Monday, November 8, 2010
P.S...
Somehow one of my pictures ended up on the Shambhala Sun website! http://www.shambhalasun.com/news/?p=16420
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Staying through December
Hello dear friends, loved ones. I again apologize. It's been many weeks since I've posted, but there simply isn't time. The ancient sages of the past would probably scoff at blog posting during Zen training anyway, so I'm glad to be getting away with what I can!
After the summer, I re-committed to staying at Great Vow through December for their 3-month ango (training period); I just finished the first month. Compared to the summer, training is more intense and intimate, but very rewarding. I live literally across the hallway from my teachers! I receive all kinds of teachings in all kinds of situations at all times of the day from all members of the community. It's very difficult to be in practice mode 24/7, but I feel like I'm seeing in a few months what would might have taken a lifetime of scattered practice to appreciate.
The more I get into the training the less I feel like talking about my experience. And, in typical Zen fashion, I'm encouraged by my teachers to suspend my evaluative mind as much as possible. So, in that vein, I thought I'd share a few fun snippets from my life and wait until at least after December to evaluate everything else.
This week, we at Great Vow had the privilege of hosting the SZBA's (Soto Zen Buddhist Assosciation) annual conference. It was amazing! All week, I rubbed elbows with America's biggest Zen teachers. By some stroke of luck, I ended up as the conference photographer (no one else volunteered to do it). I sat in on a lot of the sessions and got to see a-whole-nother side of Zen in America. Below are just a few of the hundreds of pictures I took.
All the teachers sitting zazen in the zendo.
The teachers of the Soto Zen Buddhist Association.
A precious picture for me. My current teacher Hogen Bays introduces my previous teacher from Indiana, Shohaku Okumura Roshi. Okumura-san gave a lecture on the life of Keizan Zenji.
Okumura Roshi on the left, me on the right. Okumura Roshi is the abbot of Sanshinji, a temple in Bloomington, IN, which was an hour away from DePauw. I would frequently sneak away from university mind-chatter to sit silently with him and his students. I was fortunate enough to re-visit with him at the conference.
Okumura Roshi is a very well respected author, translator, and scholar of Dogen Zenji, founder of the Soto school. He studied under Kosho Uchiyama Roshi at Antaiji in Japan, and has since been practicing for over 40 years. He's published many books, most recently Realizing Genjokoan. I didn't appreciate how well-respected he was until this conference. Many of the teachers were referred to his expertise on Dogen and admired his style of retreat which involves very long periods of meditation with few breaks.
I welcomed photography as my "work practice" job. For the past three months I've spent the majority of my time helping build and paint new walls in the monastery's shower rooms:
It's mind-splittingly boring work, but good mindfulness practice. I'll be back on it next week!
Take care friends. Please live your life to the fullest.
Monday, August 9, 2010
On the Dharma
At Great Vow, the teachings, "dharma," range from the cosmic to the practical, "time and space" to "nonviolent communication." They also range from the general to the personal. The teachers give regular dharma talks, and in weekly classes we study some texts and discuss general Buddhist topics like the Four Noble Truths and the Five Precepts. Also, I've had many intimate conversations with the abbots, other ordained, and my other fellow residents about insights and issues in my personal practice. Right now, I'm less inclined to talk about those personal subjects, but I might in the future. Some of this personal stuff isn't as relevant to a general audience and they're also tender parts of my practice where insight hasn't come to full fruition yet. Rather than talk about that, I'll talk more about the general teachings.
On the Five Precepts
Currently, I'm preparing to become an official lay Buddhist in the Zen tradition. (Technically, I've already done this in the Tibetan tradition). In most Zen circles, you become a Buddhist by (1) committing yourself to working with the teachers and community and (2) promising to follow a series of precepts for ethical conduct. Currently, I've been taking classes on the Five Precepts. When I first encountered the precepts years ago, I scoffed; they seemed so simple and self-explanatory. The more I examine them, though, I see many areas where I don't follow them and how that's affected myself and others' negatively. In Buddhism, one takes the precepts as a personal challenge; I'm committing to following them myself, not worrying about judging how well others follow them.
In Buddhism, the problem with breaking precepts is not that we have broken some ultimate commandment for which we'll be punished by the universe, but that we have disrespected our self or others and have fogged our view of the essential perfection, or Buddhahood, that we all possess. The basic lesson of karma is that all of our intentional actions leave a mark on us, which for better or worse, can obscure or clarify our vision of the way things are. Basically, somehow we know when we made a mistake, we just need to take responsibility for acting differently in the future.
