Dette øjeblik

Det er et naturligt menneskeligt egenskab at ville dvale i emotioner, såsom glæde, sorg eller vred, som opstår som en reaktion til nærværende betingelser uden at tage højde for, at "nu" er et resultat af forudgående årsager. Det er således uden logik at betragte nu-et alene som en genstand for fornøjelse eller tolerance og overser det som mulighed for at skabe fremtid.

(overs. fra Dream Conversations af Muso Kokushi, trans. Thomas Cleary)

I går løb mine følelser afsted med mig. Jeg NØD faktisk min vrede i et kort øjeblik - det var befriende fordi jeg skød ansvaret fra mig; det var et andet menneskes skyld, det var en andens dumhed. Det var befriende fordi jeg en kort stund kunne have ondt af mig selv, som et væsen adskilt fra resten af universet, uden at have "rigtig" med-liden med mig selv og derved HELE universet. Men allermest var det befriende fordi jeg derefter pludseligt så - virkelig SÅ - min grundlæggende angst for at være
helt alene
&
uelsket
&
grim
&
uduelig
&
glemt
og efterfølgende kunne udslukke den angst mens jeg gik på landevejen under stjerner og skyer, tilbage til zendoen.

Jeg kom også til at gøre nogen fortræd igår. Og de konsekvenser må jeg leve med. Jeg er dog tryg med det, da der alligevel er ingen anden mulighed.

Dette indlæg er hverken poetisk eller peger på stor visdom. Det er dette øjebliks ansigt.

Rice-cake

Life flows. During the past few days, things have been been kind of syrup-y.

Molasses.

Treacle. Caramelized. Sweet, slow motion. And sticky. So I baked a chocolate-coffee-cinnamon cake.

The light is returning, the days are getting longer, and there is this overwhelming sense of joy just flooding me, giving me energy. The earth renewing itself is always accentuated by the springtime. The smell in the air, the cold breeze carrying just a hint of warmth, birdsong...

I just opened "Moon in a Dewdrop - Writings of Zen Master Dogen" to this page: "A painting of a rice-cake does not satisfy hunger." Hmmm. At first, this statement seemed very clear. And then not. Dogen encourages us to understand the meaning of this with body and mind.

I don't think I've ever tasted chocolate-coffee-cinnamon cake because of hunger. Denko always says that we have to examine things carefully, word for word, to look at how we are affected, to see what things REALLY are. So, I guess I have my work cut out for me.

Zazen, zazen... (snap, snap)

What is really good about zazen is "waking up". Things that are unclear and troubling vanish - and the light just shines on through. The issues don't disappear, but they are certainly put in perspective. And the whole world unfolds.
When, for some reason, I don't sit on my pillow for days on end, I can feel myself slipping back into habitual, unreflected behavior. Oh, boy! Then I start to resist practice. I can see it all clearly happening, in some dualistic sense.

Dogen has said,

If practice and realization were two things, as it appears to an ordinary person, each could be recognized separately. But what can be met with recognition is not realization itself, because realization is not reached by a deluded mind.

Hmmm.

Happy sad

Today I feel miserable and scared.

It feels like I should be happy and dancing, but I'm balancing on the edge.

Letting go is never easy for this ego-bound being here. And, yet, I know that one less attachment makes living this life that much lighter and more tranparent. I say "there is nothing to lose, nothing to win," but am I really ready to give up on my hopes and plans?

Or, is it not giving up, but an insight into that these hopes and plans must be as fluid as the universe?

That THIS is freedom?

Inspired by blog-sisters and brothers: meeting the monk, gratefulness

I had once been convinced that it wasn't necessary for me to have a teacher or meet regularly with one. I still considered myself a student of Zen, though.


But, one day I woke up and realized that I wasn't "getting anywhere" (yes, I know we all can talk about the meaning of this!). I had over time gained a greater intellectual understanding of Buddhist thought, more knowledge of Buddhist history and culture, and more stamina in my zazen. But. Something was missing. I had become good at fooling myself - I was trapped and couldn't cut through. Once, I had excluded training koans from the realm of possibility. Now, there was suddenly nothing else that could help.

