outer universe to inner universe

What is qi / ki?

2017-03-09T08:46:00.003-08:00

I've just finished reading this book: "The Spark In The Machine" by Dr Daniel Keown. Its a fantastic book about the connections between the science of Acupuncture and the mysteries of Western medicine. Totally recommended!

As you might imagine, in the book he talks a great deal about qi (chi, or in Japanese, ki), and I'd like to tell you something of what he says.

It seems to me the concept of qi has always been problematic in the Western world because qi actually represents a number of different concepts in Western understanding. It's been variously translated as "energy", "vitality", or "life force" as they are the closest words or phases we have to encapsulate all that qi is. I think "energy" is the closest word, so let's have a look at what kinds of energy can be included in the concept of qi.

Electrical energy

I've written about bioelectricity before. Firstly we have the nerves. All the cells in the body naturally generate a slight imbalance between negatively charged potassium ions on the inside and the positively charged sodium ions on the outside. Neurons have a much larger imbalance than others, and when the body needs to send a message from one place to another, it uses neurons to create a cascade of electrical signals to carry these electrical pulses of information. These signals are not like current in a wire because the information sent is in the form of a pulse of polarity changes called an action potential. So we have the electrical pulses of energy that travel down these pathways of connected neurons that we call nerves.

Fascia is connective tissue in the body – it's like the plastic wrapping around everything, defining the edges. Muscle fibres are encased in fascia, and the whole muscle itself is again wrapped in fascia – together they're called myofascia. At the end of the muscles, the muscle fibres peter out leaving just the fascia, which comes together to form the tendon. Ligaments are also strong cords of fascia. The organs are wrapped in a layer of fascia, and there is fascia connecting the skin and the flesh underneath. Arteries and veins are walled by fascia, it forms the lens of your eye, and bones could also be seen as crystallised fascia. Amazing!

The collagen triple helix structure

Fascia is made of collagen, which is formed of a triple helix of protein molecules. These helices spontaneously wrap around each other to form a "microfibril" and these microfibrils are laid down by the body along lines of physical (mechanical) stress. Per weight it is as strong as steel! The collagen proteins form a semi-crystalline structure, meaning it conducts electricity. Actually, it not only conducts electricity but it can generate electricity through the piezoelectric effect – the ability to generate electrical currents through deformation and pressure.

So that means that any time fascia (which, remember, is located everywhere in the body) is stretched or moved, it will generate tiny electrical charges. This is nothing to do with our nervous system, but to do with movement and mechanical stress. There is speculation that collagen will conduct electricity much better down its length than across it, meaning the microstructure may have far more order and importance than we realised (for more info read "Anatomy Trains" by Tom Myers). Woven into the fabric of our body is an electrically conducting and generating lattice - amazing!

The contact surfaces between different fascial planes (for example, the fascial wrapping around a muscle and the fascial wrapping around the organ it's next to) offer routes of "least resistance" for the transmission of these electrical currents. These routes are thought to form the basis for the Chinese energy channels.

In the book, Daniel Keown calls all this electrical information "ElecQicity" – the electrical component of qi.

Chemical energy

We take in oxygen through our breathing, and that gets attached to haemoglobin in the lungs and transported around the body in the blood. We also take in food which gets broken down in our gut into a number of chemicals including glucose. Cell respiration is a series of reactions in which glucose is oxidised to form carbon dioxide. The energy released in this reaction is used to make ATP (adenosine triphosphate) and when ATP is broken down in the cell, the energy released is used for processes such as DNA replication and muscle contraction.

The blood also carries hormones, which are body-wide chemical signallers. This information is also a form of qi energy.

In the Chinese system, the Kidneys are associated with the psycho-emotional state of fear. Attached to the kidneys are the adrenal glands which produce adrenaline and cortisol (amongst a few other things). When we sense danger, the adrenals kick in and the resulting hormonal release signals the heart rate and blood pressure to increase, the air passages of the lungs to expand, dilate the pupils, etc. The result is we feel scared or fearful.

In the Chinese system the Liver is associated with anger (i.e. feeling "livid"). The liver is primary organ for breaking down histamine, and histamine is the hormone of irritation. Of its many functions, one is to make the body irritable to infections, and we all know its effects when we have an allergic reaction. If the liver isn't working properly, we get a build up of histamine, and since frustration is the precursor to anger, we can see how the liver and anger are connected.

The Chinese system sees the Spleen as being associated with worry and with dwelling on things and ruminating. One of the hormones that is widely seen as being responsible for maintaining mood balance is serotonin (the so-called "feel good" hormone), and there's a link between a lack of serotonin and depression. And of course, dwelling or ruminating on thoughts is part of how depression works. In the body, 90% of the serotonin floating around is found in the gut (with the rest of it being in the brain). Of the serotonin found in the blood, 99% of it is in the platelets (involved in making blood clots), and one of the main functions of the spleen is to store (and destroy old) platelets. So if the spleen isn't functioning well then our serotonin levels are adversely affected and we may end up ruminating on things and feeling worried or anxious.

"The spleen and pancreas are so closely linked that they could be considered one organ" so Daniel Keown says (p188). There's strong evidence that these two organs share a common evolutionary origin, blood supply, and fascial connections. He goes so far as to suggest we rename the two together the Spancreas! The pancreas has two functions – one to provide enzymes for digestion, and the other to produce the hormone insulin to regulate the metabolism of carbohydrates (sugars), fats and proteins. One of the most important hormones for regulating the release of insulin is... seratonin!

Mental energy Intention/will

What is intention and action if not a coordinated direction of energy towards achieving a particular result? I would hazard a guess that human intention has at some level shaped everything you can see around you now – it's a very powerful form of qi.

Interestingly, the kidneys are also associated with will-power in the Chinese system. Most dopamine in the body is made (and found) in the adrenal glands, and we know that dopamine is very associated with risk-taking, reward, will and drive.

When we set our mind to it, we can coordinate all our various resources and direct them to great effect. Researcher Dan Siegel defines the mind as: "an embodied and relational process that regulates the flow of energy and information." But we have to remember the mind isn't the brain. In the Chinese system the brain plays a minor role in the whole system, being described in some sources as a "special form of bone marrow"! Actually, the point where the brain ends and the body begins is not easily definable. The brain, spinal cord and peripheral nerves are like one, but these peripheral nerves also blend with the organs. And whilst the nerves tell the organs what to do, the organs produce hormones that equally affect the nerves.

The mind is truly "an embodied and relational process" – it's in the body and it's all about relationships and connections.

Organisational energy

The last form of qi I wanted to discuss I'm going to call organisational qi. It's the energy arising from evolution – how the body organises itself to form and grow as an embryo to baby; and how the body later organises repairs and fights of diseases.

Keown talks about this at length in the "Spark In The Machine" book. Some parts of the body are more complex than others, so you could say concentrations of organisational qi exist in different places. For example in the face there are many contours, sensitive muscles, and the eyes. The fingers and toes too represent transition points. It's no coincidence that all these areas are connected with the beginning or ends of the energy channels. When we injure ourselves, then a concentration of qi forms around the injury in the form of white blood cells and other repair cells.

One of Keown's definitions of qi is "intelligent metabolism" – an organised and directed movement of many forms of energy throughout the body.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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A person of great strength does not lift his legs

2017-01-27T02:35:00.002-08:00

Zen Master Shogen said "A person of great strength does not lift his legs."

The first time I read this I thought it said "does not lift his leg" – well of course! How uncouth, lifting your leg like a dog...

Needless to say, this koan is not talking about peeing on a passing tree trunk. And it goes on to say "and it is not his tongue he speaks with." So what's all this about?

A person of "great strength" is another way of referring to someone who is awake to themselves, who knows their fundamental nature. "Great" here means something like expansive or encompassing. So an enlightened person does not lift their legs, or use their tongue. Does that mean they just sit still, dumb as a stone?

Here's another koan that points in the same direction (and useful for this time of year):

One day a monk asked Zen Master Tozan, "How can we avoid hot and cold?" Tozan said, "Why don't you go somewhere that is neither hot nor cold?"

In this case, the monk then got a chance to ask what he meant.

The monk asked, "Where is a place that is neither hot nor cold?" Tozan replied, "When it is cold, be completely cold; when it is hot, be completely hot."

If we're cold, most of us spend a lot of effort wishing we weren't. "I hate this feeling", "I wish I was indoors", "why can't the turn the heating up?" "I wish I'd worn my thick gloves", etc. The same thing goes when we're really hot. "I'm so hot I can't stand it", "if there was a freezer here I'd get in it", etc.

But if we can simply be cold when we're cold, as Tozan suggests, then there's no problem. There's only a problem is we want things to be different to how they are. Daizan's teacher, Shinzan Roshi, likes to use the term "nari kiru". "Nari" means to become, and "kiru" means cut off – together it means to 100% become one with how things are and to cut off all other wishes or wants. So when we're cold, we nari kiru being cold – then in that moment there is no cold or hot, we simply are, and all concepts of this or that go out the window.

Shogen said "an enlightened person does not lift their legs". Just like being cold, when we 100% nari kiru lifting out legs (say when we're walking), then the concepts of lifting or lowering again disappear. We are just walking.

So the next time you're walking, or indeed speaking, try not lifting your legs or using your tongue...

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Painful shoulder

2017-01-20T06:55:00.000-08:00

When I woke up on Sunday morning, my right shoulder felt stiff. By lunchtime it was painful, and by the evening it was excruciating. On Tuesday the pain hadn't gone so I went to see the doctor – she said I should rest until it calmed down. On Wednesday morning it was even worse and on a recommendation from a friend, I booked to see a private physio. He said the muscles in my shoulder had gone into spasm – possibly as a reaction to the way I sit in front of my computer. He massaged the painful area which seemed to calm things down, then taped my shoulder back as a way of reminding me to hold a good posture. Today is Friday and it seems to be feeling better. More of a dull throbbing ache now.

It's amazing how something like this can bring up so much stuff! At first I was trying to work out what I did to tip the balance and make my shoulder start shouting at me. The fact that I couldn't pin it down to something specific was frustrating. Then there was the pain itself. As I've found before with pain, the more I resisted it, the more my body tightened and the worse it got! The key with pain is to do everything you can to soften around it – physically and mentally. But in those waves of excruciating sensation, it took all my concentration to stay with it. The problem with this kind of focus is that it's very narrowing. Like having blinkers on, I found it difficult to be aware of my surroundings or even hold a conversation when my focus was so tight. Pain sharpens and narrows our awareness, which is why softness and relaxation is so important.

When I heard from the doctor that it might take some time to calm down and I should just let it take its course, again up came the frustration, but also fear – what if it takes months? Can I take this kind of pain for months? What if it never heals? How can I continue working and teaching...? This is called "catastrophising", and as humans, we're very good at it!

When I saw the physio and he told me he thought it might've been brought on by poor posture... to that I reacted in indignation! "But I've done a lot over the years to make sure my posture is good... I practice yoga, I have a desk that raises up to standing height, I've been doing Rolfing over the last few months specifically to work on my postural integration, and I thought I sit at my computer with a good posture... How dare he suggest that?!" (that was just my thoughts – I didn't actually say that!).

He had this poster up on his wall (as pictured – Spinal Damage at 0 mph), and of course he's totally right. Even with the best will in the world, we all get caught out. Desks and computers are a major health risk! Hours sitting still with a bad posture puts huge strains on the body. The body was not designed to work at a desk.

Each week I volunteer with the Kings College Hospital Chaplaincy team to go in and visit people on the wards. One of the wards I go to regularly is a blood cancer ward, and now and then I meet someone who relates their story of how they first got their diagnosis. Maybe they'd had flu and got a blood test, or maybe got a test for something unrelated, and boom, it comes back saying they've got leukaemia (or similar). What I've experienced this week is so minor compared to that, but it does make me realise just how grateful I am for what I have.

In health we often go along thinking we'll be fine for ever. We forget life is so fragile. None of us are immune to pain – not even a yoga teacher that tries to take care of his body!

The Buddha described those of us that hold on to particular views, ideas, beliefs, wishes, etc, as stuck wheels (dukkha). You know, like when the brakes on your bike are done up too tight and they stick on the rims... Moving forward takes a lot of effort and we suffer. The trick is to let go and soften, and not just to know but to live the truth that everything is always in a state of change (anitya).

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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The pelvic floor in detail

2016-12-16T10:06:00.002-08:00

In this article I'm going to turn my attention to an area of the body I've been trying to develop more of an awareness of for quite some years – the pelvic floor (which I have written about before).

The pelvic floor is a multi-layered sheet of muscle and fascia that functions like a hammock at the bottom of your torso. The weight of your organs rest on it and in doing so it helps to maintain optimal intra-abdominal pressure. The muscles work to help maintain continence, and stabilise the hips and the whole spine-leg connection. Once it would've also lifted and wagged your tail! It's also the location of your muladhara chakra.

Over the last year I've been reading and digesting the book "Pelvic Power" by Eric Franklin. It's a very good little book. Franklin specialises in using visualisation to help your awareness and functional coordination of your body, which is great and makes it kinda fun! But as far as I can work out there are a couple of mistakes in his diagrams and I've been left feeling a little confused as to exactly what's what.

No surprise really since the pelvic floor is actually a very complex area!

Bones

Let's start with the bones to get our bearings. Here's an image of your pelvis from the front. If you can feel your hips sticking just underneath your waist, they're your Iliac Crests. The two protrusions sticking down underneath your bum are your Ischial Tuberosities (commonly known as your sitting bones). The two halves of your Ilium come together at the front at the Pubic Symphysis – commonly known as your pubic bone.

Credit: Pearson Education, Inc (2015)

That seems relatively straightforward...

Take a moment to identify the four "corners" of your pelvic floor with your fingers: your pubic bone at the front and your tail bone (coccyx) at the back, and the two sitting bones (ischial tuberosities) underneath. Actually touching these points really helps in getting a sense of where we're at in the body.

Muscles

From now on we have to be careful as there are some differences between the male and female anatomy. I think this is what has confused me for so long, as the books and sources I've read often show what it's like for a woman and don't say how it's different for a man...

(1) The deep layer

So let's start by looking down on the pelvic floor (as per this beautiful image of the female anatomy from BandhaYoga.com). There are three main muscles here: the pubococcygeus and the iliococcygeus (which, together with the puborectalis are collectively called the levator ani – literally "anus-lifter") and the coccygeus.

Credit: BandhaYoga.com

The Pubococcygeus forms the the top layer and connects front to back – tail to pubic bone. To engage this one, visualise drawing your coccyx and pubic bones towards each other. You might even feel some movement in your coccyx as you do this (you're wagging your tail!).

In men, contracting the Pubococcygeus muscle (and/or the abdominal muscles) can voluntarily engage the Cremaster muscle to lift the testicles. Normally the Cremaster is under involuntary control.

The Iliococcygeus and Coccygeus sit underneath and connect the tail bone to the sides of the ilium (a touch back from the pubic bone). The fibres of these muscles form a triangle (or fan) with the apex at the tail bone.

