Deep Roots in Buddha's Garden

The last job I undertook before I left Sonoma Mountain Zen Center last Thursday was to clear the Buddha's Garden of the lemon balm, which someone had planted years ago and which had slowly overtaken many of the other plants. It was somewhat strenuous work, but deeply satisfying. The plants were tall and closely spaced, and the ground was soft from having been watered, and the plants came up easily with some, but not all of their roots intact. Lemon balm is deeply aromatic. As I worked my gloves took on a lovely citrus-y smell. It took me about an hour to clear the garden and another fifteen minutes to carry armsful of the weed to the composting bin--which happened to be exactly as much time as I had to give. Sally, the head gardener, was happy. It was a good beginning to her job of transforming the Buddha's Garden from a neglected to a loved space.

As I drove away I thought about the hard work she faces if she wants truly to control the lemon balm. For the plants I pulled up are not singular individuals but rather offshoots of a larger plant whose deep roots wind throughout the bed like a river from which many creeks flow. From time to time as I weeded I would touch that larger structure. I could feel its age and strength. Eventually, it will need to be dug out with great care and determination. Until then someone will have to go in and pull up lemon balm on a regular basis or it will re-take the entire bed. Even as I write this four days later I imagine that new shoots of the lemon balm have begun to appear.

Intensive practice--staying at a Zen Center or going on a retreat--is a little like weeding lemon balm. Sometimes the work goes smoothly. Other times the ground is hard or the weather extreme and the work is difficult, even painful. But at the end we can feel the results: a greater sense of mental ease and spaciousness, a new sense of joy and calm. How wonderful! But sooner or later, within hours or days, the deeper structure that gave rise to all the karma the retreat cleared away--the anger or sense of grievance or restlessness or boredom--gives rise to new karma, and our minds become crowded again with the exact same species of dissatisfaction that we worked so hard to eradicate during our intensive practice.

This is the great work of life and death. If we want to finish it then we have to find a way to dig out that deeply rooted karmic system that lies at the sub-stratum of the self. And that's why we promise to return, lifetime after lifetime, because those roots are deep and strong, and it takes a long time to discover where they lie and how best to remove them.

Back in Berkeley

Today is my fourth day in Berkeley. I arrived on Thursday, played a little pool at the Broken Rack in Emeryville then headed over to the Empty Gate Zen Center for a retreat. The YMJJ started at 9:30 a.m. (we are in Berkeley after all). For the second time in as many months, I found myself wanting to leave almost as soon as the retreat had begun. Why, oh, why didn't I at least take the morning off to run around Berkeley and drink tea and buy stuff? Fortunately, that passed quickly (or at least what passes for quick at a retreat), and by Saturday morning I felt incredibly present. Or rather, I felt the presence of something that was neither inside nor outside what I think of as myself, and I found myself just letting that something carry me. The deep clarity of that long sustained moment wore off after a couple of hours, but I trust that it is (as the Soto Zen liturgy says), "not near and not far."

The highlight of Sunday was Margaret's arrival. We hung out at the Zen Center for a while, then went for a hot tub (Albany Hot Tub and Sauna, if you are ever in town), checked into our hotel (Rose Garden Inn), ate Ethiopian food, and went to a gay AA meeting. Now we lying on our bed watching the fire burn in the fireplace (yes, it's cool enough for a fire). Tomorrow we go to get our marriage license and buy rings.

Four Great Vows

In the Kwan Um School of Zen we recite the Four Great Vows once every morning before practice. Here at SMZC, we recite them three times at the end of evening practice. The phrasing in each case is quite similar but hardly identical. Here they are, with a third translation that I copied from an article by Ajahn Amaro ("Between Arhat and Bodhisattva: Finding the Perfect Balance," BuddhaDharma, Summer 2008 p 25):

Sentient Beings are numberless, we vow to save them all.
Sentient Beings are numberless, I vow to save them.
Living beings are numberless; I vow to save them all.

Delusions are endless, we vow to cut through them all.
Desires are inexhaustible, I vow to transcend them.
Afflications are endless; I vow to cut them off.

The teachings are infinite, we vow to learn them all.
The dharmas are boundless, I vow to embrace them.
Dharma-doors are numberless; I vow to study them all

The Buddha way is inconceivable, we vow to attain it.
The Buddha way is unsurpassable, I vow to attain it.
The Buddha way is unsurpassed; I vow to accomplish it.

Which one do you like?

Hot and Cold

We woke this morning to heavy fog that had saturated the trees and fell like heavy rain on the roof of the zendo. It was very cold and even though I wear a long robe and had on a long sleeved shirt I got colder and colder. Walking meditation--kinhin--was better and worse: better because I could move a little and rub my arms to try to warm them; worse because I had not worn socks and the floor was so cold.

