style of tucking the legs under, instead of twisting the knee joints to rotate the ankles and feet to turn the soles up, in the classic posture illustrated by various iconic statuary and images of the Buddha and bodhisattvas. Fortunately, these aspects of “sitting upright in Samadhi” are less important than that the spine, neck and head be oriented in one straight, vertical line, “between heaven and earth,” as Matsuoka-roshi used to say. TimingBeing responsible for timing the sitting, both for oneself and for others, puts a different slant on our perception of time. We typically sit for two 25-minute periods with walking meditation of 5 minutes in between. I do not like looking at the clock, or timing my own sit at home, but when attending on others, I have to keep track of the time for their benefit. So the apparent friction between “self-and-other” raises its unlovely head, sometimes arousing a mild resentment, to accompany the natural resistance of the body to sitting still. When the time for walking meditation (J. kinhin) comes, we ring the bell twice, and strike the clacker sticks, twice at the beginning, and once at the end, of the five minutes or so. All signaling is non-verbal, in order to relieve the participants of the irritant of the human voice. ChantingAt the end of the last period of sitting, we strike the bell once before beginning the morning service. The sound of the big gong (J. kane) is said to be the “voice of Buddha.” Reciting the daily feature chant from our “Zen Practice at Home” manual, we are reminded of the various teachings of our Indian, Chinese, and Japanese ancestors. When someone is in need of training, we stay behind for a half hour or so to go over the protocols or leading the service, or whatever details they want to review more closely. LeavingAfter “leaving no traces” by restoring the zendo to its pristine appearance, and shutting down the facility, I drive home by the reverse route that I followed coming to the morning session, with variations depending upon the local morning traffic that has increased dramatically over the span of a couple of hours. I know all the shortcuts to avoid the morning rush on the main north-south route of the neighborhood commute to work, as well as local parents escorting their progeny to the bus stop, to be picked up and safely transported to the local schools. It reminds me that Master Dogen once commented that what we are doing in Zen — zazen meditation and Dharma study — is developing “true intelligence.” I find myself hoping that the children being herded to their public and private institutions of learning will someday be exposed to this Dharma, the most refined level of education. Arriving HomeWithin a time span of approximately twice the duration of the earlier commute to the Zen center, given the exponentially increased traffic load, I arrive home again in the daylight of the rising sun. (Although, of course, the sun does not rise, nor does it set, technically speaking. But I digress.) Sometimes, along the way, I will stop and pick up a couple of large lattes — one regular, one decaf — and perhaps a breakfast croissant, from one of the three or four coffee shops along the way, one of the perks of living in a lively inner-city setting. I am reminded of the historical factoid that coffee shops were once banned in the cities of Greece, when they had become hotbeds of revolutionary fervor. The social or political downside of being over-caffeinated, I suppose. Other mornings I will make my own breakfast, or crawl back into bed, depending on the after-effects of the prior evening's schedule and activities. Then, in 24 hours or so, I do it all over, once again. With enough repetition, it becomes routine, this daily practice of public, group zazen, bookended by sleep, work, rest and re-engagement in the passing pageantry of life. Best way to start the day.

Returning to the twists and turns of the endless, meandering 2024 campaign for POTUS, and looming uncertainty of threatened challenges to the vote promising to bollix up the results, the question arises as to what this may have to do with Zen. The dedicated Zen guy who produces the UnMind podcast suggested that we take up the premise of the “Bodhisattva ideal” in Buddhism, comparing and contrasting behaviors and apparent attitudes of the candidates — and politicians in general — to this lofty ideal and aspiration. Somewhere in the copious Zen literature I came across the proposition that governmental leaders find themselves in positions of power owing to karmic merit accumulated in past lives, apparently whether they know it or not. We can suppose that this quaint notion arose in the context of predominantly Buddhist societies, such as that of Ashoka the Great in India, or in the later empires or principalities in China. It requires quite a stretch of the imagination to interpret our current political situation from that standpoint, though an online meme that one of the candidates is the “chosen of God” is even more ludicrous to contemplate. Looking at the meaning of “Bodhisattva” thorough the eyes of Google, the first hit that comes up is from the University of Washington, Seattle-based home of the Huskies, the first thing that comes up on their homepage. We will defer any consideration of college football as the key branding element of UW, and higher education in general, for a later segment. Their more-or-less traditional definition of the Bodhisattva assumedly comes from their comparative religion department: Bodhisattvas are enlightened beings who have put off entering paradise in order to help others attain enlightenment. There are many different Bodhisattvas, but the most famous in China is Avalokitesvara, known in Chinese as Guanyin. Bodhisattvas are usually depicted as less austere or inward than the Buddha. — https://depts.washington.edu Parsing this definition, I have a few quibbles. We prefer the use of “enlightening” beings as it indicates a process in which all of us comprise a work in progress, whereas “enlightened” indicates a state of completion. No true bodhisattva would ever claim to be enlightened in that sense. In the sense of enlightened self interest and the best interests of others, yes. Then there is the idea of “entering paradise.” The Buddhist term “Nirvana” is not pointing at another dimension or plane of existence, but the true nature of this world in which we find ourselves — so-called “Samsara.” As Master Dogen reminds us, “actually, the Other Shore (of Nirvana) comes to us”; we do not go to it. As Shohaku Okumura-roshi once mentioned, “Everybody says they want to go to Nirvana. But when you go there, there is nobody there. Only bodhisattvas can go to Nirvana, and they choose to stay here. So our charge is to change Samsara into Nirvana.” This is what Dogen means by saying the other shore comes to us. The reference to “many different Bodhisattvas” and the most famous being Avalokitesvara, Guanyin in China, or Kanzeon in Japan, reinforces the notion that bodhisattvas are a special class of beings, outside the kin or ordinary mortals — much like the icons of other religions, such as canonized prophets, saints and saviors, or demigods. My understanding of the Zen ideal is that we are all bodhisattvas, whether we know it or not. And finally, the reference to their relatively diminished austerity seems somewhat overwrought. My reading of the original teachings attributed to Shakyamuni reveal a profound humility and accessibility, and a remarkable empathy for his audience, that any bodhisattva would aspire to emulate. Awakening of the Bodhi mind is concomitant with the Bodhisattva vow — to help all others before reaching the other shore — according to Dogen, who should know. So how do our current carriers of partisan banners stack up against this image? I would suggest that their motivations have little or nothing to do with entering paradise, for one. So in that, they are like bodhisattvas — but focusing their efforts on the present and immediate future of prosperity in the secular sphere — not the spiritual realm. In American politics, and perhaps that of Western countries in general, there is an underlying implication that behavior in the societal sphere is indicative of one's “values,” which tend to land in the ethical, moral, and spiritual column. This may be a vestigial remnant of the puritan ethic that pervaded the early migrants to these shores, the after- effects of which we witness today, including in the performative permutations of partisan politics. But, quoting myself in an earlier UnMind segment, there are brute behaviors of our fellow-travelers in this particular time and space that cannot be excused as politic: When it comes to indiscriminate bombing of civilians and children, we are no longer in the realm of “politics.” If we are silent, we become complicit. Buddha, I believe, would have spoken out against this betrayal of compassion and wisdom. As did Matsuoka Roshi, concerning the corrupt regime in Vietnam, and other atrocities of his time. We can look to the teachings and meditation practice of Zen Buddhism to find a degree of solace and sanctuary from these insults to humanity, but we cannot run, and we cannot hide from them, ultimately. But we do not have to join the partisan divide, either. In the same episode, we provided some historical context by referring to the foundational documents of the Founding Fathers, including the Declaration of Independence, with particular attention to the second section: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. This begins to sound a lot like the Bodhisattva ideal applied to the salvation of others, at least in the secular realm. If we are all equal, we all have equal potential to wake up in the most comprehensive sense, as did Shakyamuni Buddha. We also innately deserve to be treated with the highest degree of respect from our peers. And each and all have equal claim to life — within the realistic constraints of aging, sickness and death; to liberty — in the sense of true liberation from our own ignorance, and the imposition of that of others upon our lives; and the pursuit of true happiness, which does not derive from materialistic sources. Perhaps our political leaders are doing their level best to secure the rights, at least in their secular manifestation. But compare to the Bodhisattva vows, which address serving, or saving all beings, on another scale altogether; two translations give us a better insight into their broader and deeper meaning: Beings are numberless I vow to free themDelusions are inexhaustible I vow to end themDharma gates are boundless I vow to enter themThe Buddha way is unsurpassable I vow to realize it However innumerable all beings are I vow to free them allHowever inexhaustible my delusions are I vow to extinguish them allHowever immeasurable the dharma teachings are I vow to master them allHowever endless the great way I vow to follow it completely I leave it to you to decide whether or not, and to what degree, your candidate for the highest office in the land, the most powerful secular position on Earth, are in harmony with these compassionate aspirations. But remember that the teachings of Buddhism were never meant to be held up to criticize others, but to reflect back upon yourself and your own behavior. The mirror of Zen reflects all — the good, the bad, and the ugly — without discrimination. You and your behavior are also reflected in that Precious Mirror.

When we mention Zen practice these days, we usually mean sitting in Zen meditation, or zazen. It was not always so. In Bodhidharma's time, “practice” meant observing the Precepts in daily life, discerning to what degree our behavior is comporting to their admonitions. If memory serves, this is found in “The Zen Teaching of Bodhidharma” by Bill Porter, AKA Red Pine. Similarly, when we speak of studying the Dharma, we typically mean reading the written record. It was not always so. When Buddha was alive, the teachings were spoken. You literally had to go listen to live lectures and, later, memorized recitation, to hear the Dharma. This was apparently true of all teachings of all sects at that time; the oral tradition prevailed. It was some four centuries after the Buddha's death, when his utterances were first committed to written form. With the advent of the Internet we have many more opportunities to “hear the true dharma” — a Dogen coinage with a deeper meaning — as expounded by others in the form of podcasts such as UnMind, audiobooks and other modern marvels. But we have to call into question whether we are hearing the Dharma truly. Whether the meaning we extract from listening to the efforts of others to express this subtle and inconceivable teaching is anywhere near to the original meaning that the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni, intended, or for that matter that of any of his many successors in India, China, Korea and Japan, and the other countries of origin. I am not suggesting that we engage in a scholarly examination of the provenance and evolution of the Three Baskets — or Tripitaka in Sanskrit. I propose that we are challenged to attempt to render the meaning in the modern idiom, which involves extracting them from their original cultural context, and embedding them in ours, as well as expressing them in the vernacular, including the language of modern science and philosophy. For one thing, this means divesting the ancient liturgical passages of jargon — primarily the obscure and seemingly mystical terms, mostly from Sanskrit — such as “samadhi” for example — that some contemporary writers seem prone to sprinkle liberally throughout their publications. The downside to this tendency is that it creates an impression that the author actually knows what these terms mean, whether you, dear listener,understand them or not. Another consideration is what is called the “theory-laden” aspect of the semantics of language, as well as our interpretation of direct perception. This conditions the impact that Zen masters' behavior, as well as that of their “turning words” — in Japanese, wato — can have on their students. This concept was introduced to me by George Wrisley georgewrisley.com, a Professor of Philosophy at the University of North Georgia, author of texts on Dogen and Zen, who generously made several technical contributions to my books, “The Original Frontier” and “The Razorblade of Zen.” Professor Wrisley pointed out that, in the now-famous records of Zen students' exchanges with their masters, including extreme gestures they resorted to, in trying to help the student wake up to the reality of Zen — shock tactics such as shouting, and sometimes striking with a fist or staff — each student's reaction to the abuse was entirely dependent upon their belief, or innate “theory,” that the teacher was enlightened, and so could “do no wrong,” to oversimplify the point. Ordinarily, if someone hits you with a stick, your reaction would not be one of profound insight, and undying gratitude for the “grandmotherly kindness” of your abuser. Today it would likely trigger a lawsuit. The ancient ancestors of Zen seem to have an intuitive grasp of the importance of language and its effect on our perception of reality, as indicated in lines from the early Ch'an poems, such as: Darkness merges refined and common wordsBrightness distinguishes clear and murky phrases And: Hearing the words understand the meaningDo not establish standards of your own In Zen, of course, experience comes first, expression a distant second. The interim state, and where we can get it wrong, consists in our interpretation of direct experience, both on the cushion and off. As another ancient Ch'an poem has it: The meaning does not reside in the wordsbut a pivotal moment brings it forth And yet another: Although it is not constructedit is not beyond words Hopefully we have, or will have in future, experienced this pivotal moment. Meanwhile, we are dependent upon words to parse this teaching, and to express it, both to ourselves as well as to others. We can use words to encourage all to go beyond language, and even ordinary perception, in direct experience in zazen. In the face of this design intent of the Dharma, the past efforts to translate it into various languages, and the present effort to paraphrase it into the modern idiom, seem worth the time and trouble. In this spirit, let me share with you my paraphrase of the Prajna Paramita Hridaya Sutra, or Great Heart of Wisdom Teaching, with which, hopefully, you are familiar. This is a work in progress, subject to revision. The typographical layout available on the UnMind podcast page is designed to facilitate scanning and reading the text while chanting it aloud, usually accompanied by drum and gongs. You might follow it with your eyes, while you follow my words with your ears. In this way, you will absorb a multi-sensory experience, which may be more revealing than hearing or reading alone. I will simply recite it here, a capella: ESSENTIAL TEACHING OF PERFECTING WISDOM When any and all Awakening Beingsdeeply and directly experience the process of perfecting wisdom,they clearly see that all five traditional components of sentienceare fundamentally free of permanence and separate self-existence;this insight relieves all unnecessary suffering. Respected seekers of the truth, know that:the apparent form of our world is not separate from its impermanence;impermanence is not separable from appearances;“form,” or particles of matter, is innately “emptiness,” or waves of energy;conversely, emptiness is innately form.All sensations, perceptions, and underlying mental formations,as well as consciousness itself, also manifest as complementary.All existent beings manifest elemental impermanence,imperfection, and insubstantiality:they neither arise nor cease, as they appear to do;they are neither defiled nor pure, but nondual in their nature;they neither increase nor decrease in value or merit.Therefore know that, given the relativity of the material and immaterial,there can be no fixity of form; no tangibility of sensation;no persistence of perception; no infallibility of mental formations;finally, there can be no absolute entity of consciousness.More immediately, the principle of complementarity entails that there can beno eyes, ears, nose, or tongue, as such; and thus, no body;likewise there can be no “mind,” as a separate substance;it follows that, in spite of appearances,there can be no independent functions ofseeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, or touching;nor can there be unconstructed objects of the mind;no independent realm of sight, nor that of any other sense organ;nor any realm of mind-consciousness as a whole. This means that there can be neither ignorance in the absolute sense,nor any extinction of ignorance in the relative sense.Neither can there be sickness, old age and death as absolute states;Nor any extinction of sickness, old age and death as relative states.In light of the implications of this insight,suffering intentionally inflicted upon oneself and / or others can come to an end,stemming as it does from confusion as to root causes;while natural suffering such as aging, sickness, and death cannot end. Thus there can be no isolated “path” leading to cessation of suffering;there can be no essential “knowledge” to gain, in any conclusive sense;and no “attainment,” of any consequential kind. Since there is nothing to attain,all Awakening Beings rely totally on simply perfecting their wisdom;their body-mind drops away, functioning fully with no further hindrances; with no dualistic hindrances, no root of fear is to be found;far beyond confused worldviews,they abide in nondual spiritual liberation. All Awakening Ones of past, present, and futurerely on the perfecting of this deepest wisdom,thereby attaining unsurpassed, complete, insightand letting go of the attainment. Rest assured that perfecting wisdomis the most excellent method;the serene and illuminating discipline; the unsurpassable teaching;the incomparable means of mitigating all suffering;and that this claim is true, not false. We proclaim the transformational perfecting of wisdom: Gone, gone to the other shore; attained the other shore; altogether beyond the other shore, having never left; the other shore comes to us; wisdom perfected! I do not claim to have captured the essence of the original chant. The afore-mentioned Buddhist scholar and Ch'an translator Red Pine, in his modern translation “The Heart Sutra,” tells us that this condensed version of the larger sutra extolling the emptiness of all existence, including the Dharma, was published in China around 900 CE. This was done in order to counter a prevailing trend toward erudition as the indicator of enlightenment, a distortion of the true Dharma that has occurred more than once in history. Another famous example is that of Master Huineng, sixth ancestor in China, who publicly tore up copies of the sutras to make a similar point. Buddha-dharma is manifest in nondual reality as lived, not contained in writing as doctrine. In a future segment of UnMind, we will take up another of my hopeful efforts at paraphrasing the Dharma. Meanwhile I encourage you to try your own hand — or more precisely, your mouth and mind — at putting one of the historical teachings into your own words. You might want to compose your own version of the Precepts, for example. When and if you do so, it may force you to consider the true meaning of these teachings which — through the sheer repetition of chanting them repeatedly over time — begin to sink into our stubborn monkey minds. But the downside of repetition is that they may become rote recitation, in which their deeper meaning and direct relevance to our contemporary lives may be lost. Not to worry, however — combined with the nonverbal silence and deep stillness of zazen, where we can begin to experience the meaning of the expression — we cannot go far wrong.