For me, the structure of the monastery creates a contained space where I can see the karma that I carry around with me. I also have more time to look at it . . . no more excuses for putting off self-examination.
The Zen priest who teaches the precepts class continues to emphasize that the precepts are not rules of right and wrong, but are areas of continual investigation. Within our own body and mind are the signs that we did things that were unskillful or unwholesome. In meditation, we're often trying to concentrate on one thing; if the weight from some unhealthy past action keeps coming to mind, then we know there's something worth atonement and change. The silence of meditation shows us what we need to resolve in our ethical life; a healthy ethical life clears the
way for concentrated meditation.
On the Four Noble Truths
The Four Noble Truths were the Buddha's first major teaching after his enlightenment. Like the precepts, they are also infinitely subtle, and my understanding of them deepens the more I practice. This time around, I'm beginning to understand more deeply the second noble truth.
In the first noble truth, the Buddha famously proclaims that the core problem with life is that we suffer. The second noble truth makes the unconventional claim that our suffering originates from our own mind, from "grasping" or "clinging" . . . "craving for sensual pleasures, craving for existence, craving for extermination." (Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta) I think most people understand how craving for sensual pleasures can drive us crazy. But "craving for existence" and "extermination" is much more subtle and fundamental.
In my daily practice, I've begun to notice more and more the suffering that I create by "craving for existence." On a more obvious level, I suffer when I constantly try to hold on to a particular social identity (I am . . . powerful, attractive, intelligent, etc.). These qualities will all change, and I suffer on those days when I am weak, ugly, and stupid because they contradict an imaginary identity that I've been holding on to. When I suffer from clinging to an identity, I usually find out after the fact. For example, I see that I'm in a bad mood, trace it back to feeling stupid, and realize that I'm clinging to some idea that I'm a smart person. Even if I could be considered smart, walking around thinking I'm smart is just an extra burden on my mind and creates problems. Perhaps, I didn't know something, but only felt like I should because of some inaccurate self-identity.
On a more subtle level, I've been watching this tendency to grasp for existence when it begins, not after I start suffering a lot, but only once I've begun to suffer a little. To refer to my metaphor in the last post, I catch myself taking the digital photos, rather than waiting all the way until my picture doesn't match the scene, and I'm noticeably upset. This might sound strange, but we all possess this awareness that's much greater than our small tourist mindset. We just have to put down the camera . . . over and over and over again. Try it out. Watch the flow of your own mind and notice when you start clinging to some idea that takes you out of the present moment.
Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha
Buddhists often talk about the three jewels, or refuges, that help to support a healthy practice: Buddha (the original teacher, our current teachers, and our own inner-teacher), dharma (the teachings), and sangha (a supportive community).
I've been extremely grateful for the sangha at Great Vow thus far. With the exception of my time in India and last summer, I've done most of my Buddhist practice without much of a community. I've had the support of some professors and friends, and meditation groups here and there, but I've never lived this intensively in a community of practice. On one level, it's amazing to be surrounded by teachers and senior students who can teach me more about the practice and to have time scheduled out to do everything from meditation to chanting.
On a more basic human level, I'm re-learning how profound community can be. I've had my fair share of supportive communities at home and in college. But, now, I'm experiencing an even more intense degree of that support. My needs for affection, attention, support, love, play, teaching, conversation, and silent commune are regularly met because they're dispersed amongst a group of about 30 people that I'm always around. In the past, I've struggled with the anxiety of finding a partner, "going out," or finding new friends in order to meet those needs. I can't say that my social life is 100% satisfying, but that longing has died down quite a bit.
Of course, living in close quarters brings up other issues in terms of tolerating others' quirks and my own aversions to them. The upside is that I'm learning more about skillful communication and managing boundaries, rather than simply avoiding people . . . which I still tend to do. :)
Hope you enjoyed the post! Keep in touch and please appreciate your life as it is. Many blessings.
On the Five Precepts
Currently, I'm preparing to become an official lay Buddhist in the Zen tradition. (Technically, I've already done this in the Tibetan tradition). In most Zen circles, you become a Buddhist by (1) committing yourself to working with the teachers and community and (2) promising to follow a series of precepts for ethical conduct. Currently, I've been taking classes on the Five Precepts. When I first encountered the precepts years ago, I scoffed; they seemed so simple and self-explanatory. The more I examine them, though, I see many areas where I don't follow them and how that's affected myself and others' negatively. In Buddhism, one takes the precepts as a personal challenge; I'm committing to following them myself, not worrying about judging how well others follow them.