The levator ani muscles can be thought of as a fan radiating out from the coccyx. Engaging and releasing these muscles shorten or lengthen the distance between the hips and the coccyx (putting your tail between your legs). Credit: Eric Franklin

The puborectalis forms a sling around the rectum helping you hold things in when you need to... Squatting when you poo helps relax this muscle and eases the exit channel.

(2) The mid layer

Moving outwards, the next layer is the Urogenital Diaphragm. This is composed of the Deep Transverse Perineal muscle and the Urethral Sphincter (a ring muscle around the urethra – what you wee through).

The word perineum usually refers to the part of the pelvic floor between the anus and vagina/scrotum. The deep transverse perineal muscle sits under the levator ani muscle group and connects side-to-side (sitting bone to sitting bone). It's function is to help support the perineal body (central tendon running north-south along the perineum), the expulsion of semen in males, and squeezing the last drops of urine out for both sexes. To engage it, visualise pulling your sitting bones towards each other. This might take a bit of practice (you can tell when someone is trying by the look on their face...)

This image shows this mid-layer for both the male and female anatomy and how they correspond.

Credit: Antranik

(3) The superficial layer

For this layer it's helpful to look from underneath. As I'm sure you realise, the pelvic diaphragm has a number of holes in it... At the back we have the anus (surrounded by the deep levator ani muscles). At the front we have the urethra (and vagina for women) surrounded by the ischiocavernosus and bulbospongiosus muscles. In men, the bulbospongiosus surrounds the base of the penis and is the big spongy muscle you can feel running front-to-back along your undercarriage. It helps hold an erection and also helps ejaculation. In women, it contributes to clitoral erection, and closes the vagina. For both sexes it contributes to the contractions of orgasm, and also squeezing those last drops of urine out.

Credit: Wikimedia Commons

There's also the Superficial Transverse Perineal muscles which are narrow muscular strips connecting sitting bone to the central tendon on either side. In some people they may be absent or connect slightly differently.

Here's another diagram from Fraklin's book showing the geometry of these muscles on the bottom surface of your pelvic floor (note: diagram is of a female anatomy). There's the triangle at the front formed of the Ischiocavernosus and Transverse Perineal muscles, then the figure of 8 formed by the Bulbospongiosus and anal sphincter. With these shapes, Franklin does a good job in simplifying things to help you work out what's what.

Credit: Eric Franklin

I'd like to finish by noting that these layers of muscle are (of course) all wrapped in fascia, forming the whole connected integrated (and complicated) pelvic diaphragm.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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The Buddha's enlightenment

2016-12-08T10:02:00.002-08:00

I'd like to tell you a story. Are you sitting comfortably?

Axial age

It's around 500 B.C.E.. The Persian king Cyrus was preparing to invade Babylon. Pythagoras was alive and Greece’s experiment with democracy was flourishing. The great philosopher Confucius (Kong Qui) was beginning to teach in China and Lao-tzu was laying the foundations for Taoism. Zoroaster founded Zoroastrianism, the dominant religion in Iran up until the coming of Islam. It was a time of revolutionary change the world over – some historians call it the "axial age".

In India, the dominant religion was the Vedic faith, which had been around for a good 1000 years at this point. The Vedas are texts that lay out descriptions of particular rituals (and their associated poems, hymns, etc) for things like fertility, rain, bringing good luck in battle, etc. Over these 1000 years, the highest caste Brahmin priests had assumed more and more power since they were the only ones allowed to perform these rituals and communicate with the Gods. As you can imagine not everybody was happy with this situation...

At around this time a kind of protest movement, or peaceful revolt, to this Brahmin domination started. People from the lower castes, typically the warrior/ruler Kshatriya caste, started renouncing the Brahmin-controlled system and going out into the forest-wilderness to search for another way.

Siddhartha Guatama

At this same time, a boy was born on the very edges of the Vedic/Brahman culture, in Lumbini on what is now the border between India and Nepal – in the foothills of the Himalayas. The little boy, who was called Siddhartha Guatama, was born to the Shakya family clan, and his father happened to be the tribal leader of this small kingdom.

When the baby was born he was taken to the fortune teller (as is the custom in India to this day) and they gave two possible destinies: (1) he was going to be a great, wise and wonderful ruler, or (2) he was going to be a great, wise and wonderful spiritual leader. His father, being a ruler himself, didn’t really like the sound of the second option, so the boy was brought up to be a ruler. He was also brought up in complete luxury with his family not wanting to expose him to any kind of suffering at all. He had a palace for each season, only good-looking, courteous people to wait on him, and as he got older, no end of dancing girls!

One day in his 20s, as he was preparing to take over the rulership of the kingdom, he went out with his chariot driver, Channa, for a drive to have a look around. As they were heading down the road they encountered a sick person hobbling by. The young Siddhartha had never actually seen anybody who was ill before – the old texts says he didn’t even recognise the person as human. “What’s that?” he says, and the chariot driver explained to him. A little further on he saw an old person, slumped over, and again he came to the realisation, through the gentle guidance of Channa, that everybody (including himself) was going to get old. Further down the line still they saw a dead person carried along in a funeral procession. Again the prince was dumbfounded and realised that not only will he get ill and get old, but he will also die.

Siddhartha out with his charioteer having his mind blown!

As you can imagine, he was in shock! Further down the road still he and his chariot driver saw a wandering holy man (a sadhu), and the chariot driver explained that this person was seeking for that which was beyond old age, sickness and death. This very much intrigued Siddhartha.

So the young man had a chat with his wife (who'd just recently given birth) and he somehow convinced her that he wanted to go off to search for himself for "that which was beyond old age, sickness and death". He slipped out of the palace with Channa, his charioteer, in the middle of the night and disappeared into the forest. He was about 29 at this point.

His search

I can't imagine what those first few nights must have been like. He'd grown up in this sheltered life of luxury – what a contrast! However, bearing in mind the age he was living in, there was a whole movement of people in the forests of northern India searching for new ways outside the established Vedic/Brahmin tradition. Over the coming months or years he found a number of different teachers (possibly yogis) to study with, and became very skilled at what they had to offer, but none of them could show him that which was beyond old age, sickness, and death.

After about 6 years of wandering and studying, he got really into fasting and reached a stage of eating just one grain of rice a day... He was on the verge of starvation and saw that, far from seeing clearly, his mind was getting duller by the day. It just so happened that one day a maid named Sujata was wandering by, and, looking at his emaciated body, offered him a bowl of milk rice sweetened with lumps of honey. He accepted it.


A very early statue of an emaciated Buddha-to-be

He started eating properly again an getting his strength back. One day he was sitting by the river Neranjara in northern India and sees a boat going past. Perhaps it was a vision or perhaps real life. On the boat there was somebody playing a veena (a type of Indian guitar). This veena had three strings, one of which is so loose and flappy that he can’t get any sound out of it, and one of which is so tight that the instant he touches it, it just breaks. The middle that’s tuned just right where he can get some music out of it. Seeing this, Siddhartha saw that humans are the same: they don’t work well if you over-tighten things (like doing ascetic practices), and too much slackness doesn’t work either (his life of luxury in the palace). He became convinced that the middle path was the way to go.

So with this in mind, Siddhartha went and sat beneath an enormous fig tree (of the type that has a big root structure with little niches to sit between) and began to meditate. He made a commitment: "Let my skin and sinews and bones dry up, together with all the flesh and blood of my body! I welcome it! But I will not move from this spot until I have attained the supreme and final wisdom." He was at a place called Bodh Gaya, in the modern Indian state of Bihar, and was in his mid-30s at this point.

A Bodhi tree with a big root structure ideal for meditating inside.

Awakening

According to some traditions he sat for just one night. Others say three days and three nights; while others say 45 days. Between his periods of sitting, he apparently mindfully paced up and down a path about 17 steps in length in walking meditation.

After one particularly eventful night of meditation, so it is said, Siddhartha looked up and saw the morning star (Venus) in the golden light of daybreak. At this he had a great awakening and exclaimed "I am enlightened, together with the whole of the great earth and all its sentient beings." He saw in his mind all the life of the world and the planets; of all the past and all the future. He understood the meaning of existence, of why we are here on this earth and what has created us. At long last he found the truth – that which is beyond old age, sickness, and death. The name Buddha means “the awakened one.”

But what is this truth? If you want to know that for yourself, come along to one of our Zen meditation sessions!

Different schools of Buddhism remember the Buddha's awakening at different times during the year. In the Zen school it’s always on December 8th and they call it the Rohatsu retreat – it’s akin to a sort of Zen Christmas! So last night (7th Dec) we sat all through the night (9pm through to 7am) to remember this journey the Buddha took, and to share in his commitment to "not move from this spot until I have attained the supreme and final wisdom".

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Having a conversation with my deep tissue

2016-12-01T03:24:00.000-08:00

Over the last few months I've been going to a guy called Giovanni Felicioni to be Rolfed. Rolfing Structural Integration originates from an American Woman called Ida Rolf who died in 1979, and is all about integrating human structure and function in the field of gravity. This is done through working on the level of connective tissue (fascia) with touch and manipulation and through educating the person in their body use and sensory perceptiveness. It's fantastic!

Although the touch can often be very strong (elbow deep into the side of my thigh, for example), the work is surprisingly subtle. His fingers are doing something on my back, but it's not massage... Massage is about relaxing muscles and that I can understand. But with Rolfing, my mind is often filled with the question "what is he doing?" He also asks me questions, and they also often leave my thinking-mind reeling. Like a Zen koan, they can't be answered by thinking about it, but only through feeling. While my rational mind is dazed and confused (and a bit put out that it's so useless), my intuitive mind is right on it. I often cannot put an answer into words so I say "I don't know" and Giovanni replies saying "don't know is a great place to be! It's a place of potential, of exploration."

I've come to see Giovanni's touch more like communication than massage. He's having a conversation with my body (through the fascia and tissues). What my rational mind can't work out is the language of the conversation – that's why it feels so put out! Besides the more direct work on releasing the unblocking the fascia in certain parts of my body, he's also helping my system to make new connections and relationships. Part of the conversation he's having with my body (I think) is about saying things like "hey, what about making friends with this part over here?"

I said to Giovanni at our last session that I understood our work to be on the level of connecting body and mind. He thought that was too simplistic! He thought it better to think of the work on four dimensions not two:

Physical tissues

This would be the muscles, fascia and bones that make up your body. The physical stuff.

Mind that makes sense of things

This is the part of the mind that likes to make sense of things, make storylines, and interpret what's going on. For example, "my pelvis has an anterior tilt (bum sticks out) because my hip flexors are tight and my sacrum isn't free to move easily", or "I round my shoulders forwards because I feel timid", etc.

Coordinative function

So we've got the physical stuff of our body, but when we bring that into movement that's a whole different story. How we coordinate our movements and actions are a function of things like who we learnt from, our environment, our habits, past injuries or traumas, etc.

Perceptions

This would be on the level of the way you perceive yourself, or how you'd like to be perceived in the world. For example "I'm a hurt person", "I'm a big tough guy", "I want to stand up straighter", "I want to be more confident", etc. These are the intentions or resolutions that we make that influence how we coordinate the physical tissues and how we make sense of all that.

I feel like I'm just starting on this Rolfing journey. It's a whole different wisdom which isn't yoga, but is. Ida Rolf studied yoga in her early life and yoga was a major factor in her understanding of the human system. Giovanni also teaches yoga based in the Scaravelli method.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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From a clockwork universe to the uncertainty of quantum mechanics

2016-10-06T08:14:00.000-07:00

Before the turn of the 20th century, most people (physicists included) thought the universe ran like a clockwork machine. If you could measure the properties of the universe accurately enough, you could predict how it was to behave in the future. It was, in other words, "deterministic". Much of this was down to the ideas of Newton.

Newtonian mechanics

It's probably fair to say that no single individual has had a greater influence on the scientific view of the world than Sir Isaac Newton. He was a genius (a god in the physics world!), but like all genii he lived in his particular era of history. In 1543, a century before Newton's birth, Nicolaus Copernicus launched a scientific revolution by rejecting the prevailing Earth-centred view of the Universe in favour of a heliocentric view in which the Earth moved round the Sun. Galileo was summoned to appear before the Inquisition in 1633 charged with heresy for supporting Copernicus' ideas. As a result Galileo was "shown the instruments of torture".

Newton's great achievement was to provide a synthesis of scientific knowledge to explain why the planets went round the sun (among other things). He discovered a convincing quantitative framework that seemed to underlie everything else – he proposed his law of gravity. By combining this law with his general laws of motion, Newton was able to demonstrate mathematically that a single planet would move around the Sun in an elliptical orbit. For the first time, scientists felt they understood the fundamentals, and it seemed that future advances would merely fill in the details of Newton's grand vision.

An orrery – a mechanical clockwork model of the motions of the planets in the solar system

Newton's discoveries became the basis for much more study, and the upshot of this was a mechanical world-view that regarded the Universe as something that unfolded like clockwork – predictable and mechanistic. People thought that once this mechanism had been set in motion, its future development was, in principle, entirely predictable. Hence the Universe was thought to be "deterministic", and physicists felt very safe with this idea.

This mechanistic view still prevailed two centuries later (up to the end of the 19th century) as scientists continued to stand on Newton's large shoulders and think they just had to "fill in the details". For example, a stormy sea may look random and unpredictable, but this is just a consequence of its complexity and the huge number of water molecules involved. In the mechanistic view, if you had a big enough computer and accurate knowledge of the starting conditions, such a system would be entirely predictable.

Cracks in the clockwork

However, some cracks in Newtons clockwork mechanism were starting to appear. In the late 19th century, a number of discoveries happened that just couldn't be explained by the old model – including the discovery of the photoelectric effect by Heinrich Hertz (1887) and of the electron by J. J. Thomson (1897) and the fact that electric charge occurs in indivisible units called quanta (Millikan, 1909).

Along came Einstein in the early 20th century. He put forward new theories of gravity and energy (he won the Nobel Prize in 1921 for his explanation of Hertz's photoelectric effect). In 1913, Nils Bohr explained the discrete spectral emission lines of the hydrogen atom, again by using the idea of quantization and what later came to be known as "photons" (1926). The "quantum revolution" had begun!

Over the last 75 years or so, quantum mechanics has brought a profound change in human thinking, particularly around the notion of "indeterminism".

The quantum revolution

Quantum physics is concerned primarily with things at the microscopic scale such as atoms and molecules, and how they move and interact. In the quantum world we find a very serious kind of unpredictability that cannot be blamed on our ignorance of the details or our lack of computation clout. Instead it turns out to be a fundamental feature of nature. In the realm of atoms, all we can do is calculate probabilities for different outcomes – and we can never, even in principle, do any better.

A 3D quantum view of an atom formed of protons and neutrons in the nucleus, surrounded by electrons. Electrons aren't really in orbits, but more in fuzzy "probability zones" that look like shells and lobes.