After taking a hiatus this summer, we return to the political fray with an eye toward its implications for our lives and our pursuit of a more perfect union with the teachings of Zen. It is a good thing that we did not try to say anything about the campaign at the beginning of August, in light of the whiplash nature of rapid-fire developments on that front. Anything we had to say regarding predictions or outcomes would have been instantly irrelevant on a day-to-day basis, rendered moot by the exhaustive political melodrama playing out in the media. One of my online dharma dialogs brought up the question of agency, as in how much effect can one person really have on the direction the country is moving as a whole, not to mention the looming consequences of climate change on a global scale. It may help in setting the context, to recall my model of the Four Fundamental Spheres – those arenas of activity and influence that we all encounter on a daily basis. The four spheres, visualized as nesting in a concentric array, start with the Personal at the center; surrounded by the Social, which includes the political; then the Natural sphere, the world of our surrounding planet and its atmosphere; and finally the Universal, extending into outer space. Our sense of agency and influence diminishes as we move outward from the Personal, inversely proportional to the influence of the surrounding spheres on our personal bubble. It is necessarily an asymmetrical relationship, an understatement of cosmic proportions. Politics is the social sphere on steroids, we might say. It is a mixed blessing in that even those who emphasize our worst angels in the struggle to swing a majority, reveal, unintentionally, the dark underbelly of human nature. Which can be clarifying and even healthy, depending on what we do with it. These days , many of my online dharma dialog calls, dokusan in Japanese, reveal the anxiety that comes with the uncertainty of living in “interesting times,” as in the ancient Chinese curse. We might prefer to ignore the political realm altogether, but unless you are willing to become a hermit and remove yourself from society in some extreme manner, you cannot avoid the consequences of the political actions taken by others, in the cultural hothouse of modern civilization, whether urban or rural. The question arises: Is Zen (& zazen) merely a coping strategy? Or is it only reinforcing our personal status-quo? Or, conversely, can it enable us to change and adapt? I solicited suggestions for this reboot episode from my producer and publisher, the former being an American citizen currently living in the Southwest, the latter a Canadian living to the Northeast. Here is a sample of what they suggested: I think there's something in here about a cautionary tale for people looking to religious leaders for signals on how to vote. I've seen some other Zen leaders on social media endorsing candidates - which is fine, but they wield a lot of power, and Zen really is about thinking for yourself on your cushion. Maybe religion is separate from politics, and that's ok. It also might be interesting to discuss how to have compassion for the “other” – be it democrat or republican – as one cannot exist without the other; and neither are really separate.I was gratified to see the reference to my past emphasis in this series on the value of independent thinking, and engaging in interdependent action, which I propose is one of the outputs of Zen training. As opposed to co-dependent thinking and action, another way of characterizing the partisan divide. If we are developing the ability to think independently of the political forces impinging upon us, and the freedom to act interdependently with cohorts on both sides of the divide, then our Zen training can contribute to evolving the more perfect union that is given lip service in the social discourse. Referring back to the previous UnMind series of three segments on aging, sickness and death, the Three Marks of Buddhism's worldview, I want to reiterate that the paranoid style in politics seems most likely to stem from irrational fear of aging, sickness, and dying, the personal dimensions of the universal traits of anicca, dukkha, and anatta, or impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and no-self. When we throw the “Three Poisons” of greed, hatred, and delusion into the mix, the result is a true witch's brew. This is the old “divide and conquer” strategy. The question of how to have compassion for the “other” – be it democrat or republican – goes to a more non-dualistic reading of the seeming divide between irreconcilable opposites. When we look at what conservatives are trying to liberalize, and what liberals are trying to conserve, we see that the labels are not really getting to the essence of the conflict, but merely exacerbating it. The issue of factionalism was raised in the early founding documents of the American experiment as a potential threat to the republic, but since one party cannot exist without the other, and neither is really separate from the body politic, they are mutually defining, and can be complimentary. The real conflict goes to the personal dimension, where we find the question of: “How much is enough?” How much is enough to live happily, and is there enough to go around? Are the global shortages of food, drinking water, clean air, housing, and the hierarchy of physical survival needs real, or are they the consequence of negligence and malfeasance on the part of greedy, profit-driven special interests? Have we as a species been on a decades-long binge of “Hotel-California-everything-all-the-time” wretched excess and the bills are just now finally coming due? Can we all downsize our lifestyle to a level that relieves the burden of the disposable consumption society? When we look to the example of our forebears in the history of Zen, and, indeed, in the early days of democracy in America, going back no further than my grandparents' generation, we can detect vestiges of a much more moderate way of living that recognized reasonable limits to the answer to how much is enough. Of course there were contemporaneous avatars of wealth and power, living out the lifestyles and fantasies of the rich and famous. And the human slaves of earlier periods in history have been replaced by the “energy slaves” of modern technology, as Bucky Fuller pointed out. In that sense, wealth, as the commonwealth, has been redistributed more widely, but there is still an unseemly preoccupation in some quarters with amassing financial resources beyond the scope of what any one person, family, or corporate entity, can possibly need, or spend, within one lifetime. Except, perhaps, as a defensive reserve to defend against future lawsuits. Or, perhaps, to invest in initiatives for future cultural evolution. But do we really need to terraform Mars, for example, when we cannot even make the Earth function as our home planet? Back to the personal sphere of meditation, and its connection to the social sphere of politics. If we accept the suggestion that our Zen practice is indeed a kind of generalized coping mechanism, it begs the question, Coping with what? Master Dogen asks, about two-thirds of the way through Fukanzazengi–Principles of Seated Meditation: Now that you know the most important thing in Buddhism how can you be satisfied with the transient world?Our bodies are like dew on the grass and our lives like a flash of lightningVanishing in a moment. By this point in the long tract of instructions on physical method and philosophical attitude he picked up in China, the first piece he published as a manual of meditation for his student followers, he has made perhaps a hundred different points about what is important in Buddhism. So what he means by “the most important thing” is subject to some interpretation. Just as it is in our modern milieu. What is, after all, the most important thing? Not just in meditation, but in all your daily actions, as Dogen emphasizes in the same writing. Media mavens, including pre-digital traditional channels and ever-expanding post-digital modes, are constantly promoting what they want us to pay attention to as “news,” what they consider the most important events and issues of the moment in the 24-7 news cycle. Most of it is designed to capture eyeballs, ears, and clicks, in order to develop ratings that are used to rationalize the cost of ad buys and other kinds of participation in the public arena, or direct sales. Which items are delivered to your doorstep in ever-greater frequency with minimal effort on your part. Except for disposing of the mountain of packaging and shipping materials. Turning our attention back to the cushion and the wall, the most important thing at the moment cannot be the passing pageantry of the political campaign. Unless you are running for office, or working for someone who is. One important thing is to understand or appreciate the importance of the political to the personal, in particular, your personal sphere. While the central personal dimensions of aging, sickness and death can definitely be affected – directly or indirectly, positively or negatively – by the political arena, it is not typically the most proximate cause of any of the three. And the last thing that you are likely to be thinking, on your death bed, is that you wished you had spent more time on politics. Some ancient sage said to “stamp life-and-death on your forehead and never let it out of your mind.” I am sure he was not morbidly obsessed with death, but that his life, and ours, takes a major part of its central meaning, and sense of urgency, from the fact that birth is the leading cause of death. This, to many, would seem to be wrong. But if you think about it – or as Dogen says, “examine thoroughly in practice” – this idea that something is wrong, it appears that it may only be our opinion. We may be wrong. Reality cannot be wrong. Nature cannot be wrong. But we may be wrong. Only we human beings can get this wrong. And then we blame others, turning against our fellow human and other sentient beings. As the Tao te Ching says, “When the blaming begins, there is no end to the blame.” We can blame our situation, with some justification, on others, including the pols. But the blaming does not solve the basic problem. Perhaps this is getting at the most important thing. Accepting and admitting that the suffering in the world that may be considered wrong, or unnecessary, is caused exclusively by human beings, based on their assessment of their world as somehow “wrong.” This is the kind of suffering that can end, seen in the clear light of emptiness in zazen.* * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Following on the previous UnMind series of three segments on aging, sickness and death, the Three Marks of Buddhism's worldview, we will expand our scope to the broader world of international conflict, characteristic of our modern world, where Buddhism's three conditions of existence are also manifested, if in a more universal form. Traditional definitions of these basic aspects of life are universal in scope: impermanence, unsatisfactoriness, and no-self (Skt. anicca, dukkha, anatta). We can see clearly that in today's world, these givens of existence are not warmly embraced on the social level in America, let alone on national or global levels, which surely follows from their avoidance on the personal level. Beginning with Buddhism's “compassionate teaching” – the Dharma – we find that along with the three marks of aging, sickness and death, Buddha promulgated the “Three Poisons,” usually rendered as “greed, anger or hatred, and delusion or folly.” What a witch's brew is conjured, when we mix the six ingredients together. In the context of aging, greed becomes the longing for longevity, the overreliance on meds to avoid the ravages of illness, and extravagant, catastrophic efforts at prolonging life at all costs. Anger and hatred arise when we are denied the ability to forestall aging, when we are overcome by a pandemic, and when we blame widespread death and destruction on others. Delusion and folly ensue when we act on our mistaken beliefs, attacking others for the natural consequences of our collective and individual actions. The unexpected consequences threaten us all, whether in our dotage or full-flowering youth, with the Four Horsemen – plagues, famine, and the predations of war, and not necessarily in that order. Just who is to blame for this situation and how can we hold them accountable? In the worldview of Zen, everything, including charity, begins at home. To quote Master Pogo Possum, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” The first embrace of reality is to “study the self.” The second is to “forget the self,” as Master Dogen reminds us in his famous teaching, Genjokoan–Actualizing the Fundamental Point.Actualizing the fundamental point of existence requires that we embrace our own aging, sickness and death – the close-up-and-personal reality of impermanence, imperfection and insubstantiality, including our precious self – while recognizing that greed, anger and delusion are fueling the fires of discontent, leading to blaming others for our personal predicament. Sometimes, others are to blame for making things worse, of course, just as we are to blame for making their world more crowded. Stop the world and let me get off. Would it were so simple. The blame game can range from blaming our parents for our birth, on one extreme, to blaming those others most distantly related to us by blood. I read somewhere that the furthest removed any human being can be from any other human, biologically speaking, is something like 26th cousin, if memory serves. One wonders, with the growth in population, whether that tenuous kinship is getting closer, or further apart, as time goes by, with 8 billion people and counting. I also read of a laboratory experiment, some years back, where they used the classic maze of rats to find out what happens when you simply keep adding rats to the maze, without letting any escape. At one point of increasing density, the rats begin attacking each other. They “blame” the others for their own discomfort, apparently. The analogy to human population should not be lost on anyone. The anxiety and outright hostility associated with immigration on a global basis is too obvious a parallel to ignore. Or we can aim all of our blame at the political system, or the candidate du jour. Now that the “debate of the century” has landed with a thud, the rats are having a hard time deciding which of the two leaders of the rat pack is most at fault. Much of the anger and hysteria we witness on ideological and political fronts of the public discourse seems motivated by underlying fears, exacerbated by perceived worsening conditions, including density of population. The identified “foreigners” – bringing unintelligible languages, peculiar cultural customs, and bizarre belief systems – induce anxiety, stereotyping and suspicion amongst native populations, triggering the threat of the privileged being “replaced” by them in the great scheme of things. This probably arises from a tribal, protective social instinct, linked to the survival of “our kind.” Hyped to the max by political opportunists, into the bargain. But on a more personal level, this anxiety, amplified by mob hysteria, surely finds its origin in the triple threat of aging, sickness and death, that is inborn with each individual. Birth is the leading cause of death, after all, like it or not. This perceived threat, however irrational, is tied to what biologists call the survival instinct, or imperative. Reality is not a respecter of persons. But biology is designed to privilege survival of the species over all comers, adapting to ever-changing circumstances. Natural and artificial changes in context often outpace and outmaneuver biology, engendering threats to survival, to cycles of “extinction panic,” or to actual extinction of the species, potentially including humanity. Cultural evolution – our ability to pass on technological advances to the next generation, and their ability to further improve on their cultural inheritance – is ensconced in the social sphere. But it likewise runs into trouble when it is not agile enough to keep up with the rate of change of conditions to which it is adapting, in the natural and universal spheres. Such as climate change. Aye, there's the rub. “Survival of the fittest” is the shorthand catchphrase for dumbing down Darwin's elegant and complex theory on the “Origin of Species.” To find a cogent example of society's collective resistance to this notion that we privilege the fit, we need look no further than the recruiting, drafting and conscription of young men and women – the “fittest” – into the modern military – the main mechanism oriented to societal survival – across the globe. Civilian leaders, and those at higher command levels, manage to keep a safe distance from the front lines, so as to return to fight another day, one assumes. But the survival of the oldest is not Nature's way. It is not natural to put younger members of the species at risk to protect older members. Witness the wolf pack. This biological imperative dictates an age-related triage, protecting those most likely to survive, to survive longer, and to reproduce. Yet humans do the opposite in wartime, and did it again in the face of the pandemic, by sending younger first responders into the fray, while protecting elderly and senior leaders through isolation, quarantine and access to medical care. Notwithstanding how miserable a failure that effort turned out to be, the point is still well-taken. Of course, from a practical perspective, the young provide the necessary numbers, and the vitality, needed on the frontlines. Even if senior members of society were willing to take point in crisis conditions, the question would be whether or not they are able to. Setting aside such considerations of the neurotic societal implications of turning younger generations into cannon and virus fodder, what will it take to finally bring about world peace? Can we beat our swords into plowshares, turn intercontinental ballistic missiles into spaceships, cyberwar into cyberfun? The current national debate is styled as a contest between democratic governance “of the people, by the people, and for the people,” striving toward a “more perfect union” of the republic; versus power elites exerting autocratic control over a hopelessly divided populace. The appeal of the latter is understandable for the “haves,” those who already enjoy a relative elite status of economic and social privilege. They stand to come out on top, liberated from the messy business of compromise with those on the bottom end of income equality. Likewise, the uneasiness of the “have-nots” is easy to understand. They see themselves as already victimized by the unlevel playing field, touted as equal opportunity for all. This, it would seem, is the real wall that is being built, not on the border, but right down the middle of the country. Its building blocks consist of the institutions installed by the founding fathers, rearranged to reassert the original privilege of white, land-owning males. But is all this – the daily fare being served up by the media and opposing forces – really the root of the problem? Whether or not we believe in an eternal soul, or reincarnation, as did the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Hindus, or resurrection, as do modern Christians, we finally come to face our mortality, in person. In Zen, the only mate who will accompany us to the grave is our deeds. Whatever wealth, honor, or powers of reasoning we have accumulated in managing and manipulating the vagaries of behavior and vicissitudes of fortunes encountered in life, they serve us little in the face of death. The same may be said of family, though better to die surrounded by loved ones than alone, or surrounded by hostiles, I suppose. On the cushion we sit “without relying on anything” as Master Dogen reminds us in his version of “Needle for Zazen (Zazenshin),” including all the tricks, trash and trinkets we have assembled in our toolkit. Try as we might to think our way to enlightenment, or to reason ourselves into insight, we find ourselves failing again and again. Finally we must surrender to the chaos of not knowing, and abandon reliance on reason itself, spawn of philosophy and the other kind of Enlightenment. We find verification of our practice in “making effort without aiming at it.” Needless to say, this is a very uncomfortable place to find ourselves, at a pass that is not really negotiable, in any ordinary sense. All the stages of grief prove futile in the face of the relentless process and progress of biology. We need to confront reality when we are young and vigorous, as in “Stamp life and death on your forehead, and never let it out of your mind,” paraphrasing a truth long lost to attribution. Life takes its meaning in the context of death. If you find that too morbid, just imagine what life would be like if we did not die. Its meaning would be entirely different, and not entirely positive. When the grim reaper arrives, we may want to embrace her / his relentless, unsympathetic and unforgiving scythe, as being not at all different from the sword of Manjusri, hopefully cutting through our final delusions. Just as hopefully, the passing pageantry of life, particularly the concurrent social-political dimension, will have little or nothing to do with the circumstances surrounding the last breath we take. Preferable to die on the cushion, of course. * * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Closing out our exploration of the “three marks” of dukkha, in this episode we will take a look, close-up-and-personal, at death. In summary, our confrontation with and embrace of the three marks varies according to their universal natures, as well as to our personal nurturing in their recognition and acceptance. Aging is predictable, but typically sneaks up on us, moving far too gradually to register in our youth, even nowadays with our ubiquitous mirrors, selfies, and TikTok videos – none of which our ancestors had in abundance. Today's living generations may be the most self-conscious in the history of humankind. The famous “polishing a tile to make a mirror” koan anecdote reflected the fact that mirrors were originally of polished metal. Narcissus, remember, fell in love with his own reflection in a pool of water. By contrast, Tung-shan, a 9th century monk, was enlightened upon seeing his face for the first time, reflected in the water. A contemporary stand-up comic, who shall remain nameless, asked, “Did'ja ever look in the mirror in the morning and think, “That can't be accurate!”? Sickness, whether life-threatening or not, can land like a ton of bricks, flattening you for the moment – and often for the foreseeable future – with the rate of recovery dependent upon many factors, including aging. Sickness can often be the death-knell, as a diagnosis of cancer once was. As one ages, the body becomes less immune to the predations of bacteria and viruses, it seems. Today the threat of mental illness, leading to suicide, also looms large. Usually, the threat of death from natural causes may be safely ignored, postponed, or even denied, until it can't. But sudden death is even more unpredictable than sickness, and can come in such a variety of modes today, including natural and man-made disasters, which are popping up with greater and greater frequency, notably side-effects of climate change, such as the ever-increasing statistical rate of death from extreme heat. America seems to be the poster-boy for death by guns, accidental or intentional, now one of the major causes of death for children in the USA. Death from complications in childbirth is still far too common, particularly for non-white women. And then there is always stress, aggravated by habits such as smoking. If one thing doesn't get you, something else will, in the end. Death and taxes, as we say. I must note in passing that much of the hysteria we witness on ideological and political fronts of the public discourse seems motivated by an underlying fear, which appears to stem from the triple threat of aging, sickness and death. Witness the “worship of youth” culture, “self-improvement” programs, and anti-aging products aimed at prolonging vim and vigor and extending life itself as long as possible. This primal, largely subliminal fear is often projected onto the identified “other,” a form of transference that – like the old “I'm rubber, you're glue” trope – deflects self-criticism, in favor of defining each and every conflict in terms of self-preservation, and resorting to blaming others. As the Tao te Ching reminds us, “When the blaming begins, there is no end to the blame.” Buddha's original analysis of the constructed self's fundamentally dissatisfactory nature of reality, and our place, individually and collectively, writ large. The most dissatisfactory of all affronts and indignities to our ego are the three marks. If, on the other hand, we could all embrace, in all humility, the realities of aging, sickness and death as being perfectly natural and okay, the resulting equanimity of outlook might go a long way to ameliorating the insane intensity of conflict in the world. Aging gracefully includes embracing illness and death as built-in, intrinsic to the natural order of things. How much of our time, energy, attention and resources are dedicated to resistance to this fact – a fundamental denialism that leads naturally to the abdication of truth – in favor of our favorite fantasies as to the nature and central meaning of life? A young Rinzai Zen priest named Hasegawa published a book titled “The Cave of Poison Grass.” He mentioned the fact that most people seem to postpone confronting reality until, finally, they are on their death bed. He declared that this is too late – “like eating soup with a fork” – a memorable phrase. He insisted that we have to confront this “Great Matter” of life-and-death while we are young, and have sufficient strength and energy to overcome it. In the lore of Zen there is a Till-Eulenspiegel-like narrative that captures its sometimes irreverent attitude toward life and death, supposedly a true story. A monk realized that he was to die soon, and began asking other monks what they knew about, or had heard about, others dying. He was curious to know if anyone had ever died standing on their head, but nobody had. So sure enough, when the time came, he stood on his head in the corner and died. His sister happened to be a nun, and when she came to visit for the funeral, the corpse was still standing there in the corner. In disgust, she kicked it over, declaring that he had never had any respect for anything in life, and he still had no respect in death. The story goes that they buried him upside-down. An old saying in Zen says to “stamp life and death on your forehead and never let it out of your mind.” This is not a mark of morbid obsession with death, but simply recognizes that there is no life without death – birth is the leading cause of death.Instead of bemoaning the fact that life inevitably passes back into the great remix that is the universe – the wave returning to the ocean – we embrace the inevitability of “shuffling off this mortal coil” as a kind of relief. As Mark Twain was said to have asked, when in his old age reporters inquired as to whether he wasn't afraid to die, why would he be afraid of returning to where he came from? It is the stuff of science fiction to imagine a future in which medical science has treated the phenomenon of dying as an unnecessary aberration, a kind of illness, and come up with techniques such as cryogenic freezing of human remains, genetic mutation, and cultivating transplant organs and limbs to achieve what is, for all practical purposes, human immortality. The question becomes, would you really want to live forever? Life takes a great deal of its meaning from the inevitability of death, which is often considered in opposition to life. But Master Dogen treats both birth death as another nondual, complementary dyad, from Genjokoan–Actualizing the Fundamental Point: Just as firewood does not become firewood again after it is ash you do not return to birth after deathThis being so it is an established way in buddha-dharma to deny that birth turns into deathAccordingly birth is understood as non-birthIt is an unshakable teaching in Buddha's discourse that death does not turn into birthAccordingly death is understood as non-death Birth is an expression complete this momentDeath is an expression complete this momentThey are like winter and springYou do not call winter the beginning of spring nor summer the end of spring In this wonderful analogy, Master Dogen places birth and death on a continuum, each as an “expression complete this moment,” and yet undeniably entangled. We might ask: An expression of what? and the answer would seem to be “life itself.” So birth, which we celebrate, and death, which we mourn, are seen to be inflection points, rather equal in import, in the continuum of life. When my older brother was dying in hospice, I spent about a week attending on him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. I picked up a pamphlet at the clinic where he was cared for, called “The Eleventh Hour.” It was written by a Christian woman, a clergy member or teacher of some sort, but she never once mentioned Jesus or God. One line I recall said something like, “Birth is the death of whatever precedes birth. Death is the birth of whatever follows death.” Very Zen. I hope this brief foray into the most dispositive and determinative factors defining our life experience helps to allay any unreasoning fear you may have of these time-honored Three Marks. Along with Buddhism's Three Poisons of greed, anger or hatred, and delusion or folly, they form the nexus of all that is wrong with the human universe in the personal sphere. When we move into the next outer layer, the social sphere, we confront them on a more global scale as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse: Death, Famine, War, and Conquest. Today we might be coerced to add even more unintended consequences to the deluge, including increasing population pressure and worldwide immigration, as well as advances in technology that tend to frustrate, rather than facilitate, our presumably inalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Speaking of which, in the first UnMind episode of the upcoming month, we will look over our shoulder once again to the dread prospect of Election Year Zen, which is gaining on us, assessing whether or not we can see any light of compassion or wisdom at the end of that maddeningly long tunnel. Please add a seatbelt to your zafu and strap in. The haiku poem on the “grim reaper” is from a 2020 series called “Dharma Dreams from Great Cloud.” The text, titled “Swords into Plowshares,” will form the basis of July's UnMind. If you have any remaining questions as to why I feel it important to examine the current political pageantry from the perspective of ancient Buddhist teachings, which may strike you as outdated and irrelevant, please email me about it. * * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Continuing with a consideration of the realities of day-to-day Zen practice in the context of Buddhism's central teaching of dukkha – natural suffering writ large – the second of the “three marks,” or characteristics of existence from a human perspective, is usually named as “sickness” or “illness.” Please note in passing that illness, from the perspective of Chinese medicine – which may be closer to its cultural connotations in ancient India – denotes a lack of centeredness, or balance. Something is out of kilter – the yinyang of it all – when we fall ill. Nowadays, of course, we have much more access to many means of tracing and tracking the origins of our maladies, to environmental and other sources. Quoting from the Tricycle web site again, we find a less personal, less specific definition of the three: ...all phenomena...are marked by three characteristics...: impermanence (anicca), suffering or dissatisfaction (dukkha), and not-self (anatta). These three marks apply to all conditioned things—that is, everything except for nirvana. Sickness is not called out specifically as one of the many causes of suffering or dissatisfaction, possibly for reasons of cultural context and medical acumen 2500 years ago. We will get around to that throwaway line exempting so-called “nirvana.” I can personally testify to the dissatisfactory and suffering nature of sickness, from my experience contracting Covid-19 in 2022 and, more recently, a suddenly bloated GI tract blockage that had me hospitalized overnight, and bed-ridden for over a week. The pandemic occasioned such wide medical suffering and social unrest that Shunei Oniuda, the president of Sotoshu Shumucho, Zen administrative headquarters in Japan, addressed it from the Buddhist perspective in a public message: I would like to extend my heartfelt condolences for those who have lost their precious lives from the novel coronavirus (COVID-19) and offer a prayer that they may rest in peace. For those who have been affected by this illness, I pray that they will recover as soon as possible, and I would like to offer my deepest sympathy to their families and relatives who have also been affected by this illness. Also, my thoughts are with all those experiencing tremendous difficulties whose lives have been affected by the spread of this epidemic and the need to stay home. Then Mr. Oniuda relates some interesting facts providing context for the present: In the Kamakura Period of Japanese history when Dogen Zenji was teaching, there were times when cool summers caused by climate change often brought poor harvests. There were outbreaks of plague, and, during the Great Kanki Famine (1230-31), it is said that about a third of the population of Japan perished. In times such as these, Dogen Zenji emphasized that these were the very times to not neglect the Buddha Way. Who is to know it the changes in climate at that time were as precipitous and global as those we are seeing today. As an island nation, Japan is likely more subject to extremes in weather because it is surrounded by ocean waters. A caveat – in our fraught divisive times, it may be necessary to point out that this recollection of similar disasters from the history of Zen – though on a much smaller-scale – is surely not intended to support either side of the ideological argument. Instead, it reinforces the premise that Zen is a practice fully prepared to meet, head-on, the vagaries of life, whether of natural, man-made, or a combination of those causes and conditions. Note that he offers condolences to those who died first, rather than to the survivors; which is characteristic of Zen funerals. The sermon is actually directed to the deceased. While emphasizing the need for disseminating accurate information, and recommending that all concerned follow the practical recommendations for exercising due diligence in preventing the spread of infection, President Oniuda refers back to the compassionate teachings of Zen's founders, as they apply to this current, international crisis: It is in such a time that the teachings of Shakyamuni Buddha, Dogen Zenji, and Keizan Zenji are necessary. Shakyamuni Buddha taught right view, right speech, and right practice in the face of the sufferings of sickness and death. Right view, speech and practice – conduct exhibited in crises – do not follow the mob: Even if people are agitated or anxious in the confusion caused by others who are fearful and buy up or hoard food and other goods, let us act calmly. Let us act in accordance with the spirit of Dogen Zenji's teaching of the intention of first saving others before ourselves and in accordance with the Bodhisattva's Four Embracing Actions. This is to naturally practice the way of benefitting others. Compare to the panic mode triggered by the pandemic in most circles of the population. Then the President's message brings it home, uniting both social and personal spheres: Also, Keizan Zenji taught that we should have compassion and love for all things, that we should sympathize with others' sufferings as if they are our own, and that with the mind of compassion we should be diligent in the practice of zazen. I encourage you to endeavor to practice zazen during this time that we must spend quietly at home.[1] So the prescription for practice in Zen remains the same in good times or bad, whether we find ourselves in truly dire straits, or operating under relatively ordinary pressures of meeting the daily needs of ourselves and the community: Hie thee thither – back to the cushion. His message is directed not just to monastics but to householders as well. And by no means is zazen prescribed as an escape from the wolves howling at the gate, but the most direct and efficacious way to meet them where they are coming from. Matsuoka-roshi would sometimes say, “If you get sick, you just get sick; if you die, you just die. But meanwhile, do what the doctor says.” He frequently made the point that his fellow countrymen and women were usually calm in the face of calamity, whether in the form of personal trauma of getting bad news in a clinical or hospital setting, or even a prognosis of eminent death. This equanimity he attributed to their having been raised in a culture that embraces aging, sickness and death as natural and foreordained, rather than in one that approaches them with fear and loathing. Even young children in Japan are, or used to be, exposed to the teachings of Buddhism, and the practice of zazen, as a regular part of their upbringing. We like to think that Buddha's experience under the Bodhi tree that night so long ago represented the absolute apogee of good health and wellness, in all its dimensions – physical, mental, emotional, and even social. Yet it included the robust embrace of the ineradicable marks of biological, sentient existence: impermanence manifested as aging; suffering manifested as illness, both physiological and psychological; and no-self arising as the specter of death, the fear of non-existence on the personal plane. It seems that our modern obsession with youth and longevity lobbies against any wide acceptance of these natural marks, or transitions, of our existence as human beings. But all sentient beings are subject to their inevitability - no exceptions, theistic beliefs notwithstanding. Perhaps this may be seen as the true source of the neurotic aspects of this age of anxiety. We are confronted with these marks on a progressive basis, as we age and become increasingly infirm, or frail. It is best to engage them on the cushion, when we are young and strong, but better later than never. In the next segment of UnMind, we will take up the meaning of death, in the context of Dharma as the compassionate teachings. Until then, do not hesitate to allow your view of aging, sickness and death, your personal take on mortality, to enter into your zazen. It cannot hurt, and cannot be avoided in the long run.[1] Published on Soto Zen Net (www.sotozen-net.or.jp) on April 3rd, 2020Translated by Soto Zen Buddhism International Center * * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Returning from the political fray to the realities of daily life on Earth 2 — as the current popular trope would have it — I would like to delve into one of the teachings of Buddhism and Zen that may contribute to its misperception as being overly pessimistic. The “three marks” of dukkha, the Sanskrit word usually translated as “suffering,” or “unsatisfactoriness.” Usually, “dukkha” is related to specific aspects of life, specifically “aging, sickness and death,” as the three characteristics of all sentient existence. From the Tricycle web site we find: The Buddha taught that all phenomena, including thoughts, emotions, and experiences, are marked by three characteristics, or “three marks of existence”: impermanence (anicca), suffering or dissatisfaction (dukkha), and not-self (anatta). These three marks apply to all conditioned things—that is, everything except for nirvana. According to the Buddha, fully understanding and appreciating the three marks of existence is essential to realizing enlightenment. (It is a schema that is accepted in both Theravada and Mahayana schools, but more emphasized in the former.) Here we find a much broader, less personal definition of the three than “aging, sickness and death,” but as human beings, we are naturally more concerned with how they apply to our wellbeing most immediately and intimately, than how they function as universal principles. It seem to me that much of the chaos and uncertainty that we are currently witnessing in the social sphere is animated by the unsuccessful resolution of our personal relationship to these three marks, along with the built-in resistance to embracing them fully, with any measure of equanimity.As an octogenarian, I can personally testify to the inevitability of the first two, and their power taking precedence over all other dimensions of daily life, in due time. All you have to do is live long enough to find out for yourself. However, the Buddha apparently came to this conclusion, or confrontation, relatively early in life, in his mid-thirties, when we would expect him to be in the prime of life, though 2500 years ago, life expectancy was not what it is today. Let us consider each of them one at a time, from a problem-definition and problem-solving perspective. In passing, let me recall that the least emotionally-laden definition of dukkha is, simply, “change.” Nothing personal about it. Buddhists may be said to believe these teachings, rather than “believing in” them, as some of the online commentary would have it. As with all of the “compassionate teachings,” one's own first-person, experiential evidence will drive home the validity and veracity, as well as the long term priority, of these findings and conclusions of the Buddha. The only question becomes how – how do we comport ourselves in the context of these dominant aspects of our existence? The existence of suffering itself Buddha said we are to fully understand. And from the above quote, that understanding must of necessity begin with recognizing and appreciating these three most immediate considerations of life, beginning with aging, or impermanence. It does not help much to place our own impermanence in the context of universal impermanence. Misery may love company, but not that much.It might help to consider the question, When does aging begin? At the moment of birth? At the moment of conception? The current flap over in-vitro fertilization – as part of the larger ethical and ideological debate around all things related to birth control, or the larger category of reproductive health in general – illustrates that aging is actually well under way before conception. The eggs and sperm involved have limited viability, aging out of their own, micro-world shelf lives. Owing to a welcome assist from modern medicine, many of us can expect to live increasingly long lives, with notable exceptions in the form of further life-threatening causes and conditions attributed to the very success, and lack of due diligence, of the human species. In Zen, we hear various expressions such as “every moment reincarnation,” from my teacher, for instance. We read Master Dogen's framing of birth and death as “expression(s) complete this moment.” Buddha himself was said to have mentioned something to the effect that, owing to impermanence, there must be permanence. His monks were said to have been happy to hear this. One of the theories that I have read, attempting to explain the success of Buddhism spreading throughout history in its countries and cultures of origin, is that Buddha's followers were so relentlessly happy. So there is a kind of pervasive optimism in Zen and Buddhism, which is hard to explain in the context of impermanence and aging, let alone sickness and death. But just consider, in your own mind for a moment, the possibility that there were no aging. That we would all remain “forever young,” in the memorable phrase from the Bob Dylan tune. What would be the implications, both long- and short-term, of this reversal of biology? What if we did not age? (We can leave the discussion of illness and dying to upcoming segments.) Buddha rejected such speculation as ultimately futile, if taken seriously, but here, we want to treat it as a mere “thought experiment,” for the sake of shedding light on the actual causes and conditions of our existence, no harm no foul. In design circles this is a recognized process, called “synectics,” engaging in the seemingly irrelevant on the chance that it might turn out to be relevant. It is related to “Hegel's Dialectic,” seeing the existing “thesis,” a present manifestation of reality as impermanent, enabling our recognition and even ability to predict the emergence of the “antithesis” on the event horizon. The model goes on to predict the merging of thesis and antithesis into the new thesis, which arises, abides, changes and ultimately decays and disappears with the next cycle. And so on, and on, forever. Not coincidentally, this terminology of “merging” is used discerningly by Master Dogen in his envisioning the process of Zen realization in Shobogenzo Bendowa, if memory serves (emphasis mine): In stillness, mind and object merge in realizationand go beyond enlightenment If we consider aging in this startling, single-point reflection, how does that look? Buddha says, toward the end of his First Sermon: My heart's deliverance is unassailableThis is the last birthNow there is no more becoming If indeed it is possible to come to the end of “becoming,” is that tantamount to the end of aging? Is the essence of what Buddha and Dogen realized is that everything “else” is obviously aging and becoming something else? And must include the one observing the change. And that it has always been thus, from the very beginning. So what could go wrong? Just consider: If the very conditions that we all naturally worry about – all too often to an excessive, obsessive degree – have always obtained in the universe, long before our birth in this lifetime, and likely to persist and pertain long after our death; how can there be anything fundamentally amiss? Not that it's the best of all possible worlds, thank you Pangloss. But really, as a design-build professional, I can fantasize that I was in charge, and made the primordial decisions that determined that, if there is to be sentient existence, what will that look like? How do I make that work? But most ordinary human beings do not have that kind of hubris. They palm the fundamental questions off to a divine entity, the wizard's intent hidden behind the curtain of appearances. We simply accept the givens, try to understand and embrace them, and go from there. But there must have been a “before” – before the Big Bang, or the alternative Bounce. There must have been something – the “sound of silence,” and maybe nascent thought — preceding the “Word.” But then, all heaven and hell breaks loose, and here we are. In this moment. None of this explains anything, of course. Whatever framework we have been given to comprehend the brute fact of existence was totally made up by others. You learned that. And it can be unlearned. Zazen seems mainly a process of unlearning what we think. The very idea and ideal of longevity has only one value in this context, according to my feeble grasp of Zen's teachings: A better chance to wake up! In witnessing – or better, contemplating – aging, I am oft reminded of the unforgettable couplet from musical Zen master Dylan: Ah but I was so much older thenI'm younger than that now My sense of the relevance of aging and impermanence in the context of meditation and Dharma teachings is that, like the questionable linearity of the so-called “arrow of time” in theoretical quantum mechanics, taking the view that time is passing in a direction may be entirely arbitrary. What we may perceive — and more problematically, what we may interpret — as aging, may indeed be true, but only half the reality, as with all dualistic thinking. Perhaps we are growing younger at the same time, disencumbering ourselves with learned inhibitions, rules and regulations that no longer apply, as we mature to embrace emptiness. My idle conjecture on aging represents yet another variation on the theme of thinking independently and acting interdependently. This bears repetition: Sitting in zazen with the Zen community, we are nonetheless sitting alone. Any time we sit alone in zazen, we are joining the larger community of Zen practitioners. Somewhere in the world – at any time, day or night – someone is sitting in Zen meditation. We need flexibility of mind to approach Zen practice in this nondual sense, outside of time and space. In the next UnMind segment, we will take up the more abrupt, if no more tangible than aging, mark of “sickness,” which for some reason is not called out as such in the early translation. Maybe the prevalence of illnesses of all kinds was so much a part of daily life that it did not emerge as a perceivable isolate in the social awareness of the time. Meanwhile, as Buddha himself suggested, don't take my word for any of this. Check it out for yourself, on the cushion, and off.* * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Once again, allow me to address the sentiment prevalent amongst many Zen groups that the political realm is, and should remain, outside the pale - when it comes to topics appropriate to the scope of Buddhism and Zen. The “tongue of the Buddha” represented by the short, curled ceremonial stick carried by Zen priests (J. nyoi or katsu) is said to be “long and wide,” encompassing all four spheres of influence and action in my semantic model of real world Zen practice: the personal; the social; the natural; and the universal. In the social sphere, the political climate surely played a huge role – in Buddha's life and his decision to form the original order of Buddhist monastics – as well as in China, Japan, and other countries of origin.In our present situation, the incoming flack from the campaign looks more and more like the damaging hail from the record-setting onslaught of tornadoes and hurricanes being visited upon an ever-wider swath of the United States each year, in an ever-lengthening storm season, leaving major and minor damage in its wake. Unintended karmic consequence on a geologic scale.Looking into the rear-view mirror of history, we find that this — the issue of political leadership — has been a “known issue” throughout the development of Zen. From Taoism's roots in China, in “The Way of Life, According to Lao Tzu” (Capricorn Books, 1962), translated by Witter Bynner:17A leader is bestWhen people barely know that he exists,Not so good when people obey and acclaim him,Worst when they despise him.‘Fail to honor people, they fail to honor you';But of a good leader, who talks little,When his work is done, his aim fulfilled,They will say, ‘We did this ourselves.'Compare to protestations of wannabe leaders competing in the current campaign.Peering even further back into the fog of time, from “The Teaching of Buddha” we find the Buddha challenging philosophical and astrophysical speculation, as well as questioning the design intent of the optimum social order. In a shorter quote within a quote from last segment:In the search for truth there are certain questions that are unimportant. Of what material is the universe constructed? Is the universe eternal?... In what way is this human society put together? What is the ideal form of organization for human society?He follows with the admonition that:If a man were to postpone his searching and practicing for Enlightenment until such questions were solved, he would die before he found the path.In other words, whatever the political situation in which you may find yourself, get your personal priorities in order. Like everything else in life, the present political realm is impermanent, imperfect and insubstantial, the three marks of dukkha, the universal principle of change. Which change we find, more often than not, not to our liking.Then, after relating the famous metaphor of the man pierced with a poison arrow, he reminds us that: When a fire of passion is endangering the world, the composition of the universe matters little; what is the ideal form for the human community is not so important to deal with.Consider the various “fires of passion” now threatening our world on all fronts, and demanding a majority of our available bandwidth.Later, putting a fine point on it, the sage focuses squarely on personal training, while not ignoring the social, natural, and universal matrix of problems in which a person, then or now, is firmly enmeshed:The Buddha's teaching contains what is important to know and what is unimportant.Therefore, people should first discern what is the most important, what problem should be solved first and what is the most pressing issue for them. To do all this, they must first undertake to train their minds; that is, they must first seek mind-control.We have received our marching orders. “Mind-control” in this context does not carry the modern connotation of “brain-washing,” but the “discipline” side of the Eightfold Path: right effort, mindfulness, and meditation. In discerning the “problem that should be solved first,” we can not simply ignore causality – including proximate causes of political influence upon our lives. Perhaps the best way to deal with the repugnant pettiness of partisan politics is to continue comparing to the prescripts of Buddhism and Zen.The Repentance Verse, as translated by Shohaku Okumura-roshi in the Soto Zen Journal in February of 2004, on the Bodhisattva Precepts, is a good place to begin:All the twisted karma ever created by me, since of oldThrough beginningless greed, anger and ignoranceBorn of my body, speech and thoughtI now make complete repentance of it all“Twisted” may have overwrought undertones of neurosis, unlike the translation we usually chant. We repent our “past and harmful” karma – the litany of unhelpful, self-centered actions, and unintended consequences thereof – that we now “fully avow.” In other words, we are ‘fessing up, admitting that “mistakes were made.” Note that all this, however, comes with the territory of being a human being subject to the “three poisons,” various forms of greed, hatred and delusion that, though “born of this body, mouth, and mind,” comprise the “three actions” that can get us into trouble.How genuinely are our favorite candidates for public office manifesting this kind of self-awareness, accepting responsibility? How well are we, ourselves, doing in this regard?Okumura-roshi highlights the next steps in the traditional Precepts ceremony:The Three RefugesWe then take refuge in the Three Treasures: Buddha, Dharma and Sangha. The Buddha is the one who awakened to reality. The Dharma is reality itself, the way things truly are. The Sangha are the people who aspire to study and living according to the teaching of the reality of all beings.Taking refuge means, literally, returning to our true origins: our awakened nature; the reality in which we find ourselves; and like-minded folks struggling on the path. In today's political climate, the very notion of a shared reality seems under assault.The Threefold Pure [Precepts]Next, we receive the threefold pure precepts: (1) the precept of embracing moral codes, (2) the precept of embracing good deeds, (3) the precept of embracing all living beings. These three points are the direction we walk on the Bodhisattva path.Morality, as conventionally understood, also seems to be on the chopping block, or at least up for sale, in this election year cycle. Perhaps it was ever so, with one party's “good deeds” being another's social injustice. How do we embrace “all living beings,” when there are so many of them, competing for the same resources? And where, we might ask, have all the bodhisattvas gone?The Ten Major PreceptsThe ten major precepts are: (1) do not kill, (2) do not steal, (3) do not engage in improper sexual conduct, (4) do not lie, (5) do not deal in intoxicants, (6) do not criticize others, (7) do not praise self and slander others, (8) do not be stingy with the dharma or property, (9) do not give way to anger, (10) do not disparage the Three Treasures.We also express these prohibitory precepts with their positive side – “affirm life,” “be giving,” “honor the body,” “manifest truth,” and “proceed clearly” respectively – for the first five above, given to new initiates, for example. The second five are given to those who enter the formal path, with respect to the social consequences of representing Zen to the public, and so bear more scrutiny in the context of our political social servants. How closely are candidates for office at every level adhering to these admonitions, setting aside the Three Treasures, of which they may have little or no awareness.We could go on, with endless examples from the written record of Buddhist principles. For example, if we look at the Four Great Vows of the Bodhisattva path, we find:Beings are numberless; I vow to free themDelusions are inexhaustible; I vow to end themDharma gates are boundless; I vow to enter themThe Buddha way is unsurpassable; I vow to realize itCompare to various positions, platforms and policies proposed by pols and pundits – on immigration; income disparity; education; conventional truth; and the place of religion – in our efforts toward a “more perfect union.” How we doin' on those fronts?Jeffrey Lyons, a political science professor at Boise State University, found that “roughly three-quarters of kids who have two parents of the same party will fall on the same end of the political spectrum as their parents. As kids are growing up, their parents have an enormous amount of power in shaping their views.” (From: “Are Politics Hereditary?” – The Atlantic Jun 1, 2018).If true, this demographic factoid simplifies the picture enormously. We might conclude that the vast majority of voters are going to be biased in favor of their family and social history from childhood – nature and nurture – and not likely to be persuaded by rational or ideological argument, to switch allegiances. So much for independent thinking.So, once again, we return full-circle to the cushion. Do your own research, draw your own conclusions from your findings, and make your own recommendations to yourself for improving your chances of acting compassionately and wisely in the marketplace of politics, as well as within the community of folks who would rather not have to deal with politics at all. The ability to do so is surely more dependent upon our personal approach to meditation, than upon our social skills. Only if we are independent of the influence of ideology and partisan political pressures can we act interdependently for the good of all.We will revisit the political scene in July, when we celebrate Jukai, true independence. Until then, “Don't give up!”* * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In looking forward and anticipating the future of Zen in America, once again it may behoove us to take a look in the rearview mirror. According to research reported by one of my future lineage successors – in a years-long series of talks he gave on the history of the transmission of Zen – things did not always go swimmingly when the big cheese finally kicked the proverbial bucket, to mix a metaphor or two. The resultant chaos was not quite as bad as that brought on by the “To the strongest!” gambit attributed to Alexander the Great, settling the question through violence rather than voting, an approach that has gained fresh meaning in recent political campaigns. In fact, one might reasonably question the validity of any aging, declining leader naming their own successor in the first place, in the face of diminishing mental acuity and physical vigor. What part of “declining” do we not understand? How many political leaders have we witnessed who hang onto power way beyond what the dictates of the natural process of aging-out would suggest? Matsuoka -roshi was born in November of 1912 and died in November of 1997. He was and is my “root” teacher, in the common parlance of Zen. It is his legacy and lineage that we celebrate during Founder's Month each November, and which I have done all in my power to preserve, protect, and to propagate. Kongo-roshi, or Richard Langlois as I knew him in the 1960s, was O-Sensei's immediate successor at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago (ZBTC). He was born in 1935, but died unexpectedly in 1999, only two years after O-Sensei's parinirvana. This unfortunate turn of events brings to mind the oft-misquoted but always pertinent couplet: The best-laid schemes ‘of mice and men' gang aft a-gley,and lea'e us naught but grief and pain, for promised joy Thank you, Robert Bobby Burns, from his poem “To a Mouse.” This is not to suggest that planning, as such, is totally useless, or generally ineffective, but any succession planning is clearly a special case. In Zen's historical record, the cohort left to pick up the pieces and carry on were comprised of more than one individual, in many cases. It appears there is a common pattern of two or more Zen successors stepping in and divvying up the role previously played by the retiring guiding teacher. They were often of very different personality types, bringing different sets of skills and attitudes to the table, not necessarily the same as their mentor's. This is also common in the business world, when the CEO is replaced by less-experienced executives. It took me a few decades to realize that I am not Matsuoka-roshi, and that my students are certainly not me. I could not simply continue doing my best imitation of Sensei, oblivious to the fact that my students were approaching Zen practice very differently from my own early days. I had to have flexibility of mind to innovate, not just to imitate. Nor can I compare myself to Okumura-roshi – who officiated my formal transmission –with his historical roots in traditional Zen training in Japan. His successor Hoko Karnegis was recently chosen – how and why, I have no idea, and do not need to know. But I do know that she, who generously wrote the foreword to my second book, “The Razorblade of Zen,” is definitely not a Shohaku clone. The character of the community changes with any change in leadership. But its mission and reason for being need not. I recognize that as founder and guiding teacher of ASZC and STO, I am a “transitional figure.” As are we all – in the ultimate, biological sense – given the inevitability of “aging, sickness and death.” Matsuoka-roshi was certainly a transitional figure, becoming a living example of the “man without a country.” He was no longer fully Japanese, nor was he completely American. It should be noted that all truly transitional figures necessarily appear as somewhat ridiculous, in the eyes of their contemporaries. It becomes necessary to embrace certain contradictions, many that are counter-intuitive and counter-cultural. If you don't quite get the point, just picture myself, or yourself, fully enrobed, walking into a Starbuck's. These transitional aspects of grafting a living tradition onto a new host culture can be considered a necessary and temporary period of adjustment. It is going to entail, and even require, independent thinking, as well as Interdependent action. Perhaps more than anything, it will require focus and perseverance, keeping the eye on the prize, or at least on the ball, in light of the many diversions and apparent obstructions in the path. The Ch'an poem Sandokai–Harmony of Sameness and Difference puts it succinctly: Not understanding the Way before your eyes how do you know the path you walk? Buddha himself is said to have recognized the many blind alleys and dead ends that can get in the way of the simple pursuit of the only truth that matters. In “The Teaching of Buddha,” chapter two, “The Way of Practical Attainment” we find the following: 1. in the search for truth there are certain questions that are unimportant. Of what material is the universe constructed? Is the universe eternal? Are there limits or not to the universe? In what way is this human society put together? What is the ideal form of organization for human society? If a man were to postpone his searching and practicing for Enlightenment until such questions were solved, he would die before he found the path. Like his successors in India, as well as those in China, Japan, and the Far East, the clarity of focus comes through loud and clear, in the context of the seductions of the universal, natural and social spheres. The ancestors of Zen are all speaking with one voice, as far as to where we are to direct our personal attention is concerned. Perhaps this singular emphasis – on avoiding the pitfalls and temptations of following cultural memes and tropes as to what is truly important in life – is even more critical in modern times. When we finally join a fully functioning Zen community, we naturally become possessive and protective of it. We worry about its stability, from both fiscal and psychological perspectives. If its leadership appears unstable, we hesitate to invest too much time and effort into participating in it, both from personal practice and social administrative perspectives. These are natural impulses, and rational as well. We have all witnessed too many betrayals of our trust and confidence by misguided leaders of supposed religious and educational institutions, in America and elsewhere. This is why harmony is the main watchword for the Zen community. And the main reason its members are encouraged to be circumspect in discussing the supposed faults of others. But I want to impress upon you a deeper confidence in Zen. Not to worry — Zen will survive. It was here before you were, and it will be here after we are all long gone. Zen has survived, and even thrived, for over two and a half millennia, and that is only the recorded history of it. It surely began long before Buddha's life, and will survive as far into the future as the human species, which, admittedly, is looking a little iffy just now. Zen will survive because it is not “Zen.” Zen is just a name, a label that we throw at something that has no name. This discovery of Buddha, even in our times, is primordial. It is nothing more than “waking up,” in the most universal, deepest and broadest sense of the word. It is awakening to reality. That simple fact may need our protection, from the vicissitudes of current cultural ignorance. But it comes with the territory of being a fully conscious human being. It will not go away with time, as long as humans survive. This is why the definitive dimension of sangha is “harmony.” Fostering disharmony in the Zen community is a cardinal sin. As Master Elvis reminds us, “We can't go on together, with suspicious minds.” The sangha itself is like a cloud – after my dharma name, “Great Cloud” – constantly evaporating and recondensing. If you do not think so, stick around for a while. We have had literally thousands of people come and go over the decades, and sometimes return after decades. That they come and go is no fault of our own, or of theirs. It is merely the manifestation of their life stories, the cloud endlessly evaporating and recondensing. In Matsuoka Roshi's collected talks, “The Kyoksaku” and “Mokurai,” he shares his perspective on the future of Zen, including the meaning of a Zen temple. We are carrying forward his mission of propagating Zen in America, on the premise that he expressed, that Zen is relatively “dead” in Japan; and would find its rebirth in America: A Zen temple is not a debating place — especially about Zen. Zen was never meant to be debated. It was meant to come into your lives to quiet them and for you to live as a Buddha. If you know Zen, your voice will be quiet and your words will be few. Great wisdom does not need many words to express itself. “Those who speak do not necessarily know.” Master Dogen also mentioned of the tendency of individuals to want to express their understanding of Zen to all who will listen, including the local guiding teacher. It is a known issue in history, and one of many such attitudes that have persisted down to today. But if we see it for what it is – the natural desire of a person to have their own understanding of Zen recognized, and their efforts in support of the temple appreciated – this, too, can be accommodated in our ongoing program of propagation, as a teaching or learning moment. Buddha himself was said to have been assailed by an earnest young seeker, who prevailed upon him to answer the “Ten Cosmic Questions” from what passed for the philosophy of the times: how it all began, how it will all end, et cetera. Which Buddha considered hopelessly speculative, somewhat specious, and not at all to the point of addressing the real problem at hand, that of dukkha. The young man insisted that unless Buddha answered, he, the young man, could not accept him as his teacher. Shakyamuni is said to have pointed out to this sincere but presumptive aspirant that he – Buddha, was under no obligation to be his – the young man's, teacher. And he – the young man, was under no obligation to be his – Buddha's, student. We have adopted a similar motto for our practice centers, which was initiated by an early Rinzai pioneer to America, Sokeian-roshi: “Those who come here are welcome; those who leave are not pursued.” We have a similar middle-way approach to donations, first expressed by our initial practice leader of Southwind Sangha, our Wichita affiliate: “No donation required; no donation refused.” All of the above represent variations on the theme of thinking independently and acting interdependently. Sitting in zazen with the Zen community, we are still sitting alone. Any time we sit alone in zazen, we are joining the larger community of Zen practitioners. Somewhere in the world – at any time, day or night – someone is sitting in Zen meditation. We need flexibility of mind to approach Zen practice in this nondual sense, outside of time and space. In the first UnMind segment in June, we will return briefly to our exploration of “election year Zen,” with whatever challenges appear in the campaign in the interim. Until then... just keep sitting.

We closed the last segment with a quote from Master Dogen from Shobogenzo Zuimonki, regarding monastic practice in 13th century Japan: How do we practice the Way without being disturbed by the slandering remarks of others, and without reacting to the resentment of others, or speaking of the right or wrong of others? Only those who thoroughly devote even their bones and marrow to the practice can do it. These instructions and admonitions for practicing the Zen Way and maintaining harmony in the Zen monastic community, from over 800 years ago, come across with great currency, as if Dogen may have been attending some of our past board meetings. It just goes to show that people have always been people, and that conflicts arising in day-to-day dealings with the propagation of communal Zen practice have not changed fundamentally over the centuries, and even millennia, since the inception of Buddhism. I think it appropriate to raise some of these quintessentially Western attitudes that have come to my attention in the recent past, and especially during the pre- and post-COVID period we have all just come through. Like most of Dogen's teachings – which can sometimes come across as harsh shaming, or finger-wagging scolding – the old adage applies: “If you see yourself in this picture…” or “If the shoe fits, wear it.” Any and all criticism in Zen, whether implied or explicit, is intended to be reflected back upon ourselves, as in a Zen mirror, and not held up to denigrate others. This is in line with the Ten Grave Precepts, particularly those advising against discussing the faults of others, or praising oneself at the expense of others. While we encourage independence of thinking in Zen, and further, claim that zazen is one of the only dependable ways of developing it to fruition, this does not imply that we then become the sole judge, and final arbiter, of all behaviors of others in the sangha. This is one of the many misconceptions, or delusions, that arise in community practice. One of our longer-term members once declared, some decades ago, that, in his dealings with others, he saw himself as the kyosaku – the somewhat controversial “warning stick,” usually used to strike the shoulders to help you “wake up” during long retreats. He felt it was his role and, indeed, his responsibility, to administer the stick, metaphorically, to those he thought were out of line with the Zen Way. I reminded him, gently, that there is a reason why the stick has to be requested, in Soto Zen. We do not simply go around whacking people with it willy-nilly, without so much as a by-your-leave. Dogen said somewhere that we should never regard ourselves as someone else's “teacher.” If and when we put ourselves in the position of teaching others whatever we consider to be the necessary lessons in Zen, we should remember that in the design of communications, it is the message received – not the message sent – that counts. We may teach another person a lesson we think they need to learn, all right, but it is not likely to be the lesson we intended. Our actions will likely tell them more about us, than they do about them. Dogen admonished his young wards on this point, urging juniors, and seniors in particular, to avoid using harsh words and behavior in the unfounded belief that criticism, however warranted, will work to their benefit, or that of the target of their reproval, or of their fellow community members who may witness the confrontation. In some general comments about one of the attitude adjustments that all students of the Buddhist way should adopt, Master Dogen stresses listening, over expressing your own limited understanding. Especially in the beginning of your practice and study of the buddha-dharma, which, remember, may require many decades to mature. His remarks seem as timely today as in the 13th century, and taken with the above quote, comprise as good a model of independent thinking and interdependent action that you may come across: 6 — 12These days, many people who are learning the Way listen to a talk on the dharma, and above all want their teacher to know that they have a correct understanding and want to give good replies. This is why the words they listen to go in one ear and out the other. They still lack bodhi-mind and remain self-centered. First of all, forget your ego and listen quietly to what others say, and later ponder it well. Then, if you find some faults or have some doubts, you may make criticism. When you have grasped the point, you should present your understanding to your teacher. Waiting to claim immediate understanding shows that you are not really listening to the dharma. Note that the popular trope – “in one ear and out the other” – is apparently not of recent coinage. We have to be careful of a certain cultural arrogance, in assuming that our present situation is overly unique. “It was ever thus,” as we say. Or, in Zen terms: “Buddhas and ancestors of old were as we; we in the future shall be buddhas and ancestors,” taken from Dogen's Vow. But to become buddhas and ancestors we have to learn tolisten, and that entails learning how to listen; which means learning how to hear. You may protest that you already know how to hear! That is, you are hearing, and have been doing so all along. But training in design thinking, particularly in the Bauhaus tradition, says “not so fast.” You may think you are hearing, seeing, and feeling, but are you really? Drawing, photography, and the other visual arts are all considered ways of training the eye to truly see. The audial arts – music, singing, et cetera – are likewise ways of training the ear to hear. Kinetic body work – dance, theater, athletics and so on, train the body to feel, and to move in gravity with efficiency and elegance. Similarly in Zen training we find expressions such as attributed to Dogen's teacher in China, Tiantong Rujing, where he said something like, paraphrasing freely, “gouge out your eyes so that you cannot see and then you may be able to see for the first time...” cut out your tongue, plug up the ears, burn the body, etc. so that they may be replaced with the true body and senses of buddha-nature. This, obviously, on a much deeper level than the Bauhaus training is shooting for. But simply on a social level of discourse, the need to listen is greater than ever, what with all the voices vying for our attention. With the recent burgeoning of interactive meetings on the internet – which incidentally, Master Dogen did not have to contend with, fortunately for him – we have witnessed a dramatic evolution of etiquette in public dialog. Standard admonitions include not interrupting the speaker; keeping your comments brief so that more attendees have an opportunity to participate; directing your comments to the moderator or guest panelist and avoiding cross-talk; and generally resisting the impulse to hijack the proceedings to pursue your own agenda. This syndrome has long been a known issue in American Zen circles, where even in intimate, in-person settings, when called upon, certain members of the audience will suddenly turn to the audience to share their viewpoint, rather than deferring to the person hosting the dialog. This is at a minimum impolite, if not downright rude. But this is America, where all opinions are considered equal, especially by those who hold them. Dogen goes on to modify his admonition to privilege a discerning silence over blurting out our opinion at every opportunity; giving it some time to gain clarity; then engaging the dialog in a respectful way. Application to today's social media transactions is too obvious to point out, but I could not resist. Later on, Dogen repeats this instruction, indicating that the issue had arisen again, in real facetime dialog: 6 — 14Students of the Way, when you practice with a certain teacher and learn the dharma, you should listen thoroughly again and again until you completely understand. If you spend time without asking what should be asked, or without saying what should be said, it will certainly be your own loss. Teachers always await questions from their disciples and give their own comments. You should ask again and again to make sure even of things that you have already understood. Teachers also should ask their disciples whether they have really understood or not, and thoroughly convince them (of the truth of the dharma). Taking Dogen's point, and following along the lines of appropriate attitudes and behaviors in the context of Zen community — including its traditional respect for seniority and today's smugly iconoclastic attack on anything that smacks of authority — the usual caveats regarding comparisons between our practice of Zen and that of the ancients, particularly the social or sangha dimension, include the disingenuous excuse that in the time of Dogen and before, male patriarchy and misogyny were prevalent in society, so the societal norms, mores and memes do not apply to us in modern America. To which our female members and others would likely react with a great rollingof the eyes. Furthermore, the thinking goes, the practitioners of that time were primarily monastic. Thus, the rules and regulations (J. shingi) governing the behavior of nuns and monks were themselves not characteristic of the larger community in those days. That is, they were even less egalitarian than conventions prevalent in the cities and villages, among the leadership structures of the times, and so, therefore, how much more so today. A closer reading of history might expose the relatively mythological status of these notions, but we cannot be faulted too much for trying to back-plot our current views of what is right and wrong – including ethical behavior and social injustice – to a place in history where our perspective may have had little or no relevance whatsoever. We like to imagine that the arc of history is bending toward the modern concept of justice, as Master Martin Luther King suggests. Admittedly, the language and culture of Buddha's and Dogen's times were somewhat determinative, if not dispositive, of the form and character of Zen practice of the time, both on personal and social levels. Particularly on the level of personal practice — by which term today, we primarily refer to zazen — the tangible differences might be somewhere in the 5% range of effectiveness on outcomes, including such technical developments as those of clothing and seating options. In other words, Zen “gear” has undergone its own cultural evolution. But the age-old relevance of the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path still holds. In the social sphere is where we will find the most salient differences that cause confusion, and to which we may point, if we are inclined to mount challenges to Zen orthodoxy. In this regard — the social propagation of Zen — I want to share a few reminders about our root lineage. Matsuoka-roshi was definitely not in a class by himself. He belongs to a small, rarefied club of ancestors who not only took on the propagation of Zen in their time and cultural milieu, but also transported, imported, the face-to-face practice and transmission of Zen to a whole ‘nother country. O-Sensei joins the likes of Bodhidharma, who sojourned to China, apparently on foot, from the Indian subcontinent around 500 CE. He stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Eisai Zenji and Master Dogen, who in the 12th and 13th centuries, respectively, traveled by sailing ship to China, bringing what they experienced there back to Japan. In the process Eisai revitalized Rinzai Zen, which had been predominant in Japan for centuries. Dogen Zenji introduced Soto Zen, emphasizing zazen over all other methods, around 1225. Matsuoka-roshi brought Dogen Zen to this continent in 1940, though the much longer journey by steamship may have been relatively safer, than those of Eisai and Dogen in ancient times. The period between each of these seminal international importations of Zen averages just over 700 years. I am gratified to be the recipient of the benefits of these great founders of our Zen past, as one of the current successors of Matsuoka-roshi. I am also somewhat concerned with the future of Zen, including the vitality of the branch of the tree that I have cultivated here in the Southeast Region of the USA. Thus this analysis. If you have any questions or comments on this subject, I would like to hear them. Tune in to the next episode of UnMind as we explore the future of Zen in America a bit further, with an intent to understand how the hybrid nature of our online and in-person interface may effect face-to-face transmission, for good or for bad, or, more likely, both.