In Buddhism, the problem with breaking precepts is not that we have broken some ultimate commandment for which we'll be punished by the universe, but that we have disrespected our self or others and have fogged our view of the essential perfection, or Buddhahood, that we all possess. The basic lesson of karma is that all of our intentional actions leave a mark on us, which for better or worse, can obscure or clarify our vision of the way things are. Basically, somehow we know when we made a mistake, we just need to take responsibility for acting differently in the future.
For me, the structure of the monastery creates a contained space where I can see the karma that I carry around with me. I also have more time to look at it . . . no more excuses for putting off self-examination.
The Zen priest who teaches the precepts class continues to emphasize that the precepts are not rules of right and wrong, but are areas of continual investigation. Within our own body and mind are the signs that we did things that were unskillful or unwholesome. In meditation, we're often trying to concentrate on one thing; if the weight from some unhealthy past action keeps coming to mind, then we know there's something worth atonement and change. The silence of meditation shows us what we need to resolve in our ethical life; a healthy ethical life clears the
way for concentrated meditation.
On the Four Noble Truths
The Four Noble Truths were the Buddha's first major teaching after his enlightenment. Like the precepts, they are also infinitely subtle, and my understanding of them deepens the more I practice. This time around, I'm beginning to understand more deeply the second noble truth.
In the first noble truth, the Buddha famously proclaims that the core problem with life is that we suffer. The second noble truth makes the unconventional claim that our suffering originates from our own mind, from "grasping" or "clinging" . . . "craving for sensual pleasures, craving for existence, craving for extermination." (Dhammacakkappavattana Sutta) I think most people understand how craving for sensual pleasures can drive us crazy. But "craving for existence" and "extermination" is much more subtle and fundamental.
In my daily practice, I've begun to notice more and more the suffering that I create by "craving for existence." On a more obvious level, I suffer when I constantly try to hold on to a particular social identity (I am . . . powerful, attractive, intelligent, etc.). These qualities will all change, and I suffer on those days when I am weak, ugly, and stupid because they contradict an imaginary identity that I've been holding on to. When I suffer from clinging to an identity, I usually find out after the fact. For example, I see that I'm in a bad mood, trace it back to feeling stupid, and realize that I'm clinging to some idea that I'm a smart person. Even if I could be considered smart, walking around thinking I'm smart is just an extra burden on my mind and creates problems. Perhaps, I didn't know something, but only felt like I should because of some inaccurate self-identity.
On a more subtle level, I've been watching this tendency to grasp for existence when it begins, not after I start suffering a lot, but only once I've begun to suffer a little. To refer to my metaphor in the last post, I catch myself taking the digital photos, rather than waiting all the way until my picture doesn't match the scene, and I'm noticeably upset. This might sound strange, but we all possess this awareness that's much greater than our small tourist mindset. We just have to put down the camera . . . over and over and over again. Try it out. Watch the flow of your own mind and notice when you start clinging to some idea that takes you out of the present moment.
Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha
Buddhists often talk about the three jewels, or refuges, that help to support a healthy practice: Buddha (the original teacher, our current teachers, and our own inner-teacher), dharma (the teachings), and sangha (a supportive community).
I've been extremely grateful for the sangha at Great Vow thus far. With the exception of my time in India and last summer, I've done most of my Buddhist practice without much of a community. I've had the support of some professors and friends, and meditation groups here and there, but I've never lived this intensively in a community of practice. On one level, it's amazing to be surrounded by teachers and senior students who can teach me more about the practice and to have time scheduled out to do everything from meditation to chanting.
On a more basic human level, I'm re-learning how profound community can be. I've had my fair share of supportive communities at home and in college. But, now, I'm experiencing an even more intense degree of that support. My needs for affection, attention, support, love, play, teaching, conversation, and silent commune are regularly met because they're dispersed amongst a group of about 30 people that I'm always around. In the past, I've struggled with the anxiety of finding a partner, "going out," or finding new friends in order to meet those needs. I can't say that my social life is 100% satisfying, but that longing has died down quite a bit.
Of course, living in close quarters brings up other issues in terms of tolerating others' quirks and my own aversions to them. The upside is that I'm learning more about skillful communication and managing boundaries, rather than simply avoiding people . . . which I still tend to do. :)
Hope you enjoyed the post! Keep in touch and please appreciate your life as it is. Many blessings.
The first month at Great Vow
And, now we begin again . . . I've been at the monastery for over a month now, but still I can only find this present moment! The past is like a vague mirage, smoke fogging up the present. Nevertheless, I will try to convey the past in some useful way in order to share what my life is like here.
