I have a “Zen job,” I am the Ino or the head of the meditation hall of the San Francisco Zen Center. My job is to take care that everything is in its place, so that the practice happens in harmony.

My day starts early, at 5:00, just after the wake up bell, I check the zendo (meditation room), the light must be soft, the window open to circulate the air. On the altar, the candle should be lit and with a correct size and the incenser centralized.

People start to arrive and I’m the one who welcome them and tells them where to sit. Three hits on the bell, zazen begins, after half an hour two hits to start the Kinhin (walking meditation). Another 3 hits and another zazen period. The taiko (Japanese drum) marks the time, the Han prepares us for the verse of Okesa. “Great robe of liberation, field far beyond form and emptiness, vearing the Tathagata’s teaching Saving all beings.”

At the end of Zazen we go to the Buddha Hall, I check the lights, if the candles are lid, the mat centralized. I confirm if the officiant (Doshi) and his assistant, (Jisha or jiko) are ready.
The ceremony begins. Every day in the morning we do the repentance, we take refuge in Buddha, Dharma and Shanga, after that the sutras. Eyes and ears alert. How is the sound of the mokugyo (instrument that sets the rhythm), how are the bells sounding? At the end of the ceremony I give feedback to the people who participated.

During the day I take care of what is coming, ceremonies, sesshin (retreats). At the end of the day, I sit zazen again, it is when people come from outside of Zen Center, who comes from the work to practice.

This is my day by day. Taking care of details and having the vision of the whole. Paying attention to each one and overall flow. All this for us to practice together.

What is it to be the the giver of joy to the assembly? That the heart of Sanga becomes my own heart? That the practice of all becomes my own practice?

In the Zendo, almost everyone sits facing the wall, Ino, Abbot, Tanto (practice supervisor) sit facing the center of the room, is part of my zazen to pay attention in what is happening.

But more than that, to pay attention that the practice happens smoothly and to encourage people to practice. Knowing that I have presence like a host, caring with love for my guests. Zen love is a subtle care, it is to take care of the silence.

Harmonies

When Alan and Danny first proposed the Revelation Zen evening as part of the Soundwave Festival, there was a concern that we didn't simply replicate the Bold Italic evening, although from our side of things, that was always going to be our reference point. It was another occasion to open the doors of City Center to people who don't usually come - and I heard several people saying that they lived in the neighbourhood but had never made it through the front door - and to open up our activities in a less formal and forbidding way and in completely different contexts. I was only peripherally involved in terms of organising; this meant I wasn't particularly stressed about Saturday rolling around, but I was busy all afternoon helping carry, fetch and find - tables, extension cords, the usual little things. It was almost a surprise when at 5:30 a steady line of people started flowing through the front door. Even more surprising was how quiet everyone was - at least until the music started.
We had a full Buddha Hall by the time we had got through the introductions, and David led some zazen, which segued into Marielle's performance. She started with the big bell, worked the recordings of the bell in, and then moved onto violin, with harmonies building from the deep bass resonance of the bell. I had tipped Keith off, and he was sitting right next to the bell to get the feel of it, his hands cupped around a blown-up latex glove, which I guess was standing in for a balloon as a vibration detector (just visible in the photo below).
Gretchen led as many people as we could fit into the courtyard in walking meditation, accompanying which Sean ran a whole bank of tapes, creating a wash of sound; we wrapped up with a chanting of the Enmei Jukku Kannon Gyo, during which I could mostly hear Blanche, who was luckily keeping count for me as I played the mokugyo, and as we got to the end of the chant, En came in with some increasingly processed crash cymbal leading into some pretty intense layering of fequencies and harmonies.
I deeply enjoyed all the music, and appreciated how our focus on meditative activities added an extra dimension and attention. I was also musing on the role trance music has played in spiritual activities for many centuries: it occurred to me that while there can often be noise within silence, as our minds start to chatter to fill the disquieting void, within sound, especially unstructured sound which give the brain nothing to cut up and count, there can be a real silence and spaciousness.
After which, there is always the cleaning up. Luckily, since it was past our bedtime, there was a great crew of volunteers, with special mention to Jorge, the Soundwave engineer who was on top of everything all day, and the half-dozen or so YUZ members who descended on anything that needed to be put away, mob-handed and full of energy.