Continuing with our theme: the importance of independent thought and interdependent action to the future of Zen in America, we must define the design intent of our program in the current context of uncertainty. The accelerating pace of change, including geometrically expanding attractions and distractions in the secular and now digital world, gives our task a certain urgency. As we touched on last time, from Master Dogen's record of live teachings late in his career, Shobogenzo Zuimonki: Even in the secular world, it is said that unity of mind is necessary for the sake of maintaining a household or protecting a castle. If unity is lacking, the house or the castle will eventually fall. Similarly, Honest Abe declared that “A house divided against itself cannot stand.” The great unifying principle underlying Zen, then, is this “unity of mind.” But it begs the question of what precisely we mean, by “mind.” Usually our mind – the “monkey mind” anyway – is anything but unified. It may indeed be unified against all comers; or unified in its stubborn clinging to its own opinion; but it is not unified in the sense that I think Master Dogen meant. And it is not the mind characterized by dependent thinking and codependent action, as in “we are of the same mind,” or “like-minded people.” As in the past, the future of Zen comes down to the transmission of this unified mind, which cannot be transmitted directly. Transmission of the method of unifying the mind – which is one meaning implied in the Japanese word sesshin, an intensive, extended retreat – is where we can focus our attention, and plan the design intent of our process around it. In a present and future world increasingly transformed by digital technology and virtual engagement, we may need to rethink the traditional parameter of face-to-face transmission, honored as the most efficacious pedagogy in the history of Zen. However, when we can meet in a virtual room from virtually anywhere in the world, the face-to-face connection becomes one of interfacing video screens. This option was not available in the history of Zen, to belabor the obvious. Objections to an argument that this kind of transaction may suffice to transmit the Dharma include that the perceived teacher-student environment may be colored by such tinkering as phony backgrounds and visual enhancements of lighting and filters, along with stage-setting and costuming designed to play to the camera. In the context of direct Dharma transmission, these amount to additional layers of delusion heaped upon the underlying distortions of conscious perception and conception built into the monkey mind. What is missing in the virtual world is the rest of the story, what transpires behind the screen – the day-in and day-out mutual observation of behaviors and attitudes under less-than-ideal or challenging circumstances – wherein transactional exchanges of personalities and communication in the real-world dynamic of the teacher and student relationship enables “coming to accord” with the teacher's worldview, which is hopefully “Right View.” In Dogen's Jijuyu Zammai – Self-fulfilling Samadhi, he points out the importance of this relationship and its hoped-for outcome: From the first time you meet a master, without engaging in bowing, incense offering, chanting Buddha's name, repentance or reading scripture, you should just wholeheartedly sit, and thus drop away body and mind. Along with establishing the secondary supporting role of Zen's protocols, rituals, and the written record, he goes on to declare that this “dropping off” of body and mind is tantamount to Buddha's insight, and that it completely transforms your world: When even for a moment you express the Buddha's seal by sitting upright in samadhi, the whole phenomenal world becomes the Buddha's seal and the entire sky turns into enlightenment. Later in the same passage he profiles the transition that occurs when the student becomes the master: Those who receive these water-and-fire benefits spread the Buddha's guidance based on original awakening; because of this, all those who live with you and speak with you will obtain endless buddha virtue, and will unroll widely – inside and outside of the entire universe – the endless, unremitting, unthinkable, unnamable buddha-dharma. The telling phrase is “all those who live with you.” A compelling question for lay householder Zen practitioners today is, Do we need to actually “live with” a teacher, or within a residential community, in order to apprehend the true Dharma? And if so, how do we go about implementing that design intent, within the practical constraints of maintaining a household, holding down a job, and raising a family? Or do we all have to become monastics? In which case, Zen is just another program for a privileged few. Dogen's effusive celebration of awakening to the truth of Buddhism as received wisdom includes – and is implicitly dependent upon – your relationship with your teacher. In Dogen's narrative, he must be referencing his lived experience with Rujing in China. But it raises the question of exceptions to the general rule, such as the example of Shakyamuni himself, or Huineng, Sixth Patriarch in China. The case that one absolutely must have a teacher cannot be made – any more than it can be proven that one absolutely must practice zazen – in order to experience the insight of Zen. In research circles, we hear phrases such as “participant observation” to define this kind of intimate, all-embracing investigation of another person's world and approach to coping with it. The adage about walking a mile in someone else's shoes captures the difficulty of getting far enough beyond ourselves, to be able to truly understand the worldview of someone else. In the martial, plastic and performing arts and crafts, as well as trades, guilds, and other apprentice-journeyman-master modes of learning, we see parallels to that of the Zen master and student, where the craft is transmitted mainly through nonverbal observation, closely following the approach of the trainer until it becomes second-nature to the novice. But in the complex society that we encounter today, the possibility and potential payoff of living together, in order to effect a transmission of mind-to-mind seems more and more a pipe dream of a past reality that may no longer apply, and in fact may never have been the norm. Garnered from such collections as “The Transmission of the Lamp” from Song dynasty China, anecdotes from the millennia-long history of Zen begin to look like a mixed bag of long-term and short-term encounters and exchanges between masters and students, and master to master, as well as between students. The resultant impression is that handing down the Dharma from generation to generation was largely a matter of monastics living in large and small communities, but also hermits living in isolation, being visited by other monks and nuns on pilgrimage, and occasional lively set-tos with lay people, women in particular. Notable exceptions to the monastic model include influential lay practitioners such as Vimalakirti in Buddha's time, and Layman Pang and others later in China and Japan. A line in the seminal Ch'an poem Hsinhsinming says, “For the unified mind in accord with the Way, all self-centered striving ceases.” The operative phrase here might be “in accord with the Way.” The “Way” being the Tao of Taoism. Which is a catchall phrase for the natural order of things, with which we want to come into harmony. This unified mind is the Original Mind, capital O – capital M – which we rediscover in our meditation, after sitting still enough and upright enough, for long enough. So the central focus of our practice in the personal sphere has not changed, and our marching – or sitting – orders remain the same: hie thee to the cushion. With or without a teacher. Secure in the assurance that when the time is ripe, your teacher will appear. In due time, you may even find yourself in the unenviable position of being regarded as a teacher of Zen. Further on in the Shobogenzo Zuimonki, the great founding Master talks about what it takes to herd the cats: 5 — 17There is a proverb, “Unless you are deaf and dumb, you cannot become the head of a family.” In other words, if you do not listen to the slander of others and do not speak ill of others, you will succeed in your own work. Only a person like this is qualified to be the head of a family. Although this is a worldly proverb, we must apply it to our way of life as monks. How do we practice the Way without being disturbed by the slandering remarks of others, and without reacting to the resentment of others, or speaking of the right or wrong of others? Only those who thoroughly devote even their bones and marrow to the practice can do it. Thank you, Dogen, for your candor and real-world practicality. It certainly resonates with my experience. If we read between the lines, we can see that Dogen's life, and that of his monks, was apparently not always as ideally serene and transcendent as we may prefer to imagine. People are people, and were the same hot mess in 13th century Japan as they are today. Maybe even worse. In the next segment we will continue with past as prologue to present, and present as perhaps prescient for the future of Zen. Your comments and response are, as always, welcome and encouraged. You know where to find me.* * *Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last UnMind segment on “Election Year Zen,” we stressed Zen's emphasis on thinking independently and acting interdependently, as a kind of rule of thumb for approaching the quadrennial campaign and politics in general. Returning to the main theme running through the UnMind podcast, the intersection of design thinking and Zen, the importance of independent thought and interdependent action to the future of Zen in America, and the world at large, takes on an even more central role. Especially in the context of Buddha's teaching of the codependent origination of all things sentient – the comprehensive model of the Twelvefold Chain. Physics might agree that even the insentient universe is co-arisen, despite the singularity of the “Big Bang.” The following thoughts were first shared in my opening remarks for the Silent Thunder Order's annual conference in 2022, themed “Clarifying Interdependence.” The title of my address was “Future Zen: Thinking Independently; Acting Interdependently” Buddha himself was clearly an independent thinker, the original Order of monks and nuns, an example of interdependent action, choosing to relinquish their place in the social order and hierarchy of the time, with its rigid caste system. Buddha was also a problem-solver of the highest order, having defined the problem of existence itself in terms of suffering, and prescribed a solution based on the real-world context, articulated as the Middle Way, and modeled as the Four Noble Truths, including the Eightfold Path as the plan of action. Simply stated, the propagation of genuine Soto Zen practice in America is the logical extension of that plan, but in order to realize that potential, we must adapt the design intent of the Zen mission to the cultural and technological evolution that has taken place over two-and-a-half millennia. Nevertheless, the basic challenge to practice has remained the same. As we chant in the Dharma opening verse: The unsurpassed, profound and wonderous Dharma is rarely met with even in a hundred thousand million kalpas. Now we can see and hear it, accept and maintain it. May we unfold the meaning of the Tathagata's truth. Accepting that the unsurpassed Dharma is rarely realized, even under the best of circumstances, we proceed with the Zen mission with lowered expectations, commensurate with geometrically expanded distractions currently on offer. These days, Buddha would not draw the typical crowd that attends a professional sports venue, nor even smaller concert venues. He might attract a considerable following online, however. Seeing and hearing the Dharma is now often first encountered online, via searching the plethora of web sites devoted to posting the teachings of Buddha and his successors, by following podcasts, or downloading audiobooks. “Doing your research,” as we say. For my generation, television may have been the medium in which one first discovered the hoofprints of the ox, in the form of the “Kung Fu” series of the 1970s. Seeing and hearing the true Dharma – as well as accepting and maintaining it – is still, however, a low-tech enterprise, requiring only the instrument of the human body, sitting upright and still in meditation. Unfolding the meaning of it, however, is another matter altogether, a near-impossible order of difficulty. In effect, it has to reveal itself to us. Meanwhile, we face a variety of conflicting interpretations of Zen, from the cultural milieu and idioms of today. For example, Zen is not really, or merely, a social program, as many of its proponents seem to feel. Interdependent action certainly entails the recognition of suffering in the form of social injustice, and the principle of karmic retribution does not explain or justify ignoring the suffering of others. The teachings of Buddhism are meant, first and foremost, to provide a mirror to ourselves, reflecting the good, bad, and the ugly without discrimination; focusing our attention upon our own follies, foibles, and foolishness; definitely not to be held up to criticize others. Our implementation of the “design of Zen” to-date – including the incorporation of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center (ASZC) in 1977, and the umbrella organization of the Silent Thunder Order (STO) in 2010 – has been intended to establish and maintain a stable training center, along with a service organization as we attracted affiliate centers, to facilitate the process of propagating what is called “Dogen Zen,” with the same intent of its 13thcentury founder, and his successors, especially Keizan Jokin Zenji. I use the term “design,” as this has been an intentional design process. ASZC is the home temple & training center of the STO network of affiliates, resulting from a group process of the individual efforts, financial support, and community service of hundreds of people over the past half-century or so. In carrying out this design intent, we are extending the legacy and lineage of our founding teacher, Matsuoka-roshi, who would frequently remind us that “Zen is always contemporary.” In a book surveying the origins of Zen in America, “Zen Master Who?” (2006), by James Ishmael Ford, we learn: Soyu Matsuoka ranks with Nyogen Sengaki and Sokei-an as one of the first teachers to make his home and life work in North America. He also seems to be the first teacher to clearly and unambiguously give Dharma transmission to Western students. I would add that these pioneers of American Zen also belong in the rarified ranks of those ancestors who traveled great distances and crossed cultural boundaries to bring the genuine practice to another country, a whole other continent, like Bodhidharma, and Dogen Zenji. Sensei, as he modestly asked us to call him, also is credited with opening the first Zen meditation hall, or zendo, for westerners. Needless to say, I was one of those Western students he transmitted, though he did so informally, rather than by the formal standards of Soto Shu, the headquarters in Japan. We inherit his estimable legacy and lineage, as well as those of the Kodo Sawaki-Uchiyama lineage, thanks to Shohaku Okumura-roshi. We also enjoy a link to that of Shunryu Suzuki-roshi through Seirin Barbara Kohn-roshi, who graciously agreed to be my Preceptor for my formal Transmission, or “Shiho” ceremony, after hosting my 90-day training period at Austin Zen Center in 2007. We may be somewhat unique in the American Zen cohort, having received formal recognition from three recognized priests, including pre- and post-WWII generation Japanese patriarchs, as well as an American Zen matriarch. Let us do what we can to honor our predecessors. We honor them most appropriately by thinking independently and acting interdependently. Before considering the future of Zen in America, we could do worse than to take a look at its past. In the Shobogenzo Zuimonki, collected and compiled under the direction of one of his dharma successors, Koun Ejo Zenji, some of Master Dogen's more offhand comments and spontaneous inspirations are recorded, apparently with little editing, much like our publications of “The Kyosaku” and “Mokurai,” the collected talks of O-Sensei. Dogen instructed, 4 — 13It is said in the secular world that a castle falls when people start to whisper words within its walls. It is also said that when there are two opinions in a house, not even a pin can be bought; when there is no conflict of opinions, even gold can be purchased. Even in the secular world, it is said that unity of mind is necessary for the sake of maintaining a household or protecting a castle. If unity is lacking, the house or the castle will eventually fall. Much more, should monks who have left home to study under a single teacher be harmonious like the mixture of water and milk. There is also the precept of the six ways of harmony.* Do not set up individual rooms, nor practice the Way separately either physically or mentally. [Our life in this monastery is] like crossing the ocean on a single ship. We should have unity of mind, conduct ourselves in the same way, give advice to each other to reform each other's faults, follow the good points of others, and practice the Way single-mindedly. This is the Way people have been practicing since the time of the Buddha. Echoes of Honest Abe's house divided against itself… a footnote explains the “six ways” reference: *The unity of the three actions – those of body, mouth, and mind, keeping the same precepts, having the same insight, and carrying on the same practice. This same precepts, insight and practice includes the harmony of sameness and difference, not an absolute identity. The milk-and-water bit reminds me of Sri Ramakrishna's expression that, like the swan, you have to be able to drink only the milk, mixed with water, to grasp the truth of this existence. This is the nonduality of duality. So here is the great unifying principle underlying Zen practice from the time of Buddha and Dogen down to the present. The past is prologue to the present, as is the present to the future, of Zen. This may not be true of our contemporary cultural and political institutions, however, as we are witnessing. Let us turn to Zen for something more substantial to hang our hopes on for the future. We will have to leave it here for now. Be sure to join us for the next three segments of UnMind, which will round out this contemporary take on the design intent of future Zen.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last episode of UnMind, we concluded our review of the design intent of the Three Treasures of Buddhism. In this segment, we return to the current state of the campaign for political leadership of the country. My intent in these essays regarding the practice of Zen in an election year cycle is not to persuade or convince anyone of anything, other than the efficacy of sitting in zazen to straighten this mess out for yourself. I will try to make the case that it ‑ the political discourse ‑ is not at all disconnected from the Three Treasures. After all, the design of the three branches of government, and even partisan politics, are nothing more than manifestations of the community writ large – however subject to manipulation and distortion by special interest groups and individuals who may not honor the harmony of the larger Sangha, as their highest ideal. To be clear, I am not interested in getting out the vote, or influencing your vote. I regard politics as only one of the multifarious – and perhaps nefarious – arenas of civic action available to us in modern times. But because the unremitting and relentless campaign is currently taking all the oxygen out of the air, and threatens to do so for some time, more than ever should we turn to our own council, and tend to our own knitting, on the cushion. Zen meditation provides a safe haven, a dependable redoubt, for refreshing our resolve to take action in the most compassionate way, but informed by the wisdom of the ancestors. The political pageantry of the moment is subject to the cardinal marks of dukkha – impermanence, imperfection and insubstantiality – perhaps more than any other dimension of existence. We can regret, or rejoice, at its passing. It is also a given that most of those in positions of power and influence do not have the wisdom and compassion of the Dharma forming their guiding principles, nor even that of the founding documents of the republic. Nor can we claim that the clarity of Buddha's wisdom, or buddha-nature, resides at the heart of the American cult of the individual. In spite of the complexity, confusion, and downright contrariness of human nature, in coming to terms with the polity, I think I speak for all the ancestors of Zen in saying that our recommendation remains the same, regarding the spectrum, or spectacle, of governance across the countries of the globe, and the span of centuries since the advent of Buddhism in India. Physical samadhi is first in priority – more centered and balanced, less off-kilter, in the form of sitting upright and still, in zazen as well as kinhin, walking meditation. Then follows emotional samadhi – manifesting as more calmness, less anxiety. Then mental samadhi – fostering more clarity and less confusion, especially as to the deeper meaning and ramifications of the compassionate teachings. And finally, social samadhi – finding more harmony and less friction, in personal and social relationships. Girding our loins, as it were, with the “sword of Manjusri,” cutting through delusion, and reentering the marketplace with bliss-bestowing hands. By starting at the center of things, the personal sphere, eventually we may find our way in the social, natural, and even the universal spheres of influence that surround us, bringing the eyes and ears, and helping hands, of the bodhisattva to bear upon the suffering of the world. A large dollop of humility, and perhaps a healthy sense of humor, may be in order. We have introduced the notion that what we are doing in Zen training is, after all, only developing our penchant for independent thinking, along with its counterpart, a capacity for interdependent action. This is the tightrope we walk, while keeping all the balls in the air, of the many influences surrounding us. The nexus of near-infinite causes and conditions can bring about analysis paralysis if we succumb to the usual approach to defining and solving problems based on self-defense. What is called for is recognition and acceptance of the Japanese proverb cited by Master Dogen: “Fall down seven times; get up eight!” We need to give ourselves permission to fail in the social realm. Partisanship in politics requires that we suspend independent thinking. We are often prevailed upon to subscribe to views and opinions that may not be fully vetted or justified, in order to take advantage of the opportunities of the moment, to win over sufficient numbers of voters to the cause. But when we examine the sources of the ideological divide, it seems that underlying factors, which would fall into the skandha of “mental formations,' or unconscious volition, may play a greater role than we think. Further to the point, a recent article in the New York Times by Neil Gross, a professor of sociology at Colby College, titled “Are You Thinking for Yourself?” approached the problem of ideological division from a demographical perspective: If you're trying to guess whether people are Republicans or Democrats, knowing a few basic facts about them will take you a long way. What's their race and gender? How far did they get in school? What part of the country do they live in and is their community urban, suburban, or rural? He goes on to support the point with examples, which we will not detail here. His basic conclusion is that your demographics often determine what you believe, in regards to your general worldview, as well as political leanings. A seemingly determinative factor is that of the influence of parents and family. A majority of partisans of the new generation reflect the ideology of their parentage, apparently going back for generations. From this we might conclude that the vast majority of voters are going to be biased in favor of their family and social history from childhood – nature and nurture – and not likely to be persuaded by rational or ideological argument to switch allegiances. This suggests that the majority of campaign messages and ads attempting to sway so-called independents and moderates to join one camp or another may be a waste of time and money. It might be more effective to track the generational histories of constituencies, homing in on the genetically captive audience, known colloquially as “the base.” New coalitions may be limited by this unseen dimension, holding steady through generations. Please indulge an exercise involving simple mathematics, something we do not often engage in to make a point about Zen, or the teachings of Buddhism. But we have to admit that a major factor in differentiating our lives and times from those of our Zen ancestors is the burgeoning population and geometrically expanding demographics of the modern age. Pardon me while I “do the math,” with an assist from my onboard calculator, using search results from online sources, both inaccessible to the ancients. The current US population is estimated at about 333 million, of which roughly 240 million, or 72% of the total, are eligible to vote. In 2020, around 66% of those eligible actually registered and voted, a record, but representative of less than 50% of the total population. The Democrat candidate won the election with a little over 51% of the vote, while the Republican candidate lost, with about 47% of the vote. Political spending in the 2020 election totaled $14.4 billion – more than doubling the total cost of the also record-breaking 2016 cycle – according to opensecrets.org. So the last victory came at a cost of about $2000 a vote, if my math is correct. Even though a record 60-plus percent of eligible voters turned out in the 2020 election, the final decision was made by a miniscule fraction – 0.03% -- of the total, assuming the count was accurate, and that my math is close enough for jazz. Throw in the electoral college, with its handful of “swing states,” and the final decision comes down to a cohort less than the population of the metro area of Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington, Texas. Yet the winners (and losers) not only endeavor to rewrite history to favor their cause, they also claim to enjoy the mandate of “the American people,” a tiny portion of whom actually put them in office. Or threw them out. The losing side famously claimed the election was stolen through voter fraud, though the electoral college tally came in at 306 to 232, a decisive difference, along with the overage of multiple millions of voters in the popular vote. But, as we hasten to say, that's a story for another day. Who are we to argue the truth of politics? Zen calls upon us to challenge the truth of our very senses! So we have to look at whatever leaders we get as being “the leaders we deserve,” in the context of a system demonstrably incapable of representing the “will of the people,” let alone “government of the people, by the people, for the people.” The fact that a large percentage opt out, and others are disenfranchised, belies a foundational tenet of the democratic republic: “one man-one vote.” This remains an ideal, one that may be forever out of reach, even with our vaunted technical connectivity. It may come down to a matter of free will, or the inexorable ignorance of the modern hoi polloi. Nobody is legally required to vote, after all, which may be a good thing. Further into the article, Gross generalizes: Although there are certainly people whose politics defy generalization, the underlying demographic tendencies are powerful predictors of belief – powerful enough that elections have become as much a turnout game as an exercise in persuasion. Do tell. But if it takes $2 grand a pop to get a single person to the polls, one has to question whether it is possible to turn that massive a “push” into a “pull,” to borrow from marketing terminology. Of course, there are those who would question whether it is wise to target people who are disinclined to vote in the first place. How informed would their choices likely be, if they are finally dragged out of their inertia, and into the polls? Gross concludes his essay with a turn to something deeper, the humanity underlying our behavior, including political activism: By all means, let's duke it out in the public sphere and at the ballot box. You'll fight for you interests and I'll fight for mine. That's democracy in a big, diverse, boisterous nation. But if we could bear in mind that we sometimes stumble into our most passionately held beliefs, the tenor of our discourse might be a bit saner and more cordial. The fact that we are all deeply social creatures, in politics and otherwise, underscores our shared humanity – something that we would be wise to never lose sight of. Whether or not you agree with the implicit assumption that making the tenor of our public discourse saner and more cordial would be a good thing – many seem to feel the opposite, that the squeakier the wheel, the more grease it will get – most would probably agree with the appeal to our shared humanity, and recognize the lamentable truism of frequently stumbling into our most passionately held beliefs. Aye, there's the rub – that our actions within the social sphere, including the political arena, are too often based on belief, rather than reality. Here is where Zen comes in. The deeper implicit assumption is that our shared humanity is necessarily a good thing. But I think Buddhism points to something deeper. We do not aspire to human nature in Zen – we aspire to buddha nature. Meaning to wake up to the deeper meaning and implications of our lives – our very existence – beyond the immediate and local causes and conditions impinging upon us, including the political machinations of our fellow travelers. Again, my intent in these essays is to emphasize the necessity of the practice of Zen in an election year cycle, not to persuade you of anything, other than the efficacy of sitting in zazen to straighten this mess out for yourself. That said, or resaid, I do encourage you to vote. You will make the right choice, informed by your meditation, I am sure. In the next episode of UnMind, we will return to considerations of more broadly focused adaptation of design thinking principles of problem definition and potential solutions in everyday life, of which politics is only one, if one of the most noisy and noisome.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Steve Peralta is Co-founder and Chief Wellbeing Officer of Unmind, a leading workplace mental health SaaS platform that helps organisations create better workplace cultures, so that employees and businesses can flourish. They support over 2 million employees in hundreds of organisations globally.Steve came to entrepreneurship in an unconventional way, from jazz singer and songwriter, to actor, to coach, to startup co-founder. In this episode of the First-time Founders Podcast, Steve talks about how his unusual background has helped him inspire leaders to bring more heart and soul into workplaces, the ‘four pillars of self care' and much more.Interested listeners can reach Steve via https://www.linkedin.com/in/peraltasteve/ and Rob (https://www.linkedin.com/in/robertliddiard/) at Rob@mission-group.co.uk (or to book some free time with Rob, visit https://www.eosworldwide.com/rob-liddiard).

