Rohatsu 2022 -- The Day of the Buddha's Awakening

Kamakura Daibutsu from Wikimedia Commons

So I'll try to join a Rohatsu sesshin from December 1 through December 8 as a celebration of Shakyamuni's "awakening"under the Bodhi Tree oh so long ago. 

Our text for this sesshin is a translation of the Avatamsaka Sutra called "The Flower Ornament Scripture" that attempts to describe the Buddha's enlightenment. Oh well, good luck with that!

The initial descriptions actually parallel something I experienced -- was it Enlightenment? I don't know -- many years ago, nigh on fifty years back, I think. I may have mentioned it somewhere in these blog pages. I was sitting zazen in my apartment in San Francisco. Something happened. A Void opened up as it were and I was no longer a  sitter in a room in an apartment on Geary. I was no longer "I" but All. The Void was the ground of Being. Which encompassed Everything. The Void was not perception, could not be perceived, was not part of the Material World but spontaneously gave rise to it as well as many other Material Worlds simultaneously. The Void was Nothing -- No Thing -- but gave rise to Everything. All Things and much more besides.

Understanding, was this the Awakening that Buddhists yearn for? Oh, I don't know. No one can actually say, for when the Awakening comes, there are no words; it just Is. 

So this happened while I was sitting zazen in a semi-dark room in my apartment on Geary in San Francisco some fifty or so odd years ago -- I don't remember the year -- and when I ended the sit, my perceptions had changed in ways I had never encountered before. The semi-darkened room appeared to be glowing with crystalline light of many colors, not the drab gray I knew it to be. The main room to the apartment had a view to the garden behind the building where a jungle of plants and flowers flourished. I briefly glanced at the garden -- now glowing with an inner light as well --  as I passed by on the way to go outside.

As I went through the lobby, every step and wall and decoration including the wrought iron gate to the old building I lived in glowed with auras of many colors, and the sky outside was a color I'd never seen before, and the color changed as I walked down Geary toward Union Square a few blocks away. Every thing and every person on my way had multi-colored auras. 

I won't describe the whole experience because when I have tried to do so in the past, I've been accused of either "being on drugs" -- I wasn't and did not use drugs in those days (nor do I now) -- or reporting a dream, not something that actually happened.

"Not something that actually happened..." Well, wait. What does "actually happened" really mean?

What I experienced was an altered perception that grew out of Non-Perception, the Void as it were, and I saw it as a means to recognize the Illusion (or Delusion) of what our Minds tell us is Reality.

What we see and think we know in the Material World is all Illusion, a construct, we're told, of the Mind. And it has no real existence at all. 

Our thoughts and feelings and perceptions are all Mind-created, not Reality. By experiencing an altered perception I was able if only for a moment to recognize the Ground Truth both of the Mind and of the spontaneous arising from Nothing. 

And so it was. Is this what the Buddha experienced after sitting under the Bodhi Tree? I don't know, but it could be. Is it what the Avatamsaka Sutra is attempting to describe? I can't say for certain, but sure, why not?

Sparkling jewels figure heavily in the Sutra; fragrant flowers, multicolored silks, everything and more that an East Indian adept might treasure; all were revealed and made manifest after Enlightenment. Well, yes. Of course! But is that what Enlightenment is? Of course not!

No, I see it as a metaphor -- a long and beautiful metaphor -- for something ineffable that cannot be described in words written or spoken. Beyond the jewels and silks and fragrant flowers, beyond the multitude of universes which figure as prominently, there is... No Thing. Or...? What? No, the question is wrong. 

One of the principal tenets of Buddhism is that we are already Awakened. We are already Enlightened. It is our natural state of being. We don't have to go on a quest to find it -- as the Buddha did. We don't have to yearn for it. We already have it; we are already there. 

What we -- usually -- lack is recognition of the fact. Gaining recognition may take enormous effort and lead to many wrong turns along the way, or it may come in an instant with no effort at all. We all follow different paths. But once we gain the recognition, we're essentially unified on the same path, and in Zen and Mahayana Buddhism in general, it's a Bodhisattva path, then we're all chopping wood and carrying water together. Even as we go our own ways.

The translation I have of the Avatamsaka Sutra is over 1,600 pages long. Now that's absurd. 1100 pages is the Sutra itself, the rest is commentary.  

Buddhists love to speculate on Meaning and write commentary on the Sutras. Thus to possess and explain that which cannot be possessed or explained. 

Of course I'm doing it myself!

So Rohatsu is coming up shortly. I already have some scheduled events during that week, including doctors' appointments and possibly appearing at the trial of the man who assaulted me a year ago in July. I won't have any teeth, either, as all are scheduled to be pulled next week, and nothing is to replace them until January.