Tova led a couple of tours of the building

Lien offered zazen instruction

Marielle played her violin along with the big bell

Sean acquires a peace bell halo

Sean and kinhin taken from my room

En, with special effect caused by having my hand in front of the lens before taking the picture

Micro-climates

San Francisco is of course famous for the singularity of its weather. There are long stretches in the summer when it can be grey all day. This week we have been starting grey and getting brighter, with the fog closing in during the evening; today the sun was out from the off. It has been warm to sit in the courtyard at lunch time, but we all know that the fog could be encroaching even to the top of the block on Page Street. Sometimes you can head west and it will start at the entrance to Golden Gate Park; other times you can be almost to the beach and suddenly there it is. Today was one of those days, though I wasn't heading to the beach, just a midweek spin on the bike to clear my head and test my legs. From Twin Peaks I could see the fog rolling over the bridge and hovering over the ocean.
I have had some strong periods of zazen this week, even though some of them have just been spent looking at emotional pain. I have also got to feel how it is when that subsides and internal energies start flowing again. The difficulties I was having stemmed from some incomplete, and what seemed to me to be unskillful, communication, and they were by and large resolved by being able to follow up and have a more open and complete conversation. I had other helpful resources as well - a dokusan with Abbot Steve, as we set the ground for practising together at Tassajara; friends to listen and sympathise; and not for the first time, Young Urban Zen: I went to the meeting feeling at a low ebb, not really wanting to show up, but having shown up, and been met by the group, and by the two people in my small discussion group, and even by the people who came for zazen instruction, I was very aware of how grounded this left me feeling, more at ease than I had been for a couple of days, though that wasn't yet the end of the story.

A 'file photo', from about a month ago, to illustrate how the fog can creep in to the city

The Gift Of Zazen

I am still struggling with finding anything worthwhile to say at the moment. I have had to spend some energy dealing with the difficulties I mentioned in the last post, and there is some settling around this today, which I am glad for.
While I was filing some of the talks I put online yesterday, I came across this in the archives, from a folder of Suzuki Roshi's talks, and it resonated nicely with some of what has come up for me in the last few days:

"I am still studying to find out what our way is. Recently I reached the conclusion that there is no Buddhism or Zen or anything. When I was preparing for the evening lecture in San Francisco yesterday, I tried to find something to talk about, but I couldn’t; then I thought of the story I was told in Obun Festival when I was young. The story is about water and the people in Hell.

Although they have water, the people in hell cannot drink it because the water burns like fire or it looks like blood, so they cannot drink it. For the celestial brings, water is a jewel, and for fish it is their home, and for the human being it is water. If you think “water is water” that is a human understanding. Although water is like fire or looks like blood for those in hell, or like a jewel for the celestial beings, or a home for fish, you may think that that is not real water, as you may think that zazen practice is real practice and the rest of the everyday activities are the application of zazen. Zazen is fundamental practice. But Dogen Zenji amazingly said, “Water is not water.” If you think water is water your understanding of water is not much different from a fish’s, a hungry ghost's or an angel’s understanding of water. There is not much difference between our understanding and their understanding.

Then, what is our zazen? Or what is water? And if zazen is not zazen, what is it that we are practicing everyday? That is the next question. Dogen Zenji says, “This is Buddha’s activity,” some activity which was given to you. Tentatively, the water is not water actually; it is something which was given to you. Our practice is not something you can understand, because it is something which is given to you. You didn’t make it; you did not invent it; the reason you can practice it is just because it was something which was given to you. This practice is possible because Buddha gave this practice to us. We do not know what it is, but because it was given to us we have to receive it, we have to accept it. That is why we practice zazen.

