It’s been about 1 1/4 years since I started my zen practice in earnest.  The first half of last year, I was very consistent with my zazen.  But, the second half of the year, I started getting a lot more lackadaisical.  By the end of the year, I was occasionally missing two or three days a week.  That’s just silly.

And that’s why I decided to take part in this year’s “Big Sit” sponsored by Tricycle.  I’ve become a fan of Tricycle over the other Buddhist print magazines thanks to some really good issues in the last year.  This 90-day practice session struck me because a.) it’s following zen practice (the last session was a 30-day Vipassana session), b.) it encouraged at least 20 minutes of daily zazen, c.) over the course of the 90 days, participants read the Genjokoan and podcasts with well-respected western zen teachers discuss it, and d.) there’s an online community built specifically for the event.  It started a couple of weeks ago and I’ve been steady with my practice, increasing from 15 minutes at night to 20.  I did miss two days, but that was a conscious decision.  I’m behind on my podcasts and participation in the community, but I have been reading the Genjokoan and a few different interpretations that I’ve dug up.

So, anyway, that’s going well.

In the “Big Sit” issue of Tricycle (Spring 2009), there’s an article by Shozan Jack Haubner titled “Son of a Gun” where he discusses his life as the son of a man who creates the guns that are used in Iraq.  It’s a wonderful article and this paragraph in particular stuck (emphasis mine):

In the Buddhist view, I depend on you for my existence.  All things depend on each other, equally.  Welcome to the doctrine of dependent origination.  It’s teeter-totter metaphysics—I arise, you arise; you arise, I arise.  Forget about our presumed Maker, the diving machinist in the sky.  You are you because you are not something else; therefore, what you are not—the chair beneath you, the air in your lungs, these words—births you through an infinity of opposites.  It’s like the ultimate Dr. Seuss riddle: Without all the things that are not you, who would you be you to?  There’s no Higher Power in this system to grab onto for support; we are all already supporting each other.  Pull a person or people the wrong way, and you immediately redefine yourself in light of what you’ve done to your neighbor.

It’s becoming more and more clear to me how this idea of “self” that we learn isn’t really quite right.  We’re inextricably tied to everything and everyone else here and our actions and attitudes spread throughout the web.

Last night, I was sitting and my 2-year-old daughter, who’s been uncharacteristically under the weather for the last couple of days, walked into the room after having used the bathroom. She walked up to me and gave me a giant hug, then sat in my lap to snuggle. A few minutes later, she got up for a second to get her favorite stuffed animal and bring it back to sit with us.

I was more than happy to give up my straight spine for a few minutes with my daughter.

Re-upped the domain for another year.

In other news, my practice has been going strong for a little over a half-year now. Since January 1st, I’ve missed only three days. One because I plum forgot, one because it was 2am, I’d just driven 4 hours, and the next day I’d be sitting for 90 minutes, and one because I was knocked out with the stomach flu. Not a bad run for the first 188 days.

Yesterday, a neighbor tried to recruit me to come to her newly Lutheran church. I smiled politely, but was thinking about how uncomfortable I still get when people try to bring up religion in conversation.

I’ve been sitting regularly for the last six months and decided it was time to try a slightly more intensive session with a group of people.  It’s difficult where I live, because the closest group of zen practitioners that I can find is over an hour away (odd considering how populated my area is).  But, when visiting my parents in the town I grew up in, I decided to stop by the Pine Wind Zen Society for a 90-minute zazen session.  Considering I’m only sitting 15-20 minutes once a day, I was worried this was going to feel like a marathon!

The time was split up into three 25 minute sessions with 5 minutes of kinhin in between.  I was surprised by a few things.  First, it was easier than I expected.  At home when I sit, I find myself battling fidgetiness a lot, which I think comes from the fact I’m at home and have these nagging thoughts about other things I should be doing ("I should be doing the dishes" or "I should get to bed").  When you actually drive somewhere and your only intention is to just sit, it’s a lot easier to… just sit.  The other surprise I had was at the level of calm I felt afterwards.  While I was there, I felt relatively focused and relaxed, but when I left, it became really clear to me exactly how much tension and stress I’ve been carrying with me.  I hadn’t felt this calm in years.  It was pretty amazing really.  (Sadly, the next day I was pretty much back to normal.  But hey, realizing this is part of the process, right?)

