UnMind: Zen Moments With Great Cloud

Silent Thunder Order
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  • BUDDHISM
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A podcast of original teachings and music by Zenkai Taiun Michael Elliston Roshi, guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order.

  1. MAR 4

    Surangama Sutra

    In the introduction to “The Surangama Sutra, A New Translation” by the Buddhist Text Translation Society, the section on “The Reasons for the Teaching” explains six reasons for this particular sutra, the title translating to something like, "heroic march or journey":   1)    The first is the importance of balancing learning and meditation practice.   The authors explain that Ananda, the interlocutor in this sutra, had “the keenest memory of all the Buddha’s disciples” but thought he could rely solely on his intelligence and neglected his meditation practice, thus making himself vulnerable to the “spell” the young courtesan in the story cast upon him on the way to the meeting with Shakyamuni Buddha. They also explain “The Syllogism and the Tetralemma” as key forms of formal logical argument that the Buddha employs in trying to help Ananda navigate the intricacies of the nondual nature of Mind. Quoting one example, using the five parts of a syllogism: proposition, reason, instance, application and conclusion:   1)    Proposition: it is the mind, not the eyes, that see 2)    Reason: our visual awareness is active even if nothing is being seen; 3)    Instance drawn from ordinary life: In the Buddha’s words, “If you asked a blind man on the street, ‘Do you see anything?’ he would no doubt answer, ‘All I see is darkness.’” 4)    Application of the instance: “Reflect upon what that might mean. Although the blind man sees only darkness, his visual awareness is intact.” 5)    Conclusion: “The eyes themselves simply reveal visible objects; it is the mind that sees, not the eyes.”   A brief explanation of the Tetralemma, or Fourfold Negation, follows:   In the logic of ancient India, statements could be affirmed, negated, neither affirmed nor negated, and both affirmed and negated. In this fourfold negation, sometimes called the “tetralemma,” (catuskoti), a proposition is asserted to be neither true, nor not true, nor both true and not true, nor neither true nor not true.   That’s a lot of neither-nors, for those of us who presume that Zen promotes a positive mental attitude. But they go on to explain that “This formula can serve as a reminder in our practice that all we perceive is empty of any attribute, and so nothing definitive can be asserted about the world and the contents of the mind.” In more recent times, namely the Thirteenth Century, Master Dogen affirms this tenet in several fascicles from his masterwork, the Shobogenzo, including “Self-Fulfilling Samadhi (J. Jijuyu Zammai):    All this however does not appear within perception because it is unconstructedness in stillness — it is immediate realization. If practice and realization were two things, as it appears to the ordinary person, each could be recognized separately. But what can be met with recognition is not realization itself, because realization is not reached by a deluded mind.   Implicit in this last is that, therefore, any form of recognition, of any perception, is itself delusion. It is only when perception itself undergoes deconstruction that the delusory nature of perception becomes apparent. If fundamental reality cannot be perceived, let alone recognized, described and asserted as real, we have to embrace a new definition of primary experience itself, most immediately before it is translated into perception.   Nagarjuna gets a mention as the founder of the “Emptiness (Madhyamaka) school of Buddhism” who “popularized the logical negation of these four possibilities as a way of showing the emptiness of anything that might be construed as a real, permanent self or phenomenon or as an attribute of a real, permanent self or phenomenon.” Note that the imputed self is lumped in with all other phenomena as fundamentally unreal.   The question of whether things are real or not, is not the question in Zen, however. The existential question in Zen is not either-or black-and-white, but HOW things exist. They exist by virtue of emptiness; that is, with determinate characteristics of impermanence, imperfection, and insubstantiality. Given these three attributes yes, things do actually exist. For now. Forever is a different story. One might argue the case that “thingness” exists forever, and that no single thing is separate from all things. But what we perceive as a thing is pulling a fast one on us. Don’t be fooled.   An interesting and, I think, cogent definition of enlightenment and awakening is included, and I quote:   In this volume we use the English terms “enlightenment” and “awakening” as synonyms. In Buddhism, when these terms are used in a formal sense, they do not connote a temporary experience but rather a complete and irreversible transformation of one’s fundamental way of being in the world. Only the enlightenment of a Buddha is perfect and complete.   The text goes on to explain that others, such as those folks who function as Bodhisattvas, “have awakened but have not perfected their awakening.” There are several other definitions of some of the more ubiquitous jargon terms of Buddhism, which often go unexplained, and just as often lend to confusion, rather than alleviating it.   While the idea of perfecting awakening may seem to contradict the mark of imperfection that is one key characteristic of dukkha, the unsatisfactory nature of sentient existence, it is important that we do not go off the deep end of intellectual analysis with every seeming contradiction. We must have faith that there is no real dichotomy in reality. As Matsuoka Roshi would often say, there is no dichotomy in Zen. That all such confusion will be resolved in meditation of the “right” kind, is a kind of faith in Zen Buddhism.   So just where is this so-called mind? If there is such a thing, it must be somewhere, right? And what about this Original Mind versus ordinary mind? Are there two minds? We often hear the trope, “I am of two minds about this…” This is one of many confusions that arise in Zen practice, owing to the dualistic nature of the discriminating mind trying and failing to comprehend nonduality. The question or conjecture of the true mind versus the constructed mind may be considered foremost in the focus of Zen meditation.   In the section on “The Request [from Ananda] for Dharma,” the dialog ensues:   The Buddha said to Ānanda, “It is as you say: your mind and eyes were the reason for your admiration and delight. Someone who does not know where his mind and eyes are will not be able to overcome the stress of engagement with perceived objects… I am now asking you: precisely where are your mind and eyes?”   In the interrogation that follows, Ananda responds with great sincerity and increasing stress as Buddha mercilessly rejects each response, thus mercifully reducing Ananda’s reliance on intellectual analysis to the level of futility. Ironically, Buddha expresses the very engagement with perception as a form of stress. That the mind is in the body is the first and most obvious idea, dismissed immediately with a syllogism, demonstrating the impossibility of Ananda’s assertion. Same for outside the body. Ditto for residing in the faculty of vision. Even that the mind is in the middle, between the sense faculty and its object. Even no specific location — no dice.   One gets the impression that Ananda is like the sinner in the old spiritual, “O sinner man, where you gonna run to? All on that day.” There is no place to hide, no answer that is going to satisfy this demon in hot pursuit of him. This may represent the first koan assignment and the following distress-inducing exchange with the Rinzai master.                         Then Buddha performs a minor miracle, as he is wont to do — so that all present have an intense, if unexplainable, experience of the Buddha’s power, involving light radiating from his countenance, infinite worlds appearing in all directions at the same time — your garden variety astonishing sign that he is about to say something significant, so listen up:   People who undertake a spiritual practice but who fail to realize the ultimate enlightenment…all fail because they do not understand two fundamentals and are mistaken and confused in their practice.   Ānanda, what are the two fundamentals? The first is the mind that is the basis of death and rebirth and that has continued since time without beginning. This mind is dependent on perceived objects, and it is this mind that you and all beings make use of and that each of you consider to be your own nature.   The second fundamental is full awakening, which also has no beginning; it is the original and pure essence of nirvana. It is the original understanding, the real nature of consciousness. All conditioned phenomena arise from it, and yet it is among those phenomena that beings lose track of it.   We are going to have to leave it there for this segment. A real cliff-hanger, with lots for you to chew on. We will continue with “The Nature of Visual Awareness,” one of my personal obsessions, next time, with a brief wrap-up of where the mind really resides. Thoroughly investigate this in your meditation, as Master Dogen would advise.

