| A note on running away... |
[07 Mar 2005|08:52pm] |
Something has gone awry in human evolution. Our survival instincts urge us to do that which ensures our destruction.
If you are attacked by a bear, your instinct is to run away. This will cause the bear to chase you, and there’s no way you can outrun it. So, following your instinct will cause you to be devoured.
When the bear attacks, it’s better to stand your ground, make a lot of noise, wave your arms, try to look as big as possible. If you do that, there is a chance that the bear will retreat. But, in order to survive, you have to go towards the perceived danger, because it is much more dangerous to run away.
When somebody punches you, your instinct is to either cower away in fear, or lash out in anger. If you cower away, you make it easier for him to hit you again, because he has space to throw another punch, and you have no defense. If you retaliate in anger, it’s easy for him to hit you again, because you’re wide open.
Watch a boxing match, and you’ll see that when a boxer is hurt, he defies his instincts. He moves closer to his opponent, taking away his room, smothering his punches. He moves towards the perceived danger, because it is much more dangerous to run away.
This is true of any pain our lives bring us. We try to run away, try to medicate the pain with booze, drugs, codependent relationships, any mindless distractions we can find. It never works, ever, except in a very temporary way. The pain always finds us, and suffering ensues – because the suffering is not caused by the pain, but by our attempts to escape it.
Instead of running away, we have to move towards it. Look at it with compassionate detachment, neither welcoming nor rejecting it. Just be there with it, fully present. If you’re sad, just be sad. If you’re lonely, just be lonely. Angry, just be angry. Not running away, not lashing out, not acting on it at all. Just being right there with it, observing without judgment or expectation.
Do that, and the pain changes. It’s a creation of the mind, and the mind doesn’t stay still. Even though the pain still hurts, it loses the power to make you suffer – but you have to move towards the perceived danger, because it is much more dangerous to run away.
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| A note on duelism... |
[07 Mar 2005|08:46pm] |
In Zen Buddhism, the moon is often used as a symbol of enlightenment. It has been repeated and repeated that when a finger points to the moon, you should not make the mistake of looking at the finger, and therefore miss viewing the moon.
This should not be taken literally. The finger is a metaphor for the teacher, and the moon a metaphor for the teaching, the Dharma. It tells us not to get hung up on the teacher, who only points the finger, because if we fixate on the finger we don't see what's important, which is what the finger is pointing to.
But many people seem to take this teaching literally, which is a mistake, because it is a dualistic view. You should not discriminate between the finger and the moon, because neither is real. They are both created by the mind.
Case 29 of the Mumonkan relates an argument between two monks who were looking at a flag blowing in the wind. One monk said, "The flag is moving." The other said, "No, it's the wind that moves." The Sixth Patriarch overhead them, and told them they were both wrong. "It is the mind that moves."
So, you can't look at the finger, and you can't look at the moon - because there is no finger and there is no moon, and there is no one to look at them. The finger, the moon, and the person looking are illusions, created by the linear, discursive, discriminating mind. In the perfection of Buddha-nature, finger and moon are the same thing, and so is the person seeing. Trying to look at either finger or moon is like a knife trying to cut itself.
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| A note on monkey mind... |
[07 Mar 2005|08:38pm] |
A friend me the following in an email. When I read it, I laughed out loud, because it's such a perfect description of the mind's activity during zazen...
"I'm trying to be more mindful and more careful about my practice - meaning that while I'm sitting, I'm trying to notice when my mind starts to wander and say to myself 'thinking' and return to the breath. It's just amazing to me how many layers upon layers upon layers of thinking there are. A transcript from the inside of my head
while meditating:
Monkey Mind: Those barettes I had in the third grade were so cool, I
wonder what happened to them.
Mind: Thinking. Return to the breath.
Monkey Mind: Here I am returning to the breath. That's cool that I
remembered to return to the breath. I notice I breathe more slowly
when I'm sitting. I wonder why that is.
Mind: Thinking. Return to the breath.