On talking and thinking
Every week or so I will get onto the computer, but I have not yet felt compelled to write a thing. Taking life as one continual meditation, I am frequently impressed with the lacking, dissatisfying nature of language to convey the mysterious, ever-changing, incomprehensible way life moves. One day a resident priest and I were talking about experiences in meditation, and he said, "you know, I usually don't do this. The more I try to talk about particular moments of realization, the more they lose their shine." When we try to take some personal credit for realizing what's universal, we become thieves, mistaking what belongs to everyone as our own, mistaking what's always changing for some fixed idea or concept. There's no problem with thinking about life. We're just so stuck in mistaking our after-the-fact thoughts about life for life itself. Here's a little metaphor/parable . . .
In the middle of the day, you look out over the Grand Canyon. Someone comes up to you and says, "hey, check it out." They show you the screen of their digital camera, and lo and behold, they've taken a picture of the Grand Canyon at dawn. "Pretty sweet, huh? My Grand Canyon has all these pretty colors." Someone else comes up to you. They're sad because their picture of the Grand Canyon is dark and out-of-focus, "It's so terrible. My Grand Canyon is so depressing."
We suffer from this weird human problem where when we look for the Grand Canyon, we look down at our camera screen. When we search for life, we habitually look to our fixed ideas about it. Or, we start comparing our pictures with other people's pictures, "oh mine's so bright, and yours is so dark, I must have gotten something right" or vice versa. In Zen practice, we try to just watch the Grand Canyon. Sometimes it's dark. Sometimes it's bright. Sometimes it's boring. Sometimes, we may even take pictures. We just try to avoid mistaking those little fixed pictures for the actual, constantly changing reality that presents itself in this moment. Even some canyon at its ugliest is more grand than a picture of it's best moment.
Life at the monastery
In my past posts, I talked about the schedule and the general mentality behind a monastic lifestyle. This time, I'll try to give a little update for those who are interested in my personal life. Later this week, I'll try to reflect on some of the teachings that I've been studying.
The daily schedule of meditation, working, eating, and sleeping guides all things here. But, during the summer, Great Vow is especially busy with events. The monastery is also active with many visitors and summer residents coming and going. We oscillate rather quickly from long periods of silent meditation to hosting visitors and being very social. Great Vow is secluded, but it's not closed off. Although there are times dedicated to retreat, silence, and contemplation, the monastery hosts many visitors from many different walks of life.
Over the past month we've had:
- a 4th of July celebration where we participated in the local parade
- a weekend workshop on mindful eating, based on Chozen Bays Roshi's popular book Mindful Eating.
- a daylong workshop on nonviolent communication
- a weeklong sesshin, a silent meditation retreat. This retreat's theme was "Time and Space," and was led by Co-Abbot Hogen Bays. Sesshin involves at least 8 hours of formal meditation per day. You can see the typical schedule here. I'm not mentioning this to brag, but to simply convey the most serious and disciplined aspect of Great Vow's practice. We practice sesshin every month; it's the period of deepest effort we give toward realization.
- a 24-hour inter-faith chant for peace, with 24 different chants led by dozens of different faith groups from around the area.
Personal activities
I spend most of my time absorbed in the scheduled activities at Great Vow, and I've found that that's usually enough to keep me happy and challenged. I derive a lot of satisfaction from the meditation practice, teachings, delicious food, and good company.
My regular work practice has been assisting on a renovation project where we're building new walls to create extra rooms. I've been learning about framing, insulation, drywalling, etc., areas where I have no experience. Sometimes, I get to work in the garden, which I much prefer, but I've accepted this wall assignment as my life; it's the area where I get to integrate meditation practice with practical work. It's been a constant area of growth for me, trying to be mindful, one screw at a time.
The monastery has a "music zendo" chalk-full of instruments that we can play during certain breaks. My major pastime has been playing the harmonium and the many marimbas. There are many talented musicians here, two of which I play with quite frequently. A good friend, John, is teaching me more about raga and other forms of Indian music. It's become very clear that sound and music is one of the easiest ways for me to enter into meditation.
In the next post . . .
I've started writing my next post, which talks more about the Buddhist teachings I'm studying. Hopefully, I will post it by the end of this week. Next week, we are up for another weeklong sesshin.
Until then, many blessings. May your life be free from any trace of suffering.
On talking and thinking
Every week or so I will get onto the computer, but I have not yet felt compelled to write a thing. Taking life as one continual meditation, I am frequently impressed with the lacking, dissatisfying nature of language to convey the mysterious, ever-changing, incomprehensible way life moves. One day a resident priest and I were talking about experiences in meditation, and he said, "you know, I usually don't do this. The more I try to talk about particular moments of realization, the more they lose their shine." When we try to take some personal credit for realizing what's universal, we become thieves, mistaking what belongs to everyone as our own, mistaking what's always changing for some fixed idea or concept. There's no problem with thinking about life. We're just so stuck in mistaking our after-the-fact thoughts about life for life itself. Here's a little metaphor/parable . . .
