Where do you come from?
Dharma Talk
Sunday, May 17, 2020
The topic of the talk today is Where do you come from? So many koans begin with this seemingly ordinary question. Here’s one of my favorites from the Book of Serenity, a collection of koans used in our Zen tradition. I’ll read the introduction first and then the koan itself:
CASE 12: DIZANG PLANTING THE FIELDS
The introduction:
Scholars plow with the pen, orators plow with the tongue. We patchrobed mendicants lazily watch a white ox on open ground, not paying attention to the rootless auspicious grass. How to pass the days?
The case:
Dizang asked Xiushan, “Where do you come from?”
Xiushan said, “From the South.”
Dizang said, “how is Buddhism in the South these days?”
Xiushan said, “There’s extensive discussion.”
Dizang said, “How can that compare to me here planting the fields and making rice to eat?”
Xiushan said, “What can you do about the world?”
Dizang said, “What do you call the world?”
Good question, don’t you think? Almost as good as “How to pass the days?” We thought we knew what the world was. We engaged in extensive discussions about it, in fact. What were we missing that is obvious now that he ground has disappeared from beneath our feet? What were we plowing with? The tongue, the pen, the computer keyboard, the smartphone screen? Now we are like the mendicant monks, watching a white ox grazing, and not paying any attention to the grass. How are we passing our days? Our lived everyday experience is our actual response to this koan. What do we call the world?
We have the ability with our technology to bring together people coming from great distances. We are fortunate that our spiritual tradition is not dependent on gatherings in churches, in buildings and grounds, finance committees, youth outreach ministries, missionary ventures, and church socials.
It is a practice grounded in everyday activity, and in the simple act of stopping, coming into stillness, and silence. Its qualities of present moment awareness can be practiced anywhere, alone or with others. This unexpected Covid-precipitated upset in our daily tasks and obligations allows us to step back and notice what we are paying attention to, what we are giving our energy and care to. Further, we can explore and deepen that quality of attending anywhere and in any activity. We find in spiritual friendships the support for that process of waking up in our own lives, and discovery of what really matters, what our heart’s aspiration truly is.
But those friendships are not themselves dependent on our being in the same place. They are dependent on our intentions, expressed in thoughts, words, and actions. We are discovering in these times that our ways of relating are shifting, yet the aspiration for connection and mutual support is still strong. We are highly adaptable creatures, and we will adapt to these ever-changing circumstances as well. Our practice provides a powerful foundation from which we can meet whatever is arising. I think we are all still in a bit of shock about how swiftly the circumstances have changed, and how global this change has been, but we are continuing to learn how to adapt and manage in the new reality we inhabit. Suddenly life and death are of supreme importance, and not only our own. Every day we are confronted with their absolute reality in stark numbers, in the ways that people we know begin to be stricken. In this, our practice is invaluable, keeping us awake and aware, asking us over and over again to discover how to live from an open heart, a boundless mind, and an interdependent web of relationships. What does it mean to express mindful, energized care in each new moment?
What struck me this week is how it is as though we have been transported by spacecraft to another planet, a planet eerily similar to our own. There are beings like ourselves, some kindly and some combative, and many of them seem to speak our language. There is a different social structure, in which people keep apart from each other, rather than gathering together. It is alien and weird to see so many stores and restaurants and shops just like at home, yet utterly empty and dark. Or, alternatively, with goods rushed outdoors and hurriedly deposited in waiting vehicles. The air is cleaner than on our former planet, yet so many people are wearing masks. It is puzzling and strange. Only the children seem unaffected, drawing with chalk on the sidewalks, giggling, and riding their tiny bikes.
When we are apart, when we cannot reach out and touch each other, hug each other, sit knee to knee in quiet contemplation, it is easy to feel lonely, separate, abandoned or shunned in this world. We must find the ways to connect at a deep level on this new planet.
Our zazen practice is a basic and simple process for grounding ourselves and opening a vast space within. Maybe you have felt a deep emptiness or even a sense of despair in this situation. I think that is not only normal, but essential. We are facing a hard koan. What is emptied out is all of our old assumptions—about ourselves, about other people, about the world itself, our old habits, beliefs, routines, expectations, judgments and self-centered orientations—just vanished. Even the tiny certainties in our everyday lives—that we can buy yeast at the grocery store, that we can meet a friend for lunch at a restaurant, that our office will be humming with activity— are upended. Suddenly we are filled with questions, and great doubt.
This happens all the time, of course, people face life-upending events all the time, yet it has never happened all at once on this scale—globally. We are powerless in new ways, and so confused by it. And we are transfixed by the spin in the news cycle, the experts, the politicians, the endless litany of everything is terrible, heartwarming, creative, broken, hopeful, devastating—we really don’t know.
On this new planet there is no past, no future, and no present; there is only this one ongoing activity, which every living being is sharing. What is a bodhisattva doing in this moment? We look around, and we can see evidence of bodhisattva activity everywhere, so we can be heartened, in the midst of the resounding silence, the distance, the tidal wave of change we are immersed in.
Our practice is not about singing hymns, listening to sermons, trying to be good boys and girls so that we can end up in heaven and not some terrible place. It is about listening, deeply, to our heart’s true clear aspiration, born of wisdom and compassion. It is about the creative expression of that aspiration right now, in this moment, in this new reality. We are, as we have always been, on our own. Not on my own, our own. The fabric of sangha is not so frail that it can be destroyed by our physical separation: the Buddha’s disciples wandered far on their own, teaching the dharma wherever they found themselves, and practicing in solitude.
This dharma, the teachings that have survived 2500 years of every kind of catastrophic change, is resilient. And now we have the opportunity to participate in the evolutionary changes that are under way in our own time, to infuse them with the values of benevolence, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity.