    15 min

  2. FEB 4

    Equanimity

    The fourth and last of the immeasurables of Buddhism is translated as "equanimity" — in Sanskrit, upekkha. Has the ring of authenticity, doesn’t it? Equanimity, not so much. Too familiar, too ordinary. Besides, nobody really knows what it means. Note how much more authoritative it sounds when we use the Sanskrit.             Brings to mind the Peter Sellers scene in The Naked Truth where, trying to pass for Irish in a pub in order to buy a bomb from the IRA says, “Well, we always have the Gaelic…” and after launching into a monologue, is immediately punched in the nose and thrown out of the bar. Fake accent of an Englishman — a dead giveaway.             This tendency — to rely heavily on jargon-speak — has a similar deleterious effect in any category of discourse, and can be especially disingenuous in dharma dialog. For one thing, it sets up an “us and them” dichotomy, whether intended or not. It tends to imply that the speaker possesses greater knowledge, moreexpertise — at least in her or his own estimation — and therefore, presumably, the listener is rendered lesser inthat regard. It leverages the faux asymmetry of the relationship. Zen is, or should be, the great equalizer.             Boldly brandishing the Zen vernacular implies that I must have mastered its deeper meaning. This is whywe have to keep reminding ourselves that we do not master Zen — in any language — it masters us. Far betterto de-mystify any discussion, eliminating jargon wherever possible, and to rely on our own, direct experience — and plain language — to explore the true meaning of these ancient teachings. We teach each other Buddhism, as Matsuoka Roshi often said.             Equanimity brings to mind other terms derived from the same root, such as equipoise, and equilibrium. The good thing about these terms is that they imply something physical, rather than strictly emotional, or mental. The first two syllables derive from “equal,” and the dictionary definitions all refer to balance. So all three would have some connection to the Sanskrit samadhi, one of the more frequently mentioned jargon terms in Buddhism, which loosely means "centered" or "balance."             In zazen, if we sit still enough for long enough — and straight enough — we begin to experience equipoise in our upright seated posture, coming into perfect alignment with gravity. All forces of mass and weight come to center around the spine, like the cables supporting a digital cell tower. When we hit that sweet spot in the middle of our stomach, it is as if we are floating off the cushion — free-falling. Equilibrium ensues, profoundly affecting our mental clarity and emotional composure; which leads to equanimity. Eventuallyequanimity manifests even in the social sphere, where relationships with others benefit from less friction and conflict, more harmony.             If we regard equanimity — along with loving kindness, compassion, and empathy — as essentially immeasurable, they connect to Master Dogen’s closing lines in Jijuyu Zammai (Self-fulfilling Samadhi):   Hundreds of things all manifest original practice from the original face It is impossible to measure Know that even if all the buddhas of the ten directions As innumerable as the sands of the Ganges Exert their strength and with the Buddha’s wisdom Try to measure the merit of one person’s zazen They will not be able to fully comprehend it   So what is truly immeasurable is the whole of the effect — the merit — of zazen. Zen claims to transmitBuddha’s meditation, bringing about the very same process that took place that night under the Bodhi tree some two-and-a-half millennia ago. We all have the same equipment to work with that he had, after all — the toolkit comes with birth as a human being.             We also enjoy relatively supportive causes and conditions — the circumstances of contemporary life —including exposure to the buddha-dharma, and access to training in meditation. As Hakuin Zenji asks toward the end of Zazen Wasan (Song of Zazen), “What is there outside us? What is there we lack?”             He goes on to claim that “Nirvana is openly shown to our eyes. This earth where we stand is the pureLotus Land and this very body the body of buddha.” A bit hard to swallow, in the light of our self-effacingself-doubt, which at its worse becomes the life sentence of self-loathing. Nobody said this would be easy.             Bringing our focus back to zazen, I think it is critical to recognize and accept that the immeasurablesof this excellent method are also the most important aspects. It matters less how regularly we sit inmeditation, how frequently, how long we sit, et cetera. Whatever measurable parameters we may put around it,the most important is that we simply never give up, as Matsuoka Roshi always reminded us.             The downside to setting up strict regimens around zazen — as we are prone to do around working out, aerobics, and other activities that we expect to show results — is that the results of zazen are not so obvious. And, just as with any goal-oriented activity, if and when we do not live up to our own expectations, we are naturally disappointed, may become discouraged, and tend to reaffirm our own self-criticizing proclivity, proving that we are the failure we always suspected we were.             Better to sit without expectations, but without abandoning our aspiration to something that cannot be sosimply expressed as a measurable goal. This does not mean that we do not set reasonable benchmarks to assure enough depth of experience that we give zazen a legitimate chance to work its magic. But the immeasurable of the qualitative dimension of the experience takes precedence and priority over any quantifiable dimension.             Which brings us back to the old cliché, “Just sit.” This overworked expression is not a cavalier or flip comment meant to dismiss any consideration of the serious issues that we face, including actual mental disorders and chemical imbalances that we may be dealing with, but to suggest that when we do sit, we just sit,rather than engaging in daydreaming, planning, ruminating over the past, et cetera.             If we turn up the intensity knob, sitting “more” in the qualitative sense — when we are actually sitting —then we begin to manifest the true meaning of “just sit.” Would it were so simple. But of course we find that "just sitting" includes the full panoply of monkey-mind machinations, the impertinent imprecations of negative thinking on steroids, as well as the more trivial but distracting push-you-pull-me of everyday tedium, those mundane but persistent weasels of samsara ripping our flesh. It is difficult to feel equanimous on the Titanic. The ship is definitely going down, and it doesn’t matter that the lifeboats are made in Japan. Zen is American as apple pie. Just not as sweet.             The gateway drug to equanimity is patience. If we can come to practice patience on the cushion — patience with our situation in this imperfect world, and patience with the monkey’s inept attempts to cope with it — we may find our way clear to the equilibrium, the equipoise, the equanimity that is at the heart of all the clamor, clutter, and seeming chaos. It is all floating in samadhi. Time to release our grip on our imagined reality, so as to float in the equanimity of Zen.   In the next segment, we are taking a new direction for 2026. Stay tuned.

