By Jeffrey Kigyo Silver

Bodhidharma said: Self nature is subtle and mysterious.  In the realm of the selfless dharma, not contriving reality for the self is called the Precept of Not Indulging in Anger.

A famous soldier came to the master Hakuin and asked: "Master, tell me: is there really a heaven and a hell?"

"Who are you?" asked Hakuin.

"I am a soldier of the great Emperor's personal guard."

"Nonsense!" said Hakuin. "What kind of emperor would have you around him? To me you look like a beggar!"

At this, the soldier started to rattle his big sword in anger.

"Oh, so you have a sword!" said Hakuin. "I'll wager it's much too dull to cut my head off!"

At this the soldier could not hold himself back. He drew his sword and threatened the master, who said: "Now you know half the answer! You are opening the gates of hell!"

The soldier drew back, sheathed his sword, and bowed.

"Now you know the other half," said the master. "You have opened the gates of heaven."    *

My father died a little over 25 years ago.  During the week after his death, my family and I sat shiva, a Jewish tradition.  We received guests all week where we mourned his death and celebrated his life.  This is a very useful tradition for mourners.  After a week, I returned to teaching, sure that I was feeling fine, a bit sad, but fine.

I had an 8th grade homeroom.  At that time of the year all students had to bring in a number of papers for high school applications.  Like a good mother hen, I usually cajoled and scolded those who were slow. 

One day, a week or two after my return, I saw that a number of students had not brought in some required notices about high school.

As the class lined up for their first period class, I lost it; I yelled at them so loudly that I could see them cringing back towards the walls.  It got very quiet, then one girl (who, to this day does not know I heard her) said, “What the f**k is wrong with him?”.

I heard her.  I quickly sent the class out and sat down.  I began to realize that I was not feeling so fine about my father’s death.

If only I could keep Hakuin or my former student in my pocket.  My father’s death was 25 years ago; only a few weeks ago I made a 7^th grade boy cry.  Whatever he did he didn’t deserve what he got from me.  This incident bothered me for days afterward.

From Santideva’s Bodhicaryavatara:  “…..on account of anger, I have been placed in hells thousands of times, and I have benefitted neither myself or others.” Kate Crosby and Andrew Skelton, in their translation of The Bodhicaryavatara, write that the reason Santideva wrote so much about forbearance is because its opposite, “anger, is that emotion which most clearly undermines the performance of the Bodhisattva’s vow to save all beings.”  Anger alienates us from those whom we have undertaken to serve. **

In the heat of anger it’s impossible for most of us to engage in our practice.  We can, however, step back, do and say very little, and remove ourselves.  We can practice mindfulness by following our breathing while identifying and mindfully observing our anger.  Awareness of anger doesn’t suppress or drive it out – awareness just looks after it, without judgment.

In the heat of anger – as an argument, or problem, is occurring - it’s impossible for most of us to engage in our practice.  We can step back, do and say very little, and remove ourselves. We can practice mindfulness – by following our breathing while identifying and mindfully observing our anger.  Awareness of anger doesn’t suppress or drive it out – just looks after it, not judging it.  Meditation is part of this but mindfulness doesn’t stop there. 

As we follow this path we see that the primary root of our anger is ourselves; we are shocked to see how much we’ve blinded ourselves to the many ways in which we cause harm.  Our style is so ingrained that we can’t hear people trying to make us aware that we might be causing harm by the way we are or the way we relate with others.  We’ve become so used to the way we do things that somehow we think that others are used to it too.  I thought my anger was something everyone understood and would just ignore.  I didn’t see, or ignored, the fear in my daughter’s face, or how others withdrew when I became angry.  Most of the time I was a smart, funny guy, so I thought people wouldn’t get upset if I got angry every so often.  Even when I wanted to change, I would convince myself, at times, that this was just the way I was, and people would have to accept that.

In mindfulness we see things when they arise.  We see our desires, our aggression, our jealousy and our ignorance.  We don’t act on them; we just see them and in doing so we don’t buy into the chain reaction that makes things grow from minute to expansive – we leave things minute – they don’t keep expanding.  By learning to pause for a moment, we don’t act impulsively and do the same thing again and again.  This pause is a transformational experience.

To look at our anger is to go to the heart of our practice.  Truly stepping back and observing we become capable, in time, of seeing our thoughts as thoughts and not as the truth.  As the thoughts drop off we slowly enter a dimension which knows what to do, not just for our own self but for the other as well.  We have begun making what Joko Beck refers to as A Bigger Container – the amount of life we can hold without being upset or feeling dominated by it.  At first the space is quite restricted, but then it grows and never ceases to grow.  As long as we’re alive we’ll see there is a limit to our container’s size; at this point we must practice.  Where is the cutoff point? – when we feel any degree of upset or anger.  No matter how true our practice is, there will be times when we are upset and perhaps lose our temper – we are human.  Again, we go back to the breath, observe, continue our practice and show loving kindness to ourselves.  The strength of our practice is how big our container gets.  While we do this practice we have to be charitable with ourselves.  Sometimes we won’t want to do it – that’s not bad.  As A Bigger Container grows, as we observe and experience, our wisdom and compassion grow. ***

While discussing with Susan, several years ago, the Precept of Not Indulging in Anger, she spoke of the difference between becoming angry and harboring anger.  We all get angry with people and external circumstances at some time, but what do we do next?  For me, the metaphor of the clenched fist arises.  I want to let go and be free of this anger, but ego and my own version of events keep that fist clenched; it isn’t easy to let go of those things, which leads to delusions and attachments, which cause our suffering.  Through my practice, I have begun to see that because of my personal history and beliefs I have constructed a world of likes and dislikes – preferences – which have made it difficult for me to see things clearly. This clinging to thoughts involving pride, control and a desire for permanence have led to the “soap opera in my mind” which Joko Beck wrote about.  However, my “Bigger Container” is expanding.  I have been able to see how much my ego is on the line but I am also trying to understand how the other person might feel.  Recently, and especially after working on this talk, I have really begun to see that “thoughts are thoughts” – not the truth.  Sometimes, while conversing with a friend who is also following this path, or even in my own mind, while I’m complaining and becoming a bit emotional, or impatient about something, the phrases “What, you mean you can’t control everything?” or “What, you mean things change?” – whether spoken or thought – bring me back to a more clear version of reality and I smile.

This is, indeed, a lifetime practice – there are no shortcuts to patience, forbearance, equanimity – each moment is its own challenge to practice.

***

* Citations unknown (the second is from Wheel of Death, Kapleau, 1990)

** Santideva, The Bodhicaryavatara, Kate Crosby and Andrew Skelton, trans.World's Classics, 1995,

*** Joko Beck, Everyday Zen, Harper Collins, c. 1989

At 10:00 am on September 24th, our Zendo started to hum with activity. We were setting up craft tables and snacks, and even a time-lapse camera (see below), in preparation for our second year as a participating venue in New Rochelle Arts Council's annual ArtsFest.

Since the enso (originally the classic brush painted circle) theme bloomed so beautifully at last year's ArtsFest with our Sweetcake Enso art exhibition (still traveling even as I write this), we decided to carry it forward in a few new ways. This year we offered Enso: The Circle of Life as a family art workshop with two activities: enso collage-making and creating an earth-healing sand painting. Both activites expressed the interpenetration of unity and diversity, of equality and difference - a central teaching in the Zen tradition.

On one side of the Zendo, the collage table was covered in beautiful photos of plants, animals, and landscapes that Susan, Sharon Mosely and Jeff Silver had enjoyed cutting out of magazine pages when the Zendo was quiet.

On the other side, we were setting up a sand table (beautifully constructed by Deb Wood) and carefully filling containers with colorful sand. (Okay, we spilled a little!)

In all of the places in between, sangha volunteers were busy readying the Zendo for the visitors, who number about 91 by the end of the day.

It was a truly beautiful day, with new visitors and sangha members all having fun and learning how to paint with sand using, of all things, empty ballpoint pens and tongue depressors!  It was wonderful to see people's faces light up when they saw the collage table and the sand painting in progress.  Most people approached hesitantly, but were happy to find that, yes, they could paint with sand after all.  Much love and care went into every grain of sand, and the many smiles exchanged and helping hands offered ensured that it truly was a healing painting.

Many people asked, "How will you hang this up?" or "Where will you keep this?". With a smile, a sangha member would reply, "We aren't keeping it. Our teacher will sweep it away at the end of the day.  It is a teaching of impermanence." This reply was met with an array of reactions from bemusement to dismay, but the sand continued to pour amidst the sound of laughter from the collage area.

It took us 4 1/2 hours to complete the painting. Perfect! When it was done we cheered and took a moment to absorb the day before taking the last step. Destroying it. Releasing it. 

Susan stood in front of the painting and we all put our hands up in gassho as she offered a healing prayer, for the earth and for all beings. Then, with presence and care, she swept her hand through the painting, giving birth to a final beautiful swirling enso.

The painting actually became more beautiful as it transformed and the discernible image blurred , all colors joining together, no longer able to be separated.

This beautifully punctuated the feeling that had grown inside of me that day.  A feeling of artistic openness and community. The Three Treasures were truly manifested. What a blessing.

[NOTE: For more photos from ArtsFest 2011, click here to visit the Image Gallery.]

Photos by Chuck Peters

I looked for my self, but myself was gone.

The boundaries of my being

had disappeared in the sea.

Waves broke. Awareness rose again.

And a voice returned me to myself.

It always happens like this.

Sea turns on itself and foams,

and with every foaming bit

another body, another being takes form.

And when the sea sends word,

Each foaming body melts back to ocean-breath.

                ---Jelaluddin Rumi (13^th century Sufi poet)*

The mystical music of the Sufi tradition came alive on Sunday afternoon at Empty Hand Zen Center. On June 26^th, Sangha members, friends and family, gathered to celebrate an anticipated Community Concert featuring the soothing voice of Amir Alan Vahab and his ensemble. Mr. Vahab, a distinguished musician and teacher of Turkish and Iranian folk music, and an expert on Middle Eastern instruments, offered a performance that celebrated the poetry and music of Rumi, Hafez and the wandering dervish, Baba Tahir.

Months of  planning and coordinating finally came to fruition at Empty Hand Zen Center as we wrapped ourselves in the Sufi ethos and began to lose ourselves in the devotional sounds of Turkish and Persian dialect, the Persian flute (ney), lute (saz), and the lively daf—a large tambourine-like drum. The authentic instruments added to a delightful day.

In addition the Zendo had been arranged to reflect the Middle Eastern culture and spirit. A small table was covered with a Persian tablecloth decorated with paisley patterns and held a basket of Amir’s CDs. After the concert, our Sangha snacked on Persian delicacies such as nan-e nokhodchi (chickpea cookies) and nan-e berenje (cardamom rose-water cookies) whose aroma permeated the entire Zendo. Our sitting area had been transformed into a small stage and the energy, Amir noted, was open and wonderful.

Amir and his ensemble began with poetry, songs and stories that have been passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. Accompanying each venerable Turkish or Persian piece were readings of English translations of Sufi verse. These esoteric poems are universal in nature and reflect the cultural and artistic expressions of this part of the world.

Amir Alan Vahab, who The New York Times calls an ambassador of a silenced music, proclaimed that the poetry and songs we were witnessing are spiritual in nature, and compared the singing and recitation of these old texts to reciting the Buddhist Sutras. Amir reminded our Sangha that something unique occurs when one’s vocalization or musical ability expands beyond mere entertainment. For example, Sufis are often depicted whirling in ecstasy, losing themselves in graceful spinning. In this dance of life, whirling dervishes—with one palm facing up to the heavens and one palm facing down—are able to connect to the divine source through trance dance.  Similarly, for those who follow Sufi phenomenology, music and poetry become creative pathways to  What Amir referred to as the face of God and what we are more accustomed to describing as the interconnectedness of all being.

Along with the recitation of authentic translations of ancient poetry and gentle vocals sweeping over us and absorbing us in the mythos—we were treated to memorable folktales Amir chronicled the story of Baba Tahir, a wandering mystic from Hamadan. Baba Tahir was a mystic who is known for four his dubayti or four line poems. Buddhists also have many stories of wandering monks; Homeless Kodo for example, is a famous and beloved Zen Monk who is considered to be one of the most important Soto Zen teachers. Through out the performance, we were reminded of the beautiful resonance between different spiritual paths.

