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!