    12 min

  3. JAN 7

    Four Immeasurables part 13 -- Empathy

    The third of the Four Immeasurables of Buddhism, as defined online, is sympathetic joy, or empathy, I have long taken to indicate the kind of genuine delight that one can feel at the good fortune of others.Unfortunately, in the context of our prevailing dog-eat-dog, winner-take-all, loser-victim mentality—the emerging tribal take on social and economic standing in America—this fulsome embrace of the success of others has become a diminishingly rare commodity, if we are to believe the daily reporting. Your winning at the game of life means that I must be losing. As if there is a finite store of happiness, from which any one’sindividual achievement, or gain, necessarily takes away from the total available to others. However, if empathy has a more substantial base than its conventionally positive, but dualistic or relativistic meaning—reduced to like-mindedness, or even pity—it must also be operative in negative mode. In certain cases, when and where we are not at all sympathetic, but stubbornly indifferent; we may even find ourselves opposed to others. In which case, empathy for oneself tends to trump — no pun —any possibility of empathy for others. Shakyamuni Buddha was reputed to have been able to read minds. One of the ten honorifics accorded him during his lifetime translates as something like “controller of men,” which is roughly the meaning of Matsuoka Roshi’s first dharma name, “Soyu.” Empathy plays a central, determinative part in this ability to win friends and influence people. But our inborn, naturally altruistic empathy may need an occasional boost from the nurturing, tender loving care of meditation. My supposition is that Siddhartha Gautama was already a highly sensitive youngster, becomingestranged from existence itself, owing to the pain and suffering he had witnessed in his life. Like MasterDogen, he witnessed the death of his own mother at an early age. But his realization in meditation during hismid-thirties must have engendered the emergence of an even deeper and broader sensibility for the suffering of others. He clearly was a natural empath, born of magnanimous and nurturing mind, innately endowed with compassionate traits. Which were only amplified in, and by, his intense meditation under that fig tree. In the Surangama Sutra, attributed to Buddha, he suggests that it is possible, and even probable, that his followers will themselves develop such paranormal powers (Skt. siddhis) through their own meditation. One of which would be this ability to “know others’ minds.” In the Fifty Warnings attached to this sutra, cautionary tales against falling into certain states of delusion (Skt. mara), he offered specific spoiler alerts,flagging the likelihood of getting stuck at various stages of the process, ten in each of the Five Skandhas. By misinterpreting fifty gobsmackingly vivid meditative experiences that Buddha describes in meticulous detail—occurring at remote passes on the parallel track of transcending ordinary perception of reality—your average monk or nun might come to believe, falsely, that they are now fully enlightened. When, truth be told, they still have a long way to go, before finally getting off the train at anuttara samyak sambodhi, the end of the line. He also admonished them not to demonstrate any such abilities to others, as their audience might also get the wrong idea, that gaining such seemingly mystical or magical powers is what the practice of the Noble Eightfold Path is all about. Too soon. Wait—there’s more. Just keep on keepin’ on, no matter whateverfantastic or fabulous transformation seems to have taken place. You are not home free, yet. It is worth mentioning that at this time there were apparently any number of clever charlatans andwould-be magicians plying their trades of trickery in the public marketplace, masquerading as genuine sages (Skt. sadhu) or seers. Buddha apparently did not want his followers to settle for a “me too” position in the contemporaneous war of ideas, competing for the attention of the hoi polloi. This throughline of the teaching further suggests that in Buddha’s case, he had persevered, making itall the way down and through the rabbit hole, and all the way back. In other words, he did not fall for thevarious offramps that Mara (the spirit of delusion), offered up to sidetrack him, that long dark night under the Bodhi tree. Even the daughters of Mara, with their seductive wiles, were unable to distract the young prince from his single-minded focus on penetrating the primordial koan of suffering existence. According to the story, he had already been there, done that, with many a merry maid, under the direction of his doting father. Whose game plan was to keep him in thrall to the sensory pleasures of the world, so that he would succeed to his inheritance, the leadership of theShakya clan. But young Siddhartha was not buying it. He had other fish to fry, starting with himself. Because Buddha was able to resist the temptations of fantasy and overcome the nightmares of fear, ifwe are to believe the story—doggedly persisting in the face of all resistance—he eventually emerged from the other side of the wormhole. In other words, he went full circle through the looking glass, returning to whence he had launched his excellent adventure, exploring the new frontier of mind-only. He came home again, the prodigal son, but home had been miraculously transformed into the entire universe. Yet nothing special, indicated by his touching the Earth. But his enhanced empathy, for himself and his intimately personal causes and conditions, extended to include all beings. It had to be an even more painful embrace of universal suffering, than had been his initial, self-centered view of suffering that drove him to the cushion. Fortunately, his profound, newfoundinsight swayed him to try to help all others, the very beginning of the bodhisattva vow. So compassion turns out to be just one of those things—as one of the Supremes famously said of pornography—difficult to define definitively. But you know it when you feel it. When you feel true compassion, however, it will not be compassion for others. It will be compassion for your sorry self. And it will not be coming from yourself. In other words, it will not yet manifest as true empathy. Along with all the other findings, conclusions, and recommendations that formed the deliverables of Buddha’s contract with humanity, empathy fits all three. He found that it constitutes a description of reality, concluded that it is a fundamental law of sentient existence, and recommended a big dose as a prescription for negotiating the Path. At once a cause, as well as an effect, empathy is a natural attribute of the Way. It is only natural that we realize it, the sooner the better.