In the middle of the day, you look out over the Grand Canyon. Someone comes up to you and says, "hey, check it out." They show you the screen of their digital camera, and lo and behold, they've taken a picture of the Grand Canyon at dawn. "Pretty sweet, huh? My Grand Canyon has all these pretty colors." Someone else comes up to you. They're sad because their picture of the Grand Canyon is dark and out-of-focus, "It's so terrible. My Grand Canyon is so depressing."
We suffer from this weird human problem where when we look for the Grand Canyon, we look down at our camera screen. When we search for life, we habitually look to our fixed ideas about it. Or, we start comparing our pictures with other people's pictures, "oh mine's so bright, and yours is so dark, I must have gotten something right" or vice versa. In Zen practice, we try to just watch the Grand Canyon. Sometimes it's dark. Sometimes it's bright. Sometimes it's boring. Sometimes, we may even take pictures. We just try to avoid mistaking those little fixed pictures for the actual, constantly changing reality that presents itself in this moment. Even some canyon at its ugliest is more grand than a picture of it's best moment.
Life at the monastery
In my past posts, I talked about the schedule and the general mentality behind a monastic lifestyle. This time, I'll try to give a little update for those who are interested in my personal life. Later this week, I'll try to reflect on some of the teachings that I've been studying.
The daily schedule of meditation, working, eating, and sleeping guides all things here. But, during the summer, Great Vow is especially busy with events. The monastery is also active with many visitors and summer residents coming and going. We oscillate rather quickly from long periods of silent meditation to hosting visitors and being very social. Great Vow is secluded, but it's not closed off. Although there are times dedicated to retreat, silence, and contemplation, the monastery hosts many visitors from many different walks of life.
Over the past month we've had:
- a 4th of July celebration where we participated in the local parade
- a weekend workshop on mindful eating, based on Chozen Bays Roshi's popular book Mindful Eating.
- a daylong workshop on nonviolent communication
- a weeklong sesshin, a silent meditation retreat. This retreat's theme was "Time and Space," and was led by Co-Abbot Hogen Bays. Sesshin involves at least 8 hours of formal meditation per day. You can see the typical schedule here. I'm not mentioning this to brag, but to simply convey the most serious and disciplined aspect of Great Vow's practice. We practice sesshin every month; it's the period of deepest effort we give toward realization.
- a 24-hour inter-faith chant for peace, with 24 different chants led by dozens of different faith groups from around the area.
Personal activities
I spend most of my time absorbed in the scheduled activities at Great Vow, and I've found that that's usually enough to keep me happy and challenged. I derive a lot of satisfaction from the meditation practice, teachings, delicious food, and good company.
My regular work practice has been assisting on a renovation project where we're building new walls to create extra rooms. I've been learning about framing, insulation, drywalling, etc., areas where I have no experience. Sometimes, I get to work in the garden, which I much prefer, but I've accepted this wall assignment as my life; it's the area where I get to integrate meditation practice with practical work. It's been a constant area of growth for me, trying to be mindful, one screw at a time.
The monastery has a "music zendo" chalk-full of instruments that we can play during certain breaks. My major pastime has been playing the harmonium and the many marimbas. There are many talented musicians here, two of which I play with quite frequently. A good friend, John, is teaching me more about raga and other forms of Indian music. It's become very clear that sound and music is one of the easiest ways for me to enter into meditation.
In the next post . . .
I've started writing my next post, which talks more about the Buddhist teachings I'm studying. Hopefully, I will post it by the end of this week. Next week, we are up for another weeklong sesshin.
Until then, many blessings. May your life be free from any trace of suffering.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Contact Info
For those of you wishing to get in touch with me, here is the monastery's information:
Great Vow Zen Monastery
P.O. Box 368
Clatskanie, OR 97016
(503) 728-0654 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting (503) 728-0654 end_of_the_skype_highlighting
greatvow.org
If you want to talk on the phone, call and leave a message on my cell phone. I will get back to you within a week or two. If it's an emergency, you can call the monastery's number and they will give any messages to me asap.
Mail for me can be sent to their P.O. Box. You can also email me at greenteasteam@gmail.com
Take care.
