Kitchens and Zen

1Zen practice and renovating a kitchen8/26/12In the beginning I was very enthusiastic. And I had a small, simple idea: I wanted topaint the kitchen. This seemed doable enough, but we couldn’t really paint the kitchenuntil this one little detail was taken care of, a tiny improvement, some new cabinetdoors. It seemed as though this would just be a simple fix, and the kitchen would be somuch better for it. In the same way, beginning Zen practice, often we hope for littleimprovements that don’t involve any major changes, a small, easily managed project. Ifwe could just be a little bit calmer, or a bit less depressed, or a little less angry, thatwould be good. And we don’t imagine that this should involve much disruption ordiscomfort. Just sit peacefully and kind of relax your mind, and everything will take careof itself. How hard can that be? I imagined a weekend or two with the doors off thecabinets, some new hinges and painting, and then everything back to normal.Bad news from the teacher, or the carpenter: everything is askew, there’s no point injust replacing the doors; the old cabinets must go: it’s much better to start with freshcabinets. OK, a little more involved than I had expected, but I was agreeable. This ismore like an intensive. Seems like a good idea when you sign up, but you have no ideawhere it is going to take you. And this meant, of course, removing everything in thecabinets. There I confronted things I had forgotten all about, things that were notnecessary any more, things that had been hidden for years, things that were in the way.Sometimes I would be stymied, standing stock still and staring at the glass goblet Bengot in high school as a souvenir from the Renaissance Faire, a funny magnet from mysister, a quarter bottle of good bourbon left by the renters long ago, a paper cup full ofhardware from some other project. I tried to box everything up, but some things justwon’t go into neat boxes. Maybe you have discovered this in your practice as well.When we open that door, we see all kinds of things we wish we could have simply lefthidden back there. I just put them all into the side room and awkwardly moved aroundthem.Unanticipated consequences. Of course, once you bring up all your old stuff, and thereal demolition begins, it turns out that parts of you get way less functional. With thecabinets, the sink went. The stove was inaccessible, except for one burner. Our habitsget completely upended, and we can see how much we take for granted. Although all---2around the kitchen people were working, there was not much help with the immediateproblem of cooking a meal and cleaning up. We are left with our own helplessness. Whydid we think this would be easy? Even our teachers and friends can’t help with thisfeeling of complete chaos and devastation.Suddenly, too, more people get involved, a plumber and electrician become necessary.Ok, all right, we begin to include a notion of connections and relationships, as we dowhen we begin to depend on our sangha. The plumber removed some very old pipeand put completely new plumbing in for the sink, the refrigerator, and the dishwasher.He has been working on this house almost since I first bought it, nearly 16 years. Heknows it more intimately than most men know their own wives. The house has nosecrets from him. And the same is true for the electrician, who was beset by new formsof light with tiny, fragile connectors. But each of them wholeheartedly engaged with theproject of building a new kitchen, a new life, on the very foundation of the old. This iswhat we must do. We do not have the luxury of starting over with a new house in somenew place, a new, better life. We must build our practice right here, where we are, in themidst of living our ordinary lives.And in the context of a rapidly escalating tearout, it became obvious that the floor wouldalso have to go. Well, this is a very explicit experience of groundlessness. There isnothing metaphorical about it. There was simply no place to stand.A wish to make a small improvement ultimately results in the complete demolition of ourfamiliar surroundings and habits, not some minor adjustments, and the same is true inour practice path. I set up a folding table in the side room, put the toaster oven and thehot pot on it, and, remarkably quickly, established new routines and habits, but with adeep appreciation for all of the conveniences that we take for granted in a modernkitchen.Somehow, people figured out how to bring fire indoors, so that they could cook theirfood even in bad weather. Somehow, they figured out how to put down a hard surfacefor a floor in place of packed dirt. Somehow they figured out how to bring running waterinto the house without flooding everything, They figured out how to how to melt sandand make glass windows to allow a view outside, how to tame electricity and channel italong wires, how to create lights indoors, how to use that power to keep food cold, how---3to heat and cool the space itself to keep it comfortable. Every morning we mindlesslystumble into the kitchen, turn on the lights, make a cup of tea, fix some eggs and toast,perhaps, and wash up the dishes oblivious to all this miraculous production.I lost track of time, as everything could only be done in its appropriate phase: first thefloor, then the cabinets, the restoring of the appliances, the patching and painting, thehardware, the finishing touches. It seemed to involve a lot of waiting, a lot of time whenit seemed like “nothing is happening.” Many people consoled me, but the truth is, I wasnot really concerned or distressed at all; I trusted the process, even when it seemed tobe completely stalled. The same is true in our practice, in case you hadn’t noticed.Everything has to unfold in its own time, and the process actually defines you, ratherthan the other way around. If you are impatient, you will become quite unhappy withhow things are going.Meanwhile, people were coming and going, and my state of disarray—gaping holes inthe kitchen walls, a jumble of boxes and kitchenware in the side room, a dishwasher inthe Zendo— was actually on display, which, I