Now, if you understand our way in this way, whatever you do, that is the gift for you, something which was given to you and something you should accept. Because you cannot accept everything and you cannot choose everything, you have no chance to accept something when it is given to you. Even though there are various treasures, if they are not given to you, you cannot accept them. And the way to accept it is to accept it when it is given to you. You cannot say, “I will accept it tomorrow.” You cannot say, “I can accept it yesterday.” The only way is to accept it right now, when it was given to you, then tomorrow something new will be given to you. So, day by day, we practice our way, as a gift. And we accept it when it is given to us. The Buddha gives everything according to the people and the situation. When they are in hell the gift will be fire. For celestial beings the gift will be the jewel. For fish the gift will be their home. And there may be many kinds of gifts from Buddha, according to the nature of people. When you understand this there is no problem. This is how to practice our way. This is the real gift from Buddha.

Not only water, but a mountain is also a gift. A mountain is not always a mountain. To us it is a mountain, but to a bird it is home. Fuyo Dokai Zenji says, “The east mountain flowing, and the river stays.” Water stays and mountain flows. We think a mountain is something which is always staying in some certain place, but there may be some person who sees the mountain flowing and water staying. A gift is not just something we see. It looks like a mountain, or water, or cake, or something else; it looks so. But we don’t know exactly what it is. So before we understand what it is, the only way is to accept it and to practice it. That is actually true practice, or else you cannot practice our way. Even though you have built a zendo you cannot practice.

At Tassajara for almost one year we have been trying to practice our way very seriously, and the more we make our effort to practice our way, the more we are involved in big problems. There are more than forty people and they each have their own understanding of Zen, more or less. “This is Zen!” “This is Zen!” That is the trouble. Because you practice zazen you cannot practice; you cannot have Tassajara. Even though they are there they cannot do it. Why? Because they practice zazen. So I think the best way is not to practice zazen [laughter] but just to live in Tassajara, like a bird. Then you can practice zazen. Birds or badgers know what is zazen better than students in Tassajara. This happens, actually. Because we understand water is something to drink, we think water is not something to live in; this kind of one-sided understanding of our way creates many problems. So, at Tassajara, there is Tassajara’s way; here in Los Altos there is your own way; as a gift. And the only way to practice it is to receive it, just to receive it when it is given to you. This is a very important point.

Even though I say this, to make our effort to find out what is real practice is not in vain, and I am so grateful for students in Tassajara, and the students who practice in Los Altos, in the Bay Area, and recently in Mill Valley, too. They are making a big effort. We are finding out the real meaning of our practice. After making a big effort to find out what is zazen, we are almost finding out what is true zazen and why we should practice our way in this cross-legged position—finding out the understanding of our practice which was given to us by Buddha."

Lecture by Shunryu Suzuki Roshi
December 14, 1967—Los Altos, California
Published in Wind Bell Volume XXXVI, No. 1; Spring/Summer 2002

Body And Mind Of Themselves

In a life as closely scheduled as ours, any deviation from the normal routine shakes us up in its own way. Having a holiday on Wednesday made it feel like we had three consecutive weekends, and the days of interim afterwards were a chance to breathe and unwind a little, to catch up on sleep as well. It is also always nice to come back to the routine, to align with the usual patterns, and at five o'clock this morning I was happy to cross my legs on my cushion and sit upright. I could immediately feel the unfolding of some residual tensions, and then I spent a lot of the two periods present again with the emotions from the difficult situations that had caused the tensions. I had been trying to tune them out over the weekend, but they were still lingering in my body, and while they were not resolved or dissipated by sitting, I did get to feel a little more spacious around them.
Even with the extra rest, there were noticably a number of people who did not make it to the morning schedule, and I wonder what is going on for them. Everyone has their own internal dramas and their own way of dealing with them. I am glad that zazen is one of the tools we have at our disposal.