What fun. 

Since the Rohatsu is online, though, it will be possible to catch up. I suppose.

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Koan:

What did the Buddha perceive as he Awakened under the Bodhi Tree?

 

Rohatsu Sesshin

Ah well. Here we go again with the Buddhist retreat thing. Yah. This time a "silent retreat" -- right -- meant as a celebration/commemoration of the Buddha's Enlightenment. A week of meditation and consideration focused on Dogen's text of Mountains and Waters Sutra translated by Kaz Tanahashi.

Mountains and Rivers... Meditating yesterday with a rotten old text, wonders of the world as it is or was back in the '30s when the text was written ostensibly for young people, explaining the world and history while admitting vast ignorance about just about everything. Mountains and Rivers were brought into the picture with the acknowledgement that the mountains which seem so rooted and permanent -- because our lives are so short -- are worn away by the waters until in time they disappear as if they never were, and then are reborn by forces deep within the Earth that force and twist and uplift the very living rock into new mountains that are then worn away by the waters. Over and over in an endless repeating cycle.

And that is the theme of this Rohatsu sesshin.

Dogen says mountains walk, and they do.

The realization is a step toward Enlightenment. This realization is Enlightenment. But in Dogen-speak there is neither Enlightenment nor non-Enlightenment. The Koan of the Ox Through the Latticed Window, no?

And yet our ancestors knew for a fact that mountains walk and you could say they run, given the right perspective and time scale. Our perception is too limited to witness it in its entirety, but it happens just the same.

Now I could go on and on about the limits of perception compared to the vastness of reality, but now is not the time for that. Been down this road before, however. Trodding it one more time.

Contradictions: "You're Doing It Wrong!"

 Ha.

I do find the Sutra of Vimalakirti's Teaching to be funny and serious at the same time. It is filled with contradictions -- rather like Buddhism itself -- and it is almost entirely the story of Wealthy Householder Vimalakirti (sick) telling everyone, from the lowliest to the highest gods and Buddhas, you're doing it wrong.

Householder: Vimalakirti is a layman, not ordained or having taken vows or shut up in a monastery. Oh my no. He's a rich and important man in a rich and important city, though, and thus he has stature and merit, and he is listened to by the people of the city and his is well-regarded for his wisdom and generosity.

The Sutra of Vimalakirti is said to be over 2000 years old, going back nearly as far as the Sakyamuni Buddha himself. It's very, very different than practically anything you'd find in other spiritual texts of the era, certainly different than anything in the Bible. 

I call it "magical realism" in that the sutra is filled with gods and goddesses, buddhas, demons and their hordes of attendants and myriad people, bodhisattvas, bhikkus, and ordinaries in their various qualities and multitudes listening intently to the teachings of Vimalakirti and becoming enlightened spontaneously. 

Well, sure. Of course. 

It seems perfectly natural given the context.

Contradictions abound. Dualities and nondualities. We live our lives in a hot mess of "what is." If there is a purpose to the practice of Zen and Buddhism, it is threading our way through it and helping others along the way.

As someone said very early in my study: We are already enlightened; we do not acquire enlightenment through the practice or through any effort of our own. What happens is unfolding, rather like a lotus blossom opening. We come to the realization of what we already are. 

OK.

I haven't finished the sutra. I probably won't before leaving for California, but that's OK. There should be plenty of time to read it and re-read it before the end of the practice period. 

Ridiculous and Useless

Practicing zazen is ridiculous and useless. That's the point, no?

No.

There is no point. You do it to do it. That's it. Nothing more. The ridiculousness of sitting, the uselessness of sitting simply are. They're not the point of anything, they merely exist. 

When I sit, I sit. I adopt partial posture while sitting on a straightback antique oak kitchen chair with a quilted cushion on the seat. My back is straight-ish, not uncomfortably or rigidly so. My head is slightly down. My hips are solidly placed forward rather than back into the chair. My feet are flat on the floor, legs slightly apart. My hands are placed in the "cosmic mudra" position, palms up, left hand's fingers on top of right hand's fingers, thumbs barely touching, oval space open between thumbs and fingers. The hands land on my lap and rest there, but they can be raised slightly above the lap and come to rest just below the navel. When sitting, my eyes are usually open, gaze somewhat unfocused ahead and down. Not actually looking at anything (most of the time) but not not looking either. 

To the extent I meditate while sitting, three aspects come to the fore. 

First, to concentrate on breathing and body. Counting breaths, but only as a counter to passing thoughts. Otherwise just breathe and be conscious of breathing. Be aware of the body and body sensations. I'm particularly sensitive to joint issues, and when they arise, I note them and also note that body is more than joints; paying attention all the way up and all the way down and inside and out. 