Monkey Mind: Yeah! Thinking! Go back to the breath. Jeez. You're
hopeless. Back to the breath. Wonder if I'll eat anything with ketchup
today. Ketchup is so good. I've heard that lycopene in ketchup is
really good for you and really good for men's prostate glands.
Mind: Thinking. Return to the breath.
Monkey Mind: It always cracks me up when people confuse prostate and
prostrate. That's really funny. I'm following the breath. This is
pretty cool. I'm not thinking all that much right now. I wonder if
this is what meditation is supposed to be like, wait a second, I am
thinking!
Mind: Thinking. Return to the breath."
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| A note on what Zen is not... |
[07 Mar 2005|08:33pm] |
I recently talked with a Zen student who quoted the sutras, and, when questioned about what she meant, repeated the same quotes.
I told her that blindly, unthinkingly quoting the words of the Buddha has nothing to do with Zen practice, and in fact is contradictory to the Buddha Dharma. Zen is not about faith in any words, or faith in any person, or faith in anything at all. If you are repeating words without questioning them, you are not practicing Zen - and if you are practicing with sincerity, the most important questions (and their answers) will not take the form of words.
I have heard Zen described as a practice of "looking inward," but it is not that either. In zazen, you can't look inwards, because there is no inwards and no outwards, and no you to look from one to the other. When you see clearly, the illusory nature of subject and object, this and that, here and there, is apparent, and the questions are the answers.
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| A note on illusions... |
[07 Mar 2005|08:16pm] |
Here is the bad news: It’s not about you.
Here is the good news: It’s not about you.
So many people I meet are like a friend of mine who tells me she doesn’t worry about birth control, “Because I won’t get pregnant if God doesn’t want me to.” Or another friend who said, after his car broke down at the start of a road trip, “I’ll bet there was a snake or something that was going to be there, and it would have bitten me if the Universe hadn’t made the car break down.” Or another friend who thinks his career as a musician is going poorly because God wants him to give it up and get a steady job.
Ah, that explains why there is so much suffering in the world, so much war, so much famine. It’s because the deities are too busy to do anything about it. God is too busy following Shelley around the bars of Phoenix, Arizona, making sure she doesn’t get knocked up by any of the guys she takes home...and when He’s not doing that, He’s fretting about what Doug ought to be doing for a living. And the Universe (whoever that is) is busy sabotaging Joe’s car to keep him from going to places that might be dangerous.
You can call your imaginary parent God, or the Universe, or anything else you want to. It’s not about religion, not about faith – it’s about narcissism. It’s about you, and that’s why you suffer.
The good news is that we don’t have to suffer. You can’t avoid pain, but you can avoid suffering. Because suffering is not caused by pain. It’s caused by taking it personally. It’s caused by our grandiose little ego’s desire to avoid pain.
Getting a little bit upset at this point? Getting annoyed at what I’m saying about you? Or maybe you’re thinking, “He doesn’t mean me!” Well, I do mean you – because if you’re thinking that, you’re taking it personally.
If you want to make it about yourself, stop wasting your time reading my writing. Get a psychology book or a religious text. Psychology and religion agree on one thing: it’s all about you. Religion tells you you’ll exist forever (the truth is that you don’t even exist now, at least not the way you think you do), and that you’ll either have a heavenly afterlife or a hellish one depending on your behavior. Psychology tells you you have to work on yourself, feel good about yourself, get to know yourself, raise your self-esteem. Both psychology and religion are encouraging a delusion. They want you to believe in a phantom that’s your worst enemy.
Practice zazen daily for any length or time and with any real sincerity, and one thing will become clear to you: you are your own imaginary friend.
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| A note on things as they are... |
[03 Mar 2004|07:41pm] |
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mood |
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 tired |
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music |
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Random piano music |
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When I think about how much I dislike living in the South, and how much I wish I was back in London, I remind myself of the last line of Jim Harrison's memoir, Off To The Side: "My life could have been otherwise, but it wasn't."