    11 min

  4. 12/03/2025

    Four Immeasurables part 1 -- Compassion

    The second of the Four Immeasurables of Buddhism, compassion is a term that is frequently bruited-about in Zen circles, the ubiquity of which extends to the customary reference to buddha-dharma itself as “the compassionate teaching.” Which begs the question, Compassionate to whom? When we look at the teachings of Buddha, beginning with the Four Noble Truths, they do not look all that compassionate at first blush, at least not in the conventional sense of coddling us poor babies, who,after all, are the ones who are suffering, here. Right out of the blocks, with no warning emoji, comes the shock of the raw, blunt, undeniable existence of suffering — and the charge that we are to fully understand it. This does not seem very forgiving if you ask me, not of the intensely personal nature of our birth, aging, sickness and death, nor of our personal comfort level in confronting it. No rose-colored glasses here. Take it or leave it.   The origin of suffering — consisting mainly in our own desires, exacerbated by our own attachments to them,which we are to fully abandon — is not very user-friendly, either. Since they — beginningless greed, angerand delusion, to name a few — are inborn — indeed, according to the Repentance verse, arising naturally from body, mouth and mind — it does not seem fair that we bear all the burden for abandoning them. Whose bright idea was this, anyway? We are not God, after all. The third reality-check — that there can be a cessation of suffering, but wait, there’s more: its realization is entirely dependent upon each individual’s personal efforts — is equally cringe-worthy. Is there no interlocutor, no savior to whom we can turn for succor and salvation? At least a support group we can join? Lastly, that we must follow some righteous, prescribed Noble Eightfold Path, every day — in order to realize this cessation of suffering — seems insufferable. Can’t we just be done with it and move on? This is obviously a set of inconvenient truths, intended to place the onus for acting on them directly on us. So what, exactly, makes them so noble? Well, you could say they are ennobling, in that they remind us of the true meaning of compassion, “suffer with,” implying that we are all in the same boat, ultimately. Our woes are shared with all other sentientbeings, who are also subject to these truths, perhaps with the exception of the Eightfold Path, which is more within the human social realm of practice, though by extension, all sentient beings are on the Path, whether they know it or not. You cannot accuse chickens, cats, dogs and cows of talking the talk but not walking thewalk. Only humans can manage that. Of course, along with his description of unvarnished reality, Buddha offers certain prescriptions for practice, i.e. what to do about it. The Three Treasures may be interpreted as the highest values in Zen, butalso as the three legs of its practice stool: Buddha as right meditation; Dharma as right understanding; and Sangha as right action. Or you may want to substitute the tripartite model of right discipline, wisdom, and conduct, respectively. The implication that we can get this right doesn’t necessarily mean that we can get it wrong. Thenotion of compassion suggests that we have the right to be wrong. Fall down seven times get up eight, thank you Dogen. We have to allow ourselves to fail, in order to succeed. Master Dogen makes the point — no pun — that the arrow hitting the bullseye depends upon the preceding 100 misses. Also, place your oxygen mask on before attempting to help others. Okay, Dogen did not say that. We speak of “practicing compassion,” which doesn’t make sense when expressed as “practicingsuffering with others.” We are already suffering with others, so practicing what already is does not seempossible. What we can practice is ways of helping others. Which implies that what we come up with may notwork. It largely depends upon them. It does not help to suffer fools gladly. But that does not mean that we should not even try. So karuna, compassion, may mean something more like practicing loving kindness, engaging in selfless behaviors of a bodhisattva, without making a big deal of it. In spite of our obvious limitations, doing what we can to help others, but without any attachment to outcomes. Suffering the consequences of failed attempts with equanimity, and practicing the kind of patience that recognizes that this may not end well. Taking up the bodhisattva path of saving all beings begs the question, “From what?” Save them fromtheir own ignorance? Even Buddha could not do that. Also, how many are there? How long is it going totake? And Where do I begin? Living by vow, the bodhisattva vow, means embracing the possibility of eternal rebirth. The possibility, not a belief in inerrancy, nor even the probability. Buddha’s teachings are not arguments. Taking the long view of Buddhism means that issues arising in this lifetime may not be resolved in this lifetime. But this is not a shrug of the shoulders, just a real-world platform for mounting our well-intentioned actions. If there is such a thing as compassion, it must already exist. It cannot be dependent upon, let alone created by, our actions. Compassion is not a karmic consequence. If we are to “practice” it, we have to already have it. Having compassion is not a trait that we can develop, but a fact. We already have compassion, in the sense that the universe has suffered us to be born. We are in receipt of all the compassion that there is to be had. We did not create this mess, but we are responsible for what we do withthe opportunity. Our actions can add to the chaos, or perhaps mitigate some of the stress. The kind of compassion we can conceive of practicing must be balanced with wisdom, which is also notsomething we can actually practice. It is the same slippery slope to imagine that we can acquire either. Wisdom is said to be the natural merging of right view and right thought, from the Noble Path. This merging cannot be said to be completely dependent upon the practice of right meditation, but it is less likely to come about without it. Sitting in upright seated meditation, zazen, is the form of expressing our aspiration to compassionate action, the fertile training ground for realization to be made manifest. The theory is that if it becomes clearenough that all beings, sentient as well as insentient, are instantiations of compassion, it will be possible to join them. Just as we are naturally manifesting the truth that we cannot speak, if we settle into the real world of compassion, it will naturally emanate from our most mundane activities. We will find ourselves rowing the “boat of compassion” (shout out to Master Luopo) gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily — life is but a dream.