Choppers

Naturally it is getting light earlier these days. On Saturday we didn't even turn the zendo lights on, and the warm sunlight came flooding in right at the beginning of the period. This morning it was still dark at five, but we were treated to the chirpy dawn chorus even before the han started. This was soon replaced, however, by the sound of a helicopter hovering nearby.
This is not an unusual sound in the city, but we tend to get it in the afternoon, when there is heavy rush hour traffic or a demonstration blocking the streets. I found I had a different response to the noise of the helicopter to that which I have to the waves of traffic passing down Oak Street. I used to have the same response to a garbage truck that would park half a block away during morning zazen and sit for some time with its engine idling, at a low frequency that seemed to reverberate around the whole zendo. It can be summed up in the phrase, "Why don't you go away?" Of course this put me in mind of the famous clip of Suzuki Roshi, and I sighed internally at my resistance and inability to just allow the sound to be there with me.
I am not sure what the helicopter was there for this morning; I certainly am not going to be tuning into a television station to find out. I was thinking during zazen of the weekend activity across the city, where a large section of elevated roadway leading to the Golden Gate Bridge was being demolished. It was a big story here for several days; everything seemed to go smoothly, and when I rode past the area on Sunday morning, the scale of activity was most impressive. According to the news stories, people living nearby had no problems with the noise of the demolition crews, but there were complaints about the media helicopters overhead. Thinking of this, I get to feel justified in my annoyance this morning, and to formulate ideas about why it isn't necessary for the helicopters to be there, or how there should be a time limit on them hovering in one place. But now, listening to noisy rush hour traffic passing by the building several hours later, I can easily say to myself that the helicopters have a job to do, that it is something you can't even try to control. At the time, the best I could do was savour the moment when I noticed it had finally flown away, and the silence seemed especially spacious and enjoyable.

I went to Doyle Drive a couple of weeks ago to photograph the transformation - these elevated sections are no longer there

Woken Up

On Tuesday I had noticed that I was feeling pretty tetchy as the day wore on, and it continued into the morning yesterday. I paid attention to what was causing it, and came up with a few factors: apart from a couple of situations in my life that have some uncertainty in them now, which perhaps contributed a little to my unease, it mainly seemed to be due to the Wake Up event. Not the event itself, even though I knew I was going to be onstage representing Zen Center, and having to speak in front of a crowd of people. This made me a little nervous, but generally I had the sense that that part of it would go fine. It was more that people were asking me a lot of questions about details around the event, and not only did I not know the answers, as it was going to be something entirely new for us, but I realised I hadn't had given myself the time or the space to think about those kinds of questions, which made me feel incompetent, something I do not like to be perceived as. When Rosalie stepped in to say she would take care of some of those details, I immediately felt a lot better.
I also had an important meeting with Christina at the end of yesterday afternoon, which went well; I put my robes on and went straight to the zendo, just as Roger and Farnoosh had guided the ten or so visiting monks, nuns and lay followers to seats in the zendo. I felt happy to have a chance to sit with them all, and since the theme was meditation in the city in the 21st century, I was listening to the usual sounds of the zendo with an ear to that topic.
In the end, I think the event was everything we all hoped it would be: the group sang songs as we settled down in the dining room, setting a lovely tone for the evening. Members of the audience were singing along, so it was clear that other people practising in that tradition had come along. I was delighted to see at least a dozen familiar faces from Young Urban Zen, and felt very supported by their presence; the dining room was full once the panel started.
I ended up being asked to speak first on the panel, and felt that I, and Tim when he spoke, held up our end perfectly well. The two young monastics who shared on behalf of the Wake Up group, Brother Phap Chieu (aka Brother Shiny), and Sister Bội Nghiêm (True Pearl) offered very refreshing perspectives on mindfulness practices. The feeling I got from being up on the stage for that part, and the question and answer session that followed was of real heart opening, and we all agreed that it was wonderful to be sharing the dharma with each other on an occasion like this. I remember the same feeling when I spent a few weeks at Great Vow, that the opportunity to practise with sincere practitioners who do things slightly differently is a wonderful tonic that also allows you to look at your own practice anew. They offered another song at the end which served to wrap things up beautifully, and Christina suggested we end with the Pali Refuges, which, as we often note, is the closest thing we have to a song in our regular practice. I came away feeling completely grateful and uplifted, transported from where I had been a day before, and that is still in me, I am glad to say. Reactions from people today have been universally positive for the whole event, so of course we say, 'we really should do this more often'.
Being on the panel, it was not so easy to take photographs, but here are a few from before and after.

