Antaiji Update - Abundance

Just got this email from Antaiji. Its nice to feel connected.





Hello everyone connected to Antaiji!

Thanks to a long and very hot summer this year, we had lots of tomatoes and eggplants. Now we are harvesting potatoes, and the carrots and daikon radish are slowly growing thicker.

There is a Japanese saying that "The more abundant the rice grain, the lower it would hang its head"

Antaiji's rice used to be famous for always keeping its head high even in the strongest taiphoon, but this year the rice harvest was so abundant, that for the first time in 20 years many of the plants fell over because their heads were so heavy.

This year we will release the Antaiji yearbook again at the end of November, and as every year, everyone who lived at Antaiji this year, or who contributed to last year's yearbook, is invited to write an article. The deadline is November 6th.

If this is the first time you contribute, you can have a look at last year's version at http://antaiji.dogen-zen.de/yb/2009/eng/index.shtml

You do not have to write in English though. Any language is OK, any topic is OK.

We are looking forward to your contribution,

Muho and the rest of Antaiji

Antaiji Recollections: Planting Rice – Genjo-koan of the Antaiji experience?

There were so many aspects of my Antaiji experience that fit some way or another into the topic of rice planting (Tave) that I’ve come to think of the Tave as the ‘Genjo-koan’ of Antaiji. But I’m not going to be able to adequately articulate all the reasons that notion works for me in the space of a post. So I’ll just try to highlight some aspects of rice planting.

Tave was by no means the hardest or most unpleasant samu assignment. It also differed from other samu because the whole monastery (minus the Tenso) was involved – even Docho-san’s children participated for awhile. This was to ensure that all of one rice field got planted in one day.

How easily the rice planting goes depends on the condition of the field. Basically the planters have to be able to see intersecting grid lines, about a foot apart, that are marked onto the mud’s surface a day or two before. During planting 3-5 rice seedlings are carefully stuffed into each spot where the lines cross. If the field isn’t level or there’s too much water due to rain, the grid lines disappear under the water. This year the first field we planted was about a third under water.

On the morning of Tave there was no zazen and no cleaning of the monastery. Instead, we pulled on our work clothes, slugged down a cup of tea or instant coffee and met by the kitchen entrance a bit before 5 am. There was a bit of nervousness and joking around as everyone gathered in anticipation of the big day. As far as clothing, there was some discussion on the evening prior about footwear. You could either go barefoot or tightly strap on your otherwise loose-fitting rubber boots with duct tape (or string or both) so the boots wouldn’t get pulled off as you made your way through the mud. (If you were ‘in the know’ there are special boots made for planting you may have purchased, like the ones modeled below.) It was also suggested we grab a plastic bag to carry extra seedlings in, since it was going to be difficult to turn around mid-field, avoid messing up the grid, and not step on planted seedlings to get more.

Boots specially made for planting rice (modeled by Koho)

We headed out in the dim light of a chilly morning collecting a van load of rice seedlings on the way. There nothing like your first few minutes of stepping into and trying to move forward through shin-deep mud surrounded by swarms of small blood-sucking bugs that occasionally flew into your mouth, nose or ears. I recommend that everyone try it at least once in their life. There was a loud chorus of frogs accompanying the sound of mud pulling at our boots, along with occasional shouted directions. Overall, Tave was a concentration practice. You learned to switch off the panic about the bugs, got used to the feel of the mud, and tried to concentrate on the row you were planting and on grabbing the right number of seedlings as you went along.

After awhile our work got evaluated: The lines we had planted were not straight enough. It was explained again that we had to match the grid to facilitate weeding etc later. Not entirely our fault given that the lines were partially under water. But some were better at eyeballing the grid than others. And, of course, abilities also depended on the success of neighboring workers. People started getting frustrated and irritated with themselves, with their neighbors, with the grid, with the ways that had been devised to try to figure out where the grid was. And this wasn’t just any group of people, supposedly we were practiced in ‘pausing before reacting’ to the circumstances..

At some point after breakfast, I remember thinking that everyone had the best of intentions, was trying their hardest to do a good job and/or to get the field properly planted. People had different perspectives on how this would be best accomplished. People had different perspectives on success. People literally had different perspectives of the field itself. Different people had different strengths and short-comings. But, I think it is accurate to say that at least for this group of people, everyone was trying their best. This realization didn’t make the situation any less serious, but most of the time I was able to stay grounded (more or less, given the mud) and less affected by the reactivity of others.

We took breaks for breakfast, midmorning ‘tea’ and lunch. What a scraggly, mud-covered motley crew we were! The field did get finished that day. At the end of the day we all got to take hot baths to soak off the mud so we could admire our bug bites. The next day we were told, however, that the field was a disaster and for several days folks tried to straighten out the lines. It was a bit of a disappointment. Some continued to speculate for days on how to make grid lines more reliably..

Antaiji has two rice fields, so only two days while I was there were spent doing Tave. The condition of the second rice field was pretty perfect. The difference in the planting experience, in terms of speed, non-frustration, and success, was incredible. We finished near lunch time and went to a nearby hot spring to celebrate…

The Antaiji rice field in spring

* * * * *
Other notes:
Organic Rice!: Antaiji is probably one of the few places in Japan where the rice is manually planted. Most rice paddies these days are planted using a machine. (Driving by those paddies was kind of depressing after I could compare, they look so beautiful and lush compared to ours – at least this year.) The places that use a machine, however, rely on pesticides and herbicides to keep their crops weed and insect free. Antaiji’s rice crop is chemical-free. The planting machines’ rows are too narrow to allow for manual weeding of the Antaiji rice crop… hence, manual planting.

