125: Zen at Home

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Zen At Home
We all live at home
Even if it’s homelessness.
Where is our true home?

ZEN AT WORK, AT HOME, AT PLAY

Following on the last segment of UnMind, this one is based on questions raised by the same member of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center community. She moved here from India, and later moved out of the Atlanta area. If you are interested having in a regular online dharma dialog with me, as she does, let me know. And If you have questions regarding the integration of everyday life with your Zen practice, please don’t hesitate to send them to me for future podcasts.

Last time, we considered some of the seeming contradictions with the compassionate teachings of Zen Buddhism that arise in the modern work space. This time we will look into some of the more personal aspects of our relationships, inside and outside of the formal Zen community, or Sangha

It seems to me that one of the submitted questions bridges all the various contexts of the social sphere of daily life, which refers back to my model of the Four Spheres of Influence that form the context of our practice, whether in ancient or modern times (see the illustration in the post):

3. [What does Zen have to say] on the nature of relationships?

This highly generalized question may appear too broad, at first glance. But this issue of relationships, and how we handle them, comes up repeatedly, in our daily lives. We all have multiple relationships that last for many years over our lifetimes, coming and going like the seasons. Others are daily interactions; some are infrequent, and many are once-in-a-lifetime occurrences. The most difficult tend to be with immediate family.

Someone said that the “dharma of marriage,” or something to that effect, is the most difficult of dharmas. One might substitute “family” for “marriage.” Some might insist on using “in-laws” as the determinative term. But all would admit that the closer the bond, the more fraught with emotion, like the old song, “You always hurt the one you love.”

But Zen challenges the very notion of our definition of relationships, beginning with that of the self. This approach is inherently circular, studying the self with the self, itself. In Fukanzazengi—Principles of Seated Meditation, Master Dogen advises us to set aside all of our usual preoccupations with everyday concerns when entering into zazen:

For practicing Zen a quiet room is suitable; eat and drink moderately
Put aside all involvements and suspend all affairs
Do not think “good” or “bad” do not judge true or false
Give up the operations of mind intellect and consciousness
Stop measuring with thoughts ideas and views
Have no designs on becoming a buddha

That second line is also translated “Setting aside all delusive relationships.” Which begs the question, What relationship is not delusional, if any? Delusion is a central concern in Buddhism. Its seminal teachings question the evidence of our very senses, in the opening verses of the Heart of Great Wisdom Sutra:

[Given Emptiness] no eyes, no ears, no nose, no tongue, no body, no mind
No seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting, touching, no thinking [until we come to]
No realm of sight [and all the rest; until we come to] no realm of mind- consciousness

For those of you who attend our services and chant this sutra, you will not recognize the phrases “until we come to” or “and all the rest,” which have been deleted from the current consensus translation that we have adopted. They appear in the first English translation that Matsuoka Roshi approved at the Zen Buddhist Temple of Chicago, my home temple. “And all the rest” stands in for repeating all the senses over again, and is inserted repeatedly as a kind of shorthand for making the original verses a bit briefer.

The other phrase, “until we come to” is more relevant to the overall meaning of the chant. It implies that the process of meditation — to which the Heart Sutra stands as a testament — entails a natural progress of segueing through deeper and deeper levels of apprehending “emptiness,” or shunyatta, in Sanskrit.

Beginning with our conscious awareness of form, feeling, thought, impulse, and consciousness itself; then expanding to the senses, one-by-one; then on to challenge our concepts of ignorance, including our attitudes toward old age and death. And finally, suffering itself, along with its cause and cessation; as well as the Path. Then, knowledge itself; and any idea of attainment that we may harbor. This section constitutes the most sweeping dismissal of all of our various dualistic concepts of Buddha’s teachings, along with our perception and conception of our own reality. Everything is called into question.

When it comes to the relationships between ourselves and others, it follows that as long as our apprehension of the self is delusional, then all relationships must be delusional. Only if and when we see through the self can we have an unbiased appreciation of relationships.