Amir also expressed his own spiritual belief in unity: all religions, he reminded us, share many similar elements. His compassionate speech was moving and received assenting nods. “We also practice what we preach,” Amir noted the difference in beliefs among himself and his ensemble which included a Christian, a Su’ni and Shiite Sufi.  “The classical Sufi tradition contains a very strong emphasis on the divine unity of all life (called Tawhid). In this view shared by Rumi, and many others, the whole creation came into existence to express the unlimited, sacred qualities through all beings.”*

Amir further brought each instrument to life by explaining their history, function and relevance in the Sufi religion. The short musical lessons and folkloric tales enhanced each performance. Our Sangha learned that the ney was useless if one was to breathe directly into the mouthpiece. He demonstrated that the placement of the fingers and specific breathing techniques were imperative. The ney, Amir noted, was also one of Rumi’s favorite instruments.  Jelaluddin Rumi, the famous Sufi poet was so fond of it that he has been quoted to have said “do not come to my funeral without the ney.” 

The Turkish lute, or saz, has seven strings, which Amir, explained, is a significant number in Sufism and is cosmically acknowledged as a significant emblem; Turkish vocals followed the sounds of strumming strings. 

During the intermission a few people stopped to examine the daf, played elegantly by Amir’s ensemble. A personal favorite, the elusive, frame hand-drum, is usually constructed out of sheep’s skin with looping strands of chain concealed on the inside of the rim. The outer layer of the drum is usually painted with birds, mystics or Persian poetry. The dafs used in this concert were made from synthesized materials and illustrated with Persian maidens adorned with flowers. The drums were raised and tapped with fingertips, and as they were lowered a cascade of sound from links of chain complimented the rhythm of the drum. 

“This is the sound of 5000 years ago,” Amir saved the tanbour, the three-string long-necked Persian lute for an encore.  Although many were already swaying in their chairs the last song seemed to enliven our spirits.  “We can get a little crazy here,” Amir smiled warmly and a few people, who were of Iranian descent sang along with the lyrics while others tapped their feet; many were simply hypnotized by the rhythms. We had entered the mast or “intoxication” of the Sufi spirit. “Sufi poetry speaks eloquently about the intoxication; both Runi and Hafez have entranced readers because they emphasize passionate love.”*  

One of the most endearing moments occurred when Amir gazed up at the walls of Empty Hand and he told us that the bricks held innumerable stories. It was these precious gems--recitation of olden poems and ancient melodies, compassionate words that embraced non-duality, stories of mystics whose words are so close to those of our own tradition, and authentic instruments that will remain with us forever. Perhaps the bricks have now absorbed an afternoon of sacred music to their countless stories and events. Sometimes as I sit, I can sill hear the soft echoes of the ney or the thunderous daf. 

***

*Douglas-Klotz, The Sufi Book of Life. New York: Penguin Group, 2005.

For three years now, long time Empty Hand member Sandra Seirin Laureano has been offering Zen practice in the suburb of Cupey, where her elderly mother lives, just outside of San Juan.   The Zen Group of Cupey meets on Wednesday evenings each week.  They also have held several Retreats on Saturdays during the last year.  It was in response to the invitation of this Zen Group, now about 8 -10 sitters, that this amazing trip came to be. 

Friday late afternoon the Cupey Group gathered together to welcome the visiting teacher – they had prepared delicious refreshments and soon we were engaged in warmhearted conversation. The depth of their interest in Zen practice was immediately apparent. Their kindness and generosity was deeply touching.

The sound of their new moktok announced zazen with the sharp accelerating pattern of the Han.  With a few words about zazen as body practice, there followed two periods of zazen with kinhin, also dokusan,  chanting of Sutras in Spanish, and finally some brief encouraging words.

But this was just the beginning.  The Cupey Zen Group, thanks to a previous connection with a Tibetan Center in San Juan  – Centro Budhista Ganden Shedrup Ling - had been invited by their leadership, Iraida Martinez, Administrator and Alberto Fournier, Program Director, to use their Center both Saturday and Sunday for a series of Zen events with the visiting teacher from New York. These would be open to their own Sangha, and any interested public as well.

Their gracious welcome still astounds me, most especially the huge bouquet of white roses put in my arms on my initial arrival and the delicious Godiva chocolate treats on departure.  Goodness, this “maestra de budismo zen” was deeply  honored. 

Saturday afternoon more than 50 people joined those from Sandra’s group for Entering Silence:  Introduction to Zen Practice.  This was a series of short presentations – Fundamentals of Zen Buddhist teaching, Wisdom and Compassion, and Practice in Everyday life -  alternating with a short  zazen and then a standing stretch. Discussion at the end was lively and heartfelt.  Although most seemed to understand my English, there was simultaneous translation being offered via head-sets by Alberto who sat in a glassed in booth at the end of the room. Amazing.

Sunday the meditation hall was reset Zendo style, and we welcomed over 30 participants for a morning silent Retreat – a clear contrast to the informal Saturday afternoon introductory program.  Three periods of zazen, kinhin, with dokusan, allowed the silence to deepen.  The Service which followed was especially moving – not only the Sutras but the dedications had been newly translated into Spanish and our chanting was well supported by the sound of gongs as well as the steady beat of the moktok. The morning ended with a talk, Whichever Way, based on the beloved Windbell poem of Dogen and his teacher Rujing.  

Following a delicious vegetarian lunch and short rest, the day ended with a Workshop on the Ox-herding Pictures, with discussion of the stumbling blocks and pitfalls of the spiritual journey.  Discussion in each of the three sections - Aspiration, Realization, and Embodiment - was amazing in its openness.  The room was filled with individuals seeking to live an awakened life, willing to inquire and to look directly at the nature of the “me-mine” self and the causes of our suffering.

It felt as though I had “splashed down” into a new field that was already well prepared, well plowed, and well seeded with the Buddha’s teaching. Maybe the Zen perspective offered some fresh fertilizer; maybe there was a deep watering.  Don’t know.  The unbelievable open heartedness, receptivity and sincerity of all who participated moved me deeply. I sensed that some lives had known great sorrow and loss, I heard of struggles with anger and of a strong determination to live more peacefully. I also encountered the expression of deep natural intuitive wisdom.  The Buddha way – Butsudo – was  manifesting everywhere, right in the middle of ordinary life, ordinary problems. 

Bowing together,  con Todos los  Buddhas a traves del espacio y el tiempo…..

***

If you would like to contact Grupo Meditación Zen de Cupey click here.  And there is a nice interview, "Nothing Missing, Nada Falta" with Sandra Seiren Laureano in which she explains how the sitting group began available here.

By Chuck Hosho Peters

"Far away in the heavenly abode of the great god Indra, there is a wonderful net which has been hung in such a manner that it stretches out infinitely in all directions. There a single glittering jewel in each node of the net, and since the net is infinite in dimension, the jewels are infinite in number. There hang the jewels, glittering like stars in the first magnitude, a wonderful site to behold. If we now arbitrarily select one of these jewels for inspection, we will discover that in its polished surface there are reflected all the other jewels in the net, infinite in number.  Not only that, but each of the jewels reflected in this one is also reflecting all the other jewels, so that there is an infinite reflecting process occurring."

 -Francis Dojun Cook*

Whether we realize it or not, we are all sitting at one of the nodes in Indra's Net. We are all glittering jewels, sitting at our node, intimately connected to all of the other nodes. As we occupy this node, we are both individual entities, or personal selves, and the entire net, or the universal self - at the same time.   

All of the other entities in this net have a well-defined script that they manifest.  Plants grow, fix sunlight, and produce oxygen. Fungi break down organic material. Rocks slowly release minerals and occasionally roll downhill.  Beavers build dams.  Birds fly and fish swim. And all of these scripts are pretty much inviolate.  A raccoon, for example, can't wake up one morning and say " I feel tired, I'm not going to forage today".

This inherent script involves more than the just our personal self.  We have an effect on the nature and flow of all materials, energy, and relationships that pass through our node, and, given that we are connected to everything else, our behavior ultimately determines the stability, integrity, and beauty of the entire net. So, what is our script?

A very clear expression of what our “life script” might be is offered by Eihei Dogen in his essay, Genjokoan.  Genjokoan is frequently translated as "manifesting (or actualizing) absolute reality" (or “the fundamental point”).  Shohaku Okumura, in his new book, Realizing Genjokoan offers some additional explanation for the title: "Genjo means 'the reality actually taking place' and koan refers to 'a question that absolute reality ask of us'. So we can say that genjokoan means 'to address the questions posed by absolute reality through the practice of our everyday life''.**   This certainly sounds like a script to me.

There is one passage early on in Dogen's Genjokoan that I find particularly illuminating : "To carry yourself forward and illuminate the myriad things, the myriad dharmas, is delusion. That the myriad things come forth and illuminate themselves is awakening or enlightenment".

According to Dogen, it is the flows between entities, the relationships and interactions between nodes - rather than the entities themselves - that define the difference between enlightenment and delusion as we take our place in Indra's net.

Do we allow the constant flows, the interactions, to move through our nodes unhindered and to manifest their absolute reality? Are they "just flows". In the way that shikantaza is "just sitting"? Do we respond to these flows with our universal self, which Uchiyama Roshi defines as, “the self that manifests what is there before we cook it up with thought”? Do the flows move through our node without disrupting the net? Like the bird flying though the air or the fish swimming in the water? 

Or, alternatively, do we try to control and modify theses flows to our own advantage through the attachment, aversion, or indifference of our personal self? Do we greedily hoard those flows which provide us wealth, status, or, that validate our opinions and narratives, and push away those interactions that we don't like or that we view as antagonistic?  And, in some cases, do we simply ignore what is flowing through the present moment of our node, e.g. the crying child, the beggar asking for money, the owner of the car with the flat tire parked on the shoulder of the road?

We are repeatedly told that the goal of a successful, happy life is to maximize the inflows (the gains) and to minimize the outflows (the losses) through our node.  This message is confusing, however, because this type of behavior invariably brings us more suffering, not happiness. 

I don't know about you, but, in most cases, I carry myself - the personal self - forward and illuminate the myriad things that approach my node - and form an opinion about each one of them. This, rather than letting the myriad things come forth and illuminate themselves within my node, and manifesting what is essential and complete in that moment.  I do this in spite of understanding intellectually that the latter interaction, i.e. letting the myriad things illuminate themselves, is the one that ultimately reinforces the stability, integrity, and beauty of the network within which I am embedded.  But I am working on this.

This is our intrinsic script. This is our practice.  This is what we take from our zazen and carry with us off the cushion.  To practice in this manner is to awaken to the self that is connected to all beings.  Dropping our conceptual views of who we are, we can actualize reality and settle into the true self that is both a single glittering jewel - and the entire infinite Net of Indra.  

***

* Hua-Yen Buddhism: The Jewel Net of Indra ( http://www.amazon.com/Hua-Yen-Buddhism-Jewel-Indra-Iaswr/dp/027102190X)

** (http://www.amazon.com/Realizing-Genjokoan-Key-Dogens-Shobogenzo/dp/0861716019)

***

Chuck Hosho Peters is a tropical ecologist employed by The New York Botanical Garden.  In this capacity he is able to travel to places such as Myanmar, Vietnam, China and Mexico, aiding local cultures to continue to subsist with knowledge of forestry maintenance.  This essay was written as a supplement to his dharma talk on "Deep Ecology, Indra's net, and the Practice of Genjokoan," which you can listen to here.

Also, Chuck's own blog is very much worth visiting.  It is effectively a diary of his travels, documenting not only forest growth but the people who coexist within it, and frequently the Buddhist practice of others along the way.  Please visit thus i have seen.



Surei Kenpo Darlene Cohen, October 31st, 1942- January 12th, 2011

Her Dharma name, Surei, means Great Spirit.  Her Birthday, Halloween, invokes the whole spirit world.  Together they capture something of her persona – vibrant, spirited, unafraid, aware of the unseen realms, and willing to take on and transform all demons. Born in Dayton, Ohio, her radiant natural beauty and quick penetrating mind were paired with tremendous passion to live life fully.  Twice struck with devastating illness, she first fought long and hard to heal Rheumatoid Arthritis as a young mother. Recently, we have witnessed her tremendous determination to continue living as long as possible with Ovarian cancer.  She did complete what she felt was her legacy, thus giving clear illustration of her second name, Kenpo, or Manifesting Dharma. With a great sense of fulfillment, she lived long enough to give Dharma Transmission for a second time  – this time to two fine students in the Bay Area, Cynthia Kear and Sarita Tomayo. 

Darlene and the man she would eventually marry, Tony Patchell, came to Zen Center in 1970, pulling up in their VW van, big collie “Dylan” in the back, a copy of Three Pillars of Zen fueling their cross-country trip from Massachusetts. An unexpected meeting with Suzuki Roshi at the door, his kindness and presence, was described by Darlene as life changing.  Before long they were sitting Sesshin, not at all prepared for how difficult it would be physically, to say nothing of having to quit smoking on the spot! From that time on, they entered the community at of San Francisco Zen Center, living and working at Tassajara,  City Center, and also Green Gulch Farm in Marin County for many years. 

