Cut Cabbage

 

I’m a poor but happy follower of the Way
whatever happens takes care of my needs
last night the west wind blew down an old tree
at daybreak firewood covered the ground
windblown white silk wreathed the red scarps
dewdrop pearls adorned the green cliffs
my survival has always depended on what’s present
why should I tire myself out making plans

-- Stonehouse, tr. Red Pine 

I'm interested in the traces I feel I can sense of the effect of the word "Way" in various minds. Ask the average Taoist or Zennist about it, and you can hear some overlap in their replies, but it's not a matchup, the way their image of "noodles" or "ocean" might be. This leaves me wondering what idiot came up with the word "Way" in the first place. Trying to confuse us, eh?

The more I muse on all this, the more I feel like candles and chants risk more hindrance than help. When it's time to cut up some cabbage, just pick up the knife and cut cabbage.

-- shonin

One head

 I've brought a head of red cabbage into the tiny hut kitchen to blanch, pickle and water bath can, using the few narrowmouth lids I have on hand (small jars). About half of this will go in the freezer. All will be small batches, to have with rice, spuds or noodles. 

[later] All done; it made about six pints of canned "imitation kimchi" in jars and five pints in bags in the hut freezer. That's enough for about thirty-three meals for me, in combination with other ingredients.

Two heads, they say, are better than one, but thirty-three meals' worth of cabbage is a lot for me in one year. So it's as well that only one of my cabbages made a head! I'm fine with that; the collards did much better and will likely be the main winter veg this year.

We are a two-headed species. One head witnesses a singing bird. The other talks to itself: "Oh, there's a singing bird." This monologue appears to be a step away from the world, or what could be called nature, even though of course the monologue occurs within nature -- it can't be anywhere else! But we fool ourselves.

The epitome of such fooling is when we try, sometimes with horrible success, to fool one another. As a civilization we're approaching fully automated 24/7 fooling, with a corresponding massive leap in gratuitous suffering.

Zen folks have a project to let go of that second head, for as much of the time as is practicable. Releasing the past as regret, releasing the future as expectation, hear the bird, see the garden, inhale, exhale, cut the cabbage.

-- shonin 

The Woman Lets It Be

Hidden Lamp, p.62

 

Master Langye Huijue had a woman disciple who came to him for instruction.  The master told her to examine the saying “Let it be.”  He said that if she faithfully used this sentence as a scythe, she would cut down illusions and reap enlightenment.

 

The woman followed his instructions faithfully.  One day her house burned down and she said, “Let it be.”  ....

One day she started to make fried cakes for dinner as her husband lit the fire.  She prepared the batter and heated the oil, then poured a spoonful of batter into the hot oil.

 

When she heard the sizzling sound, she was immediately enlightened.  She threw the pan to the ground and jumped up and down, clapping her hands and laughing.

 

Her husband shouted at her, “What are you doing?  Have you gone mad?”  She answered, “Let it be.”

 

Then she went to Huijue and he confirmed that she had indeed harvested the holy fruit.

 

Waiting for go

         Jiaoan’s Sand in the Eye

Hidden Lamp p.90

 

Jaioan was the niece of a high official of the Song dynasty.  When she was young, she decided not to marry or bear children and she set her heart on the way of Chan.  She experienced a clear awakening at the words of Master Yuanwu Keqin as he spoke to the assembly.

 

Later Yuanwu said to her, “You should go on to erase your views –then you will finally be free.”

 

She answered in verse:

 

          The pillar pulls out the bone sideways;

          the void shows its claws and fangs;

          even if one profoundly understands,

          there is still sand in the eye.

 

To set one's heart on the way is to sit at the entrance and admire it, or to cling to the gate. Way-entering is devoid of clinging. Yuanwu could see that she could let go, so told her directly to just do so. Life gives us sandstorms. We squint, we hide behind buildings, we make excuses. Forward is just forward. No point waiting for the sandstorm to stop, eh?

Has my head been casting shadows inside as well as out? When I'm told to make an effort, I suddenly picture myself sitting and grunting, as if I might take in an elusive fact.It would be more the other way round if there were any direction for facts to go.

 

-- shonin 

Ryaku Fusatsu

We gather on the Solstices and the Equinoxes so that – in the presence of each other, the Beloved Community – we can acknowledge our past and harmful karma and renew our vows as bodhisattvas on the Path of Practice. To make a fresh start. Again and again.

And we always begin these quarterly gatherings by acknowledging that wherever we find ourselves in this country today, we’re inhabiting the traditional homelands of Native people -- people whose land was taken but not given. Eugene, Oregon, where I am now was home to the Kalapuya tribes. Whether or not you know the name of the Native people who lived where you find yourself today, please call them to mind. They are our ancestors right here where we live and our neighbors in the three worlds.