In the last two episodes of UnMind, we continued our review of the design intent of the Three Treasures of Buddhism, first focusing on joining the Sangha, or Zen community; then on studying the Dharma. In this segment, we will analyze practicing what Buddha himself did, the central and indispensable method of Zen's meditation. I have written extensively elsewhere on how zazen differs from other styles of meditation. Herein we will examine its more physical aspects, and how they may help determine its effectiveness. While the other two legs of the Buddhist stool are necessary for a well-balanced Zen life on social and intellectual levels, zazen is the most crucial and pivotal practice on the personal level. According to Soto Zen, upright seated mediation is necessary to open the Dharma gate to genuine insight. It is Dogen's “excellent method,” that he asserted “carries on the Buddha's teaching endlessly.” When we examine in minute detail the sitting posture, the full breathing cycle, and the focus of attention recommended in zazen, we cannot help but feel incredulous at its simplicity, that something so basic and simple as sitting still enough, upright enough, and long enough, could have any substantive effect on consciousness itself. When it comes to design intent, usually we can look for ways to tweak the design of a given product or process, here and there, to see if we can improve it. Zazen is already so simple that those tweaks have been done, and long ago. There is not much to the method that can be further refined, or eliminated. The zafu itself, the sitting cushion, is likewise nearly irreducibly simple, a design presumably first developed in China. In production processes used to implement various design-build systems, we look for what are termed “secondary” operations. They may force changes in the setup of the assembly line; or call for additional equipment; or require multiple phases. We may find that we can eliminate certain of these extra steps, or combine them with other operations, to make the process more efficient, i.e. streamlined. Early examples include the Ford assembly line. It is important to arrange the steps in any production process in the proper sequence, to avoid wasted time and motion. A technical early version of this approach is called “critical path management,” or CPM. One of its terms, the “true antecedent,” a critical piece in getting the sequence right, might apply to Zen. What would be the true antecedent to insight ‑ Buddha's awakening ‑ to take the least obvious, but penultimate example? In Soto Zen, we would lobby for zazen, probably. But, as Bodhidharma is credited with saying, meditation it is not absolutely necessary to insight. He indicated that all one has to do is “grasp the vital principle.” In other words, no causal connection can be dependably established between the act of sitting in zazen, and the triggering of Dharmic insight. It happens that most of us are not ripe and ready enough for that level of grasping, and we are carrying a lot of conceptual weight, so we need to spend some time in our meditation, to jettison the excess baggage. The great Indian sage is also recognized for bringing the direct practice of zazen to China. He created a model during meditation of four levels of observation: the breath; physical sensations; emotional sensations or mood swings; and conceptual constructions. Notably, his four-pointed model is in itself such a construction. One conclusion that he drew from this approach is that, like the breath, we realize that the other three dimensions are impermanent, ever-changing. And so must be the observer. Using Matsuoka-roshi's threefold division into what he termed “dispositions” – posture, breath, and attention – we can examine them one at a time to determine their design intent. A caveat: “design intent” is more tightly focused than intent in general. It is connected to function, as in the old design saw coined by 19th Century architect Louis H. Sullivan, “form follows function.” Of course, our larger or deeper intent in practicing Zen goes to the Buddhist skandha of “mental formations,” sometimes rendered as intention, motive or desire; the multivarious purposes underlying the “three actions” of body, mouth, and mind. That may be a subject for another time. For now, let's begin by looking at the posture. Of the four cardinal postures – standing, sitting, walking, or lying down, as mentioned in the Metta Sutta – why would sitting be the posture of choice for meditation? For one, it is obviously the most efficient in terms of energy consumption, other than lying down, compared to which, sitting is more conducive to alertness, as we are accustomed to sleeping in a horizontal position. The upright aspect of the sitting posture is crucial. Aligning our bilaterally symmetrical skeleton and musculature is the most direct way to achieve equipoise, a state of equilibrium within the forcefield of gravity. When the body is arrayed in this position, the spine and spinal cord become our “zero axis” in spacetime, the center of our being in the matrix of the proximate physical causes and conditions of existence. This is the physical basis of “samadhi” ‑ centeredness and balance ‑ the key to entering stillness. Arching the small of the back, and pulling back on the chin, we establish two pressure-points, one at the base of the spine and one the base of the neck, which pull the spine into its natural s-curve, resulting in what Matsuoka-roshi described as a “sitting-mountain feeling,” one of immense stability. He would comment that when the posture is reaching a state of perfection, it feels as if you are pushing the crown of your head against the ceiling, like a column or post. But with the caveat that we always aim at the perfect posture, never imagining that we have achieved it. Standing shares this upright alignment, but the entire weight of the body is delivered to the roughly square foot of the surface area of the feet and ankles, rather than distributed over the three-pointed base of the cross-legged posture (“full lotus,” J. kekka fuza), or similarly, the kneeling posture (J. seiza). Walking is obviously infinitely more complex, though walking meditation (J. kinhin) is certainly effective, dubbed “zazen in motion.” Minimal supporting gear is the one concession that Zen seems to make to our natural desire for physical comfort, perching on a cushion (J. zafu) on top of a square mat (J. zabuton) or kneeling on the seiza bench. But I think the lift has to do with maintaining the proper disposition of the angle between the upright spine and the body's main hinge at the hip joint. We sit slightly forward on the cushion or chair so that the hips are above the knees, at an angle of about 10 or 15 degrees to the floor. This allows the weight of the trunk and upper body to distribute equally between the knees resting on the mat and the “sitz” bones that form the bottom of the pelvis. These two arching protuberances form a kind of built-in rocking chair, which, when the lower back is properly arched, provides a stable base on the cushion or kneeling bench, as well as on a chair. In the cross-legged postures in particular, when resistance arises in the knees or in the back, it is our body telling us that we are pitched too far forward, in the former case, or leaning too far backward, in the latter. Matsuoka-roshi often noted that we have to keep making small adjustments to the posture over time, “working your way through every bone in your body,” to finally find that “sweet spot” right in the middle. The rocking motion that we are encouraged to engage at the beginning and end of each session of zazen helps us find the center of the upright and balanced posture. Starting with a large, arcing pendulum swing to the left and right, forward and back, and / or around in circle, we gradually decrease the length of the arc to a smaller and smaller swing, or spiral, until it comes to center. In this way we can correct our own posture from time to time, and particularly when first settling into the posture. It also allows for the body's muscles and connective hard tissue to stretch and adapt for the greatest level of comfort. Zazen, as we say, should be the “comfortable way.” Reversing this motion at the end of the sit, starting with a small, then gradually larger pendulum swing, allows the body to loosen up, and relieve any numbness that may have set in during the session. Numbness does not necessarily indicate poor circulation, but the natural adaptation of the body to sitting still for long periods of time. In summary, we are looking to recover, or rediscover, the natural posture. In more primitive times, our ancestors sat around the campfire, sitting upright and still while hunting, in order not to spook the prey. Your body knows this posture. Listen to it. The design intent of the zazen posture is, in one sense, to return to our normal, natural posture, while remaining fully alert. The same may be said of the breath. The natural breath adapts to the pressures of the moment. When walking or running, we palpitate, breathing rapidly, and often, irregularly. When we lie down to sleep, our breath slows down to a more regular rhythm. Sitting in zazen is a bit like falling asleep while staying awake. Our body knows this natural breath, just as it knows the upright, balanced posture. In zazen, we relinquish our usual effort to control the body in terms of resistance to pain, allowing ourselves to go beyond our normal comfort zone. Likewise, we drop our tendency to control the breath, other than occasionally counting it, or some other measure of inducing more strict observation. We begin to see the breath slowing down as the body settles into stillness. If we pay close attention, we can feel our heartbeat slowing as well. We enter into a deeper stillness, our more natural state of being. While adjustments to the posture are primarily physical, we move beyond the purely physical as we turn our attention to the breath and attention itself. Traditional zazen instructions emphasize attitudinal adjustments, observing the natural process of breathing and thinking with scientific detachment, and less controlling impulses. This is especially helpful in dealing with the tendency of discriminating mind (S. citta) to vacillate, from one extreme position to another, just as the breath is continually shifting from inhaling to exhaling. We are all bi-polar to some extent. The analytical function of the mind is skewed toward self-survival, triggering the so-called “monkey mind,” that frantic, chattering creature behind the all-too-familiar internal dialog. The idea of “breath control” is ingrained in the culture, perhaps primarily through the popularization of yoga in the West, but also incorporated in such areas of endeavor as athletics, aerobic exercise, and technical training in singing, or playing wind instruments. The body is actually controlling the breath, in a subliminal context of oxygen deprivation relative to the degree of physical exertion involved in sitting, standing, walking, or lying down, exercising or running, as the case may be. Our degree of control over the breath on a conscious, intentional level is minimal. The main reason Zen meditation asks us to focus our attention on the breath is that, usually, we do not. Raising awareness of the cycle of breathing ‑ which is, after all, our main lifeline ‑ returns our attention to what is most important in life. The heartbeat represents a deeper level, the metronome of life. When we turn our attention to attention itself, we have reached the apogee of attention, having come full circle. Now, we are paying attention to attention itself. Here is where we begin to see the genius of Tozan Ryokai's cryptic: “Although it is not constructed, it is not beyond words; like facing a precious mirror, form and reflection behold each other.” Bodhidharma was not contemplating the wall, as the visiting pundits of China thought; he was contemplating nothing in particular, everything in general. Or we might say he was contemplating contemplation itself. The “self selfing self,” as Uchiyama-roshi termed it, in his unique turn-of-a-phrase, conjuring a “turning phrase” (J. wato) to describe the indescribable, the ineffable essence of objectless meditation (J. shikantaza). Here, once again, we have come to the end of language. As I closed the session on the design intent of Dharma, Buddhism's truth is uniquely experiential. Master Dogen's intent is the same as that of all Zen ancestors past, future, and present: apprising us of the futility of pursuing literal, linear understanding, especially in its manifestation as verbal expression. We are to turn our attention, instead, to the immediate and intimate, dropping away of the self of body and mind, before interpretation can interfere. For more detail on Zen's meditative approach to posture, breath and attention, listen to UnMind podcasts #119, #120 and #121. In the next segment, we will return to examining the passing pageantry of the endless, unremitting quadrennial, election-year campaign, from the unique perspective of Zen Buddhism.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last segment of UnMind, we took up the most social of the Three Treasures: Sangha, or community. In this segment, we will continue with our analysis of the design of Dharma study; and in the next, that of Buddha practice, Zen's unique meditation, or zazen. These three constitute the highest values and manifestations of Buddhism in the real world, and the simplest model for the comprehensive nature of living a Zen life. They are regarded as three legs, without any one of which the stool of Zen is unstable. Design intent is reflected in their modus operandi, message, and method, respectively. Dharma study consists in reviewing and contemplating the “compassionate teachings,” the message transmitted by Shakyamuni and the ancestors down to the present day. While they were all, in effect, “speaking with one voice,” nonetheless Dharma ranks second in importance and emphasis, as an adjunct to meditation, just as Sangha comes in third, in providing the harmonious community and conducive environment for Zen. As referenced in Dogen's Jijuyu Zammai – Self-fulfilling Samadhi: Grass, trees and walls bring forth the teaching for all beingsCommon people as well as sages The “walls” are the infrastructure that was built around personal and communal practice in the form of our sitting space at home, grass hut hermitages, and meditation halls of temples, centers, or monasteries. This is the millennia-old design-build activity of the ancestors attested to by the stupas of India and the monasteries of China, Tibet, Japan, and the Far East, the legacy inherited by modern proponents of Zen in the West. Dharma likewise has been codified, collected, and contained in tangible documents, originally in the form of rice paper scrolls, now in books distributed worldwide in hardbound and paperback format. My own two current volumes in print ‑ “The Original Frontier” and “The Razorblade of Zen” ‑ were actually printed and bound in India, the home country of Buddhism They are also, or will soon be, available in electronic form, as eBooks and audiobooks accessible to virtually anyone, anywhere, anytime. It is as if Avalokiteshvara, the Bodhisattva of Compassion – s/he of the innumerable eyes and ears needed to see and hear the sights and sounds of dukkha in the world, with innumerable arms and hands bringing the tools necessary to help ‑ has come to be manifested globally, in the form of the worldwide network of mobile media. By means of which her ongoing witness to the suffering of the world is also recorded for posterity. Thus, the potential for Dharma to have an effect on the world at large has expanded exponentially, as in the vow: “I take refuge in Dharma, the compassionate teachings.” Taking refuge in the Dharma means returning ‑ or “fleeing back” ‑ to the original truths or laws of existence, and our place in it. Consider what the first teachings of Buddha really had to say, and what was their intended effect upon the audience. The First Sermon lays out the essential logic of the Middle Way, and its avoidance of extremes of attitudes and approaches to the fundamental problem of existence as a sentient, human being. The design intent of the Dharma as expounded by Shakyamuni Buddha, was, as far as we can determine from the written record, to correct the conventional wisdom of the time, which I take to have been primarily based on beliefs and doctrines of Hinduism. One well-known example is his teaching of anatta or anatman, a refutation of the Hindu belief in a self-existent soul, or atman. Not being a scholar, I am basing this on my scant study of the canon and the opinion of others more learned than I. Considering how the Dharma was first shared gives us an insight more technically oriented to the intent of its design. In the beginning was the spoken word of Siddhartha Gautama, similar to the Bible's creation story. Buddha never committed a single word to paper, or so we are told. It is also said that he “never spoke a word,” a comment I take to mean that while language can point at the truths of Buddhism, it cannot capture them. Buddhist truth is uniquely experiential. It has to go through a kind of translation into language that is beyond language itself, as in the last stanza of Hsinhsinming‑Trust in Mind: Words! The Way is beyond language for in itthere is no yesterday, no tomorrow, no today Later given the honorifics of “Buddha, ‑ fully awakened one” and “Shakyamuni ‑ sage of the Shakya clan,” and others, ten in total, Siddhartha's First Sermon to the five ascetics with whom he had been practicing, begins with: O monks, these two extremes ought not be followed by one going forth from the household life. What are the two?There is devotion to the indulgence of self-gratificationWhich is low, common, the way of ordinary peopleUnworthy and unprofitableThere is devotion to the indulgence of self-mortificationWhich is painful unworthy and unprofitableAvoiding both these extremes the Tathagata has realized the Middle WayIt gives vision it gives knowledge and it leads to calm to insight to awakening to Nirvana The intent of the content was to dissuade these monks from continuing to follow the dictates of their method of asceticism, which Buddha had found to be ineffective, to say the least. And to hold out the hope that if they were able to relinquish their own opinions of the truth they were seeking, and the method for apprehending it, they would be able to accede to the insight that he had experienced directly in meditation, the “middle way.” “Tathagata,” by the way, is also one of the ten honorifics accorded to Buddha later in the course of his teaching career, meaning something like the “thus-come one.” It was most likely appended to this narrative when finally committed to written form, some four centuries after-the-fact. But our point is that the spoken language was the medium in which the teaching was first shared. Buddha was said to have spoken Pali, which is similar to, and perhaps a dialect of, Sanskrit. The theory I have heard explaining why they were not recorded in written form is that they were considered sacred, and writing them down would have made them vulnerable to accidental or intentional change. The oral tradition was more dependable in terms of preserving them with their original intent intact. So the “design intent” of Buddha's use of kind or loving speech was not the usual intent of language in general. It was intended to encourage others to apprehend the “Great Matter” of life-and-death in the most direct way, the only way, possible. Buddha recognized that there was no way of sharing his experience with others in the ordinary sense, so he resorted to parables and analogies, to allow his audience to see themselves in the pictures he painted, and to transcend ordinary understanding in words and phrases, or the pursuit of information, the usual application of language. The later codifying and organization of the original spoken teachings into the Tripitaka or “three baskets” was designed to allow teachers and students to study the voluminous canon in an orderly way, and to prioritize their approach to it in digestible bites. It was most likely understood that the existing literature of the time ‑ which had to be scarce, compared to today's glut of publications – was to be absorbed in concert with practicing the meditation that had led to Buddha's insight to begin with. As Master Dogen reminds: Now all ancestors and all buddhas who uphold buddha-dharma have made it the true path of enlightenment to sit upright practicing in the midst of self-fulfilling samadhiThose who attained enlightenment in India and China followed this wayIt was done so because teachers and disciples personally transmitted this excellent method as the essence of the teaching In the authentic tradition of our teaching it is said that this directly transmitted straightforward buddha- dharma is the unsurpassable of the unsurpassable The design intent of the teachings has been, from the very beginning, the direct transmission of the buddha-dharma, what Matsuoka-roshi referred to as “living Zen.” In the daily lives of monks and nuns, frequent repetition of chanting selected teachings enabled the monastics to deeply assimilate them. Master Dogen was known for connecting each and every regular daily routine with brief recitations, such as the Meal Verse, in order to bridge the gap between the sacred and the profane, the physical and the spiritual. Codification of the koan collections of Rinzai Zen ‑ some 1700 strong according to tradition, later organized into five sets by Hakuin Ekaku Zenji, the 18th Century Rinzai master ‑ represent design efforts to structure the lore and legacy of Zen's anecdotal history of exchanges between masters and students available in progressive levels of difficulty, enabling accessibility of the apparent dichotomies of Dharma. Soto Zen simplifies the approach even further by regarding zazen itself as representing the living koan, requiring nothing further to complement, or complicate, the process of insight. All the various models of buddha-dharma developed by the ancients qualify as efforts in information design ‑ visualizing images and what is called “pattern-thinking” ‑ that allow us to grasp the form of the Dharma beyond what mere words can convey. The Four Noble Truths comprise the first historical example of these descriptive models, including the prescriptive Noble Eightfold Path. Tozan's “Five Ranks” and Rinzai's “Host and Guest” come later, but have the same design intent – to help their students get beyond the limitation of the linear nature of language. My semantic models of the teachings, published in “The Razorblade of Zen,” represent more contemporary cases in point. Nowadays ‑ as testimonial evidence indicates, from one-on-one encounters in online and in-person dharma dialogs with modern students of the Way ‑ people are no longer studying buddha-dharma as they may have throughout history, when documents were rare. More often than not, they are reading more than one book at a time, in a nonlinear process I refer to as “cross-coupling”: simultaneously absorbing commentaries from one author or translator along with others; or perhaps comparing the teachings of more than one ancestor of Zen to those of a different ancestor. This may be an artifact or anomaly of the ubiquitous presence and availability of Zen material in print form, as well as the encyclopedic scope of online resources on offer today. It seems that in every category, and every language, we have at our fingertips a greater textual resource than ever conceivable in history, dwarfing the great libraries of legend. We can “google” virtually anything – no pun - with a few strokes of a keyboard. In addition, Artificial Intelligence threatens to bring together summaries and concoctions of content at the whim of any researcher; documents are readily searchable for those who wish to quantify uses of words and phrases at any point in history, teasing out trends and making judgments as to the hidden patterns in historical evolution of ideas. In this context it is difficult to ascertain the design intent of dharma as articulated today. It is not easy to discern the intent of the publish-or-perish, rush-into-print crowd, or to judge whether a given piece of contemporary writing is worth our effort and time to read. Fortunately, Zen offers a wormhole out of this literary catch-22. Zazen provides recourse to an even greater inventory of databases, built into our immediate sensorium. We can always return to upright sitting, facing the wall. This is where we will find the nonverbal answers we are seeking so feverishly, and somewhat futilely, in “words and letters” as Master Dogen reminds us in his seminal tract on meditation, Fukanzazengi: You should stop pursuing words and lettersand learn to withdraw and turn the light on yourselfwhen you do so your body and mind will naturally fall awayand your original buddha-nature will appear This stanza is sometimes interpreted as a slam on the nature of contemporaneous Rinzai practice predominant in the Japan of Dogen's time. But I think we should take a broader view of the great master's intent. He is merely cluing us in to the fact of the futility of pursuing literal, linear understanding of the Dharma in its manifestation as verbal expression. We are to turn our attention, instead, to the immediate and intimate presence of the self of body-and-mind ‑ beyond, or before, words can interfere. Here is where, and now is when, we will witness the full force of the design intent of the Dharma.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the next three segments of UnMInd we will take up the Three Jewels, Gems, or Treasures: Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha - the highest values of Buddhism - from the perspective of their design intent. Buddha practice - time on the cushion dedicated to recovering our original, awakened nature ‑ is the most important dimension in the Zen, or meditation schools. Dharma study – reviewing and contemplating the teachings transmitted by Shakyamuni and the ancestors down to the present day ‑ comes second in importance and emphasis, as an adjunct to meditation. While participation in and service to the Sangha ranks third in the tripartite hierarchy, all three legs of the stool are considered essential to leading a balanced life of Zen. It will be most appropriate to take them in reverse order, beginning with Sangha, or community, the one most fully integrated with the social dimension. The Refuge Verse, usually chanted on a daily basis, and translated variously, reads: I take refuge in Buddha I take refuge in Dharma I take refuge in SanghaI take refuge in Buddha the fully awakened OneI take refuge in Dharma the compassionate teachingsI take refuge in Sangha the harmonious communityI have completely taken refuge in BuddhaI have completely taken refuge in DharmaI have completely taken refuge in Sangha The act of taking refuge may be interpreted in a variety of ways; from the New Oxford American Dictionary: • a condition of being safe or sheltered from pursuit, danger, or trouble: he was forced to take refuge in the French embassy | I sought refuge in drink. • something providing shelter: the family came to be seen as a refuge from a harsh world. • an institution providing safe accommodations for women who have suffered violence from a spouse or partner. Its etymological origin is defined as: late Middle English: from Old French, from Latin refugium, from Latin re- ‘back' + fugere ‘flee'. Over the two-and-a-half millennia of the history of Buddhism, the communities of monks and/or nuns originating in India may indeed have comported with all of the above definitions at one time or another, with the possible exception of seeking refuge in drink, which may be more characteristic of lay practice. Certain modern Zen masters have been known for their fondness for sake and beer, as was Matsuoka roshi. The dictionary definitions share a decidedly fraught connotation of seeking “shelter from the storm,” to quote Master Dylan. But when we look at the role of the Zen community in the context of modern-day America, we can see that taking refuge in the sangha has less wary, socially positive functions as well – beginning with that of providing community, itself. True community is an increasingly rare commodity in today's mobile society, where we as householders may or may not know our neighbors; and if we do, we may not for long, as they, or we, may move several times in one lifetime. In ancient India, China and the Far East, people may have been more likely to stay put in their birthplace, unless they were driven to flee danger or trouble. Today, we have displaced persons approaching an estimated 110 million, the largest refugee population in history. When we analyze the design intent of western Zen communities, which manifest a mix of traditional protocols and adaptations to modernity, we have to take into account that the monastic model is no longer the predominant form, outnumbered as it is by the expanding cohort of lay householders. People of all walks of life are taking up the practice of Zen in their daily lives ‑ including participation in programs offered by Zen centers and temples in their neighborhoods, or within a reasonable commute ‑ returning to families and professional livelihoods, partaking of practice opportunities when and where they can fit them in. I call this “guerilla Zen”: we hit it and run; hit it and run; engaging more formal training with a simpatico group, while sustaining daily practice at home, at work, and at play. Everything is eventually subsumed under Zen. Churches and other associations share this paradoxical characteristic, caricatured by the “Sunday saints, Monday sinners” trope. Zen centers do not typically preach morality from the pulpit, but offer some degree of sanctuary in which members can retrench, to reenter the fray of daily life from a more balanced perspective and stance. This is reflected in the Sixteen Precepts of Zen, which we will not detail here, but include such social parameters as not killing, stealing or lying, not indulging in gossip, and so on.The key characteristic by which a Zen sangha is defined is captured in the expression, “harmonious community.” We all belong to, or partake in, various communities and subgroups in our personal, family, and professional lives, but not all of them would meet the high bar of harmony that is associated with a Zen community, or that of a church. We are expected to leave our lesser angels at the doorstep, and aspire to a higher level of behavior, particularly with regard to our fellow seekers of awakened awareness. Compared to other socially-determined groups, such as those found in retirement homes, extended care facilities, private clubs and gated communities, one difference is that a sangha welcomes all comers, however diverse in terms of age, gender, income, background and education, or other social factors by which groups tend to discriminate. “Birds of a feather” and all. Zen groups assume that members are like-minded in their pursuit of the Dharma, and it quickly becomes apparent when newcomers join a sangha for all the wrong reasons. Attendees joining Zen retreats or undertaking residential practice are analogized to stones tumbling in a stream, rubbing all the rough edges off, until we become smooth and polished – harmonious - in our interactions with others. Several dimensions of the Zen environment yield clues to its design intent, and where it may differ from other communities. These will vary from group to group, based on the history and traditions unique to each lineage, the legacy of its founders, and, of course, personalities. Generally, we are encouraged to overlook minor superficial differences in protocols and procedures, focusing on the underlying intent of propagating Buddha practice - meditation; and promulgating Dharma – study of the teachings; the two highest-ranking values in Zen. Let's look at a few characteristic behavioral forms and features to be found in multiple “practice places of buddha-tathagatas everywhere,” to borrow a phrase from Master Dogen: OBSERVING SILENCEAn emphasis on observing long periods of silence is unusual in most public gatherings, noting exceptions such as monastic assemblies devoted to vows of silence, or Quaker congregations. Restraining speech can feel awkward, even artificial; but in time it becomes a welcome source of respite and relief from the usual pressure to engage in small talk in most social and fellowship settings. In Zen, special attention is given to being mindful while others are meditating, taking heed to move quietly, as well as foregoing unnecessary speech. MAINTAINING SIMPLICITYVisual simplicity complements acoustical silence in the form of clutter control, straightforward layout and organization of the space and furnishings, and movement through it. The meditation hall, or zendo, is a particular focus of this principle, but it applies to all the shared public spaces of the facility. The catchphrase is “leave no traces” - which has personal meaning in terms of attachment and aversion - but is manifested in communal environs by putting things back where they belong, fluffing sitting cushions, straightening shoes on the shoe shelf, and so on. Emphasis is on reducing distraction that might intrude upon or interfere with the experience of others. CLEANINGPart of the process of achieving simplicity is the ritualization of temple cleaning, in Japanese, soji. Matsuoka-roshi would often say, “Cleaning is cleaning the mind.” The very act of decluttering the space relieves the mind of mental clutter. He would say “I like to keep it empty around here.” It is understood that “the dust itself is immaculate,” of course, that nothing is really “dirty” in any absolute sense. But attitudes and approaches “providing a space conducive to practice” – a unique definition of generosity, or dana, offered by a senior member of HH the Dalai Lama's inner circle, when giving a talk at ASZC some years ago – are meant to accommodate the relative level of perception, that “cleanliness is next to godliness,” as cited by St. Thomas Aquinas. TRAININGCleaning the environment is a specific activity within the larger category of Zen training in general. We train ourselves to serve the community through these various activities, while at the same time serving our own needs for simplicity, silence, and so on. We train in what has proved necessary to establish and maintain sustainable group practice in the public sphere. Aspects of how we approach this in the context of community may begin to bleed over into our personal lives at home and at work. We may find ourselves growing more attentive to our home or office environment, assuming more ownership and authorship over their functions, and their impact upon mindfulness on a daily basis. Training in Zen manifests this “halo effect,” a natural enhancement of Zen awareness. BOWING AND CHANTINGThe intent of Zen ritual may not be apparent at first blush, and so is widely subject to misinterpretation. It looks, on the surface, much like any other service one might observe, in Protestant or Catholic churches, as well as synagogues. Some are put off by the bowing and chanting, reading in such connotations as worship, public religiosity, and obsequiousness, which are all inappropriate projections. While the various formal protocols that have evolved around Zen practice have practical effects of cohering the community, their intent is largely personal. The Buddhist bow, for example, represents, on one hand, the person we are trying to improve; and on the other, the ideal person we want to emulate, our original buddha-nature. But the palm-to-palm hand position, or mudra in Sanskrit ‑ called gassho in Japanese ‑ symbolizes that just as our two hands are part of the same body, these apparently opposing selves are also just one, or “not-two” as the Ch'an poem “Trust in Mind” reminds us. With repetition, the bow eventually becomes empty of inappropriate connotations. Like emptying a teacup, so that it can be refilled with deeper meaning. Matsuoka-roshi would often remind us to “Chant with the ears, not with the mouth,” and that the concrete chanting, itself, is the true meaning of the chant. In other words, listen deeply to the chant, which is a Dharma teaching - not a prayer or worship - so that the act of chanting in a group becomes deeply meaningful on a personal level. In professional design circles, these seemingly innocuous, everyday conventions of maintaining order in space, and harmonious dynamics in time, cannot be overlooked. They are, indeed, regarded as essential deliverables in retail and other commercial environments, where the adverse effects of clutter and noise can be measured in financial terms as loss of business and customer base. The influence of environmental factors may be less obvious in the personal realm. But in the world of Zen, they can provide powerful aids to finding and sustaining harmony with the Great Way, from Zen's roots in Taoism. For further pursuit of the symbolism and design intent of the Zen space and protocols, I refer you to Matsuoka-roshi's early collected talks, “The Kyosaku,” where you will find a chapter on the various elements to be found in most zendos. Meanwhile, remember Master Dogen's admonition in “Jijuyu Zammai – Self-fulfilling Samadhi”: Without engaging in incense offering, chanting Buddha's name, repentance or reading scripture, you should just wholeheartedly sit and thus drop off body and mind. Sangha, community service, is important, but only to the extent that it provides the conducive environment for Buddha practice and Dharma study. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In this segment, as promised, we will return to the seemingly zero-sum game being played out in the political arena, under the rubric of “Election Year Zen,” episode #3. As I pointed out in closing the second segment: This, too – “politics” is the Dharma. While the course of action that Buddha and the Ancestors of Zen undertook, within the constraints of their cultural context, may not have had obvious political motivations, the very act of establishing and maintaining Zen practice whether in the form of intentional communities such as a monastery, or less ambitiously, a neighborhood temple or even a hermitage the effect of doing so upon the local society, and by extension upon the powers-that-be of the era, must have had undeniable political ramifications. Variations on this theme are recorded throughout the history of Zen.In our life and times, as of the last UnMind posting we had just passed Super Tuesday in this year's campaign cycle, and now have witnessed the POTUS deliver the annual State of the Union (SOTU) address. Which has, willy-nilly, evolved into a “state-of-the-campaign” address, over the last several 4-year election cycles, as just another blip on the screen of the endless, unremitting campaign, earning its own alphabet-soup acronym S-O-T-U – abbreviation. But before we get into the implications for Zen and its relevance to our lives, let me restate a caveat that not only bears repetition, but apparently, and unfortunately, requires it. That is, that Zen, or Buddhism, is not intrinsically political. Or, as is usually stated, it is apolitical. As I characterize it, using my favorite prefix, Zen is un-political.Nonetheless, I am painfully aware that any message about politics, however well-intentioned, is in danger of being interpreted as political, even partisan, in nature. This is a modern catch-22 that has less to do with content than it has to do with context, owing to the highly partisan cultural and ideological divide that has infected the populace with a social and mental virus more virulent than COVID 19. I had forgotten that the virus had made its debut on my birthday, until I came across this reminder in the news feed:How quickly we forget. I would say “how quickly they forget,” but that would lend to the “us and them” divisiveness plaguing us today. It is just that kneejerk a reaction. I didn't read the promised “update on where things stand,” but we can assume that it claims some upsides, such as that the virus seems to have been relatively tamed, at long last. But one downside is that the political picture has, if anything, gotten worse. Both sides of the chasm that is the partisan campaign seem to be bullish on their chances, but could not be more different in their platforms, or lack thereof. Whichever team you are pulling for, you may be reading, or dreading or reading into the content of this segment, to conform to your political perspective. I ask you to take a moment to evaluate whether or not that is so. It is a subtle, subliminal, and insidious phenomenon. A curse.I sometimes wonder if my birth date is also more of a curse than a blessing. The tsunami and meltdown at Fukushima also occurred on March 11, earlier in 2011. If my birth is a kind of curse, it calls into question all of the Panglossian views of this existence as the best of all possible worlds. Maybe this is, in actuality, “Earth 2.” In the penultimate stanza of the Metta Sutta or “Loving Kindness Sutra” it says:Standing or walking; sitting or lying down; during all one's waking hourslet one cherish the thought that this way of living is the best in the worldEven this most benign paean to hope: “May all beings be happy”; would most likely be twisted to conform to a one-sided view of reality, if it became just another bumper-sticker in today's cavalier campaign.Moving right along: POTUS kicked off the SOTU with a reference to 1941, the year of my birth, citing FDR's New Deal, which, incidentally, kicked off the alphabet-soup metaphor for the multivarious departments Roosevelt created – the FBI, the CIA, and so on and on and on. He also mentioned Harry Truman, claiming the mantle of both past presidents, while highlighting the current threat to the very institutions of government, and the emphasis on defending democracy, that they and Ronald Reagan, the other party's past leading man, ostensibly championed. Which brings us to another point about nonpolitical outcomes of purportedly political decisions: the WWII bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan. Which, for those of us who have inherited the legacy and lineage of Zen from our Japanese predecessors, constitutes a koan of truly agonizing proportions. Just as we cannot condone the “collateral damage” inflicted upon innocent civilians and children in the case of Russia and Israel relentlessly bombing Ukraine and Gaza, respectively; we cannot justify the nuclear hell released upon the citizens of Japan by the self-same POTUS “Give-‘em-hell-Harry” that we admire for the accomplishments of his administration. We all share that karma. The atrocity was committed “in our name.” I was about five years old.Mass bombing of civilians is mass murder. It cannot be rationalized as an act of politics, but represents the collapse, the total bankruptcy, of the international political system. Resorting to brute force in conflicts that our so-called political leaders fail to settle politically means they should be relieved of duty. They are incompetent. This does not ignore the necessity of military defense, in proportional response to military aggression. But it does suggest that the tactics of nonviolent diplomacy need to arise earlier in the process of negotiating conflict, whether on an international, local, or personal scale. Buddhism's doctrine of the myth of self seems the place to start, in positing a Buddhist take on these destructive horror shows. And why the impulse to understand the “other,” and arrive at a mutually beneficial solution, does not arise earlier in the process, if ever.The recent repurposing of the American military forces to deliver much-needed humanitarian aid to Gaza may constitute a silver lining in the otherwise gloomy forecast. Let's engage in a common design-thinking exercise, the “What if?” scenario. What if the overwhelming power of the military could be used as a non-partisan policing function, forcing a cease-fire before the conflict reaches a set limit of civilian casualties, say 5,000? What if humanitarian aid stood ready-to-go near the hot spots of the world, inserted into the area early on, before the match lit the tinderbox? To those who would argue that the expense would be unbearable, I simply point to the much more massive cost of the bombing itself, not to mention the daunting scale and scope of the cleanup and rebuilding of the aftermath, which, of course, profits certain interest groups immensely. We have a saying in design circles, that there is never enough time and money to do it right the first time, but there is always time and money to do it over. What if we could flip that formula, on a global basis. The alternative seems to be “Earth 2.” Some seem resigned to its ultimate triumph over reason and compassion, called “Armageddon”; others seem fully devoted to making sure that the apocalypse comes to pass, fulfilling their favorite prophecy. Proving them, finally, “right.”It would be the ultimate irony, would it not, if the end of civilization, and the extinction of the human species, comes about not of necessity but from a failure of will, fueled by misinformation? That a small percentage of the population with their fingers on the buttons not only do nothing to prevent the final catastrophe, but actually help to bring it about, based on their religious beliefs? Which then turn out to be wrong! No rapture, no kingdom of God on earth ruled by a savior. Just the rubble of what was once a great potentiality, laid waste by ignorance. Not a dystopian future, but no future at all. The greatest category mistake and unintended consequence in history, accidentally bringing human history to an end. What if this planet of ours turns out to be Earth 2, after all? This is your, and my, karmic koan-du-jour. Answer quickly, or receive thirty blows of my stick! In the next series of segments, we will return to more prosaic, everyday explorations of Zen and design thinking, while keeping an eye on the ongoing campaign. In May, we will take another look at the developments to date, with a somewhat jaundiced eye to their relationship to the compassionate teachings. Meanwhile, study your ideology thoroughly in practice. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Monday, March 11, was my birthday, as I mentioned in the last segment of UnMind. Wednesday, March 27th, happens to be my late brother's birthday. So in his honor, let us continue exploring the theme of Time — its seeming passage and constant presence. He was a professional jazz pianist and teacher of music, and so was fully immersed in time. Once upon a time, while discussing time signatures in music, such as four-four time, three-four time — the familiar waltz tempo — and so on, he leaned toward me, a mischievous smile on his face, saying that, “You know, there is also ‘one-one' time” – counting off with his forefinger: “One-one-one-one.” He and I had many such dialogs at the intersection of music theory and Zen thinking. He has since passed on, sitting in with that great jazz combo in the sky. I bet he draws a crowd. (Some of the material in what follows originally appeared as my Dharma Byte of the month, titled “Swords into Plowshares,” in 2020, when the pandemic was in full swing.) In that message, and at that time, I made the point that privileging the survival of the oldest is not Nature's way; it is usually the survival of the fittest. It is not natural to put younger members of the species at unreasonable risk, in order to protect the older members. This goes against the natural order, as we witness in survival strategies of wildlife, as well as in social structures of the earliest human tribes. The survival of the species dictates age-related triage, in favor of those most likely to survive, to live longer, and to reproduce. Exceptions always arise to prove the rule; Nature is not simple. Yet humans reverse this natural logic, in wartime as in the example of the military draft, as well as in recruiting methods for police officers and firefighters. People in their late teens and early twenties often enter into dangerous occupations, in service to the larger community. Those who study such things tell us that neurological networks, including the brain, are not yet fully formed at that age, recognition and fear of mortality typically arising about the mid-twenties, when the brain finishes wiring, as we say. We were doing it again in the face of the pandemic, sending younger first responders into the fray, while protecting elderly and senior members by isolating and quarantining them. I have reported on my own encounter with COVID 19, which dragged out for the better part of a year, beginning with a three-month up-and-down sickbed recuperation from congestion and other flu-like symptoms, followed by slow recovery of lost strength, flexibility, balance, energy, and the kind of “brain fog” associated with “long covid,” the lingering effects on the nervous system. As part of that recovery, I developed an aggressive approach to the sitting posture and its relationship to the breathing process of Zen meditation, as well as to walking meditation, with its focus on physical balance. At about the time I began returning to morning meditation sessions, the new era of private billionaire space exploration was heating up, with more frequent launches than ever seen in the history of NASA. Perhaps this was a subliminal prompt to my beginning to count my breaths down to zero, in contrast to the usual counting up from one to four or more, and avoid counting beyond ten, as are common recommendations in Zen. With an initial, deep inhalation, I would hold the breath for a count of eight or so, while doing a full-body crunch, tensing the core muscle groups, as well as my newly stiffened legs, and weakened arms and shoulders. With the exhalation, I would intone “nine,” then “eight” for the next cycle, and so on, down to “one,” and finally, “zero.” After repeating this pattern for a half-dozen times or so, I would settle more quickly and deeply into the period, while the counting and muscular effort naturally subsided. A curious thing began to happen each time I would reach zero in the count. By then, my breath would have slowed to five or so cycles per minute, and I could feel my heartbeat. So I found myself counting my heartbeat, instead of my breath. Or rather, noticing how many heartbeats accompanied each cycle of breath. The heartbeat is clearly the metronome of our instrument, the body. And number, or counting, is clearly fundamental to our worldview, intrinsic to all design thinking and measurement, and basic to Zen's nondualism: “leaping aside from the one and the many,” as Master Dogen reminds us. As my breath slowed to a lower, slower tempo, my pulse also slowed, synchronizing with the breath. This resulted in a profound degree of stillness in both posture and breath, as well as fixed gaze, affecting my overall sphere of attention, reminding me of Matsuoka-roshi's comment that the “real zazen” is manifested when the posture, breath and attention all come together in a “unified way.” And that it feels as if you are “pushing the crown of your head against the ceiling” — “mountain-still” stability. I began to feel that unification viscerally, encompassing the apparent “outside” and “inside” dimensions of awareness. Familiar, but more intense than ever before. I call this “returning to zero.” There are many phrases in the lexicon of Zen that seem to be pointing to this same kind of experiential phenomenon, such as Master Dogen's “backward step”; the ancient phrase “Shi-kan” meaning something like “stopping and seeing”; the “shamatha-vippasana” pairing of insight meditation; et cetera. The process of letting go — primarily of our own preconceptions, interpretations, and opinions of direct, sensory experience; and by extension, of our concepts and constructions of the world, trying to explain this reality to ourselves — seems inherent in all major systems of cultivating realization. That the method is so quintessentially physical, is what is striking about the Zen approach to just sitting still enough, straight enough, for long enough. The idea, or concept, of “zero” has philosophical and psychological implications as well. The common trope of the “zero-sum game” is a case in point. The definition online: A zero-sum game is one in which no wealth is created or destroyed. So, in a two-player zero-sum game, whatever one player wins, the other loses. Therefore, the players share no common interests. There are two general types of zero-sum games: those with perfect information and those without. This amounts to another version of the meme: that if there are winners, there must be losers, so there can be no actual win-win. This ignorant assumption unfortunately informs much of what passes for political discourse, and socially conservative ideology.I refer you to the lectures of R. Buckminster Fuller for a fuller exposition of the limitations of the view that there is not enough to go around, and the survival of the fittest means that we must, above all, ensure that we get ours, to hell with the losers. Such innovations as the guaranteed minimum income are beginning to crack the facade of this fundamental error. The last line, concerning the dual nature of the zero-sum game being dependent upon “perfect information,” may provide a clue as to how the notion of winning and losing connects — or doesn't — to the personal practice-experience of Zen. Beyond a direct “return to zero” — the personal dimension of awareness on the cushion — there is a returning to zero on the social level, as well as within the natural and universal spheres. In his rephrase of a Ch'an poem, Zazenshin, meaning something like “lancet” or “needle” of zazen, Master Dogen wraps up the penultimate stanza with: The intimacy without defilement is dropping off without relying on anything.
The verification beyond distinction between Absolute and Relative is making effort without aiming at it. This experience of “intimacy without defilement” is the zero sum point of zazen: nothing to be gained and nothing lost; nothing excluded and nothing extraneous, nothing to share with others – it is too intimate, too close in time and space. The fact that at this point we cannot rely on anything, is another aspect of Zen's “zero” sum. We sit “without relying on anything” as Master Dogen reminds us, including all the tricks and trinkets we have painstakingly assembled in our toolkit. Our toolkit is exhausted, the tools we usually rely on, relatively or absolutely useless. “Absolute and Relative” constitute one of the last resorts of dualistic thinking; the fundamental bifurcation of “truth” in Buddhism is usually stated as absolute truth versus relative truth. So this “verification” must be of a different order altogether, one that is immeasurable. So far beyond any measurement, is this realization — though there is continuing effort, it is no longer aiming at anything. This means that there is ultimately nothing of significance to gain or lose in relationships in the social sphere, nor do we have to distort our relationship to biology, our connection to the resources of Natural ecology. In terms of resolving the Great Matter of life and death, we can embrace the inevitability of aging, sickness and death as the central koan — one that comes bundled with birth — the illogical riddle of existence itself. We no longer have to rely on life, itself. Here and now, we arrive at the final zero-sum game. Whether or not we believe in an eternal soul, and its resurrection, as do modern Christians; or in reincarnation, as did the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Hindus; or rebirth as taught by Buddha, as a corrective to reincarnation; we finally come to face our mortality close-up and personal. It is natural, and universal, whatever its interpretation by the social milieu in which we find ourselves. According to an old Zen metaphor, the only “mate” who will accompany us to the grave, is our deeds. Whatever wealth, honor, power, or powers of reasoning we may have accumulated in managing and manipulating the vagaries of fate and vicissitudes of fortune encountered in life, they serve us little in the face of death. Try as we might to think our way to enlightenment, or to reason ourselves into insight, we find ourselves failing again and again. Finally, we must surrender to the chaos of not knowing, and abandon our reliance on reason itself — spawn of philosophy and that other kind of Enlightenment, the triumph of reasoning over belief. Instead, we find verification of our Zen practice in “making effort without aiming at it.” Needless to say, this is a very uncomfortable place to find oneself, at a pass that is not really negotiable, in any ordinary sense. Paraphrasing Seikan Hasegawa, a Rinzai master, from The Cave of Poison Grass, he reminds us that putting off confrontation with this particular koan of aging, until we find ourselves on the death-bed, is futile: “like eating soup with a fork.” We need to confront this koan when we are young and vigorous — “Stamp life and death on your forehead, never letting it out of your mind” — another Zen pearl of wisdom long lost to attribution. Life takes its meaning in the context of death. If you find that too morbid, just imagine what life would be like if we did not die: Its meaning would be entirely different, and not entirely positive. When the grim reaper arrives, we may want to embrace her relentless, unforgiving and unsympathetic scythe, as being no different from the sword of Manjusri, cutting through our final delusion. Preferable to die on the cushion, of course. As Kosho Uchiyama reminds us, our whole world is born, and dies, with us. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” In contemplating our inevitable demise as a loss of something, we have to remember that it amounts to returning to where we came from, a kind of null hypothesis that the effect we are dreading is not measurable, or sums to zero: In scientific research, the null hypothesis is the claim that the effect being studied does not exist. Note that the term "effect" here is not meant to imply a causative relationship. That last caveat calls to mind the famous Zen koan concerning Baizhang, or Hyakujo, and the fox. The point goes to the question of whether or not an enlightened person would be subject to, or free from, the law of causality. The ancient master responds: “Free from,” and is condemned to be reborn as a fox for five hundred (fox) lifetimes. Baizhang kindly corrects his confusion with something like: “One with causality” or “We do notignore causality,” which liberates the old man. If we fear death — or, conversely, seek it out; fearing life, instead — we have made an assumption that we know what life is, but do not know what death is; or, conversely, that we prefer death over life; or vice-versa. Either side of this formula ignores the fact that the overall equation inevitably sums to zero. I came across a pamphlet titled “The 11th Hour,” in my brother's hospice care clinic, wherein its Christian, female author clarified: Birth is the death of whatever precedes it; death is the birth of whatever follows” — refreshingly without bothering to define the “whatever.” In the next segment — speaking of zero-sum games — we will return to pick up the monthly thread of “Election Year Zen,” now that we have surpassed Super Tuesday, in this year's endless campaign cycle. This, too, is the Dharma.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