In 1977 while in residence at Green Gulch Darlene became acutely ill with Rheumatoid Arthritis. This painful and crippling auto-immune disease led her to explore the potential of her meditation training to address chronic pain and catastrophic illness. In 1980, after regaining the functional use of her own body, she began instructing people in various meditation and concentration practices as an approach to healing.  She wrote three books: Arthritis: Stop Suffering, Start Moving; Turning Suffering Inside Out and The One Who is Not Busy and also taught widely in medical facilities and meditation centers for several decades. 

In the mid 90’s  Dairyu Michael Wenger became her Zen Teacher.  She expresses her gratitude at the beginning of Turning Suffering Inside Out:

To Michael Wenger, who reeled me in when I was setting up standards of my own because I was convinced I could never be part of a vigorous Zen community again or teach zazen. It is Michael who has since taught me everything I wanted to know and stuff I lacked the sense to want to know.

In the early part of the 21^st Century, both Darlene and Tony received full Dharma Transmission from their teachers, Michael Wenger and Blanche Hartman, respectively. They moved up to their cottage in the redwoods of Guerneville, renovated the garage to create the wonderful Russian River Zendo, and have continued to unfold their teaching gifts with those who come to practice.

Always down to earth, connecting practice to living a real life in the real world,  Darlene offered a clear example of the possibility of strong practice in the middle of ordinary life.  Without minimizing the value of strong and vibrant zazen, she  emphasized what she liked to call “body-to-body” practice: one-on-one relationships as a basic paradigm in Soto Zen practice. Being in residence together, shopping, cooking, cleaning, silently sipping tea was the container that allowed some true glimpse of non-separation, of “not two.”  She wordlessly taught us that in responding to each other with what Suzuki Roshi called “warm hand to warm hand,” the experience of intimacy with another human being can be tasted directly and be transformative. 

When I was first introduced to Darlene in 2000 by Zenkei Blanche Hartmann at San Francisco Zen Center, there was an immediate sense of a double sisterhood  sister-in-the-Dharma as well as sister-in-autoimmune-illness. There was also an immediate recognition of the world of differences which made us both chuckle in surprise – the lady and the monk!  Such different “packages”, such sameness of the heart!

Darlene visited the Empty Hand Zendo in Rye several times, offering teaching based primarily on her own experience of whole body awareness as practice. As she notes in her book, Turning Suffering Inside Out:

Even if your body is weak or painful, it’s still your home; it’s how you’re manifesting this life. On the most basic existential level, your body is also your penetration into reality: it is the only way that you can experience the transparency and interconnections of all things.    (pp. 33-34)

A few years later she received Dharma Transmission from her teacher, Dairyu  Michael Wenger, and began to unfold as a teacher with growing confidence in her own capacity to give expression to the rich teachings of the Zen Buddhist tradition. She visited again and in 2004 led our Spring Sesshin at Garrision Institute, marvelously unfolding the third ancestor’s Trust in Mind for us all.  In the middle of the Sesshin, breaking all the rules, I snuck down to her room at bedtime, knocked on her door, and as she stood there in her flowered flannel nightgown, I asked her to be my teacher, bowing down repeatedly on the hard wood floor.  Discouraged by the collapse of all my efforts to find a new teacher after the death of my ordination teacher, Maurine Stuart in 1990, I had given up.  Suddenly, the teacher appeared.  She answered a strong  “Yes!”  then adding “only if you will let me offer you Dharma Transmission.”   Stunned, there were only tears in reply.

Darlene quickly consulted with her own teacher and others on her return home. At this time we discussed that even if formal Transmission would not be possible, it was OK.  Our connection was alive and mutual -  “Not Two” manifesting freely and deeply.  Our work together was of value in itself, and certainly was not to “get” something.  At the same time, she seemed to know that in my long Zen journey something was missing, something was not yet complete. To be honest, I did not see this at the time; I was so delighted to have a teacher with whom I could stretch, polish and sharpen practice.

With Dairyu Michael Wenger’s kind help, elders of SFZC, most especially Zenkai Blanche Hartman and Sojun Mel Weitzman, both of whom I had known for many years, allowed us to begin study together towards Dharma Transmission.  There were many cross country visits, regular Dogen study over the phone, and always her open heart and deep understanding to support and encourage.  When the shocking diagnosis of Ovarian Cancer appeared in the Fall of 2006, time with Darlene became most precious, and we continued on. January 2008 brought the transmission of the ancestral and preceptual line to completion –  great joy!   Something had been missing, and now ploughed open it was clear to me, ancestor to ancestor and marrow to marrow.

 An infinite number of bows of gratitude to you, dear Darlene.

By Caroline Reddy  

This essay by sangha and for sangha is published on the Sweetcake Enso website, and is here for those who have not seen it.  Carrie's work, as well as that of Empty Hand Zen Center members Liz LaBella, Fran Shalom, and Anne Humanfeld, can be seen in the third Sweetcake Enso exhibition at the Village Zendo this coming Saturday January 15th.  You can read more about this exhibition here.

***

The Sweetcake Enso exhibit presently visiting Zendos across the country displays a variety of Ensos that play in the dance of form and emptiness. In the pieces that were submitted for this exhilarating exhibition, form reflects the myriad conditions of everyday life—elements that equate daily existence are respected and celebrated. 

Inside some of these circles of enlightenment, composed by contemporary Zen practitioners and artists, viewers discover an array of phenomena: gliding red snakes, crows, skulls, fragmented neon stickers, layers of colorful shapes resembling staircases, gritty metallic scraps and morsels, cosmic bubbles, and orbiting squares—all impressions that exemplify and illustrate life in its entirety. Alongside many elegant ensos constructed out of ink, metal leaf, mixed media, homemade paper, and found objects, an interactive sculpture entitled This and That, created by local Empty Hand Sangha member, Carolyn Fuchs, absorbs the participant in the process of creating a black-and-white enso in space the moment that a handle is spun. A mirror, hung serenely on the wall, reflects the genesis of an enso.

This and That, a peculiar sculpture devised from cast, iron, wood, metal and acrylic paint is based on the phenakistascope: an early animation device that used the persistence of motion principle to create an illusion of motion.* The breadth between the artist, her creation, and the participant vanishes as a black-and-white enso surfaces.  

“I was trying to decide what to do,” Carolyn—who also goes by Carrie in our Sangha—explains as she shares her impressions on the labor of the phenakistascope. “Originally I wanted to create a painting or a drawing but nothing seemed to inspire me.   I felt like I was forcing it too much, so I took a step back and thought about other ways to express an enso.” In order to emphasize the spontaneity  of an enso, Carrie decided to design a three-dimensional one; this format would allow participants to work with her to create the circle of enlightenment—accenting the energetic, and spontaneous, liveliness that ensos evoke. “I started to think about a sculpture with an element that someone had to physically actualize.  Each person would create the circle in space, activating a series of images that would be reflected in a mirror - their movement initiating the story. I wanted to give to the viewer, as my partner in the process, the moment of spontaneity expressed in painting an enso or experienced through a single brush stroke in calligraphy.” Without the participation of a viewer the images would remain static.  

The enso in Zen represents emptiness. In an animated brush stroke a spontaneous moment emerges freely creating a circle of enlightenment; thus an aesthetic union occurs. There is no artist and there is no creator—just an energetic force that emanates and electrifies the space.  Ensos also “evoke power, dynamism, charm, humor, drama and stillness.” Traditional ensos emerge from the monastery custom, where students spend years with their teacher, mindfully practicing calligraphy and creating countless circles of enlightenment. Audrey Yoshiko Seo observes that “only a person who is mentally and spiritually complete can draw a true one. Some artists practice drawing an enso daily as a spiritual practice.” Forgoing the spontaneity of  one stroke painting, Carrie spent a length of time with This and That. “It was an open process; the animated content kept changing and I had to make a concerted effort not to fight that until I absolutely had to make a decision.” 

 The animation is intentionally ambiguous. Carrie explains the symbolic allusion ingrained in the enso: “The animation features birds, an iconic and powerfully symbolic image. In this particular flight, a tangled ball of string is tethered to the bird’s feet.  Carrying the string could have different implications: a burden, unidentified/unfocused energy, or anxiety.  At a certain point in the animation the string snaps, unravels, and falls into radiating space; one can interpret this as a catharsis. And as it dissolves - as the tangle falls away from the bird - it disappears, only to reappear to start the process again.  This mirrors the symbolic cyclical nature of an enso.”  

The cyclical nature of the animation emulates the paradigm of creation.  In Zen Circles of Enlightenment, Seo describes our human relationship to the circle. “Our connection to the circle is in some ways obvious.   We are embedded in the circularity of the horizon. We live on a sphere that, with other spheres, circles around the sun, in the vast celestial dome.  We are enamored with the moon.  In art, we highlight an abstract circle’s many natural forms—the ring, the sphere, the wheel. We create halos that float above Saints’ heads, and perform ritual circle dances.”

Traditional enso calligraphies are often brushed in black ink; likewise, Carrie designed her enso by omitting color from her palette. “I chose to paint the image in black-and-white to simplify the image; it makes the animation more crisp. If it was done in color, the images would be muddled on the disc and hard to discern.  I wanted the whole piece to be monochromatic and calming to the eye; simple and a little mysterious.”  It is the elusive nature of this sculpture that had many Sangha members, including the writer of this segment, spinning the handle before the phenakistascope was unveiled to the public eye during New Rochelle’s Art Festival on Saturday October 2^nd and 3rd. 

  “Enso is considered to be one of the most profound subjects in Zenga (Zen-inspired paintings), and it is believed that the character of the artist is fully-exposed in how she or he draws an enso.”  Aware of this vital principle of an enso, Carrie also commented on what makes the circle of enlightenment so alluring.  “Ensos come from those who have forgotten about the bird and the tangle—the painter fades and the enso surfaces.”

  The interplay of flight and entanglement also implies the relationship between the relative (conditional life) and the absolute (infinite); hence, Carrie envisioned her sculpture to invoke interdependence. “Flight is the activity.  The entanglement and the release become a natural result of flight.”  Linking emptiness and the shavings of daily life, This and That expresses non-duality differently and alongside of the many other pieces submitted for the Sweetcake Enso exhibition.  

The phenakistascope allows many visitors a chance to play leading them to approach the whimsical instrument with an eager eye. “I wanted this piece,” Carrie explained, “to invoke a sense of wonder and magic, to invite curiosity and playfulness.”   

In The Way of the Peaceful Warrior, by Dan Millman, Socrates, the protagonist’s mentor and spiritual teacher, associates child-like wonder to the Garden of Eden. “Every infant lives in a bright garden where everything is sensed directly, without the veils of thought—free of beliefs, interpretations, and judgments.” Perhaps, spinning the handle of this enduring sculpture echoes the famous koan: what did your face look like before your parents were born?

“When someone reaches out to turn the handle they are open to the unknown and momentarily forget themselves in the activity of watching and spinning. Then the image truly comes to life,” Carrie affirmed. This child-like innocence is precisely the reason why This and That has been aptly-nicknamed, by a few Sangha members, “the spinny-thingy.”

Millman, Dan. The Way of the Peaceful Warrior.  California: New World Library. Seo, Audrey Yoshiko. Enso: Zen Circles of Enlightenment.  Massachusetts: Weatherhill. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/455469/phenakistoscope   

By Gillian Cummings

Just as the Sunday before, when adults of the Empty Hand Zen Center’s sangha ended Rohatsu Retreat with an Eye-Opening ceremony for the many Buddhas brought from home altars to be purified and rededicated to their owners’ practice, so on this wintry Saturday the Zen Kids group celebrated the Buddha’s awakening. We did this by making cardboard Buddhas and holding a similar ceremony to remind children and parents alike of their own Buddha nature, the awakening that is already here.

To begin, everyone took their seat in a semicircle around the front altar, and was introduced to the topic of “Rohatsu,” how it really means “twelfth month,” and how the name “Buddha” simply means “awake.” The Buddha’s life was described in simple terms the children could relate to: how the Buddha had lived in a palace as a young prince, unhappy though he had been given everything a young prince could want.  How he left the palace to live among wandering monks who starved themselves in their effort to attain enlightenment. How when he was near death from starvation himself, a girl, a shepherdess, came to him with a bowl of milk and he understood that to awaken he must first live, simply, in the body. He then sat beneath the bodhi tree and vowed he would remain there until he was enlightened. He then sat on a pillow of straw, much like our zafus. After a hard night of sitting he saw the morning star, and he saw, too, with clarity the causes of suffering and the path of freedom. Asked by the same wandering monks "Who are you now?"—glowing with the light of his new transformation—he replied simply, “I am awake.” Or “Buddha.”