Second, mantras. There are lots of them. At any time, one can pop into consciousness to counter passing thoughts or just be running in the background something like a drone in East Indian music. And then be gone like the thought that might have been countered. Only to come back again.

Third, koans. Insoluble puzzles of words and mind. Nonsense. Paradoxes. Again, as counters to passing thoughts, there and gone.

There are other elements that can happen. Some can become meditations. One that I've feared and consciously avoided is a return to "The Void." A state of emptiness that I encountered many years ago while practicing zazen and did not want to return to without a guide or teacher. 

Well, I've learned that once there, it never leaves. Or rather, you never leave it. Or... It's ever-present, prior to, and everlasting. It is what I called "the Ground State" of everything and nothing simultaneously. All phenomena arise therefrom, but "arise" is not the correct description. Nothing arises, in other words. And there are no phenomena. Everything is Nothing. All the time and everywhere. There is no time, no where. 

And I've always had guides. I've always had teachers. I wasn't always paying attention.

Yes, we live in the material world of consciousness, separateness and phenomena, and yes, they're not "real." They are illusion. The "reality" to the extent we can comprehend it -- imperfectly at best -- is found in that Ground State, which perceptively is Nothing. There's literally Nothing there.

Yet that No-Thing is Every-Thing. And that "there" is not.

Get it?

The paradoxes and contradictions have led to endless commentary on being-no being, Enlightenment, and what the holy hoo-hah this Sakyamuni Buddha character was getting at. 

During this practice period, there's been almost no mention of Sakyamuni. The focus has been on sad, bewildered Santideva and how he overcame the demons of self-doubt and other people's mockery and criticisms to follow the Prajnaparamita and become a Bodhisattva at Nalanda.

They tell us -- maybe they're right, maybe they're wrong -- that most of those who enter the Buddhist monastery never become Enlightened. They don't become Buddhas. Most never become Bodhisattvas. When they die, they don't enter Nirvana. That seems sad. But I believe it.

What then is the point of the monastery, Zen Buddhist or any other?

On the one hand, yes, the monastery is as ridiculous and useless as practicing zazen. There is no point, as it were. 

And yet... and yet...

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Oh goody. The Book came, the one I ordered from Indiana. And neat, it's got underlining, check marks and a few comments by its previous owner(s). Yay. The Book: Jack Kerouac's "Wake Up, A Life of the Buddha" (1955) that I didn't know existed until recently when I read about it in a commentary on a book by Gary Snyder. 

This should be interesting.

I suspect one reason bhikkhus, bonzes, and monks fail to reach Enlightenment is because they're always being diverted by things like this.

One Hour Sit

It was imperfect -- oh my yes -- but I did it. A whole one hour sit -- this time with no kinhin break in the middle. How about that? 

Imperfect for several reasons. First that I wasn't fully engaged in the sit for at least ten minutes maybe more. I was sitting before my Zoom screen, but doing other things on the computer as well such as making sure my Zoom picture was showing up, counting the number of participants in this sit -- less than 40 -- and pulling up an audiobook reading of A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life by Shantideva (c. 800 AD) the text we are studying for this practice period. Once I got that going at very low volume, I settled into my cushion and from the heart called out for bodhichitta, Buddha Mind, Awakened Mind, and compassion. For all sentient beings. Which is our task, if you will, during this practice period and at all times.

Well, one thing led to another. 

I sit in a very confined space. It's our entrance hall, about 5 1/2 feet wide and 7 feet long. I sit on a cushion on the seat of a straightback antique oaken kitchen chair. The laptop is on a metal-framed glasstop garden table, none too stable to tell the truth. There are sunflowers reverse printed on the glass.

There's a full-length narrow window beside the door, a long hand-carved bench from Claudio's Place is against one wall and on it a large number of art and other items are placed; there's an antique oak hall table on which a sculpture of a tree root by a Native (Navajo) artist is placed, a metal three-shelf rack with lots of magazines, a clothes hanging shelf with four hooks and many jackets, on the shelf is an Apache carving of crown dancers, there's a number of large format photos -- black and white landscapes, including an Ansel Adams photo of what may be Kerouac's "Matterhorn" he described climbing in "Dharma Bums", and a photo of an interior room at Pueblo Bonito in Chaco Canyon -- as well as smaller works, prints, paintings, needleworks, and other sculptures. There are three clocks. One of which I can see from the corner of my eye when I sit.

Today, I put up a screen of sorts between my sitting place and the living room. The screen consists three silk khata scarves from Nepal hung from a spring rod across the passageway. The house is largely adobe, and the passage between the entrance hall and the living room is about 2 1/2 feet deep.