    11 min

  5. 11/05/2025

    Four Immeasurables part 1 -- Loving Kindness

    From a downloaded document from one of my online dharma dialogs — dated June 8, 2016, but otherwise unidentified — we find the following definitions of the Four Immeasurables of Buddhism:   Metta (loving kindness) Karuna (compassion) Mudita (sympathetic joy or empathy) Upekkha (equanimity)   I have always felt that the immeasurables of Zen practice are more important than those aspects subject to measurement. For example, it is more important in doing meditation, zazen, to never give up, as MatsuokaRoshi would often encourage us, than how long we sit when we do, how often, how frequently, how regularly, etc. More important than the quantitative dimension is the qualitative. Folks bring this up in dokusan frequently, saying they know they need to “sit more.” I ask them when do they think they can do that. You cannot sit more in the past — it’s too late. You cannot sit more in the future, because it is not yet here, though you can plan to do so — and possibly set yourself up fordiscouragement by failing to live up to your own expectations — been there, done that. The only time you can do more zazen is when you are doing it. You can do zazen more by refraining from doing anything else while you are on the cushion. Such as daydreaming, worrying, planning, ruminating, regretting, and so on. Turn up the intensity knob. The list is followed by an extension of the definitions:   The ease of equanimity, the full-heartedness of love, the tenderness of compassion, the radiance of joy.   There follows a brief “prayer,” a term we do not often see in Buddhist teachings, a “short version” attributed to H.H. the Dali Lama: The Four immeasurables are found in one brief and beautiful prayer: May all sentient beings have happiness and its causes, May all sentient beings be free of suffering and its causes, May all sentient beings notbe separated from sorrowless bliss, May all sentient beings abide in equanimity, free of bias, attachment and anger. This sounds very similar to the familiar Metta Sutta, or Loving Kindness Sutra, from the Soto Zen liturgychanted often in Zen temples, though finding our “bliss” is not a term I would use as a goal or objective of Zen practice. While human beings are included in the panoply of sentient beings that we pray may be happy, it is also acknowledged that human beings can be a significant part of the problem, the cause of unhappiness and sorrow in their fellow sentient beings. Needless to say, we “pray” in the sense of earnestness — not to a god, to Buddha, nor to a specific bodhisattva. Our basic prayer is that we wake up, as soon as possible. It should be equally needless to point out that the prayer, or wish, for all beings to be happy does not imply a rose-colored, magical-thinking belief that somehow just because we pray for it, it shall come to pass that all beings will suddenly become happy, via some “spooky action at a distance” — thank you, Zen Master Einstein. We “transfer merit” at the end of our service because we don’t want to suggest that we actually believe we personally accumulate any real merit owing to our devotional activities. Whatever merit there maybe, it must already finitely exist, and can be neither increased or decreased by what we do. Likewise, the practical worldview of Buddhism and Zen dictates that if and when all beings actually do become happy, it will be happy with the causes and conditions of existence just as they are, or in spite ofthem: the unsatisfactory nature of life, being subject to aging, sickness and death, etc ad infinitum. Zen isnothing if not realistic. “Things as it is” is an expression David Chadwick attributes to Shunryu Suzuki Roshi in his charming book, “Crooked Cucumber,” as his condensed expression of one of the central truths of Zen. It does notmean “things as they are.” If it did, there would be no reason to engage in all the necessary discipline andwork of Zen, if it were only to result in things staying the way they are. That is, if our own perception and conception of our own reality did not undergo some kind of meaningful change as a result of our efforts, what would be the point of practicing? Which begs another central question, What kind of change is that? The kind of change that can come about through the practice and study of Zen, particularly itsmeditation, is pointed to in the Heart Sutra, chanted ubiquitously in Zen centers all over the world. The linethat declares, “Given Emptiness, there is no suffering, no end of suffering.” This Emptiness is capitalized tostress the unique meaning of the Sanskrit shunyatta. It is not voidness of existence, or devoid of meaning, but the dynamic nature of change that underlies all existence, the operative meaning of dukkha, usually translated as “suffering.” The suffering that can change through our coming to this insight that Buddha experienced and coached others to find, is of the unnecessary sort — that needless suffering that we heedlessly inflict upon ourselves and others. The suffering that does not — indeed cannot — change is that of the natural type, e.g. sickness, aging and death. Metta, nonetheless, is a worthy and worthwhile aspiration to a frame of mind that, while embracing the universal givens — impermanence, imperfection and insubstantiality — continues to encourage a hopeful mindset, and an engagement in compassionate action for all, toward that ideal of all beings being as happy as is practicable, under the circumstances. However, kindness — and likewise the other three immeasurables — is not at all separable from the immediate circumstances of life. Suffering fools gladly, or humoring others in their delusions or neuroses, is not an act of kindness, but of uncaring, a kind of cop-out. Treating others in ways that may not be helpful, butthat allow one to sustain a false sense that one is being kind, is not truly kind. In Zen, we recognize that the kindest thing to do, with and for others, is sharing the dharma assets, including those aspects that are most adaptable by others, such as the unsurpassably simple method of Zen meditation. But we also recognize that, even then, the effect of Zen training upon their lives is entirely up to them. You can lead a horse to water, et cetera. It requires a sense of modesty and humility to accept that we can actually do very little to help anyone else. And that what we suppose to be the most important kind of help they need may not be so. The most we can do is to expose them to the practice and teachings of Zen — sanzen and zazen — in the midst of the universal, ongoing, relentless pandemic of ignorance. Whether the inoculation against this virus takes, or not, depends upon them.

