All Tapped Out (or The Power of Suggestion)

For studying Zen, one should have quiet quarters. Be moderate in food and drink. Cast aside all involvements and discontinue all affairs. Do not think of good or evil; do not deal with right or wrong. Do not intend to make yourself a Buddha, much less be attached to sitting still. - Dogen in the Zen Calendar (October 13, 2007)

Day 21. A reminder that I can always visit the stash of saved pages from my Zen calendar for a bit of inspiration. Or to be taken down a few notches when I've climbed too many rungs up the Ego Ladder. I think, despite my best efforts, I was becoming "attached to sitting still." Sometimes, it feels like a zazen practice holds so much promise - scattering light and wisdom across all aspects of life. Other times, it feels like passing eternity on a sagging sofa pillow while my knees cramp and my spine stiffens. Yin and yang. The agony and the ecstasy.

Yesterday's post carried the upbeat assumption that, like my boundless psychoanalysis, there will always be grist for the (blogging) mill. Not so. As I sit down to write tonight, I ain't got nothin. Except, perhaps, very poor grammar. But write I must, because this whole project is supposed to be about consistency. Remaining steadfast. Getting my butt on my cushion. At least I simply promised to write. Not write well, not write a certain amount, just write. Like the attitude I try to bring to meditation, I am sitting down at my keyboard with sincere intent. Yet still . . . nothing.

I have a new image to alight upon when my Monkey Mind starts to howl. Many years ago, it quieted things to envision the line of the horizon across a perfectly calm sea. Recently, I began to focus on the sensation of floating upon this tranquil ocean. On a couple of occasions, as I sank deeper into meditation, I had the sensation of actually dissolving into the sea, as though there was nothing to distinguish the point where my skin ended and the water began. For a fraction of a nanosecond, I believe the body part of my mind/body "fell away." It was too brief to fully trust. The concept left me feeling extraordinarily peaceful though. Unfortunately, my hyper-mind hastened in to analyze the phenomenon and all was lost. Cerebrally, academically, I've studied a great deal about the Buddhist idea of "no separation - no boundaries - all belonging to the One," etc. As usual, "knowing" something smashed in and disintegrated the living of it. This combined endeavor of sitting and writing is such a paradoxical challenge. I'm doing the former to facilitate the latter; while the latter inevitably hampers the former. I'm pretty sure an editor would destroy that last sentence, but it somehow made sense to me.

There are days I'd rather write, and days I'd rather sit, and days I'm not particularly thrilled about doing either. Thrilled or not, I'm going to keep doing both. Not that I'm attached to sitting still . . . . . . .

Gassho,
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