I went up on the roof before the event, and the beautiful sky helped ground me and prepare me for what I was going to say

The two communites mingled after the event

Lucy and Sister Bội Nghiêm

Lucy translated the inscription on the big bell in the Buddha Hall as we showed them around afterwards

Body And Mind Of Themselves

It is often said that the reason we get up so early in the morning is to have the opportunity to be awake - more or less - before the habitual conscious mind can get a firm hold on us. Moving through familiar routines without much mental activity involved, there is the chance for body and mind to experience spaciousness during zazen.
I am often sleepy during afternoon zazen, more specifically during the first half of the period; around the time I hear the six o'clock chimes from up the road, I start feeling more alert. This seems to be the tired body's natural response to stopping after a day of activity, but I have found it a useful place to be  - the other day, somewhere close to the tipping point between waking and sleep, I had the sense that I should tilt slightly to the right from the mid-point of the thorassic curve in my spine. Having adjusted my posture, I felt the release of balance and settledness, but since it wasn't dictated by the conscious mind, I have found it difficult to repeat the movement since then, however much I would like to.
Reading Katagiri Roshi this morning, I came to the sentence, "Dogen constantly emphasizes that practice is shikan. Shikan is just wholeheartedness; it is experience, so practice is experience." At that moment, without really thinking about it, I understood this as the energy to go forward and meet things. I also know that recently I have been practising with letting go of some of the forward drive in my everyday attitudes, which I have been doing by noticing a certain bodily tension and allowing the muscles in my ribs to relax. In both cases, it seems that it is allowing the body to function more naturally without so much interference from the mind, like those twilight moments when the brain is not fully in gear.

Time Being

I did not get a chance on Saturday to post this picture, as the third annual pre-clock change early morning Saturday sky (see also here and here). I'm happy that it was once again a different kind of day - rain was on the way.

This morning was a bit of a shock to the system - I realised that we were waking up at the equivalent of the time people usually get up at Tassajara, and it did feel like being untimely ripped from a warm and comfortable bed. I had trouble staying awake in zazen, and from some slightly heavier rhythmic breathing along the tan, I suspect I was not the only one. I noticed that the first period was especially quiet - as if the people usually driving down Oak at that time were also deciding to sleep on.

Son Et Lumiere

The weather has been delightfully warm again, and with the days getting longer, it has been a nice time to sit in the zendo in the evening. Yesterday the light gently subsided over the course of the period, leaving a golden glow by the time we got up for service, it seemed. We have been getting good numbers in to sit as well, and some people I have been very happy to see: a few members of YUZ; Brian, who was at Tassajara when I was a few years ago, just in town for a few days; a well-known local writer who more usually comes to sit on Saturdays; a producer from one of our favourite city websites, just getting back into some sitting, as well as our more familiar regulars.
In the mornings too, there is a spring-like feeling - the nesting birds are chirping again. I was just looking for this post, and had I written this yesterday when I was thinking about it, it would serendipitously have been exactly a year later... There is a new sound I am noticing most mornings now, a yappy dog being walked just around six o'clock, who seems to take exception to many things it encounters. We are probably all doing the same in zazen, but not so vocally.

Meeting People

Back in the day, as a new practice period student going to afternoon zazen, I remember being struck by how Blanche, who was the abbess in those days, would go round to the end of the gaitan after service, and wait to bow to everyone who came out of the zendo. It was something we read of Suzuki Roshi doing in the early days of Sokoji; it had a profound effect on many of those who came to sit with him then, who felt completely seen and met. I felt the same way at seeing Blanche's kind warm eyes and smile waiting for me to take my place and bow in front of her - such freely offered, abundant love is rarely met.
With the start of the practice period, she has been sitting again most every evening, and heading out to the gaitan to meet people, and these days I am often the first one out to bow with her, which is very sweet.
I was already thinking about writing a few lines about this, when I received this as part of an email conversation yesterday (hoping the person will forgive me for reproducing their words unattributed):
"It has been an overwhelming time at the office lately, which tends to leave me physically drained, emotionally volatile, and generally less available for my non-work life. When I realized Blanche was waiting for me at the end of the gaitan, I about burst into tears from the kindness and patience".
There is nothing more to our practice than this.