Great Vow Zen Monastery
P.O. Box 368
Clatskanie, OR 97016
(503) 728-0654 begin_of_the_skype_highlighting (503) 728-0654 end_of_the_skype_highlighting
greatvow.org
If you want to talk on the phone, call and leave a message on my cell phone. I will get back to you within a week or two. If it's an emergency, you can call the monastery's number and they will give any messages to me asap.
Mail for me can be sent to their P.O. Box. You can also email me at greenteasteam@gmail.com
Take care.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Leaving home, once again
I am reviving my old blog for a new journey. I graduated from college last month, and, tomorrow, I return to a Zen Monastery in rural Oregon for at least two months, hopefully longer. This time around, I would like to change the tone of my blog. In the past, blogging has helped me deliver updates to friends and family or keep notes for academic projects. Now, my intention is to take on spiritual practice as a full time occupation. I have posted about Great Vow monastery in the past and you can click here for a general intro or here for a more in-depth explanation of day-to-day activities. Because my life will not differ very much from day to day, I will be focusing more on the spiritual challenges and insights that I'm given. For this entry, I want to refocus the blog and address some concerns I think others might have about renunciation.
Why "Beginning Mind"?
I chose the blog title "Beginning Mind" as a variation of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi's book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. By using the word "beginning," I mean that the mind is a process, not an object that is possessed by any owner. Consciousness happens whether we like it or not. We, in fact, are not in control of much that happens to our minds. We are, however, always capable of renewing our awareness to whatever is happening in the present moment. We can always begin again.
A continually beginning mind is the ideal of Zen practice. We aspire to receive every moment of life with new clarity, presence, and acceptance. In seated meditation, this involves continual renewal of awareness of the present moment from micro-second to micro-second. We re-awaken to whatever new stuff has come along, then do it again NOW, again NOW, NOW, NOW, ad infinitum. It is like upgrading an old monitor to one that processes more frames per second. Rather than getting caught in a cluttered, choppy view, our perception clarifies and flows. Life unfolds and we loose the hang-ups that were slowing us down. With more practice, commitment to a beginning mind can unfold deep, inexpressible insights into the way life has always been working. After such insights, we inevitably return to the world of frustrating thoughts and feelings, but with greater ease and spaciousness. It is tempting to cling to those old insights when they are not so obvious anymore . . . at that point, we must renew our beginning mind again to allow for newer insights.
Why a monastery?
Now that I have introduced the purpose of my blog, I hope I can talk a little bit about why I am going to a monastery. Loved ones, strangers, all kinds of people have asked me, "why a monastery?" After listening to a NPR segment on Jainism and Buddhism, my mom, a great teacher of mine and one of my top supporters, asks, "does renouncing the world mean you have to give up on the people who love you?" At a bar in Greencastle, IN, I stand 6 inches away from a wall of 5 TVs, blasting the same AXE deodorant commercial. A tipsy Slovenian artist, and new found friend, wraps his arm around me and yells into my ear, "you don't need to go to a monastery! The whole world should be your monastery! You can't just run away from it all." Most of my friends think its cool, most of my family supports me although they admit they don't understand. My closest mentors and friends have challenged me because they care. They don't want me to get stuck in institutionalized religion, stray too far from an academic/career path, undershoot my talents, or abandon all of my loving friends and family. I expect that some simply don't speak doubts or criticisms, but I have no way of confirming that.
Maybe I can address some lingering concerns . . . some questions are easier to answer than others.
On renouncing material possessions . . .
For thousands of years, it has been the tradition in, not only Buddhism, Hinduism and other Indian-based religions, but also Western traditions like Christianity and Islam, for spiritual aspirants to leave home, and, if possible, to study under wiser teachers and to perhaps even teach others. If possible, one should take as little as possible so as to keep the mind simple and focused. Some aspirants beg. Some fast. Some go homeless. These acts of renunciation aren't necessarily acts of self-destruction or internalized aggression (like Freud and Nietzsche argued). Renunciation simply clears the mind of daily troubles that aren't conducive to deeper insight. Ketchup or mustard? Damn, you just lost that chance at awakening. Cute or ugly? Whoops, just lost another. Mac or Dell? Well, surely that's important . . .
I gave away and sold some things when I got home to Kansas City and was considering giving away my laptop. God bless my mom, she helped me come up with a thousand reasons for why I should keep it. I decided on my own that I should keep it, but really, I am embarrassed that I still own it, and a closet full of other stuff at home. Every moment I gave away something, I felt better, looser, lighter, more self-sufficient, and fearless that I could go without. Now that I'm aspiring to a clearer mind, this freedom is more important to me than any potential convenience that most of my unnecessary possessions can give. I frequently doubt whether I need other things in my bag (like shaving cream ... come on Tim, you have a beard!).