But to do so, we need to train, and we need to practice. There’s no time for dithering around here. I have heard from some folks that they feel disengaged, distracted, unsettled in their practice. I think that is understandable given the jolt we’ve experienced, the alien planet we now find ourselves on. But it is our practice that will provide the resources and nourishment we need in these times, that will sustain us and enable us to be awake to the possibilities for awakening ourselves and others in every situation. When we are in free fall, we need the stability that our practice offers, and we need the spiritual friendships that nourish and sustain us. And we need to remember that we practice not for our own well-being, although that is certainly a benefit, but as a support for others. We practice as an expression of our care.
We are confronted daily with the dharma. The truth of suffering is constantly before us, even when we ourselves are comfortable. We are aware that our situation can change in an instant, that our well-being is precarious. The immediacy of suffering is all around us. This is, the Buddha taught, a truth realized by the noble ones, the ones who have awakened.
And we can see, too, the truth of the origin of suffering, the yearning in ourselves and others for things to be different, our quarrel with life as it is. Arising within us is the resistance, the rebellion against all that we dislike, all that we fear, all that we find oppressive and unwanted. The noble ones realize this too, and they regard our struggles with compassion.
Can the suffering be ended? Will a vaccine end it, a treatment plan? A government stimulus check? It should be obvious that there are no endings until there is an end to our battles against reality. When we give up—since reality always wins—when we surrender our demands that the world and its beings serve our wishes, satisfy our yearning, our suffering, as well as the suffering we are creating for others, ceases. This too is realized by the noble ones, the ones who are awake.
What does a life like that look like? How do we find the path to it? You can go exploring if you like, you can blunder around in confusion or become apathetic, or you can find a map. The eightfold path is a map. If we are finally fed up with suffering, if we have given up on all the ineffectual ways we have tried to distract ourselves, protect ourselves, and numb ourselves to our own suffering as well as the overwhelming suffering of others, we might be tempted to finally take a look at the map. Maybe we will wake up then, like the noble ones.
We begin with the necessary first step, right view. Well, that means my view, doesn’t it? Everybody else’s view is either right, like mine, or very wrong view. Our first stumble on the path. Right view in our practice is about clarity of view, and in that sense, complete view. We sometimes speak about our practice as aperspectival. This means that we can see a situation from every other viewpoint. We understand why people hold those views, and we do not dismiss them. It does not mean that every other viewpoint is equally valid, which is extreme relativism. The Buddha clearly taught that there are wrong views. Views that are unwholesome or destructive, views that are nihilistic or views that are essentialist are, in the Buddha’s teaching wrong views. However the Buddha did not make this a moral issue; it is a practical one. Wrong views will not get you where you want to go, if your aspiration is for awakening and for serving. Even to follow the map you need right view from the very start. It is not a matter of your opinion: we’ve all been pretty sure of where we are going only to find that the map disagrees. If we insist on our opinion, or if we abandon our perspective, either way we end up lost. Use the map! The Buddha also warned against fixed views. Right view is not a fixed view from which you can battle others for the higher ground. We must realize that any view is provisional, impermanent, adaptive to situations, subject to new learning and experience. When we learn and evolve, when we move to a different ground, our view changes, our horizons shift, and we understand different experiences. So our view is always about clarifying and aligning with life itself.
When we bring our brahmavihara practice to this issue of right view, we can see that it is not merely a matter of seeing clearly or comprehensively. Suppose we are infused with and radiating kindness or benevolence, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity—how does that change our view? How does it change our perspective on others’ views? How does it change our demand that the world accord with our view?
It is absolutely necessary to establish right view in order to unfold the map of the eightfold path and head in the direction of awakening:
right intention, which directs our energy and attention our of our deep care and vow.
right speech, that is, speech that is truthful, meaningful, caring, wise, and connecting
right action, action that supports life, the relief of suffering, and liberation for oneself and others
right livelihood, our means of supporting ourselves through meaningful work
right effort, where we put our energy, our time, our skills, and our resources for the benefit of all beings, free of greed, hostility, and ignorance
right mindfulness, what we pay attention to, and the quality of that attention
right concentration, our wholeheartedness and fully integrated being, beyond confusion and distraction.
And now suppose each one of these dimensions of the path is also infused with kindness, compassion, empathetic joy, and equanimity? This is the true path of the bodhisattva. This is our path.
Where do you come from? In every moment you can ask yourself this question. In every conversation, in every Zoom session. It is a broad and open inquiry: where am I coming from? And it is also mutual. We can hold at the same time that inquiry of others: where are they coming from? Maybe we are not sure; we need to find out, mostly by listening.
The ancient Zen masters practiced this in their penetrating gaze and this question that seems so innocent and trivial. where do you come from? I come from the kitchen, I come from Wisconsin, I come from parents locked in struggle, I come from the country, I come from Austin, I come from the University, I come from this aging body, I come from Charles Cooper, Ed Hutchins, Mary Barr, Joko Beck, Flint Sparks, I come from Buddhism and our Zen ancestors, I come from not-knowing, and I come from all of you, our sangha. I come from this time, the time of pandemic, the time of upheaval and renewal, the time of spring, the time of longer days and violet evenings and summer nights spangled with stars ahead.
Of course I miss seeing all of you in the zendo, and the easy connection and physical experience of hugs, shared laughter, a hand on the shoulder. But I feel you coming together, even across great distances, even through a screen, and even without your physical presence, I can feel your care for each other, for this practice, and for the wise and compassionate teachings of the Buddha. Our technologies have been a blessing and a curse, but in this, I am grateful for the way we are allowed to be together when we are distant from each other. Let’s keep practicing the brahmaviharas and see how our path unfolds, each in our place, yet warmly connected and on this strange planet, together.