One example is the radioactive decay of an atomic nucleus. Unstable nuclei (e.g. uranium-238) will "spontaneously" decay into a more stable form by emitting a particle. Quantum mechanics allows us to predict with high accuracy the time after which half of a collection of unstable nuclei will have decayed (the half-life), but not when one particular nucleus will have decayed.

Strange behaviour

The problem is things at the quantum level just don't behave like things on a macroscopic level. One of the inherent differences is that single particles (like an electron) sometimes behave as if they're solid "particles" and sometimes behave as if they are waves. This paradoxical behaviour has been known since Thomas Young's double-slit experiment way back in 1805. The fact is they're both, and neither. The concept of a solid particle (like a snooker ball) is inadequate, and the idea of a wave (like a water wave) is also inadequate. What we call particles (like an electron) are really more like packets of wave-like energy and they just appear to behave differently in different circumstances.

We're taught at school that an atom is composed of a small, positively charged nucleus surrounded by electrons that travel in circular orbits around the nucleus (similar in structure to the solar system). This model was introduced by Niels Bohr and Ernest Rutherford in 1913. It's a helpful way of thinking of things, but not entirely correct. The electrons are not balls whizzing around in an orbit. All we can say is that there's a certain region within which we're most likely to find the electron wave-packet when we look.

in 1927, Werner Heisenberg discovered what he called the "uncertainty principle". It says that one can never know at the same time the precise location and velocity of a "particle". The better you know one, the less certain you can be about the other. It's a consequence of their very nature.

Uncertainty

After hundreds of years of thinking of the Universe mechanistically, this old mindset has filtered down into society as a whole. We all, to some degree, view the world as acting like clockwork. If I do this, that happens; cause produces effect – it's safe, secure, predictable and dependable.

But reality isn't like that. Uncertainty and probability are built in.

Uncertainty, fuzziness, indeterminacy are wonderful things! In his essay on the "Seven Radical Principles of Wise Decision Making", Martin Boronson comments that it's because we deeply despise uncertainty that we value decisiveness so much. However it's in holding that uncertainty that and being ok with it that creativity can happen. "New ideas only emerge if we can sustain the tension and anxiety [of the uncertainty] and wait."

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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We're all made from stardust

2016-09-23T05:52:00.000-07:00

We're all made from the same 96 elements (like carbon, nitrogen, etc). Actually humans are only made up of about 11 of those 96, but they're the same 11 as are found throughout the Universe. It's all the same stuff!

Have you ever thought about where all these elements come from? Maybe not! The answer is they all come from space, either being formed right back at the very beginning of the Universe or in stars that have born and died through the aeons. Quite literally we're all made from stardust.

I feel some astronomy coming on...

The entire Universe is one

To all intents and purposes, the theory and our latest observations agree that the beginning of the Universe started with a Big Bang. At the point of the big bang, everything was compressed into a single point of infinite density and infinite heat (which is really just energy). Everything in the entire Universe was once compressed together into a single point. Isn't that amazing – science shows we are all one.

As you might imagine, the explosion that followed was immense. The physics implies that the Universe underwent an incredible period of what's known as "inflation", where it increased in size by an enormous amount in a very very short time.

As the Universe then continued to expand and cool after this rapid inflation, the pure energy began to condense out into subatomic particles. In 1905, Einstein published his theory of special relativity, stating that energy is equivalent to mass (multiplied by the speed of light). Energy is equivalent to mass – it's another incredible concept! Essentially, mass (basically all "things") is just condensed, solidified energy. It blows my mind every time I think of it!

The Big Bang element factory

So as the Universe was cooling from it's infinitely high temperature, pure energy started solidifying into particles – first into things like quarks and other exotically named particles, then into more common or garden protons and neutrons, etc. At these high temperatures, a series of reactions started to convert single protons into atoms of hydrogen (two protons together) and helium (four protons and some neutrons), and a small fraction of lithium and beryllium. At the end of this cooling off period, the Universe contained about 75% hydrogen and about 24.99% helium.

So we've now got 4 of our elements (albeit not much of the other two). The big bang couldn't produce any elements heavier than beryllium due to a bottleneck in the reaction (as it happens, the absence of a stable nucleus with 8 or 5 nucleons).

The stellar element factory

Now we need to fast-forward about 200 million years to when the first stars formed. (This is a mere blink of the eye for the Universe, bearing in mind it is currently 13.5 billion years old.) So these large clouds of hydrogen and helium were floating around, getting bigger because gravity was pulling in more material, and gently cooling. Eventually, one clump somewhere deep inside one of these clouds got big enough to start collapsing in on itself. One of the things about gravitational collapse is that it really starts to heat things up. Right in the middle it got hot enough to start a totally new type of reaction – that of compressing 4 hydrogen atoms together to form helium. Stellar nuclear fusion was born and indeed the first star was born.

Stars can be thought of as giant furnaces that convert lighter elements to heavier elements and in the process release energy that radiates out (some of which we see). The reaction bottleneck that the plain Universe got stuck on was overcome in this fusion reaction.

Stars spend the majority of their life converting hydrogen into helium because it's extremely efficient, and there's so much hydrogen (even in a star like our own Sun) that this reaction can continue for billions of years. There are two main fusion reactions that are important inside of stars. For stars of small-medium size with (comparatively) low core temperatures, a reaction known as the p-p chain dominates. For medium-big starts with much higher core temperatures, a process known as the CNO cycle (standing for carbon-nitrogen-oxygen) dominates.

Both the p-p chain and the CNO cycle have the same effect though. Four protons are combined to form a helium atom, liberating energy (and a few other bits). The difference is that the CNO cycle requires the presence of carbon, nitrogen and oxygen to act as catalysts, thus producing energy more efficiently than in the p-p chain.

So where does this carbon, nitrogen and oxygen come from if all stars do is convert hydrogen into helium? Some of it is produced very near the end of a small-medium size star's life. The majority, however, is formed in a supernova.

The supernova element factory

A nova is a burst or explosion in a star. Some stars undergo regular nova outbursts. A supernova, as you might imagine, is a much bigger version of a nova, and it tends to be catastrophic. There are two main types of supernovae. The first happens when there are two stars in orbit around one another, and the more massive star is sucking material from the smaller one. At some point so much material accumulates on the bigger star that it can't cope with the pressure (literally) and it implodes. The second type concerns very massive single stars (typically bigger than around 8 times the mass of our Sun). These massive stars consume their hydrogen fuel fast. At the end of their lives, as the fuel runs out, the outward force holding the star up fades and again the star implodes. A supernova happens when the imploding material rebounds to produce one of the Universe's most energetic explosions.

Binary star where one star is sucking material from the other

It's in this second type of (so-called "core collapse") supernova that many of the heavier elements we know and love are formed. In fact all the elements from carbon up to and including iron are produced in supernovae through various processes. For example, large amounts of radioactive (and therefore unstable) nickel can be produced, which would quickly decay into stable iron.

The periodic table indicating the main origin of elements found on Earth (source).

For the elements heavier than iron another process is needed, and this is called r-process neutron capture (r for rapid). This can only work in the super-high density and high temperature conditions of a supernova. Lighter elements rapidly accumulate neutrons to create particular very heavy isotopes, which then decay to the first stable isotope. All the "heavy" elements from iron up to about plutonium are made this way.

The remnant of a core-collapse supernova explosion

When the supernova explodes, it blasts all this enriched material out into its environment. It stirs up the gas and mixes everything together. This is another reason why supernovae are so important – they get the newly enriched material back out into space.

Generations of stars forming and exploding

So let's say you have a big gas cloud that initially forms a few million stars. After some time a few of the big ones will go supernova. Leave it another few million years and some of that expelled gas will come together again and form a new generation of stars enriched by the previous generation of supernovae. After a few times through the cycle you collect up enough material to start forming rocky planets – and eventually (maybe) life.

Our Sun is thought to be a 3rd-generation star and has been shining for about 5 billion years.

Look around you right now. Everything you see is made of material that was forged in the furnace of past stars and supernovae. And who's to say that all this stuff may be swept up in some future event and incorporated in a new star and planet system...

As the Buddha said, all things are subject to change, even if it takes millions of years.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Mindfulness and family

2016-09-02T11:31:00.000-07:00

The Buddha talked about four stages of enlightenment. The first he called "stream enterer", describing someone who sees through the delusion of self and no longer sees themselves as being separate from the rest of the Universe. In Zen you "enter the stream" when you have your first kensho – when you see your true nature.

Push-pull factors, desire & aversion

The next two stages describe someone who has greatly reduced and then completely eradicated those things that act as push-pull factors in our lives (i.e. things that we're attracted to and averse to, wanting things to go "our way") and any feelings of ill will (including hate and anger). The final stage is to see through all delusions and attain the highest enlightenment.

So in this description, someone could've entered the stream (seen through the illusion of our self being a separate entity that needs constant protection), without dealing with any of those other things related to sensual desire and aversion. Basically that person could still be a pretty horrible person! It's rare, but it could happen.

At this point it's important to point out that being free from those push-pull, desire factors doesn't mean we stop liking or disliking things – we still, for example, like hot sunny days and dislike cold wet days. But the difference is we're totally ok when it's cold and wet. It's no problem.

Seeing our true nature and entering the stream is not that hard to do. In Zenways we run 3-day retreats aimed at precisely this. But reducing and eventually eradicating our desires and aversions – well, that's something else entirely! This is the part I want to focus on here. Whether or not you've reached that first stage it's so important, and in my understanding has a lot to do with mindfulness.

Spending time with family

I've just spent almost two weeks with my mum – probably the longest continuous time I've spent with her for years! She's been living in Stockholm for more than 10 years and this year she decided she wanted to move back. The move date was last weekend. I went over and spent a few days with her in Stockholm helping her prepare things, then we spent 3 days on the road driving back with her cats, then I spent a few more days with her in her new house in England.

On the road with mum's cats

Because she's disabled there are some things she can do fine, other things she can do, but not quite as you would, and other things she just can't do. Maybe everyone is actually like this. The trick is to let her do what she can do, be ok with the things she does not quite as you would, and jump in with the things she can't do.

As we arrived at her new place in England, I felt a rising sense of wanting to do more to help her. Lots needed to be done that she simply couldn't do. This feeling kept rising and actually felt like it accelerated as the days went by. It got to the point where I realised I wasn't doing some of the things I enjoy doing because I perceived her need as being greater. Of course that was just my perception – a delusion. It had nothing to do with her. I was being sucked in to the drama of the situation to the detriment of my internal balance.

As I'm sure you know, family members have a particular ability to press your buttons like no-one else can! They wind you up! By definition that phrase means the effect is cumulative. Lots of little things that slightly annoy you or frustrate you literally wind you up until you blow up over something quite trivial.

In both these situations, mindfulness is absolutely key.

Mindfulness

If we can be aware of each little thing that annoys you as it arises then in each situation we can make a choice – to acknowledge and allow that thing without judgement, simply letting it go, or you express the emotion(s) that arise because of it. If we do this truly and honestly then we don't hold onto anything and there's no cumulative build up.

Of course discerning if it's appropriate to express your feelings in that moment or whether to hold your tongue and mention it later also requires mindfulness. And discerning when you're holding on/repressing an emotion because you think it's not appropriate to express it (at all/to that person) also needs mindfulness.

The original translation of the Pali word "sati" (which nowadays is translated to "mindfulness") is "recollection" or "remembering". Remembering to stay rooted in the sensations and feelings of the present moment without being carried away into worries and anxieties about some fantasised future. Remembering that you are not a separate being with a separate self that needs protecting – you are actually not separate from the other person or indeed the whole Universe. Getting annoyed and irritated at something stems from the delusion of a separate self.

Another analogy for the stages of enlightenment that Daizan often uses is that of cleaning a very dirty window. It starts off so dirty that no light can get through. As we start to practice, we start cleaning one tiny part of the window. Kensho is when that first shaft of light breaks through. The next stages represent more and more cleaning and more and more of the light coming through. It's all the same light, but there's just more of it. More of us comes into the light.

The result of all of this is that I feel my relationship with mum is much easier than it was. There's a sense of flow in the relationship and we can have fun together! I can love her more fully, and better appreciate the love between us. So it's well worth it!

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Who are you to decide?

2016-08-27T01:43:00.000-07:00

In my previous post I was talking about Peter Levine's amazing book called "In an Unspoken Voice". It summarises what Levine has found over a career of over 40 years in the field of stress and trauma. Specifically I was talking about a section of the book from near the end where he discusses emotions and embodiment.

In this post I'm going to take another aspect from this same section of the book where he talks about change, and the concept of free will.

Free will

As I mentioned in the previous post, at the turn of 19th century psychologist William James concluded that rather than acting because we feel an emotion, we feel the emotion because we are (re)acting.

In his book, Levine discusses how this realisation highlights the illusory nature of perception. He says "We commonly think that when we touch something hot, we draw our hand away because of the pain. However, the reality is that if we waited until we experienced the pain, our hand might be damaged beyond repair. First there is a reflex, then comes the sensation of pain." Makes sense when you think about it...

There have now been many experiments that show that when you "decide" to do something, seemingly of free will, the activity in the brain starts about 1/2 sec (or more even) before you’re consciously aware of making that decision (the first experiment to show this was done in 1985). The brain starts by unconsciously preparing the motor action (springing to life as it were), then the awareness of the decision to move comes, then the action is made.

“Your decisions are strongly prepared by brain activity. By the time consciousness kicks in, most of the work has already been done." – Dr. John-Dylan Haynes (a neuroscientist at the Max Planck Institute for Human Cognitive and Brain Sciences)

William James argued that a person’s passing states of consciousness create a false sense of I or "ego" that runs the show – like a little man (or alien) inside our heads controlling things!

A little man in the head controlling things. From "Men in Black"

When we look at the reality of things, we see this is simply an illusion. The idea that we have a separate self that needs nurturing and protecting is simply not true.

Premovement

Levine suggests that instead of "I think therefore I am" it should be "I prepare to move, I act, I sense, I feel, I perceive, I reflect, I think and therefore I am". (This sounds remarkably like the Buddha's 12-linked chain of causation.)

It's this unconscious preparation for action (or pre movement as he calls it) that's so interesting. Levine suggests that it's "because we are unaware of our environmentally triggered premovement that we falsely believe we are consciously initiating and constructing the movement. Furthermore, when the (unacknowledged) premovement drive is strong, we may feel compelled to fully enact the entire movement sequence." He then gives two examples:

Interrupting the premovement

The first is about his dog, who has a strong instinctual urge to chase other animals (don't they all!). He found that breaking his "habit" by reprimanding him after the chase never worked. However, "if at the very moment his posture changed as he noticed an animal up ahead (hinting at his readiness to leap forward), I would firmly but gently say "No, heel" then he would calmly continue on his walk." So he interrupted his dog in the premovement stage so the action was never carried out.

The other example is a Zen story.

