Waiting Properly

Zen practice is thus not a set of operations designed to achieve an external goal. In Zen, the effort and the result are not two different things, the means and the goal are not to be separated, the finding occurs in the very seeking itself. - Bernard Phillips in the Zen Calendar (August 30, 2003).

It may take you three minutes, it may take you thirty years. And I mean that. - Hasegawa, on being asked how long it takes to obtain an understanding of Zen. In the Zen Calendar (September 1, 2007).

You must learn to wait properly. - Eugen Herrigel in the Zen Calendar (April 12, 2004).

Day 265. Unbelievable. A mere 100 days of blogging left. How time flies. For about a nanosecond, I felt a little pressure to say something profound about this significant milestone. For another nanosecond, I felt a need to up my profundity for the next 100 days. In the nanosecond after that, I experienced worry that a mere 100 days is not time enough to express all the wit, wisdom, and wavering I need to impart. And then - Voila! I remembered what an advanced Zen student I have become. I am no longer attached to any of those outcomes. I simply have to get my butt on my cushion with sincere intent. Piece of cake. Grain of rice. Sip of tea. Whatever appropriate Zen cliche fits . . . .

In actuality, I have a growing realization that 265 consecutive days of sitting zazen has been anything but a piece of cake. Almost everyone replies, "I could NEVER do that!" when they hear about the goal I set for this year. The only thing that bugs me more than people saying "Why?" (in response to THEIR question about how far I rode my bike on any given day) is when people say, "Oh, I tried meditation once. I couldn't turn my mind off," or "I just get too bored," or "I can't hold still for that long," or "Nothing happened." Well, no shit. As though that is somehow unique to them rather than exactly what happens to EVERY sentient being who has ever attempted to meditate since the dawn of time.

I suppose if I am the advanced Zen student I (quite recently) proclaim myself to be, I should exhibit a little compassion here. I'll give it a shot. Meditation is extraordinarily difficult. Not because, in reality, it actually IS challenging and complicated; rather, because our Monkey minds wreck havoc upon our initial idea of what is "supposed" to happen when we try meditation a few times. Surrendering our desire to achieve an external goal is the antithesis of the great American way. Doing something for the sake of just doing it contradicts our deepest beliefs about effort and reward, exertion and payoff, getting a gold star, and keeping our eye on the prize. In zazen, there is no prize. And even if you do happen to stumble upon that pot of gold at the end of the enlightenment rainbow, you still have to get your butt back on your cushion. Sitting is a thankless, eternal process. The only thing to find is the seeking itself. Seeking in the absence of finding is difficult to sustain, indeed.

I can only speak from my experience over the past eight months, but relinquishing ideas about what I am going to "get" from all this meditation has been one of the most daunting aspects of the whole endeavor. Last night as I performed my first bow, a feeling resembling "I'm tired. I don't want to do this" flickered across my consciousness. Meanwhile, I turned around, performed my second bow, and took my place on the cushion. Stretched three times to each side, set the timer, bowed again, formed a mudra, and drew a breath. Exactly like I have done for the past 263 days. Nothing remotely astonishing.

Except for this: even as the thought fumbled for a foothold in my mind, I never once - not for a nanosecond - considered not sitting. Somehow, some way, in the past 264 days, I have grasped that sitting is possible in the midst of every imaginable thought and feeling I can summon. This is huge. I used to confuse my thoughts and feelings with Reality. One good old, firm footed negative thought could derail me from just about anything. Any remnant of feeling resembling, "I don't wanna" threatened to curb my plans. Now, I distinguish the Reality of getting my butt on the cushion from the delusion of thoughts and feelings to the contrary. Let me assure you: the thoughts and feelings continue to beleaguer me, if not every night, at least many nights a week. I have grown in my practice to a point at which I proceed with sitting because that is what I do. No other reason. Even when I don't wanna.

This fledgling capacity is not restricted to my meditation practice. It spills over into household chores, running errands, completing paper work - even turning in treatment plans. I don't wanna do any of those, but I do them (most of the time!) with much more equanimity and calm. Other times, I do them with grumbling and reticence. But I do them. Usually with an acute awareness of the difference between Reality (the treatment plan is due) and illusion (not being in the mood actually has the power to render it impossible to do the task). I have mastered doing MANY things when I am not in the mood. It is fascinating to discover that the task can be done anyway. Initially, the mood FEELS as though it is Reality, but zazen practice has shown me otherwise. Probably through those countless minutes when I thought my legs had separated from my body, and I managed to remain still until the timer sounded. It FELT like I couldn't last another second while the pins and needles shot through my calves but, in Reality, I kept sitting. And so far, my legs remain attached.

I do not mean to imply that one should ignore important signals emanating from within the body. Rather, I've learned that sometimes, through mindfulness, gathering a little more data may result in a decision to carry on. The catastrophic thing I expected didn't occur. The reflex to bolt was premature. I have discovered strength and stamina and courage I never would have known existed had it not been for my daily practice. This sounds strangely like a reward for my sitting. Perhaps it is. But I think I've almost reached a point where I would sit anyway. My finding occurs in the very seeking itself.

Gassho,
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