As Buddhists, we resolve to wake up to the truth of our interbeing with all existence throughout time & space. To see things as they really are, and to harmonize with the community of all beings. So that the effects of our actions of body, speech, and mind will tend in a direction away from creating more suffering, and toward liberation – toward freedom from suffering – for all of us.

So, the first step – a first step we have to take over & over again as we find our way through the beginningless tangle of causes & condition w/in which we live – the first step is to look deeply & acknowledge our past harmful actions – our participation in the causes & conditions that continue to perpetuate suffering.

And then to renew our vows as people on the path of practice – to live in a different way. A trustworthy, wholesome, life sustaining way in harmony with our True Nature and the flow of all existence. A way that tends toward liberation from suffering – for all of us.

Please recite the verses along with the kokyo but leave your mic muted. Even though you’re muted please participate fully b/c, like zazen, this is full bodymind practice. Imp to hear your own voice saying the words and to fully inhabit the physicality of the many bows. We say bowing “in your own way” to include the many ways from full prostrations to lying down bows. The important thing is to give the bow your full mind-body attention. To inhabit it as a form of mindful moving meditation.

Please be sure to engage in mindful movement during kinhin, whether walking, stretching, going to the bathroom, or mindfully moving in some other way. What we’re doing is not theoretical. This is embodied practice. Embodied in the zendo and embodied in our ordinary daily lives.

We’ll begin w/ the Robe Verse, have a period of zazen followed by kinhin, then the Avowal of Karma & Renewal of Vows ceremony, followed by kinhin and 3 more periods of zazen. We’ll close at noon with a short dedication.

The robe, in whatever form we wear it, is the Buddha field – the field of awakening – that we’re all entering by way of our intention to practice together today. Some robes are visible to the eye, others are not visible in that way. But all robes show themselves in the lives of  those who wear them. So the Robe Verse is for all of us entering the great Way together today, resolving to awaken. Please keep your microphone muted as we say the Robe Verse together.

(Doshi kneels & puts okesa on head and hands in gassho.)

Kokyo I: “Robe Verse” (1 time)
Great Robe of Liberation
Field Far Beyond Form and Emptiness
Wearing the Tathagata's Teaching
Saving all Beings

(Doshi makes offering and 3 bows. No bells
Doshi makes gassho to altar. O
Doshi makes gassho to seat. O
Doshi makes gassho to center O
Doshi sits.)

Kokyo I: “Zazen” (30 min.)
OO (signals end of zazen) → “Kinhin” (10 min.)
O (signals end of kinhin)

When everyone is seated

Kokyo I:  x  “Avowal of Karma and Renewal of Vows”

(Doshi makes offering)
___________________________________________

Kokyo II: Three bows in your own way. Please consider standing for these first three bows even if you’ll be doing seated bows from then on.

O Bow

O Bow

O Bow

AVOWAL OF KARMA

Kokyo II: Please recite 3 times aloud with your speaker muted. Make a bow when the bell sounds at the end of each recitation. Please remain in gassho for the rest of the ceremony.

All my ancient, tangled karma
From beginningless greed, ill will, and ignorance
Born of body, speech, and mind
I now fully avow.
O Bow

All my ancient, tangled karma
From beginningless greed, ill will, and ignorance
Born of body, speech, and mind
I now fully avow.
O Bow

All my ancient, tangled karma
From beginningless greed, ill will, and ignorance
Born of body, speech, and mind
I now fully avow.
O Bow

HOMAGES

Kokyo II: Please recite aloud and make a bow when the bell sounds at the end of each homage.

Homage to the Seven Buddhas before Buddha. O Bow

Homage to Shakyamuni Buddha. O Bow

Homage to the Future Maitreya Buddha. O Bow

Homage to Manjushri, the Perfect Wisdom Boddhisattva. O Bow

Homage to Sa man ta bha dra the Shining Practice Bodhisattva. O Bow

Homage to Avalokitesvara, the Infinite Compassion Bodhisattva. O Bow

Homage to the Succession of Ancestors, Women & Men, Known & Unknown. O Bow

BODHISATTVA VOWS

Kokyo II: Please recite 3 times. Make a bow when the bell sounds at the end of each full recitation.

Beings are numberless, I vow to meet them with kindness and curiosity.
Occasions of suffering are inexhaustible, I vow to touch them with patience and love.
Dharma Gates are boundless, I vow to enter them.
The awakened Way is immeasurable, I vow to embody it. O Bow

Beings are numberless, I vow to meet them with kindness and curiosity.
Occasions of suffering are inexhaustible, I vow to touch them with patience and love.
Dharma Gates are boundless, I vow to enter them.
The awakened Way is immeasurable, I vow to embody it. O Bow

Beings are numberless, I vow to meet them with kindness and curiosity.
Occasions of suffering are inexhaustible, I vow to touch them with patience and love.
Dharma Gates are boundless, I vow to enter them.
The awakened Way is immeasurable, I vow to embody it. O Bow

REFUGES

Kokyo II: Please recite each refuge with the kokyo. The Doshi then speaks alone. Make a bow when the bell sounds after the Doshi speaks.