A young, brash samurai swordsman confronted a venerated Zen master with the following demand: "I want you to tell me the truth about the existence of heaven and hell." The master replied gently and with delicate curiosity, "How is it that such an ugly and untalented man as you can become a samurai?" Immediately, the wrathful young samurai pulled out his sword and raised it above his head, ready to strike the old man and cut him in half. Without fear, and in complete calm, the Zen master gazed upward and spoke softly: "This is hell." The samurai paused, sword held above his head. His arms fell like leaves to his side, while his face softened from its angry glare. He quietly reflected. Placing his sword back into its sheath, he bowed to the teacher in reverence. "And this," the master replied again with equal calm, "is heaven."

Transformation

Here the Zen master showed the samurai how to become aware and restrain his rage at the peak of feeling (just as this mind and body were preparing the action), so he could transform his "hell" of rage to a "heaven" of peace.

So here is the key to transforming our habits and moving from unconscious reactions to conscious responses. Bring awareness to the stages of premovement (I prepare, I sense, I feel, I perceive, I reflect, I think) before they graduate into a full-blown movement sequence. In Buddhism they say "to cool and extinguish the glowing embers before they ignite into a consuming flame".

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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What is an emotion?

2016-08-17T08:52:00.000-07:00

I've recently finished reading a book by Peter Levine called "In An Unspoken Voice". It's a pretty amazing book – the result of a career of over 40 years in the field of stress and trauma, detailing his pioneering work into how trauma happens and the methods he's found to work with it. Coming out of these methods is the therapeutic body-awareness approach to healing trauma called Somatic Experiencing that's now available across the Western world. (If you're interested in this area, Bessel van der Kolk's "The Body Keeps The Score" is also well-worth a read.)

Towards the end of "In An Unspoken Voice", Levine touches on the subject of emotions and embodiment, and that's what I wanted to pick out to talk about in this and the next blog post.

What is an emotion?

It's simple to ask, but very tricky to answer!

If your everyday practice is open to all your emotions, to all the people you meet, to all the situations you encounter, without closing down, trusting that you can do that - then that will take you are far as you can go. And then you'll understand all the teachings that anyone has ever taught.

– Pema Chödrön

As Levine points out, Descartes claimed "I think therefore I am" and it seems many people might agree with him. With this in mind, when something provocative happens you might think that your brain recognises this provocation and produces an emotional response. Then the brain tells your body how to react in accordance with this emotion: maybe increase heart rate, breathing, tense muscles, etc. What do you think? Does this seem like the way it works in your experience?

At the turn of 19th century, experimental psychologist William James took a different approach and arrived at a different conclusion. Through introspection, he would attempt to infer the chain of events that led to an emotion being generated. Most of us might think that when we see something scary we get frightened, and then motivated by fear, we run. Through his studies, James concluded the opposite – that rather than running because we are afraid, we are afraid because we are running. We feel sad because we're crying, feel happy because we're smiling, etc. The emotion comes as a result of the (re)action.

James was remarkably ahead of his time, and the importance of his work is only just being appreciated now.

Emotion is an afterthought

Emotion doesn't originate in the brain – it's the brain's perception of the body's reaction that generates the emotion. As Levine puts it "it's almost as if the brain canvases the body to see how it's reacting in the moment" (or in reality, assesses all the information it's receiving about the sensations and state of the body) and calls that collection of sensations and actions an emotional state.

Emotions happen in the body – they are 'embodied' processes. Levine has a lot to say about embodiment – he defines it as "gaining, through the vehicle of awareness, the capacity to feel the ambient physical sensations of unfettered energy and aliveness as they pulse through our bodies." Gut feeling, precognition, and what we call intuition, then "emerges from the seamless joining of instinctual bodily reactions with thoughts, inner pictures and perceptions."

"Mu shin" calligraphy

No-mind, no emotions

This sounds remarkably Zen! In fact it sounds like the Zen idea of "no-mind" (mu-shin), which means being directly in touch with the experience of now (and acting from that place), without concepts, ideas or mental commentary getting in the way.

And as my teacher Daizan Roshi says, "when you're on the cutting edge of reality, there are no storylines or thoughts" – or indeed emotions. Emotions are simply our labels for patterns of specific thoughts, sensations, reflexes and actions. "Its only when we look back with hindsight," Daizan continues, "that we try to make sense of things and the story-lines come."

Or as Charlotte Joko Beck puts it in her book, "Behaviour is what we observe. We cannot observe experience. By the time we have an observation about an event it's past – and experience is never in the past. That's why the sutras say we can't touch it, see it, hear it, think about it – because the minute we attempt to do that, time and separation have been created. ... Who I am is simply experiencing itself, forever unknown. The moment I name it, is it gone."

When you're truly, directly experiencing that moment of feeling happy (i.e. on the cutting edge, as Daizan puts it), there are no thoughts about it. There's just... it.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Vanity in Lefkada

2016-07-28T05:46:00.000-07:00

My wife and I recently spent our honeymoon on Lefkada, a beautiful island in the Ionian chain off the west coast of Greece. Our good friend Kim Bennett runs a holiday company out there (specialising in holidays for solo travellers with optional meditation and mindfulness classes; www.serenityretreat.co.uk). She always takes the hot mid-season months off, so offered for us to come and stay for a couple of weeks in one of her apartments. The location was absolutely stunning, right on the beachside, and the weather was hot and sunny every day! Thank you so much Kim for inviting us!

Now I'm not used to walking around in just a pair of shorts or going out to lie on the beach in the sun. With so much of my body exposed (not all of it mind...) and much of our time spent on the beach, I felt the arising of feelings of vanity much more than usual, especially around the idea of getting a tan.

Why do we want a tan?

In the old days only people who worked outside in the sun (like farmers or labourers) would have tanned skin, so wealthy people would want to avoid getting a tan in order to show they're rich enough not to have to be outside. This is what led Queen Elizabeth I to whiten her skin. More recently, as more people worked indoors and rich people were able to take holidays to sunny places, having a tan became a sign of affluence – of having enough money to be able to lie around doing nothing on a beach far away.

These days, the likes of EasyJet and Ryanair have made going to spend time on a faraway beach much more accessible, so is having a tan still a sign of richness? Probably yes. In equal measure, people (at least Northern Europeans) generally look more healthy with a bit of colour in their skin, so with getting a tan there's perhaps a sense of wanting to look healthy and well. It's also an obvious outward sign for others to show we've been on a sunny holiday.

Lying in the sun

Our apartment in Lefkada was right in front of its own little beach, and Kim had very kindly left out two sun loungers and a parasol for us to use. Usually, she commented, after a couple of days her guests are "velcroed to the beach"! So what is it that velcroes us?

Lying there in the sun reminded me of our lizard ancestry – basking in the heat and soaking up the warmth. I'm not a particularly cold blooded person, but I came to really enjoy basking until I began to sweat. So when my intention was to soak up the warmth like a lizard, that was one thing, but when my intention shifted towards "I want a tan" that was another. Wanting a tan is pure vanity, wanting to bask in the warmth was simple in-the-moment pleasure.

There were times when I'd come out of the water and want to dry off and warm back up – then I'd lie in the sun. But what about the other times? Why was I not satisfied with lying in the shade under the parasol, letting my body tan as it needed from just living outside more? Because some part of me wanted to get a tan – wanted to look a certain way.

I occasionally found myself moving different parts of my body into the sun with the intention of evening up my tan – like a rotisserie oven...! Again the intention is the key – moving because one part is hot is sensible, but moving to even up the tan is vanity.

Vanity ultimately arises because you see yourself as having a separate self that wants to impress and be "better", nicer looking or more handsome than others. It's delusive behaviour.

Body dissatisfaction

I also noticed increased feelings of dissatisfaction with my body shape. Walking around our holiday apartment with far fewer clothes than I'd normally wear at home, I'd catch myself in the mirror or look down at my uncovered chest and notice yet again the overly forward tilt in my hips, the lifted left shoulder, the uneven tan on my arms, or that wonk in my spine.

These feelings also crept into my daily yoga practice. I've found myself focusing (more than usual) on stretching out my hip flexors and lower back to help straighten my posture, or stretching to the left side to counter my wonky spine.

My yoga was not yoga any more, just like my lounging on the beach was not lounging on the beach anymore. Both became anxiety-filled activities centred around wanting to be something I was not.

Of course that's an exaggeration! It was a wonderful honeymoon full of amazing experiences and lovely people (including my wonderful wife). Nevertheless there were moments when that anxiety-filled self-interest arose.

What do you do in that situation? I tried my best to acknowledge it, allow it, and see the patterns of how and when it arose. I didn't manage it every time, but that was my intention. Once it's acknowledged and seen it no longer has any power over you.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Dharma combat

2016-07-22T01:35:00.000-07:00

The Hossen ("ho" meaning Dharma in Japanese, and "sen" meaning combat or challenge) was my third and final ceremony for becoming a junior-level Zen teacher. The main point of the ceremony is to allow a teacher to demonstrate their embodiment of Zen, and to give the sangha a chance to test them out. If they're going to become a new teacher, do they think they're up to it? Can they talk as the Dharma, not just about it?

A complicated ceremony

The dojo full of people

Despite the simple intention, the details of the ceremony were a bit more complicated. It started with a short introduction from Daizan, then we chanted the Hannya Shingyo (Heart Sutra). I then read out the koan I'd chosen and gave my talk on it (I posted about that in my previous article), then everyone in the audience got a chance to ask me a question. It finished with me reciting the 4-line verse I'd composed summarising my understanding of the koan, and Daizan giving a short summary to finish.

Where it got complicated was around how all these aspects fitted together. So Daizan told me, the whole thing is designed not to give me (the aspirant teacher) a moment to think – and therefore the potential to worry and get caught up in the world of thoughts, ideas and discrimination. From the beginning I was holding my teaching fan – a traditional symbol of a Zen teacher called a chukei. There was a special way to hold it which I had to be mindful of at all times. There was also a very specific way I had to collect my teaching book, and I had to start my talk on the very last syllable of the Hannya Shingyo chant so as not to leave a moments gap. As soon as I'd finished I had to ceremonially take my teaching book back to Daizan, perform a number of bows, and collect our dojo's shippei (staff/stick; see photo below) and come back to my place. Once the questions started, I was encouraged to answer every one, again, without a moments gap or silence.

As I was reading out the koan, I was conscious of speaking from the hara. As I'd spent quite a while preparing the talk, I felt quite ok following on from the koan and giving the main talk. I think I managed to continue speaking from the hara, and I even got a laugh or two at some point!

No questions and no answers

Collecting the shippei from Daizan

Once the talk had finished and I had collected the shippei and sat down, I banged it hard on the ground and said "What say you?". This was my appeal to the sangha to ask me their questions. Pete Jion Cherry, my assistant, was the first questioner. The format was for the questioner to start by saying a loud "Here!" (to indicate where they were sitting) then give me their question. I would then bang the shippei on the floor and gave my answer. If they thought my answer was sufficient they would say "congratulations" – otherwise they were allowed to ask me to explain or ask a further question. After the "congratulations" I was to bang the shippei again and say "I thank you". Then the next question would start with "Here!". All this was supposed to happen with the minimum hesitation or silence.

We had about 35 people in the room, so the questioning took a while. Some were very short and some I gave just one-word answers, some had some further questions. There were certainly moments when there was literally no questioner and no responder – the emptiness and no-knowing that Bodhidharma refers to in the koan were manifest in the room. There were also other moments when I could feel the spinning up of my thinking mind, wanting to assert control and work out how to answer the question, worrying about what the "right" answer was.

Looking back I can't really remember the actual questions or my answers – I feel like it all happened without being registered in my normal memory!

I have a feeling something changes in the way memory works and the way you perceive time when you're in that true place of oneness – where intuition and instinct are master, and logic and reasoning are in their rightful place as servants. Its like trying to remember what happened in meditation, or during a period where time "just flies". The memory becomes more related to feeling and action than thought and storyline. Luckily we videoed the whole thing (I'll post that up soon)!

After it was all over, people were asking me how it felt. It felt simultaneously really hard work and totally effortless. Maintaining that energy and resisting the temptation to let my reasoning mind take over was perhaps the hard part. Letting the truth speak through me was the effortless part. In essence there was no me – the answers just flowed out of the universe through my mouth.

What happens now?

I'm now officially a lay Zen teacher. What that means is for us all to find out in the coming years. My intention is to stay open to whatever opportunities or situations arise, and do my best to simply act. Let's see what happens...

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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My first dharma talk

2016-07-18T01:22:00.003-07:00

In the last few weeks I've been describing the ceremonies I have to pass through in the Zenways school in order to become a junior-level Zen teacher. There are three in total: the private "kechimyaku" ceremony, the public "hodo" ceremony, and the last is called Hossen, literally meaning Dharma combat.

On Sunday 17th July, we had the last of the three ceremonies, the Hossen-shiki, at the dojo in Camberwell. The format of the ceremony was that I would come in with my assistant (the solid Pete Jion Cherry), read out the koan I was going to talk about, then give a talk about it. Then every member of the sangha present in the room would have an opportunity to ask me a question about what I'd said (or about anything else), then I would finish by reciting a 4-line verse I'd composed summarising my understanding of the koan.

In my next post I'll talk about how it went and my experience of it. For now, here's the contents of the talk and my 4-line verse.

Koan

Emperor Wu of Liang said to Bodhidharma “I’ve built many temples, copied innumerable sutras and ordained many monks since becoming emperor. I ask you, what is my merit?” Bodhidharma replied “No merit.” The emperor asked “What is the first principle of the holy teachings?” Bodhidharma said, “Emptiness, no holiness.” The emperor asked “Who is this standing before me?”, Bodhidharma answered, “No knowing.” The emperor did not grasp his meaning. Thereupon Bodhidharma crossed the river and went to the land of Wei.

The emperor later spoke of this to Shiko (his most trusted priest), who said, "Do you know in fact who this person is?” The emperor said, “No.” Shiko said, “This is the Bodhisattva Kannon, the Bearer of the Buddha’s Heart Seal.” The Emperor was full of regret and wanted to send for Bodhidharma, but Shiko said, “It is no good sending a messenger to fetch him back. Even if all the people went, he would not turn back.”

Talk

Let's start with a bit of background. The emperor was a serious and committed student of Buddhism. It seems Bodhidharma's reputation as a Buddhist teacher had preceded him since the emperor had asked him to visit the Imperial Palace as soon as he arrived from India.

No merit

The exchange starts with this whole idea of merit. The emperor proudly lists all the good deeds he's done and asks how much merit he had accrued. Bodhidharma said flatly “no merit”. So it might be a good idea to start by looking at this idea of merit. As far as I understand, merit is a kind of Buddhist technical term meaning “the effect or consequence of doing good things”. Traditionally one can gain merit through giving or generosity, and the cultivation of virtue (patience, tolerance, etc.) and insight or wisdom.