Following this story, the children assumed zazen posture, which they all seemed familiar with, and we sat as a group for a period of three minutes. There was minimal fidgeting and a sense of lightness could be felt in the room.

We then began to make our own Buddhas, not be meant as objects of worship but rather as reminders of our own potential for clear-seeing.

Small, medium and large Buddha outlines had been cut out of cardboard ahead of time and there were small lidded boxes for bases, also of cardboard, which Dennis had helped prepare. The kids—and parents, too—could decorate their Buddhas with markers, glitter, gemstone-like beads, shiny pipe-cleaners and stickers of all kinds: stickers of roses, sunflowers, autumn leaves, butterflies, beach balls and stars. People made all sorts of Buddhas, some beneath trees, some with spikes of light radiating from them, some with stones to indicate chakras, many with flowers at their hearts or heads or piled around their feet, one with a scarf and hat to keep him warm. The room was fairly quiet as we all worked intently on fashioning the statues that showed, to some extent, the uniqueness of our expression, cut from the same paperboard.

After the art project, there was a break for snacks and cider. Then we reassembled to hold the Eye-Opening ceremony.

The Buddhas were placed on a table in front of the main altar, where children and parents approached. First, each Buddha was brought to Catherine, who stood on the left and purified each statue with incense, saying “For when a Buddha meets a Buddha.” Then Susan, who stood on the right, used a small paintbrush to open each Buddha’s eyes, exhorting the Buddha and the Buddha within the Buddha-maker to “Wake Up!” or to keep “Eyes Open!” During the ceremony, for the sake of simplicity, we kept silence, but when we had all brought our Buddhas forward, we chanted “Namu Dai Bosa” as a group, while the kids kept rhythm on assorted instruments to the beat of the mokyugo and the ring of the inkin, a thing they did that seemed to give them great pleasure.

To close, Susan explained that at this time of year, the time of deepest darkness and cold, many religions observe a holiday to celebrate light. The Buddha’s clear seeing of the morning star is one example of a shining-forth within what we know as winter.

Arriving home that evening, Rich and I heard—for the first time in ages—an owl in the empty woods across from our house, deep “Who?”’s echoing in the frosty darkness. And I thought of how the children are wise and how we need to learn to be more like them. Thought of how, at the beginning of the Buddha-making craft, one boy had said with enthusiasm, “This is the best day of my life!” And how there was more than just innocence in his knowing. The best day. The only day. Eyes open.

By Bruce Demaree

On Sunday, November 21st, members and friends of the Empty Hand Zen Center gathered to hear Dennis Shofu Myozan Keegan’s first Dharma talk as a transmitted teacher, and to share a celebratory luncheon together.

Empty Hand's resident teacher, Susan Ji-on Postal, served as transmitting teacher (Honshi) during private ceremonies on Thursday and Friday evenings; Dairyu Michael Wenger provided guidance for the preparations and served as Instructor (Kyojoshi), especially during Thursday's Denkai ceremony.

Dennis began Buddhist practice at the Zen Studies Society in midtown New York in 1979.  Having nurtured his home practice in New Jersey, in 1998 a mutual friend from a local Thich Nhat Hanh group asked Dennis for a ride to the old Meeting House in Rye, New York where he first met Susan and the Empty Hand sangha. 

Comfortable with the style of practice and even the sutra translations (which could be traced to Susan’s teacher, Maurine Stuart, who had also attended Zen Studies Society), Dennis immediately felt at home.  He began working to prepare for Jukai, receiving the Buddhist precepts from Susan in March of 2000.

Simultaneously, Dennis had opened his apartment in Basking Ridge for the Thich Nhat Hanh group.  After a while the original co-founders of this group moved, and the participant population shifted to include people drawn to Zen-style sitting.  By the time Dennis was ordained a Priest in November of 2002, he was directly leading this group, a role he continues today.

For the Fall Practice Period of 2005, Dennis served as Shuso (Head Student); in April of 2008 he was re-ordained as Soto Zen Priest in the lineage of Suzuki Roshi following Susan’s own transmission.

Having retired from decades of professional work in mathematical analysis for the insurance industry, Dennis relocated with his wife to Montclair, New Jersey, launching a new Zen group there in the autumn of 2008. 

At Empty Hand, Dennis offered a series of in-depth study groups devoted to exploring the Heart Sutra and Dogen's Shobogenzo.  He helped start and continues to facilitate Empty Hand’s monthly movie nights by selecting dharma-related films as diverse as “The Burmese Harp,” “Enlightenment Guaranteed” and “Ground Hog Day.” 

Dennis tirelessly serves as an officer on the Empty Hand Board of Directors.  In his role of Treasurer he has been instrumental not only in facilitating the purchase of the current Zendo building but also in continuing to oversee and guide the group’s ongoing financial well-being.  His analytical talent, ability to patiently explain finances to fellow community members, and skill in carefully listening to and advising on the multitude of ongoing practical concerns inherent in running the Zendo are an enormous gift to the sangha.

Dennis began his formal preparation for Dharma Transmission over a year ago by participating in a sewing sesshin under the guidance of Zenkei Blanche Hartman of San Francisco Zen Center.  Accompanied by sangha members Deb Mushin Wood and Glynn Ensho Debrocky, he measured, cut, and started sewing his okesa and rakusu, and zagu (bowing mat).  Here Dennis also met Tim Wicks, who accompanied Michael Wenger to Empty Hand this month to assist with the completion of the sewing tasks and offer steadfast support of Dennis’ preparations.

Following the traditional requirements for a 21 day ceremony, Dennis began the daily practice of altar rounds (Jundo) and bowing to the Ancestors (Bussorai) on November 1st at his home, supported by family and Dharma friends.  He took up residence with Michael, Susan and Tim at Empty Hand for the final week, opening the Altars with Jundo before sitting and service, followed by Bussorai and a personal service of gratitude (Kankin) for the teachings. Sangha members supported and encouraged Dennis' public practices during this time, and had previously assisted in the sewing of his rakusu and cases for both rakusu and okesa.

Sunday’s events were a wonderful way of welcoming this special teacher to his new role.  The morning was marked by a period of zazen and kinhin, followed by service.  Dennis then offered his first Dharma talk, outlining material he intends to examine in greater detail in the future, including the nature of the teacher-student relationship and how Buddhist understanding functions in daily life.  The talk was opened up for questions, which followed these themes and were greeted by replies from Dennis, Michael and Susan.

The following luncheon allowed the sangha to offer congratulatory toasts, filled with remembrances of the personal way Dennis has touched our lives, for the Sangha Singers to present two energetic rounds, and for Susan to present a fine print of Jeff Schlanger’s recent Enso piece.  Wonderful food, spirited conversation, and heartfelt gratitude for this momentous occasion filled the Zendo in equal measure.

Dennis approaches his formal teaching role with the commitment to “keep on keeping on,” continuing his service to his two New Jersey groups and to Empty Hand, where he and Susan trust that their different teaching styles will continue to gracefully comingle. 

Dennis’ new Dharma name, Myozan, translates to “Mysterious” (or “Subtle,” also a shared connection with Maurine) and “Mountain.”  Considering his very solid sitting presence and evident love of Dogen’s subtle Dharma expression the name couldn’t fit more perfectly.

 The Hardas family.

The Titcombe family.

A visitor absorbed in the whirl of things.

Bloggers Barbara O'Brien and Chuck Peters laughing it up.

Sweet Theo found a place to sit in the midst of it all.

Sweetcake munchies!

The Renaissance Vocal Ensemble fills the room with the oldest art of all.

All photos are courtesy of Chuck Hosho Peters

Grace Schireson at the Empty Hand Zen Center, August 15th, 2010.  Photo by Chuck Hosho Peters.

By Catherine Seigen Spaeth

“Two frogs were dropped in a bowl with steep sides and full of milk – the very smart frog realized that there was no way to get out, and said “There’s no point in struggling and swimming!” and he drowned in the milk.  The other frog was rather stupid – like most of us – and said “There must be something here to do.”  And so he kept swimming, and he swam and he swam and he swam until the milk turned to butter, and he climbed out of the bowl.”

The parable above was offered to us by Grace Schireson as the introduction to her dharma talk on Sunday, August 15^th.  The wiser frog clung to what he knew, but it was the empty-handed one who in ceaseless activity and failure – but also with a sense of responsibility – refused to let a bad situation become worse.  This swimming is the nature of our compassion, she said, where “our purpose is to transform ourselves, to take in suffering and to churn it into compassion.  And so everyone is counting on us to take part in this big bowl of milk.”

On the heels of her new book, Zen Women, Beyond Tea Ladies, Iron Maidens and Macho Masters, the parable of the frogs and the bowl of milk was offered as an encouragement to acknowledge the role of gender in our lives and to honor our female ancestors.  It is a responsibility that involves not being the one who is drowning in the milk, or walking forward from and as the wound, but to keep churning that butter with the full knowledge that there will likely only be a thin layer through which we are likely to fall in the end. 

Schireson spoke strongly of the need for women - always associated with extravagant emotion -  to express their emotions through and as their practice.  The story of Yasodhara’s lament upon the Buddha’s home-leaving is in a sense the mythical origin of female practice, a painful lesson in overcoming abandonment and attachment.  In my own reading I have found this, a writing from Thailand that conveys the hardship Yasodhara would have endured in her culture as a woman abandoned.  The Buddha’s wife is speaking to her infant son:

Oh my beloved Rahula.  You were a misfortune for your father from the very beginning.  I have suffered as a widow; men look down on me; they do not respect me.  A royal carriage is symbolized by its banner; a flame depends upon fire; a river exists because of the ocean, a state devoid of a ruler cannot survive.  Just so, Rahula, you and I have been abandoned as persons of no account.  Everyone accuses you of being illegitimate, and people look down on me as a widow.  My suffering brings only tears.  How can I continue to live?  I am ashamed before everyone.  It is better for me to take a poison and die or to put a rope around my neck and hang myself from the palace.*

In Zen Women Schireson quotes from the literature of the contemporary Buddhist conversion movement in India:

Tell me one thing, Yasodhara, how did you contain the raging storm in your small hands?  Just the idea of your life shakes the earth and sends the screaming waves dashing against the shore.  You would have remembered while your life swept by, the last kiss of Siddhartha’s final farewell, those tender lips. ****

Personal, sensual, and mythical in scale, these words are borrowed from a literary movement that began in the mid 20^th century and as the expression of the largest caste of untouchable women in India who converted en masse to Buddhism.**  Schireson is citing an excerpt from the poem "Yasodhara" by Hira Bansode and first published in 1981 - you can read the full poem here.  In Schireson’s text Hira Bansode's words are removed from their 20^th century context and situated without authorship as an expression of the origins of a gendered Zen Buddhism.  In this way Schireson amplifies the mythical power of Hira Bansode's words.

It is Mahapajapati, the Buddha’s stepmother who raised him, who came to the Buddha three times to be accepted upon the spiritual path.  Having accepted untouchable men as his followers, the Buddha denied Mahapajapati at each request, leaving her no choice but to shave her head, don the robes, and walk for over a hundred miles with her followers – largely the abandoned women of Siddhartha’s harem and widows of a recent war.***  Mahapajapati then appealed to Ananda, the “male insider,” who could speak on her behalf.

With the above parable in mind, it is as though Mahapajapati fell into the milk the moment that she realized that she had nothing worth keeping, and donned her robes with no encouragement from the child she had raised.   Even Ananda would have to plead with the Buddha three times over until women could be accepted and in short order the eight rules would appear, giving nuns of lifetime practice inferior status in relation to the male novice, and with no right to speak against him.  By whatever means available we are perpetually treading in the milk, only finding our hold in thin skins and slippery clumps of butter as they appear.

In Schireson’s book, the female gender appears in it’s varied yet limited and even mythified forms. The purpose of the book, however,  is to reach beyond these myths in order to retrench them in the actually lived conditions of women as practitoners.  I leave you with another poem cited by Grace Schireson, by the Korean nun Song’yong Sunim (1903-1994):

Outside the Zen Hall of Naewonsa

The snow-covered world

Is the garment of Avalokitesvara

Expounding, like flowing water,

The Dharma inexpressible by the body,

Inaudible to the body, Invisible to the body,

Inexpressible by, and inaudible and invisible

            to space.

So who is this wonderful person

Who expresses, hears and sees it?

 

Avalokitesvara, ever responding to the cries of the world, spreads her robes upon it as the inexpressible, inaudible and invisible refuge of no separation.    Who is wearing these robes?