In this light, I ask you to consider what is the most singular aspect of any relationship that applies equally to all relationships, whether with intimates, family and friends, or inanimate objects, for that matter? In terms of people-to-people connections, most will offer something like “trust,” “love,” or “forgiveness,” et cetera. “Can’t we all just get along?” as the current trope has it. But Zen goes deeper, as Matsuoka Roshi would often say.

Remember that the three “marks,” or salient characteristics of suffering, Buddhism’s dukkha, are “impermanence, imperfection, and insubstantiality.” From this rather terse description, I would suggest that the first is the most salient aspect of any and all relationships: that they are impermanent, first and foremost. The good news is that a bad relationship is a temporary annoyance or worse; the bad news is that the good relationships are also fleeting.

That any relationship is guaranteed to be imperfect is common knowledge, though it does not prevent us from aspiring to perfection, especially in others, finding Mr. or Ms “right.” That they are insubstantial may be challenged as to the karmic consequences of, say, begetting children. That seems like a pretty substantial entanglement, and is probably the main rationale for the choice of most monastics to remain celibate.

Several of the other, related questions raised by our interlocutor would fall under this same examination in meditation. Such as, What does Zen have to say…

…on not deciding to marry?

…on fertility, or having children, or raising family?

…on the nature of jealousy?

…on forgiveness?

…on victim mentality?

…on self harm?

I think we can see that these are all variations on the same theme, tied to the reification of the self, and in the absence of insight into dukkha and shunyatta. This is not to be dismissive of these concerns, or to make light of them, but only to say that you will most likely find the answers to such questions on the cushion, or as an aftereffect of sitting in meditation, and not in my words.

In zazen we examine the very nature, and question the very existence, of this so-called self, the source of so much of our suffering. It is not that the self does not exist. It is just that it may not exist in the way that we think it does, which is causing all the trouble.

This is not a doom-and-gloom conclusion to come to. Buddhism is not pessimistic, and not overly optimistic. It is just realistic. And Zen represents its most realistic application to real life. To return to the Heart Sutra, we find that it pivots to a more hopeful, sunny conclusion, after freeing ourselves from the snare of the small self:

With nothing to attain a bodhisattva relies on Prajna Paramita
and thus the mind is with-out hindrance with-out hindrance there is no fear
far beyond all inverted views one realizes nirvana
All buddhas of past present and future rely on Prajna Paramita

“Prajna paramita” means “perfecting of wisdom” in Sanskrit, an ongoing and open-ended process. There is “nothing to attain” because we already have everything we need. The mind is originally, and naturally, “without hindrance.” It does not depend on anything we do or do not do. Our true self is already complete and sufficient to itself. We do not, or should not, really need relationships, to be happy. This is not a self-centered idea, but should allow us to sustain real and healthy relationships. If all we bring to a relationship is personal need, then it is bound to distort that relationship. If we are “happy in our own skin,” we may have something to offer in all of our relationships.

At the risk of repeating myself, my model of how this works, or should work, posits four dimensions, or levels, of samadhi, a Sanskrit term that has become part of the jargon of Zen. We may regard it as a kind of centered balance in the midst of all things, including relationships. I think we can demystify it by thinking of the zazen meditation posture as the ultimate in “physical samadhi.” Sitting in this upright posture still enough, for long enough, we begin to experience “emotional samadhi”: more calmness, less anxiety. The prevalent monkey mind relaxes into “mental samadhi”: more clarity, less confusion, particularly regarding the teachings of Buddhism. We begin to directly experience what Zen is pointing at. And finally, the goal we want to achieve in relations, “social samadhi”: less friction, more harmony at work, at home, and at play. Your results may vary, of course.

The “true self” is selflessness, “neither self nor other than self,” as the Ch’an poem has it. Just as our “true home” is homelessness. Whether you find that fact to be a cause for work, or play; for joy, or chagrin, is entirely up to you. “Examine it thoroughly in practice.”

This concludes my response to the questions under question. If you have more, I am open to considering them. You may find my email address on the ASZC website. I hope this has been useful, and encouraging to your practice.