The Chinese at this time had become quite captivated by the idea of merit and of the idea of karma (the law of volitional action and consequence). So the emperor had been building stupas, supporting monasteries and ordaining monks, assuming that these would all count as “good things” and that he would accrue merit as a result. Of course they were all good things – but why was he doing them? What was his underlying intention? Bodhidharma saw it straight away.

Have you ever come across the idea that when you die you’ll arrive at the gates of heaven and St. Peter will open up his great big book and read out a list of all the good and bad things you've done in your life? Depending on how it adds up he’ll either unchain the gates of heaven and let you in or send you off down to hell and eternal damnation. I was looking this up the other day an apparently it's entirely baseless in Christian scripture – the bible doesn't actually say that. It's a horribly misconstrued version of “judgement”. But it's out there in common culture and probably most of us have heard of it in one way or another! In the same way as this idea is a misunderstanding of the Christian teachings, Emperor Wu had similarly misunderstood the Buddhist teachings.

This mentality also persists in the Father Christmas myth – and kids get this drummed into them at a very young age. In the run up to Christmas, Santa tots up all the good and naughty things children have done over the year and only comes down the chimney to drop off a present if they’ve been good enough. So the child grows up thinking someone is always keeping a tally.

Then as adults we end up having thoughts like “when will I get what I'm owed?” or “I’ve worked so hard, surely I deserve that promotion…” All this comes from this same misperception – that we've accumulated enough merit on our balance sheet to get what we want.

Conditional love falls into this category too. I was in Greece recently and someone said “the love of a Greek mother is complete and "unconditional"... except that you're not allowed to escape it!” Loving someone conditionally, i.e. with strings attached, is about wanting something back in return.

Keeping a balance sheet and wanting something in return can only happen if we perceive there is a “self” to win and an “other” to lose. It's rooted in the world of separation. “I” want this, because “I” want to feel better. This was exactly where the emperor was coming from.

So the emperor was hoping for praise and recognition when he asked how much merit he’d accrued – but he got a sharp "no merit".

Ok then, fancy teacher from India, if doing "good" things isn't enough by your standards, "what is the 1st principle of the holy teachings?" Bodhidharma answered again with a very pithy retort "Emptiness, no holiness".

Who do you think you are?

The emperor was perhaps now completely confused and frustrated. Whatever he thought Buddhism was about, he was being told it's not. He'd understood Bodhidharma was a great teacher, but none of what he was saying was making any sense. Bodhidharma was refuting everything and I’m guess the emperor's ego was feeling pretty hurt. So he asks "who are you then?" or perhaps "who do you think you are?"

Again he gets a seemingly ridiculous answer – "no knowing." And that's the end of the conversation! Who knows, maybe the emperor chucked him out at this point, or maybe he just let him go thinking he's worthless.

Later the emperor goes to see his most trusted priest, who says “do you know who that was? It was the Bodhisattva Kannon – the embodiment of compassion – and bearer of the Buddha’s Heart Seal”. At that the emperor was full of regret – "I didn't understand... If you, my most trusted priest hold him in such high regard then I should talk to him more – Can you get him back?" But the priest says nope, he's gone and won't come back now. It was a one-time opportunity.

Nari kiru Bodhidharma

The character of the emperor is equivalent to our small, suffering selves – the one that's caught up in concepts and ideas, especially the one thinking we have a separate self. We look for something outside of ourselves to ease our suffering – if I do this, or get that, I'll be better or happier, or get enlightened…

Now let's try and stand in the shoes of Bodhidharma – nari kiru Bodhidharma, literally become Bodhidharma. If the emperor represents our small, limited self, then Bodhidharma represents our true Self – unlimited and one with the whole Universe.

The emperor asked, "how much merit have I accumulated?" Bodhidharma saw that his “good deeds” had been motivated by self-interest – by a belief in a separate "I" that can win merit. Basically he was asking, "have I done enough to go to heaven (Pure Land)?" Bodhidharma cut straight through that. “No merit” – “I” doesn't accumulate merit, because “I” doesn’t exist in the way you think it does.

But we all fall into this trap, all the time – expecting to be recognised for what we do. Giving and wanting something in return.

True merit comes from the pursuit of knowing who we really are – finding out our true nature – and from the spontaneous actions that arise from that place. Ultimately there is no giver and no receiver of merit. Which is exactly the next point.

Emptiness, no holiness

Confused that accumulating merit isn’t the main point of Buddhist practice, the emperor asks, ok then "what's the main point of the holy teachings?"

"Emptiness". Again, it’s another technical term if you like. But it’s the absolute crux of Zen – everything is changing, there are no things and no fixed ideas, nothing arises independently. And because everything is changing, things are empty of a fixed “essence” or permanence.

Then Bodhidharma, man of few words, elaborates on this. He says “No holiness". Seeing the emperor is the kind of guy, like all of us, that grasps onto ideas, he cuts straight through any inklings he might have that this teaching was 'holy'.

It's all too easy to get caught up thinking that the Dharma is something holy – that it's to be held up on a pedestal or revered, even worshipped. Again, we all do this. What do you hold up as "holy"? Something that's special, to be revered or held in especially high regard in your life? Your iPhone? Your partner? Your Zen teacher (Daizan)? Enlightenment itself? The Buddha? Is the Buddha holy? There’s that great phrase in Zen “If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.”

No knowing

Exasperated and frustrated, the emperor asks "Who is this that stands before me?"

“No knowing.” Bodhidharma again speaks the absolute truth. He doesn't let up in his attempts to teach the emperor. It's not a no-knowing like "I haven't a clue" – he didn’t have amnesia! He wanted again to make the point that on the absolute level, all thoughts, ideas and concepts are fundamentally empty – there's nothing to know. Bodhidharma isn’t a fixed thing, he’s a process, a flow.

So "not knowing" is exactly the same as "emptiness" – it's the first principle of Buddhism.

Summary

In this whole exchange, Bodhidharma embodies the classically Zen approach of ‘tough love’ – the old priest knew that when he described Bodhidharma as Kannon, the embodiment of compassion. The kindest thing to do is tell it straight. No beating around the bush and prolonging his agony!

It’s like Bodhidharma is doing everything he can in this to point at the truth. "It's not this, not that, not that either. Here's the truth, here..." His fingers are pointing from every direction at the truth! But the emperor is still saying "Where? Where? I don't see it". After doing all he can, being as direct as he can, Bodhidharma just leaves!

So as we come to do our meditation practice, I invite you ask yourself “who is this that stands here?" – or who am I that sits here?

When you truly have no idea of who that is, you will be Bodhidharma. You will be all the ancestors. You will be the whole Universe. And in that, can you find an "I" to accumulate merit?

Verse

Merit made into a jewel,
Smashed with words as the tool.
No merit, knowing or idea
Gives freedom and life without fear.

Having tea in the dojo after the ceremony

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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Raising the Dharma Banner

2016-07-14T07:34:00.000-07:00

In my last post I talked about my experience of the first of three ceremonies I have to pass through to become a junior Zen teacher – the Kechimyaku (lit. bloodline) ceremony.

In this article I want to describe the next ceremony called the Hodo-shiki, and the first of the two public 'exams'.

Hodo literally means "dharma banner" and refers to the times when temples would put up a flag or banner to advertise when a visiting teacher was giving a talk on the Dharma. In our Zenways school, a Hodo-shiki (ceremony) is when a prospective teacher is tested on their intellectual knowledge of the Dharma (as opposed to their embodiment of it, which will be tested in the next ceremony, Hossen-shiki). It's a bit like a PhD viva – and it's been almost 10 years since I did one of those!

On 26th June I did my Hodo-shiki at our dojo in Camberwell in front of the sangha. In the preceding weeks I'd been revising my basic knowledge of the Dharma, based on the last few years of reading the study book list (given here). Some of my fellow trainee teachers had been sending me test questions to answer, and Daizan Roshi had also given me a list of sample questions to study. I felt reasonably confident on the test questions, but was acutely aware Daizan could ask me literally anything.

The ceremony started with me making my bows and then chanting the Hannya Shingyo (Heart Sutra) by myself. I was a touch nervous, and although my voice came out clear and steady my memory was obviously affected. I was aware somewhere in the first quarter of missing a few syllables (miraculously without missing a beat). I felt disappointed that I messed it up because I know it well! That was just the way it was – nerves have that effect.

Then I had to say "I wish to be a teacher of the Dharma. Please test my knowledge." And off we went with the questions. Daizan was sitting at one end of the dojo, and me at the other. Thankfully he didn't ask anything out of left field. He asked a few of the "name the 6 whatevers and 10 whatever elses" that Buddhism is full of (in my case the parameters and the precepts). He also asked a couple of questions more specific to me considering my background in physics – "do people use quantum mechanics to help explain the Dharma, and how successful are they?" (That'll be the subject of a future post!)

At the end he said "you've done well" and that was the end! Here's a link to the video of the ceremony where you can hear all the questions I was asked.

Although being a Zen teacher is really about being the truth and speaking as that truth (not talking about it), there's an obvious wisdom to a ceremony like this. As I become a teacher there are some basics I need to know regarding what the Buddha taught, and the history and context.

The session finished with about 40 mins of zazen (sitting meditation) and our usual tea and chat afterwards.

In my next post I'll talk about the final ceremony – the Hossen-shiki – where I have to demonstrate my ability to speak as the Dharma. If you're free to come along to it this Sunday, please do! The more the merrier!

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Skinner Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
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On the path to becoming a junior Zen teacher

2016-07-08T01:38:00.000-07:00

In our Zenways lineage, becoming a Zen teacher happens in three stages: junior Zen teacher, senior Zen teacher and Zen master (or Roshi). Our Roshi, Daizan, likens the process of becoming a Zen teacher to an apprenticeship. It's not a structured course, or even a well defined learning journey, but individual to each person and taken at a speed directed by them.

I've been on the programme for a few years, and back in February Daizan told me he thought I was ready to do the junior-level ceremonies. I knew his would be a great honour so we went ahead and booked in some dates.

The first one I did was called the Kechimyaku ceremony (I don't think it has to be the first one – just happened to be in my case) starting on Monday 20th June and running through to the summer solstice on 21st. In Japanese, "kechi" means blood and "myaku" means line or channel. The main emphasis of the 2-day long ceremony is to write out our Zen lineage (or "bloodline" of master-to-student) stretching all the way back to the Buddha, and take my place within that (the image shows a small part of a kechimyaku – this one is written in Chinese characters but mine was written in English).

Part of a kechimyaku written in Chinese. It starts with
emptiness, then comes Shakumuni Buddha, then all
the rest of the ancestors.

As Daizan was telling me, historians can find holes and inconsistencies in the official lineage all over the place! – in the succession of Indian masters in the centuries following the Buddha, in the line of ancient Chinese masters, and in the Japanese line too. That's not the point. The point is that each of these masters realised the truth of their Buddha-nature, and once you do that you become Buddha – you become all of the ancestors – and then the lineage is just a mark of gratitude to all those that have carried the torch down through the centuries.

Notable in their absence, though, are the women "torch-bearers" (for a great book on this see Hidden Lamp). Only one woman appears in our lineage: Rev. Jiyu Kennett Daiosho (d. 1996) who was the founder (1972) and abbot of Throssel Hole monastery in Northumberland, England, where Daizan studied in the Soto tradition for many years. The absence of women only reflects the dominant male monastic culture throughout India, China and Japan for the last millennium, not their ability to realise enlightenment. The Buddha himself always said women can achieve equal levels of insight to men.

The kechimyaku ceremony has five components: (1) asking, (2) san-ge (purification), (3) taking your place, (4) writing out the kechimyaku lineage, and (5) endless bowing.

The asking part involved some ceremony and symbolism around arriving into the space, and me formally asking Daizan to become a Zen teacher. Sange (pronounced san-gay) means "regret" (san) and "resolve" (ge), referring to acknowledging past harmful actions (the things you regret) and the committing never to do them again (resolve).

In the "taking my place" section I was asked to sit in meditation for 3hrs without moving. This represents the resolve made by the Buddha before his enlightenment – "if only my skin, sinews and bones remain and the flesh and blood in my body dry up, I will not move from this place until I realise complete enlightenment". The 3hrs was about exploring that steadfast stillness and resolve.

Sitting for 3hrs in stillness wasn't easy. Daizan told me a few months ago to start preparing so I had been slowly building my way up to the full length. I saw it like a marathon, so trained using an adapted marathon training schedule (where I replaced running distance with time)! I'd tested out a few different postures and found kneeling with a bench to be ok, and the week before my ceremony I'd done 2h30 like that. I'd generally start off with a breath counting meditation, counting to 100 a few times to stabilise and still my mind. Then I'd let go of the breath and sit in the Unborn (open presence. If my thoughts began to wander again, I'd come back to the breath counting for another few 100. I was finding after about 1h30, things would get very still indeed and almost pleasurable (I think people call this a dhyana/jhana state).

During the ceremony, however, I was sitting with my bench on a carpet rug, which (at about 15mins in) I realised wasn't as soft as the zabuton I was used to. The knobbles on my knees got very painful – excruciating at points. Nevertheless I did find some internal stillness after about 2hrs. At this point I basically just gave up trying to make the pain go away. As I stopped wanting things to be different, the suffering ceased – it's a good lesson to be reminded of.

The next part was a kind of retreat involving the writing out of my kechimyaku and a ceremony around embodying what it truly means to be a teacher. After some more meditation and many bows (the 5th stage of the ceremony), we finished sometime in the early evening. I'd been given my junior teacher Rakusu and teaching fan. Now all I have to do is prove my worth in the next two public ceremonies...

Next week I'll tell you a bit about the next stage, the first of the two public ceremonies for testing my knowledge of the Dharma called the Hodo ceremony.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you do you have an experience of sitting still for a long period? Who do you consider to be your Dharma ancestors? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: The endless end

2015-10-15T03:41:00.000-07:00

Pendle Hill as I approached it

Why Pendle Hill?

I am British, born and raised, but I practice on a path that originated in India and has been refined through the centuries in Japan. I took ordination in the Zen tradition and donned the robes of an Unsui (novice) monk. Walking up the country, I was a curious site: white British, but wearing a distinctly Japanese outfit, practising a "foreign" religion.

Pendle Hill is an important place in a home-grown British spiritual tradition – Quakerism. It was the place where it's founder, George Fox, had a great "opening" or revelation back in 1652. He described his vision on the hilltop :

As we travelled, we came near a very great hill, called Pendle Hill, and I was moved of the Lord to go up to the top of it; which I did with difficulty, it was so very steep and high. When I was come to the top, I saw the sea bordering upon Lancashire. From the top of this hill the Lord let me see in what places he had a great people to be gathered.
— George Fox: An Autobiography, Chapter 6

Quakers

Fox initially just wanted to transform the existing Christian structures in England to a more accurate following of Christ. For this, he and his followers were persecuted by Cromwell's Puritan government and then the "restored" Charles II Catholics. Fox argued, based on the teachings of Peter (Acts 2 & 3), for an egalitarian, spirit-filled Christianity that would not be oppressive of people on account of race, sex, or class. By 1655 a national Quaker organisation had been founded.