***

*Donald Swearer, trans., “Bimba's Lament,” in Buddhism in Practice, Donald S. Lopez, ed., Princeton University Press, 1955, as quoted in Ranjini Obeyesekere, Yasodhara, the Wife of the Bodhisattva, NY: SUNY Press, c. 2009, p. 8.

**The poem that Schireson cites was found in the article by Eleanor Zelliott, “Buddhist Women of the Contemporary Maharastrian Movement,” in Jose Ignacion Cabezon, Buddhism, Sexuality and Gender, SUNY Press, c. 1992, pp. 91-107.  Grace Schireson does not mention the author of this beautiful poem or the context for it.  The writer’s name is Hira Bansode, and the poem was first published in 1981, in the publications Stri.  Excerpts from Zelliot’s article, including an appropriate footnote crediting the poet, can be found here.

***Susan Murcott, First Buddhist Women: Poems and Stories of Awakening, Paralax Press, c. 1991, pp. 26-27.

****Grace Schireson, Zen Women:  Beyond Tea Ladies, Iron Maidens, and Macho Masters, MA, Wisdom Publications, c. 2009, pp. 46 and 106, respectively.

 In these last months our well-being altar has been the focus of much chanting and many prayers. The gift of a lovely small statue of the Medicine Buddha now keeps photographs of Darlene and Dennis company, along with fresh garden flowers and dried rose petals for incense. In response to questions about this new statue in the zendo, this talk was recently offered.

 Some have called Shakyamuni Buddha the Great Physician.  His teaching, the Buddhadharma, has been labeled as strong medicine which heals the root of our suffering – greed, anger and delusion.  This power of Healing has been traditionally depicted as the power of the Medicine Buddha,  Baisajyaguru in Sanskrit.  I would like to explore the teachings around this Medicine Buddha, always inviting us to enter these practices non-dualistically. This is offered so that each of us can discover a way to drink deeply of the medicine which is offered and simultaneously send it forth to relieve suffering everywhere.

This Medicine Buddha appears in both Mahayana Sutras as well as in Vajrayana teaching of the Tibetan tradition.  In our time, the most developed teachings and practices come to us from Tibetan teachers, but mention is certainly found in Chinese and Japanese Zen and Shingon practice. 

The Medicine Buddha is a representation of a particular cluster of energy, of powers. It is not an image of a teacher who lived once a upon a time. It belongs in the class of “heavenly” or “celestial” Buddhas, each of whom have a particular quality.  An image of the Medicine Buddha depicts the unique characteristics of this cluster of enlightened energy.  The Medicine Buddha is seated in the lotus position wearing simple monks robes, and at first glance might be mistaken for the historical Buddha.  He is distinguished by his hands – the right hand is in the “Varada” Mudra of generosity, which rests on the right knee, facing out, fingers almost touching the ground, with palm facing outward.  This hand holds the stem of a Myrobalan plant, its leaves and fruits in an upward position.  His left hand holds an iron pot of elixir, of medicine, which is the antidote for the three poisons - greed, anger and delusion.

I asked our own botanist, Sangha member Chuck Hosho Peters, for more information about this Myrobalan plant, and discovered that in fact it is not mythological, but a real tree (Terminalia chebula) which grows in India and some parts of southern Asia, from China, to Sri Lanka, Malaysia and Vietnam.  The fruit, a small hard ribbed nut-like berry, holds the medicinal properties.  The seed is regarded as a universal panacea in the Ayurvedic and Tibetan medicine. It is reputed to cure blindness and inhibit the growth of tumors. It is also used to produce Kala Namak, a dark salt used in Indian cooking.  Further, the dry nut’s peel is used to cure cold-related nagging coughs. The fruit itself is also anti-inflammatory, cardiotonic, and generally restorative.  Goodness, no wonder it is legendary!

Sometimes the Medicine Buddha appears in a painting, a Thangka, with  Baisajyaguru  seated with two Bodhsattvas in attendance – “splendor of the Moon”  and “splendor of the Sun”  - making clear that at all times of the day and night the manifestation of this Buddha is available.   When he appears as a painted image, his body is colored the deep radiant blue of the gemstone Lapis Lazuli.  This gemstone, treasured on many ancient Asian cultures, has always been thought to balance emotional swings of those who wear it or hold it.

There is a Chinese folktale which points out the healing power of Lapis, and the oneness of that gem with Baisajyaguru.  This tale also holds a clear teaching on the powerful energy generated by the chanting of Mantra ( Dharani in Japanese).  Sutras, generally defined as teachings from the Buddha, have a message for us, a particular point of instruction and guidance.  Mantra, on the other hand, offer us a direct experience of some vibration at the energy-body (Sambhogakaya) level.   Mantra are not chanted for us to receive some meaning, they are voiced to directly infuse us with their power.  

So here is this ancient Chinese tale, a distilled version.  Once upon a time a small boy, Ah Foo, the youngest of 5, lived with his widowed mother.  One day while gathering wood in the snow he discovered giant footprints coming out of the woods.  That night a big Dragon looked at him through the window, nobody in his family believed him.  Eventually he followed this dragon and came to cave where they rescued a beautiful rare piece of blue Jade from some evil dragons.  Ah Foo took it home, told nobody, wrapped it well and hid it safely.  Not long after his mother became gravely ill. Ah Foo, standing outside the door, overheard the doctor say that there was nothing more he could do and he expressed worry about all the children. In the night Ah Foo unwrapped the blue stone and took it to his mother, telling her the story of the dragon and putting it in her hand.  In the early morning Ah Foo and his mother noticed that there was an inscription on the reverse side of the blue stone. Carefully they examined it by the light of a candle. They slowly read aloud the 52 syllables, not knowing that they were the mantra of the Buddha of Healing.  Not being well educated people, they didn’t realize the significance of the inscription. But much to their surprise, Ah Foo’s mother was soon able get up, walk around, and seemed well recovered. She wanted the stone returned to its rightful owner so she sent Ah Foo to bring it to a distant monastery to consult with the abbot. He had a reputation of super-normal powers – he would know how to return it. This holy abbot held the blue stone and meditated on it. He told Ah Foo that it was indeed a very precious and very old stone that belonged to Baisajyaguru, the Buddha of Healing.  Now the problem was how to get it to him.  The abbot suggested that they both meditate with it for an answer. While seated in meditation, a celestial messenger appeared before them with outstretched hands.  Carefully, Ah Foo placed the precious jewel into the hands of the Celestial Being, who then vanished. *

What I find important in this story is that neither Ah Foo nor his mother had any idea about the nature of this special stone nor, once they read the syllables, of the meaning written there.  The miracle of the mother’s recovery was not because she believed in the stone’s power, or because she had faith in the Medicine Buddha.  The miracle happened because they recited the Mantra, just sounding out the sounds, very carefully, with their own voices.   It is like my Tibetan teacher said so long ago in answer to my question about the importance of belief in Mantra practice.  He said it was just like a bar of soap. You don’t have to believe in it, but you have to pick it up and use it.  It doesn’t clean us if we leave it sitting in the soap dish and look at it. We have to turn on the water, pick up the soap, rub our hands, just as learned as a child.  So too with chanting Dharani, or Mantras, which invoke the energy of particular Buddhas or Bodhsattvas - no faith required, but attentive and wholehearted vocalizing is essential.

Some of you requested a translation, even if approximate, for this Dharani, as we have for the invocation of the Bodhisattva of Compassion and for the Dharani to Remove Hindrances.  Looking for some translations of the meaning of these syllables, I found two that were helpful. The first was in an article about Tibetan Medicine which noted that all Tibetan doctors recite this mantra, in Sanskrit, before they start their work.  After word by word notations, the overall sense is given as follows

“I make my deep bows to you who destroyed the enemy of life cycle changes, King of clear blue light, who has thus gone to the state of enlightenment like other Buddhas, who perfectly accomplished the quality of the Buddha, the supreme physician who is fully liberated and awakened, the enlightened one. Medicine Buddha, King of the physicians.” **

And also a beautiful translation by Gary Snyder in his poem Blue Sky

            “I honor the Medicine Buddha, the Master of Healing
             Shining like lapis lazuli, the king, the Thus Come One,
             The Saint, the perfectly enlightened one, saying
             Om to the Healing to the Healing, to the Healer Hail!  Svaha! “***

It is from these two that the words which seem suitable to use here in our Zendo, and enter in our Sutra Book, seemed to fall into place.

As I  started to work with this new Dharani, I initially encountered something unexpected.  I have become at ease with the experience of invoking the Bodhisattvas – Kanzeon, Jizo, Manjushri – and knowing intimately that qualities of my own functioning are being called forth.  It seemed difficult, at first, to invoke this radiant blue Buddha and know this is an aspect of my own awakened nature which is being activated or invited.  I was surprised at how easily the subtle sense of separation would arise, how I could easily find myself with a somewhat dualistic view in which this beautiful blue Buddha is “out there” and I can call on its powers. This shifts now, gradually.  The sense of “not-two” comes to be more bodily experienced as the sounds become familiar, the chanting fuller and more rhythmic. My guess is that when it no longer needs to be read and is known by heart, then the taste of deep blue medicine will know no inside, no outside. Then it isn’t that we drink deeply, but we and all beings everywhere are being infused.

Let’s close with the words of Gary Snyder, from his poem The Blue Sky:

 “Eastward from here,
     beyond Buddha-worlds ten times as
     numerous as the sands of the Ganges
there is a world called
     PURE AS LAPIS LAZULI
its Buddha is called Master of Healing,
     AZURE RADIANCE TATHAGATA

     it would take you twelve thousand summer vacations
     driving a car east all day every day
     to reach the edge of the Lapis Lazuli realm of
     Medicine Old Man Buddha -
     East.  Old Man Realm
     East across the sea, yellow sand land
     Coyote old man land
     Silver, and stone blue

Image found here.

Invocation of the Medicine Buddha

Being one with
The Medicine Buddha, the Master of Healing
Shining like lapis lazuli, like a King,
The thus come one, the conqueror of suffering,
The perfectly enlightened one, the supreme physician,
Praise to the Healing, the Healing, the Healer
May it be so.

                                                                                                            1x

Bhaisajyaguru  Dharani

Na mo  bha ga va te  bhai sa jya guru  vai du rya
pra bha ra ja ya   ta tha ga ta  ya   ar ha te
sam yak  sam bud dha  ya ta  dya ta om
bhai sa jye   bhai sa jye  bhai sa jya
sam mud ga te   sva ha.

                                                                                                            6x

Notes:

Bows of thanks to Rafe and Rose Martin who both suggested that it might be very helpful to start chanting the Medicine Buddha Dharani at this time.

*"The Boy and the Dragon”, Buddhist Stories for Young and Old, Ven. Sumangale, Poh Ern Temple, Singapore, 1959. p 71-73. Many thanks to Rafe Martin for this reference. 
** Tibetmed.org  Medicine Buddha Mantra, Dr. Namseling
*** “The Blue Sky” , Mountains and Rivers Without End,   Gary Snyder, p. 41
****  as above, p. 40

All photos by Glynn Ensho Debrocky

By Sharon Latimer Mosley

Three minutes of Zazen-seated meditation can feel like a long time to children inside on a bright breezy Saturday afternoon.  Each gathering of “Zen Kids” begins with Zazen instruction, a brief sitting period and includes an art project tied to a Buddhist teaching.

 “We put our hands in the cosmic Mudra” instructed Teacher Susan Ji-on Postal to the attentive young eyes seated in front of her in a semi-circle.

 “I’m holding a pear,” a young boy seated to her right announced with an accomplished smile. Susan smiled back at him with a gentle nod. 

“At the sound of the bell, we will sit for three minutes” she continued.  

After a minute of sitting, the young boy began to fidget a bit.

 “Breathe through your pear” Susan reminded. The young boy settled back into Zazen, her instruction immediately clear.

Susan followed the 3 minute Zazen telling the story of the founding of New Rochelle based on the children’s historical fiction book, “Escape across the Wide Sea” by Katherine Kirkpatrick. The story follows a young disabled Huguenot boy, Daniel Bonnet and his family’s escape from religious persecution in France to New Rochelle.

 The group, dubbed “little detectives” by Susan, was challenged to find historical surnames mentioned in the book at Trinity Episcopal Church Cemetery, the original site of the first Huguenot Church some 300 years ago -a short walk from the Empty Hand Zen Center.  

“Well, I like to learn about history,” Zoe of Zen Kids explained. “They lived here and they started New Rochelle.”

When the children arrived at Trinity Church Cemetery, they were each given a long piece of paper, tape and an oil pastel to do rubbings which capture the imprint of headstones of the historical surnames they recognized.

“That tombstone looks cool because of the picture carved at the top,” noted Shevaun. “Like there are angels out there and it tells me not to be afraid to die.”