I take refuge in Buddha.

Doshi: Before all being
Immersing body and mind deeply in the Way
Awakening true mind. O Bow

I take refuge in Dharma.

Doshi: Before all being
Entering deeply the merciful ocean
Of Buddha’s Way. O Bow

I take refuge in Sangha.

Doshi: Before all being
Bringing harmony to everyone
Free from hindrance. O Bow

(Doshi makes offering.)

PURE PRECEPTS

I vow to refrain from causing harm.

Doshi: It is the abode, the source, and the law of all Buddhas.

I vow to devotedly do what is good.

Doshi: It is the teaching of unsurpassed complete Enlightenment.
It is the path and the practice.

I vow to live and be lived for the benefit of all beings.

Doshi: It is transcending profane and holy, taking self and others across.

CLEAR MIND PRECEPTS

I vow not to kill, but to cherish and cultivate the great web of life.

Doshi: Not killing life, the Buddha seed grows. Transmit the life of Buddha and do not kill.

I vow not to take what is not given, but to cultivate fairness, gratitude, and generosity.

Doshi: Self and objects are such, two yet one. The gate of liberation stands open.

I vow not to misuse sexuality, but to remain trustworthy in relationships, honoring the intimacy of bodies with respect and joy.

Doshi: Let the three jewels of self, objects, and action be pure. With nothing to desire, one goes along together with the Buddhas.

I vow not to lie, but to cultivate truthful, kind, beneficial communication.

Doshi: The Dharma Wheel turns from the beginning. There is neither surplus nor lack. The sweet dew saturates all and harvests the truth.

I vow not to intoxicate myself or others, but to cultivate clear thinking, and to remain tuned in to the common ground of our shared life.

Doshi: Originally pure, don’t defile. This is the great awareness.

I vow not to dwell on the mistakes of others, but to cultivate wise, respectful, beneficial ways of responding.

Doshi: In the Buddha Dharma, go together, appreciate, realize and actualize together. No fault-finding. No haphazard talk. Do not corrupt the way.

I vow not to praise myself and downgrade others, but to value myself and others equally.

Doshi: Buddhas and Ancestors realize the vast sky and the great Earth. When they manifest the noble body, there is neither inside nor outside in emptiness, nor a bit of dirt on the ground.

I vow not to withhold spiritual or material aid, but to share all that I have to offer, giving freely and generously.

Doshi: One phrase, one verse, is the ten thousand things and one hundred grasses. One dharma, one realization, is all Buddhas and Ancestors. From the beginning there has been no stinginess at all.

I vow not to harbor ill will, but to cultivate loving-kindness, understanding, and forgiveness.

Doshi: Neither negative nor positive, neither real nor unreal. There is an ocean of illuminated clouds, and an ocean of ornamented clouds.

I vow not to abuse the Three Treasures, but to respect the Buddha, unfold the Dharma, and nourish the Sangha.

Doshi: To expound the Dharma with this body is foremost. Virtue returns to the unfathomable ocean of reality. Let us accept it with respect and gratitude. 

Thus on this day we offer the merit of the bodhisattva’s way through all world systems to the unborn nature of all being.

Kokyo II and sangha:

All Buddhas throughout space and time; O
All honored ones, bodhisattvas, mahasattvas; O
Wisdom beyond wisdom, maha prajna paramita. O o o o oooooooo

Kokyo II: Three bows in your own way.

O Bow

O Bow

O Bow

_______________________________________________________

Kokyo I:
“Kinhin” (10 min.)
time O (signals end of kinhin)
When doshi seated and settled OOO → “Zazen” (30 min.)
time OO (signals end of zazen) → “Kinhin”
time O (signals end of kinhin)
When doshi seated and settled OOO → “Zazen” (30 min.)
time OO (signals end of zazen) → “Kinhin”
time O (signals end of kinhin)
When doshi seated and settled OOO → “Zazen” (30 min.)
time O (signals end of zazen)

Doshi goes to stand facing the altar.

Kokyo I: When doshi is in place facing the altar: 

X

 We will now chant the universal mantra for compassion, Om Mani Padme Hum, 9 times.

 X 

"Throughout my many lives and until this moment, whatever virtue I have accomplished, including the merit generated by this practice, and all that I will ever obtain, this I offer for the welfare of sentient beings. May sickness, war, famine and suffering be decreased for every being, while their wisdom and compassion increase in this and every future life. May I clearly perceive all experiences to be as insubstantial as the dream fabric of the night and instantly awaken to perceive the pure wisdom display in the arising of every phenomena. May I quickly obtain enlightenment in order to work ceaselessly for the liberation of all sentient beings."