Immeasurably Deep And Wide

Yesterday afternoon, another free ride on the swings and roundabouts of outrageous fortune: taking my bike out in the warm sun for a short ride in the Presidio; nearly getting knocked off by someone who turned into a driveway without first looking or signalling; getting angry at a person who was texting behind the wheel at a stop sign; leaving my bike at the shop for some maintenance and discovering it was going to cost at least three times as much as I expected; taking care of some work errands on the way home, then walking back the length of Page Street reciting sutras; a nicely concentrated period of zazen; being kokyo for the one-year anniversary memorial service for Darlene, where several people spoke sweetly of her and to her; having a lovely catch-up conversation at dinner with Paul's student Ann, whom I have practised with at Tassajara over the years, just over from Arizona, talking about doing Full Moon Ceremonies at her temple/home, with a procession from the front door, through the car-port to the patio; another conversation before leaving the dining room, an intimate and personal meeting with someone from YUZ; going to check in on Anna's soku training and finding it wonderfully well-attended; going up to my room to learn that something I had been greatly looking forward to was not going to happen after all and feeling gutted; getting to read a blog from someone who has just moved away, and learning more about their life, connecting back to thoughts of happiness.

Notes From A One-Day Sitting

As breakfast dragged on, I began to wonder if I was going to get to leave the zendo before I had to come back. It was a close-run thing in the end: although the zendo was not quite as full as on the last couple of one-days, there wasn't enough cereal in the pots, so the servers had to keep making round trips to fill in the gaps, and I was watching the time just slip away and noticing how stressed I got. At lunch, by way of a contrast, since there is always something of a break no matter how long the meal goes, I was completely relaxed.
Other things that I noticed today: the Self-Receiving and -Employing Samadhi certainly sounds better with a few periods of zazen inside you. I haven't felt fully connected with it during our noon services this practice period, but today felt different.
While my wrist still got a little sore holding the mudra over time, my legs were doing just fine on the whole - perhaps they were glad not to be the centre of attention. During the afternoon, my brain became less of a solid obstacle, and the information in my spine was more readily accessible.
It was wonderful to have a full zendo chanting the Dai Hi Shin Dharani before dinner, and the Refuges at the end of the evening. Also wonderful to put a call out for people to help with evening dishes, and to go into the kitchen to see half a dozen people working away to get things done. Together, the sitting happens. Then we go our separate ways in the rainy evening.

On The Mend

That I didn't go to Young Urban Zen last night points to the difference between physical pain and emotional pain. There have been a couple of occasions these past five months - not least the very first meeting - where my mood on the day did not seem conducive to being in the group, but I found on each occasion that allowing myself to be with the people who were there not only eased my mental afflictions, but sometimes completely transformed them.
Yesterday did not feel like that. I tried working in the morning, but soon realised that typing emails and rifling through old Mountain Seat folders for useful information was not helping my wrist at all. Happily, I had previously arranged for a friend to come by after lunch: I took pictures of her for her website, and in exchange had an awesome shiatsu massage. After which I wasn't much good for anything. I sat afternoon zazen, but was deeply tired, and felt that my body just needed to rest. While I had fun playing with being right-handed - though trying to serve myself mushrooms at dinner using tongs reminded me of one of those fairground grabbers in my chances of success - I decided that I didn't have enough energy to bring to the meeting, and took myself upstairs for an early night.
I got a solid eight hours of sleep, which is a rare enough tonic itself around these parts, and felt markedly better this morning. The swelling is down, movement and grip are better and my body feels more settled. What I did find hard was keeping my mudra in zazen, but then I noticed how having my arms in any other position really completely changed my experience of sitting. As it happens, the passage I had chosen for YUZ last night was from Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, and it started "The most important things in our practice are our physical posture and our way of breathing".