Pine Wind’s a neat place.  If you didn’t know it was there, you’d pass right by while driving through the residential neighborhood that a few friends of mine from elementary school had grown up in.  They don’t follow any specific zen lineage:

Practicing the "Dharma Beyond Buddhism", at no time does The Zen Society exist to promote any peculiar religious doctrine, dogma, or teachings, and shares no formal affiliation with other Zen groups, denominations, or any hierarchy of Dharma Successors.

While most of the ten people there sat facing the center of the room, one woman faced the wall for two of the three sessions in a more traditional Soto style.  I decided to face the center of the room even though it’s not how I usually sit.  It didn’t bother me in the least.  While I didn’t really talk with anyone other than Ninshin, who was the one I spoke with over e-mail before attending, everyone was seemed very friendly.  I didn’t feel that awkwardness I remember feeling when visiting friends’ churches (or—ack—youth groups) as a kid.

I look forward to stopping in again sometime and while I still consider my practice a very personal thing, the experience definitely makes me want to hunt down a group closer to me that I can practice with periodically.

Gift of Gab from “4000 Miles” (Blackalicious featuring Jurassic 5 and Latyrx):

The final destination used to be my main question
But then I looked and all that I was searchin for was present

Last night, I was a few minutes into my zazen when my 19-month-old daughter walked up to me. She doesn’t usually see me when I’m meditating (I usually save it for when she’s asleep), but she didn’t find it particularly strange that I was sitting and staring at a wall. She looked at me for a moment and then sat down in my lap.

She got up after a few seconds, grabbed one of her toy cars and tried handing it to me. When I didn’t immediately take it from her, she leaned down and placed it in my hands. Apparently my mudra was sufficient for toy car storage.

Best zazen session ever.

Sometimes my teapot’s spout gets clogged with leaves, causing the tea to pour out slowly. Without fail, I find myself tipping it further in an attempt to increase the speed, but instead, tea just starts seeping out of the top, spilling onto my desk. I try to take that as a reminder to slow down… like, “Dude, slow down. 15 seconds longer for your tea ain’t gonna’ kill you.”

Every day priests minutely
examine the Dharma
and endlessly chant
complicated sutras.
They should learn
how to read the love letters
sent by the wind and rain,
the snow and moon.

- Ikkyu (1394-1491)

(via Daily Zen)

After a year of a terribly inconsistent zazen regimen (Regimen? Not the right word. “Routine,” perhaps?), one of my new year’s resolutions for 2008 was to sit at least 10 minutes every day, with the intention of gradually increasing to 20 minutes and then to twice a day (and eventually to 30 minute sessions). Well, I’m happy to report that a month-and-a-half in, I haven’t missed a day yet.

Even when I fall asleep on the couch and wake up at 2am, I sit for ten minutes before going to bed.

Even when I’m battling a nasty cold and can barely focus on the wall ahead, I sit.

Even when my zazen feels “bad” or I’m completely distracted, I sit.

There haven’t been any breakthroughs. But I’m not waiting for any. I’m just getting started in this practice and will see where it leads. With any luck, it’ll bring some insight, clarity, and ultimately improve how I deal with situations and with other people.

There’s a great piece titled “In Praise of Melancholy” (from a book that comes out tomorrow titled Against Happiness: In Praise of Melancholy) in The Chronicle Review.  It’s a well-reasoned piece arguing that in all the new agey search for eternal happiness and contentment, our souls are being sucked from us.  The author says that melancholy feelings are often mistaken for depression and that if that’s the case, the feelings should be embraced.  Feelings of sadness, being overwhelmed, and just being “down” are healthy and can often drive the creative urge.  This paragraph sums it up best, I think:

Melancholia pushes against the easy “either/or” of the status quo. It thrives in unexplored middle ground between oppositions, in the “both/and.” It fosters fresh insights into relationships between oppositions, especially that great polarity life and death. It encourages new ways of conceiving and naming the mysterious connections between antinomies. It returns us to innocence, to the ability to play in the potential without being constrained to the actual. Such respites from causality refresh our relationship to the world, grant us beautiful vistas, energize our hearts and our minds

What I like most about Zen is that it doesn’t try to hide melancholy feelings.  It doesn’t encourage you to distance yourself from them.  It makes you see them for what they are and accept them as they come.  No doubt, it’s challenging to do this, as I’m finding to be the case an awful lot recently, but it’s essential in maintaining a life that’s not devoid of feeling but isn’t wallowing in constant sorrow, either.

The world exists as it is all across the spectrum, from extreme sadness to extreme happiness, and we’re doing ourselves a disservice if we run because we’re afraid to be sad.