All Buddhas throughout space and time,
O (Doshi goes to altar. Bells follow text not doshi.)
All honored ones, Bodhisattvas, Mahasattvas,
O (Doshi makes offering at altar.)
Wisdom beyond wisdom,
(Doshi returns from altar.)
Maha Prajna Paramita.
O o o o oooooooo
Three bows in your own way: 

O Bow

O Bow

O Bow

(Doshi makes gassho to altar.) O
(Doshi makes gassho to seat.) O
(Doshi makes gassho to center [camera]) O

No aversion

 I get questions about hermitary cookery.

There might not be much to tell; I'll try.

There are as many ways to cook and eat as there are people. Some ways are just "I'll eat whatever they parachute into this refugee camp" or "well, I sure hope I get to eat in the rapidly approaching afterlife." In other words, eating, let alone cooking, is a privilege in the world, more so, perhaps, than when foraged food was all there was to be had.

So, I'm conflicted about what may appear to be showing off. On the other hand, mindful eating can be an exercise in responsible behavior. I do think that my solitary routine, now established, is less wasteful, more nutritious, and healthier than before. While that may not do much for the world, it does something. Dogen tells us a little is a lot in Buddhist practice. You never know where a given small yet sincere practice will take you, but usually not to anyplace those around you will regard as a hindrance. Taking proper care of yourself takes care of others in many ways, often unforeseen.

Dogen wrote a small treatise, the title of which can be loosely translated "Instructions for the Monastery Head Cook (Tenzo)," which was/is intended as a guide to ethically feeding, in effect, a commune. 

Also the position tends to be a rotating one. Everyone has already been told to tough it out if you prove to be untalented, and by gosh they had better be thankful for it. So it's great that I, an untalented cook with only one patron, don't at all mind most of my mistakes. If it's truly inedible, just apologize to it with a gassho and add it to the compost.

In my movements and attitude, to the extent possible for me, I follow the "Instructions to the Tenzo. "

Here's the kitchen. The hut is nine feet wide. Most daily use items fit along a six foot section of one wall. Some supplies and less frequently used items are stored under or above the sewing table, alongside the opposite wall. Indoor plants and a basin and ewer share the space, along with baskets of fabric and sundries.

You can see I'm a pack rat, dating back to days of actual rather than currently simulated poverty. Everything here is hand-me-downs. I think that matters in the case of an attached hermitary, because I'm duplicating equipment already available in the kitchen of the household. But that kitchen, in a 1950s starter bungalow, is also tiny and the other family members have their own dietary requirements. We stay out of one another's hair, so to speak.

The hut has one wall outlet with its own circuit breaker, good for up to twenty amps, which enforces attentive power usage. The tiny fridge is on all the time, so the kettle and microwave and rice cooker and space heater can be used in twos but not in threes or fours. This enforces some discipline and thinking ahead, especially in winter.

As homesteaders/nomads, we used to cook on a smallish wood stove, the top of which enforced a similar discipline: a pot of water for washing dishes might take up half the surface and a Dutch oven with beans or bread in it taking up the other half. We inverted their lids and set bowls of whatever on them to simmer. My current efforts reflect the frugality of those years.

Back in the day

I forage very locally, mostly on this one city lot.

We don't use herbicides or pesticides, so I safely wander around the yard, then the garden. What draws my interest? In season, chicory, dandelions, nipplewort, narrow leaf plantain, crimson clover, deadnettle, cat’s ears, blackberry leaves, fir or spruce needles, money plant, parlsey, sage, rosemary, thyme, Bigleaf maple flowers, willow leaves, herb Robert, and crop foliage such as kale, chard, beet greens, squash blossoms and leaves, pea and bean foliage, corn silk, and the like.

Out of season, many of these are not as bitter as some foraging websites will tell you, and if worst comes to worst, for the pot I steam first and reserve the bitter stock to give to my house plants or garden.

Often the yard is so productive I don't even make it into the garden. That's the maritime Pacific Northwest for you.

I bring my treasures into the hut and decide how they will be used. My cookery revolves around making tea (tisane) first. If what I gathered appeals to me as tea only, I put that in the tea strainer, set the strainer in a cup, run the kettle and pour boiling water over the foliage. It won't make much color in the cup unless there is something like beet greens, or I've dried the foliage, or I'm adding green tea or perhaps Darjeeling. That's fine. Minimalists need not be nutrition maximalists, let alone flavor maximalists, except perhaps if they can afford some loose-packed Darjeeling.

This tea is to have when Zooming with the sangha, or a friend, or while reading, or just watching the moon cross the window.

Next, I notice it's meal time. Some things that we all like to eat raw, I have to eat only a little of or not at all, so I do tend to focus on the steamer.