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| A note on Suzuki... |
[20 Jan 2004|04:47pm] |
I recently read Shunryu Suzuki's book Not Always So. Like his previous book, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind (which is probably the most important and influential book on Zen ever published in the West), it's a collection of the talks he gave to his students at San Francisco Zen Center, which he founded. The Dharma talks contained in this new book were given during the last three years of his life.
Someone remarked to me that Suzuki may be the West's equivalent of Dogen, and I think that's true. His story is remarkable; he came to America from Japan at the age of 55, with less than an ideal command of English. At a time when other Japanese priests came West with "good suits and shiny shoes", as Suzuki put it, he came with "an old robe and a shiny head."
In Japan, he was not (and, as far as I know, still is not) regarded as an exceptional teacher, and it doesn't seem as though he regarded himself as being of any importance. But, 32 years after he died of cancer, his teachings are iconic, and talks that he gave so routinely are still being edited and published. You only have to read Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind or Not Always So to understand why he endures, and why he will continue to endure for as long as we in the West practice Zen; simultaneously simple and complex, lucid and funny, warm and severe, never arrogant and always coming from "beginner's mind", Suzuki Roshi reveals the perfection of our Buddha Nature in the language not of sermon but of conversation. The talks in Not Always So have such titles as "The Zen of Going to the Restroom", "Letters from Emptiness" and "Everyday Life is like a Movie"...
I bow to his magnificence.
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| Ordinary Night... |
[18 Jan 2004|06:33am] |
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mood |
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 contemplative |
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Sometimes you get a taste of the Absolute, and it can come without anything seeming to trigger it. On a recent evening at around nine o’clock, I was walking out of a supermarket and it happened. As I walked outside into the parking lot, I came face to face with the sublime beauty of everything - the dark parking lot, the crummy, downscale supermarket, the cool urban night air, the traffic lights, the sky, the groceries in my bag - everything. All the walls of ego, of self, of subject/object, all of it just fell away, and stayed that way for a few minutes. I have no idea what brought it on - my mood was no different than usual, and there has been nothing unusual about this day - but the experience was that of the reality behind the neurotic illusion we often call by that name, and the happiness and peace defies words.
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| A note on the Hagakure |
[09 Jan 2004|11:35pm] |
Up late, drinking coffee and reading Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai.
"The way of the samurai is found in death. Meditation on inevitable death should be performed daily."
This is the opposite of despair. Only by a constant awareness of impermanence can we live fully, with acceptance and gratitude, in the present moment
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| A note on identity... |
[09 Jan 2004|10:16pm] |
Who is it that sits at my desk, drinking coffee and typing these words? An aggregate of transient phenomena that is conveniently labeled "Dominic Matthias". The label is unconnected to my Original Face, my Buddha Nature, my face before I was born, the great nothing, the great everything, the vast emptiness.
The atoms that make up my body have always existed, though they have not always made up my body. They were not created, did not come from somewhere. They have always been. They have only made up my body for a short time, not even a microsecond of their existence, and they will not make up my body for much longer. For, at best, seven or perhaps eight or conceivably nine decades they assemble as this body, then go their different ways, carry on, be part of other things for a microsecond or so.
These atoms now form my body, cause electric impulses that I experience as thoughts, feelings, who I am. It will all crumble, fall apart. It all breaks down, falls apart, all of it. I, the electric impulses, am sad about this; I think about the people I love, these words I am typing, and I wish it were real and permanent. But I know it isn’t, and for the most part it does not seem sad. It seems riotously funny.
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| A note on technology... |
[02 Jan 2004|06:58pm] |
I find it fascinating how technology can be used to give up privacy or protect it. I know people who are never impossible to contact at any time - if they're not at home, their cell phones are always turned on and they can never ignore them when they ring, if they're not at a computer they have a Blackberry, and their cell phones can also receive text messages. In the early 21st Century, those who hate to be alone can always have some kind of company, if they have people to contact and if they can afford the technology.