    11 min

  6. 10/01/2025

    Connecting the Dots part 6

    APPROACHING THE SINGULARITY Siddhartha Gotama, the founder of Buddhism, known as the Buddha — as well as the Ancestors of Zen — struggled mightily to express the essence of the practice, meaning, and implications of Zen's meditation in the language and idiom of their time, throughout the countries and cultures of origin: India of 2500 years ago; China from around 500 CE; Korea and Japan a half-century later. As Master Dogen reminds us in the closing section of Fukanzazengi—Principles of Seated Meditation: The Buddhas and Ancestors all preserved the buddha-mind              and enhanced Zen training And then goes on to give us our marching orders:  So you should devote yourself exclusively to              and be completely absorbed in the practice of zazen Their instructions were and are quite clear when it comes to the personal dimension of practice — just sit. But when we enter into the social arena, we face the same kind of dilemma that they did in attempting to express a direct experience of fundamental reality that is beyond the scope of conceptualization, let alone the reach of language. Buddha and Dogen used parables and analogies to illustrate their point, and along with other masters conjured various models and inventive paradigms to help their followers picture    the reality they had intuited, which often contradicted the received wisdom of the period. In our modern context, the closest analogy that I have come across to the process and effects of sitting still enough, upright enough, for long enough, is that of the black hole, or rather the description of what occurs to matter in thrall to the gravitational field of one. Firstly and perhaps most obviously, we align ourselves with the planet by sitting upright. Our backbone comes to approximate a one-to-one correlation with the force field of gravity, visualized as a vector running from the crown of our head through the spine and spinal cord, straight to the center of the Earth. Like a mountain settling into place after the collision of two tectonic plates, our body enters into equilibrium, equipoise. With all forces equally balanced, maintaining the natural posture of zazen becomes relatively effortless. We experience a sense of floating in space, which is what we are doing.   Once we have become physically comfortable in the posture, the body goes through its natural process of sensory adaptation, resulting in a blurring of the boundaries of our senses usually taken for granted. Beginning with the tactile sensations of the body, the adaptation extends to seeing, hearing, smelling and tasting. Eventually even thinking, the activity of the brain, adapts and settles into a profound stillness as well. Again, vintage Dogen: In stillness, mind and object merge in realization             and go beyond enlightenment Dogen's choice of the verb "merge," it seems to me, captures the essential dynamic of the process of realization. Merging of mind and object, of self and other, of subjective and objective interpretation, of inner and outer — the resolution of all seeming dichotomies — and the non-separation, or nonduality, of the four fundamental spheres of activity and influence from my model of the real-world context in which we live: the merging of our personal sphere with that of the social, natural, and universal spheres.     "Realization," in this context, points to a transformative event that is not the same as conceptualization, or even within the realm of recognition, as Dogen points out elsewhere. It is literally the "becoming real" of subjective and objective reality within the personal realm of intimate experience, known as the "hard problem" of philosophy. From our friendly online AI: The "hard problem of consciousness," a term coined by philosopher David Chalmers, is the challenge of explaining how physical processes in the brain, such as neural activity, give rise to subjective, qualitative experiences—like the feeling of redness, the taste of sugar, or the experience of pain—which he calls qualia. Unlike the "easy problems" of consciousness, which involve explaining cognitive functions, the hard problem focuses on the subjective, internal feel of "what it's like" to be a conscious being, something that cannot be fully captured by objective scientific explanations alone https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C5DfnIjZPGw&t=7s  So we can take it from this that the process of merging that will ensue — when and if we sit still enough, straight enough, for long enough — is not something subject to our control. Which is why we do not try to control what happens in Zen meditation, other than exerting a modicum of discipline on the physical level, relinquishing our usual, restive proclivities for lounging around and fidgeting. In particular, Master Dogen does not suggest any mental regimens or disciplines for controlling the monkey mind, in his manuals of meditation (a key point made by Carl Bielefeldt in his analysis of Fukanzazengi — Google it). Current online gurus of mental health are finally catching up to this millennia-old wisdom, from one of several recent postings on the subject: Why You Should Let Your Mind Wander Cut your brain some slack We've all been there. There's a test to study for, or a new concept to learn for work - but we can't help but daydream about something else entirely. For a long time now, the general assumption has been that a wandering mind is counterproductive. According to new research published in the Journal of Neuroscience, we might have that all wrong. The Study: Researchers at Eötövos Loránd University in Hungary designed a study in which they had 27 participants in their early 20s complete a simple probabilistic learning task while hooked up to an electroencephalogram, which measures electrical activity in the brain.  Participants who said they allowed their minds to wander demonstrated a boost in their ability to learn the information. The Takeaway: Next time you're trying to learn something new, don't be afraid to let your mind wander a bit. It may very well help you retain the information you're trying to internalize. Keep in Mind: This study was designed specifically around simple learning tasks that didn't require focused attention. A couple of caveats are in order: In zazen, we are not trying to learn something new. In fact, we are unlearning what we think we know, in general, about our take on reality. We question everything, including our direct sensory experience, as is indicated by the early lines of the Great Heart of Wisdom Sutra: "Given Emptiness, no eye, no ear, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind..." and further, just to drive the point home: "no seeing, no hearing, no smelling, no tasting, no touching, no thinking..." and finally, in case we still didn't get the point, "no realm of sight...no realm of mind consciousness." In that last, the other sense realms are not repeated for the sake of brevity. Secondly, zazen definitely requires focused attention, but the focus is not on something outside the realm of the sensory surround in which we are immersed, our conscious mind and body. Zen does not have a specific subject or content, as such.  So this raises certain questions. What are the "do's and don'ts" of Zen meditation? Beyond Buddha's findings, conclusions, and recommendations - known as the buddha-dharma - what are the implications of this teaching and its central method of sitting still enough, long enough, and upright enough? In assimilating this counter-intuitive and counter-cultural approach to assessing the salient dimensions of our existence, some attitude adjustments are going to be required. For example: Why do we sit still? It is said that the Buddha "stopped the sun in the sky," or words to that effect, the night of his awakening, when he "became the Buddha," as is often misconstrued. This concept of what happened to him is belied by his own expression at the end of his First Sermon, when he declared: My heart's deliverance is unassailable - this is the last birth - now there is no more becoming. I take this to mean that when he sat down that night, after six years on the road and a lifetime of struggle, he called time out, on an absolute basis. He stopped doing everything he had been trying to do, and so entered into non-doing. As part of that process, he first entered into non-thinking, as Master Dogen described it about 1500 years later. Neither thinking nor not thinking. Beyond thinking. Before thinking. Neither doing nor not doing; no becoming, just being. Thus he entered into real spacetime, where he had already existed, so nothing really changed. Except that he left behind conceptual spacetime, including thinking and doing. That is, thinking about space and time, and imagining that he was actually doing anything. He awakened to what he already was, so there was no becoming involved. In the face of this startling, direct remembrance of the immediate reality — which is the heart of so-called "mindfulness" — he must have experienced some sort of total cognitive dissonance on a cosmic scale. Afterwards he was not sure whether he could communicate this experience to others — being that it is the opposite of conventional experience — or even clarify it to himself. But he decided to try. Thank Buddha for that. In the next segment, "Passing the Event Horizon," we will consider his description of what had transpired, and attempt to translate it into the current vernacular. Stay tuned.

