Zazen to Cello

Last night at Young Urban Zen, Hannah turned 29, and played us a beautiful piece by Bach on her cello.  Following this we sat zazen, after which she played the same piece again.  She was curious to know if and how it was different to listen to her music before and after meditation. 

I don’t have the right words, but yes, there was a difference.  I was present the first time, more so the second.  I truly, deeply appreciated her music both times.  The second time, I felt more with her.  But the language to describe that heightened sense of being-with evades me. 

When my descriptive powers fail me I sometimes imagine scenarios.  If she had botched it a dozen times, I still would have enjoyed the second time around more than the first.  I find it interesting that my enjoyment of her music after zazen comes not only from the beauty of the music, but from this heightened sense of being-with: from that heightened sense, I would enjoy the music more, even if it is of 'lesser' quality.  In the zendo, I sometimes feel the same way about the sounds coming from the street, the smell of the incense, and my other perceptions.  The second time, I was seeing and enjoying a bigger picture than just the sound of the music.  I heard the music, but more importantly heard her, was very aware of her being and of her being moving through the music.  At one point I felt like I heard tension in her, but I wasn’t holding onto to any perceptions, just feeling what arose.  I also heard more of myself.  There was more feeling and less thinking, and with less thinking, more available to feel.   

If Hannah had botched it all up and felt badly about it the first time, I think I would have felt badly as well.  Or if I had looked up and seen her lost in a musical ecstasy the first time, I would have had some visceral reaction: wow!  But if she had botched it up the second time and felt badly, I would not have felt badly with her – I just would have seen her and been present with that, but it wouldn’t have transferred to me.  Similarly, if I had seen her in some musical reverie the second time, I wouldn’t have had any wow! kind of reaction – I simply would have seen it and loved it.  

My experience of zazen is that it strengthens the integrity of my being: zazen helps me be very much myself, helps me see things clearly and be close to things without getting stuck to them.  It gives me a deeper empathy that does not involve getting pulled into someone else's world.  I felt this empathy while listening to Hannah play the second time.  This evening we also read Suzuki Roshi’s Burn Yourself Completely – along those lines, I would say that the various internal reactions I had while listening after zazen left less traces.   

Spreading the Dharma

I had dinner with Michaela this evening, who spoke with us at Young Urban Zen last night.  At 27 she’s the youngest ordained monk at San Francisco Zen Center.  She’s moving back to New Orleans with her partner Koji to support a Zen group there. 

She’s spreading the dharma.  Not too long ago, a phrase like ‘spreading the dharma’ would have felt grandiose to me.  It can still feel that way.  Perhaps the phrase reminds me of 'spreading the gospel,' which because of Christianities unfortunate political face in this country, I unfairly associate with assuming righteousness for yourself and ignorance and immorality for others.  The dharma to me is the exact opposite: it is about not clinging to truth and to right and wrong.  I think my difficulty here is with the word 'spreading,' not the word 'dharma.'  Spreading may appear to imply the desire to get people to see things a certain way.  But I am beginning to want to spread the dharma myself: what does that look like?  For now, it just means being more a part of the sangha. 

I have been feeling grateful for the gift of the dharma - the gift of Buddhism.   And so I am grateful for the spread of Buddhism and I hope it spreads much farther: but what is it that spreads?  Not "this is what is true and right," but, "if you would like to sit in stillness and notice what arises, we will be here for you to help explore that."  That is what I am so thankful for, and that is what I hope spreads.  And yes, scripture too,and tradition, beautiful poetry and art - but never, never the slightest fragment of righteousness.        

When I had that thought that Michaela was going to be helping spread the dharma, I also thought, "spreading the dharma is just a simple, basic part of life."  The tradition is passed from warm hand to warm hand.  Passing on whatever we have that is of help to others seems like a basic human activity.  Even when people have something truly great to give, even when they have an ancient tradition to foster, it can still be a simple, thoughtful  human activity. I think it is powerful to not make a big deal out of powerful things. 

Six months ago while sitting in the zendo, I suddenly, calmly felt how much I had been supported by this sangha - and in particular, felt how much more was going on than having a place to meditate.  I was inheriting a tradition.  This feeling of inheritance was a very visceral feeling, of strength, but also of being held up by many hearts and hands.   In this space I knew that I would like to soon find a way to support the Zen Center, to give back, even if only through more sincere practice.   I imagined myself deepening my practice over the years.  I imagined my generation continuing the tradition in decades to come.  

I shared this memory with Michaela and she had a similar one connected to the moment she took precepts.  I wonder how many of my peers have such thoughts?  There must be many of us who think, “how incredible, to have this place to practice, to have teachers to discuss our practice with, to have a true sangha?  How incredible to live in this city where it all is!”  How many of us feel this down to our bones… but still find endless ways to not practice as we would hope to?  I’m laughing as I write this because I’m thinking, “who knows?  Maybe most people feel this way!”