Although I love and value my friends, I also love and value my privacy and my alone time. And the technology that allows those who want it to have constant virtual company is the same technology that allows me to be left alone. You simply can't reach me unless I want to be reached. You may have my cell phone number, but I probably won't answer. If I want to talk to you, I'll call. (If you're a close friend and you really need me, you can leave a message and I'll call you back.) My home phone number is unlisted. I check my email every day, when I want to. I don't own a Blackberry and don't want one. I have no desire to be that accessible. I don't want to be constantly on call, personally or professionally. When I'm writing, reading, meditating, cooking, or just lying in bed watching a movie or listening to music, I don't want any surprises, any sudden distractions or complications. A friend once said to me, "What's the point of having a cell phone if you never answer it?" The point is that the cell phone is for my convenience and my convenience alone. I don't have it so anyone can contact me at any time. I have it so that I can contact anyone at any time.
I like the technology that allows me to keep to myself, and yet also to maintain a virtual, mediated presence on the Internet. I like the technology that allows me, when I feel bored while driving for hours in the middle of nowhere, to call a friend on the other side of the country and have a conversation. I'm grateful that this technology also allows me to sit in my apartment in the middle of a city, knowing that nobody can find me unless I decide to let them. The technology allows everyone the level of privacy that suits them.
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| A note on karma... |
[25 Dec 2003|12:35am] |
One of the most common misconceptions among people from Judeo-Christian backgrounds who become interested in Zen practice is the meaning of karma. To a mindset conditioned to believe in an omnipotent parent, karma is a system of punishment and reward - do bad things, and the deity will punish you; do good things and the deity will reward you.
This is what psychiatrists call "magical thinking." It is not karma.
Karma is the law of cause and effect. What happens to you is the result of something that has preceded it. If you jump out of a top-floor window, you are most likely going to be splattered all over the sidewalk below. This is not because someone or something is punishing you for jumping out of the window - rather, hitting the sidewalk is a result of the fall, which is a result of your jumping out of the window.
If someone throws a punch at me, and I duck, the punch misses me. Good karma for me. The punch then hits you instead. Bad karma for you. You angrily hit him back, he hits you back. Bad karma for both of you. I'm in the middle, so both of you hit hit me. Bad karma for me...
Cause and effect, not punishment and reward.
Bad karma can be avoided, or brought to a halt, not by primitive, childlike rituals of atonement or repentance, but rather by taking responsibility for one's actions, and asking that others take responsibility for theirs. Cycles of negative karma, negative effects, are ended by paying attention to the causes, and refusing to perpetuate them. In the violent scenario I described above, the painful effects are caused by the stupidity of the violent behavior. When everyone stops throwing punches, no one gets hit. Without the cause, there will be no effect.
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| A note on chance... |
[24 Dec 2003|07:33pm] |
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Driving the back roads of the South, you will sometimes see signs at the roadside, advertising “RABBITS FOR FOOD OR PETS.” How perfect a rendering of the life that we all live, at the mercy of random factors beyond our control that decide whether we are loved and protected, or slaughtered and devoured.
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| A note on silence |
[24 Dec 2003|05:59pm] |
Many people overlook the importance of silence. At least as important as what is said is what is not said. This is something that any intelligent actor (a rare creature, admittedly) knows. Musicians also know that silence is not a space between the notes, but an integral part of the music. This is an understanding that too many writers lack.
If you doubt the power of silence, try this: During a conversation, stop in the middle of a sentence, and sit perfectly still. See the effect this has on the other people present.
There is more silence, more space, than you realize, even in the midst of noise and clutter. A ringing phone might seem frenetic and noisy, but stop and listen to it. Notice the space between each ring; it’s longer than you think. (I find I can count to two, and sometimes three, between rings.) And the silence that occupies the space between each ring has a power it derives from the sound that preceded it, and the sound that will follow.
The spaces, the silences, are where our practice is located.
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| A note on power |
[24 Dec 2003|04:46pm] |
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Over the years, American Zen centers have been plagued with scandals and the abuse of power by teachers. The major cause of this is the ridiculous amount of power the teachers have in the first place.