    15 min

  7. 09/03/2025

    Connecting the Dots part 5

    This segment is excerpted from the introduction to a yet-to-be-published manuscript of selected podcasts from 2020 forward. The working title is "Speaking with One (Zen) Voice," the "Zen" in parentheses, subtitled "25 Centuries of Buddha-Dharma; 3 Countries of Origin; 9 Dharma Masters; 2 Dozen Teachings; with Commentary by an American Zen Elder." Selections from the text are posted monthly as our new Substack column, along with my paraphrases of traditional teachings, beginning with Buddha's "First Sermon," otherwise known as "Setting in Motion the Wheel of the Law," or, more simply, "The Four Noble Truths." Check it out.   This volume represents an attempt to present Buddhist teachings selected from the vast canon of sutras (indicating direct testimony) and shastras (connoting indirect commentary) spanning some 2500 years, a quarter of a millennium, from three of Buddhism’s countries and cultures of origin — India, China, and Japan. According to scholars, the early talks delivered by Buddha himself to his followers were not written down until several centuries after his death, but were preserved through the oral tradition of chanting and memorizing his spoken teachings. But the accuracy of that transmission is not considered inferior to the later written records, for one reason that it is more difficult to change the content of an oral tradition than it is to modify written documents, either intentionally, by accident, or the ravages of time.   Another reason is that the truths of Buddhism and Zen are to be discovered in one’s own experience, primarily via the practice of the same meditation process that led to Buddha’s insight. Buddhism is, perhaps, unique amongst the Major Religions of the world, in this, its tradition of “face-to-face transmission.” Each of Buddha’s Dharma heirs — from those who were exposed to his live dialogs in India, to those who propagated Zen practice and teachings in foreign lands, and the ancestors of those  countries — were themselves beneficiaries of direct insight.   Of course, the further we go back in time, the provenance or historicity of the canon is less certain, the record from China is more documented than that of India, and that of Japan even more so, as we approach modern times. Most of the selected pieces from these later periods of the evolution of the canon are derived from the liturgy of Soto Zen, verses that are recited in monasteries and temples of today.   Speaking with one voice The point in surveying this collection, which is merely the tip of a massive iceberg — the Pali canon, Tripitaka, or “three baskets” alone is said to comprise some 84,000 teachings — is that these great Zen forefathers were all speaking with one voice. The written texts selected by Zen’s ancestors in China and Japan to be recited on a daily basis as liturgy were obviously not casual or arbitrary choices. They come at the central truth of Buddha’s message from differing cultural and linguistic contexts, of course, but if we read between the lines, we might get a glimmer of the existential and experiential reality to which they refer, as so many fingers to the same moon.        Let us first consider some of the underlying premises of the teachings of the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni (“sage of the Shakya clan”), which differentiate his from other teachings of a philosophical or religious nature. Let it be understood from the beginning, however, that the worldview of Buddhism — and Zen in particular — places emphasis on overarching sameness, rather than petty differences, between   people, and sentient beings in general. This inclusive attitude also applies to the other worldviews, belief systems, philosophies, and religions propounded by humankind. We who follow Buddha’s Way are not interested in proselytizing or converting, debating, or winning anyone over to our point of view by argument, nor in discrediting another’s viewpoint. As to any perceived difference between Zen and Buddhism, you are free to substitute one term for the other where mentioned in the following.   Three key distinctions where the Buddha’s teaching, usually referred to as “buddha-dharma,” or more simply, “Dharma,” differs substantively:   One: It is human-centered.  Unlike other spiritual founders, the Buddha claimed no mandate from a god, a deity, or power outside himself; no “Wizard of Oz” behind the curtain preaching his message, other than his teachers in past lives, the so-called “prehistoric” Buddhas. Zen is all about humanity, and our place in the universe. And, for that matter, the place of all sentient beings, on the path to awakening.   According to mythical tradition, the newborn baby Buddha declared: “Above the heavens and below the heavens, I alone am the most honored one!” as he sprung forth, fully formed, from his mother’s womb. This expression, while clearly legendary, capsulizes Buddha’s view of humanity’s unique position in the scheme of things, as represented by his human birth. In today’s societal context, this might be interpreted as a form of “secular humanism,” a limited, egocentric, or anthropocentric, perspective.   On the other hand, to claim exclusive divine guidance, when the audience consists of other human beings like yourself would seem the more egocentric, closer to the height of arrogance. Think of all the things this leads to. Those claiming a direct mandate from God feel compelled to proselytize, to save all other beings, which is, ironically, the Bodhisattva Vow of Buddhism. But if the unsaved do not seek out the message themselves, the apostles bringing the gospel appear to disrespect and demean the innate spirituality of those they would save. Claiming to be already blessed, or saved themselves, they feel uniquely qualified to save others.   One stunning difference here is Buddha’s decision to attempt to teach his great discovery to others, based only on his own experience. This must have required great confidence and resolve, in that his authority to teach was not based on an established lineage, outside intervention of some “greater being,” nor on a previously existing canon or belief system.  There was no directive from on high to go forth and spread the good news. So why do it? The urge to share the “compassionate teachings” stems from “suffering with” — the very definition of compassion. No one, not even Buddha, can save another. Zen’s message and method of meditation offers a way to release oneself from one’s own ignorance.             Two: It is self-reliant.  Buddha’s teaching emphasizes self-reliance, individual responsibility and initiative.  It is the ultimate in do-it-yourself. He teaches no-reliance on anything outside the self. We cannot rely on scripture, on beliefs, on somebody else to do this for us.    This is where what is called “Great Doubt” arises. If we can’t rely on  anything outside ourselves,  everything we’ve always relied upon is now called into question.  If we begin to doubt everything that we’ve always felt to be dependable and sure, we come to an experience akin to that which people in earthquake or mudslide zones are said to undergo. Suddenly one day, the earth trembles, falls apart, opens up fissures and nearly swallows them up.  What they always depended upon as “terra firma,” solid earth, turns extremely fluid, not at all stable..    Similarly, what Buddha points to can be as unnerving, but on a spiritual level,   sometimes described as something like the earth “trembling in six dimensions,” meaning the Six Senses. When doubt — including doubt in the dharma —  becomes such that we feel as if we are “perched atop a 100-foot pole,” and we step off. It is like vertigo on steroids. “No toe-hold”— nothing to hold on to, nothing to cling to.    With his emphasis on self-reliance, individual responsibility, and initiative, taking this on for ourselves, by his own example, Buddha established the tradition of awakening without a teacher. We can learn from living, true teachers, those who have personal insight, yes, we can rely on them not to mislead us but after their death, we have only the teachings, which we can rely on, because they hold true, anywhere and anywhen in spacetime.   Three: It has nothing hidden. In Buddha’s teaching there is nothing hidden, nothing held back — no inner secret, something the teacher has up his or her sleeve, that the student has to try to get.  Dharma is ubiquitous, and self-apparent. As Master Dogen said, “Now when you trace the source of the Way, you find that it is universal and absolute.”  There isn’t anywhere or any time that Dharma is not present. In the most ordinary, common, everyday thing that you go through, this teaching is manifest in that activity and in that experience. All things are manifesting buddha-dharma "without ceasing for a moment," another trope from Dogen.    Recapping these three aspects: First, Buddha-dharma is humancentric, based on our consciousness, on our human birth and being. We are able to have this awakening experience without reliance on a savior, without reliance on a god. Buddha never positioned himself as a savior, never claimed a mandate from an outside force or God. To that degree Zen is a secular religion, so to say.   Second, Dharma is do-it-yourself. An attitude of absolute respect, honoring the innate buddha-nature of ourselves and others. We all have the capability of doing exactly what Buddha did, waking up completely. This is one meaning of the buddhist bow. When we bow to each other palm-to-palm, it expresses a recognition of our innate spirituality: “I recognize your Buddha-nature, same as mine.”   Third, Dharma has nothing hidden in it. It is openly available and accessible to everybody. These teachings are not for the “inner circle.” There is no “us and them” in