Sitting Out

Last night I stuffed a zafu and zabuton into my bag and rode down Market Street to join the sitting being offered by Green Gulch residents. There was an interesting debate last week on the Facebook wall about whether Zen Center was endorsing the Occupy movement by promoting this event, and I don't think I have anything intelligent to add to the views already expressed. This was my first time down in that part of town since the Occupy movement started; there was a certain visual incongruity of seeing the encampment along the Embarcadero - and also outside the Federal Bank where we were sitting - but then I also found the illuminated snow flake decorations along Market Street pretty incongruous.
I thought I was late, but when I arrived, I found only Laura and Jamie - the Green Gulch contingent were down listening to the general assembly, so by the time Johan, Qayyum, Maria, Rihanna and the others came along with the candles and cardboard to sit on, I was already settling into some sitting. There were some people agitated at what was supposed to be a gas leak a block away, which turned out not to be anything to worry about. I watched people walking by, city dwellers, camp dwellers, many of whom went to and fro several times. There were security guards on the other side of the barriers, and I guess they would probably be fired if they were seen to be sitting down; they paced up and down, chatted and joked with each other to pass the time, and only came over after a woman who was reading the sign tripped over the leg of a barrier and fell flat on her face. There was the noise of the building's air conditioning, the rumble of streetcars and of skateboards; a saxophone across the street played 'Lara's Theme' from Dr Zhivago and other doleful tunes. I reflected how just a day before I had been sitting out on the roof at sunrise, and here I was sitting on the pavement, looking up at people just as beggars do. Only we were not begging for anything, just being there, sitting together for all beings, as the sign says. Afterwards, we gathered into a circle and chanted the Loving Kindness Meditation, and I remembered chanting it before the Pride procession started, just a few blocks away. When Qayyum intoned a long, hand-written eko, I wondered if it sounded like a manifesto to the people walking past.

Dark Matter

The rain did come on Thursday to usher us into the end of Daylight Savings Time (what we somewhat optimistically call British Summer Time back home). On Friday morning it was almost competely dark until breakfast, and Saturday evening brought the full sodden storminess of winter. In a moment of idleness recently, I read again what I wrote at this time last year - and indeed on Friday I sat in the zendo with my hands wrapped in my sleeves, listening to the click and clank of the heating pipes. Happily the rain moved on; this morning the zendo was growing lighter during second period, and the sun shone into the dining room for breakfast. By the time I came down for zazen this afternoon however, I had already closed up the kaisando and turned on the hallway lights; the zendo was gloomy and I encouraged the doan to turn up the lights, as the gentle morning penumbra doesn't seem appropriate for the afternoon, though the gathering dark outside always makes for more intimate sitting.
It occurred to me that we do ceremonies to mark the solstices and equinoxes, but the days that the clocks go forward or back are much more notable in their impact on our lives, especially ones as closely time-tabled as those we live here.

The sky on Friday morning

Sunday morning

The Doshi Walk

I have been thinking that I need to re-learn how to walk. And to stand for that matter. I was just reading an article from the New York Times about 'barefoot running', already convinced as I am that, should I return to Tassajara, where I would take up running again for want of anywhere to play on a road bike, I would go with some kind of 'barefoot' shoes, and effectively learn how to run again from scratch. My guess is that this would not be so hard at Tassajara where the gradients are such that I often ran on the balls of my feet anyway.
I was about to say that I did manage to run in the 'conventional style' for the best part of thirty years without injury, but in my final practice period at Tassajara I did hurt myself - a twisted pelvis that locked my left leg up during my final sesshin, the effects of which still come and go in differently manifesting aches and pains.
At the newcomers' table last Saturday, I was trying to convince people at the table that zazen was in fact a body practice, and I was glad to hear Paul affirm this in his talk last night. Most of my zazen time at the moment is spent paying attention to different muscles in my back and shoulders as I try to stay aligned. Some days there is releasing, other days there is tension - Monday was bad for this, though whether this was caused by the stressful day or vice versa I could not say.
When I am doshi, I have noticed that I have a particular way of walking. This is partly dictated by the robes; I have renounced climbing stairs two at a time as a matter of course mainly because if I do so I am likely to trip over my kimono or my sleeves. When I do go upstairs in my robes, I am generally more upright, whereas I would usually lean forward. When I leave the zendo as doshi, my carriage is perhaps more grounded than it might me at other times; I am aware that I am playing a role, or rather, embodying a role. So I try to bring this to bear walking down the hallways at other times of day, or walking down the street. I hope I can extend the practice of balance and uprightness to standing and walking as well as sitting - I think I have mastered the lying down part well enough.

It's supposed to rain today, but it doesn't seem so feasible right now...