The kind of power and reverence that students give to Zen teachers is a direct result of so many people's childlike desire to have another person to worship, which is antithetical to what the Buddha taught.
You can't read a book or magazine article on the subject without seeing the term "Zen master." There is no such thing as a "Zen master." It is a fatuous term created by Westerners who want to be parented, who want to have someone who is perfect tell them what to do. Zen is not something you master - a Zen practice is something you do. And even a person with decades of Zen practice behind them will be no less flawed than any other human being.
Zen is not about "masters", or anything mystical. It is a way of living, of paying attention to what is essential and seeing through what is illusory. Any teacher who claims "enlightenment" is a teacher that Zen students should at least be very wary of, and should probably avoid entirely.
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| A note on why... |
[24 Dec 2003|04:38pm] |
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Since my mid teens I've followed an often shambolic Zen Buddhist practice. When people ask me why, they often think I'm joking when I answer their question: if you're as angry as I am, walking around in a constant and permanent state of rage, you can choose between therapy and Zen Buddhism...and I don't believe in therapy.
What I do believe in is the honesty of the zafu and the blank wall, the place of no escape, especially from yourself.
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| A note on letting go... |
[22 Dec 2003|01:31pm] |
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As the rain falls on a dark morning, I'm thinking of why I'm drawn to the practice of Zen rather than other Buddhist traditions. It's simply because the practice of objectless meditation is, to my knowledge, the only effective means of letting go of the self. In everything else I do, I have a self, a label, an identity - when working on a song or piece, I'm a musician; when learning, I'm a student. When with friends, I'm a friend. These are the costumes, the identities I wear, according to the situation, the context. But meditation has no context - it just is. When I sit facing the wall, I'm not a musician, a student, friend, or anything. The "I" is redundant, and what remains is nothing and everything.
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| A note on taking it personally... |
[22 Dec 2003|12:27pm] |
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Though everyone supposedly knows they're going to die, few people seem to believe it.( Read more... )
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| A note on two killings... |
[22 Dec 2003|03:50am] |
Story from a friend. It's rather lengthy though so, get comfortable. And yes, it is a real story...
( Read the story... )
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| A note on looking... |
[22 Dec 2003|02:34am] |
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mood |
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 curious |
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Every day, I think of the geckos.
Geckos can’t close their eyes. They have no eyelids. Their eyes are covered by a transparent membrane, which they clean with their tongues. The eyes are covered, but they never close.
All my life, this has been my problem. I always want to know more than is good for me. I am unable to look just long enough to obtain the necessary information, then close my eyes and shut the rest out. I always want to know, and my eyes will not close, even when the eyelids are safely down and I am trying to fall asleep. Exhaustion and a dark room are not enough to shut off the demands inside my head, the demands to find out more. Meditation helps. Cooking, exercise, all help. They help, but they do not cure.
There have been many times in my life when I am pressing someone for information they think it would be better for me not to know, and at last they say, “Well, okay… Are you sure you really want to know?” And the question is intended as a warning, but it is a warning I never heed. I always give the same answer: Yes, I want to know.
I need to know. And then I need to tell everyone else who wants to know. And there are kind people who want to help me, who do not want me to know things that hurt to know. These people remind me of what curiosity did to the proverbial cat. And I think of how cats prey on geckos.
A few years ago I was doing volunteer work in the Children's Emergency Room. A two year old girl had been raped (by a stranger...I will leave out the more disturbing details) and brought in by police and her parents. Tell me, is it more disturbing that this happens or that this happens enough that the workers there recognize 'SA Exam' (sexual assault) as a standard abbreviation? The parents didn't look at all like what I was expecting. I've seen parents throw fits of rage when their child gets so much as a few stitches. These 2 people looked deader than any corpse I've seen. I cannot describe the blank expression on their faces. The eyes were chillingly cold; windows into a shattered soul. It was the worst image I can recall of anyone devastated by loss. I wish I had the writing ability to truly convey it, but I do not.
I accept that not all knowledge is worth knowing. The price is too high.
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