The little Aroma rice steamer, which is the heart of the hermitary kitchen, was handed down because it forgot its time limit for making rice. So I have to keep an eye on it for that cycle. I may use that for rice, or lentils, or root vegs, but I don't need a lot, and I'm not a fan of the coating on the metal liner you're supposed to cook in. My porcelain eating bowl fits inside the liner. So I put an inch of water from the pitcher (rain water, if it's fresh) inside the liner and set the bowl in that. 

I'm also not fond of the plastic steamer basket that came with the appliance, so that added to my interest in learning to cook in various ways in the bowl.

I then cut up any root vegs I'm using, including skins if possible, or pour in the rice or lentils, and add water, salt, spices as needed. Set on Rice or sometimes twice on Steam. Udon I find I can make on Steam (5 minutes), though the consistency might not be to everyone's taste. Summer vegs such as zucchini should wait out the first five minutes and then be thrown in, chopped. Density is my guide here.

Meanwhile, if I'm adding greens, I have options. I might use what's in the strainer, if it's not anything I really shouldn't try to eat (for example, willow bark). Or I may choose to roll up some dandelion and chicory leaves with onion greens in a leaf of collard or kale and chop small, then check to see if the carbs are done, then turn off the rice steamer, pop in the greens (and maybe small tomatoes and such), and close the lid for some residual-heat cooking.

The bowl will be a little hot to fish out of the liner with my fingers, as there's little room along the sides, so I grab the bowl with a handy pair of side-cutting pliers and set it on a coaster. Here I may add more seasoning or soy sauce as desired. I pour some water in a cup and keep it handy, or if the broth is palatable, I'll use that, and sit down and eat.

This can be a wet way to eat, so I often pour off the liquids to drink. This is a matter of taste; in Japan folks eat the solids, then drink liquids from the bowl as a chaser. Great! I have to spend a lot of time in my zero gravity chair and pretty much only eat there, so draining the bowl first saves me trouble with wet chin and fabric.

I mostly rotate four "recipes" based on rice, then potatoes, then lentils, then noodles, through the two daily meals and there is my week. For snacks there might be a deadfall apple or whatever comes my way.

I used to do a lot more drying of fruits and foliage than needed for the winters and now mostly just set aside some of my foraging to dry on a hardware-cloth shelf in the "greenhouse," or chop it all up to stuff into an ice cube tray, maybe with a bit of olive oil, for itinerant use.

Aside from this routine, I grind mixed grains in the Corona once a year and jar it up for the occasional breakfast with apple butter, and if I have extra fruit or root vegs on hand I may get out the small graniteware water bath canner and make preserves or pickled vegs to use over the winter, in very small jars.

 
The herb Robert and willow are part of my efforts to treat leukemia. 

I wouldn't ask anyone to try to duplicate my diet, but I do encourage experimentation for those interested in simplifying. This kind of food prep and eating is adaptable to many situations, especially for anyone living alone in a small space. Also it is a very portable way to eat, though maybe not as Spartan as this: Cooking Without a Kitchen: The Coffeemaker Cookbook

By not unnecessarily frequenting restaurants and supermarkets, it is possible to simplify quite a lot. Some foods are becoming scarce and I like to think I am leaving it on the shelves for someone else. 

I think the complexity of our civilization has a lot of inflicted suffering to live down. Courtesy shows there is a commons of the heart.  🙏

-- shonin 

If you only have wild grasses with which to make a broth, do not disdain them ... Where there is no attachment, there can be no aversion. -- Dogen

Another meditation on Hongzhi's Acupuncture Needle of Zazen

Hongzhi likes untouched function.
Action said to be action of Buddhas
past and present is to see all

in the ten directions without
reaching for the pry bar.
Without reaching for the pry bar,

just appreciate. See, appreciate,
settle in, sip tea. Fearlessly sipping tea
is a tiger's roar. The squirrel

out there watches a jay bury acorns.
He relentlessly digs and eats them.
The jay returns with more acorns.

The squirrel returns and digs.
I set down my cup, chuckling.

-- shonin 

Reality gives me cold toes

 

Chiyono’s No Water, No Moon. Hidden Lamp, p. 37. Chiyono was a servant in a Zen convent who wanted to practice zazen. One day she approached an elderly nun and asked, “I’m of humble birth. I can’t read or write and must work all the time. Is there any possibility that I could attain the way of Buddha even though I have no skills?”

The nun answered her, “This is wonderful, my dear. In Buddhism there are no distinctions between people. There is only this – each person must hold fast to the desire to awaken and cultivate a heart of great compassion. People are complete as they are. If you don’t fall into delusive thoughts, there is no Buddha and no sentient being; there is only one complete nature. If you want to know your true nature you need to turn toward the source of your delusive thoughts. This is called zazen.”

Chiyono said, with happiness, “With this practice as my companion I have only to go about my daily life, practicing day and night.”

