Strikes From a Stick

Do not desire to become a Buddha; let sitting or lying down drop away. Be moderate in eating or drinking. Be mindful of the passing of time, and engage yourself in zazen as though saving your head from fire. - Dogen in the Zen Calendar (December 14, 2006).

Day 236. I attended another all day meditation at the Dojo in Oklahoma City. Zen Buddhism. Hard core. We sat zazen. And sat and sat and sat. Sat some more. Bowed a lot. Chanted in Japanese monosyllables. Ate a vegetarian meal in silence. Washed our three bowls in traditional Japanese style while seated at the table. And I got hit with a stick. Because I asked to.

There were seventeen of us sitting together, including our teacher, Nick. Nick also sits with my teacher, Frank. There were many similarities in the way they conduct zazen, and some important differences, too. Frank never swung a stick.

I am enamored with chanting. There is something primal and transcendent about joining voices in ancient, sacred sequences of sound. Other than the Heart Sutra, I am oblivious to the content of the various chants. Except for the ending one, they are all in Japanese. Doesn't matter. In fact, the absence of cognitively grasping the words aids tremendously in what I believe is the real purpose of chanting (not that we have purpose in Zen!) Like meditation, it can be a means for silencing the Monkeys, opening the path for mind and body to fall away. I lose myself while chanting to an extent that the Monkeys can't get a syllable in edgewise. Our unified voices become one sound. Same thing in kinhin. Walking mindfully, joining in step and rhythm with the person in front of you, Self falls by the wayside. I'm pretty sure I could engage walking kinhin from my front door to one of the coasts. It is that mesmerizing. It is also the best method ever for working the soreness out of my back and knees. Gassho to the monk who figured that out!

Chanting, singing, reciting. Meditation, prayer, salah. Bowing, prostrating, genuflecting. Common components across all forms of spirituality. During one of the (numerous!) periods of zazen today, my Monkey Mind chattered away about the similarities spanning methods of worship. Great works have been written on this subject. My thoughts on the matter clattered about rather simplistically, ending with a conclusion that is highly indicative of the way a psychologist thinks.

Acts of worship fall roughly into three categories: verbal, contemplative/reflective, and physical. I tested my theory across as many traditions of spirituality as I could summon in 40 minutes (the Monkeys refused to be silenced in this particular zazen session, hence the major hypothesizing). I applied the categories of expression in worship to Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, Native American ceremony, Sufism. Voila! The tenants held. We join together to make sound when we worship, be it through chanting, singing, or recitation. We join together in silence when we worship, through meditation, prayer, contemplation, and reflection. We move our bodies when we worship, through bowing, dancing, genuflecting, kinhin, sitting down and standing up for the various parts of a service.

I am trying my best not to become attached to my theory, but I rather like it. It leaves me confused about all the bloodshed in the name of religion. Each of us arrives on the earth so perfect, so whole. We are so much more alike than different. So much more connected than separate. So filled with grace, not judgment. No matter where we look the elements are the same. Symbol, story, ceremony, celebration. Transcendence, resurrection, salvation. Buddha/Dharma/Sangha. Christ/Bible/Congregation. Allah/Qur'an/Ijtema. Different words, same truth: Divine Love/Written History/Connected Worshipers.

Oh, yeah. The stick. I was going to write about the stick. In some practices of Buddhism, the Jikijitsu (zendo officer who leads formal sitting practice) may pass by the students with a keisaku. It is a light wooden stick shaped like a sword. If the student wishes to receive strikes with the kiesaku, she places her hands in gassho (fingers and palms of both hands touching, forearms and hands at a 45-degree angle from the body), bows, then leans forward to make her back flat. During our fourth (fifth?) zazen session, Nick announced that he would be passing by with the keisaku. Without hesitation, I knew I would lean forward to receive strikes when my turn came. It wasn't a cerebral knowing. The certainty emanated somewhere between my shoulder blades and spine.

Right now, at this moment, check your associations as you read the former paragraph. What are your thoughts? Passive, loving, non-violent Buddhists hitting each other with sticks? What is that? Blasphemy! Hypocrisy! Absurdity! Volunteering to be struck upon the back with a sword-shaped stick? Craziness! Lunacy! Allow me to assure you that the experience was nothing like you may be imagining. Granted, the stick came down with a resounding Thwack! Twice on my left shoulder blade, twice on my right. Ludicrous as it sounds, ritual dictated that I then bow in gratitude. What, exactly, was I saying, "Thank you" for? Surprisingly, I felt genuine gratitude. The keisaku coming solidly into contact with my back instantaneously relieved my entire body of the tension and stress that accumulates during repeated rounds of zazen. I felt energized and awakened. Resumed zazen posture with renewed sincerity and focus. All of that from being whacked with a stick!

It was an eventful day. Chanting, theory development, getting hit with a stick. And sitting zazen as though saving my head from fire.

Gassho,
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