Spreading The Word

For those of you who don't follow stuff on the Zen Center website so closely, I wanted to pass on that the dharma talk this Wednesday will be ASL-signed. This is down to some hard work by Keith, and it is hoped that this is the first of many. I suggested that it would be a great thing to have on video for the Livestream channel, but the decision was that we wanted to see how it goes over live this time round. So if you, or anyone you know, would benefit from this, and are able to be here tomorrow night, come on over. Or if you would definitely want to see this offered on our video stream, do let me know.

A few of us came out of zazen this afternoon noting that this would be the last week of daylight sitting. For sure we have had to turn the lights on the last couple of weeks as it is getting darker by dinnertime, and yesterday I was musing that perhaps we should start Sejiki later, as it doesn't seem as evocative to begin while the sky is still blue, even if it was pretty dark by the time we had finished. Certainly this week winter seems far away (apologies to anyone reading on the East Coast, for whom it has been somewhat more tangible), as the balmy weather continues, with stately sunrises during morning service. I just went over to the sewing room to put some long-promised stitches in a new zagu for Linda Ruth, which Tova is just finishing off, and there were warm breezes blowing about the courtyard.
We had a special guest kokyo this evening as well; the regular Tuesday person was away, and as Ren had come in early before sewing class, I offered her the chance to do it. Her voice filled the zendo seemingly effortlessly, and she led us in a strong rendition of the Heart Sutra. She was the head doan (and Tova the ino) at Tassajara back in 2004 when I was on the doanryo, and as she commented afterwards, it's like riding a bike - you never forget. As it happens, Keith was the doshi, as he is every Tuesday; we have worked out a way for him to be cued for all the bows by the doan, so it is probable that many attending the service would have no idea that he hadn't heard any of it.

On The Cushion

It was a beautiful day out there today, but apart from half an hour on the roof after lunch, I was just gazing at it longingly out of the window, and hoping that tomorrow will be equally warm. We had a big one-day sitting, which meant a long day of preparation yesterday, and a long day of sitting today. In the end, the preparations were as smooth as they could be, even with all the vagaries of our new booking system, and I was about an hour ahead of my usual schedule getting all the pieces of paper together; even the printers behaved.
As usual, I did not get to settle into the sitting until this afternoon. We had had some debate about changing the timing of Saturday mornings, and the Abbot finally conceded that we could try the shorter service today that we usually do on Monday. As it happened, with seventy-odd people to get in and out of the Buddha Hall and give soji assignments to - and most importantly, to feed in the zendo - by the time we got out of breakfast, it wasn't even worth me trying to take my robes off and get to the bathroom. I went up to my room, gulped some coffee, and went straight back to the zendo to make sure everyone could find a place for 9:25 zazen, and then took a break once the period had started, which always makes me feel just a little guilty.
During the first period in the afternoon I was verging on catatonic, as I have been during most afternoon sittings this week - probably due to not getting to bed early enough. Once I got through that though, I enjoyed the feeling of some habitual stuff getting blunted, and other ways of being getting sharpened, allowing my spine to unfurl and my shoulders release, feeling my ribs come into balance and moving my neck just ever so to give a more spacious feeling. Then at the last moment I had to step in as kokyo for evening service, and found that my voice was drier and more wobbly than I would have liked.
We had dinner in the zendo, which is rare enough that I was having to think back to Tassajara to remember some of the forms; many other people were probably experiencing it for the first time. Luckily, some attrition in the numbers through the day meant that we weren't as tightly packed as we had been for the other two meals.
Sitting in the evening is also an uncommon treat here, even if the first period after dinner always seems to go on a little too long, and wrapping up the day with the Refuges in Pali is always lovely, again evoking memories of Tassajara where every day ends that way.
At the end I even got some thank-you notes and verbal thank-yous; enough to send me off to bed happy.

Don't Just Do Something, Sit There

I'll put my social action hat on this morning, and plug the meditation event this afternoon that Zen Center is co-sponsoring. Being the ino, I feel bound to do my sitting in the usual spot this afternoon, but there will be a contingent going from City Center, so if you are in easy walk/bike/transit distance of us or Union Square, please come along to join forces with us.