I also think simplicity is a responsibility of privileged people who understand the harm that industrial culture brings to ourselves, the environment, and other cultures around the world. I am still consuming 3x my fair share of the planet's resources, although some people say that I'm "green". On a relative basis, some people in our culture are doing better than others; that's true. I take inspiration from a very intelligent, homeless Zen practitioner in Portland. Also, my friend Matt inspires me to give up on the excesses of industrial life and to struggle in solidarity with those who are suffering as a result of globalization.
I have not even touched the potential simplicity of mind and lifestyle that my true heart desires. Living in a monastery is one step in the right direction for me. There are still many comforts there, but the general climate is epitomized in the ritual meal oryoki, which in Japanese means, "just enough." Maybe one day, I will find out what "just enough" truly means. I have experimented far too much with consumer culture, and it's been just too much. Right now, I need to experiment with less.
On leaving home . . .
Most traditions recommend that the aspirant leaves home, at least for awhile. Why? I don't need to refer to any text here. Most people I talk to understand what happens when we return home. We revert to old habits. Every time I return to KC, I am not only Tim-the-22-year-old, but also Tim-the-5-year-old and Tim-the-16-year-old, etc. I am living out every stage of childhood development, whether I want to or not. I become embroiled in reactive, immature ways of behaving, and I am often drawn to old friends who enable me to repeat self-destructive behaviors.
Now, does Buddhism require you to stop loving your family and friends? Absolutely not. Actually, there are many texts and meditative practices that ask you to expand the love you have for these people, but then to extend that feeling to all other people and creatures. Relationships with family and friends are only problems if they involve intense, distracting feelings of exclusivity. It is selfish to only care about some people and not others, when, in fact, any kind of person could someday benefit from your help.
Also, I have noticed that when I am exclusively focused on loving friends and family, I often become very dissatisfied. I start expecting them to fulfill spiritual and emotional needs that they simply can't. Hey, Mom! Meditate for me! Hey, Dad! Tell me the meaning of life! Hey sister! I'm down; make me happier! We can't expect others to find the truth and joy in life for us. Duh. Tim-the-22-year-old gets that, but, at home, I continually regress to the inner-child in me who once expected those things out of my family. And it gets intense. I may live in Kansas City one day, but, frankly, I am still not mature enough to freely live amongst old family and friends without my own mental judgments, aversions, and desires hitting me at full force.
What else are you wondering about?
I am not offended or distraught by questions about why I am dedicating the next period of my life to Buddhist practice. As long as you mean well, I appreciate this feedback! So as a prompt for potential comments, is there anything else your wondering about? Questions, comments, concerns? I intend to maintain this blog throughout my stay.
Thanks for reading, I appreciate comments and feedback, so I know who's reading!
Why "Beginning Mind"?
I chose the blog title "Beginning Mind" as a variation of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi's book Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. By using the word "beginning," I mean that the mind is a process, not an object that is possessed by any owner. Consciousness happens whether we like it or not. We, in fact, are not in control of much that happens to our minds. We are, however, always capable of renewing our awareness to whatever is happening in the present moment. We can always begin again.
A continually beginning mind is the ideal of Zen practice. We aspire to receive every moment of life with new clarity, presence, and acceptance. In seated meditation, this involves continual renewal of awareness of the present moment from micro-second to micro-second. We re-awaken to whatever new stuff has come along, then do it again NOW, again NOW, NOW, NOW, ad infinitum. It is like upgrading an old monitor to one that processes more frames per second. Rather than getting caught in a cluttered, choppy view, our perception clarifies and flows. Life unfolds and we loose the hang-ups that were slowing us down. With more practice, commitment to a beginning mind can unfold deep, inexpressible insights into the way life has always been working. After such insights, we inevitably return to the world of frustrating thoughts and feelings, but with greater ease and spaciousness. It is tempting to cling to those old insights when they are not so obvious anymore . . . at that point, we must renew our beginning mind again to allow for newer insights.
Why a monastery?
Now that I have introduced the purpose of my blog, I hope I can talk a little bit about why I am going to a monastery. Loved ones, strangers, all kinds of people have asked me, "why a monastery?" After listening to a NPR segment on Jainism and Buddhism, my mom, a great teacher of mine and one of my top supporters, asks, "does renouncing the world mean you have to give up on the people who love you?" At a bar in Greencastle, IN, I stand 6 inches away from a wall of 5 TVs, blasting the same AXE deodorant commercial. A tipsy Slovenian artist, and new found friend, wraps his arm around me and yells into my ear, "you don't need to go to a monastery! The whole world should be your monastery! You can't just run away from it all." Most of my friends think its cool, most of my family supports me although they admit they don't understand. My closest mentors and friends have challenged me because they care. They don't want me to get stuck in institutionalized religion, stray too far from an academic/career path, undershoot my talents, or abandon all of my loving friends and family. I expect that some simply don't speak doubts or criticisms, but I have no way of confirming that.