Although Quakers have their roots in Christianity, they value the teachings and insights of other faiths and traditions, making them a very egalitarian and accepting group. They strongly believe that faith is lived through action, which is lived out through their social and political engagement to building a more just and peaceful world.

Quaker worship (called 'meeting for worship') normally lasts for an hour. They sit in stillness and quiet, listening and reflecting, looking for a sense of connection with those around, with themselves, and with God. During worship people may feel sufficiently moved to get up and speak, pray or read aloud. This is called "ministry", and can be done by anyone in the meeting. There are no priests, preachers, songs, set prayers or talks, and the table in the middle of the meeting circle often has the Bible, maybe the Qur'an, and a book called "Quaker faith & practice" – a collection of writing and experiences of Quakers from their 350-year history.

Over the years, Quakerism spread out through the world – notably into North America. Pennsylvania was actually established in 1681 by a Quaker. Here in England Cadbury's, Terry's, Fry's, Rowntree, Lloyds Banking Group, Barclays, and Clarks shoes were all set up by Quakers (although I'm not sure all these companies still operate with Quaker morals...)

So not only are the Quakers a British home-grown spiritual organisation, they are also very Zen-like. They practice by sitting in silence, sensing their connection with others and the world, and they put a big emphasis on living their faith (in Zen the phrase is do-zen, meaning "moving/acting Zen").

This made Pendle Hill a very appropriate place to end my own pilgrimage and connect what I was doing back to my own spiritual culture.

The endless end

At about 6pm on Thursday 6th August I got to the top of the hill, accompanied by a dear friend Kim Bennett. It was quite a climb, but totally worth it! They sky was blue with scattered fluffy white clouds, and you could certainly see "the sea bordering upon Lancashire".

It felt wonderful to be up there. Exhilarating!

We sat on the edge of the hill and did 30mins of zazen (sitting meditation) together. I could feel the earth, the history, and the moment vibrating up through me.

Did it feel like the end? No it didn't. I'd spent so many hours and footsteps over the previous weeks focussing on just being in the present moment – allowing the sensations, the experiences, the people to come and go – that this was just another moment. I was here... then I would come down the hill, come back down south, and get on with the rest of my life. It was an endless end. Just another event in the tapestry of life.

Sean's inspiring poem

Somewhere along my journey, another dear friend, Sean Collins, gave me this beautiful poem which I wanted to share with you. My monks name was Kuren.

Kuren
All the practice you have had
When sitting on you Zafu pad
A Buddha balanced on your rear
Aware of what you see or hear
Present with what you love or fear
Who are you?

Draw your sword and slice the bonds
That tie you to, or keep you from
The lessons that await you
Ancestors who create you
Those people who may hate you
Who are you?

Get up,
wake up
and walk to meet
the road that falls beneath your feet
in sun, wind, rain or sleet
Who are you?
Kensho!!!

(Kensho means seeing your own true nature)

All of life is a pilgrimage

Near the end of my walk someone pulled over in their car and offered me a lift. I couldn’t accept, but after talking for a while he said he thought we are all on our own kind of pilgrimage. I think he was right – life is like a long pilgrimage and we're all walking on our own path.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Do you feel like you're on your own pilgrimage of life? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: Sleeping rough

2015-10-08T03:31:00.001-07:00

Earlier this summer I did a 4-week pilgrimage walk through the country as a Zen monk – carrying no money, just living from my alms bowl. So far I've written a number of articles about the walk (including why I would even do such a thing, the pain in my feet, and how I lived from the bowl on people's generosity).

In this post I'd like to share a little bit about the nights when I didn't have anywhere planned to stay.

The route for my journey was organised around people and places I wanted to visit. But I didn't have a bed lined up for every night. The other nights I had to have to find shelter for myself.

I've done some wild camping in my time, both here and abroad – but that was always with a tent. On this trip I took only a sleeping bag and a roll mat so on those nights I didn't have a bed, I had to find somewhere under-cover to protect myself from the elements.

The first rough night

The Post Office sorting office in Fordingbridge

The first night I slept rough, I ended up in a lovely small town called Fordingbridge in Hampshire. That evening I limped into town with my feet hurting to such a degree that I couldn't spend ages searching around for a place. After a short recce up the high street I spotted a covered porch outside the post office building. Actually it was a sorting office and parcel collection place, and the front of the building had a ramp up to the porch with a door in the corner that looked very unused. There were cobwebs all over it. It was ideal – a good roof, mostly hidden from the road, and not too dirty.

As I unrolled my mat and sleeping bag, I took note that the office opened at 6am, so I set my alarm for 5:15 to make sure I was up and out of there – just in case.

The town quietened down by about 9:30-10pm, with only the occasional car carrying it's driver up to the chippie round the corner. It was strange to hear the road so loudly as I was dropping off, and I think I remained quite vigilant to being noticed for quite some time. Eventually I fell asleep.

I woke up with the alarm. Just as I was rolling up my mat at about 5:45 the door in the porch started to unlock. Shit... I was convinced they're going to shoo me away and report me to the police! But so what if they did? – that would just be part to the pilgrimage. But I didn't think like that at the time.

So the door opened and out leaned a postie. "Do you want a cup of tea?" he asked. I was blown away! "That'll get you warmed up for the day!" he continued. Wow! So I sat there drinking my tea in a warm glow of incredulity and gratefulness to the kind postman.

That's how it continued really! I slept in someone's garage, under some scaffold, in the awning of a disused cafe, in a church doorway. I never had any major problems finding shelter.

The night of the Waitrose bridge

One evening I was walking into Newbury. On these days where I knew I didn't know where didn't know where I was going to sleep, the anxieties usually started arising at about 3-4pm when I still had a few hours walking to go. First would come the (re-)realisation that I didn't know where I was going to sleep that night. Then would come the thoughts – could I sleep in that bus stop if I had to? What if I was in deep suburbia and there was nothing but rows of houses? Where would I find then? That place looks good, but I can't stop now, it's too early. What if I can't find anywhere? Etc, etc.

Walking into Newbury I remember checking out some hedgerows, and some emergency stairs at the back of an office block. Them, as I was walking past a brand new Waitrose I noticed they had a delivery entrance on the other side of a short bridge. I surreptitiously snuck through some undergrowth to have a look under the bridge and happily found a nice bit of fairly clean, flat concrete between two pillars. I unrolled my mat as you can see in the photo.

A while later as I was in my sleeping bag, just nodding off, a couple of homeless people brushed past. I pulled up my head and the lady said "alright mate, we won't be long." They went round the corner and proceeded to have a blazing argument with lots of effing and blinding. This was the only time on the walk where I really felt vulnerable. Should I leave? It would take me at least 15mins to get dressed and pack up my stuff, and it would be very obvious to them what I was doing. I decided to just keep my head down. To them I was probably just another homeless guy – why should they bother me? And they said they wouldn't be long...

The argument continued for some time – but they did leave eventually. It was a strange feeling to drop off to sleep in that situation. I kept telling myself to relax, and whatever was going to happen would happen. Trust in the universe! I had an alright nights sleep in the end. The canal my route was
following was only 30secs walk away and it was a beautiful morning.

The night of the Church Doorway

Later on in the walk, I was looking for a place to kip in Balsover, Derbyshire. After some time looking around the edges of the town, I spotted a church doorway. I'd often stopped in church porches for breaks or to shelter from the rain, so when I saw this doorway I felt compelled to investigate!

As I approached, an older couple came out of an adjacent doorway of the church. I had to explain myself: "I'm a Zen monk... Would you be ok if I slept in this doorway?" They weren't exactly encouraging, but said it would be fine – as long as I didn't do any graffiti or get caught by the police.

What I learned

Before this walk I'd never slept rough. Granted when I was on my walk it was summer, and the nights weren't too cold, but I found it a surprisingly comfortable and very liberating experience. By the end of the walk I had quite a good eye for spots to shelter in – both in the town and out. My absolute ideal place to sleep would've been a barn full of hay. I actually found one once, but sadly it was the middle of the day at the time. Only once did I feel slightly vulnerable, but that was just my anxiety towards strangers. I should've just got up and had a chat to them.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Ever had a similar experience? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Wedding zen

2015-10-01T02:32:00.000-07:00

On 19th September I got married. As you can imagine (or as you may remember from your own big day) the wedding was quite a roller-coaster-ride of events and feelings. In this article, I'm not going to mention the months of planning, decisions, discussions, and bookings. I'm also not going to mention the jittery, energy-filled week preceding the big day, or the plans for how to get various members of the family to the wedding venue on time.

What I'd like to discuss is how the day itself went, how I felt, and in particular how I think my yoga and meditation practice affected things.

"The day"

On "the day" my alarm went at 6:30am and I straight away sat on the floor of the hotel room for 30mins meditation. I remember feeling quite calm and trying to stay present with my attention in my belly, whilst being aware of my room-mate (a good friend of my mum's who had also come from Sweden for the wedding) moving about and using the bathroom. I was actually quite surprised that I was this calm! This friend was desperate to visit Stonehenge (not far from the hotel in Salisbury where we were), and this morning was our only option since we were too late the night before. So after I'd finished the meditation we had a quick breakfast and headed out.

Stonehenge

Me at Stonehenge on the morning of my wedding

Getting out of the car in the visitors car park, the cool freshness of the air hit us. Neither of us had worn enough. After watching the stones silently appearing out of the mist as we approached, we then spent a wonderful half-hour circling the henge, taking photos, and drinking in the stillness of the 5000yr old monument.

I'm sure it was a fairly unorthodox way of starting a wedding day, but in hindsight it worked out really well! Out of town, and away from any stressing family!

My practice has taught me how to stay focussed on the moment in hand. I was able to be present at Stonehenge, feeling the atmosphere, whilst not letting my mind wander onto thoughts of the wedding.

Venue preparations

We got back to the hotel at about 11am. Over the next few hours things began to ramp up in both external activity and internal activity (in my belly)! We started moving stuff over to the venue from about 12:30 and all the preparations and decorating had to be done between 1 and 3pm, with guests due to arrive at 3:30 for a 4pm start.

Strangely enough, I found putting on my suit really helped me stay relaxed (see my previous article on the widsom of specific clothes). Once I'd got my shirt on I didn't want to sweat (miraculously it was a lovely sunny day), and wearing the suit and nice shoes brought with it a feeling of elegance. I found that walking and moving slowly with an intention of grace (whether or not that translated into a look of grace) really helped keep things calm. Purposefully talking slowly and calmly also really helped. It was hard though, and required attention to keep things slow.

Preparing the wedding venue

When I arrived at the venue, I found them still setting out the dinner tables All the stuff we'd hired (linen, crockery, cutlery, glasses, etc) was piled together, unlabelled in a back room. The flowers and decorations were still on their way, and people started asking me what they could do to help...

It was around about this time that I became extra-aware of my belly. Notably the churning, mildly nauseous feelings deep down in my abdomen. I worked on simply accepting their presence, and continuing to do my best to walk slowly, speak quietly and slowly, and being (or attempting to be) graceful.

When we found out that they'd missed off dinner plates from the hire list, my tummy took a fairly significant somersault. But I think this is really where the years of practice started to make a difference. I felt very little sense of panic, and only a slight rising of anxiety. I was acutely aware of my churning belly, which I think helped to keep my attention low in my body and therefore out of my head. I remember feeling sure there was a solution to the problem – and indeed one presented itself fairly quickly. The venue themselves kindly lent us their plates.

The ceremony and later into the evening

Over the last few years I've developed a habit of internally checking every now and then "am I in my hara". What I mean is: is my hara relaxed, and do I have some component of my attention resting in my hara? Experience has shown this to be particularly useful in stressful times, as, when I do check, I often find my belly tense and energy up in my head.

So regularly during the wedding ceremony and all through the evening I was asking myself "am I in my hara?" – purposefully softening and relaxing my belly, and asking myself what feelings are churning around. Every time I went to the loo, that was also a great time to stop, tune in, and purposefully settle, relax and let go (excuse the pun).

I guess you could say I did regular mini-meditations or body scans. This seemed absolutely essential.


The Zen candle ceremony, representing the coming together of our spiritual paths

I don't think the practice necessarily makes you feel calmer – because you're more aware and sensitive to all that is going on – but it does give you the tools to simply observe without getting caught up in the whirlwind. It allowed me to appreciate the moments, the feelings, emotions, interactions, and the beauty and love of the day in a way that I don't think I could have otherwise. It's about noticing the discomfort in the belly, the stress and rising energy, and being OK with it, softening and allowing.

Before the wedding, friends said to me the day would flash by. But that's not how I experienced it. Sure it went quickly – there was lots to do and lots happening – but my ability to stay in the present moment (developed over years of practice) meant I could appreciate and savour the moments and people that were there sharing it with us.

It was the most amazing day, and I love my new wife very much. Thanks to all who came, helped out, and shared the celebrations with us.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you How do you remember your wedding day? How has your practice has helped in a stressful situation? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: Wisdom of the robes

2015-09-10T03:05:00.000-07:00

I recently got back from a 4-week pilgrimage walk through the country, which I did as a Zen monk – carrying no money, just living from my alms bowl. In the first article in this series I talked about why I would even do such a thing, then I discussed the pain in my feet and how I dealt with it. Last week I talked about living from the bowl and the wonderful generosity I found along the way.

This week I want to focus on what I was wearing and the wisdom I found within it. Will you stay with me? (couldn't resist the alliteration!)

No, I don't mean Daizan had tucked a booklet of Zen wisdom into the folds of the robe for me to find (sadly!) – I mean the wisdom embedded in the design and material of the outfit.

The robes

If you had to wear one set of garments for travelling on the road, and you weren't going to add or take away any layers, then the monk's robes I had weren't far off the ideal. There are three layers: the undergarment is called a jubon and is equivalent to a shirt. It's waist-length and folds over the body in the traditional Japanese way. The second layer is called a kimono and mine was grey (can also be white). This, again, folds over in the same way, but is full-length down to my ankles. These two inner layers, folded around the body, are held together with a wide, elasticated belt called an obi. The third layer is the outer koromo, made of a kind of denim material (indigo hemp I think) that comes down to about mid-calf level, has large sleeves, and has ties at either side at the waist to fasten it.

Traditional Rinzai Zen monk's travelling clothing

Another belt called a shukin is wound around the waist to hold everything together (more on that below). The lower part of the robes could be hitched up underneath the shukin (on warm days or to make walking easier), and the long sleeves could also be tied up at the shoulders (again for warm days).

Robes with the sleeves tied up, showing the shukin belt with the rakusu tucked behind it.

Shukin

The skukin (meaning "hand cloth" in Japanese) is a very interesting part of the robes (the Soto school has a similar rope belt called a shiken). I haven't been able to find out much about its origin, or why it's tied in such a way (some info here if you want to dig). At first it seemed an unnecessary weight and a bit of a hassle, but as time went on I began to see the deep wisdom embedded in it.

