One of the things I plan to focus on in the writing of this blog is zazen. In actuality, anything other than zazen is kind of besides the point when it comes to Zen practice. And I really do mean that. To use a rather crude, obtuse and cross-cultural metaphor, discussing Zen without a strong focus on practicing zazen is kind of like decorating the Christmas tree, singing carols till the cows come home, but never actually unwrapping the beautifully wrapped presents sitting under the tree.
I already wrote a post titled “Zazen and Zazen Again“, in which I suggest we do it – a lot. But what do we actually do in zazen? Well, the simplest definition of zazen is “sitting meditation”. And that might seem straightforward enough. But even from there comes the question about what you actually do while “sitting” and “meditating”. After all, to anyone at all familiar with the history of a term like “meditation”, it can actually mean some quite different things, depending on which tradition you consult.
When I first started “meditating”, years ago, before my practice was solely Zen-focused, “meditation” meant something quite different to me than it does now. Back then I saw meditation as an opportunity to check out from the drama, ground myself, and restore a feeling of overall “pleasantness”.
I had a pretty specific technique I would use. It generally involved picturing myself next to either a waterfall or a gurgling creek. Water sounds were always central. A picturesque backdrop of trees and mountains was also standard. Once “there”, I’d just let the tension drain away. The setting itself was pretty much enough to do that for me.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with this kind of practice, per se. In fact, I’d still suggest that many, many people would be kinder, happier, more peaceful human beings if they were to practice this on a daily basis. However, this kind of meditation looks very little like the practice I employ today.
Today my meditation practice looks like this: I sit, cross-legged, perched slightly on the edge of my zafu (meditation cushion), and I just let what wants to arise, arise. Simple as that.
Now, when I describe this technique to people, they often wonder, if you just let whatever arises, arise, don’t you end up rehashing all the drama from the day? Don’t your thoughts just run rampant – kind of like a bunch of teenagers who find entry to an empty mall after dark?
The thing is, no. That’s not what happens. And for one very specific reason. I let the thoughts arise, but I don’t for a second believe they’re actually real (i.e. substantive), or that they warrant my attention simple because they’re “my” thoughts. Sometimes gasses arise when I eat chili. It happens. And there’s no use trying to stop the “arising”. But there’s not much more to it than that either. They escape. They’re done. End of story.
Wait a minute, people sometimes say, shouldn’t meditation involve focusing on worthy matters? Isn’t this about making ourselves more mature, spiritually astute human beings? Well… no, and… no. Let me explain.
From a Zen perspective (and in Buddhism in general), the key is to find the middle way. Clinging and aversion will trip you up any given day of the week. That means, on the one hand, don’t get lost in the identification with certain attractions. But it also means don’t try to stop something from arising. Don’t will it away. More simply put: don’t resist it. Clinging and aversion, in the end, are really two slightly different manifestations of the same thing: attachment.
So, all that is to say, trying to think worthy thoughts, or trying to prevent what we deem un-worthy ones from arising, is pointless. Actually, worse than pointless. It will actually take you in the wrong direction. And that’s why we just let what arises, arise. End of story.
Except, of course, that isn’t the real end of the story. It’s what happens next that’s key. Once those annoying, melodramatic, petty thoughts have had their “day in court”, so to speak, the thing is, they tend to just flitter away. This is where the analogy of clouds comes in. They come, and they go.
And at first this might take some “work”. I say “work” because we have conditioned ourselves to take those thoughts seriously from pretty much the moment we gained conscious thought. So it will take some time to shift that conditioning. But, like anything else in life, that conditioning will shift — if you simply set the table differently.
What gets interesting is what arises once those everyday kind of thoughts have drifted off. And what you’ll find, given enough “lack of attention”, is that they stop even bothering to arise so much to begin with. Why? Because they know they’ll just be ignored, anyway. Sounds strange, I know. But this is what tends to happen.
Once the slate is clear, other phenomena begin to arise. And I deliberately use a word like “phenomena” here because it can be myriad kinds of arisings; from mundane to profound. From deeply nested childhood memories that you had forgotten you ever remembered, to bizarre visions that don’t seem to make any sense whatsoever. The suddenly more free mind will express itself in strange ways when it’s suddenly more open and empty.
And eventually — for some it comes rather quickly, and for others it takes longer — your once certain and solid conception of reality begins to get a little more… fluid than you remembered. And once that starts happening on a semi-regular basis we begin to see our life, our world, our view of reality for what it is: a construct. Not reality itself, but a construct of reality.
At this point we are less identified with the construct, and thus, by definition, more free. It’s not always pleasant. It’s not always immediately gratifying. True freedom never is. But nevertheless, what we’re tasting is freedom; or at least the beginning of it. And fancy words like satori, awakening and enlightenment all come into play at this point.
But that’s a whole other discussion for another day. For now, I’ll leave it here.
This is zazen; sitting meditation. And it is the both the path and the destination, all wrapped up in one.
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