BRINGING ORDER OUT OF CHAOSIt might be said that the function of the discriminating mind (S. citta), in the most general sense, is to render what is perceived as chaos into what may be perceived as order. Of course, this is not an original idea, and has an associated idea that chaos, as we perceive it, may be thought of as a higher level of order, one that is not accessible to our perception. This idea resonates in both the world of Zen and that of art and design thinking. One would have to speak of a relative degree of order versus a notion of absolute order. However chaotic reality may appear, it is following physical laws that suggest an underlying order that is simply not a respecter of persons, or of the sensibilities of humans. We must come into compliance with reality, rather than expect reality to conform to our expectations or preferences. This, I think, is the fundamental basis of the concept of the “Way” in Taoism, and an underpinning of Zen as it developed in China. However, the Way in Buddhism, as I understand it, is not a hypothesis or theory of objectified reality outside the observer, but exists only in complementary balance with the person. Our observation of perceived order also exhibits relative degrees, or a spectrum from one extreme to another. For example, our house may be a mess inside, but look orderly on the outside, unless we get evicted and our possessions are dumped on the street. If you peer into parked cars on any city street, they will tell you a story about the person who drives them, or lives in them. Some definitely have that lived-in look, while others are pristine, even sterile-seeming, as are some homes. If you have ever seen the French movie, “Mon Oncle,” or “my uncle.” you may remember its satirical take on the super-white, stainless steel interior, and the housewife's gloved approach to maintaining its spotless state. My best friend in high school lived in a home where the floors of the living rooms were covered with shag carpet, which was newly popular in the 1950s, but theirs was brilliant white. We had to remove our shoes to enter the house, which was peculiar to me at the time, but later became second nature after being exposed to the Japanese culture, beginning with the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago, in the 1960s. Sensei had us stand at the door with a basket of clean socks to hand to the barefoot hippies coming in off of Halsted Street. In his eyes, they must have appeared as complete barbarians. If you are in someone's home as a guest, you might take a peek in the medicine cabinet. There you will see an indication of the sense of order of your host's mind. (I have never done this, of course; it is very rude.) What is on the shelves, and where, and whether the medicines are outdated, may paint a portrait of how obsessive-compulsive — or happy-go-lucky — your friends may be. Bear in mind that for a couple living together, these issues become instantly, and infinitely, more complicated. Who does what and when, and who is responsible for the resulting mess, becomes entangled in the relationship. Master Dogen, who transplanted what is now called Soto Zen to 13th century Japan from his sojourn in China, used the word katto to identify entanglements, using the analogy of twining vines, like wisteria. This applies not just to the tyranny of possessions and environments, but to the subtle entanglements of relationships themselves. Other examples of refined order, from the human perspective, include such storage-and-retrieval systems as fishing tackle totes and sewing boxes, where the necessity for “a place for everything and everything in its place” determines the efficiency and effectiveness of the endeavor of actually fishing or sewing. I inherited an antique sewing box, with its many spools of colored threads and implements of sewing wonderfully arranged in stunning order, formerly in the control of a friend's grandmother. Somehow my son and daughter, under 5 years old at the time, got into it and turned order into chaos, probably in about 5 minutes, when the array of organization had likely developed over five years or more of grandma's life. There was no way I could put it back in order. Workshops are another example, where attention to the organization and design of the environment can begin to overwhelm the prospect of actually getting anything done. The project of organizing the process can distract our attention from doing the project itself. In the course of organizing my various studio and shop environments over time, I have developed what I call the “Island of Sanity” approach. It took me 50 years or so to learn that table tops are not for storage. I strive to keep the tables clear of any clutter, including tools, even during the process of working. “Clear the decks” is the trope. The “work,” the piece under construction, or a painting, is the only item that is allowed to occupy the table top. I have found that laying tools on the table means that when I need to move the work, the tools often get in the way. So I keep a side table as home for the tools. On the tool table, I keep the various tools in play in a neat array, rather than mindlessly piling them on top of each other. In the hurly-burly of executing a project, the tool table often becomes disorderly. I occasionally reorganize it quickly, so that the tools are side-by-side in a scannable row, not overlapping. This way I can quickly recognize and seize the particular tool I need when I need it. Others have refined these approaches. Allowing a relative degree of perceived chaos in the work environment seems to be a necessary evil. Otherwise, we may be driven to distraction by trying to improve the process, and never finishing the project. What is sometimes called “completion anxiety” may set in. As long as we are working on a project, but have not brought it to conclusion, it can remain forever perfect in our mind's eye. When it is finished, it is just what it is, warts and all: imperfect. Everything is somewhat imperfect; or at best, relatively perfect. In my case, maintaining islands of sanity creates the proper balance for getting things done, with minimal stress on the mind and body. What the particular balance amounts to, and what works best for the individual, seems to be a personal trait. Some people can work efficiently in a virtual pile of clutter; others are highly dependent on a visually uncluttered workspace. Einstein's office — which is preserved intact even today, as a memorial, just as he left it — is said to be an exceptional example of “meaningful clutter.” Whether yours is meaningful, or not, is up to you to determine. Clutter control is a recognized discipline, a known issue in interior design of environments, whether working or living spaces, public or private. The “rising tide of clutter” can overwhelm any space. Just tune into one of the current spate of television shows on hoarding, to see some of the worst-case scenarios. Contrast becomes important in being able to see the shape of a tool, to state another obvious point. Vertical walls for storing tools often consist of white pegboard for this reason. I have learned that I lose my eyeglasses less often if I remember not to place them on a dark surface, into which the dark frames blend and disappear. The inverse is true when retrieving a light-colored object. Dark backgrounds are called for. Along with many of my contemporaries, In the 1960s I experimented with so-called psychedelic or psychotropic drugs. One memorable experience found me sitting in my basement shop, trying in vain to sort various items of hardware into appropriate category designations for storage and retrieval. All items share many characteristics in common with others, and it actually was not clear which were the priorities. For example, many fasteners (of which there are many kinds) may be made of metal, and so “go together,” but are designed to fasten many different materials, such as wood, as opposed to metal. In the case of fasteners, we end up with so many leftover screws, nuts and bolts, et cetera, from our projects, that it becomes a more-and-more time-consuming process just to keep what you may never use in some kind of order. I have seen everything from homemade systems utilizing salvaged glass jars, lids attached to the underside of shelves, allowing the jar to be unscrewed with one hand; to endless aisles suffering from over-choice, and designed systems for storing virtually endless categories, sizes and types of fasteners, in hardware and big-box stores. The world is really too much with us, in these categories. An example from retail, that might not be obvious to the customer, but is well known to the insiders, entails the arrays of shoes at your local shoe store. The stock is usually stored in back, where the various sizes of a given style can be efficiently stacked and retrieved in labeled shoe boxes. The storefront, by contrast, displays all the shoes in their best light, putting our best foot forward, literally. Usually the smaller sizes are displayed, not only because they take less room, but because they are usually more aesthetically pleasing than bigger sizes of the same style and color, vestiges of ancient foot-binding in the East. A little-known fact is that the array has the appearance of more styles and colors than are actually in stock, because the merchandisers display them by style, by color and other attributes: the same shoe will appear in two or more displays throughout the store. As a boy, I used to wonder why my father had so many pairs of shoes in his closet, when I had only one or two. Now I have more shoes than he did, accumulated over time, because the size of my feet stopped changing, and I found different needs, or lack of need, for different types and styles of footwear. Imelda Marcus is the poster girl for this category of disorder, with her 3,000 pairs of shoes. Produce in a grocery store is another example. People generally like to pick over produce, selecting the best ones, leaving the fruits or vegetables that are less appealing in looks, apparent freshness, et cetera. For this reason, pre-packaged produce is a harder sell. This is why we see monstrous stacks of open produce in brightly-lighted bins, in most modern food supermarkets. Which, by the way, are destabilized when 10% are removed. To see, a bit more clearly, how fundamental the process of sorting is to the basic function of perceived order — including storing and retrieving things — try to imagine a contrarian approach, such as displaying books by color, say, or clothing grouped by fabric, rather than size or style. I have witnessed the tendency to over-organize — or organize by inappropriate groupings — in my own efforts to achieve order, in striving to make sense of my environment. One example is that I tend to group and store like things together, such as putting any and all writing pens in the same place. Or I may do the same with my collection of eyeglasses, which has accumulated over time through misplacing, replacing, and rediscovering spectacles. Problem is, I need a writing pen at different places at different times, yet I do not want to have endless writing pens scattered all over the place. I know people who collect fine writing pens, and wonder if it amounts to a compulsion, or a stubborn resistance to the decline of handwriting, in favor of the word processor — with which, incidentally, I am writing this essay, from handwritten notes scrabbled on various sheets of notebook paper, noted when I was away from my desktop. We tend to blame linear thinking as the main culprit behind chaos, and all of this need for — and inability to find, or sustain — order. When we begin to consider that everything we regard as belonging to one category actually belongs to many others — perhaps an infinity of categories, if we parse it finely enough — a kind of insanity or cognitive dissonance, a lack of mental order — begins to come into play. This is, in Zen, or Taoism, the point at which we begin to “confront the mystery,” from the Tao te Ching: Caught by desire, we see only the manifestations;Free from desire, we confront the Mystery. “The one and the many” are indeed like the yen and yang of our discriminating mind. That phenomena and noumenon exist in complementary embrace, or the endless dance of becoming, is not immediately evident, when we are just trying to get through the day. This is why, and how, it becomes important to take a break, and to sit on it for a while. Hopefully, when we stop striving, the immanent order of emptiness underlying the alienating appearance of form will become manifest. But as Master Dogen mentions in Genjokoan, don't look for it to appear in your perception: Do not suppose that what you realize becomes your knowledge, or is grasped by your consciousness; although actualized immediately, the inconceivable may not be apparent. The inconceivable may appear as chaos; the underlying order may not be apparent. Chaos may be embraced as a higher form of order, or an elevated degree of complexity, in which any discernible pattern is elusive; while perceived patterns of order may be similarly interpreted as artificially lower levels of chaos, or higher degrees of superficial simplicity. Upon closer examination, perceived simplicity devolves into the complexity of chaos, e.g. on the subatomic or quantum level; whereas chaotic complexity gives way to serene simplicity. “All things are like this,” to borrow another vintage Dogen-ism; the vacillation is built-in, from duality to nonduality and back. Enjoy the ride.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Monday, March 11, 2024 is my 83rd birthday, and coincidentally the deadline for this segment of UnMind, in order to drop on Wednesday the 13th. I did an exercise in visualizing my personal timeline this last year, and will share it with you in this installment. You will have to visit the website to see the illustrations (link), but for now, as we say in professional design circles — when a design board presentation got lost in checked baggage — “Picture this, guys!” Been there, done that.I began by laying out my life in decades, starting in 1940 when I was conceived around July, born 9 months later in 1941, and — incidentally, not coincidentally — the year that Matsuoka-roshi arrived in America. Picture a spreadsheet 10 columns across, headed 1940,1950,1960,etc. up to 2030; by 6 rows down, with categories: Geographical, Societal, Marital/Familial, Educational, Formal Zen, and Professional. You get the idea. Then fill in the blanks with locations like Centralia, IL (my home town), Chicago (where I did my advanced schooling), Atlanta, GA (my adopted home town), Europe and Japan, traveling on design and Zen business — my lifetime “ecological sweepout,” as Bucky Fuller calls it. Big events like WWII, Korea and Vietnam; the end of the Cold War; Covid, etc.; and lesser ones such as “Born 3/11/41,” 1st & 2nd Marriages, Father & Mother dying; BS & MS degrees, etc., populate the cells. Plus Zen turning points such as meeting Matsuoka-roshi, Lay Ordination, ASZC & STO Incorporation, publish date of my first major book, “The Original Frontier”; and finally, career benchmarks such as teaching at U of I & the School of the Art Institute, various corporate ventures, and my current art dealer, Kai Lin Art Gallery, complete the exercise to date. I recommend you try something similar, to get an overview of your life. By the way, that expression, “conceived,” is interesting from a professional design perspective. We have what we call “concept design,” the initial stage of ideation, wherein few to none of the details of a design solution to a problem have been worked out. The spit-balling, brainstorming phase. Which seems to apply pretty aptly to that embryo in the womb — an inchoate mass of tissue that will, some nine months hence, come popping out into the world — if not “fully-formed,” as Buddha, in his miraculous birth, was said to have been. Not only that, but he immediately took seven steps in each of the cardinal directions; and, pointing one forefinger to the heavens above, the other to the earth below, declared: “Above the heavens and below the heavens, I alone am the most honored one!” If, indeed, this story is true, then, indeed, he would have had to have been. Or at least one of the most highly-honored ones.But of course, we take this tale with a huge grain of salt, perhaps even a saltlick block, like we used to put out in the pasture for our horses, on the farm where I grew up. My only claim to fame regarding an unusual birth came to light when my mother later confessed that she had tried to abort me by jumping off the back porch, which was what passed for birth control in those days, today referred to as “reproductive health.” Mom and dad already had “a boy for you and a girl for me,” in the persons of my older brother and sister — one darkly handsome, the other blond and beautiful, respectively — and the budget from the newspaper route they ran was already strained. I got my revenge by being born with an enormous head, which, because I was upside-down in the womb, I attribute to all that jumping. For some reason, my life seems to have morphed through the various “times-of-life” cycles — used to sort demographics in social research — in near synchronicity with the decades, as measured by an admittedly arbitrary calendar, called the Gregorian, which, according to the wizards of Wikipedia: The Gregorian calendar is the calendar used in most parts of the world. It went into effect in October 1582 following the papal bull Inter gravissimas issued by Pope Gregory XIII, which introduced it as a modification of, and replacement for, the Julian calendar. The principal change was to space leap years differently so as to make the average calendar year 365.2425 days long, more closely approximating the 365.2422-day 'tropical' or 'solar' year that is determined by the Earth's revolution around the Sun. Glad we got that cleared up. Now, we can see clearly the absolute degree of arbitrariness inherent in our concept of measured time. We can't even measure the time of day, the calendar year, or the planet's revolution around the sun, without resorting to infinitely endless decimal places. So much better than that antiquated Julian thing, though. And, “close enough for jazz,” to most intents and purposes.As you can see by looking at the first chart, my geographical sweepout was rather limited to my home state of Illinois in my 20s, other than a couple of junkets to California, until I moved to Atlanta in my 30s, then finally went abroad on business in my 40s, and to the Far East in my 50s, on behalf of Zen. My family did not have the kind of resources that would have financed a “grand tour” of Europe in my formative years. This charting of your life on a single sheet of paper turns out to be an exercise in humility, when you realize how little you have done, and how brief your lifespan really is. We will return to this subject in the context of the “lifespan chapter” of the Lotus Sutra. In the second spreadsheet, I extend the timescale to 80-year spans — extending back to 1460, and forward through 1540, 1620, 1700, etc., and finally my own era of 1940 through 2020 — shrinking my personal timeline down to two columns out of ten, roughly 20% of the larger span of five centuries or so. Visualizing only one row, encompassing the societal level, a distinct pattern emerges: major events, especially in the USA, seem to happen in 80-year cycles, going back to the Revolutionary War and Civil War and including World War II, which was just heating up when I came on the scene. Sure enough, when I Googled it, I found that this pattern of 80-year cycles is a known phenomenon, sometimes referred to as the “Strauss-Howe” theory, derived from critical events in the history of America, as well as the rest of the globe. The Strauss-Howe generation theory describes a recurrent cycle of same-aged groups with specific behavior patterns that change every 20 years. According to this theory, an 80-year cycle is crucial, when every four generations is associated to a crisis that impacts the ongoing social order and creates a new one. A startling personal finding popped out like a sore thumb: at 80 years old, I was 1/3 the age of my native country, the good old USA. A person 80 years old at my birth would have been born around 1860, the Civil War; one 80 years old at that time would have been born around 1780, the time of the Revolution. The reference to Armageddon in the final column, finally coming to pass within 80 years from now, is only partially, and hopefully, tongue-in-cheek. Expanding the timescale even further, the third spreadsheet encompasses twenty-five centuries since the advent of Buddha in 500 BCE, to the current 2000's, again shrinking my personal tenure to a vanishingly small portion, less than ten percent of the total, if I live to be 100. Which is unlikely. Although, as Matsuoka-roshi would often say, “Zen keeps the men younger, and the women more beautiful.” I can't really explain my relatively good health and wellbeing in any other way. To close this segment, let us consider some of the statements attributed to Buddha at the end of his life, in the Lifespan Chapter of the Lotus Sutra, ostensibly uttered as he was about to enter Pari Nirvana: To the deluded and unenlightened I say that I have entered nirvana although in fact I am really here.For the sake of these sentient beings I teach that the lifespan of the Buddha is immeasurable.The light of my wisdom illuminates immeasurably and my lifespan is of innumerable kalpas. This has been achieved through long practice.You wise ones do not give in to doubt! Banish all doubt forever! The Buddha's words are true never false. Here, we find one of the most controversial of all claims in Buddhism, which begs credulity — similar to the resurrection of Jesus — along with that of his virgin birth. Even the idea of Pari Nirvana smacks of “woo-woo,” given our skeptical scientific setting: In Buddhism, parinirvana is commonly used to refer to nirvana-after-death, which occurs upon the death of someone who has attained nirvana during their lifetime. It implies a release from Saṃsāra, karma and rebirth as well as the dissolution of the skandhas. Bows to our fellow travelers at Wikipedia, once again. But while we can readily embrace the dissolution of the skandhas — or aggregated form, sensation, perception, intention and consciousness, upon the onset of death, it seems mere speculation that anyone might find total release from the ocean of Samsara, the cycles of karmic consequence and rebirth, that Buddhism teaches as theories of the laws governing sentient existence. But Buddha seems to be pointing at something else, a kind of permanent existence that is not limited to the form of our present, impermanent body-mind. Like the timeworn analogy of the ocean and the waves, the eternal lifespan of Buddha implies that whatever is here has always been here, and will always be here, if in different form. A wave returns to the ocean, but does not, cannot, drown; being of one and the same substance. I will leave it to you, as usual, to “thoroughly examine this in practice,” as Master Dogen kindly advises. This is not a cop-out. If reality could be explained in words, it would have become commonplace knowledge long before 2500 years ago. The original language of our original mind is still in place. All we have to do is develop “the eyes to hear and the ears to see” it. The method for developing this transcendent, trans-perceptual wisdom is stunningly simple: just sit still enough — and straight enough — for long enough. And listen up — to the “sermon of no words.” * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

As promised, at the beginning of each month in 2024, we return to the topic of “Election Year Zen,” with my “DharmaByte” column (DB) for the Silent Thunder Order monthly newsletter, followed by my first subsequent “UnMind” podcast (UM) of the month. To review the underlying rationale for this approach to a topic most practitioners would prefer to avoid, please refer to last month's DB and UM if you have not already done so. In an earlier DB from June of 2023, I had broached this subject gingerly, and I touch upon it in my second major book, “The Razorblade of Zen.” In the newsletter column, I make the point that partisan politics in general is not a topic we would recommend bringing up in the context of the meditation hall — in Japanese called the “zendo” — a sensitive point which had come up in dialog with one of our affiliated Zen centers (quoting myself again): In a recent meeting with one of our affiliate centers, the focus was on “The Platform Sutra of Huineng,” in which he admonishes all to not find fault with others. One of the members who helps organize these events sent me some questions she wanted me to address, including the dilemma of how we are supposed to not find fault with people who are waging war on others, and committing atrocities such as bombing cities, civilians, and children. She was concerned that raising these issues might be too personal, in the context of a Zen community, where the underlying premise might be to provide some shelter and sanctuary from the insanity of the world. But I assured her that, no, these very events are apt examples of the very ignorance, and resultant unnecessary suffering, that are pointed to in the foundational teachings of Buddha. And that she is right to raise such questions in the context of Zen practice in modern life. It is my understanding that in the monasteries, and perhaps the smaller temples in cities and villages of the countries of origin of Zen Buddhism, the custom is to have little or no speaking in the zendo itself. As I learned in 1989, when visiting Eiheiji, the training monastery established by Master Dogen in the 13th century, ceremonial services are typically conducted in an entirely separate building, as are formal talks and other forms of dharma study. This tradition has carried over into the American Zen community, where we are encouraged to leave the zendo quietly after the meditation and gather in another chamber before engaging in dialog. So the idea that we preserve the sanctity of the zendo, and the sanity of its attendees, has some legs. There are good reasons for the specific designs of the protocols we have inherited from Zen's storied past. However, in most smaller temples and training centers, having multiple rooms, let alone separate buildings, in which to conduct various activities is a luxury that many cannot afford. This is the reason both the main altar (J. butsudan) and the smaller zendo altar dedicated to Manjusri are often in the same room, separated by space, or located on different walls of the meditation hall. So we compromise, and hold competing sessions at different times. The meditation hall becomes the dharma hall, then reverts back, when sitting in zazen. Silent, upright seated meditation is the hallmark of Zen, taking precedence over all other activities, fostered by instruction periods for newcomers. However, Zen is not unconnected from reality outside the temple, and the zendo does function as a kind of social sanctuary, as does zazen itself, in the personal sphere. We can manage to accommodate both personal practice and social service functions in the same space, by scheduling them at different times. This does not mean, however, that everyone has to participate, just as everyone need not attend all newcomer instruction sessions. Which is why instructions are not given with every session in the zendo. Members who do not want to discuss buddhadharma on any other than the personal plane are welcome to avoid attending dharma dialogs that have a social slant. But if we prohibit such discussions, we are sidestepping our civic responsibility, which, if you study the Buddhist canon, from Buddha on down to the present day, you will see that the ancient sages and their modern counterparts have not shied away from the subject. When it comes to indiscriminate bombing of civilians and children, we are no longer in the realm of politics. If we are silent, we become complicit. Buddha, I believe, would have spoken out against this betrayal of compassion and wisdom. As did Matsuoka Roshi, concerning the corrupt regime in Vietnam, and other atrocities of his time. We can look to the teachings and meditation practice of Zen Buddhism to find a degree of solace and sanctuary from these insults to humanity, but we cannot run, and we cannot hide from them, ultimately. But we do not have to join the partisan divide, either. To provide some historical context for this discussion, we refer to the foundational documents of the founding fathers of this nation, the oldest surviving democratic republic. In the prior installment on this matter, we quoted the famous first paragraph of the Declaration of Independence. Let us continue with the second section: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Aye, there's the rub: if “all men” — which phrase we now define to include all women and all children, of all races, ethnic backgrounds, and countries of origin — are indeed created equal, and endowed with “unalienable rights,” then there is no rationale, no excuse, for waging war in which innocents are slaughtered as “collateral damage.” — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed. If the very purpose of government is to secure such rights as to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, then the institutions of government — including first and foremost the military — must be prohibited from depriving citizens of any country of these rights, with or without the concept of a “Creator.” They go on to define the remedy: — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. So here is the ostensible rationale for the recent attempts to overthrow the present government, though the events of January sixth clearly appear to have partisan roots. At the time of this writing, of course, this ultimate right was claimed in the context of Great Britain's “crazy” King George, and his autocratic grip on the colonies. The history of protests of the original tea party and privileged Tories — loyalists and royalists, or “King's men” — illustrates that the times were probably as divisive, or even more so, than our present partisan divide. Anticipating that this passage might be construed to lend support to purely partisan motives, the framers optimistically hang the hope of future jurisprudence on the dictates of prudence itself: Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. Leaving aside for now the determination as to which causes should be eschewed as “light and transient,” this suggests that this call to arms is based on the degree of oppression the hoi polloi are willing to bear. This returns to the theme of the last segments of UnMind, with their emphasis on the intersection of design thinking and Zen, where in both arenas, one of the central questions bearing on happiness and suffering is, How much is enough? If the majority of people are fat and happy, and “kitchen table” issues — the price of eggs, bread and butter — are relatively bearable, little attention will be devoted to overthrowing the government, no matter how corrupt. “Let them eat cake” works, if there is fairly widespread access to cake. The division of the citizens into haves and have-nots, with those at the top of the game, the “one-percenters,” raking in wealth that is unimaginable, and inaccessible, to the rest, may be much more exaggerated today, as well as more obvious and available to scrutiny, owing to the ubiquitous availability of 24/7 real-time news media. A recent newspaper column revealed the staggering increases in incomes of the country's top three or four wealthiest individuals, compared to their more meager incomes of only a few years ago, alongside the minimum wage, which has remained static in the same time period, This disparity of incomes has national and international implications as an impetus to immigration, to make matters more complicated. You may argue that these captains of industry deserve the income they earn, but that stretches the concept of earning to the breaking point. You cannot “earn” this level of income in any rational sense of the word. Corporate income comes from “owning,” not earning. We are not going to solve these problems in this analysis, but we can at least compare and contrast the current cultural norms and memes that attempt to justify them, with the teachings of Buddhism, such as encouraging us to engage compassion in dealing with our fellow travelers in the dusty realm of Samsara, the everyday world of patience. So we have to practice patience with a situation that seems to have no justification whatever, or very little from this perspective. While the case can be made that not all people are created equal, it can be argued that to the degree reasonable, the playing field should be leveled. A child born with a silver spoon in their mouth, whether currently or 2500 years ago, is no more deserving than a child born into a family that doesn't even own a spoon. To argue that those parents should not have children who cannot afford to have children ignores the reproductive drive of the species, which pays little regard to the material circumstances of its sperm donors and receivers. Once a child is born, it has the same potential for realizing its buddha nature as any other child, regardless of the causes and conditions into which it is born. And we cannot misuse the Buddhist take on karma and karmic consequences to dismiss these disparities, nor the social injustices that often accompany them, out of hand. The teachings of Buddhism were never intended to be held up to others as a criticism or justification for inaction, but to be reflected back upon our own follies, foibles and failings. This is the “mirror of Zen,” which reflects the good, bad, and the ugly without discrimination. We come to see ourselves in this mirror, along with all others, in our extended dharma family. Buddha was said to have come to see everyone as his “children,” and not in a condescending way. To close this segment, I will lean on Master Dogen's admonition to “thoroughly examine this in practice.” Let us return to our cushions, but not turn our back on those who have not even been exposed to this excellent method. Our mission is clear. We need to wake up on every possible level. Compassion and wisdom — like charity — begin at home.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In our last segment of UnMind, on the meaning of “less is more” — a central axiom of design thinking coined by the famous architect, Mies van der Rohe — I introduced the notion that this adage may be usefully applied to Zen, as well. The simplicity of lifestyle and paucity of possessions surrounding the history of Zen, in China and Japan in particular, speaks to the general question regarding happiness and satisfaction in life: How much is enough? In this segment we will consider how “more” can often be “less.” When we reach a certain level of stability in the normal stages of life in the “first world” countries of modern times, we may find that we have an overabundance of personal possessions: a complete household, and maybe a summer home as well, with the requisite home furnishings; maybe one or two vehicles, a boat, maybe even a private plane. At a certain point, unless we can manage the upkeep and maintenance of all our many acquisitions, our possessions begin owning us. That is, an increasingly large percentage of our time is devoted to taking care of the many things that we do not actually use very often, and probably don't really need, in any realistic sense. Then comes the de-cluttering and downsizing, just to get back to a normal state of affairs — where we can spend our time on those aspects of life that we find most important and rewarding, such as family, friends — and, in Zen, personal insight into existence itself. In examining our approach to Zen meditation, in the context of “less is more,” we see clearly that excess accumulation of material goods is not of much use, and can readily form yet another barrier to simplification of all the demands on our time and attention. When it comes to meditation, we consciously choose to pay attention to the basics of existence, including the body and its posture, the breath and its pattern, and the mind and its machinations. In doing so, we witness the natural functions of the monkey mind as setting goals, ruminating over the past and worrying about the future, and so on. In order to simplify our task of waking up to reality as it is, we can recognize when we are setting goals, for example, and choose to stop setting goals, at least in terms of our meditation. So I launched into the discussion of subtracting such elements from our practice, as we witness them arising, resulting in the concept of “goalless” meditation, which in itself may be defined as a “goal.” Or “timeless” meditation, where we set aside the burden of timing our sitting period, and allow ourselves to reenter real time, which has nothing to do with measurement. Eventually our meditation can become “effortless” — where we have been doing this for so long that, like driving a car, it really doesn't require any conscious effort; and the physical effort has become second nature, so no big deal. SENSELESS MEDITATIONExtending this idea, the various dimensions we observe in zazen, such as the six senses, yield the possibility of “sightless” meditation; “soundless” meditation; “odorless” and “tasteless” meditation; and even “sensationless” meditation, which would be akin to physical Samadhi, I suppose. It would also entail “weightlessness,” when our BMI and gravity come into perfect balance. MINDLESS MEDITATIONAnd finally, “emotionless,” as well as “thoughtless,” or “mindless,” meditation — which latter would conventionally be interpreted as a pejorative. But in Zen, the “don't-know mind” is valued most highly. Emotional Samadhi: less anxiety, more serenity; mental Samadhi: less confusion, more clarity. Eventually, “social Samadhi”: less friction, more harmony in relationships with others, as well as being comfortable in your own skin. FORMLESS MEDITATIONFrom the perspective of posture, breath, and attention, which and when they all come together in a unified way, as Matsuoka Roshi would often say: “This is the real zazen”; we find ourselves practicing “posture paramita”: aiming at the perfect posture without ever imagining we have achieved it, another of Sensei's Zen “secrets.” Through a process of profound sensory adaptation, we arrive at “formless meditation,” not only in terms of physical posture, or form, the first of the five aggregates, but also “mental formations,” the mysterious fourth skandha, meaning underlying motives, intentions, desires, and so forth, the psychological level of motivation. All gone away. CONSCIOUS-LESS MEDITATIONThe natural evolution of our approach to meditation would then naturally and logically lead to a kind of “conscious-less” meditation, an expression so countercultural that it requires a hyphen. The fifth aggregate comprehends the other four, in that we are, or become, conscious of form, sensation, perception, and mental formations, on deeper and deeper levels. Until we apprehend the “flip-side” of each, as the Heart Sutra indicates: “no form, no sensation, no perception, no mental formations”; “until we come to no consciousness also,” as the original English translation we used at Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago rendered the line. We are conscious of the other four — until we are not; and then we are conscious of consciousness itself — until we are not. This steady progression through — and adaptation to — the aggregates, outlined in the Surangama Sutra, is attributed to Buddha himself. So I am not just making this up as I go along. BREATHLESS MEDITATION That our meditation becomes “breathless” at some point may not be obvious — not in the sense of “breathless anticipation” — but in that we are not doing the breathing to begin with; the body is. So when we relinquish the idea of “control”: of the posture, the breath, and the direction of our attention; the natural posture, the naturalbreath, and the natural, or original, state of mind can come into play. We return to our original mind and body, which as Master Dogen reminds us, will unmistakably “drop off.” In good time. OBJECTLESS MEDITATION When our attention — and intention — come together in a unified or holistic way, then it may be said that our meditation has become “objectless.” Both in the sense of the senses and their objects merging in nonduality, and in the sense that we no longer can articulate any specific intention, underlying our practice. It has become “shikantaza,” the Japanese expression for the inexpressible unified field theory of conscious awareness. But we should not become enthralled with this as a concept, which threatens to morph into an expectation, rather than an aspiration. If we understand that “form and reflection behold[ing] each other” is the necessary and natural inflection point that meditation inexorably leads to — or returns to, to be more precise — we cannot go far astray. CONCEPTLESS MEDITATIONThis suggests yet another “less is more” dimension of meditation: that it can be utterly devoid of concepts, associations, or connotations, of any kind. This we might define as “pure” meditation, in the Zen sense of “purity” as nonduality, rather than conventional connotations of morality. No concept, however broad and deep its scope, can capture the breadth and depth of the effect, meaning, and implications of zazen. This is why the content and intent of Zen is sometimes referred to as “The Great Matter,” capitalized. HEARTBEAT MEDITATIONOn a less transcendent and more practical level, I would like to share with you some of my more recent discoveries in zazen fostered by my contracting COVID 19 in December of 2022, followed by a roughly three-month recovery period, amounting to an enforced “ango,” or traditional practice period, of ninety days. During this time, I lost a lot of strength, flexibility, balance, and coordination; and experienced the “mental fog” associated with the worst aftereffects of the pandemic, though I am not inflicted with “long covid” but only the exacerbated effects of aging in combination with the disease. In taking the posture during this time, crossing my legs was increasingly difficult, and the resultant stiffness in my knees threatened to strain a tendon. So I took to sitting on the edge of the raised bench, with my feet on the floor. Getting up from the floor when manning the timekeeper (Doan) position became an agonizing exercise in finding the leverage to stand up. So I moved to chair-sitting. This adaptation to aging is not unusual, by the way — several veteran adepts have found that, by their mid-sixties, they could no longer sit in lotus posture. In order to recover my ability to sit with stability while cross-legged, I began taking a more aggressive approach to the posture and breath, as well as to walking meditation, to compensate for the loss of my youthful vigor. My long-term engagement with kinhin, I am convinced, explains my relative sense of balance, compared to others my age. In implementing this more active approach to the posture and breath, I discovered that I would begin feeling my heartbeat after holding my inbreath for a count of eight or ten, realizing that the tempo of the counting corresponded to the heartbeat. It is as if your heart is the metronome, counting off the time signature of your instrument, the body. By doing a full-body “crunch” while holding my breath, my spine would pop and pull into its natural s-curve, arching the small of the back forward and down, and pulling back and up on the chin, exaggerating the “cobra-rising” rigor of the upright seated posture. Exhaling, I began counting the heartbeat instead of the breath, noticing how the two are synchronized. Gradually, as the breath slows down, so does the heart, from 2 beats per in-breath and out-breath to four, then longer sequences of pulsation as the outbreath, in particular, slows down to a soothing rhythm. Repeating this cycle of squeezing and letting go, the relaxation response begins to set in, embracing the squeeze-and-release cycle of the heart itself, allowing more relaxation time between pulses. I could go on into more detail about how this rhythmic process smooths itself out until, as Matsuoka Roshi would say, the breath seems to come and go through the whole body, like a frog sitting on a lily pad, breathing by osmosis through the pores of the skin. HEALING MEDITATIONI am convinced that this process of observing the integration of posture and breath has therapeutic, or healing, properties; which have immediate benefits of calming the nervous system, and long-term effects promoting longevity. The main benefit of longevity being that it affords a greater chance to wake up fully, in the Zen sense, during this brief lifetime. You might consider expanding this discussion in your own words — such constructions as “compassionless” meditation — to consider whether the concept of compassion that you may be harboring actually conforms to the true meaning of the word, which is to “suffer with.” If you come up with any confounding notions along these lines, please feel free to share them with me. It may prompt a beneficial exchange as to the “limitless” meditation that is zazen. In the next segment, we will return to consideration of “Election Year Zen” — with all the real-world ethics and civics implications that this focus implies. Please join in the dialog.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last segment of UnMind, the second installment discussing the sameness and differences I have noted in teaching Zen or design as a profession, I wrapped up the essay by mentioning the concept of “control,” as it might apply to either or both: In meditation circles, we often hear phrases such as “controlling the breath” or “emptying your mind of thoughts.” These represent attitudes 180-degrees from that in Zen meditation, which is not one of exerting control, but rather relinquishing any real or imagined level of control. Using that as a springboard for this segment, let's examine our approach to Zen meditation, in the context of the well-known adage from minimalist design, “Less is more.” According to Google: Minimalism is exemplified by the idea of “less is more” as first coined by architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. The idea that less may be more, in applying the method of zazen, is implicit in many dimensions of the character of Zen training, from Buddha's Middle Way of moderation to the “chop wood, carry water” practicality of the Chinese history, the seven items a monk was allowed to own, and the sparse serenity of the zendo interiors of Japan, with their starkly minimalist sand and rock gardens. The Institute of Design, during my years there in undergraduate and graduate studies, was housed in the basement of Crown Hall, while the Mies school of architecture was on the upper floor. His contribution to minimalist architecture lay in the combination of glass and steel to construct high-efficiency buildings, of which Crown Hall was an early archetype.Another aphorism from design thinking that I mentioned: ...there are many design ideas that are simple in concept, but difficult in execution. Zen may be the poster boy for this truism. Zazen is irreducibly simple in design, but Zen can be maddeningly difficult in daily execution. This is where I would like to begin this segment. Thinking about meditation, particularly Zen's zazen — as I understand this “excellent method,” as Master Dogen repeatedly referred to it — it occurred to me that during zazen, as a process of “unlearning,” or “subtracting” the preconceptions we harbor as to our conventional take on reality, we might usefully question a variety of such attitudes and concepts, as to whether we are unintentionally, perhaps even unconsciously, striving to attain something as a presumed goal of our practice. Only if we recognize that we are doing so, can we then consciously relinquish that particular problematic attitude or opinion, and see what it is like to sit without it getting in our way. A number of these came up for me, which we can consider one at a time, perhaps extending into the next segment. They are expressed herein with the suffix of “-less,” which implies “the absence of.” Let's begin with the very idea of goals in general, embracing the approach of “letting go” of our predilections. GOALLESS MEDITATIONOf course, we all sit in meditation with some kind of goal, whether simply to calm the mind under stress; to get back to normal; or more deeply, to “wake up” to reality, which might be said to be the principle goal of Buddhism. But Master Dogen cautions us, in “Principles of Seated Meditation—Fukanzazengi,” to avoid taking goal-setting too far: ...think neither good nor evil, right or wrong thus stopping the functions of your mind give up even the idea of becoming a Buddha In other words, resist setting up what seems a more lofty goal, in place of the pedestrian objectives we might associate with meditation. Which begs the question, can we do away with all goals and objectives, at least while we are sitting? We might say that it is not that Zen meditation has no goal, but it is just that the actual goal is too deep and too broad to be expressed in words, especially a priori. We meditate to discover the goal. TIMELESS MEDITATIONMost instructions for meditation include imposing time constraints on it, for example by setting a timer, using an app with a built-in alarm, burning a stick of incense, or following the schedule of timed sessions on retreat, or during daily practice at a Zen center. When we experience the latter, sitting with somebody else tracking the time, we feel somewhat liberated from the necessity of thinking about the time, or paying attention to the clock; someone else is doing that for us. When we take a turn as time-keeper (“doan” in Soto Zen), we experience the discipline of being responsible for others' time on the cushion. Both are highly recommended. But someone once said that in zazen, “the barriers of time and space fall away.” When I see someone restively glancing at their watch in the zendo, I will often ask to borrow it. Then, they are unable to indulge their fidgeting obsession with time, at least while sitting. This goes to the larger question of all the measurables associated with our meditation — such as how long we sit, how often, how regularly, et cetera — which are not as important as the immeasurable aspects: that we simply never give up. We keep returning to zazen, in good times or bad, for whatever time we have available for it. I recommend that occasionally, perhaps the next time you sit in meditation, that you forego your tendency to time the period. Sit without any stopping time in mind. Then you may finally reenter real time, which is not measured; indeed, it is not even measurable. You may find that time is all you really have; that in fact, you have all the time there is. This reality of real time versus measured time is captured in the sardonic expression — “The man who has one watch always knows what time it is; the man who has two never knows for sure” — attributed, as many such wisecracks are, to Chinese origin. EFFORTLESS MEDITATIONIn his paraphrase of a brief Ch'an poem about meditation, titled “Zazenshin,” meaning something like an “acupuncture needle” or “lancet” for zazen — something exceedingly sharp or pointed — Master Dogen points to the true meaning of “right effort” toward the end of the poem: Intimacy without defilement is dropping off without relying on anythingVerification beyond absolute and relative is making effort without aiming at it “Making effort” includes assuming the posture, which is not always easy, especially when we overdo it; and breathing, which can be labored, especially when we catch a cold, or during flu season. I have heard that the posture should feel more like a stretching sensation than physical effort, and that the breath should be more like a sigh than belabored breathing. My root teacher, Matsuoka Roshi, said “the breath should be like a gate swinging in the breeze, first this way, and then the other way,” a rather pleasant, languid, relaxed image. And, he would say, “Zazen is the comfortable way.” This should give us pause, in our pursuit of overweening effort, characterized as “macho Zen,” which we get from our impression of Rinzai's more driven practice of externally-imposed discipline. I suspect that this meme is more a social dimension of the culture, than having anything to do with the reality of Zen practice — other than inculcating a sense of urgency: that we have no time to waste, in getting after this most important and central “great matter.” In the next segment of UnMind we will continue with this exploration of the “less” side of the practice. As a semantic curio, the English meaning of the prefix “un” — which in my dharma name means “cloud” — connotes the “opposite” of something, or something very different, as in the “un-cola” campaign promoting the soft drink Seven Up, which I know dates me. It is similar in effect to the suffix “-less,” which connotes the “absence” of something. If you have any suggestions along these lines for me to entertain in the next segment, let me know. My list is quite long, but there is always room for one more consideration to eliminate, from distracting us from our meditation. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

If you are paying an undue degree of attention to the details of my UnMind podcasts, you may have noted that the last segment was titled “Teaching Zen & Teaching Design,” while this one is “Teaching Design & Teaching Zen.” A trivial difference without a distinction, you might say. The emphasis on design thinking may have been a bit confusing, and Zen will be the major focus of this one. But either is here used as a foil for the other, in the spirit of “Harmony of Sameness and Difference,” the second great Ch'an Poem in Soto Zen liturgy, by Master Sekito Kisen: Hearing the words understand the meaning do not set up standards of your ownNot understanding the Way before your eyes how will you know the path you walk? In design circles we say that communication is not the message sent, but the message received. Thus, in parsing my words, and any potential relevance to you and your practice, I ask that you look past my clumsy use of language, which is itself dualistic in nature, to the nonduality of reality as experienced in your consciousness, especially in your meditation. In the last segment I pointed out one obvious contrast between Zen thinking and design thinking: We do not think that we can think our way to enlightenment, in Zen. Meditation goes beyond thinking. Or perhaps more precisely, Zen's shikantaza, the immediate, long-term effect of zazen, defined as “objectless meditation,” resides in that space that exists before thinking. Thought takes time, and so is always looking back on what has already transpired. When it comes to practicing the method of zazen, as well as adapting Zen's worldview, the common premise going in is that thinking, as such, is not going to prove very useful, though it is our most useful tool in apprehending, and recognizing, what Master Dogen referred to as “non-thinking”: neither thinking nor not thinking; the mental middle way. Both design and Zen's meditation process involve a trans-sensory level of learning, which in Zen may be more aptly defined as “unlearning.” So it is not exactly accurate to say that we can “teach” Zen, though we do our best to share our experience, including some “do's and don'ts,” in an interactive dialog. As Matsuoka Roshi would say, “We teach each other Buddhism.” I often learn more in a given exchange, say in dokusan, more than may the identified student. Shohaku Okumura Roshi once commented, during a dharma talk that he gave at the Atlanta Zen center, that he was only “the teacher” because we were there as “the students.” When at home, or in a different context, he was certainly no longer a teacher, as such. We say that Zen cannot be taught, but that it can be learned. Learning Zen, versus learning anything else — especially something as tangible as product design — also differs in that the proof of the pudding, in Zen, is in a taste so intimate and personal that it cannot be shared with anyone. Whereas if I can sit in the chair you designed and built, I can tell for myself that you either know what you are doing, or not. For example, my wife and I once had the distinct pleasure of an overnight stay in Wisconsin, in a small cabin that had been designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, called the Seth Peterson Cottage. It was a lovely, compact building, in which neither Seth Peterson nor the great architect had ever set foot, both having died before it was complete. The relevance to our focus here is that while the building, and its lovely arboreal siting, were works of genius, the breakfast nook was very uncomfortable, consisting of flat banquettes with no cushioning. But they matched the walls, also clad with plywood. FLW was known for this emphasis on appearance over comfort, also evident in an exhibit of his higher-end home furnishings mounted at the Art Institute of Chicago Museum during my tenure there. Zen and Design both entail apprentice modes of training. That is, developing a grasp of Zen is rather like the process of learning to build a Steinway grand piano. The master or journeyman and their apprentice exchange few words, instead the apprentice simply observing and imitating what his mentor does. In near total silence, the essential functions and processes are communicated through actions, not words. And eventually — lo and behold — the piano is ready to play. This apprentice-journeyman-master triad is analogous to the initiate-disciple-priest model frequently found in Zen circles. The former wording may be more appropriate to our times than the latter — laden as it is with quasi-religious overtones, which do not quite fit the reality of being a Zen adept in America. Although we have great respect, bordering on reverence, for our teachers in Zen, we do not let it go to our heads when we find ourselves on the other side of the relationship. Or we should not, in any case. We who find ourselves in the awkward position of being expected to lead others in this most personal of all problem-solving arenas tend to think of ourselves as more like coaches. The student is like an athlete, who is endeavoring to reach the elite level of the sport. If they are not willing to do the work, no amount of coaching is going to help. If they are, it does not take much coaching to move the dial. This also applies to design. After all, I cannot know for sure what another person needs to know, in terms of Zen. I can only know what it is that I do not know; and perhaps, how to go deeper; as my root teacher would say. He would often remark that it's not what you say or do — in leading a Zen service, for example — it's how you do it. That is, it is natural, and okay, to mess up: you may miss the gong at the time designated; blow a line in the chant, et cetera. But as long as you do not let that get in your way, or disrupt the focus of the others present, no harm, no foul. It is more in the attitude with which you approach things — a balance of wholehearted sincerity and lighthearted joy — that will convey the essence of Zen, than it is in the precision or accuracy of your performance. Zen requires an agile sense of humor, and a goodly dollop of humility. Another dimension of the training process shared by Zen and design professionals is that of “training the trainers.” Although in both cases we are not really propagating a priesthood, but promoting a practice, the notion that our successors will carry on the tradition of training others is implicit in most professions, as well as in Zen. Zen should be approached professionally, rather than mystically, the latter being an example of unhelpful connotations often associated with Zen in the West. One of my professors at the Institute of Design one day proclaimed that the main thing you pick up from your professors at university consists of their attitudes toward the work. I would add that you also pick up learning habits and a work ethic: learning how to learn, as the standard trope goes. The same goes for Zen. Attitudes need adjustment. But the focus of Zen training is not exclusively in the realm of ideas, but rather in the realm of direct experience. Zen is not about reality, or what we can do to manipulate it, but a direct pointing at reality. This is how we approach it on the cushion, without relying on ideas, words and concepts. In Zen as well as design, the issue of control comes into play. In planning, designing and building something, anything — from a chair to the Brooklyn bridge or Holland tunnel — we have to control the materials and processes that will achieve the end we are attempting to achieve. Otherwise, the chair will be uncomfortable, like Frank Lloyd Wright's plywood benches, or we may build in a future disaster, like some of the dire engineering collapses we have witnessed from time to time. But trying to control everything has its limits. In meditation circles, we often hear phrases such as “controlling the breath” or “emptying your mind of thoughts.” These represent attitudes 180-degrees from that in Zen meditation, which is not one of exerting control, but rather relinquishing any real or imagined level of control. We follow the body in assuming the posture, and we follow the breath, rather than attempting to control it. What's sauce for the body is sauce for the mind. We let thoughts go, until they die down to dull roar, on their own. If you do not agree with this non-control, next time you are meditating, and Mother Nature calls, just tell her to buzz off: You are meditating just now. See how that works out for you. Similarly, in design processes, you have to relinquish your tendency to force materials and processes into a mold that is unnatural for them to perform the way you want them to. The concrete has to be adequately reinforced for the tunnel or building to withstand the stresses of gravity, or hurricane-force winds. The fasteners cannot weaken the wood, or the chair will collapse. I could go on, but will close with one more aphorism from design thinking: there are many design ideas that are simple in concept, but difficult in execution. Zen may be the poster boy for this truism. Zazen is irreducibly simple in design, but Zen can be maddeningly difficult in daily execution. It is not the fault of Zen, but rather of our stubborn monkey mind. But don't give up. Only you can do this. You are the only one who can design your Zen life. Only you can redesign it, as reality intervenes.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