After a few days of walking I noticed that I wasn't feeling that hungry during the day. It was only when I stopped for the night and undid my robes that I started feeling hunger pangs.

Influenced by the monastic culture at the time, the Buddha only ate breakfast and lunch, and in fact made a rule that his monks shouldn't eat after midday. Monks in the Buddha's day also didn't work or cultivate the land, relying only on alms food. As Buddhism spread north into China, the Chinese weren't so happy with supplying the monks with 100% of their food, so they began farming the land around the monasteries. The colder climate and the extra work meant monks had to eat more (and wear more). To begin with, they kept with the 'no eating after midday' rule, and in the evenings the monastery kitchens gave out hot rocks that the monks would put on their stomachs to assuage their hunger. As Zen spread into Japan, they relaxed the after-midday rule, and the (still unofficial) evening meal became known as yaku seki (meaning "medicine stone").

So the pressure and warmth of the shukin belt against my belly as I was walking must have been doing the same job of stopping any hunger pangs.

The other effect I noticed was that it really helped bring my attention to my hara. In a way it felt like a weight-lifters belt, but swivelled around 180deg. It held everything in, and gave my abdomen something to breathe against. I could feel the swell of my breath against the shukin in the front of my belly, in my sides, and in my lower back, and this really helped me in continually relaxing my belly with each breath (see my article on pain). By resting my attention in my hara (and tanden particularly), I could also build my energy there, helping my feel more grounded and stable.

Hat

The hat (kasa or ajiro-gasa in Japanese) I had is of the traditional conical type found all over East Asia. It's made of woven bamboo and coated in the traditional way to make it waterproof – by using Persimmon juice (not by me I hasten to add). I found it a very effective umbrella in the rain, and a great sun hat on sunny days. The only problem was that it wobbled and often slipped forwards over my face with just a breath of breeze! Without the shoe-lace chin strap, the hat would for sure be lost in a hedge or ditch by now.

Me in the rain cape (in the Yorkshire rain -
looking surprisingly chipper)

Rain

I had "the official" Rinzai rain cape with me on my journey, which was big enough to cover pretty much everything including my rucksack – see photo. The only thing that got wet were my feet, and on rainy days these really got very squelchy...

Rakusu

The rakusu is worn around the neck and hangs, a bit like a bib, over the chest. It is a miniaturisation of the traditional kesa (or outer robe, originally worn by the Buddha). The story goes that the Buddha was out walking one day with his assistant Ananda. As they crested the top of a hill and looked down on the patchwork of rice paddies in the valley below, the Buddha said to Ananda, that's how I want our robes to be – a patchwork of cloth cut into a square. This pattern symbolises the "all is different" aspect of reality, together with the "all is one" aspect, and is maintained in the design of the rakusu. The white disk on the left strap is a left-over from the clasp that fastens the large kesa around the body.

I was given my rakusu when I first took the precepts as a lay person back in 2011. On the back is a white patch which has my first (lay) Dharma name (Kakushin) calligraphed onto it by Shinzan Roshi.

Footwear

I discussed my footwear in this previous article. Of everything that happened on the walk, the pain from the footwear taught me the most. For this I am extremely grateful.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Ever had a similar experience? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: Generosity and living from the bowl

2015-09-04T02:53:00.000-07:00

Bournemouth

On day two I found myself in the centre of Bournemouth in the town square, just at the end of the gardens leading up from the beach and pier. I'd been walking along the sea front in beautiful sunshine and the whole place was buzzing with people eating ice creams. I'd been given enough food when I left for my first day of walking, so now I needed to gather some food for the onward journey. I'd headed towards what I thought was the busiest shopping area to stand with my bowl for the first time.

Bournemouth square

I sat down on a wall at the edge of the square trying to assess where the best place to stand might be – at the edge or right in the middle? – in front of the cafe or a little away from it? Once I'd selected a spot I thought "right, let's do this," but my body didn't move. "Ok, really, let's get on with it..." – still no movement. What was the resistance? I dropped my attention into my body and realised that I was essentially worried what people might think of me.

That whole day I'd been walking along with my robes flapping in the sea breeze and my big hat shielding me from the sun, thinking "aren't I special, look at me, I'm a monk, bet you've not seen anything like this before...!" Although this egotistic self-importance did dissipate (mostly) in the weeks following, that day it had been quite prominent, and it made for a big contrast between that and having to stand there because I was in need of charity. I was worried because I was putting myself in a place of vulnerability, indicating that I had nothing and needed help.

But really, who was I to ask for help...? I hadn't really got nothing – surely, I had a bank account with money in it and a flat back in London... Well, actually, for this walk I didn't. I'd handed my wallet over when I'd become a monk, and for this journey I had only the robes I was standing up in and a few other bits in the rucksack. If I didn't get any food from holding my bowl I would go hungry. It was as simple as that, and the reality took some time to sink in.

So I got up and walked into the middle of the square, adjusted my hat and held out my bowl.

Of course nothing happened for the first 10 mins. Just lots of legs walking past!

Alms round

As a Buddhist monk you're not supposed to ask for food, or even really make eye contact with anyone when you're on your alms round. Traditionally monks might walk together in a long line from place to place, shop to shop, or known donor to donor, collecting offerings in their bowl. In Zen, the alms round is called takuhatsu (taku meaning 'holding up' or 'requesting', and hatsu meaning 'bowl' – read this lovely article about it here). Obviously, on my pilgrimage I was by myself, and since this isn't a Buddhist country I found standing still in a busy place with lots of footfall worked the best. After I'd selected a suitable spot, I would stand there quietly, simply making the gesture of holding the (empty) bowl in front of me. My hat came down far enough so that all I could see were people's legs (and a few curious kids), and by obscuring my face it anonymises the giver and the receiver – I couldn't see who was coming to offer something until they came very close.

The alms bowl

After some time someone might put some money in the bowl. Some people even thought I was one of those standing statues!! Since I wasn't allowed to accept (or even handle) money, I would say "thank you, but I'm afraid I can't accept money". As you might imagine, most people were a little taken aback by this and asked what I was doing then holding a bowl! I would say something like "I'm on a pilgrimage walk and I'm just collecting a bit of food for my journey, so if you'd like to offer food I would be very appreciative". Since we live in a society where the giving and receiving of alms is not really understood, I had to try and explain what I was doing whilst doing my best not to "ask".

Some people might then take their money and just walk off, some might say sorry that they didn't have any food, but a few took their money and came back a few minutes later with something. Every time that happened it blew me away.

On that first day in Bournemouth a chap came up to me and put some money in the bowl. He looked South American – I can remember is face distinctly. After I told him I couldn't take money he said "ok, give me 10 mins". He then came back with a shopping bag of food, including sushi, some crisps and water, and then just walked off. He didn't ask me what I was doing or why – nothing. It was beautiful, and I remember standing there in tears. He just gave.

Variety

Many people have asked what kind of food I was given. Over the weeks I received all sorts of things. One that first day in Bournemouth I got a McDonalds cheeseburger! Standing close to a Greggs one morning someone gave me 4 hot sausage rolls; standing near to Waitrose I got prepared salads, quiches and gingerbread biscuits. One very kind policewoman in Loughborough offered me her snack of Halva prepared by her cousin that day. Standing near a Tesco Metro I got good old British white-bread sandwiches. One time a lovely little 6-year old (and her dad) gave me 10 apples!

Only one day did I struggle to get enough to eat after standing for more than 2 hours. The rest of the time I found people to be incredibly generous; and thoughtful – that chap in Bournemouth wasn't the only person to get me sushi (nice Japanese connection!).

Something similar to what I would've looked like

Occasionally (less often that I would've predicted) someone would strike up a conversation about Zen. One chap in Huddersfield said he'd walked past me holding my bowl while he was on the phone to his mum, and just had to come back and ask me what I was doing – he said he felt something different about me and was intrigued. We talked about his attempts to meditate while at university and how he wanted to get into it more (and off the weed). On another occasion a young guy came up and, after introducing himself as being part of a Christian group, started asking me what I believe in and how I practice. He left insisting that I take a pamphlet on the wisdom of the Gospels.

Living out of the bowl

Living from the bowl was one of the most humbling experiences I've ever had. I was entirely dependent on the generosity of strangers, and had to eat just whatever they gave me. But I never once went hungry, and even had a fairly balanced diet.

Peoples' generosity blew me away and it left me thinking, would I be so generous if the situation were reversed?

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Ever had a similar experience? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts on meditating on pain.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: Meditation on pain

2015-08-27T02:39:00.000-07:00

I recently got back from a 4-week pilgrimage walk through the country, which I did as a Zen monk – carrying no money, just living from my alms bowl. In last week's article I talked about why I would even do such a thing. This week I'd like to talk a little about one of the most intense aspects of the walk - the pain in my feet.

Before I get onto that though, I should say a few words about the route I took and my unusual footwear.

The route

My meandering path was defined by the people I wanted to visit along the way: there was the Dorset contingent of our sangha based in Bournemouth, my partner's mum who lives in Salisbury, some other sangha members in Whitchurch near Andover and in Oxford, the Amara Vati monastery near Hemel Hempstead, the Nipponzan Myohoji temple at the peace pagoda in Milton Keynes, another sangha member in Northampton, the Tariki Trust house in Leicester, and some another sangha members in Nottingham, Sheffield, and Hebden Bridge.

The total distance was about 380 miles (see the full map here).

Footwear

The traditional footwear for a Zen monk on the road would have been a pair of white socks with a separated big toe, called tabi, worn together with a pair of straw sandals, called waraji, which are held on with laces around your ankle and lower-leg. In more modern times, a rubber sole has been added to the tabi socks to make them more robust and more like canvas boots (called jika-tabi). The sole is very thin and flexible (similar to bare-foot running shoes), so the waraji add a nice layer of padding underneath.

Under normal circumstances, the waraji wear out after about 3 days of walking, so I knew I was going to need a good stock of them for the whole journey. I got 10 pairs kindly brought over from Japan.

But while I was on our Zen sesshin retreat, a friend gave me a big rubber sheet, together with some glue and a needle and thread, and showed me how to sew a rubber sole onto the bottom of the waraji sandals. We had enough to rubberise two pairs, which in the end was actually all I needed. The rubber bore the brunt of the tarmac abrasion and the second pair fell apart literally on the last day of my walk! Thanks so much to Gensho for showing me this technique. I now have 8 spare pairs of waraji for sale...

Since the jika-tabi are essentially the socks and fit very snugly, I wore nothing inside them. This was to the consternation of all my acquaintances who had ever done any hiking...

Developing sensations

I'd had a couple of longer practice-walks in the tabi boots and waraji before I started the pilgrimage. After each of these I carefully noted where the blisters had begun to develop. People had recommended zinc-oxide plaster tape (easily available at Boots) as a way of avoiding blisters, so on day 1 I taped up my feet in all the places I knew blisters were likely, and happily walked off into the Dorset countryside.

Little did I know that zinc-oxide tape is no match for the tabi boots... Over the first few days of walking I developed some fairly substantial blisters (under the tape), accompanied by some fairly substantial pain. In Salisbury, my partner's mum very kindly did some internet research and bought me some adhesive cotton padding to put on my feet. One of her friends also extremely kindly donated me a few packets of Compeed (blister plasters) which were very helpful.

I hadn't at all anticipated the level of pain I experienced in my feet over that first week. Every step became excruciating, often to the point of tears... The strongest sensations came when I started off again after a break (I'm going to guess here that after walking for some time, the reason I feel less sensation is that the pain gates in my nervous system began to close – see my blog article about pain gates here).

An important turning point in those first few days was when I realised that I was doing no long-term damage by continuing to walk on the blisters. Knowing that the pain wasn't carrying any serious messages, I knew that it was simply a sensation and I just had to get on with it.

[Health warning: Most of the time pain is a very important signal saying that damage to the body is occurring and something needs to be done about it! If, for example, you've got your finger in the gas flame, just allowing and accepting the sensations isn't going to do you much good.]

Wanting the pain to stop

I quickly realised that tensing up against the pain made things worse. Wanting it to go away also just made things worse. Wanting (or 'craving' in Buddhist terminology) stems from the wish for things to be different to what they are right now. And of course, in this moment, right now, how can things be different? Maybe in a future moment things will be different, but right now it's utterly futile to want things to be anything but what they are. This wanting (whether that's in the sense of pulling towards or pushing away) is what causes suffering – not accepting that things are as they are right now.

I wrote this on day 6:

"Walking is very simple - just put one foot in front of the other. After 6 days of it though, the pain is intense and the mind constantly seeks ways to escape, for relief. There is no escape though - only through softening and acceptance does the suffering end, and a constant re-realisation that there is only now."

So my walking became a practice of softening my feet, every step – softening and allowing the sensations. Not trying to make them go away or make them change in any way. In that first week, after feeling quite nauseous at the end of a few of the days, and I realised I'd also been tightening my belly against the pain. So my walking became a practice of softening my feet and my belly, every step, every breath. I found my footsteps and breath often came into sync (two steps in, three steps out), and on each out-breath I concentrated on totally relaxing my belly (or hara). This helped a lot.

Later I realised that in my softening there was still a whiff of wanting – because I wanted to make the pain feel less. Fair enough you might say – but this was still a craving for something other than the reality of that moment. It was subtle and much more difficult to let go of.

So like this – focussing on relaxing my feet and belly, and letting go as much as I could of the wish for the pain to go away – the miles fell away. There was the rhythm of the breath, and the rhythm of the walking – step after step. Not wanting anything to be any different – enjoying the sunshine on my back and the smell of the hedgerow flowers as they wafted by, and simply allowing the pain sensations to be there (whether they were strong, sharp, dull, or throbbing).

Audio diary entry from 5th August where I talk about the pain in my feet:

Night time

After some weeks of walking the blisters all but cleared up. But you know that feeling of ache you get in your feet after standing up for a long time? – that took over! And you know the feeling of relief you get when you do finally sit (or lie) down? – kind of like a feeling of expansion? – that became the dominant feeling during the night. It was like a feeling of relief that became so intense that it was painful in of itself!

But I kept on reminding myself of this famous adage which couldn't be more true:

"Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional" - Buddhist proverb

By the morning though, my feet always felt ready to face another day of walking. It's amazing what a night's sleep can heal.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Ever had a similar experience? Leave a comment below, I'd love to hear your thoughts on meditating on pain.
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Zen pilgrimage walk: What’s it all about and why I did it

2015-08-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

"When you said you'd been on a walking holiday, this isn't quite what I had in mind..."

I’ve just got back from a 4-week pilgrimage walk through the country, which I did as a Zen monk – carrying no money, just living from my alms bowl. In the next few weeks I’m going to publish a series of articles on different aspects of the walk. This week I’m going to approach the question
that quite a few people have asked me: “why would you do such a thing…?!"

Good question!