There are varied stories of Chiyono's life. Richard Bryan McDaniel, in Zen Masters of Japan, says: "One of Bukko’s students was the first Japanese woman to receive a certificate of inka. Her Buddhist name was Mugai Nyodai, but she is remembered by her personal name, Chiyono. She was a member of the Hojo family by marriage and a well-educated woman who long had an interest in the Dharma. After her husband died and her family responsibilities had been fulfilled, she went to study with the Chinese master."

He goes on to recount a longer version of the story told in Hidden Lamp, after warning us it is apocryphal, as Chiyono was of the lower samurai class, rather than of the Hisabetsu-buraku (discriminated hamlet class) as implied in both the story and in Hakuin's illustration above. 

Was she perhaps in a servant-like role as many new students are, in a training-monastery setting? Whether as a servant or a somewhat respectable widow, there is the implication that Chiyono must seek enlightenment with the handicap of actual or temporary (for training purposes) low status to be overcome.

There is also a story that when Chiyono was ready to begin her koan study with the master, her presence in the zendo was at first objected to by the monks, on the grounds that her beauty would distract them. And that to overcome this she burned her face with a hot iron rod. Some have noted an apparent sag in her face as depicted in her lifelike portrait sculpture as evidence of the truth of this story.

These two stories are related. But to continue.

Zen is grounded in work, both on and off the cushion. Work off the cushion is called samu. Monks and nuns are famous for their samu: sweeping, chopping wood and carrying water. Chiyono is known to have carried water.

After months of wholehearted practice, she went out on a full moon night to draw some water from the well. The bottom of her old bucket, held together by bamboo strips, suddenly gave way, and the reflection of the moon vanished with the water. When she saw this she attained great realization.

She wrote a realization poem.

With this and that I tried to keep the bucket together,
And then the bottom fell out.
Where water does not collect,
The moon does not dwell.

I have been asked three questions in the presence of this koan.

1. What are you trying to keep together at this time of your life?
2. Where does the moon go when its reflection disappears?
3. Where do we go when we let go completely?

1. What I am trying to keep together at this time of my life is my body, with its diminishing capacity for activity/work, awareness, compassion, and kindness, largely because I feel I still have some responsibilities to family and community, including the sangha. My life has been greatly simplified due to bodily conditions: I don't drive or shop or handle finances, and am praised for shuffling around the block with my two sticks. "Got your phone? Okay, have fun."

I still have grief and regret. There's not much to do about that but carry a few tiny blossoms to a cairn nearby. Some self-indulgence in this, I think, may be excused.

It's easy to vanish into an easy chair. Letting go, now, would be as simple as the decision not to try to stand up. But also I'm still capable of spouting verbal abuse, which originates right here in the body, a part of nature. Channeling my speech (and facial cues) away from such may be my final exercise in letting go.

2. I reflect on the moon's beauty in its path across the sky, and then I don't. The moment a thought is over, it's nowhere, especially as near-term memory paths erode in one's cortex.  In resting from even reflection we come to ground truth -- not by seeking to rest, but by the simple expedient of absent-mindedness. This could be called the practice of not practicing, for which, for our purposes, we may use the model of a pet rock.

3. We don't go anywhere at all.

The bucket's bamboo strap unwinds and its moldy bottom falls out. Icy well water sluices down mossy stone steps. My feet are wet. Reality gives me cold toes.

-- shonin 

Hermiting is universal

I'm spending a lot more time in the hut. It's a tool shed dating back to the 50s, rebuilt for zazen practice and teleconferencing with the sangha (we mostly only meet online). I grow vegetables close at hand, pick "weeds" for tea, and use the tiny kitchen quite a lot. The leukemia seems to be in stasis for now. I greet crows outside my window.

Makeshift interior walls, makeshift altar, makeshift nun. At 76 and newly fragile health-wise, I sit here at the computer and commingle with my peers in the form of streams of electrons.

The kitchen is just a rice cooker, micro sized microwave, electric kettle, and a few jars and cans and utensils, most of them in a little hand-me-down butcher block table. I do most of my cooking in my eating bowl set inside the rice cooker liner in an inch or so of water. Works great. Kitchen table was my grandmother's from the 1930s. I ran my forehead into it on my scooter when I was three and just about knocked myself out. 

I'm told I got up and tried again and again. Whirr, wham! Whirr, wham! There's a lesson in that somewhere.

Stepping outside. The han is a plaque a friend made for me. I don't use it very often as there is no one to call with it and it's too near the neighbors. But I like having it. The mallet is a leatherworker's mallet that I retrieved from a dumpster somewhere.

Manzoku-an (Hermitage of Enough) is a former tool shed at the end of what was once a long carport. It's nine by thirteen feet. I've built a little courtyard for it using framed reed mats. I have used this hut for part-time hermiting off and on for nine years, overlapping with the previous hut, Gogo-an (10X10'), which I used for about the same span, or for a combined total of eleven years.