As I mentioned in one of the prior segments of UnMind: In zazen, as well as in Zen writ large, we embrace a directive from the first great Ch'an poem by Master Kanchi Sosan: To move in the One WayDo not reject even the world of senses and ideasIndeed embracing them fully is identical with true enlightenment This is the most direct testament I have come across to refute the charge that Zen is somehow anti-intellectual. Those of us who take up the Zen way do, however, recognize the limitations of the discriminating mind in dealing with nonduality, but we do not dismiss intellectualization outright. Our ability to analyze, dissect, and reconstruct information is one of the most powerful tools we have in confronting the various confounding issues we face in life. But it cannot solve the mystery of existence alone. Something else – call it intuition? — has to come into play on a level beyond thought. As Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “Zen goes deeper.” In this segment, I will attempt to address a subject suggested by one of our members, considering the distinctions I have found in my experience teaching Zen over the years, versus my professional background in design, formally beginning with my BS and MS training at the Institute of Design, Illinois Tech in Chicago — acronym ID+IIT if you want to look it up — followed by my tenure teaching at the U of I, Chicago Circle Campus, and the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. Another complementary influence was my training in end-user research, primarily for new product development, with a Chicago-based firm. It was one of my main sources of income while in university, and the firm with which I moved to Atlanta in 1970. The integration of end-user research with each stage of creative development, from raw concept through refined concept, form, features, and styling, and so on, became the subject of my Master's thesis, and is now the gold standard in the industry, the most obvious example being the end-user-participation approach to debugging initial releases of software apps. As a starting point, one notable difference in design and Zen training may be that those who teach design on a professional level, and those who pursue it for advanced degrees, tend to refer to the overall method and approach as “design thinking,” which stresses analytical training to apply design as a generalist endeavor, rather than as a specialty. The premise is that the method employed in defining and solving any given problem of the applied design profession is thought to be basically applicable to any other problem-solving activity, in general terms. In research circles, the term “methodology” is often used to refer to the method followed in conducting the study; it actually means the study of method itself. Which is one area of intense focus in design itself, one of its more well-known proponents being Victor Papanek. For example, the method employed in designing and building a chair is basically the same as that utilized in writing a book, both of which I have personally done. Of course, since the materials required, and the functions of the end product differ; the details of the process differ accordingly. But the overarching steps in the process are similar in nature, as in all problem-solving initiatives. The steps usually taken are roughly parallel to those for solving quadratic equations, acronym PEMDAS. Indulge my stretching the analogy a bit, but the recommended sequence for doing the mathematical operations is to solve the Parentheses, Exponents, Multiplication, Division, Addition, and finally the Subtraction, and in that order; otherwise the answer is not likely to be correct. Metaphorically, solving the “parentheses” and “exponents” of the equation first, I take as roughly equivalent to defining the purpose and function of the end product: Who is the audience for this book, again? What is the point in designing yet another chair? What is the implicit thrust, or “root” of the problem, in other words? Once the project's underlying charge and challenge is clarified, then the ideation can begin; brainstorming and mind-mapping: consideration of all the possible materials available, such as hardwoods and furniture fasteners, in the case of the chair. Or the arc of the narrative of the book: What is in the first chapter; how do we end the last chapter; how many pages or words? Both of which I think we can regard as a kind of “multiplication” process. It may expand into future phases, with issues around getting the book, or the chair, published or manufactured, respectively. Once everything that may prove to be pertinent to the design and production of the new thing has been teased out through free association — and documented so as not to be lost — the exercise shifts to dividing the formless mosaic of the mind-map into relatively distinct groupings, much like Buddhism's five aggregates of sentient awareness. This I take as a form of “division.” Dividing the holistic concept into digestible bites in order to further develop the finer details. What options are there for furniture feet, finishes, and fabrics, if the chair is to be upholstered? What is the most logical sequence of chapters for the table of contents; how detailed do we need to make the footnotes or endnotes? Prioritizing the categories to take them one at a time, we then examine each set individually as to their completeness, and flesh them out, including elements we may not have thought of in the first go-round. This is the role of “addition,” kicking in once we have neatly divided the whole into discrete parts, each of which benefits from individual embellishment. For the chair, this may include line extensions such as choices in fabric, variable sizes and features such as adjustability of an ergonomic model. For the book, it may include illustrations, graphic inserts and, these days, links to online content. Finally, we get to the “subtraction,” the last in the sequence. For the book, this would comprise the familiar editing process, in the form of major block edits, detailed line edits, and excising text that may not earn the space it occupies in terms of contribution to the story line. For a chair, as a one-off and especially for mass production, it might entail identifying and eliminating unnecessary secondary operations in manufacturing, which prove unnecessary to the quality of the finished product. In all creative processes, whether in a group or individual endeavor, these steps flow from first considering, defining, and redefining, the initial problem; then mapping out all the various aspects, dimensions, and components of the problem; sorting elements into relatively discrete groupings; then adding any overlooked components to flesh out the various categories; and, finally, editing: prioritizing, setting aside and/or eliminating any and all areas and items of concern that may be safely postponed for later consideration, focusing on those that are most central to a solution, and demanding immediate attention, before moving on to more peripheral issues. This cycle is not a one-and-done, of course; the evolution of the book or chair often requires recycling through the earlier steps repeatedly, until the final design has moved from concept to execution. Such methods, like everything else these days, have now become ubiquitous online, where we find such apps as “Google docs” listed in 3,400,000,000 search results for “online group methods.” To conclude this segment, let me add that I feel that my training in the Bauhaus method of design thinking at ID+IIT combined with training in research methodology uniquely positioned me to take on the propagation of Zen as an identified problem, and to focus on the definition of that problem, as it evolved over nearly 50 years to date. The research model enabled me to apply group process to the administrative side, studying the requirements of establishing a 501c3 not-for-profit corporation in compliance with the rules and regs of the IRS, and to manage the many dysfunctional aspects of board of directors' governance. That the ASZC has been in virtually continuous operation is, I think, testament to the validity of this approach. In the next segment, we will segue into consideration of these same approaches to the teaching of the unteachable, Zen. Stay tuned and keep practicing.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

After taking a holiday hiatus from my DharmaByte column and UnMind podcast, in collaboration with my publisher and producer, we have determined a new direction for 2024, or a new way of extending our past direction. As this is the quadrennial election year in the American national political cycle, we feel it is time, and timely, to address the relationship of Zen practice in particular, and the teachings of Zen Buddhism in general, to that of governing, and more broadly, our civic duty as citizens of the United States.The differing definitions of “politic” versus “political” give us a clue as to the difference between engaging in the fray from the perspective of the Middle Way, and that of the usual partisan divide. Politic, according to the dictionary, means: “(of an action) seeming sensible and judicious under the circumstances” while “political” is rendered:“mainly derogatory — relating to, affecting, or acting according to the interests of status or authority within an organization rather than matters of principle.” We can see that what Buddha did 2500 years ago was the former, establishing the original Order as an alternative to the prevalent caste system, rather than going head-to-head with it. While many adherents, propagators and proponents of Zen in America, including some members of our community, or sangha, have expressed a reluctance, even a repulsion, toward the political arena, we take the position that “You have to say something,” to quote the title from a book by Katagiri Roshi, as I did in my “War & Karma” segment from November of 2023: I fear that if we in Zen do not try to address these terrible global realities in the context of Buddhism, it may be taken as an indication, or an admission on our part, that Zen, along with its teachings and practice, [may] have finally faded into irrelevance, in the face of such intractable 21st century problems. Setting aside for now the quirkiness of quoting one's own prior writing, let me restate the matter in terms of the political climate in general, and what it means from a Zen point-of-view, or at least from mine, informed by Zen practice and the teachings of Buddhism. If we shy away from the current campaign, with its extreme polarization and obvious threats to the operations of this democratic republic — as envisioned by the founding fathers — it may be tantamount to ignoring a train wreck, but one that is coming right at us. The Buddhist teachings of balancing wisdom with compassion may be uniquely suited to addressing the controversies of our time, the overarching theme of my second book, “The Razorblade of Zen.”As a big-picture aside, consider the fundamental divide in Buddhist thought: We usually live in a dualistic frame of mind, coping with the everyday demands of life — in the 21st century as well as 2500 years ago. This is one of the great commonalities we have with Buddha and all of his descendants throughout Zen's history in India, China, Korea, Japan, and on down to the present. Yet Buddhism teaches that this “normal” worldview is somehow askew; that there is “the rest of the story,” referred to as nonduality. Zen holds that both can be true at the same time. The resolution of this apparent dichotomy is one of the many benefits of Zen meditation, but “it cannot be reached by feelings or consciousness; how could it involve deliberation?” according to Tozan Ryokai, founder of Soto Zen in China, circa 800 CE. So we have to give up our intellectual approach, based on logic, to reach this meta-logical resolution, A.K.A. the ”Middle Way.” This applies to so-called politics as well.A concession to those who may feel their knees impulsively jerking: I do not intend to rehash the debate about the participation of Japanese Zen practitioners in the atrocities of WWII, nor any other historical period or event, but mean to focus laser-like on the application of Zen practice to our current situation only. With some recourse to the foundational documents, and what they might mean in the present circumstances of life in America, some 250 years later.As an aside, for a sort of overriding historical benchmark, let me point out that Buddhism is some 2500 years old. Which is ten times the age of the USA. From which we might conjure an analogy to a 100-year-old elder compared to a 10-year old pre-adolescent. Indeed, the behavior of the American political cohort, as well as that of most of the hoi polloi, along with the values underpinning that behavior, may be seen as rather like that of a ten-year-old, blithely and blindly in hot pursuit of pleasure and short-term self-gratification, embracing one half of a familiar admonition from Buddha's first sermon; paraphrasing: O monks, these two extremes ought not be followed by one going forth from the household life; what are the two? There is devotion to the indulgence of self-gratification, which is low, common; the way of ordinary people; unworthy and unprofitable. There is devotion to the indulgence of self-mortification, which is painful, unworthy and unprofitable.He goes on to claim that he has found a way out of this seeming lesser-of-two-evils choice: Avoiding both these extremes, the Tathagata has realized the Middle Way. And to promise that the benefits of finding this middle way between the extremes pays off big-time: It gives vision; it gives knowledge; and it leads to calm, to insight, to awakening, to Nirvana.To clear up some of the jargon, “Tathagata” is one of ten honorifics accorded Buddha during his lifetime, meaning something like “the thus-come one.” “Nirvana” is the state of ultimate liberation, sometimes misrepresented as a separate dimension much like the Western concept of heaven or paradise, being a kind of polar opposite of “Samsara,” the everyday world of suffering. The deeper teaching is that there can be no actual separation of samsara and nirvana, as they are interdependent and thus, mutually defining. the fault being, as usual, in the eye and mind of the beholder. I hasten to add that, if this is good advice for monastics, how much more appropriate must it be for us householders, living in the midst of la vida loca?It should be stated from the beginning that we do not view Zen as partisan in its outlook — it isn't right or left wing — though many would argue the point. And that is part of the point here — that while we will be mounting what may technically be defined as a series of “arguments” in future segments, it is not our intent to prove that either side of the ideological divide is indisputably in the right, and the other necessarily in the wrong. It may be possible that, as we hear repeatedly these days, “both things can be true at the same time.” This is not to suggest a false equivalence, but to remember that, according to Zen, as well as modern brain science, different people actually do experience different realities, owing to the fact that our perceived reality is a reconstruction that occurs inside our minds, and cannot possibly reflect all the many aspects of any eventuality — the knowns; the known unknowns; and the unknown unknowns; to quote a former Secretary of Defense — that appear as the causes and conditions of a particular event. Nonetheless, we might hope that by bringing the nondual approach of Zen to bear upon the dualistic thinking informing the political dialog, we may shed some light on the Middle Way as applied to the social sphere, all the while maintaining that any true insight into conflict resolution will necessarily begin in the personal sphere, in meditation.To set the tone for the next segment, which will appear in the weekly UnMind podcast before the next monthly DharmaByte, let's review the opening paragraph of the Declaration of Independence:When in the Course of human events it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.This seminal paragraph of this seminal document of the inchoate glimmering of the dawn of democracy will prove important, if introductory, to the idea of freedom in general — and its nature in Zen's reality — in our further discussions of what bearing the social sphere of community, or sangha (including political ramifications) may have on our personal sphere of private practice of free will, with implications for the usual goal of happiness, as well as the transcendent goal of liberation in the spiritual sense.Setting aside the “Nature's God” terminology, which smacks intriguingly of traditional Buddhism's “Vairocana Buddha” figure — the so-called “cosmic Buddha” — we might usefully consider conflating the “Laws of Nature” with some of the time-honored expressions of Dharma as law – i.e. the “law of the universe.”A final assurance until next time we meet: To those groaning under the daunting prospect of weekly commentary on the passing political scene, not to worry: I will confine my comments on the campaign to a monthly Dharma Byte, followed by a single podcast expanding the text a bit on UnMind. The interim three weeks of podcasts will return to our overarching, ongoing thread of efforts to translate the liberating teachings of Buddhism and Zen into the contemporary idiom of the English language and the American culture. Please join us in this endeavor. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

This is UnMind, and I am producer Shinjin Larry Little. After restarting the UnMind podcast in April of 20-23 with episode 106, we've met you almost every week for the past 33 weeks with fresh insights and teachings from Great Cloud Michael Elliston Roshi. Due to multiple competing priorities at this time of year, we will take a brief and well-deserved break through the rest of the calendar year. We look forward to meeting you all, and the new year, with more fresh content and insights about the interface of Zen and Design. As always, UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center, in Atlanta Georgia, and the Silent Thunder Order. Find us on the web at A-S-Z-C dot O-R-G. We welcome your support of these teachings via paypall or venmo: to donate please visit the giving page on our website. Gassho. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In this segment of UnMind, I would like to return to the basics of Zen, after a foray into some of the darker topics of the times, in particular the horrific conditions of global strife in which we find ourselves immersed these days. It's a bit like being trapped in the middle of a train wreck where we cannot turn our gaze away. Life has always existed on the edge of death, aging and sickness — the three cardinal marks of dukkha, or “suffering” — Buddha's sine qua non of the conditions of existence as a sentient being. But the sheer enormity of wasteful, infuriating carnage being inflicted upon human beings by other human beings in current hotspots around the globe — not to mention the local wildlife, livestock, and pet animals — has exceeded all bounds of dysfunctional perversity. It seems a vestigial throwback to more primitive times, and is beginning to look like proof positive of the apocalyptic vision of some religions: the Prince of Darkness, evil personified, indeed has dominion over the Earth, at least for now. The Great Deceiver is parading around in the guise of political leaders of supposedly enlightened government, celebrating the targeted collapse of civilization everywhere they direct their ire. In this context it may seem irresponsible, and even insane, to turn our attention to examining the fundamentals of Buddhism and Zen, which encourage studying the self, forgetting the self, and hopefully realizing the true meaning and purpose of our existence, when the people actually doing the damage are the least likely to have any such inclination to self-examination, let alone any realization of compassionate insight for others. But, as they say, when the oxygen masks drop because the airplane is losing altitude, put yours on first, or you will not be able to help others. In Zen, zazen is your oxygen mask. ZEN ≠ ZAZEN ≠ MEDITATIONZen is not equal to zazen, and zazen is not equal to “meditation” as commonly understood. Zazen is not the same as other meditations, and the term “Zen” should not be considered interchangeable with “zazen.” It may seem heretical to propose that Zen is not equal to zazen, or that zazen does not fit the Western cultural definition of meditation. But bear with me. There are so many alternative styles of meditation today that it is past time to differentiate Zen's method from the rest. And to clarify that — while Zen and zazen cannot be separated — the terms are not interchangeable. Zen is not synonymous with its meditation method, zazen, simply because there is so much more to Zen as a way of life, a philosophy, and as a formative force throughout history. This has primarily been true of the history of the East, but following its introduction to America in the late 1890s, and especially after WWII, westerners in general, and Americans in particular, have become more and more interested in Zen, along with a parallel engagement with other meditative traditions and styles, such as Yoga, as well as other Buddhist and non-Buddhist variations. Zen is known as the meditation sect of Buddhism, but zazen is not its sole method of teaching. Zen boasts an extensive literature and liturgy on buddha-dharma as experienced and expounded by its adherents, traditionally beginning with Bodhidharma's journey out of India, and tracing its evolution through China, Korea and Japan, to the Far East. However, distribution of the Buddhist canon, in the form of written sutras and commentaries, had preceded the 28th Patriarch by centuries, and his bringing Zen from the West to the East was definitely focused on the direct practice of upright sitting, or what we now refer to as zazen, or more precisely, shikantaza. Likewise, zazen and shikantaza may usefully be parsed as to their relative definitions as method and effect, respectively. More on this later. ZAZEN & MEDITATIONThe Great Sage's meditation practice inside that cave at Shaolin Monastery did not conform to the traditional style known as dhyana, or contemplation, though this is how the local punditry interpreted his “wall-gazing Zen.” But he was not contemplating the wall. Dhyana, in the classic definition, involves a subject, or mind, meditating upon an actual, tangible object — such as a tree, in one famous example (from Hokyo Zammai—Precious Mirror Samadhi): If you wish to follow in the ancient tracksPlease observe the sages of the pastOne on the verge of realizing the buddha wayContemplated a tree for ten kalpas “Ten kalpas” is a mighty long time. The entire universe passes through only four kalpas in its cycle, known variously as the empty kalpa, or kalpa of formation; the kalpa of continuance; the kalpa of decline; and the kalpa of disintegration. So ten kalpas embrace two-and-a-half cycles of universal evolution. Long time. But we digress. Generally speaking, dhyana, or contemplation meditation, continues until the observing mind finally runs out of ideas, exhausting all possible thoughts about the object; leaving a direct sensory awareness of the existential reality of what we call a “tree,” but without the overlay of conceptualization, categorization, and endless web of connections. Bodhidharma, by turning abruptly to face the wall of the mountain, was demonstrating not contemplation, but shikantaza, or “objectless meditation,” which amounts to a kind of oxymoron, in conventional terms. Meditation is typically defined as focusing our attention on something, and so inherently implies a division of subject and object. If our direct experience in zazen eventually becomes objectless, then by definition it must also become subject-less (which, tellingly, is not a recognized construction in English; thus the hyphenation). In the most salient sense, then, zazen transcends normal meditation. We might say that we transcend from the personal dimensions of posture, breathing, and paying attention to the senses, as well as the machinations of the mind — the “eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind” of the Heart Sutra — to a subtle awareness of something less definitive: meditating upon the whole, rather than any part. The observer is subsumed into the observed, like a holon in a holarchy. More on this later.“Zen” is phonetic Japanese for “Ch'an,” which is phonetic Chinese for the Sanskrit “dhyana,” one of the traditional Six Paramitas, or “perfections” of Buddhism. Thus, because the origins of Zen meditation are not conflated with dhyana, but as going beyond contemplation, “Zen” is actually a kind of misnomer. Which is a good thing, because what Zen is pointing to cannot be named. In Taoism there is a similar idea, paraphrasing: Naming is the source of all (particular) things That which is eternally real is nameless Zazen and shikantaza, as mentioned, can also usefully be parsed as to their relative functions as “method” and “effect,” respectively. Holarchy & HolonI first came across the term “holarchy” — as opposed to the more familiar “hierarchy” — in the form of a book, “The Essential Ken Wilber,” recommended by a member of the Suzuki lineage for its treatise on “integral spirituality.” The term, holarchy, was not coined by him, according to Google, which, like the old magic oracles, you can ask anything:Arthur Koestler, author of the 1967 Book “The Ghost in the Machine,” coined the term holarchy as the organizational connections between holons (from the Greek word for "whole"), which describes units that act independently but would not exist without the organization they operate within. Is a hierarchy a nested holarchy?Instead of everything being explained in terms of smaller bits and ultimate particles—which was the way science worked in the modern era—we can now think of the universe holistically, organized in a series of levels of organization in a nested hierarchy or holarchy. At each level, things are both wholes and parts.Some of the earliest examples of holarchic models may be found in the early teachings of Buddhism: the Four Noble Truths and the Eightfold Path, the Twelvefold Chain of interdependent co-arising, the Five Aggregates and Six Senses, and so on. My model of the Four Nested Spheres of Influence, with personal at the center, surrounded by the social sphere, then the natural world, then the universal, is also like this, a holarchy. These sets of components are not meant to be understood as entirely separate and apart from each other, but intricately interrelated, to use one of Matsuoka Roshi's common expressions. In Zen, all seemingly disparate things are also connected, the ultimate expression of the current trope: “Both things can be true at the same time.” We turn to zazen in our daily lives, in order to manifest a Zen life. Zen is the meditation sect of Buddhism, and zazen is the heart of Zen. The method of zazen is the main thing that we actually transmit, from one generation to the next. It is the same in music and other arts and sciences. No one can teach another music, as such, but someone can teach you how to play an instrument. It is up to you to find the music. Similarly, we can teach others this “excellent method” of zazen, as Master Dogen defined it. It is up to them to find the Zen.The instrument we study, and play, in zazen, is the human body and mind, our essential inheritance enabling us to wake up fully, as did Buddha. Other species are not considered to have the level of consciousness necessary and sufficient to the challenge. Dogs may have buddha-nature, but like most humans, they may never realize it. Ironically, it seems that we have to stop “playing” the instrument of body-mind — that is, give up our impulse to control everything — in order to allow it to “drop off” (J. shinjin datsuraku) to reveal our true nature, which is not limited to this body and mind. Body and mind are not separate, and, again, both can be true at the same time. That is, mind and body may seem to be of different categories, yet they are intricately inter-related.So sitting in zazen may be considered a subset of Zen, which is all-encompassing, and thus the holon of zazen is subsumed under the holon of Zen. But the necessity of zazen as central to apprehending the larger sphere of Zen, means that the two not only cannot be separated, but that the method cannot be separated from the larger effects, as in: So minute it enters where there is not gapSo vast it transcends dimensionA hairsbreadth deviation and you are out of tune This stanza from “Hsinhsinming—Trust in Mind” by Master Kanchi Sosan, indicates another holarchy, that of the transcendent “IT” of Zen, and your personal relation to it. The slightest deviation on your part, in resisting or missing the point of this all-embracing teaching, is the primary source of your suffering. This basic idea of the asymmetrical nature of the relationship — of the holon of the “I” to that of the “IT” of Buddhism — is more directly captured some 200 years later, in Tozan Ryokai's “Hokyo Zammai—Precious Mirror Samadhi: You are not it but in truth it is you In zazen, as well as in Zen writ large, we are embracing the directive from the first poem, in which Master Sosan admonishes us, paraphrasing: To move in the One WayDo not reject even the world of senses and ideasIndeed embracing them fully is identical with true enlightenment Stay tuned. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

I sometimes ask the producer of the UnMind podcast whether there is any subject he would like me to address, that he thinks is timely, and that others might find to be of interest. He sent me the following note: I was re-reading notes I've made in a Brad Warner book (“It Came From Beyond Zen”) and he made two points that are hitting me today. He interpreted Dogen's chapter “Kannon” and then commented on the interpretation: To me the basic idea of this whole essay is that compassion is intuitive. You can assess a given situation and think about how to deal with it compassionately. And you might even come up with the right answer that way. But in actual moment-by-moment interactions, compassion isn't a matter decided by thought. You have to be able to see your instantaneous intuitive response and then do it. This is hard. One of the reasons we practice meditation is to help us see our intuitive responses more clearly. Then: A little further along I have Dogen say, “You give yourself to yourself, and you give everyone else to everyone else.” That's pretty close to the original. This is important. If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of anyone else. There's no great merit in burning yourself out for the sake of others, since you'll only end up becoming a burden to those who'll have to take care of you after you wreck yourself in the process. Brad is a relatively younger and relatively famous Zen friend who has visited Atlanta from time to time; he and I once led a retreat together in Nashville, if memory serves. I agree with his point that compassion is basically intuitive, rather than entirely analytical. We speak of “practicing” compassion, and it is true that we can train ourselves to respond to individuals and situations more compassionately — that is, by seeing their side of the story, et cetera — but we should probably differentiate between practicing compassion and actually experiencing it. The word literally means “suffer with”: the prefix “com” meaning “with”; while “passion” is interchangeable with “suffering” as in “the passion of Christ.” Passion also means feeling strongly about something, as in “my passion is art” or music. But back to the idea of experiential compassion, of which I have written before. When we realize that we are the recipient of compassion in the sense of suffering as allowing, as in “suffer the little children to come unto me” as attributed to Christ, we recognize that we exist by virtue of the universe allowing us to exist — in that “goldilocks zone” in space and time where our home planet is far enough from, and close enough to, the sun that it can support life as we know it. The determinative parameters apparently do not have to be off by much to eliminate the possibility of sentient life on Earth. So in some sense, the planet is willing to suffer with us, until we become insufferable, which threshold we may have already transgressed, what with climate change and all. Religious belief systems aside, we may be hanging by a thread that is ready to snap. Ergo, we exist by dint of the compassion of the universe in its willingness to support life. Now, when we attribute “willingness” to the unconscious universe, eyebrows will be raised. The root word of willingness is “will,” and if we attribute will to the impersonal world in which we live, the next question will be, “Whose will?” It is counterintuitive to attribute will, unless it is to a “who.” But we can also look at will — the will to survive, the will to exist, and the will to propagate the species, for example — as disembodied will. Associated with will is the notion of intent — on both conscious and unconscious levels. Is it our intent to exist? Did we “will” ourselves into existence? Is there such a thing as “free will?” Or do all willful acts come with a price tag? Are we delusional in imagining that we are exerting free will in coming and going in this universe? As students at the Institute of Design, Illinois Tech, we would occasionally attend a movie series offered at the University of Chicago, in which they screened foreign films that would not be readily available in commercial theaters. After the feature they would show a short film or a series, one of which was entitled “The Lost Planet Ergro” if memory serves. These were in the category of “so bad they are good.” One of the leading characters in the script, when hearing some far-fetched explanation of the latest sci-fi phenomenon shown in the film would solemnly declare, “That's too deep for me.” After so many repetitions following so many scenes, it became unbearably funny. This is the way I feel about the speculations mentioned above. Apparently, Buddha did not exactly suffer fools gladly, and rejected flights of fancy from the practical standpoint of whether of not they addressed the problem at hand, that of the daily suffering in life. His experience in meditation apparently resolved many of the conflicts and conundrums we face in our lives, compounded, as they are by, complications of modern civilization. The story goes that, in the face of irreconcilable differences between the way he wished things might be, and the way that things really were, and still are, he resorted to meditation. He sat down, in all humility, and faced the fact that, with all of his intelligence, education, and privileged position in the caste system of his time, he did not really know what he most desperately needed to know. The story continues that he resolved to sit there and die, if need be, to settle once and for all the dilemma of his estrangement from the world, owing to the seemingly needless suffering he witnessed on a daily basis. He learned — and we should resolve — to “suffer with” the true causes and conditions of our existence, as he articulated them: aging, sickness, and death, to begin with; along with social dimensions of being away from our loved ones, and/or being with people we do not like. The depth and breadth of his insight still resonates today, in the validation of the Four Noble Truths and Noble Eightfold Path as being as relevant to our times as to his. Although, as I mention in earlier episodes, the complexity of our context has multiplied geometrically. If we take Buddha's example and message to heart, we can see that the compassionate thing to do is to embrace karmic causality, and the causes and conditions within our personal, social, natural and universal spheres of action and influence. The atrocities we witness around the globe, which manifest as the opposite of compassion, and the quintessential nature of ignorance, do not lobby against the veracity of Buddha's insight, but indeed confirm it in the most depressing manner imaginable. We do not have to imagine it because it is real, and has real karmic consequences. The native American tribes had a unique take on this hypothesis, as expressed by one of their chiefs during the genocidal advent of the white European settlers. It went something like this: The tribal members who had been slaughtered in the conquest — men, women and children — would be reborn as future generations of the children of the invaders. The perfect retribution, big-time karmic consequence. Whether or not you choose to honor or even consider this possibility, if those waging war on others, cavalierly bombing and otherwise laying waste to noncombatant civilians, were to believe that, like chopping down weeds after they had gone to seed, their very efforts are simply multiplying the future ranks of the perceived enemy, it might give them pause. If the “final solution” is genocide, wiping out the entire “other,” but it turns out not to work, but in fact simply kicks the can down the road a generation or two, the futility of the warring endeavor might finally come crashing home. This conclusion will never be drawn in the context of theistic beliefs in the eternal soul, of course. Unless they allow for some version of rebirth or reincarnation. Buddhism does not hold out this possibility in order to debate or refute contrary ideas. But what if it is true? Wouldn't the intrinsic irresolution, itself, perhaps contribute to a more moderate, compassionate approach to — if not loving thine enemies — at least recognizing that they may prevail, in spite of, or as a direct result of, our best efforts to eliminate them? As Master Dogen reminds us: Yet in attachment, blossoms fall In aversion, weeds spread And as one of our members reminded us when we were weeding the parking lot of the prior Zen center: “Weeds are flowers we don't want; flowers are weeds we do want.” But the herbicides that we spew over the land, in order to eradicate those flowers we identify as weeds in the patch, ultimately blow back our way, often taking our favorite blossoms with it. We are all, like it or not, forced to experience compassion, “suffering with,” suffering the ignorance of our fellow human beings. Suffering fools, if not gladly, as the saying goes. Karma and its consequences are not individuated; they come bundled with the species.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