This was a morning in August 2000. I could taste necessity, I could feel it coursing through my veins, I felt it in every breath. I googled in desperation and found a Danish Zen sensei in the US and contacted him by e-mail. Please, please, please, what should I do?

He wrote back. He phoned up. He suggested we meet when he gave a lecture in Copenhagen some weeks later. I couldn't wait. My stomach hurt.

Walking into the dojo where the lecture was held, I saw him for the first time. The experience took my breath away and at the same time made me feel warm, secure - like I had come home. I recognized him - no more, no less.

Some months later, I formally requested to become his student.

It took me a while to learn to talk to him. In the beginning, I was awestruck. How could I discuss anything with someone, who has practiced so many years, who has become a teacher? But, by the time he became a master, I learned that he was an everyday, down-to-earth person. In some ways, more free, in other ways, still on the road.

Through the years I have loved him, hated him, been angry at him, been afraid of him, been touched deeply, been critical, been confused, been clear. Through this spectrum of ego-bound reactions, I have trusted him fully. The only request he has ever made has been that I demonstrate my true self in all that I do. His patience is abounding, even when it seems on the surface that he turns me away. He keeps me honest and I live my life more fully.

I am so grateful that I have this opportunity.

Min glade materialisme

Idag har vi købt en sofa, et gulvtæppe og et lille lavt bord.

Fordi vi rent faktisk ikke har en sofa og fordi det nuværende gulvtæppe er så slidt og hullet, at jeg ville blive nødt til at trævle det op og køb en væv for at reparere det. Bordet var bare en lille ekstra ting, som jeg dog længe har ønsket fordi jeg p.t. anvender et rullebord som stuemøbel. Og rullebordet er altså savnet, der, hvor jeg flyttede det fra.

Indkøbsoplevelsen var god. Det er ikke tit, jeg kan sige sådan. Men jeg kunne mærke, at HER var en butik, hvor salgspersonalet trivedes og hvor varene blev båret på en vis kvalitetsbølge. Og. Det viste sig, at det ønskede tæppe indgår i en slags bæredygtighedsaftale ligesom det lille bord er blevet håndbygget på et traditionelt familie-ejet værksted.

Gode ting giver en god følelse og jeg er taknemmelig for, at jeg har ventet så længe med at købe ting, indtil jeg mødte de rigtige ting det rigtige sted.

ATTA DIPA VIHARATHA

Dwelling in reality, we trust ourselves and the universe.

Dharma.

Grass, trees, and walls.

This past week, I have come to realize that my intellectual, rational, rooted-in- scientific thinking self continues on insisting that "it" is right. I don't truly trust my wisdom, my intuition, I subdue and sublimate. But, at the very least, I now recognize this mechanism!


Last night, during zazen, I experienced something that "couldn't" be (or could it?). Remarking this to my teacher, he smiled and asked me if this "vision" I had seen and felt occurred at a point in time he very precisely specified. I was flabbergasted. I continued by examining other experiences of late: my immediate perception vs. how I later chose to interpret these perceptions.

My first reaction has been to deny reality its very being. Having moved about in reality, "I" melt. Returning to this realtive reality, I come back into existence. Dogen says, in Bendo wa:

Although this inconceivable dharma is abundant in each person, it is not actualized without practice, and it is not experienced without realization. When you release it, it fills your hand - how could it be limited to one or many? When you speak it, it fills your mouth - it is not bounded by length or width.
All buddhas continuously abide in it, but do not leave traces of consciousness in their illumination. Sentient beings continuously move about in it, but illumination is not manifest in their consciousness.
The concentrated endeavour of the way I am speaking of allows all things to come forth in enlightenment and practice, all-inclusiveness with detachment. Passing through the barrier and dropping off limitations, how could you be hindered by nodes in bamboo or knots in wood?
(from moon in a dewdrop, edited by Kazuaki Tanahashi)

I bring my hands together in gassho.