Reflecting on the Forms

So, a few days ago I arrived in Denver to help my brother move back to California.  And move we did!  In about eight hours we packed the U-Haul, him packing everything and me hauling boxes to the truck and cleaning in between.  The last items to throw in were our hiking packs.  We closed up the truck, spent a moment looking at the full moon and the moonlit snow, then looked at each other and decided that rest could wait.  Taking shifts we burned through 22 hours of driving and arrived home Saturday night, giving me time to rest up and ride to Green Gulch for my friend Naomi’s jukkai ceremony on Sunday. 

Naomi and I were guest students together close to two years ago at Green Gulch, and watching her take this step after working on the farm for over a year sincerely moved me.  In fact, I was so happy I think I was a bit goofy: I had a big boyish grin on my face and could barely speak, probably giving her family the impression I had a big crush on her which is in no way the case.  In fact, I don’t know Naomi that well, but the moment filled me with silly joy because, knowing her well or not, I believe in the depth of her path.    

A couple things jump out at me from that evening.  One has to do with attachment to the forms. 

Four women were taking the precepts that evening, which involves lots of bowing and prostrating.  At one point, a woman forgot to bow to Linda, and as she walked away, I heard someone whisper in a somewhat agitated tone of voice, “You’re supposed to bow.”  And I calmly thought to myself, “not bowing was not a mistake.  That is just fine.  But it was a mistake for whoever whispered that that to be agitated by it, and a deeper mistake to try and correct someone else, after the fact, and cause them agitation.”  Not being in the moment, in this case as in most, meant not fully being a bodhisattva, not fully accepting someone and causing them agitation. 

The forms we enact – the different forms of bowing, of prostrating, of ringing bells, etc. – can become attachments that restrain us from buddha-mind.  I notice people wanting perfection – not only for themselves to perfect the forms, but wanting others to have perfect form.  I remember when I first showed up at the Zen Center, clumsily copying whatever the person next to me was doing.  There were a few times when I felt agitated or embarrassed for “messing up”.  But each time those emotions crept in, I was usually able to use the next breath to be with the moment: there is no messing up, just whatever happens.  I recall thinking a few times: “This is a zen center!  People probably don’t think in terms of messing up or getting it right here.”  Oh, naivety!    

Perhaps if we are with whatever happens in the moment, we are with the true forms.  If this is the case, then the City Center is an excellent place to practice, because it is filled with people coming off the streets who have no idea how and when to bow and prostrate and chant.  I feel lucky because I personally love it when someone new sits next to me and has no idea how to brush off the zabuton or even how to sit.  I feel lucky because I have heard other people talk about how they get distracted by these “imperfections.”  But they are not imperfections.  There are plenty of crazy zen stories where the master does something like let a raging bull into the zendo because his students have become obsessed with or just complacent or used to the forms.  And there are stories about zen masters who, witnessing the whole-heartedness of a students “imperfect” form, bow deeply to them of even take on that form themselves. 

My practice is to have a calm mind as I brush the zabuton and fluff the zafu, to never be in rush while in the zendo, to notice if someone new is next to me and create the space for them to watch how things are done, which includes giving them good energy; to be appreciative as I take my seat, to wait for another so we can bow together, and to think of everything as absolutely perfect, especially if a raging bull one day wrecks havoc on our peaceful zendo.