I hesitate to add yet another voice to the cacophony of cries of agony, suffering, outrage and acrimony emanating out of Israel, Gaza, and surrounding Arab states, exacerbated by the 24/7 chattering class. Not to mention the ongoing carnage in Ukraine, which seems to have slipped under the global radar. But I fear that if we in Zen do not try to address these terrible global realities in the context of Buddhism, it may be taken as an indication, or an admission on our part, that Zen, along with its teachings and practice, have finally faded into irrelevance, in the face of such intractable 21st century problems. But as Katagiri Roshi reminds us, “You have to say something.” And Matsuoka Roshi did not shy from taking on the atrocities of his day. Check out his collected talks. Actually, just the opposite is true. It is not that the Zen Way is a panacea, or that it offers a silver bullet that will somehow “fix” a situation that has been several millennia in the making. But Buddhism points to the fundamental origin of the problem, traditionally defined as “craving” or “thirst.” The difficulty is that we have to individually “abandon” that craving, in order to enable the cessation of suffering, not only for ourselves but for others. But the individuals directly affected by the war seem to have no power over, or protection from, the influence and actions of the masses. So it would seem that our challenge may be to define the actual source of the conflict in the Middle East as originating in some form of craving, one that has been in force since long before the founding of Israel, just after the end of WWII. We must concede that the abandonment of that craving may or may not be possible, given the volatility of the situation, and the likelihood that cooler heads will not prevail for some time. According to my limited understanding of Buddhism, craving begins before birth, innate in the very desire to exist. This idea amounts to a pre-Enlightenment or proto-scientific hypothesis, an attempt to explain Nature's overwhelming fecundity, the irresistible will to life, manifested as the innumerable cascade of seeds, sperm, spores, and other forms of burgeoning life, populating the natural sphere in all corners of the planet. In sentient beings such as humans, this craving is clearly inchoate, beginning before or at conception and continuing in the womb, arising out of basic ignorance of the causes and conditions of our own origins. Whatever level of awareness can be attributed to the developing embryo, it is of a relatively primitive nature, compared to its later stages of maturation. Buddha made a noble attempt to model the process of growth of sentient beings, arising from primordial ignorance under the influence of mental formations, slowly differentiating the senses, and finally segueing through birth, aging, and death; then beginning another round through rebirth, in the teaching known as the “Twelvefold Chain of Interdependent Co-Arising” (Skt: pratityasamutpada). Find the link to the illustration in the show notes for this segment. Note that “mental formations” (#2) comprises the second link in the chain, arising in the womb out of the first link, the primordial sea of ignorance (#1) from which the universe arises. These formations are the motives, intentions and desires that underly all other dimensions of life, and which underpin our natural consciousness (#3) as a sentient being. The growth of the fetus continues, following its DNA blueprint — as we now know from modern genetics — resulting in a particular form (#4) of the organism; which leads to development of the six senses (#5), and contact (#6) with the outer world; which, in the context of the mother's womb, would arise from subtle sensation (#7) and perhaps a level of subliminal perception (#8), such as hunger experienced as craving (#9); which then develops into clinging (#10); leading to “becoming” (#11) — in the most general sense of the word — in modern terms, ontogeny; and finally to birth (#12), which ultimately reverts to aging and death (#13). Then, according to this theory, the cycle begins all over again. Tradition has it that it takes three full cycles through the chain to complete the process. So what does all this have to do with war, let alone the karmic consequences we might associate with war? Modern biology might find this model overly simplified, but I propose that we apply it to the arising of social awareness in the individual. We may find some linkage as to how a chain of conflicts arising between individuals can spread within a community, and between ethnic groups, eventually fueling international strife. One of the guest speakers at a conference we held in collaboration with the Department of Religion of Emory University in 2000, structured around the scholar-practitioner divide and focused on the teachings of Master Dogen, was asked, during the Q&A following his address, whether Christians, Buddhists, and Muslims, could truly engage in a dialog. His answer was “No.” As long as they are Christians, Buddhists, and Muslims, no dialog is possible. At the risk of repeating myself, allow me to take this moment to point out the obvious: Buddha was not a Buddhist, any more than Christ was a Christian. These concepts came into the vernacular following their life and death on Earth. They have now become additional labels for identifying and differentiating the constructed self. During his recent peacemaking trip to Israel, president Joe Biden was quoted as saying something like: “Whether you are Muslim, Jewish, or Christian, if you give up who you are, the terrorists have won.” But Buddhism suggests that we should do precisely that. We are to thoroughly examine the reality of this “who you are” — the imputed or constructed “self” — with a judicious skepticism, particularly in meditation. When we do so, we are told, we will see through the outer appearance of the self, penetrating to the emptiness at its core. This “emptiness” is an inadequate translation of the Sanskrit shunyatta, which points to the dynamic, ever-changing reality underlying all phenomena, and not a vacuous, woeful, or frightening void of nothingness, as it is sometimes interpreted. Perhaps we can draw an analogous parallel between the progress of a single person through these stages of life, as articulated by Buddha, to that of the tribe, or community, a group of individuals united by a common gene pool and shared biological and geographical roots, as well as agreed-upon social mores and norms. When two such groups clash, the knee-jerk reaction is to point fingers and blame the other side for starting the current conflict. The response is always to reflect the blame back on the accuser, in a seemingly endless regress into the fog of history. Observers seem compelled to weigh in on one side or the other. If we look at the suffering in an individual's life, we might entertain the same question: Whose fault is this? Who started this? Whose idea was this? Theistic philosophies have a ready answer — that this life, with all its imperfections, is a reflection of God's will — moving in mysterious ways that we cannot hope to comprehend. Applying this same nostrum to international strife seems largely an evasive maneuver, an avoidance of the responsibility of actually resolving the dispute in human terms. In Zen, we embrace the idea that, if anyone is to blame for our individual life, it is us. The repentance verse expresses this notion concisely: All my past and harmful karmaFrom beginningless greed, hate and delusionBorn of body, mouth, and mind,I now fully avow. “Avow” is a rather archaic term, meaning to assert or confess openly. In other words, we are owning it — assuming responsibility for the unintended consequences of our own behavior — we are not blaming others. We might want to blame our parents, and their parents, another endless regress, as the proximate cause of our own existence. Good luck with that. Even if they are at fault, we cannot hold them accountable, at least not for long. After their demise, we are left to face the same reality, without the scapegoat. Similarly, in international conflicts, which often amount to tribal warfare on steroids, it might be helpful for all sides to own up to their own culpability in what has come to pass, as president Biden did in recalling the overwrought reaction to the 911 crisis. This would amount to a simple recognition and acceptance of one of the seminal marks of dukkha: “imperfection.” Admitting that “mistakes were made” — before the situation accelerates to an irresolvable level of mutually-inflicted violence. One of the black marks on US exceptionalism — that of Hiroshima & Nagasaki — has become the mother of all mistakes that have ever been made on the global stage. The country that first dropped the Big Bomb on civilians is hardly in a position to lecture others on the morality of human decency in following the “laws of war,” the mother of all oxymorons. War is precisely the end of law, in any human sense of the term. Where people — or, for that matter, any sentient beings of the same species — are separated, they tend to evolve in different directions. This principle of Darwin's “Origin of Species” theory can explain a lot, such as the development of varying cuisines, dialects and languages, as well as the susceptibility of isolated populations to propaganda. What if the appropriate authority, such as the United Nations, undertook a program of social exchange in all such closed-border situations as that of Israel and the Gaza strip? What that might look like would be providing safe passage from each side of the border to the other for limited groups of families or age groups, who would spend a limited amount of time in the company or homes of their counterparts in the “other” culture, the designated enemy. This is an old idea whose time may have come around again. If people get to know each other on a personal, more intimate basis, and “break bread” together, they are a lot less likely to turn on each other for no reason, and to find common ground. Wasting the opportunity of a lifetime in the service of a questionable, survival-oriented self finds its analog in following political leaders who are similarly self-striving, finding at the end-of-the-day, or at the end of your life, that not only are they, your titular leaders, unappreciative of your loyalty, but that they even regard you with contempt, as part of the problem, or at best a pawn in their geopolitical chess game. In the personal sphere of meditation, you may fight your own war, and hopefully find your individual salvation. Then, and only then, you may be able to share it with others in, and outside of, your social sphere. Good luck with that. Don't give up.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last segment we ended with the suggestion that you, dear listener, might construct your own Noble N-fold Path based on your vision of the Noble Truths, with the proviso that you may have to articulate what the existence of suffering means to you, and how you might pursue a path to its cessation in modern times. In doing so you may discover that there are more origins of suffering in your life than simple craving, although craving is not simple. You may also find, upon closer examination, that the cessation of suffering is going to require giving up more than your basic biological cravings, and that your personal path to salvation will have more than eight basic dimensions involved. However, most of the more detailed dimensions and distractions in daily life today will probably loosely correlate to those that the Buddha defined. Let me know if, in the interim, you have thought about this, and engaged in the creative exercise I suggested — that you make an attempt to redefine the Four Noble Truths and the Noble Eightfold Path in your own terms. I would be interested to see what you came up with. In this segment, as promised, I will attempt to expand the context further, integrating the original four as defined by Buddha with those surrounding spheres of influence that have impact on our daily lives, as well as on our contemporary practice of Zen, including the personal and social we have discussed so far, as well as the natural and universal spheres. Go to the UnMind webpage to see my diagram of the nesting spheres of influence combined with the Four Noble Truths. The link to the page is in the show notes for this episode. This illustration attempts to paint a picture of the comprehensive context of a modern Zen life and practice of the Eightfold Path, tying together our current, more expansive grasp of the surrounding universe, with Buddha's Four Noble Truths. These are the Four Spheres, those surrounding layers of reality in which we find ourselves enmeshed, and are directly or indirectly influenced by, in the ongoing management of our lives. The most central is the Personal sphere, the next level out being the Social, then the Natural, and finally, the Universal. They are not truly separate, of course, but relatively so.THE UNIVERSAL: EXISTENCE OF SUFFERINGOur meditative practice is centered in the personal experience we find on the cushion, the most intimate dimension, inseparable from the other three. Buddha's teaching of the Existence of suffering — and his charge that we are to fully understand its existence — we might assume to lie within the innermost circle, the Personal. But its true home is in the outermost, the Universal realm. After all, nothing, anywhere in the Universe, is exempt from dukkha, as the principle of change. Galaxies colliding in outer space are an instance of dukkha. That we are, each and all of us, caught up in incessant change, does not reduce dukkha to a merely personal concern, however, from either a positive or negative perspective. We are neither the chosen, most favored, beings in this spectacle; nor are we the sole victims. Dukkha is not a respecter of persons. The universal dimension of zazen includes the physical posture sinking into a profound stillness, which lies at the heart of all motion (captured by the Ch'an expression “mokurai”); and settling into precise alignment with the field of gravity. The term used to name this profound equilibrium is “Samadhi.” Zazen-samadhi transcends the Personal and Social spheres, linking into the Natural and Universal forces of the planet and the solar system, as we hear in the Ch'an poem Hokyo Zammai—Precious mirror Samadhi: Within causes and conditions time and season It is serene and illuminatingSo minute it enters where there is no gapSo vast it transcends dimensionA hairsbreadth's deviation and you are out of tuneAll change, from the most minute in the microcosmos to the outermost reaches of the universe, is a manifestation of dukkha, which is, however, “serene and illuminating.” All forms, including solid, liquid and gaseous states of matter in continual flux, provide examples of the Universal impinging upon the Personal. Our very life depends upon these three basic states of matter, as well as the functioning principles of organic chemistry, or biology, which overlap with the Natural. We cannot personally control, or negate, these influences to any significant degree. But we can come into harmony with them if we tune ourselves to their frequency.THE NATURAL: ORIGIN OF SUFFERINGThe Origin of suffering, usually translated as “craving” or “thirst,” Buddha taught that we are to abandon, again as fully as possible. Craving would most logically find its home in the Natural sphere, as it comes bundled with sentient life. As attributed to the plant kingdom, for example, to claim evidence of craving may seem a bridge too far, but we describe trees and grasses as thirsty, especially under increasingly common conditions of drought as one result of climate change.It is even more difficult to defend craving as manifested in the mineral kingdom, though certain chemical reactions, and even the simple dynamic of osmosis, or wicking, via capillary attraction, appears to mimic a form of thirst, admittedly inchoate, and unconscious. The main point is that while we tend to own our own feelings of craving, struggling with guilt and other obsessions as a consequence, they are clearly and largely a result of being a physical being — an animal — one endowed with painfully intense self-awareness. “Born of body, mouth and mind” is the operative phrase in Buddhism's Repentance verse. Most of our suffering comes with the territory. And therefore we are not responsible for it, only for what we do, or do not do, about it.The Natural sphere is not only the macro environment around us, but also the micro environ within our body, including the biological, chemical and electrical processes of breathing, digesting, and the rest of the inconceivable scope of life functions built into existence as a sentient being. It is all changing constantly, and subliminally to our typical awareness.THE SOCIAL: CESSATION OF SUFFERINGThe Cessation of suffering, which we are to fully realize, I position primarily in the Social sphere, though the most efficacious means for realizing it may reside in the most intimate inner circle of the Personal. A transformational event that Buddha identified as a “turning about in the inmost consciousness,” is tantamount to salvation in Zen. But this is not the salvation of an eternal soul in the afterlife.Personal suffering of aging, sickness and death — including birth as the leading cause of death — is quintessentially Natural. This process follows the “Dharma” as the natural law of sentient life. It is natural, in the psychological sense, that we look for personal salvation in the face of such suffering. And it is understandable that we look to the social level — of advanced medical treatment, for example — for solutions to mitigate personal suffering. However, in the most fully developed and comprehensive of the Mahayana teachings, the Bodhisattva Vow, we find that no one individual can be saved while the rest remain mired in suffering. In Zen, the most central form, and cause, of suffering is our willful ignorance, and resistance.THE PERSONAL: PATH TO CESSATIONThe Eightfold Path, which Buddha challenges us to fully follow, I place primarily in the Personal sphere. It forms a bridge into the Social, most obviously, but has resonance with the Natural and Universal spheres as well. While the usual linear sequence begins with Right View, and ends with Right Meditation, in actual Zen practice, the sequence is reversed. Some sects do not encourage students to meditate until they have some grounding in doctrine. Zen subscribes to the sink-or-swim approach, trusting the practice of upright, seated meditation to have an immediate, positive effect, encouraging followers to do follow-up research to clarify their experience. Engaging fully in Right Meditation, the practice of Right Mindfulness and Right Effort will follow naturally. These three comprise Right Discipline. This necessarily begins in the Personal sphere of practice-experience on the cushion, but mindfulness and effort obviously carry over into the Social realm. Right Speech, Action and Livelihood, taken together as Right Conduct, are most engaged in the Social sphere, though our actions and livelihood clearly affect the Natural realm, as in examples of mismanagement of resources.Finally, Right View, and Right Thought, when combined, comprise Right Wisdom in the threefold Path, complementing Right Discipline and Conduct. Wisdom consists in the evolution of our worldview to approximate that of the Buddha, or Buddhism, through trial-and-error, engaging the other dimensions of the Eightfold Path.THE INSEPARABILITY OF PERSONAL, SOCIAL, NATURAL & UNIVERSALDividing the Path into digestible bites does not imply that such separations are absolute. All diagrams are Venn diagrams, to a degree, whether of Buddhist teachings, or other areas of human endeavor. The personal cannot be separated from the social, the natural, or the universal, in reality, nor can wisdom, conduct, and discipline, whether right or wrong. The natural sphere entails stewardship of the environment, including the survival of the species. Extinction of species in the ecosystem, as a result of insensitivity to long-term consequences, and callous disregard for the sake of short-term profit, becomes very personal in terms of its impact on individuals, social in its effect on whole communities. Exhaustive mining of mineral resources provides another example of the connection between our personal needs and the dictates of Nature writ large. The most direct and obvious solution to the social and natural “tragedy of the commons” is for each individual to reduce craving on a personal level. Zazen, which seems to be Personal, disengaged navel-gazing, is actually the most direct gate to the Social, Natural and Universal dimensions of our existence. When we leave the cushion and re-enter the fray, the benefits of our practice come with us. Please examine this thoroughly in practice — thank you, Dogen.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

To elicit the bigger picture of the place of Zen and zazen in our world of practice, I would like to refer you to a couple of semantic models illustrating the interrelationships, or operative interfaces, of the various components of the Four Noble Truths, along with the dimensions of the Noble Eightfold Path that we all encounter on a daily basis, both on the cushion and off. Turning to Buddhism's Four Noble Truths, we see that they can be modeled as a system, the simplest geometry for which is the four-pointed tetrahedron (a “system” here defined as anything exhibiting an inside and an outside). The model shows their interconnectedness, from one to two to three to four, from two to three and four, et cetera. There are six relationships of the four points, to each other. How does the existence of suffering relate to its origin, craving? And so on and on. Go to the UnMind webpage to see my diagram of the Four Noble Truths as a four-pointed tetrahedron. The link to the page is in the show notes for this episode. The four are usually presented in a linear layout in text, beginning with the first Noble Truth of the Existence of suffering (dukkha), followed by its Origin; its Cessation; finally the Noble Eightfold Path, which leads to the cessation of suffering in daily life.First, we must challenge the appropriateness of the word “suffering” to translate the meaning of the Sanskrit word, “dukkha.” Unfortunately, suffering is fraught with narrow connotations of human pain, not only physical, but emotional, mental, and even existential in nature. But I do not believe that this is the intended meaning of the original term. Buddha was expounding a universal principle — that of unrelenting, inexorable change — which we naturally interpret from the perspective of our personal angst, as “suffering.” The Noble Eightfold Path extends this description of reality into a prescription for practice in daily life. Visit the webpage in the show notes to see the diagram illustrating the interconnectedness and interdependence of the elements in the Eightfold Path. A common example: “you talk the talk but you do not walk the walk”; a functional disconnect between right speech and right action.As you reflect upon the Noble Eightfold Path, consider how the interdependence of the eight dimensions reinforce each other: How does Right View influence Right Thought, or Right Speech? Where does Right Action connect with Right Livelihood and Right Effort? Is Right Mindfulness dependent upon Right Effort, and does it then lead to Right Meditation, or is it the other way around? Zen tradition claims to transmit the “right meditation” practiced by Shakyamuni, the historical Buddha and progenitor of Buddhism. But we recognize the absolute relevance and modernity of his message, privileging the simplified approach of Zen. Note that the eight dimensions are numbered in reverse order: “right view,” number one, being more a result than a starting point; right meditation, number eight, is where we must begin. As mentioned in UnMind number 131, “The Noble N-Fold Path”, the traditional division of Buddhism's Noble Eightfold Path may have to be updated to reflect the complexity of living in modern times. Nowadays we might want to add more dimensions to the original eight prescribed for practice in a simpler time. Perhaps today we would end up with a Noble Thirty-Two-fold Path as the last of the Sixteen Noble Truths. In Un Mind number 131, I mused upon the notion of adding “right balance” to the mix, what with the geometrically expanded choices we face in pursuing right speech, action and livelihood, and the challenges of living a Zen life in the midst of over-choice: the temptations and distractions pulling on us from all directions while we navigate the tightrope and keep all the balls in the air. We hope that we can “have it all,” especially compared to our ancestors in Zen, but “living large” exacts a steep price. To cite just a few of the dimensions of our modern milieu, distinctions with a tangible difference from ancient times, challenging our sense of balance today:TRAVEL: Buddha's “ecological sweepout,” to borrow a Bucky Fullerism, was limited to the radius he could reach on foot, by donkey or elephant, though there were likely significant incoming influences from the Silk Road and other trade routes. One of our senior priests made the point that for the first time in history, every individual on the planet is potentially only one plane ride away from every other person. This has all kinds of implications, some positive, some not so much, such as the boost it gives to viral vectors spreading disease globally with blinding speed.TECHNOLOGY: The interconnectivity of masses of people around the world, with advances in applications that provide automatic translation of languages, live video and audio recording and reporting of events on an unprecedented scale and scope of detail and timeliness, is a double-edged sword, a tool that can be used for good or ill, depending on the intent of senders and receivers of the message. The old-school formulas - that “The Medium is the Message”; communication is not the message sent, but the message received - no longer hold in a world of technology that allows anyone to put any words they wish in the mouths of anyone they want. It is impossible to catch up with even the jargon that attempts to keep up with scams popping up like weeds in the garden. From a Buddhist perspective, the upside is that world-around digital media have established a technical analogy to Avalokiteshvara, who “sees and hears the suffering of the world,” and comes to help, in her mission as the Bodhisattva of Compassion. One can hope. EDUCATION: In Buddha's time, and for the vast majority of the development of human civilization, choices in education were severely limited, primarily to learning the trade or craft of one's ancestral family. Compare to today's nearly unlimited potential for social mobility, promising transcendence of the caste or class system, implicit or explicit, into which we are born. One current downside is the emergence of massive student loan debt, a significant burden for those who have elected to finance higher degrees, which do not guarantee a successful career with the ability to pay off that debt.CORPORATIZATION: An awkward word to label an awkward development. Another significant difference in our world and that of the Buddha is the predominance of the corporate entity, which I suppose first reared its ugly head with the formation of the city-states of Greece, and reached its apogee in the Citizens United decision of SCOTUS. Not that corporations are necessarily bad; there are some that are dedicated to doing good, such as NFP 501c3s incorporated for various charitable missions. But the human beings populating the corporate entities, as members of the board and other controlling positions, are still human, and can do more harm with the collective power and reach of the corporation, than they might be able to do individually. I could go on. For example, with the current spate of international wars, widespread drug addiction, and the senseless gun violence that have become our new, dystopian “normal,” were certainly not the norm 2500 years ago. But suffice it to say that Buddha did not have to cope with this scale and scope of the onslaught of global insanity, though the self-striving nature of humanity underlying the chaos has not fundamentally changed since his times. We would likely find it unlikely to find an apt analogy to Dogen's time, let alone Buddha's. When we comprehend the Four Noble Truths as mutually interacting, but constrained within the limits of the context of early Indian subculture, we can update them to the 21st century by constructing our own menu of actionable items based on today's realities. You could, with some imagination, build your own personal set of Noble Truths, four or more, and suss out the vectors of a modern Path that transcend those outlined by the Buddha. He would appreciate your efforts, I am sure.Let me encourage you to engage in such a creative exercise between now and when we meet again. Contemplate what the “existence of suffering” means to you, how you are to “fully understand it”; what attitude adjustments and actionable items on your particular path may be undertaken to transform that suffering into the right view of wisdom. Remember to consider the relationships between the various path factors that you identify, rather than treat each in isolation. In the next segment, I will attempt to expand the context even further, into those surrounding spheres of influence on our daily lives, as well as on our contemporary practice of Zen, well beyond the personal and social, to include the natural and the universal. Buckle up. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the next two segments: number 132 and 133 in the sequence, we repeat a subject that we took up in number 113 and 114; namely the buddha nature versus human nature; some of the sameness and differences between what we refer to as “human nature” and what we refer to in Zen as our “original nature,” or “buddha-nature,” “buddha” meaning “awakened one.” Please bear with the repetition; there is new material here as well. And much of what is to be said about the place of Zen in America bears repetition. As promised in the last segment of UnMind, we will continue examining the social, or “corporate” expressions of human nature — versus what we call “buddha nature” — with an eye to those corporate entities growing out of Zen practice, such as the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and the Silent Thunder Order, as examples. Master Dogen mentions the constructions of humankind, indicating that they, too, are part and parcel of the nature and manifestation of buddha-dharma: Grass, trees, and lands which are embraced by this Teachingtogether radiate a great light and endlessly expoundthe inconceivable profound dharmaGrass, trees, and walls bring forth this Teaching for all beingscommon people as well as sagesand they in accord extend this dharmafor the sake of grass, trees, and walls In India the original Order of monks and nuns apparently camped out in the woods, and when the monsoons came, retired to caves in the mountains. Eventually, patrons built dwellings for them, the first “walls” to house the followers of Buddha's teachings. Somewhere I came across a saying, something to the effect that, when a precious jewel appears in the world, not to worry, a container will appear to protect it. The “precious jewel” is the buddha-dharma, and the container consists of the various temples, practice centers, and monasteries that have been established to protect and preserve it. The Dharma opening verse that we typically chant at the beginning of a discourse says: The unsurpassed, profound and wondrous Dharma is rarely met withEven in a hundred, thousand, million kalpasNow we can see and hear it, accept and maintain itMay we unfold the meaning of the Tathagata's truth Assuming we can “see and hear” the Dharma, it becomes our charge to “accept and maintain” it. In the context of modern society, this means not only providing the physical plant, the “walls” within which followers are invited to practice, but also providing the corporate structure that will enable others to maintain the program of promulgating Dharma teachings and propagating the direct practice of meditation, through their financial and in-kind donations. For this reason, and other related incentives, it becomes necessary to establish a 501c3 not-for-profit corporation in order to maintain Zen practice interfacing with other, governmental corporate entities. But some caveats are in order when doing so in the furtherance of Zen, in light of its skepticism regarding the constructed self. Where Zen calls into question the reification of even the human entity, or being, and its extension to the concept of a self, the soul of theism, or atman of Hinduism; the reification of a corporate entity is seen as equally, or even more, suspect. ASZC was incorporated in 1977 to facilitate the mission of meeting the public demand for what we refer to as genuine Zen practice, in particular its uniquely simple and direct meditation. What we refer to as “Soto Zen” or “Dogen Zen” is different from all the other alternatives on offer. Just as what Buddhism teaches as its worldview is starkly different from the various religions and ideologies dominant in our culture. STO was incorporated in 2011 because the stress and strain on the board of directors and committees of the ASZC had become too much to handle, with the growth of our network of affiliates, which were meeting the increasing demand for Zen practice; and the growing awareness of ASZC and STO as meeting that demand in a uniquely user-friendly manner, stressing the practicality and best practices of householder Zen. BUT We should not be confused as to the reality or unreality of the corporate entities we have “established.” They are no more real than any other corporate entity, though we may feel that their existence as such is much more necessary and based on real human need. The human beings, or sangha, populating the corporate shell are real and existent dharmas, in its connotation of “dharma-beings.” The corporation is real enough, in that it can interact with other corporate entities, but is essentially a real but non-existent dharma being, a construct. In spite of the “Citizens United” ruling of the Supreme Court, corporations are demonstrably not persons and should not have the “rights” accorded to human beings, in my humble opinion. All beings are capable of doing harm; corporate entities may survive their human components and thus become capable of extending the harm, or good, they do to future generations. Real persons, fortunately or unfortunately — your call — pass away eventually, but the harm they do often lives after them; thank you, Marc Antony. Sometimes through the corporations they formed during their lifetime. There is a rather useful trope to apply to your personal relationship to the corporate entity that represents the community of fellow practitioners of Zen. These are some issues that have come up from time to time, phrased in the format of “IF-THEN”: IF you find yourself obsessing over the wellbeing of the ASZC or STO, or your local affiliate center, including the management and succession of their leadership, THEN you may be getting distracted from your own, personal practice, which may be much more difficult to deal with, and less gratifying than engaging the social fray. IF you feel under-appreciated for your efforts on behalf of the organization, THEN a couple of reminders: One — welcome to the club. Two — remember that we support the organizations because they support the practice of Zen. And in Zen there is “no self, and no other-than-self.” Our actions are neither entirely selfish, nor entirely unselfish, when it comes to Zen. Or you could argue that they are both selfish and unselfish. IF you are engaging in certain activities, and feel that you are making sacrifices, for the sake of someone else in the sangha, including myself, THEN, please stop. A sense of emotional indebtedness will only grow, and can never be recompensed adequately. As Master Dogen reminds us, we should not imagine that we are practicing Zen solely for our own sake, let alone for the sake of others. We should practice Zen for the sake of Buddhism itself. The 13th Century Master cautioned his followers not to call it “Zen,” that Zen is a made-up term. It is only Buddhism, he said. But even his nomenclature reifies “Buddhism,” as if there actually is such a thing that needs our protection. Buddhism, like Zen, is also a made-up term. Shakyamuni was not a Buddhist, any more than Jesus Christ was a Christian. Buddha comes from a root word that means “awake.” Buddha means the “fully awakened one.” What he taught, and what his followers practiced — in a culture replete with Hinduism, where one imagines they encountered considerable resistance — came to be called Buddhism. As such, it is also subject to its own teachings of “impermanence, insubstantiality, and imperfection.” IF you find yourself sharing your personal doubts and frustrations with your fellow travelers as to how the sangha is functioning, including its leadership, THEN you may be fomenting confusion, and resultant disharmony, in the sangha, a big “no-no” in Zen. As the story goes, one of Siddhartha Gautama's cohort of cousins, named Devadatta, was jealous of Shakyamuni's revered status, including the lavish support he received from patrons, and repeatedly attempted to have Buddha assassinated. Yet Buddha predicted that Devadatta would eventually realize buddha-hood. If such transgressions against the cohesion of the corporate Order of monks and nuns in those times could be regarded by Buddha as a kind of trial-and-error, coming of age saga, if over several lifetimes — we may be forgiven for the more minor errors in judgment that we may reasonably be expected to make in our efforts at community practice, and any resultant behaviors that may have unintended consequences. In any case, it does not pay to overthink these considerations, certainly not to make them the focus of our personal practice. A monk complained that when sitting in zazen, the rain was dripping on him from leaks in the roof. The Master told him to “move down.” Why spend a lot of time patching and repairing an old temple building, when you should be about the business of your own awakening to Buddha's insight? It is even more likely today that we will become enamored of the corporate entity and all its trappings, and lose sight of what brought us to Zen in the first place. The only thing that will accompany us when we go to our grave is our deeds. We have to leave the chimera of the corporation, along with the walls of the building, no matter how grandiose, behind — as well as the paperwork, thankfully. This realization should be accompanied by an immense sense of relief. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the next two segments: number 132 and 133 in the sequence, we repeat a subject that we took up in number 113 and 114; namely the buddha nature versus human nature; some of the sameness and differences between what we refer to as “human nature” and what we refer to in Zen as our “original nature,” or “buddha-nature,” “buddha” meaning “awakened one.” Please bear with the repetition; there is new material here as well. And much of what is to be said about the place of Zen in America bears repetition. We often hear our fellow human beings idealizing human nature, implicit in criticisms of the behavior of others as “inhumane.” Which we may take to be well-intentioned, if somewhat self-aggrandizing. It implies that if only other humans around the globe were more “humane” in their treatment of others, we would see less suffering and atrocities stemming from humankind's inhumanity to humankind, let alone the unspeakable miseries visited upon other, so-called “lower” sentient beings. But I am afraid that our teachings from Buddhism cast a rather jaundiced eye on the veracity that idea. While, according to Zen tradition, we human beings are uniquely capable of waking up to buddha-nature, it does not follow that human- and buddha-nature are interchangeable. Far from it. Let us examine a few examples of what is conventionally meant by “human nature,” and some caveats to common attitudes and definitions, each claim followed by a “but”: It is human nature to regard ourselves as independently existent entities. BUT: According to Zen, we human beings are not self-existent entities. Nothing else is, either. Including corporate entities, such as the Atlanta Soto Zen Center, the Silent Thunder Order, even the government. This is the flip-side of the internet of connectivity in which we find ourselves enmeshed. Entities function only by dint of their connections. It is human nature to want to join like-minded groups of people.BUT: The Zen community, or “sangha,” like any group entity, is evanescent, imperfect, impermanent, and intrinsically insubstantial. This is why we refer to and visualize our members as being like the drops of water vapor in a “cloud” (J. un), constantly evaporating and recondensing over time, as people come and go. It is human nature to hope to be appreciated for our contributions to a group, or cause.BUT: It is somewhat inappropriate to express appreciation to anyone for what they do for Zen or Buddhism, as there is no “self,” as such, in it. It is normal to do so in polite society, of course. But Zen, while not antisocial in character, is asocial — conventional norms and memes of society are called into question, and subject to examination under the unrelenting glare of meditation.It is human nature to expect that our social cohorts will fulfill our personal needs.BUT: Our best laid plans often take a dystopian turn. Because a corporate entity is populated by individuals who have their own agendas, one's personal perspective may have to be set aside in deference to the overall, long-term benefit of the group. We are encouraged to practice patience (S. kshanti) with this as a social dimension of the Precepts. It is human nature to hope that our favored institutions will continue in perpetuity.BUT: Nothing continues in perpetuity. Never has, never will. Eiheiji still stands, however, as a testament to what it once represented, which of course has changed over time. It is human nature to feel disappointed when our expectations are not met.BUT: We practice caution against developing unrealistic expectations of Zen, both of our personal practice as well as our social community. We go to Zen with the sangha we have, not with the sangha we may want. I could go on. It is human nature to try to control the uncontrollable. And to blame others when we fail to do so. As the Tao te Ching reminds, paraphrasing, “When the blaming begins, there is no end to the blame.” Today we dismiss this as the “blame game.” No matter how much harmony we are able to foster within the sangha, there are inevitably going to be periods of disruption and disharmony, triggered by personality issues, as well as external influences. We “do not discuss the faults of others,” but we often find it necessary to discuss their behavior from time to time, especially if it is disruptive. THIS IS WHY WE ASPIRE TO BUDDHA NATUREWhile exhorting others to remember and respect their humanity and encouraging humane behavior may be a natural, if unexamined, response to violations of injustice and offenses to our sensibilities witnessed on a daily basis, it ignores the fact that the great preponderance of the history of humankind consists mainly of these kinds of atrocities, committed under the umbrella of religious, ideological and political rationales. They represent the essence of what it is to be “human,” writ large, just as self-defense or self-preservation explains the great bulk of instinctive behaviors in the animal kingdom. Something is lacking, therein. We think it is our original, or “buddha,” nature. Buddha nature simply means awakened nature. What we awaken to is, largely, the unreality of those things we take to be real, which cause us to react defensively to any perceived threat to our self-identity. As the great Ch'an master Sengcan reminds us, in his poem on trusting the mind: For the unified mind in accord with the way, all self-centered striving ceases HUMAN BEING VS CORPORATE ENTITYThis self-striving extends to corporate entities, prototypes of which were surely present in ancient China, as well as India and Japan. But today they seem to have taken on a life of their own, as an unintended consequence, characteristic of so many of our inventions. One model for taking an overview of this process we owe to Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel.If you search key words: “Hegel's dialectic; synthesis of form,” the first item out of about 380,000 summarizes his concept as well as I can: Hegel presents the dialectic as a three-part structure consisting of a thesis, an antithesis, and a synthesis. In human history, when the status quo (the thesis) is challenged by a new historical development or force (the antithesis), a new form of life emerges out of the synthesis of the two prior stages.We might quibble with certain choices of terms, such as “a new form of life,” as this would be more appropriate when considering biological evolution, rather than social or cultural evolution, the latter of which I take to be what Hegel was talking about. Those entities that appear on the social/cultural horizon as forms of government, commerce, et cetera as the “antithesis” challenging prevalent norms, the “thesis,” which then react in survival mode, often taking on characteristics of the challengers, resulting in “synthesis,” the result of which becomes the new “thesis.” The process is ongoing and continuous. An example of another binary subject to this process, and similar to comparison and contrast of human versus buddha nature, is that of the corporate entity versus the individual, which — while occurring in human history predating and including Buddha's time — was not so prevalent or obvious a contradiction as it is in the era of the relatively recent “Citizens United” decision of the SCOTUS. Today, corporate entities seem to be winning the competition for survival, or dominance, on a global scale. They appear to threaten the very meaning of the “individual,” those mere human entities that they are ostensibly created to serve. In the next segment of UnMind we will continue this examination of the origin of social, or “corporate” expressions of human and buddha nature, with a focus on those growing out of Zen practice. Corporate entities such as the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and the Silent Thunder Order are familiar and salient examples of group dynamics intended to foster the individual pursuit of Zen practice. A real modern Zen koan. Stay tuned. * * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

The Noble Eightfold Path, the fourth of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, amounts to a prescription for practice, an octet of dimensions of daily life to pay strict attention to, in order to bring about Right View and Right Understanding, the dyad which, in combination, comprise Buddha's idea of Right Wisdom. Right, or correct, wisdom in daily life will come about naturally through the daily observation and practice of Right Conduct: right speech, action, and livelihood; along with Right Discipline: right effort, mindfulness and meditation. Needless to say, but I will say it anyway, in Zen, it all starts and ends with right meditation, opposed, we may suppose, to “wrong” meditation. And in truth, there are styles of meditation, and attitudes about it, that would be considered wrong, in the sense that they do not work well, or at least not as well as zazen, with its modus operandi of objectlessness. Such approaches as bompu Zen: meditating for health and happiness, wellbeing, i.e. ordinary goals and objectives of living; or gedo Zen: a practice that disregards the Buddhist underpinnings of Zen meditation, with its emphasis on transcending the self in order to penetrate to the depths of reality, in favor of some other framework such as Taoism or Confucianism from the original context in China, or a religious attitude of spiritual transcendence of ordinary life. So even within the personal practice of meditation itself, there can be competing ideas that lead to confusion. More so when we consider the cultural context in which we are practicing Zen. Nowadays we might want to add more dimensions to the original eight attributed to Buddha's prescription for practice in a simpler time. Perhaps today we would end up with a Noble Thirty-two-fold Path as the last of the Sixteen Noble Truths. One of the more explicit dimensions might be called “right balance,” indicating what I have termed “social samadhi.” Along with physical samadhi in the posture, which fosters emotional samadhi: less anxiety, more calm; mental samadhi: more clarity, less confusion; we begin to find more harmony, less friction, in our relationships. For Americans interested in pursuing a Zen practice, finding the right balance between the demands of household, work and family; and the necessary intensity of zazen practice may seem to be the most pressing and stressing dilemma in actualizing a Zen life in modern times.We imagine that in simpler times, people had more time to spare, and could devote a greater share of their time to meditation and study. With all the touted time-saving devices of current technology, we still seem to have little or no time to ourselves. The current droll expression, “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get” captures this syndrome. An ancient version of the same idea, from the Chinese Zen poem Hsinshinming—Faith Mind, says it a bit differently, with specific relevance to Zen practice with a Taoist slant: To live in the Great Way is neither easy nor difficultBut those with limited views are fearful and irresoluteThe faster they hurry the slower they go This is a critique of those who approach Zen practice with limited views, as well as those who do not practice at all, and an admonition to practitioners to be fearless and resolute in pursuit of buddha-dharma. This general mindset underlies Right Effort, and gives a clue to how we may achieve balance in our practice.Usually when someone brings this issue up, it indicates that they suspect that they may not be practicing with sufficient intensity. They worry that it is not possible to find the time for zazen, both at home and away, without compromising obligations to family and career. For every project or task in which we invest the present moment, there are a dozen others that go wanting.The source of this dilemma is the tendency of the discriminating mind to compartmentalize, dividing life into separate categories. The next step in the process is to set the various pieces in opposition to each other. Then we conceive of them as taking time to plan, engage, and complete. Thus, we are forever caught in the bind of measured time, another compartmentalized conception. Taking this concept of time for the reality of time, we see no way out.Time-and-motion gurus, along with efficiency experts as well as life coaches, apply various techniques to this problem, such as making it visible. One such approach recommends drawing up a pie chart, in which we give a portion of the whole to each of our regular activities, whether based on a 24-hour daily, or weekly, monthly, or annual, cycle. Then we examine the activities to see if they are out of balance in some obvious way, looking to reduce one to make room for another, to arrive at a more desirable allocation of time to our goals and objectives. In other words, we use measured time to re-plan a measured dedication time to tasks.If we closely examine this process, and pay attention to the singular subjects that appear to conflict, it becomes apparent that the boundaries are not so clear. What we sort into categories are aspects of life that are more related than opposed. This is not a simplistic assertion that all is one, just an admission of the not-two nature of life promulgated in Zen teachings, particularly those from China. If, for example, we imagine that time spent in zazen is time neglecting our family, we might remember that when we do not sit in zazen for some period, our relationship to our family begins to deteriorate. We may secretly, subliminally even, resent the fact that we have to give up something for the sake of our spouse, children, or parents — or worst case, in-laws — with any lack of appreciation for our sacrifice on their part, adding insult to injury.We cannot balance our relationships to others, when they are built on such underlying self-centered impulses to begin with. Our complaint that we do not have time to do zazen is a symptom that we do not understand either time, or zazen. When we do zazen, we are using our time to its utmost efficiency and efficacy. When we leave the cushion, this mindset goes with us. We eventually begin to find that we waste less time in futile pursuits, or in resentment and acrimony between ourselves and those making demands on our time.This is especially true at work. A majority of people may report that they are happy with their work. But whether this happiness is genuine — or feigning contentment in fear of losing their job, or resistance to confronting genuine underlying unhappiness — is anyone's guess. This was probably not included in the questionnaire. But most of our discomfort at work stems from relationships.Compensation in terms of salary and benefits is always related to at least one other person, usually the identified “boss,” or management in general, especially where unions are involved. It is difficult to apply principles of compassionate engagement when the deck is stacked against us, with the other person holding all the trump cards. Often, we have no idea how much they themselves make for being our boss, but they know that — and more than we would like — about us. Our subordinates present another set of interpersonal issues, where we find ourselves on the hot seat in terms of supervising their performance, dealing with personalities that can be difficult. We are uncomfortably aware of the interconnectedness of our role in the enterprise, particularly with those in close proximity. We also have to be mindful of the viewpoint of others higher in the chain of command, to whom our boss reports. And then, over time, these roles and relationships are as impermanent as any other elements in the Buddhist universe. As the old adage has it, “Be nice to the people you meet on the way up the ladder; they are the same people you will meet on the way down.” Then there are client and supplier relationships outside the company; or students in the classroom; patients at the hospital. Patterns of relationships repeat, though the nature of the product or service varies. Sometimes disputes come out of left field, and we are blindsided with a conflict that begins to take up all of our time, including agonizing over it after work, over a drink. At the end of the day — so ubiquitous and overused a phrase that it is distasteful to repeat it — we begin to see home as a refuge from work. In some cases, work becomes a refuge from home. And the annual vacation becomes a refuge from both. Thus, our entire annual calendar is sucked into the relentless maw of time-consumption.What if this is all just fantasy, simply the workings of our imagination? The monkey-mind is endlessly capable of playing such games. What about a real vacation, a time-out from this daily merry-go-round?Zazen has been referred to as a mini-vacation, a brief respite from the rat race. One of the great secrets of Zen is that it really takes no time at all. In fact, Zen holds that we do not live in real time, unless we enter into it through zazen. When we think of the entire scope of a project — such as writing the great American novel — we shrink back, in intimidation. The mountain seems insurmountable. But the mountain is climbed one step at a time, though we might prefer a helicopter. If we see a mountain as a series of molehills, it is not so daunting. The only question is, Which molehill is in front of us, at the moment?If we think about all the other things that we do in a day, that take a half-hour or so, are there none that we could easily forego, for the sake of sitting for a half-hour? If not, how about fifteen minutes? Ten? Five? As Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “Sit five minutes: five-minute Buddha! Sit half-an-hour, Buddha for 30! But wouldn't you rather be Buddha all day?”By this, he did not mean sit zazen all day, needless to say. The effects of zazen are both immediate, and cumulative. They go with us, off the cushion. Our resistance to zazen is the molehill become mountain. I once consulted with a Canadian company named DYLEX. It is an acronym, meaning “Damn your lousy excuses!”This is a compassionate message for us. We don't need no stinking excuses. Zen and zazen is very powerful on a personal level. But its halo-effect on our multifarious activities off the cushion operates on a subtle plane. It is better to assume that it is working to bring about personal samadhi on a subliminal level, rather than look for it to manifest in some obvious way. Often, one's fellow workers and colleagues notice it before we do. This is what Matsuoka Roshi referred to as “confidence in everyday life,” one of the side-effects of Zen practice. Everything is already in balance, if not obviously so. It may not be apparent to our associates, either. After all, they are only human beings, like us. And they may not have the benefit of a practice like Zen meditation. We can afford to be a bit more balanced in practicing patience with them, in the midst of our shared suffering. We have the balancing effect of Zen. Thank Buddha!* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