Maybe I can address some lingering concerns . . . some questions are easier to answer than others.
On renouncing material possessions . . .
For thousands of years, it has been the tradition in, not only Buddhism, Hinduism and other Indian-based religions, but also Western traditions like Christianity and Islam, for spiritual aspirants to leave home, and, if possible, to study under wiser teachers and to perhaps even teach others. If possible, one should take as little as possible so as to keep the mind simple and focused. Some aspirants beg. Some fast. Some go homeless. These acts of renunciation aren't necessarily acts of self-destruction or internalized aggression (like Freud and Nietzsche argued). Renunciation simply clears the mind of daily troubles that aren't conducive to deeper insight. Ketchup or mustard? Damn, you just lost that chance at awakening. Cute or ugly? Whoops, just lost another. Mac or Dell? Well, surely that's important . . .
I gave away and sold some things when I got home to Kansas City and was considering giving away my laptop. God bless my mom, she helped me come up with a thousand reasons for why I should keep it. I decided on my own that I should keep it, but really, I am embarrassed that I still own it, and a closet full of other stuff at home. Every moment I gave away something, I felt better, looser, lighter, more self-sufficient, and fearless that I could go without. Now that I'm aspiring to a clearer mind, this freedom is more important to me than any potential convenience that most of my unnecessary possessions can give. I frequently doubt whether I need other things in my bag (like shaving cream ... come on Tim, you have a beard!).
I also think simplicity is a responsibility of privileged people who understand the harm that industrial culture brings to ourselves, the environment, and other cultures around the world. I am still consuming 3x my fair share of the planet's resources, although some people say that I'm "green". On a relative basis, some people in our culture are doing better than others; that's true. I take inspiration from a very intelligent, homeless Zen practitioner in Portland. Also, my friend Matt inspires me to give up on the excesses of industrial life and to struggle in solidarity with those who are suffering as a result of globalization.
I have not even touched the potential simplicity of mind and lifestyle that my true heart desires. Living in a monastery is one step in the right direction for me. There are still many comforts there, but the general climate is epitomized in the ritual meal oryoki, which in Japanese means, "just enough." Maybe one day, I will find out what "just enough" truly means. I have experimented far too much with consumer culture, and it's been just too much. Right now, I need to experiment with less.
On leaving home . . .
Most traditions recommend that the aspirant leaves home, at least for awhile. Why? I don't need to refer to any text here. Most people I talk to understand what happens when we return home. We revert to old habits. Every time I return to KC, I am not only Tim-the-22-year-old, but also Tim-the-5-year-old and Tim-the-16-year-old, etc. I am living out every stage of childhood development, whether I want to or not. I become embroiled in reactive, immature ways of behaving, and I am often drawn to old friends who enable me to repeat self-destructive behaviors.
Now, does Buddhism require you to stop loving your family and friends? Absolutely not. Actually, there are many texts and meditative practices that ask you to expand the love you have for these people, but then to extend that feeling to all other people and creatures. Relationships with family and friends are only problems if they involve intense, distracting feelings of exclusivity. It is selfish to only care about some people and not others, when, in fact, any kind of person could someday benefit from your help.
Also, I have noticed that when I am exclusively focused on loving friends and family, I often become very dissatisfied. I start expecting them to fulfill spiritual and emotional needs that they simply can't. Hey, Mom! Meditate for me! Hey, Dad! Tell me the meaning of life! Hey sister! I'm down; make me happier! We can't expect others to find the truth and joy in life for us. Duh. Tim-the-22-year-old gets that, but, at home, I continually regress to the inner-child in me who once expected those things out of my family. And it gets intense. I may live in Kansas City one day, but, frankly, I am still not mature enough to freely live amongst old family and friends without my own mental judgments, aversions, and desires hitting me at full force.
What else are you wondering about?
I am not offended or distraught by questions about why I am dedicating the next period of my life to Buddhist practice. As long as you mean well, I appreciate this feedback! So as a prompt for potential comments, is there anything else your wondering about? Questions, comments, concerns? I intend to maintain this blog throughout my stay.
Thanks for reading, I appreciate comments and feedback, so I know who's reading!
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