During the second round of sitting I had to laugh at myself. Last week was incredibly hot and sitting, especially at night, was very uncomfortable. I am not an especially sweaty person but the sweat was rolling down my face and neck and shoulders. I hated it. So there I was this morning hating the cold and wishing I were warm.

As I told my new friend Vicki tonight, I must try to find the place where there is no hot or cold. She said, "where is that place, Christina." I hit the steering wheel and said "don't know." Vicki laughed and said, "when you find it, take me with you."

Free Time

Saturday afternoon from 1 p.m. till Monday morning at 5:15 a.m. is free time here at Sonoma Mountain Zen Center. I spent some of that time off the mountain. Yesterday I drove down to Petaluma to play pool at the local pool hall, "Bank Shots." One of the residents, Natalia, and one of the other guests, Sterling, rode with me, but were more interested in each other (I think) than playing pool, and they took off once we got to town. I warmed up as I usually do, shooting some straight pool. The table was tough one, with tight pockets and fast cloth, and I had to work to stay focused and get into stroke. After a while, the guy working the counter came over and asked if I wanted some competition. Oh yeah, I said. We played nine ball for about an hour. We were pretty evenly matched.

Today, I picked more blackberries (yum) and did my laundry (ho hum). Then I invited one of the residents, Susan, to go to Sebastopol and drink tea at a tea shop called "Infusions." Another resident, Mike, asked if he could catch a ride into Santa Rosa. After dropping him off at Starbucks, Susan and I had a lovely Second Flush Darjeeling and walked around a bit before heading back up.

A fine day.

Desires Are Endless

Thursday, Sally asked me if I would pick some blackberries. There's a good sized patch on the southside of the garden, so I started there. The berries are many and many look ripe but so resisted my efforts to remove them that I knew they need more time. Nonetheless I spent several hours combing those bushes, and the vast patches down by the workshop and the pond, and I finally got about two and half pints.

What I like about work practice is how it lets you see your mind in action. So, for example, blackberries are even more finicky than raspberries--tug a little too hard at that fat purple berry, let your desire to fill that bowl quickly take charge, and you end up with bowlful of sour berries. I had to really see that desire (and taste it) before I could resist it.

The more I picked the more it seemed that the really ripe berries were just out of reach, high overhead and deep in the thorny patch, and I schemed and schemed to reach those only to discover, once again, that the blackberries are just not quite ripe, and only one in ten was ready to surrender to my hands.

About lunch time I myself surrendered--to the heat, the belly's hunger, the fact that July is not ripe for blackberries, and so I stopped trying to exceed my own reach and went back up to the house. I knocked at the kitchen door crying out, "special delivery for David." Someone came and took the berries from me. As I walked down the stairs I could hear the cooks exclaiming over their beauty and I felt a little pride appear. But I didn't grow them, I reminded myself, the sun and the rain and the earth and the air grew them, with a little help from the bees.

Ripening

Yesterday, David, the cook, handed me a small bowl and asked me to go pick raspberries. It took awhile for me to find enough ripe ones to fill the bowl about half-way, which was no problem really because the garden here is lovely and I enjoy picking berries: peering through the brambles, looking for that shade of red, taking the little berries between thumb and forefinger and pulling very very gently. The ripe ones just fall into your hand. As I walked around and around the row of bushes, I thought--probably for the hundredth time--that enlightenment must be just like that: when conditions are ripe, it simply appears. All of our effort is only to pay pay attention moment to moment.

This morning, I was weeding in the strip of ground between the raspberry patch and the kale patch. Inching my way down the row on my knees I discovered dozens and dozens if not hundreds of ripe berries.

When it cools down a bit, I'll go pick them.

Not in Kansas (for the time being)

I’ve come to California for three reasons. First, I am doing some intensive work with my psychotherapist, Naomi. We’ve been “meeting” on the phone for two years now, and it’s time for some face-to-face work. Second, I am here to deepen my practice. I’m staying at the Sonoma Mountain Zen Center, which is led by Kwan Roshi, a dharma heir of Suzuki Roshi and a good friend of Zen Master Seung Sahn. I’ll also sit a YMJJ down at the Empty Gate Zen Center in Berkeley, with Jeff Kitzes and his students. Last, I will be joined by Margaret on July 20th and on July 22nd we will be married.

As I write this I am aware of the dwindling resources on my computer’s battery and that I left the re-charger in Topeka. I can feel a breeze on my face through the open window and hear the rooster across the road crowing. A fine day on planet earth.