 What have I learned from this activity? Not so very much; the skills for living simply -- even somewhat starkly -- were acquired in childhood, as my parents encouraged me in running wild in the woods. At thirteen I camped for a week on an island in a swamp in subzero weather, building a kind of beaver lodge for myself of sticks and leaves. I kept a fire going at the entrance, and chopped ice for water from the frozen creek with a hatchet.

As a young adult, I lived in a succession of yurts, vehicles and small travel trailers, moving from place to place for forestry contracting, and did not fully return to "civilization" until I was thirty-six. I then worked at a university for twenty-two years and retired, at fifty-nine, to farm an acre. Hand tools were the order of the day -- an intention to return to simplicity.

When I began to study Zen with a teacher, I looked around the farm for a place to sit quietly out of the way, and the children's abandoned playhouse filled the bill. It did not take me long to move in a few items and begin cooking and even sometimes sleeping there as well as sitting zazen. This sort of thing just felt natural to me, and the family supported my efforts.

When I discovered an online sangha to sit with, I brought a laptop out to the hut, Gogo-an, and practiced with them, even participating in an online ango and rohatsu. This was a change from hermiting -- or was it? Our routine was much like that of the Discalced Carmelite sisters, each in her own hut but gathering with the others for ritual. 

Along came the pandemic and my local sangha moved online as well, where it has stayed ever since. Such groups have a bit of a Carmelite flavor. Many of the people with whom I sit zazen or sesshin live alone. Many others practice with the assent of family members, but most do sit alone in their choice of room (or sometimes outdoors), as teleconferencing tends to place each person in a box, containing mostly a face, with perhaps an altar and bookcase in frame.

This mode of being isolated in company is not unfamiliar to monks and nuns in a monastery or local sangha. Benedictines gather, but each is alone with God in the company of others, perhaps to the extent of wearing a hooded cowl, or in the case of nuns, a coif, wimple and veil. Muslims have the sajada, or prayer rug, again alone with God amid the multitude. Zen practitioners tend to sit in a row, all facing the same direction, each alone with Dharma. Every religious person is already a hermit.

Religion, as we tend to define it, may not be the whole Venn diagram here.

People who live alone generally, or find themselves alone with or among others (there are many single beds in apartments, houses and ship cabins), or even who find themselves walking to the waterfront to commune with gulls and the stench of the wharf, are also hermits. Never make the mistake of supposing that someone who stops only briefly to admire a daffodil has had no important business there.

Some may think they do not have hermiting skills, but I think we all do. What we may lack is the expectation that we'll have to live simply for an extended period of time, which can take some planning and prioritization. And in fact, though I have done that, it's not really what I'm doing right now; the hut is fifty feet from shared modern conveniences -- my bedroom is in the house. 

But I like to practice living simply in the hut, to keep the skills up (y'know "just in case," or in case someone else needs to know the little that I know) and to support my Buddhist practice. I'm doing a lot of sits. I find they're "good" for me; I need centering. It's cheaper than psychotherapy.

As we find ourselves more and more constrained by our unwieldy modernity, with the likelihood of catastrophic weather events, pandemics and crop failures, we may make some effort, as is always commendable, to ease the burdens of those around us but cannot hope, as individuals, to remedy all. 

What we can hope to do on our small scale (along with whatever else we're up to) is recognize that much of the time, what we might call down time or at least our in-between times, is what Buddhists call practice, which I will provisionally term as hermiting. Prayer, recollection, meditation, sittin' at the dock o' th' bay, admiring a daffodil, these are things that most anyone can do as they come to them, but I think we also, many of us, recognize that there are skilled ways of going about solitude. We know skilled loners when we see them, whether in films, videos, or sidewalk encounters.

Your bedroom, your kitchen, your study (if you have one), your creekside path, your hut attached to the family home or in its back yard -- your brief alone time "amid the noise and the haste" is your practice place. Whatever practice you do there, may it flow as a spring of water of life for you, and may you, in your short time here, find whatever you may recognize as blessing.

 -- shonin

Sounds pretty good

Grasping, in the Buddhist sense, has two forms: grasping for something, as in consumerism, which is the sort of thing we usually think of when we use the term "greed," but also aversion -- seeking another outcome than the one currently presenting itself to us as likely, unless we intervene in some way. I think of Kurt Lewin's approach/avoidance theory here.

That which we feel will benefit us or those whom we value (provide negentropy, mainly), we approach; that which we feel will harm us (speed up our entropy), we avoid. We also tend to evaluate our coping mechanisms and decide if they are up to the approach or avoidance task; and we may also decide whether approach or avoiding is the right choice in such an instance.

When the author of the Xin Xin Ming advises we have no preferences, this may be simply a shorthand way of recommending Buddha's Middle Way.

Where there are no preferences, there is wu-wei. Less is more, here.

Consider a practice of restraint. What might such a practice entail (without, of course, straying into extreme asceticism)?