Some of the stones were toppled, others too weathered to read. Undaunted, the children continued, carefully moving around the cemetery, then shouting their finds with requests for new sheets of paper for a rubbing.    

“He lived 27 years” reported Aiden after viewing the tombstone of “Ashe.” You need to know how old he was. It’s important for kids to learn about age.”

After proudly waving their historical discoveries in front of parents who stood nearby, it was time to return to Empty Hand Zen Center for a light snack.

“It’s nice,” observed Chloe under a berried shade tree in the middle of the cemetery. “because all the Allaires are buried together.”

This was an afternoon of infinite kindness expressed in careful rubbings of time past in blue, green, orange and pink.

With many thanks to Janice Haynes for her kind assistance during this field-trip.

Stories in words are among our oldest, most powerful, most mysterious tools. Through mere sounds on the air or squiggles on a page, they give us what no other technology can - ourselves. –Rafe Martin

All photos by Fran Shalom

The art of storytelling is a craft - just as powerful and compelling in our fast paced, twitter engrossed society as it once was in ancient India. On Sunday, May 23^rd, author and storyteller Rafe Martin, who has written numerous books, such as the Rough-Face Girl and Birdwing, offered his insights in a dharma talk at the Empty Hand Zen Center which helped our Sangha enter a deeper understanding of The Jataka Tales. These classic tales trace the Buddha’s karmic path - both as animal and human; they were told by Buddha to his disciples over 2,500 years ago to teach about entering the Boddhisatva path. Within the fabric of each tale teachings central to include virtues such as compassion and prajna or wisdom. These attributes are perceived in Buddhism as Paramitas or qualities of perfection that carry us into the realm of a Boddhisatva: an enlightened being who serves all sentient beings.  

Rafe explained that by reading The Jataka Tales we gain a fundamental understanding that the hindrances the Buddha faced are universal in nature; thus, these stories provide us all with an opportunity for growth and insight. As Zen practitioners, sitting upright on our cushions, we begin to awaken to the notion that whatever endeavor each of us may face in any moment is our own Jataka tale - our own life story which carries us forth and becomes part of our own endless path. Rafe shared with our Sangha how these canonical legends impacted his life as he struggled to find his own way.  The author and storyteller described his experience as a “dweller in no-man’s land” since he and his wife, Rose, had children, and were among the few Zen practitioners at Rochester Zen Center who were parents.  One day, in an old bookstore, Rafe stumbled upon a book published in 1878 that contained The Jataka Tales. Each story encompassed a lifetime of efforts that the Buddha had faced as he evolved in his many lives.

Rafe explored The Jataka Tales as an apparatus for our own practice. These timeless tales became a compass for his zazen.  Perchance because the sound of the gong in Zen is so pivotal—bringing us home to ourselves, to no separation between the sound of the bell and our own breath—discovering the Jataka Tales was like hearing the sound of the gong. In a moment of sudden personal insight, the tales linked him instantly to his own practice, his own parenthood, and a way into his own Jataka. He could now share these legendary tales with children, just like his mother had shared fairy tales with him as a child.

Rafe also revealed the story of the Buddha to be the ultimate call of the hero: leaving home on a quest, a journey to unearth the truth of life.  The Jataka Tales reveal virtues that Buddha acquired; his own evolution led him to help his disciples. Timeless tales have always been utilized by human beings as a device to unravel our true nature. Buddha, Rafe explained, often used his empty mind to see into the foibles of his Sangha. He would look into the life of each of his disciples and see many past lives connecting the present situation to past imperfections thus helping the disciple understand his own lineage and his conditioned existence within the framework of a particular difficult situation.

Rafe also shared two Jataka tales with our Sangha. He first told us the well-known tale of The Hungry Tigress, a story that reveals a self-less act of a true Bodhisattva. The thirteenth Dalai-Lama noted this Jataka at the Tibetan Prayer festival and illustrated it as a tale that embodies the virtue of compassion. In one of the Tathagata’s past lives, the Buddha comes upon a hungry tigress who is about to devour her cubs. In a self-less act he feeds himself to the tigress to spare the lives of the cubs.  This story still resonates in our modern world; we see examples of many Bodhisattvas who give themselves completely by performing altruistic humanitarian actions. “What are we willing to do?” Rafe asked our Sangha.

After giving us a dynamic explanation of his own path and The Jataka Tales, Rafe shifted—like a shaman—as he animated the story of The Sage Little Bowman. In this lesser-known tale, a wise young cripple, who is knowledgeable about the way the world operates, and highly-skilled with a bow and arrow, sets out to make a living. He comes upon a mighty man named Bhimasena who is not living up to his full potential; the two men form an unlikely bond. The Sage Little Bowman lives in the shadow of Bhimasena and guides him as Bhimasena saves the kingdom from dangerous beasts. As Bhimasena’s popularity grows, he believes that he no longer needs the young cripple and thinks he can manage well on his own—as he felt he had been taught well; hence, he sends away the cripple. When the kingdom is threatened and Bhimasena cannot aid the king, the Sage Little Bowman comes forth and reveals his true identity: It was he who had the wisdom, knowledge, and skills as the bowman; it was he who had slain the beasts.

In his essay On Fairy-Stories, Tolkien, author of the Lord of the Rings, examines the fairy tale as having an essential element which he has baptized as a “eucatastrophe”—in which a sudden catastrophic moment ends on a joyous note instead of in lament. The Sage Little Bowman, offers the same concept; in the bleakest moment in this tale the true hero emerges. This archetypical motif can be found in innumerable myths and legends. Rafe examined The Sage Little Bowman as a story that depicts knowledge, wisdom, skillful means, and compassion—all virtues of a true Boddhisattva. 

Rafe then encouraged our Sangha to discuss The Sage Little Bowman. Some members saw this tale as an allegory for our shadow-self often aiding us in ways we could not fathom. Rafe also explained that a handicap that we possess is in many ways a metaphor for recognizing an inherent gift that helps us as we unfold our true nature on this realm which is often similar to Middle Earth. He challenged us to take a great leap and not be like Gollum—who saw himself as a separate entity—but to wake up to no separation.

The Buddha, as Rafe understood was not only a monk, but had been a family man and had faced hardships just as we do today in our hectic world. In a simple definition, we have now “joined the club.”  In The Jataka Tales we begin to understand that the Buddha’s job was to evolve. The obstacles that we face, the Buddha had faced in infinite lifetimes. Buddha’s fate was to emerge into Buddhahood. He too had made mistakes and failed just like all the great heroes in myths and legends; Frodo, King Arthur, and Beowulf experienced their own struggles, but these difficulties became their champions. Like these beloved heroes, Buddha did not surrender: he walked his endless path, gaining in wisdom, compassion, and countless other virtues.

In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campell claims that “the closest thing we have to a planetary mythology is Buddhism. In it all things are potentially Buddha-things.” Rafe Martin asked us to view The Jataka Tales as a gateway to live like a Buddha. In our imperfections we are perfect and in our incompleteness we are complete. 

Rafe Martin's forthcoming book, Endless Path: Awakening With the Buddhist Imagination - Jataka Tales, Zen Practice, and Daily Life, is available in September and can be pre-ordered here.

 By Catherine Seigen Spaeth

Asphalt bubbles up from the earth.  We use it to bind disparate things into a hard aggregate - it skinned our knees at recess and now it gets us where it wants us to go.  Black and smooth at first, it grays, pits and buckles with age.  Our garden has found its way into the cracks of the asphalt, settling into its curves and hollows, earth silting up and washing away on its crusty surface.  There is strong patience in taking root here.

A humble material, asphalt provides the infrastructure for our dependence on oil, the very thing it arose from.  There is pleasure in meeting this hard surface with the softness of the earth.  Our dirt comes from many places – a few buckets here and there of thick grey clay, of forest black soil and acorn husks.  There is  Frank's earth from China, a blend of pilgrimage sites including Tiananmen Square; and Rafe and Rose Martin's earth from Joshu's temple - a cypress tree grows here. 

A giant stump marked where to begin, and the Buddha sits there surrounded in vinca – an invasive plant that worries the foresters but pleases us urban gardeners with its vigor.  As the earth has begun to hold we protect its fragile borders with river stones and thyme, and a Lady’s Mantle has settled in.

Cut flowers from the altar and rose petal offerings end up quickly in the compost heap. As the seasons change so do these flowers – the very first layer of our own cuttings has appeared over store-bought irises and yellow tulips, curling and browning into dank rot softness.  Our pierced garbage can is an enso of what arises and falls.  Stanley Kunitz writes, "We are all containers for composting.  So we cannot approach the compost heap without a feeling of connection."*

Once on a scrap of paper in the dokusan room I left a note for Susan Ji-on.  “Did you see the Buddha head in the Wisteria pot?”  It was the final hour of long zazen, and I couldn’t wait until the silence had ended to verify my sanity, for after days of  silently observing the garden a head appeared from nowhere.  The surprise of this gift had teacher and student both in shivers, and in the next day we learned that it had been snuck into the garden by our neighbor, Ivar, who once lived in the building that is now home to Empty Hand.

Other such gifts have arrived, turtles in a row, and a Hotei too large to be discreet.   In Ed Roberson's beautiful poem, “Hotei:  The Fullness,” is conveyed our delusion to seek transcendence in Enlightenment’s fullness, the mistaken satisfaction “that fullness is assumed upon the full.” Hotei’s belly is for Roberson as much the swollen belly of no possessions, the swollen belly of the poor, distended to the very last minutes of life.   It is as though Roberson urges us to rub this belly not for good luck, but in acknowledgement of the path beyond abundance and lack.  In our urban garden, Buddha’s stillness is in the very left corner, and wandering Hotei is bursting from the right.

 Our feeders are frequented by sparrows and finches mostly.  They perch on springy willows in a gang. But as ground feeders it feels as though it is the pigeons who have really made our garden their home, strutting among the potted plants or resting on Buddha's head.  Transmission bows were interrupted by the cardinal that appeared out the window, but a cardinal has appeared only a few times since then.  There are other creatures who come to the garden to feed, raccoons have cleaned their fish in the birdbath, leaving  unfinished carcasses behind.  And a Red-tailed or Cooper's Hawk occasionally catches a squirrel or a pigeon - here, a Cooper's Hawk is wary as it feeds.

Asphalt belongs to a slower time where the beating of the sun, the pouring of the rain and winter cold barely effect it’s stillness, while thriving upon the asphalt life is as fleeting as a gnat. Our garden has no plan or purpose but to flourish -  when an iris blooms, the garden is the garden of the blooming iris.  We watch for the cardinal as much as we watch for the hawk. When the garden is for the birds we tiptoe up to the window, and when it is for us we do our best not to disturb the neighbors.   

Stanley Kunitz writes:

The garden isn't, at its best, designed for admiration or praise; it leads to an appreciation of the natural universe, and to a meditation on the connection between the self and the rest of the natural universe. And this can come not only from the single flower in its extravagant beauty, but in the consideration of the harmony established among all aspects of the garden's form.*

*Stanley Kunitz, The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden, NY: W.W. Norton, c. 2005, pp. 65 and 13 in order of appearance.

Photo by Chuck Peters

Deb Mushin Wood was born in New Hampshire and raised in Connecticut.  Early in her career as an occupational therapist she lived and worked in Brazil before settling in Westchester.  In 1981 Deb began her practice with Susan Ji-on at Wainwright House, also joining with Susan at the Zen Community of New York in the mid-‘80s where Susan was an active student. It was at this time that Deb attended retreats and sesshin with Glassman Roshi.  After the sitting group at Wainwright House was ended Susan was offered the key to the Quaker Meeting House in Rye where Deb and others continued to be active members.  When Susan began her study with Maurine Stuart in 1987, Deb had the opportunity to benefit from Maurine's teaching in her own visit to Cambridge as well as in Maurine's visits to the Meeting House.

After nearly thirty years of practice with Susan, in the priest ordination ceremony of Shuke Tokudo on March 28th, 2010 Deb was bestowed with the koromo, rakusu, okesa, zagu and the oryoki bowls of a priest.  Deb has spent the last year sewing her own rakusu, zagu and okesa after attending a sewing sesshin with Blanche Hartman at the San Francisco Zen Center.  Her new dharma name is Myomyaku, meaning “subtle life vein” in honor of her strong and continuous practice, naturally reaching to the support of others as quietly as the flow of life in the vein.

In Dogen’s day, Deb would also have received a willow twig for cleaning her teeth – these would have been all the personal possessions needed for monastic life.  But her toothbrush is in a jar beside her partner of twenty five years, Carolyn Hoffman, who along with Jean DeVeaux assisted in the cutting of Deb's final lock of hair, the shura.