So I'm sitting. Just sitting, listening or maybe half-listening to the reading of A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life -- I've read most of it and heard parts of it read before -- and suddenly it occurs to me... So much of the stuff surrounding me is hand-made from natural materials by artists and craftspeople. I started with those silk scarves.

Compassion for the silk worms that spun the silk for the cocoons to house their transformation into silk moths, but most of which do not survive the silk making process. The handful that do go on to lay the eggs for the next generation, most of which do not survive to lay the eggs for the following generation. This has been going on for many hundreds, indeed thousands of years. Compassion, much compassion for these tireless insects whose finest threads are unraveled to make the fibers which are woven, they say by hand, in Nepal, to make the cloth for the scarves which are cut (but not sewn) and block printed with Tibetan Buddhist chants and symbols before being bagged and sent around the world. Compassion, so much compassion. I considered all the people and beings involved in creating these three khata scarves and getting them from Nepal to me in far-distant rural New Mexico. I thought to release all of these beings from suffering. 

On the wall are three needleworks, all done by hand. One is a beautifully embroidered Irish prayer -- "May the road rise  to meet you...", another is a welcome, another is a motto: "Life's greatest treasures come from the heart." With lots of flowers and pretty things around it, a gift from a good friend in town. Each was created by a talented someone, using materials made by others, so many people, some animals (wool) and plants (cotton and linen). And the sculptures, four, all by Native artists, carved from limestone, marble and wood. On and on around the room. As I sat, each of the items I kind of take for granted as I pass through every day is almost certainly the work of someone we know or someone we could know, and my heart welled up with compassion for all of them and for all the animals, plants and stone that went into the works now enlivening our house. "All equally empty, all equally to be loved, all equally come a Buddha." 

Another sit will start soon but I think I'll miss it as I process what happened with this one...

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Note: I didn't make the evening sit, though I looked in on it a couple of times. Again, few participants. 

"Y" - Zen.2

I started Zen practice when I was in high school -- in the early-mid '60s. The high school period was a really bad time for me. I won't go into details at this time, but I may at some point. Now that I have "let go" of it I can speak of it, but for now, no.

In fact "letting go" was part of my impetus for practicing Zen. And indeed, in my mid-twenties, a point came when I could do that. Almost all of the bad things that had practically consumed me, indeed, practically killed me, before that moment (and it was a moment) I "let go" went away as if they had never been, and through Zen practice one learns that those bad times had never been. The sense of liberation was profound. And that's when I gave up and let go of Zen practice as well.

It was available at any time, but I felt it wasn't necessary any more.

I went on a wholly different path, a pilgrimage of sorts, which ultimately led me to where I am now, circling back to my youthful Zen era.

The Enso is apropos, no?

The dharma talk I mentioned and criticized and reconsidered in the previous post was in part about pilgrimage and how in many cases the pilgrim is a "nobody" (consider the word) among "nobodies" on the way to something/nothing different, or not. We don't have to get into the details of "some/nothing." It's not really a contradiction, but some would see it that way. The dharma talk proposed that all of us are ultimately on pilgrimage, even if the pilgrim is only taking one step. That step itself can be or represent the whole of a pilgrim's passage.

In Zen practice, the pilgrimage is an important activity, and many Zen practitioners, sensei and roshi go on pilgrimages to Japan, to India, to Tibet, and some now to China (other places too, but those are mentioned frequently) to, I suppose, inhale the same air as the Buddha, trod the same paths as Bodhidharma, explore the same hills and woods as Dogen and thereby... wait, what's the point of it?

Hate to say it, but there is no point. One goes on pilgrimage... because one goes on pilgrimage. The choice of where to be a pilgrim -- if there is a choice -- is almost always a product of desire. And desire, as the Buddha discovered, is the source of suffering.

Letting go of desire relieves suffering and... can lead to enlightenment.

Yet in my mid-twenties I began a life-pilgrimage not driven by desire, at least not desire I was conscious of, that was often a wild ride, yet was always instructional. Every step -- well, nearly -- a learning experience.

Much of it was risky as if on a mountain precipice. Teetering so close to the edge, then somehow falling back toward if not exactly to safety, then teetering again. And again and again.

The nature of a life's pilgrimage can be that of risk, but it isn't always. A single step, for example, can embody an entire pilgrimage, and that step may or may not embody risk. The individual experience is what it is. We don't know and can't say in advance what it will be. Afterwards, we won't necessarily know what it was. In some Zen traditions, we never know and can never know. It never begins, it never ends.

But I don't much want to get into that right now. There will be a time for koans and contradictions. But not right now.

Instead, for the moment I want to focus on the "Y" of Zen -- the "why." Note: "I want to..." is an expression of desire, and I accept that for the moment.

And because it's Halloween and the little ones are swarming at the door, I'll have to put off that "why" for a little while longer.