Why would I do such a thing

I’ve been practising Zen now for close to 8 years – all of it under the guidance of Zen master Daizan Roshi. About 6 months ago Daizan asked me if I would be interested to do a pilgrimage walk (similar to the walk he did when he first got back from Japan 8 years ago). As we discussed it, there seemed to be two main reasons for asking me: firstly it would be a way to continue and deepen my own personal practice, but also it would provide some opportunities for me to practise teaching. For a few years now I’ve been part of Daizan's Junior Zen teacher training programme, but it’s difficult to find many opportunities to teach since I attend and practice at the same dojo as Daizan and everyone comes to see him (as it should be). Getting out and about, away from Daizan's large and wise shadow, I would be able to flap my tiny little Zen teachers wings... I would be putting myself in the situation of having to explain myself – "why are you doing this walk?", "why are you dressed so funny?", etc.

Daizan gave me the option of doing the walk as a monk or lay person, and with or without money – it was my choice. After a week or so pondering this, I decided that if I was going to do this I should do it properly, in the traditional way: ordain as a monk and do it without any money.

Ordination

Ordination ceremony

So on 12th July, the last day of our 5-day Zen retreat down at Gaunts House in Dorset, I ordained as a Rinzai Zen monk in the Inzan lineage under Shinzan Roshi and Daizan Roshi. The ceremony lasted about 30mins and included a certain number of precepts that I was expected to live my life by:

The 10 Bodhisattva Precepts (given to all lay people)

Do not take life
Do not steal
Do not indulge in abusive or inappropriate sexuality
Do not lie
Do not abuse intoxicants
Do not criticise others
Do not boast of your attainments and belittle others
Do not be mean in giving Dharma (teaching) or wealth
Do not harbour anger
Do not defame the three treasures (do not deny the Buddha within yourself or in others)

Together with one modification and 5 more precepts for a novice-monk

Do not engage in any sexual activity
Do not eat after midday (except whilst travelling)
Do not sing, dance, play music or engage in any kind of frivolous entertainment
Do not wear jewellery, perfume, or make-up
Do not sit on high chairs or sleep on luxurious beds
Do not handle or accept money

Because it wouldn't be possible for me to continue keeping these precepts when I got back to life after the walk (I would have to go back to earning money, and I'm getting married soon so abstaining from all sexual activity doesn't seem like it would be very conducive to a good marriage...!), my monk-hood was always going to be a temporary one. Unlike in the Christian tradition where monks and nuns typically ordain for life, it's very common in the Buddhist tradition to become a monk for a period then go back to lay life. In many Buddhist countries, young people (mostly men) are pretty much all expected to do a stint in the monastery – typically 1-3 years. I was going to do about 4 weeks.

After I'd taken on these precepts ("will you take this precept?" "YES" to each one), I was given the koromo (robe), the shukin (belt) and the kesa (ceremonial outer robe) to put on, and the hatsu (alms bowl). There was also the ceremonial shaving of the last of my hair (I'd had my head shaved before the ceremony, leaving what's known as the 'Buddha curl' – just a tiny patch over your crown) with the usual homage to the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha.

Me just after I'd become a monk, with Shinzan Roshi and Daizan Roshi

After the ceremony, Shinzan Roshi (who was leading the retreat we'd just been on) was adamant that no matter what you did in your life – how many stupas you built, or good deeds you performed – becoming a monk was of the highest merit.

I'll take that...

After the merriment and then lunch that followed the end of the ceremony and the end of the formal retreat, people gradually went home, leaving me to stay the night at Gaunts House by myself preparing to leave the following morning. I had no money at this point, so slept on the floor in the Gaunts House library, and ate some kindly donated left-overs in the fridge for dinner. That evening was full of a whole mix of emotion, with tears and excitement all swirling around together.

I was a monk. I couldn't quite believe it! What did that mean? My partner, Jo, Daizan and everyone else had left – and now I was by myself. It was up to me to actually do this walk. What if I couldn't do it? What if, what if...

Next week I'll write about the walk itself and some of the challenges that the footwear gave me.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Leave a comment below, join the discussion.
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Ways in which our brain influences our awareness

2015-01-29T09:08:00.002-08:00

"Ouch, that hurt!"

Let's take a moment to look at this simple expression.

As journalist Oliver Burkeman said in this lovely article in the Guardian recently, (slightly paraphrased) "when you stub your toe on the dining table, your nerve fibres shoot a message to your spinal cord, in turn sending neurotransmitters to the thalamus, which activates (among other things) your stress response. Ok, but what about the agonising flash of pain? And what is pain, anyway?" To that I would add the question "what about the times we stub our toe and don't even realise...?" What's happening?

Let's first look at the neuroscience.

As Burkeman says, when we stub our toe these pain signals (like any other sensation like heat or pressure) travel from the peripheral nerves to the spinal cord and up into the brain. Modern neuroscience tells us the spinal cord contains special nerve ﬁbre bundles that serve as "gateways" to the brain, controlling whether or not a signal gets passed on or not. These gateways have the ability to mute or amplify sensations depending on the relative mix of physiological and, importantly, psychological stimulus input. So what does this mean?

Opening and closing the gates

There's a nice example given here in the book "Relaxation, Meditation, & Mindfulness: A Mental Health Practitioner's Guide" by Jonathan Smith. Let's first imagine you're at home playing with your young niece and she suddenly grabs your hand tightly, squeezing your fingers and your knuckles together. Ouch! You feel a sharp sensation of pain. These are your peripheral nerves sending the signals to your brain.

Now imagine as she grabs your fingers and squeezes, she giggles and plants a wonderful smiling kiss on your cheek! This time you barely notice her squeezing your fingers – this is because the pleasant distraction (initially) closes the nerve gateways as you attention is redirected. The feedback from subsequent thoughts and feelings, such as "she's such a wonderful kid!”, continue to hold the gates closed.

Then she lets go of your hand and you see that your fingers have gone white! But by now your brain has realised that the squeeze was completely innocent and you're not injured. What might otherwise be experienced as pain may instead be experienced as a strong tingling sensation.

Now imagine you're sitting on your sofa with your arm are dangling over the side out of sight. Suddenly you feel something tighten around your fingers and knuckles. Not knowing what it is you feel a stab of pain. Then come the associated thoughts: "it's the dog!", and the pain grows stronger. You feel a shot of fear over possible damage to the skin or infection, and it gets even stronger. This time the pain sensations, and the feedback from subsequent thoughts and feelings, blow open the pain gates and you're all too consciously aware of it all. Perceived threats are very powerful activators of the brain's systems.

Thankfully the example given in the book gives a positive ending to this scenario: you turn to look for the offending dog and discover it is just your niece again. The gates start to close, the pain goes away, hastened by a burst of laughter triggering a release of endorphins and a further closure of the gates!

So there's an interplay between the different types and levels of stimulus inputs, including from our nerves and sense organs, emotions, endorphins, and thoughts, and it's all affected by how our attention is directed. This interplay controls the state of the gateways, and therefore our experience of pain. This is known as "gate-control theory" after Ronald Melzack and Patrick Wall who came up with it in the 1960s (Melzack & Wall, 1965, 1982).

The reticular activating system

In the journey up to the brain, the next area the our sensations have to pass through is the brain stem. This area is responsible for (1) regulating most of the body's automatic functions (breathing, heartbeat, blood pressure, etc), and (2) relaying information to and from the brain to the rest of the body. It plays an important role in consciousness, awareness and movement (and it is only when brain stem function is permanently lost that a person is confirmed as dead.)

An important area in the brain stem for us in the mindfulness business is the reticular activating system (RAS) since it can have a strong influence on what we actually become aware of.

Sorry, the reticular what...?!

The reticular activating system, or RAS (but not RAS) is also thought to play a role in many important autonomic functions, including regulating sleep and wake, arousal and breathing. However, perhaps its most important function is its ability to focus our attention on something. It is the portal through which nearly all sensory information enters the brain, and it acts as an initial filter to all this incoming information to stop us getting overloaded. It dampens down repeated or excessive stimuli, and flags up any crucial information that threatens survival or is just new and different. It's part of our internal editor.

Imagine walking down a busy shopping street with a blister on your foot. You've been walking all day, and with your attention on navigating the crowds and getting to the next shop you filter out the soreness on your foot – thanks to your RAS. Then someone in the crowd treads on your foot and boom, suddenly you notice! That again is your RAS working for you.

The sense gates in the spinal cord and the RAS in the brain stem are therefore similar in function. The RAS operates at a slightly higher level though, filtering and editing higher level sensations and thoughts.

So what is pain?

I think the above examples illustrate a few different aspects of pain. There are the nerve impulses that are relayed up the spinal cord to the pain gateways. Depending on our physical and emotional state, these gates open letting the pain sensation through, or don't, blocking or modifying the signal. Then there's our reticular activating system which acts at a higher level to dampen down repeated or excessive stimuli, or flag up any life-threatening (or just new and exciting) information.

Assuming that the pain signals pass through all the way to our awareness, then we perceive pain. Then come all the layers of associated thoughts and emotions: "I'm so stupid, why did I burn myself again?", "Why won't this pain go away?", "I hate this pain!", "I must have done something bad to deserve this", etc.

Someone wise once said "pain is inevitable, suffering is optional". A considerable proportion of what we perceive as pain arises through our anxious desire to suppress it, and that's where our mindfulness practice can really work in our favour. The Buddha said, “When we’re touched with a feeling of pain, we feel sorrow, grief, and, beating our breast, become distraught. We feel two pains, physical & mental. Just as if we were to shoot a man with an arrow and, right afterward, were to shoot him with another one”. The physical pain may be unavoidable, adding the mental pain is our choice.

Influenced awareness

So our unconscious systems can modify our sensory inputs before we're even conscious of them. A recent article I read (p26) paraphrased this as "the eyes only see and the ears only hear what the brain tells them" – in short we all pick opinions then find data to support these beliefs and this becomes our reality. Since our mindfulness practice is all about increasing awareness and knowledge of ourselves and how we interpret reality, it's important to know about all these unconscious influences so we can recognise them when we feel their effects.

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you Perceptions on your pain gateways? Reflections on the reticular activation system? Leave a comment below, join the discussion.
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An aligned, relaxed body leads to the mind of awakening

2015-01-22T06:16:00.004-08:00

Life takes place in this body, right here and now.

We experience the world around us through our body and its senses, so obviously how we use, move, understand and perceive our body has an enormous effect on how we live our lives. If we perceive our body as out of proportion, ugly, or incapable, this necessarily affects how we live compared to someone who is comfortable in their body.

Posture and alignment

Feeling pain, particularly chronic on-going pain, can very easily lead to negative feelings towards the body. One of the biggest causes of pain is bad posture, and the body area that suffers the most is often the back. According to the NHS, back pain is the leading cause of long-term sickness in the UK, and was responsible for a whopping 15 million lost work days in 2013. Sitting for long periods in front of a computer is bad enough, but couple that with bad posture and you've got a recipe for pain.

In meditation we also sit for long periods, so it's no wonder that meditation teachers have a lot to say about sitting posture. The famous 13th century Japanese Zen master Dogen wrote that to practice meditation one should "Sit ... with your [clothes] tied loosely and arranged neatly. ... Straighten your body and sit upright, leaning neither left nor right, neither forward nor backward. Align your ears with your shoulders and your nose with your navel." Simple enough!

When we start our meditation practice and bring awareness to the body, one of the first things we may notice are areas of stiffness or tension. These can arise for many reasons as I wrote about here.

One of the keys to releasing tension and encouraging relaxation is bringing the body into correct alignment (the subject of a wonderful little book by Will Johnson). But what are we aligning our body to? The answer is our innate sense of “up” and “down”, and this comes from gravity. If we can align our body around a predominantly vertical axis (whether sitting or standing), then the force of gravity will support us instead of weigh us down. Right now try leaning to one side. It takes a some work! So aligning of the physical body with the vertical allows us to relax and shed unnecessary tension. This is why sitting up straight is so important, and that's why doing something like yoga practice is also so important.

Upright meditation position

Firstly, yoga practice shows us where our tensions and imbalances lie. For example, almost all of us have natural imbalances in the hips which cause a slight scoliosis (sideways curve) in the spine, which in turn causes our shoulders to sit skewey and our neck and head to be slightly off-centre. Through correct practice we can learn to release and unblock these tensions and asymmetries so that both our physical and energetic bodies can come into balanced alignment.

However, it's important that the uprightness we cultivate isn't rigid. The strength to hold ourselves upright (especially in this day and age where we tend to slouch at every opportunity) takes time to develop, and it must come together with a sense of softness. This is particularly important in the chest and belly so that our breathing can be as unrestricted and natural as possible.

An aligned, relaxed body leads to a relaxed mind

A relaxed body, in turn, encourages a relaxed mind – one that is less distracted by pain and discomfort, and more able to feel and sense what’s happening in this present moment. Zen master Dogen said, "if one's body is straight, one's mind is easily straightened too. If one sits keeping one's body upright, one's mind does not become dull... One must be aware when one's mind runs around in distraction, or when one's body leans or sways, and allow body and mind to return to sitting upright."
In this quote, Dogen is making an analogy between present moment awareness and our vertical axis. As soon as the mind loses alignment to this axis (i.e. the present moment), we can say our mind loses balance and we start to wander off into memories or fantasies.

One of Dogen’s students once asked him “Do we find the way in the mind or the body?” Dogen answered "In the body." And in his famous book "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind" the 20th century Zen master Shunryu Suzuki said "The state of mind that exists when you sit in the right posture is itself enlightenment."

	I am a member of the Zenways sangha led by Zen master Daizan Roshi, and I teach meditation, mindfulness and yoga at the ZenYoga studio in Camberwell, London. See my website for further details.
I'd love to hear from you What's your experience of sitting up straight in meditation? How do you combine uprightness with soft relaxation? Leave a comment below, join the discussion.
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outer universe to inner universe

What is qi / ki?

Electrical energy

Chemical energy

Mental energy Intention/will

Organisational energy

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A person of great strength does not lift his legs

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Painful shoulder

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The pelvic floor in detail

Bones

Muscles

(1) The deep layer

(2) The mid layer

(3) The superficial layer

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The Buddha's enlightenment

Axial age

Siddhartha Guatama

His search

Awakening

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Having a conversation with my deep tissue

Physical tissues

Mind that makes sense of things

Coordinative function

Perceptions

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From a clockwork universe to the uncertainty of quantum mechanics

Newtonian mechanics

Cracks in the clockwork

The quantum revolution

Strange behaviour

Uncertainty

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We're all made from stardust

The entire Universe is one

The Big Bang element factory

The stellar element factory

The supernova element factory

Generations of stars forming and exploding

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Mindfulness and family

Push-pull factors, desire & aversion

Spending time with family

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Who are you to decide?

Free will

Premovement

Interrupting the premovement

Transformation

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What is an emotion?

What is an emotion?

Emotion is an afterthought

No-mind, no emotions

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Vanity in Lefkada

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Dharma combat

A complicated ceremony

No questions and no answers

What happens now?

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My first dharma talk