Susan Ji-on Postal is cutting Deb's shura, directly behind her is Jean DeVeaux, and to the right stands Carolyn Hoffman.  Photo by Chuck Peters.

Deb Mushin Myomyaku Wood's name has now been written on her copy of the lineage chart of our bloodline from the Buddha through all the ancestors from those ancient days to Suzuki Roshi, to his son Hoitsu Suzuki, to Sojun Mel Weitsamn, to Dairyu Michael Wenger, to Surei Darlene Cohen, and then here to Susan Ji-on Postal.  She will treasure this document, keeping it safely throughout her life.  In the words of Zen Master Honghzi:

A patched-robed monk's authentic task is to

Practice the essence, in each minute event

Carefully discerning the shining source

Radiant without discrimination, one color unstained.

Photo by Chuck Peters

This photograph of Haiti was taken by Zoriah, whose work can be found here.

On Monday, March 29th, Valorie Lordi spoke at our zendo about her recent experiences in Haiti.  Valorie, a registered nurse, Dominican Sister, and known to many as a teacher of native American spirituality and healing, has previously provided medical services in wars and disasters, but when she traveled to earthquake-stricken Haiti in February her own life was shaken to its very core. The devastation of Haiti and the resilience of its people reordered –as Valorie puts it – “the landscape of [her] life.”

She attested that her first impulse upon hearing the news from Haiti was to resist it, to hold it back, but her resistance eventually wore thin and she became filled with an immediate need to engage with the situation head-on. She reached out to an organization called The Ministry of Presence on a Monday, and thirty minutes later was procuring the last seat on a flight departing on Thursday of that same week. She flew to the Dominican Republic and made a mad rush to get to the Haitian border before it closed. The ten minute van ride past the border-guards and into Haiti encapsulated a “time change” of a sort unfamiliar to even the most seasoned world traveler: “in ten minutes all references to my own life fell away.”

The destruction she described and the images she showed us seemed inconceivable –sometimes described as such even by Valorie who had witnessed it all first-hand. Upon approaching an orphanage she was hailed by what remained of a gesture from a girl whose arms had been amputated. The girl asked for help for her mother. Valorie wanted to stop but her hosts said they would never make it inside to the orphanage if they did not move on. Once inside what remained of the orphanage Valorie was met with waves of person after person approaching her and asking for help. She emphasized to us that there was no time for planning how to help; “What you attend to for the hour comes to you.” Over and over again people would approach her with the words nou pa gen meaning we have no . . . : we have no parents, we have no food, we have no water, we have no home."

Photo courtesy of Valorie Lordi

She showed us photos of a hospital and noted how pregnant woman had given birth under the piles of rubble. She explained how mental hospitals had been demolished and told us how those patients who hadn’t died were now walking in the ruin without care and appropriate medication, many suffering delusions. She explained how prisons had broken open due to the quake and how already desperate circumstances were further exasperated by a spike in crime. She explained how the need for medical care outweighed the number of those who could possibly provide it, that amputation was often the only viable method to ensure safety from fatal infections. She showed us a photo of a trickle of water meandering down a wall and explained how water-borne illnesses are already bringing a second wave of deaths. Valorie showed us one photo after another of demolished buildings and injured people. She reminded us that inside every pile of rubble there were piles of bodies. My own body and mind began to slump into passive disbelief longing to separate from the horror, but Valories reminders and guiding words engaged me with what I saw: “Imagine what you would do if your friends or family were under there. Imagine what you would do if you lived there.”

Photo courtesy of Valerie Lordi

 Even before the earthquake Haiti suffered from extreme conditions of impoverishment. It is the poorest country in the western hemisphere despite being only 600 miles away from the wealthiest country, the United States. Haitian ancestors came as slaves torn from their homes in West Africa and forced to work in the sugarcane fields that supplied Europe and North America until the early part of the 19th century. Although the diasporic people of Haiti ultimately won their sovereignty, they have always been plagued by a struggle for basic life needs. Due to limited supplies of food, water and shelter the population of Haiti has been chronically vulnerable to both desperation and criminal greed. As the Ministry of Presence website notes: before the earthquake poverty affected 80 percent of the population; the economical distribution showed one percent of the population holding fifty percent of the wealth. The struggles that preceded the earthquake have now worsened. The particular orphanage that Valorie has been working with quadrupled its residents in facilities which were already at capacity prior to the disaster.

Photo courtesy of Valerie Lordi.  These are women receiving rations, the military had to make the decision that only women could be given food, as they were more likely to feed their families.

As Valorie spoke, her hands guided us with metaphors and with gestures. “Before I went, Haiti was about there,” she said, holding her right arm out straight, palm facing inward. Her hands came closer to her body as she described the urgent need to travel into Haiti, the “energy in her belly.” She described the terrain with her arm, outstretched again, but this time with her palm flat, facing down. She made a smooth slow arc in front of her body as she said, “horizon to horizon there was rubble.” She clapped her hands once and we heard the crack she felt as she crossed the border. Her sharp clap represented the vibration she felt the moment the van entered “the gates of Haiti.” She drew her hands to her head and hair as she remembered the dust that settled down upon her almost ritualistically - “dust of mountains, of land, of buildings and of people.”

At the same time that she crossed borders, her journey also dissolved boundaries inside her. “Nothing was familiar and everything was familiar.” As the journey unraveled her understanding of her place in the world, it wove no new, precise understanding, but rather one abundant with paradoxes and unanswerable questions. She noted that the purity and light amid the destruction were inexplicable. How could there be no hope and so much hope in the same breath? Many of the photos were of smiling children, families waving to the camera. As we looked at the sheer whiteness revealed inside a mountaincracked wide open, Valorie attested that joy and beauty pervade Haiti. The people she encountered were full of “life, passion, fierceness, and intelligence.” Their litany of what they didn‟t have was real and endless, but with persistence they declared men nou gen yon bon (. . . but we have goodness). She described how people touched her face and stroked her hair and asked her to share with them the stories of her life. How could children who had nothing be so eager to learn how she, a stranger, defined her life: did she have a mother? a father? children? where was she from? The orphans asked these questions with limitless curiosity.  When she asked them if they had brothers or sisters, they gestured to everyone around them.

Photo courtesy of Valorie Lordi

On the other end of her journey Valorie could no longer describe her relationship with Haiti in terms of distance as she had done at the beginning of her talk with her outstretched arm: “Before I went, Haiti was there.” The relationship had changed to something immeasurable, something that could not be quantified, and something that was best articulated through gesture rather than words. She showed us the new relationship through her hands – hands that had been telling her story all night, hands that had carried her journey to us, a healer's hands that had checked vital signs, dispensed medicine, and comforted babies. “It was no longer them and me,” she said, one hand away from her body as she said “them,” the other close to her heart to signal “me”. “It’s just like this,” she said as she began to revolve her hands around one another, each one moving around the other in a continuous circle.

Photo of Valorie Lordi by Chuck Peters

***

If you are interested in supporting this work in Haiti, please write "Haiti" in the memo line and send checks to: Ministry of Presence in Duval Roche, Haiti c/o Sisters of Charity of St. Elizabeth 30255 Mt. Vernon Road Princess Anne, Maryland 21853   Sisters of Charity phone:  410-651-9608  

Han inscription: Great is the matter of Birth and death; Life slips quickly by; Time waits for no one;  Wake up, wake up; Don't waste a moment!

Susan Jion Postal, January 10, 2010 

Background:  A Zen teacher in the lineage of Deshimaru, who was a disciple of Kodo Sawaki, is building a zendo in rural Missouri.  He wrote to his fellow AZTA teachers, sharing his question as to what kind of inscription to put on the doorway, or on the gate, of his new place. All the initial responses were about The Verse of the Han.  It was fascinating to see the slight variations on a common theme as well as different cadences or rhythms from zendo to zendo.

But wait a minute, I thought, he asked about ideas for an inscription at the doorway, at the gate, not for the Han.  So I piped up and questioned that, and then came another flurry of responses of various verses which might be suitable to have outside, over the door or on a gate, some traditional, some modern.  These were all different, but with a shared point of view.

And so this morning I would like to make use of this “thread” of teacher to teacher conversation to talk together about what seems needed Outside the Door and Inside the Zendo - as a teaching, perhaps not an actual written inscription - if we are truly to enter the Way.

All of the Outside the Door examples, even those from contemporary poets, expressed the essential aspect – the unconditioned and already-existing reality.  Keizan Zenji, often referred to as the “mother of Soto Zen” (Dogen being “the father”) who wrote the great Denkoroku (The Transmission of the Lamp) in around 1300, is said to have written something like the following over the door to his zendo:  Any One Who Wants to Gain Enlightenment, Do Not Enter.

Nothing to gain here - your Enlightened nature is already here, only not yet realized. A strong statement of the principle of “no gain”, that’s for sure. Gee, I bump into gaining ideas all the time here. Students want to “get something” from this practice.  Natural perhaps in the beginning, but really almost dangerous in more experienced students when it becomes about “being somebody” here in the Sangha, about gaining some status.  I see ambition and pride around being a good student.  I see subtle and not so subtle “decoration of self” happening right here, as though being a Zen student was something you could now list on your resume.   

Dainin Katagiri once said, “You take care of your life as if it were a vending machine. You put the coins in from the top and then get the soda at the bottom.  You do meditation and you expect something. But life doesn’t always go well. The vending machine goes out of order. Then you are mad and kick the machine.”  Michael Wenger cites this in his wonderful contemporary koan collection, 33 Fingers, and he comments “Have you made your world into a vending machine?”*  Would Michael suggest that the inscription over the door read Not a Vending Machine ?

Our good friend Nonin, from Nebraska, suggested a favorite verse by T.S. Eliot:

We shall not cease from exploring,

      And at the end of all our exploring

      Will we arrive where we started

      And know the place for the first time.

And another teacher suggested still another verse from T.S. Eliot for over the doorway, outside the zendo:   …and it costs not less than everything.

Another proposed that a simple Abandon All Hope would be perfect right there over the door, to stop us all short before we enter.   This might give us pause, lest we try to carry all our baggage through the door.

Last year we enjoyed a visit from Guest Teacher Susan O’Connell from San Francisco Zen Center. She shared with us here musings on this question of hope.  Some in attendance were actually kind of upset to hear that the letting go of hope was considered a Zen teaching.  My thoughts on this right now are first, we need to acknowledge that in our language and our culture the concept of “hope” is central to all notions of “positive thinking” or “having courage”.  But also, at the same time, I find myself needing to really question this.  As long as we hope for a particular future outcome, we are in trouble, all tangled up in expectations.  Letting go of Hope actually frees us to fully engage in whatever is happening now. Abandon All Hope seems a wonderful front door sign. If it makes us squirm, all the better. 

Having an inscription on the outside has traditionally served to shine a spotlight on the intrinsic side, the emptiness side, the no-gate of Dharma.  In the old days they didn’t have Wednesday nights with instruction, just an inscription. Most have heard this phrase, the Gateless Gate.  This is not just the title of a Koan collection, it is also a fundamental and principle teaching of Zen.  In master Mumon’s preface he states:

Zen makes the words and the mind of Buddha its foundation. It makes no-gate the gate of dharma. It is no-gate from the start.  How can we pass through it? **

Master Mumon is encouraging his disciples to dare to really enter the essential world which cannot be grasped philosophically. As seekers, we humans do perceive a barrier which separates us from what is. We find that we have work to do, experientially, even though intrinsically everything is already whole and complete.

Stepping inside the practice hall, we meet the inscription on the Han.  Immediately it is pounded into us that life and death are of supreme importance, that time quickly passes by, that opportunity can be lost, that we should strive to awaken.  The young Dogen was deeply puzzled by the seeming contradiction of the teaching of intrinsic Enlightenment and the need for such hard practice, for striving to awaken. Finally, on completing his work with his Master in China, he came to see that it is because we are already awake, essentially, that we have to practice.  We practice in order to fully realize what has been there from the beginning. This takes strong diligent effort – what Dogen called effort without desire, takes discipline and finally deep surrender.  Not easy.  Whether in the style of sitting called Shikantaza or working with koans, there is at a certain stage a kind of pounding of our head against this barrier.  Maybe it is even more frustrating because we have been taught that it is no-barrier, and yet we bump our hard heads.  Worst of all, at least for me, was the sense that I was a complete failure as a Zen student.  Oh, such self-condemnation arose.  Looking back, it almost seems absurd and funny, but at the time there were dark clouds of discouragement and despair.