    18 min

  8. 08/06/2025

    Zen In Our Time Part 4

    From time to time over the nearly 50 years since the establishment of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center, a significant number of its members and its affiliates in the Silent Thunder Order have complained of burning out in terms of their participation in the Zen community. Some have faded into obscurity and were never heard from again. Others have come back after years. The record for the longest hiatus is about three decades.   This cohort would amount to a small percentage of the total attendance, or course, but it has been noted that more people come and go than stay. Matsuoka-roshi used to say, of some disciple that was no longer showing up, "Come-and-go type" or, "Wishy-washy type." I assume that these lost souls continue to practice in some form or other, hopefully maintaining their practice of meditation at least. And they probably retain an interest in reading about Zen and Buddhism. And I think it fair to say that if they had stayed, instead of moving on, we would have no place for most of them to sit.   This is why I refer to the Zen sangha — and it is probably true of all communities — that it is like a cloud, constantly evaporating and recondensing, with new molecules of water, over time. People have real lives, other demands on their time and energy, and they always have. Master Dogen pointed out that the famous places in China were not typically comprised of large groups, but a small core of a half-dozen monks or so, with others coming and going from time to time. A cursory reading of the history of the formal transmission in Soto Zen makes this clear. Many of these encounters were short-term.     So I don't worry too much about the many former members who are no longer in attendance. I do reach out from time to time if someone has suddenly disappeared who was diligently engaging on a frequent basis for some time, out of curiosity if nothing else. But I have enough to worry about, dealing with those who are presently practicing, as well as the constant flow of newcomers knocking at our doors.   Most newcomers report that their first exposure to Zen is through reading — or, nowadays, listening — to a well-known teacher online, such as Thich Nhat Hahn, or Ram Dass. I had the pleasure of meeting Ram Dass in person in the 1960s, when I was teaching at the School of the Art Institute and the University of Illinois at Chicago Circle campus. Some friends of mine who knew him told me he was travelling through the area, so I asked them to connect us, and invited him to speak to one of my classes at the U of I. I still have the 1/4-inch reel-to-reel audiotape somewhere of his talk, which was his classic trip to India, giving LSD to the guru tale. I plan to have it digitized so that those who are interested can listen to it.   Not to be too much of a name-dropper — near to greatness, and all that — but he came to our apartment for dinner that evening and cooked chipatis and beans for us. My friends told me later that he had told them he thought I was one of the most spiritual people he had ever met. That may have been because my apartment was full of student work, models of geometric structure studies they had done in one of my design classes. Another factoid of interest, and one of those coincidences that we say are not in Zen — he was driving a Chrysler Airstream at that time, and several years earlier, before I had graduated from the Institute of Design, my best friend at that time and I attended a talk by Claes Oldenburg, the famous Swedish-American sculptor, at the University of Chicago, at which presentation, amongst other things, we saw his life-size soft sculpture of — you guessed it — a Chrysler Airstream. But I digress.   I have never heard of anyone burning out from too much study of the dharma, or too much sitting in meditation, although some naturally grow tired of too much group discussion, especially when it slides down the slippery slope of intellectualism and erudition, as has been seen many times in the history of Zen. Ch'an Master Huineng famously made a public show of burning scrolls of sutras to make this point. Dogen held that both things can be true at the same time — that the written record also contains the dharma, even though subject to the limitations of language.   No, usually, problems with burnout arise in the context of serving the Zen community.   Community, or sangha, is the third leg of the stool of Buddhism, joining that of dharma, the study of the teachings of Buddhism and Zen; and most centrally, buddha, the practice of zazen, or the meditation of Buddha. This is what Zen claims to transmit.   Where the rubber hits the road in terms of burnout is usually in an individual's efforts to serve the sangha in ways that demand what seems to them to be a lot of time, effort, and energy, with all the opportunity costs associated with any form of contributions of one's precious time to any cause. The third rail for most or all not-for-profit enterprises such as ASZC seems to consist in serving on the board of directors.   What I refer to as the "substitution effect" begins to set in — one finds oneself sitting less and less over time, the limited  bandwidth available for Zen being consumed more and more by the ever-evolving demands of raising money and paying the bills; upkeep, repair and maintenance of the facility; producing and publishing online communications, newsletters, bulletins and podcasts; and, finally, the sheer pressure of administrating a robust schedule of programs of dharma study and meditation, serving a shape-shifting and ever-growing community of practitioners.    As one who has been immersed in this process for going on 50 years -— ASZC was incorporated in 1977 — I am very familiar with this syndrome of overcommitting, on a personal level. But I think it may be that we are getting it backward if and when we do burn out in service to the sangha. It is easy to lose track of the central focus of Zen.   The three legs of the stool are not equal in importance or effectiveness in supporting our personal practice. Buddha practice, Zen meditation, or zazen, is definitely first and foremost. Dharma, or study of the teachings, comes second and is subordinate to zazen. Without zazen there is little hope of ever comprehending buddha-dharma. Sangha, community participation and service, is a distant third, and is not really necessary, or conducive to personal practice, absent meditation and study. When we get this backward is when we tend to burn out.   If I had not been continuing my meditation practice over the 60 years I have been engaged in all three dimensions, from the mid-1960s at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago, through the years of establishing ASZC in Atlanta, I would have burnt out long ago. Attending most of the public sessions of meditation and witnessing the evolution of the Zen lives of hundreds of individuals have reinvigorated my zeal for Zen again and again, especially during the difficult times we have endured. The evidence of my senses has convinced me ever more undoubtedly of the value and effectiveness of Zen as the Upaya, or skillful means, for our times, as Matsuoka-roshi believed.   If you have found yourself experiencing burnout, please consider whether or not you see yourself in this picture. If you do your best to attend a reasonable number of our scheduled meditation programs including daily, weekly, monthly and annual opportunities, such as day sits (zazenkai), longer retreats (sesshin), classes and workshops, you will rediscover the renewable resource that is genuine Zen practice.   If you have gotten entangled in the ASZC or STO administration or other demanding roles of service to the sangha, please understand that your efforts are very much appreciated, but that you may be inadvertently developing the substitution effect syndrome, which ultimately does not bode well either for your practice, or the wellbeing of the community. If you relinquish your position and function, no worries, someone else will step up. I have witnessed this again and again. There is no way to plan for, or to design around, human nature, so please do not blame the corporate entity that is the Zen community for your unhappiness.   If instead you renew and reinvigorate your practice of meditation, both at home and at the Zen center, you may begin to see that the burden you are or were carrying on behalf of your fellow travelers on the Zen raft was not so onerous, after all. And that somehow, willy-nilly, what you may have seen as your vital function within the Zen community will be taken up by others. If you do not claim your place on the cushion, you may miss the point of practice altogether. Which would be a "cry and shame" as Albert the Alligator would say. And I know that dates me. Look up "Pogo the Possum" by Walt Kelly.   Let me propose in closing that you apply a tried-and-true time management approach to your Zen practice. There are only 24 hours in a day, as we say, so unless we chuck it all and go join a monastery, or become a hermit, only a small fraction of those hours can be devoted specifically to our practice, as we conceive it.  So let's say you create the visual of a classic clock face representing your 24-hour day. After filling in all the many other things you do to get you through the night, such as sleeping, and through the demands of your day, such as paying the rent, take a look at how much time is left over. For the sake of argument, let's say you can free up an hour a day, or maybe two.   In that time, maybe an hour in the morning, and an hour in the evening, maybe more of a weekend, you commit 50% to Buddha Practice: time on the cushion; 30% to Dharma Study: reading up on the literature and joining online dialogs; that leaves 20% for Sangha Service: helping out at the center, or attending admin meetings.   The very exercise of visualizing — and tracking — your time may reveal that you are not

    18 min
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A podcast of original teachings and music by Zenkai Taiun Michael Elliston Roshi, guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order.

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