suppose, could have been disconcerting.We have to do the work of practice right out there where everyone can see it; we cannotescape our exposure and our vulnerability, the jumble of our emotions and theconfusion of our thoughts. Fortunately, the context of a sangha is a warmly supportive,encouraging one.Many of my opinions about what I wanted for the kitchen were trumped by the houseitself, by the budget, or by what is actually most appropriate or functional. I imagined asimple flat front to the cabinets, but Erin advised that a frame for the doors would bemore in keeping with the architecture of the house. So it would still be simple, butsuitable. The result gives depth and interest to what might have looked pretty plain andinstitutional. I imagined a contemporary slate gray floor, but the white honeycomb tilebetter fit the vintage of the house, and it was actually more reasonable in cost. I at leastexpected to put simple brushed stainless pulls on the doors, but when we saw theceramic hardware sample actually in the space after the kitchen was painted, therewasn’t any question what was going to work best.In Zen, too we keep having opinions about how our practice should go, what it needs,and what it should feel like, but it turns out that those opinions are a weak resource for---4what is required or possible. If we can let go of our opinions, and attend to what isactually needed in the present moment, everything can flow more smoothly andbeautifully. I wasn’t planning on electrical work, but as it turns out, we got anotherelectrical outlet and some really cool LED lights under the cabinets! How this all “madeitself happen,” is a mystery to me. Saying that Ronnie, and Chris, and John, and Stevemade it happen through their hard work only deepens the mystery.But a huge lesson was the incredible interdependence of everything, and the particularway it needs to all fit together. Nothing in an old house (or an old person) is strictlysquare or level, everything is connected to everything else, so many adjustments needto be made. The huge cabinet over the refrigerator had to be horsed into place bySteven’s sheer strength. The dishwasher had to fit exactly into its space or a piece ofcabinet would have to be removed. Some of the tolerances are less than 1/16” of aninch. It was like a massive jigsaw puzzle. Fortunately, Steven is incredibly precise andknowledgeable, and made everything fit. When we change one thing in our own internalsystem, everything else has to come into a new organization; everything in our outerlives also shifts, no matter how imperceptibly, and we try to bring things into a newbalance. We need to pay very close attention, with some care and precision, for theserelationships to work and for things to fit in our new configuration.Moving things back into the kitchen I discovered quite a few that I don’t need to hang onto, some things that served their purpose long ago, in the same way that in our practicewe discover some bits of conditioning, of our stories about ourselves and the world, ofour habits that we simply don’t need any more. Of course, we can still use whatever isfunctional, playful, creative and fun in our new way of being.But the results are really kind of astonishing. I put out the pictures of how the kitchenlooked when I bought the house. And I think I probably had that same worn down, dark,barely functional quality when I started Zen practice. The complete transformation of thekitchen and of practice is far, far beyond what I could have imagined, filled with light andspace and so easy to live and work in. I never knew it could be like this.As long as we are living, we are moving forward in our lives. We are crafting newenvironments for our minds and our relationships, often far beyond what we could havedreamed. But it is only possible by allowing for the destruction of what at first seemed---5like it was working fine, the clearing away of all the accumulated layers of conditioning,habits, and stories, so that we can get a clear sense of what wants to be built andinhabited, what can find its proper home there. We pay a price for this path. Andcertainly I don’t want to minimize the cost, because although it seems like it will bemanageable and modest at the start, ultimately, you will find that it will cost much morethan you can imagine, to fully liberate your own life.Of course our Zen practice is not really a kitchen renovation, is it? For one thing, it is nota self-improvement project: it is not intended to make a better, more lovely andfunctional you. That would be an ideal to strive for, for one thing, and it would be theego’s idea about what we are doing in practice. Relinquish the idea that you are workingtoward some perfected way of being or that you need to somehow improve yourselfthrough this practice. And it is also different because that practice is a path. It does nothave an end point, when you can say, now it’s completed. Our practice is not boundedin space and time.Still, there are some parallels. You need to open your mind to possibilities, relinquishfixed ideas or opinions about the process, stay curious, and get some expertassistance. You need to be fully present for the work and pay attention to the details.You need to find trustworthy spiritual friends and draw on their expertise and genuinecare. In return, you need to wholeheartedly support their work as well. It will certainlyhelp not only a kitchen renovation but your entire life to cultivate the six paramitas ofgenerosity, ethical conduct, patience, energy, one-pointed concentration, and wisdom.All of these qualities were shown to me by each person working on the kitchen, as well.Was this kitchen created? No, because it is in exactly the same form and formation thatit had before. Was it improved, really? It has the same functions it always had: storingthings, cooking things, washing up, welcoming guests. It is more as if the potential ofthe kitchen was revealed or discovered, and now all of those functions can beaccomplished in a fresh, clean, lovely environment. Those functions have beentransformed. And that is what the path of Zen is for.