Soko Morinaga Roshi wrote so eloquently:

Buddhism does not teach just to drop our desires; especially in the Zen sect, we also continuously knock and ask until our very bones are ground to powder. Buddhism also assures us that by repeatedly knocking and asking, we will at long last realize deep within ourselves that even before we began to ask, it was already given, and even before we began to knock, it was always open. ***

So I see the Han as a stimulus to knock and ask. The message of the Han is about our own tasting of our own impermanence, the impermanence of all things. Not as something on the lists of Buddhist teachings, but as the actual living fact. We are all dying, right now.  That process began with our birth. Discovering the immediacy of this can galvanize our intention, set fire to our heart’s desire. No one has much time.  To quote Mary Oliver, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" ****  

So back side/front side -  intrinsic/experiential -  inseparable.  Maybe the Mississippi Han will have inscriptions front and back.  My choice would be that the intrinsic no-gain message be the first thing one sees, and the pounding teaching about life’s brevity is met in the practice hall, calling all to take their seats and give it their all. 

***

*Michael Wenger, 33 Fingers: A Collection of Modern Zen Koans, San Francisco, Clear Glass Publishing, c. 1994, "Vending Machine," p. 19.

**The Gateless Gate:  The Classic Book of Zen Koans, Koun Yamada, trans., MA:  Wisdom Publications, C. 2004, p. 7.    
***Soko Morinaga Roshi, Pointers to Insight: The Life of a Zen Monk, Jim Stokes, trans., London: The Zen Centre, c. 1985, p. 29.

****  Mary Oliver, "The Summer Day," from House of Light, 1990, Boston, Beacon Press, c. 1990, p. 60,

 Unpacking Manjushri after the move to 45 Lawton, we searched for the very best place, and found this niche in the brick wall behind our Han.

To make noise in the zendo during a workshop was to breathe in the middle of an oxymoron - deep, deliciously, and with joy.  The February 21st Workshop on Sound was an opportunity for 18 of us to share and to teach each other about the forms and possibilities of the temple instruments and sounds that mark our practice - wood (han, mokugyo), brass (bells, large and small) and voice.

The workshop was led by our teacher, Susan Jion Postal, with sangha members from the Practice Leadership Group contributing their experiences in using the temple instruments.  I've had the opportunity to work with all of the instruments and roles before, but, as has been true of each day I've spent at Empty Hand Zen Center, I came away with new insights.  What was special about this day was the added pleasure of making noise with fellow sangha members - a concert of wood, brass, and voice. 

Here are a few things that resonated (pun intended!):

Wood - Loud, but not too loud:  The words of the Han and the sound of the Han communicate the same thing:  Awake!  Waste not a minute!  Appropriately, the Han can be quite loud; but, since we are surrounded by apartments with potentially sleeping neighbors, we do not strike it loudly.  This is important during the run at the end, in which the intent is to speed up but not get louder.  

Sometimes a bell is much more than bell: Susan shared a teaching by Suzuki Roshi in which the striking of the bell was analogous to giving birth to the Buddha.  I appreciated that thought, because striking and hearing the bell often feels so full and complete, an outward movement and gift.  There is also a view in which striking the bell brings energy and attention inward.  Bruce, a sangha member who often takes the role of Doan, has trained several of us.  He wasn't at the workshop but he was quoted by both Catherine and Chuck as having shared a very active notion of bell ringing.  He notes that the Doan, usually in position before everyone else, has the opportunity to offer quite a few returning bows to those who take their seats.  Each bow brings the Doan's eyes into the bowl of the big brass bell.  Bruce said he has come to think of this action as bowing each of us into the bell, bringing us all together in readiness for practice.

Voice and song:  We explored what is appropriate to chanting as a group.  In reciting the sutras together we found parallels with singing as an ensemble in which all listen and adjust so that voices blend to make one energetic sound.  To do this Maezumi Roshi said it best: "Chant with your ears, not with your mouth...Always adjust yourself to others, rather than expecting them to adjust to you...Chant as though each syllable were a drop of rain in a steady shower..mild, consistent, and sustained."  

I remember being uncomfortable with chanting, but now see it as another opportunity for practice.  I also have found it to be a great gift to, as chant leader, offer the invocations after the sutras, essentially using my voice to call forth on behalf of all of those present.  It is that experience of invocation that allowed me to hear anew Susan's words and those she shared from Blanche Hartman describing chanting as an opportunity to do something useful when other actions are not possible.  We may not be able to prevent a friend's illness or distress or single-handedly end a war, but we can call forth compassion and with attention and intention direct it to where we think it can help.  Fully owning my very deep rational pragmatism, I know in my bones that when done with sincerity and heart, this action makes a difference.  

Dance:  Wait.  Dance?  Indeed.  We've all been part of this zen dance - more subtle than the Electric Slide, but just as fluid.  By the close of the workshop, I felt deep appreciation for for the unspoken choreography that weaves together a sitting period, a service, and a day-long retreat.  From the Doshi's first bow that signals the Han, to the closing bow that we offer each other with hands in gasho, each person who takes a position in service leads a part of the dance.  The Doan signals movement but with an awareness of  time and readiness of all, the Chant Leader and Mokugyo listen for each other to keep the pulse of the Heart Sutra steady, and we each rise, walk, turn, sit with each other and the Buddha, from kinhin to closing bows.  

Each sitting period, each workshop, each retreat is built with our intention and colored with the sounds and silence of practice.  Come dance, at least 18 of us now know the steps.

On January 3^rd 2010 Craig died in my arms at home, surrounded by our family and wrapped in love. He had lived with brain cancer for exactly three years. How can I describe a life that was so well lived- lived with fullness and deep devotion to others? How can I distill the essence of Craig here in a few short paragraphs?

I can tell you that he was an incredibly active man with places to go. Craig was born in Needham, MA in 1952.  He attended Boston University and graduated in 1978 with a BA in Urban Studies and Economics. He received an academic scholarship to study Urban Planning at Rutgers University and graduated magna cum laude with an MS in Urban and Regional Planning. For the last seven years he was the Commissioner Of Development for the City Of New Rochelle, and committed to, as well as excited by, his career. He invested deeply in the many groups he was involved in, both professional and in his personal time, including his growing practice at the Empty Hand Zen Center. He had four sons and a daughter that he loved dearly. Craig could run like the wind. He read daily. He listened to NPR religiously and loved music. He talked politics, debated, joked wickedly and hilariously and laughed often. Craig adored chocolate ice cream, the ocean, biking from the George Washington Bridge down to the site of Ground Zero and back again, driving his car and taking adventures. He could endlessly walk through art exhibits and galleries and also appreciate cities and large monuments of urban stone and cement. He was an extremely intellectually gifted man and critical thinker.

Well known in his professional life, Craig received many honors, awards and citations for his service to the people for things such as historical preservation and the work he did to further affordable housing. However awards and acknowledgements were not the things Craig thrived on. He preferred working in the public sector and what was important for Craig was his service to others; personal acknowledgement was not the point. He constantly reminded himself that he was not important, rather he told me that his purpose in this lifetime was to do for others at the outset; to awaken with selfless acts in the forefront of his thinking and planning, to do whatever was needed to help heal or provide for another. As he endeavored to do these things, he also found great healing. He believed strongly that we are all one, there is no differentiation and so we are all connected to one another. As he healed himself and supported others the ripples of these actions would continue outwards through all of humanity.

Craig understood and embodied that all that is truly meaningful and sacred in our lives is about love. His illness and death drove that point home more than anything else. We can lose everything material and physical that we are attached to in life, yet it is the love that we give that matters the most. Love is what is really inside all of us when we arrive on earth and what is left when we leave our physical bodies.

Craig was a prolific journal writer and besides documenting his runs- 100 mile months that he so enjoyed- the animals he often met along the way, as well as the Northern Lights he once was able to observe awestruck, he also documented his journey into awareness and growth. As his cancer worsened Craig lost his ability to write with his right hand and taught himself to write with his left. Eventually he could no longer journal so he put down his feelings and thoughts in left handed haikus for as long as he could.  Looking back at his writings I can see that he had started his spiritual practice back in 1990 and his Zen practice began in the year 2000. Craig found the EHZC in 2003 when he moved to New Rochelle and started sitting in earnest then, making his practice the context for his life in which he could grow and where he could learn to be present and to open his heart until it was of limitless dimensions.

He believed in his connection to goodness and just simply unconditional love. He often told to me to believe that we are surrounded by love.  When things went wrong he would say, “It’s all good.” Yet he was a realist, and he had no doubt that the world could seem random, and that pain, suffering and attachment were the human condition.  He wrote once that he had been at a retreat at Garrison Institute where Nonin Chowaney had also been giving a dharma talk. Craig recounted in his journal the quintessence of what he came away with after that weekend and what he would put into effect in his life: that enlightenment can come and go like the flowers and disillusionment crops up like weeds. Because of that he realized his commitment to the Four Noble Truths and the Eight Fold Path would have to be constantly renewed.  Craig understood that perseverance, patience, and practice was the path he would need to walk towards awareness, while looking deeply inwards and experiencing fully the pain, the joy and the peace that it can bring.

In October 2005 Susan presided over our beautiful wedding ceremony in NYC incorporating Zen Buddhism seamlessly into a ceremony for many non Buddhists. Everyone found it incredibly moving, funny too, when Craig pretended that we bumped our heads together as we bowed to each other.  In March 2009 after we found that Craig’s brain cancer had spread and that it was very likely that his time in our physical world as we know it would then be short, we renewed our vows at the Zendo in New Rochelle, the first wedding to be held within those walls.

Craig received Jukai in November 2008 and was given the name Kyusen (Enduring River). He was the first in his class to give a “Way Seeking Mind” talk to the sangha, and he spoke of  Kyogen’s “Man Up A Tree” koan. “This is life,” Craig wrote in his preparation. “We are both in the tree and the questioner. There is no other. I want great meaning and I stand there beneath the tree staring and thinking that this great suffering will distill truth. I am suffering the agony of life, the agony of choice and I am speechless. Indeed, what is one to do”?  Perhaps this haiku Craig wrote left handed will provoke some thought about that issue:

It’s life on life’s terms

Nothing withheld – all given

Don’t give up- let go

All too quickly as Craig’s brain cancer became more advanced Craig lost his ability to do all the things he loved and valued in life and which until then had given his life so much meaning. First as his hand and arm became paralyzed his writing suffered and then failed.  Craig’s leg started to become weak so his running stopped, then biking stopped, then walking. He had to give up his beloved car and the freedom of driving.  His ability to speak began to fail and finally to even tell jokes. He became unable to say but a few words, and lost most of his sight. Craig did mourn these losses deeply-  but his continuing practice of non attachment helped him as the physical parts of his life were stripped away- gracefully he accepted and surrendered to his experience until only the bare spirit remained in his wounded body- his spirit of love, giving, patience, and goodness was what was left. He truly lived in the moment and his understanding of what was meaningful in life deepened immeasurably, it became all about communicating his loving strength to others so they in turn could find their own inner strength and love.

Even at the end of his life every day he received visitors, hugged them with whatever strength he had left in his one arm, encouraged his friends to talk and seek within themselves for what was important and how to live their lives. He made it his purpose in life to show his love in every way that he could- to continue to grow, to transform- and he shone with the light of a million stars from within. He was luminous and all that beautiful pure light surrounded us as we sat with him and lived with him. It was not about death- it was about life! Until he could no longer speak anymore he said “I love you to everyone”, and then he showed us all his love with his eyes, his expressions, and his entire beingness even from his death bed for as long as he could open his eyes.  Caring for Craig, and his allowing us to care for him so completely and intimately, also became a lesson for us all in acceptance, presence, giving and unconditional love. We were all connected.

Throughout his process of dying Susan, Dennis, Glynn and Craig’s Dharma brothers and sisters continued to visit. Craig could often be seen in deep contemplation with Susan as she sat with him and they looked into each other’s eyes, or with Dennis leaning forehead to forehead and communing deeply without the need for words. During his last days Susan was in almost constant attendance and sat and breathed in tandem with Craig. On the day he died, when Craig was no longer outwardly conscious, we all gathered around his bedside and chanted sutras and dharanis. I could see Craig breathing in rhythm to the Sho Sai Myo Kichijo Dharani, the chant to remove hindrances.

 I will leave you with one of Craig’s last haikus:

Life is Terminal

Blossoms fall and weeds grow wild

Enjoy the ride dude

We want to thank the entire Sangha for your continued prayers, visits, thoughts and the healing energy and care you have showered on Craig and our family. It enriched Craig’s life and gave him spiritual guidance and support so that he could transition peacefully as he was gathered and held in your loving embrace. It has been a bittersweet, but never the less, beautiful lesson for us in being present, accepting life as it is, and in the experience and connection of a loving community.

From Craig Kyusen King's 49th Day Memorial Service, February 27th, 2010