Continuing with our discussion of various turning points in living the Zen life, we will examine the Buddhist tradition of “leaving home” to become a mendicant, with its unexamined but intrinsic root question of what, exactly, we mean by “home.” The monastic ideal of “leaving home” is repeatedly praised by Master Dogen in the ordination ceremony known, in Japanese, as “Shukke Tokudo” — which translates as something like “leaving home, sharing the dharma.” In lay householder practice, we do not literally leave home, of course, other than for the occasional extended retreat, or sesshin. But we interpret the meaning as deeply significant, even to the householder. Our true home turns out to be unrelated to geography, or any of the other relative circumstances of existence.We might also question the reality of home-leaving in the life of monastics, as Master Dogen mentions regarding monks of his time (see Shobogenzo Zuimonki). He suggests that some cannot really relinquish their attachment to family, and all that it entails, for the sake of Zen. But it seems a near-prerequisite in order to “hear the true Dharma,” as he puts it in Dogen's Vow (Eiheikosohotsuganmon).Other monks, who are able to relinquish family and home, are not able to let go of their attachment to their body, and good health. They are not willing to put their life on the line, which is, after all, understandable. In this same poem, he quotes Ch'an Master Lungya: “In this life save the body; it is the fruit of many lives.” I take his point to be that an obsession with living a normal life as the scion of a family lineage, at the expense of Zen practice, is ultimately doomed to failure. As a famous analogy has it, family will not accompany you in death. Like other aspects of your life, including health and wellbeing, they will only go as far as the grave. Aging, sickness and death, the three major marks of existence, according to Buddhism, cannot be avoided in the long run. And Zen takes the long view.But the third and most difficult level of monastic non-attachment pointed out by Dogen Zenji, is clinging to our own ideas and opinions, especially regarding all the above. Even monks who can realize the first two levels have difficulty with this last, unable to relinquish, or even to recognize, their erroneous worldview. The monk who can do this most difficult thing has the best chance of waking up during this lifetime. Highest Level of PracticeThis brings up an interesting point, a seeming contradiction, that Dogen does not go into. Achieving this last bit of letting go — of the “ties that bind” — implies letting go of our viewpoints. Including, most notably, those regarding the prior two levels — forgoing a normal lay life of family and friends, marriage, social status, and so on; and further, forsaking our attachment to our own health and, ultimately, our very life. In other words, if we truly let go of all of our own opinions, this would necessarily include any preconceptions we harbor — such as that the most advanced monk or nun is necessarily detached from family and body. Not necessarily. In Zen, we give up our opinions of all such kinds of attachment. It is, after all, natural to be attached to both the body and our family; the distinction lies in the degree to which we are attached to them. This is the heart of the Middle Way.A clear example of this principle is found in pain. We experience some pain in meditation. But we do not immediately react, doing something to make it stop right now. We sink into it a bit more than we usually would, going beyond our comfort zone. In doing so, we have an opportunity to truly experience the “pain” for what it really is. Thus, we may discover that it is not so bad. Although even if we thought that the more extreme dictates of practice may turn out to be life-threatening, we should not shrink from it, according to Dogen. Nothing ventured, nothing gained on a scalable spectrum. Unless we are ale to set aside our preconception that pain = bad, we cannot learn from the experience. This principle then applies to all of our aversions to testy circumstances in life. Aversion is simply the flip side of attachment. Master Dogen's assessment of the levels of commitment of various monks ends with the rare case of one who is able to sunder ties to family, health and life; and, finally, to one's own worldview. This is the highest and truest form of liberation from the random, but seemingly determinative, causes and conditions of our present human birth. But since the last test entails relinquishment of our personal opinion of “all the above,” this should lead to the conclusion that the life of the lay householder is not all that distinct from that of the mendicant monk or nun, at least in any way that really matters in the context of the Great Matter. It is a case of the well-known “distinction without a difference.” If the circumstances of one's lifestyle are only that — circumstance — then by definition, they are not central to living the Zen life.Following on this reasoning, we might propose that the lay person — who is able to relinquish all such opinions, and “succeed to the wisdom of the buddhas” (see Fukanzazengi) — represents the highest possible level of realization. This may explain why it is, in the history of Buddhism and Zen, that such lay persons as Vimalakirti, Emperor Ashoka, Layman Pang, and countless others, are so admired. In spite of having their plates full, constrained by domestic and even governmental duties, they were able to gain profound insight into the Dharma, without renouncing their ordinary life. Not to mention certain monks who were known to flout the norms of monastic life. Of course, you cannot tell the Zen book by its cover, so it is best to appraise only your own practice, and not to judge others, from outward appearances. Contemporary Lay PracticeContemporary lay practice in America is surely vastly different from what it was, and is, in the countries of origin, today as well as in ancient times. My limited understanding suggests that most lay householders practiced dana — generosity — by supporting the monks and nuns of the local orders with offerings of food and material support, including currency and other forms of fungible goods such as metals and fabrics. The community was apparently engaged in other, interactive ways as well. Young children would be sent to the temples and monasteries for training, which probably amounted to finishing schools, including some study of Buddhism. The early monasteries of the East probably evolved into the institutions of higher learning, universities, as they did in the Middle East and in the West, in Europe, for example. But the actual practice of Zen meditation, specifically, was probably not widespread, even in China and Japan. It was, and is, primarily the purview of the monastics Today, however — I think perhaps especially in North and South America, as well as in Western Europe — lay practitioners generally equate Zen practice with meditation. Particularly in the USA, we tend to be do-it-yourselfers. We are not satisfied with second-hand information, and look to direct experience as having its own value, in most everything we do. Thus, Zen training is closely related to apprentice modes of professional training, as in a craft or guild. A novice becomes an apprentice to a master; and eventually a journeyman; finally certified as a master herself. But we must be careful about this idea of becoming a “Zen Master.” We do not master Zen — Zen master us. But only if we allow it. As Master Dogen reminds us in the Genjokoan excerpt from Bendowa, meaning “a talk about the Way,” the first fascicle from his master compilation, Shobogenzo: When buddhas are truly buddhas they do not necessarily notice that they are buddhas. If spiritual awakening is simply awakening to reality, it would not necessarily include taking on a new self-identity as a “buddha.” It might, however, include seeing oneself, as well as others, in a somewhat different light. “Your body and mind, as well as the body and mind of others, drop away” as Dogen assures us in the same teaching. Living the Zen Life TodayWhile we may admire, and hope to emulate, the life of a monk or nun, I believe we in America do not have enough grounding in the reality of that choice, nor in the cultures of the countries of origin, in which Buddhism and Zen originally arose. The choices we have today, in terms of maintaining Zen practice in the midst of life, are surely very different from those of ancient India, for example. Joining the Order meant leaving behind the conventional trappings of society, including family name and caste position, wealth, and so on, though some of Buddha's top disciples seem to have been his blood relatives. The original Order at first included men only, but even during Buddha's lifetime, it expanded to include women. From what I have gathered, any adult from any level of the caste system of the time could join, as long as they were willing to forego the privilege and provenance of their upbringing. This, it seems to me, had to do with renouncing the self, in the conventional sense.This tradition is what Master Dogen, some 1300 years later, referred to as “leaving home,” in laudatory language. Today, we join the community, or Sangha — and can even become ordained as a priest — without literally leaving home in the obvious, outer sense of the phrase. However, when we undergo Shukke Tokudo, lay ordination as a novice priest, the implication is that we leave our ostensible home, in order to find our true home, in universal homelessness.Our True Home: HomelessnessThis homelessness is considered the original, or natural, way of being, and has nothing to do with where we were born, or where we currently dwell, in the geographic sense. Circumstances of our birth, as well as our growing up, our livelihood, and our eventual death, are just that: circumstantial. They are not central to our being, though they may play an inordinate role in shaping our worldview; and, indeed, whether or not we are ever even exposed to the Dharma.This human birth is considered rare in Buddhism, though with nine billion and counting (when I originally wrote this, it was seven billion), it may appear to be so common as to threaten the very survival of the species. By comparison to other life forms, such as insects, we are not even close to predominance on the planet, as measured in biomass. But the disproportionate effect that we as human beings have on the environment amounts to a crisis. We may want to broaden our scope from considerations of our own, personal mortality, to embrace the possibility of extinction of the entire species. There is no greater form of homelessness than to become extinct. ASZC & STO as Collaborative Community Each month, during our Second Sunday Sangha lunch and dialog at ASZC, we discuss issues of how we as individuals can join in the efforts of promoting true community, without compromising our own personal lives as householders and lay Zen people. Matsuoka Roshi predicted, and I concur, that the rebirth of Zen would be seen in America, and that its propagation would be primarily in the form of lay householder practice. He would often remark that “Zen is always contemporary.” That is, we don't have to try too hard to make it contemporary.We have just passed the sixth year anniversary of what might be considered one of the all-time great failures of community, that seen in Charlottesville, Virginia. It recalled to mind the greatest international example of decline of community in Germany, Italy, and later, Japan, which led to WWII. But Charlottesville is only a blip on the screen of the ongoing series of catastrophes, both natural and human, that have plagued the human community since the beginning of recorded history. The latest being the hell on Earth that is Ukraine, courtesy of the Putin regime in Russia. Any serious student of history is not at all surprised by the daily atrocities that we witness on the news. This is human nature in full flower. It is why we aspire to buddha-nature, instead.Now we are in the throes of adolescence, in the growth of the Zen community in America. That there is a lot of confusion wreaked upon this process is to be expected, owing both to quirks of contemporary Western society, and the persistence of myths surrounding the origins of Zen practice in the seminal communities in India, China, Korea, Japan, and the far East. Most of the confusion arises, I think, from the supposed contrasts and apparent contradictions between traditional monastic, and contemporary lay householder, lifestyles. So, as if we need one more thing to worry about, we do not want to become attached to the propagation of Zen as yet another preconceived project in its own right. We are privileged to be exposed to the Dharma, in the most humble sense of the term, and not merely by dint of circumstances of our birth, the source of most social privilege. Let us not miss this opportunity to join with the Zen community, and to serve its members in true collaboration. It is well within our enlightened self-interest to do so.* * * Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to donate@STorder.org. Gassho.Producer: Shinjin Larry Little

In the last segment of UnMind, we touched on the typically fraught turning points in normal life of changing jobs, going through divorce, and becoming empty-nesters when and if the kids finally move out. And if they don't move back in again. They say you should write what you know, so I am living up to that dictum. In this installment we will touch on the traditional “marks” of dukkha: sickness, aging and death, and then turn to the subject of turning points in zazen itself. It is important that as we experience these pivot points in our practice, that we resist the temptation to interpret them negatively, as evidence of failure, and that we persist through thick and thin, assuming and accepting that we are no more in control of the progress of our meditation than we are in control of the pilgrim's progress of our lives. Zen, and zazen, work on subtle and subliminal levels, beyond our control. We should take the advice of the third patriarch in China, and “trust in Mind.” In closing the last passage, we mentioned that the various time-of-life changes that we all go through, if we live long enough, are generally exploited in the service of selling ever-more narrow-niche categories of products and services, including ever-increasing scams inflicted on the unwary. Sickness & DrugsIf you still watch the news on television, you belong to an ever-shrinking segment of the population, and can see this process in extreme. Commercials hawking every kind of cure for every imaginable disorder of body and mind, some truly unimaginable. The firehose of drugs coming out of Big Pharma's pipeline is overwhelming, ostensibly to treat an ever-expanding cascade of illnesses of the aged and infirm, who are typically shown in highly affluent situations, joyfully engaging in cool, strenuous activities in luxurious settings. Each new wonder drug comes with an endless list of side-effects that make the cure sound worse than the illness. It leaves me wondering what they are going to do, when they finally run out of names for the next generation of cure-alls. Expect to see companion drugs designed to treat the endless litany of side-effects. According to a Zen student who works in the industry, and who just happens to be a PhD neuroscientist, most of the new drugs are actually old drugs, in which a single atom of the molecule may have been tweaked, yielding the minimum legal requirement for calling it new. So much for claims of return on investment for multi-million dollar research. Aging & DeathSpeaking of aging, most of the turning-points that we associate with time-of-life — and other transitions in the normal process of “living la vida loca” — are basically attributable to aging. If we did not age, many of these passages would be impossible. Or at least, more of a choice on our part. Death may be the penultimate turning-point in aging. That's right, not the ultimate, but next to it. There is yet another, final turning point, even after death. It is called rebirth. Or its earlier version, reincarnation. In any case, something comes after death. As with divorce, it is tempting to say that if you are against death, don't get born in the first place. Birth is, after all, the leading cause of death. Birth is, we might say, an indeterminate turning-point. What comes after birth depends upon you. In one of the most startling developments regarding cultural coping strategies for these turning-points, I recently came across a news article entitled “Putting the fun in funerals.” I am not making this up. Because you can't make this stuff up. In his teaching titled Genjokoan, which translates something like, “actualizing the fundamental point,” and which seems to touch on nearly everything in life, Master Dogen weighs in on the nature of birth and death, in the process refuting reincarnation: Just as firewood does not return to firewood after it is ash you do not return to birth after deathThis being so, it is an established way in buddha-dharma to deny that birth turns into deathAccordingly birth is understood as no-birthIt is an unshakeable teaching in Buddha's discourse that death does not turn into birthAccordingly death is understood as no-deathBirth is an expression complete this momentDeath is an expression complete this moment Then, with his usual default to concrete examples from the world of Nature: They are like winter and spring You do not call winter the beginning of springNor summer the end of spring Thank you Dogen, for clearing that up. I don't pretend to understand this fully, but then Master Dogen himself does not claim to understand it. He merely lays it out as it is, take it or leave it. Interesting to contemplate that birth does not turn into death: Hallelujah! But wait a minute; death also does not turn into birth. What does that do to our aforementioned concept of rebirth? As usual for vintage Dogen, after he bludgeons us with an uncomfortable truth, he turns to Nature to soften the blow. Some of us, however, would petulantly argue that winter is, indeed, the beginning of spring, and summer its end. The monkey mind is stubborn in all seasons. I find it a particularly compelling expression of Dogen's understanding that he refers to both birth and death as “an expression complete this moment.” It begs the question, “An expression of what?” An expression of lifewould seem the logical answer, but Master Dogen's worldview does not depend upon simple logic. Turning Points in Zen MeditationSpeaking of Dogen, we owe him — big-time — for the point when each of us turned to Zen. If he had not made zazen his cause célébre, we would probably still be smudging ourselves with smoke, engaging in Shamanistic shenanigans, hoping for some kind of revelation. The turning points in zazen are too many to catalog. The Ox-herding Pictures touch on eight or ten of the main ones. I want to mention just a couple that come up frequently. I recognize that you, like me, are not 100% responsible for your short attention span, or your attenuated threshold of patience. Especially if you are in the midst of a turning-point of your own, at the moment. First is comfort-level. To those of you struggling with a critical turning-point in your life — or just the aches and pains, not to mention anxiety, confusion, and generalized angst that can sometimes accompany zazen, and not only at the beginning — it may be cold comfort, but zazen is supposed to be the “comfortable way.” I think the most reasonable rationale for this assertion is that any and every other way of meditation you may take up is at least as uncomfortable, in the long run, at least. It has been my experience, and is my testimony, that there is a turning-point in zazen that comes about, when the posture does actually become comfortable. I can also assure you that it becomes comfortable not only in the physical sense, but that the nattering nabob of the monkey mind finally wears itself out, like a kitten or a puppy dog, and lies down to take a nap. Mental and emotional comfort ensue. Of course, your results may vary, especially with any significant change in your circumstances. That pesky turning-point, again. Eventually, you may even become socially comfortable with zazen. That is, even though your spouse and other family members may not practice Zen, or even bother to understand it; and even though your in-laws insist on making a wedge issue of your devotion to Zen, this is okay with you. You no longer feel the need to explain, let alone to apologize, for doing zazen. Of course, this turning-point may precipitate a turning-point in your relations to the others mentioned. But you may find that you are comfortable with that, too. Another is the plateau effect. After practicing for some time, even over many years, it may begin to dawn on you that it seems that nothing is happening in your meditation any more. Curiouser and curiouser, interesting things that used to pop up from time to time — in the form of creative ideas; resolution of a nagging problem; or cool sensation, vision, or hearing experiences — just aren't happening. It seems clear that Zen isn't working, or else you are not doing it right. You have flat-lined, plateaued. Interestingly enough, Matsuoka Roshi mentioned this, and introduced me to a new Japanese word: cho-da. He said it means a “fall up.” You go along for some time, practicing your little heart out, but are getting nowhere. Nothing seems to be happening. Then, one day, if only you do not give up, you go through a cho-da. You fall up! It may be a small cho-da; it may be a large cho-da. But, you fall up — to the next plateau. A plateau is, by definition, flat. So, once again, just when you thought it was getting good, nothing happening. The good news is you never go back. The bad news is that the plateaus just keep coming. No one knows how many there are. Traditionally, there are said to be three major barriers in Zen. The first is physical, getting beyond your comfort zone to true comfort. The second is said to be sleep. Once you are cozy and comfortable in zazen, naturally, sleep would raise its ugly head. I have not heard what the third barrier is, but I suspect that it would involve some kind of plateau. Perhaps it is simply self-doubt. Matsuoka Roshi pointed out that by far the greatest cohort of Westerners who engage in Zen meditation are those who give up too soon. So if you see yourself in any of these pictures, welcome to the club. If you are uncomfortable in zazen, welcome to that club. If you are plateauing, welcome to the flatliners club. Zen is the most exclusive club in the world. But it is all-inclusive. The only dues it demands of you is everything you have. But the payback is huge. What else can you do that will give you your whole life back? as Matsuoka-Roshi would often ask.

In the last several series of the UnMind podcast, we have been exploring some ways of intentionally bringing Zen practice to bear on various situations and circumstances of daily life in America. By extension these might apply anywhere on the globe today, where revolutionary changes in technology and exploding population growth have taken hold. Again, as Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “Civilization conquers us.” In navigating the deeper waters of Buddhism, this world — including so-called “civilization” — is sometimes referred to as the “Ocean of Samsara.” Samsara is likewise referred to as the “Saha world of Patience,” in that it tries our patience — unrelentingly, and on a daily basis. Just when things seem to be going swimmingly, “Someone is always coming along to take the joy out of life,” as Grandma Nelly would often say. “Saha” is defined on Wikipedia as: It is the place where both good and evil manifests and where beings must exercise patience and endurance (kṣānti). Buddha likened his Dharma teachings to a raft, one that we ride — read: “cling to for dear life!” — sailing across the ocean of Samsara to the “other shore,” Nirvana. There are various turning points in the process of navigating the roiling waters — some positive, some negative — as with everything else in life. Whether they appear as positive or negative is largely a matter of interpretation, of course. The famous Ox-Herding Pictures illustrate various turning points on the Path, generalized to fit most anyone's journey into what I call “The Original Frontier,” the title of my first book on Zen. By the original frontier I mean to point to the frontier of mind, itself. This is the frontier that Shakyamuni Buddha discovered, and entered, some 2500 years ago. It beckons to us still, today. Perhaps the first turning-point in the process of spiritual awakening precedes discovering the hoof-prints of the ox, the first of the ten illustrations. These marks are sometimes interpreted as indicating one's first inkling of the existence of the teaching, or buddha-dharma. The hoofprints resemble brush strokes, the obvious analogy being to the written record, which consisted of scrolls of painted calligraphy in ink in those times. Translation into today's printed book format comprises the medium by which most of us first stumble across buddha-dharma. However, something else — a prior turning-point— has to precede this event. In order to begin the quest for enlightenment, one has to feel that something is missing in their life. Otherwise, why would you even be looking? Master Dogen touches on this in his tract called Genjokoan (“actualizing the fundamental point”): When you first seek dharma you imagine that you are far away from its environsBut dharma is already correctly transmitted you are immediately your original self We are blithely skipping along with our everyday life, fat and happy, when one day it occurs to us: Is that all there is? “What's it all about, Alfie?” However normal our circumstances may seem at the time, and however rich and full our life may appear, there seems to be something that is not quite right, something missing. Matsuoka Roshi emphasized this as the source of our anxiety, uncertainty, and the very unsatisfactoriness of Buddhism's definition of dukkha, or suffering. Everyone feels this dis-ease, and some eventually come to Zen, to find what is missing. Other turning points in life can precipitate a crisis of confidence, one which drives us to Zen in the first place, or makes us question whether Zen is really right for us. Or whether it works at all, for anyone. Let's take a brief look at a few of the more obvious turning-points that come up with some frequency in life. These are FAQs brought up in private interview (J. dokusan) or practice discussion, from time to time. Perhaps you may see yourself in one of these pictures. Changing JobsOne of the most stressful turning-points that many people face today, and with ever-increasing frequency, is the need to change jobs. This may come about through a personal decision, or one made by one's employer. Or one's partner may receive an offer they cannot refuse, but it requires moving to another part of the world. In any case, the resultant demand for engaging in a job search, interviewing, and starting the new job, can be fraught and disruptive. Some worry that they can not afford to continue their Zen practice during the transition, either from considerations of availability of time, or from a financial perspective, or both, as a supporting member of the Zen community. These judgments may not be true, or fully thought through, but the pressure feels very real at the time. Zen practice — at home, or in a community — should not really be considered as necessitating an expense of either time or money, certainly not an expensive proposition. Zen is about the middle way between extremes, all about finding and maintaining balance in all things. In this sense, Zen is free. And portable. When going through a job change, or any other stressful turning-point, you may need Zen meditation more than ever. It will help you to make the right choices and decisions, if you allow it. When you get back on your feet, and find yourself in a more stable position — financially and otherwise — there will be plenty of time and wherewithal to support your sangha, and your teacher. You really cannot afford not to continue practicing Zen, and even more so when you are in dire straits. “Zen will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no Zen.” (With apologies to the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers.) DivorceDivorce, along with its true antecedents — unrequited love, unfaithfulness, or irreconcilable differences — is an even bigger bugaboo in today's society than losing your job. Though you might not think so, based on the treatment of divorce in pop media. It is often the theme of comedy; the butt of alimony jokes; a target of shadenfreude; and, in some recently publicized cases, even celebrated — with ceremonies akin to a wedding. Divorce often accompanies, or triggers, a change in employment and residential status as well. They say “bad things come in threes.” It is tempting to suggest that, if you are against divorce, just don't get married in the first place. This may sound less crass, and may make more sense, in the context of the life of monastics. But we do not pretend to be Zen monks or nuns. They surely have their critical turning-points as well. Householders may just have a lot more of them on a daily basis, especially given the complex society of today. I have been divorced once in my short life, and it is no fun. But the situation that led to the divorce was no bed of roses, either. Whatever the circumstances, divorce is definitely a turning-point. Whether it is “for better or worse” (a resonance on the wedding vows), it is, again, your call. If both sides are better off afterwards — as Buddha is said to have said about a “just war” — it may be considered a just divorce. Of course, there are always more than two sides to the dispute. Children often end up as pawns in the game, suffering even more short-term pain and long-term consequences than their parents do. Zen meditation is not a panacea, but can help to adjust to the new reality, even in these dire straits. Empty NestersSpeaking of parenting, there comes a time-of-life phase called “empty-nester,” at which point the rugrats are finally, and permanently (or so we hope) kicked out of the nest. Sometimes divorce follows on the heels of this exodus, and not coincidentally. The parents may keep the failed marriage together long past its shelf life, “for the sake of the children.” They may have decided to have children to “save the marriage” in the first place. In the context of professional market research, based on sociology, I suppose, there are various such “time-of-life” categories, tracing the normal flow of maturation, through biological and culturally-determined changes, from womb to tomb. Like most other models from the soft sciences, these are employed mainly to structure the marketing of goods and services. In the next episode of UnMind we will continue looking at turning points in our life, and how our practice of Zen meditation may help ease the transitions, and mitigate the sense of loss, as we move through the inevitable phases of “time-of-life.” As we witness the evolution of our own life, the evidence of the centrality of the teachings of Buddhism and Zen becomes ever more apparent, and not at all as pessimistic as they may have first appeared to us. The inevitability of aging, sickness and death, interpreted as negative developments in life, is accompanied by an increasing appreciation of their meaning and significance, and the importance of what we do with the opportunity. The good fortune of having been exposed to the Dharma and thereby being enabled to practice Zen and zazen in the context of the passing of time, is the real treasure of the Three Treasures. Please continue in your pursuit of Zen, no matter what stage of life you may be in.

Continuing with the drive-time focus from the last segment is in keeping with the current thrust of UnMind. Each segment consists of a dissertation on issues typical of the USA, and coping with the international scope of global citizenship. Such concerns as over-consumption and the cult of the individual, plus lingering hangovers from 19th- and 20th-century ideas regarding right speech, action and livelihood, the right conduct sided of the Noble Eightfold Path, recur throughout as themes. The halo effect of right meditation proves to be our saving grace, in meeting, and managing to maintain, a genuine Zen practice in the face of daily life in a chaotic world. I would like to key off of one of our Paramitas, or “perfecting practices,” the very first one, concerning Dana, or generosity. I suggest that you might practice generosity with yourself while driving in traffic, which may strike you as an odd concept. But if you can be truly generous with yourself, it is much easier to be generous with others.According to my limited understanding of classical Buddhism, and likely the proto-Hinduism that preceded Buddhism, karmic consequences of our actions may be positive, negative, and even neutral. But there will be consequences, regardless. The judgment call as to whether a consequence may be regarded as positive or negative is based upon human perception and desire. Certain consequences, and outcomes, we want to happen; others we want to avoid like the plague. Incidentally, The first Plague of history turns out to be an unintended consequence of human activity. It was reputedly transmitted by commuters traveling along the Silk Road, with a generous assist from our rat cousins, and their fleas. Nowadays, the greatest threat of pandemics is the enormous scope of human travel by land, sea, and, especially, by air. Every human being is, for the first time in history, one plane ride away from every other human being on the planet.That any karmic consequence may be neutral — rather than necessarily positive or negative — may be a new idea to you. As an instance: if we continue breathing for the next five minutes, we are more likely to continue living. If we stop breathing for the next five minutes, then we will likely die. Whether this is a positive or negative consequence is, again, a judgment call. In most cases, life is preferable to death; but there are exceptions to the rule, which has become more of an issue with the life-extending technology available in modern medicine. The relatively neutral consequence is simply that life goes on, as long as we are breathing. But it may be in a vegetative state.From a general, social perspective, life going on, and increased longevity, is considered a positive consequence, considering the alternative. In that sense, we are all consumers of life. So, the more, the better. From the perspective of Buddhism, we might say that longevity is desirable mainly in that living longer allows us more time, more opportunity, to awaken to the truth. This spiritual awakening is the highest value in Buddhism and Zen. “Buddha” means the “fully awakened one.” A consequence of Buddha's life's work is that we all have now been enabled to become aware of this truth, or Dharma.For example, dukkha, a Sanskrit word usually translated as “suffering,” points to the unsatisfactory nature of this existence, encapsulated as “aging, sickness, and death.” This is the quagmire into which all sentient beings are born, and find themselves enmeshed. The wealthiest person in the world cannot turn back the clock, despite the hopeful claims of the medical and therapeutic professions; the cosmetics industry; plastic surgeons, et cetera. We see caricatures of this aspiration on a daily basis, for instance when certain botox and facelift icons appear on television. Or we see snapshots of the passing pageantry of life in Los Angeles and Manhattan, where women, in particular, as well as men, well into their 50s, 60s and older, strive to age gracefully by maintaining the outer appearance of an ingénue, or a dashing heartthrob. No amount of wealth can prevent some forms of illness, in the final stages of life. Particularly when one's lifestyle itself amounts to a cocktail of causes that accelerate the deterioration of body and mind, such as over-eating, smoking, taking recreational and diet drugs, and drinking alcohol to excess. The lifestyles of the rich and famous are often notorious for this kind of self-destructive dissolution, if you believe the press, which tends to exaggerate.Science fiction to the contrary, no amount of wealth can forestall forever the death of this body and mind, in spite of earnest life-extending efforts in geriatric medicine and cryogenics. The sometimes frantic activities surrounding preservation of life, as witnessed in the Terry Schiavo case, for example, betray a profound fear of death and dying. This fear naturally emerges as a fear of aging, the evidence provided by visible, gradual, long-term, symptoms we see in the mirror each day. Of course, we do what we can, but it is futile to postpone the inevitable. An old Chinese poem includes the line, “Save the body; it is the fruit of many lives.” But we cannot save it in the sense of preserving it forever. Other than as a mummy, which historically has been the fate of some Zen ancestors as well as Egyptian royalty.We who follow Zen do not arrogantly dismiss such fears as baseless. Nor do we pretend that Zen practice will allow us to go quietly into that dark night, though Zen's history is replete with stories of masters dying with great dignity and composure. Zen is not overly optimistic in this regard. It does not present a pollyannaish view of existence, promising a heavenly rose garden after death. Nor is Zen overly pessimistic. We don't bemoan the fact that this existence is, intrinsically, of the nature of suffering, or impermanence, imperfection, and insubstantiality. We don't insist that the natural process of aging, sickness and death is necessarily a negative consequence of existence. It is simply a consequence of existence. And, thus, our physical fate falls into the neutral category of karmic consequences.In this way, Zen is simply realistic about the causes and conditions that we all face in life. Its teachings do not suggest, pretend, or imagine that there could be some other outcome. In Zen, coming to this clarity regarding karma is regarded as a kind of spiritual maturity.We can usefully regard these causes and conditions, the “givens” of the equations of life, as natural koans, illogical riddles. Koans are not to be solved in the sense of finding a logical answer, as I get it. I understand that they are used as a central part of training in the Rinzai sect. In Soto Zen, we don't make programmatic use of the 1700 or so classic koans in the record. But instead we recognize the reality in which we find ourselves, the very spacetime continuum — to borrow Einstein's phrase — in which we are sitting at the moment, whether in the zendo or in the driver's seat, as our immediate koan. This very reality “in front of your face” is the primordial koan. An ancient Chinese poem reminds us: Emptiness here, emptiness there but the infinite universe stands always before your eyes“Emptiness” is used here to name the ideal of Buddhism and Zen: clarity of insight into the dynamic reality of existence. It does not indicate the “void” as the ultimate reality, set against our normal perception of everyday reality as being an illusion. This is not something we recommend obsessing over at full speed, or in bumper-to-bumper traffic. But this infinite universe, standing always before our eyes, is the real koan, the koan of everyday existence. It is the meaning of everyday life that we have to penetrate, whether we realize it or not. There is no choice in the matter. Penetrating to the depths of it may result in realizing that “every day is a happy day; every day is a good day,” another old Zen expression. We should add “regardless” — regardless of circumstance, that is.Most of our conventional cultural memes, as prescriptions for happiness — getting your go-to-hell-money; retiring to a life of travel and playing golf, and so on — can be seen, in this context, as avoidance techniques, evasive maneuvers. This kind of goal orientation amounts to a kind of self-indulgent cognitive therapy, in which we attempt to replace unpleasant thoughts — of failure, indebtedness, and so on — with pleasant ones. In which we attempt to conjure up a comfortable fantasy, in place of our dissatisfactory reality.This is a natural tendency, and actively promoted by the culture, particularly in the West. So we should not beat ourselves up too badly over the fact that we have fallen for this societal scam. Most highly touted concepts of happiness are designed and intended as marketing devices to sell us products and services, as well as alternative lifestyles. Those that most closely match the archetypal American dream come with the highest price tag. But the choices we have are not limited to only those that we think we can afford, within an economic paradigm. Zen is sometimes considered not immoral, but amoral, because it recognizes that we have complete free will at all times, and in every particular situation. That is, as long as we are willing to face the consequences — whether negative, positive, neutral, and unintended — of whatever actions we take. For example, many people are out of work, looking for a job, or changing jobs. The world economy is forcing a re-evaluation of the definition of a “job” as paid employment provided by someone else. A job includes a place of work to which one goes every day, commuting to the office or factory; checking in or punching a time clock, under the watchful eye of management; and after putting in a sufficient effort for the day, returning to the comforts of home. These and other outdated cultural memes, customs and habits can affect our view of reality in subconscious, even insidious, ways.But in our meditation practice, we are encouraged by Master Dogen — founder of Soto Zen in 13th century Japan, to stop the ordinary functions of the mind, setting aside all thoughts of good and evil, right or wrong. It is necessary to point out that this instruction, or advice, is intended to be followed mainly while we are on the cushion. When we leave the cushion, and go into daily life — get into the car, and enter onto the expressway — we are constantly faced with choices of good and evil, right and wrong. We must make judgments regarding the behavior of others, which we cannot ignore beyond a certain point, as well as concerning our own behavior. Once again, in all of these instances, Zen is neither overly optimistic or overly pessimistic. It is simply realistic.So this aspirational idea, that if we could somehow set aside all considerations of good and evil, right and wrong — that we can live blissfully unaware of all the obvious good and evil, right and wrong in the world and thus be happy — is tempered by the pragmatic nature of our Zen practice. Even when we sit on the cushion, we cannot completely avoid suffering, in the sense of the good and evil influences in our lives, and the right and wrong choices that we have made, and that we are forced to make, on a daily basis. The point is that it isour choice. And the consequences that flow naturally from the choice — from the action, or lack of action that we take — are also ours. Whether karmic or not.Some old wise man said, “Through change, consume change.” Change is all there is. But we try to maintain status quo, out of fear of losing control. It is already out of our control.As Ambrose Bierce pointed out in The Devil's Dictionary, what we call an accident is, paraphrasing widely, actually the inevitable result of immutable physical law. So if you become distracted by this podcast, and run into the car in front of you, that so-called accident is the inevitable result of the immutable laws of physics, as well as of the choices you made that led to it. And, while you might have prevented it, if you did not prevent it, still, it was no accident. Your driving in traffic is no accident. Nor is listening to my podcast.So be careful out there. If you consider that the driver of that vehicle that just recklessly cut in front of you may be someone you know and like, who is just under a lot more stress than you are at the moment, it may make it easier to respond to the situation in an appropriate manner, without adding the overlay of anger and condemnation that we reserve for strangers. It may also make you safer in the long run.Once you are safely ensconced back on your cushion, you might remember what it was like when you were on the commute, and come to appreciate your zazen even more.

Continuing with our exploration of how to actualize a thoroughgoing Zen practice in the midst of life in the 21stCentury, we will take a closer look at one of the situations in which many of us find ourselves: the daily commute. Which would have been the furthest thing from the mind of Shakyamuni Buddha, or his descendants in India, China, and Japan — though the denizens of those areas of the globe are now fully immersed in the consequences of overpopulation and modern transportation, just as we are in America. This segment of UnMind was originally part of an early effort to launch a podcast called Drive-Time Zen, designed for drive-time on the expressway during the daily commute, or while traveling on highways and byways. Commuting to and from work too often results in stressful times spent in gridlock, especially in major metro areas such as Atlanta. Even driving to your favorite vacation spot can become an arduous chore. This phenomenon is a uniquely modern-day manifestation of suffering, not shared by the Founder and Ancestors of Zen. But it also presents a learning moment, an opportunity to remember and embrace the compassionate teachings of Buddhism. Zen's unique style of meditation, zazen, is central to success in this effort. Of course, driving in today's high-speed conditions should not be considered an opportunity for meditation for obvious reasons, as intense meditation can alter perception. Altering perception at 60 or 80 miles per hour is not necessarily a good idea. But the cardinal aspects of Zen's meditation — upright posture; deep, abdominal breathing; and above all, exercising your full, undivided attention — can be helpful while in the driver's seat. The conflation of stress, choice, and Zen outlines the three dimensions of the situation: the emotions that we feel; the source, and potential relief, of the stress; and the attitudes from Zen we bring to bear on the particular case of the commute. I ask you to consider a major contributor to the frustration and stress level we frequently feel while on the commute: we feel we have no choice in the matter. From what we might call the liberated viewpoint of Zen — liberated from convention — the reality is that, ultimately, we indeed have no determinative choice in certain matters, such as aging, sickness, and dying. But that we have no choice concerning more trivial daily affairs — such as submitting to the commute — is largely a delusion. In all such instances, the truth is that we do have other choices. The real reason we do not entertain the possibility of doing something different, is our fear of the consequences, known or unintended, that may follow from our actions. This goes to the concept of karma, from a root Sanskrit word kr, meaning “to do or make”; in other words, to take action. If we take action, any kind of action, karmic consequences are sure to follow. The theory is a bit like the more familiar formulation, “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction” from Newton's Laws of Motion. However, there is not necessarily anything equal, nor exactly opposite, about the consequences that follow from actions we take in daily life. This is what makes the theory of karma so slippery. It is not a simplistic concept of linear cause and effect. Other consequences in life — such as having a good marriage, a good job, an easy commute to work, and so on — are certainly better than the alternative, and may be conducive to spiritual awakening, as well. But they are not central to our basic happiness. We consider such attributes of life as peripheral, if not mere circumstance, though the daily grind can come to dominate our lives. But for those who follow the Zen way, the issue of awakening to our innate buddha-nature is paramount, a central concern, even in the midst of busy modern life. And the fact that most of us do not experience this kind of spiritual insight is regarded as the true source of our suffering and misery. Traffic congestion only exacerbates it. Thus, the complex of circumstances that finds you driving in traffic while listening to my podcast on your daily commute, is just that: circumstantial. It can not be central to your happiness, though you may blame your frustration and distress on the circumstances. Naturally, when we are unhappy, or angry, we look to hold something, or someone — other than ourselves — accountable. We can imagine that if only we did not have to drive to work every day, we would be happy. We complain that the powers-that-be should do something to fix this bumper-to-bumper mess. Or if only our company — the management, our boss — would simply allow us to use flex-time, or work from home to avoid the commute, then we would be happy. But when we take an unvarnished look in the rearview mirror, on the many experiences of our lifetime, we will likely see that, indeed, the circumstances of our life have constantly changed, and frequently. Such stabilizing aspects of life as our career; place of employment; and friends and family connections; have often changed quite radically. And yet, we may not have been any happier for it, once we had settled into our new set of circumstances. Once the change becomes our “new normal,” we have the time to find other reasons to be dissatisfied, within the circumstances of our new situation. If we are honest with ourselves, over time we come to see this disparity clearly, and its insidious effects. Things that we feel are “wrong” with daily life are easy to point out. But when those things change, we are all too ready, even eager, to put something else in their place. Or the fact that something changed that we did not want to change, becomes the updated version of what is wrong with the world. If not with the world, then what is wrong in my little world, that keeps me from being happy. And thus prevents my enjoying a completely wholesome lifestyle, and finding a fulfilling existence. As a generic placeholder, we tend to relate all of these issues to income; or primarily, our relative lack of income. If only we won the lottery. If only we had inherited wealth. If only we somehow got lucky and struck it rich. Then, we could be happy. Because then, we wouldn't have to commute to work. We wouldn't have to do anything that we didn't really want to do. While there is some truth to this, and it is understandable that everyone is looking to get their “go-to-hell-money,” as it is called in business circles, retiring to a lifetime of ease, luxury, travel, godawful golfing; the ideal circumstances of the “lifestyles of the rich and famous” that many admire and aspire to. We would have achieved what is generally consider “doing well,” or “success.” As a relevant aside, Taoism asks, with its usual, incisive subtlety: “Which is more destructive: success or failure?” When we look at the actual lifestyles of the rich and famous, we begin to see a few cracks in the façade. This is not simply schadenfreude, or class envy. But from a Zen perspective, once we have all the money we need, other aggravations will dependably insert themselves into the niche formerly occupied by our pressing need to pay the bills. All the circumstances of life, including driving in traffic congestion on the expressway — when subsumed into the larger context of fundamental causes and conditions of existence — can be seen as rather trivial, not so bad after all. If we find ourselves stuck in a traffic jam, whether commuting to and from work or not, this is, for the present moment, our koan. A koan is an illogical riddle — a conundrum — one that we are facing in the present moment, and attempting to penetrate the deeper meaning of it. In fact, no one actually needs to commute to work, in any absolute sense. No one needs to be driving in the ever-increasing traffic nightmare on our expressways. But not many people are willing to face the consequences of refusing to do so. Without going into all of the other obvious options that you may have in your life (you know them better than anyone else), just consider the consequences. What would be the worst-case scenario, if you decided, tomorrow, that you were not going to do this anymore? Or what if you decided — right now — to quit? Pull off at the next exit, and go back home, text the boss or “call in well”? Tell your boss that you will not be coming in today, because you no longer need to. You are okay now. You have awakened from the nightmare. And then, consider the range of consequences to follow. It would not be the end of the world. It might be the end of your world, as you know it now. But it would not be the end of the world. The main point here is that when you tell yourself that you have no choice, you are lying to yourself. Zen recognizes that we always have a choice. We have the choice to do the right thing in the circumstance; we have the choice to do the wrong thing in the circumstance; and we have the choice to do what may turn out to be neither right nor wrong, but simply a necessary change. Which of necessity entails taking a risk. It should offer some comfort, or relief, to realize, and accept, that you are caught in this present, unpleasant circumstance of the traffic jam because of choices you have made, and choices that you continue to make. What you may not realize is that you are absolutely free to do something completely different. That is, as long as you are willing to watch all those dominoes fall. If you are able to let go of all of the attachments that you have to the things that would change, in ways intended and unintended, owing to your change of choice, then you can do whatever you damn well please, as my dad often said of my mother. Recalling Johnny Paycheck's hit, “Take this job and shove it!” For the moment, however, you can postpone this fundamental decision, the liberating but terrifying recognition of the reality of choice, in the face of stress. There is no hurry. This decision will still be waiting there for you, when you return to it. As my grandma would say, “Don't worry about finishing that work; it will still be there when you come back to it.” You can rest comfortably in your car for now. So please breathe deeply, sit up straight, and pay full attention. Some of the benefits of meditative practice can hitchhike along with you, driving to and from work or whatever other destinations to which the road takes you. Hopefully, this discussion will have given you a broader context in which you can clearly see that this consequence — this koan in which you are sitting behind the wheel — is really of your own making, part and parcel of your life. It is a temporary consequence of a cascade of decisions you and others have made. It is not an accident. When you have an opportunity, download the next UnMind, tune in next time. It is a choice you are making. Meanwhile, gassho, name of the Buddhist bow in Japanese. I am bowing to you, wishing you the best. May you be well, on or off the road.