Perhaps I might realize I do not need air travel, or, indeed much in the way of travel and tourism at all. Also, I might not need to subject myself to television commercials and all the forms of advertising. Perhaps I do not need sports fandom, fashion, or events at crowded venues. Perhaps I decide I do not need pesticides, herbicides, and complex household chemicals and beauty products. Expensive furniture may be unnecessary, along with shelter with a very large footprint. Perhaps I can get along without a large lawn, a riding lawnmower, gasoline-powered tools, "natural" gas. One winter coat might suffice, rather than, say, five. And I hardly need a motorboat or jet ski.

It can be a useful exercise to go to the big box store with a clipboard (perhaps several times, to avoid raising the eyebrows of employees) and make a list of all the things we do not need. It might be a very long list; or we could simply say with Socrates, “How many things I can do without!” He was famous for his simplicity of lifestyle, as was Diogenes who took up abode in an abandoned jar and is said to have tossed away his cup on realizing he could drink well enough from his hands. 

This accords with what is told of Xu You, an ancient Chinese hermit who drank from his hands and, when offered a drinking gourd, used it once, hung it on a tree, and walked away. That story is referenced in hundreds of works by poets and essayists of simplicity, from Tao Yuanming to Chomei.

Xu You lived long enough ago that it's clear Buddha has no corner on simplicity, yet Buddha's (and many in his wake) take on it has a certain ring to it. Look at the rules in the Vinaya to get a sense of what he regarded as necessary to a fulfilling life ... not many possessions, eh? Three robes and three bowls, or maybe just one, and pillow your head on your arm. Mind you, nights are relatively warm in India, but still. There's some kind of principle here.

As a teenager, I had some sense that freedom consisted in freedom from possessions as well as freedom from being possessed, and was known to "run away" from home (with tacit permission, leaving a note of duration and location) and live for days at a time in the woods with some jerky, a hatchet and some matches. 

I was fascinated by this kind of reductionism, and upon discovering Thoreau, read my copy until it disintegrated, and have never been without one since.

Yet Buddhist advice on simplicity goes far beyond Thoreau. Aside from having only a tiny cabin with fireplace cookery and one table and two chairs (one for the visitor) and a bean patch, Buddhist literature extols the simplicity of sitting very still, eyes half closed, "non thinking." Such practice is, at least while one is doing it, the ultimate in poverty -- it does without the radio and television and cell phone, does without even food and drink and "did I pay the taxes" for the duration of the sit, and can serve as a baseline for kindness, compassion, shared joy, and equanimity, none of which require one to own a single thing. 

Practice leads to practical applications of that which has been practiced, as a rule. What you have not needed during shikantaza, zazenkai or sesshin you may not need ever. There are limits to this, of course. To live, eat food ("not too much, mostly plants," as Michael Pollan says), drink clean water (who needs sugary pop, really?) and breathe clean air if you can get it. The rest as applicable.

We had here in Eugene back in the last century a well-to-do man, Charles Gray, who, after donating his way out of the embarrassment of money, lived for a number of years on what he called the World Equity Budget, which was the average income of humans -- which was low enough that to do this in Eugene confined him to a rented room, cooking on a hot plate, and getting about on a bicycle (with a bike trailer as needed). It was, he said, the happiest time of his life. 

If everyone did it, ... "Gracious, that would be wonderful. It would all be green. There would still be fish in the sea; there would be trees on the mountains." [Source]

I'm not him; he devoted much of a lifetime to the standard he set for himself, whereas I was that poor by choice maybe from age twenty-one to about thirty at most. I'm seventy-six now, living on a fixed income, but by World Equity Budget standards it's certainly easy street. Philanthropy helps, but I feel in my diseased bones that simple is better; maybe it's time for me to try more of less again.

Fish and trees; sounds pretty good.

  --shonin

Dharma

(Continued from The "thusness" zone)

 
 

Niaoge Daolin climbed a gnarled pine tree and made his abode there. The famous poet and respected administrator Bai Juyi came to see him. "Isn't it dangerous up there?" "Much more dangerous where you are!" [This referred to the perils of imperial officialdom, especially for intellectuals.] Bai Juyi understood.

[Bai Juyi] asked another question: “What is the great insight of Buddhism?” The master replied: “Don't do anything bad, and do everything that's good.” Baijuyi replied: “A three-year-old child understands that kind of talk.” The master said: “A three year old child may be able to say it, but an eighty year old can't put it into practice.” 

Here we have the least verbose set of instructions I've seen. "Do good, not bad." We can argue over what constitutes good or bad, and Bodhidharma among others cautions against regarding Dharma as being about "good" and "bad." These teachers don't mean one should behave badly; they do mean that when you behave well you should not expect to be seen as "good" or even see yourself as "good." Just do the "good" thing and then down tools until the next "good thing."

Dharma is both seeing reality clearly and acting accordingly. That's all, folks. 

-- shonin