Food!: Antaiji is largely a self-sustaining monastery and its major crop is rice. That rice goes to feed residents their requisite 1/2 cup per meal (I think Dogen suggests 1 cup, but times have changed), typically along with soup, often a miso, and a couple of side dishes. We also sort the rice grains we eat before it gets cooked, pulling out the few rice hulls, pebbles, bugs that have stayed or found their way into the rice stores.

Harvest!: This year's rice crop should be due for harvesting soon. I wonder how it turned out...  I wonder what harvesting is like...

Reflections: Antaiji - Docho-san's Comments on Practice-Enlightenment

Here is an excerpt of Docho-san's comments on Practice-Enlightenment a during a Rinko given at Antaiji on May 24, 2010. The iPhone mic was a bit too far from the presenter, so these segments have been spliced out. Thankfully, Docho-san's voice projects well. The topic of the Rinko was Shobogenzo Zuimonki 2.20 which can be found under the Library tab at SOTOZEN-NET.  Still working on uploading the remainder of these recordings to iTunes..  

Reflections: Antaiji Recollections – Washing Up Dishes

For several years of my life I’d developed a bit of resentment for washing up the dishes, since the responsibility always seemed to fall on my shoulders. Right now, I’m remembering how, right before I left for Antaiji, I had started to like doing the washing up again because I'd realized that it gave me a chance to retreat from whatever was going on and enter a semi-meditative state – aware of the water, etc etc – though I should add that usually I would withdraw into an observational state rather than withdraw totally into myself. Washing dishes at the Zen Center also resulted in that joy…

Doing dishes at Antaiji was different. The goal was to get the dishes washed, rinsed, dried and put away in a little time as possible, because we only had a few minutes to clean the monastery and change into work clothes before starting Samu, the official work of the day. Typically, one person for washing, one for rinsing, and the rest for drying and putting away. Ideally, there was no hesitation and no talking and the job got done smoothly and expediently... Of course, when new guests arrived it didn’t necessarily go that way for a few days. I was once new too, so hopefully that’s okay to say.

My preference in the routine was either of the jobs that allowed my hands to get wet, washing or rinsing, and I thank the person who showed me how to do these things the best, most efficient way. For example when rinsing you’d hold the dish under the water with the left hand (there was only cold water, by the way) and run the right hand over every surface of the dish. Then the left hand would put the dish in the drying rack, while the right hand would take the next dish from the person doing the washing up. I’m thinking 5 secs or less per dish. (You didn't have time to worry about the freezing cold water getting splashed onto you.) There was also an efficient way to deal with handing off the drying rack to the folks drying the dishes that minimized the inevitable gap in the wash-rinse routine.

The ultimate was to be good enough at your job that you could perform it quietly and stay aware of the whole Sangha in motion around you and the total picture of the job being performed. For example, if there was a slow down in one area (e.g., dishes with eggs would slow down the washer) the newer folks drying sometimes would stand around waiting. If you were a dryer and aware, rather than stand around, you could jump in and be a second washer to preserve the rhythm.

Getting the dishes done quietly, staying aware of the whole Sangha in motion around you, and staying aware of the total picture of the job being performed was a real joy… One that we could share, not that we had the time to usually, but still...

Reflections: Antaiji - The Song in My Head

I have a few half-written posts on my desktop, but somehow I haven’t been able to motivate myself to finish them or don’t quite know how. One of the few things I have been working on is trying to get the ‘Antaiji song’ that’s been playing in my head ‘onto paper’. Its still going strong, still coming up with new variations in instrumentation, styles, and timing. To get the song ‘on paper’ I’ve been using the laptop’s software, which is something I’ve never used before. So its been an experience. I probably should invest in some ‘real’ software to get the niceties in, e.g. grace notes, crescendos, more precision in the timing, more realistic sounding instruments. I could work on improving my editing skills too. But I start work tomorrow. So here are two really simple stripped-down versions of the basic melodic fragment. The longer one (Antaiji1) is the ‘sitting and working in the fields’ version and the shorter one (Antaiji3) is the ‘going-into-town’ version. Maybe your head can have fun with it too…

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji — Back in the US

I haven’t been in the States for a day yet, but I know I still have a lot to share about my visit and maybe I’ll get around to it. In the meantime, here are a few immediate impressions and reactions:

1. There is a lot to do, but nobody telling me what to do. (So I don’t know what to do – right this minute anyway. I’m pretty sure that will change though.)
2. I own a lot of things but the only things I really need are still packed. (Where is my toothbrush?).
3. The house has been professionally cleaned.
4. Now that I’ve stood on a scale I’m familiar with (I check in about as often as I check my horoscope, i.e. not often), I can say that, yes, Antaiji also is a bit of a weight-loss program.
5. I can get more than one note in a row out of my Shakuhachi, but can’t play a full scale.
6. The birds sound different. (But I still have the same song bouncing around in my head. At least today it’s a distorted electric guitar.)
7. There are toilet seats! I admit I never got used to floor toilets. Its nice to sit.
8. Retreats may be the most difficult battles.
9. It still is nice to sit.

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - Docho-san on Kinhin

At one point recently, using more than one question, I asked Docho-san if there was anything he would share about kinhin. His approximate responses as I recall them included:

Just walk.

After you get going, intention doesn't need to enter into it.

You are going around in a circle.

Observe how you interact with those around you. Adjust your speed or step length so that you maintain spacing.

Dang! Now that's realistic!

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - Two Monks

One option for my future I've considered is monastery life. To be honest, it was not an option I would have considered for myself, yet anyway, if it hadn’t been suggested to me last fall. As I read more about Antaiji, the idea blossomed as a real possibility. I’d like to point out that I didn’t go looking at the pretty pictures of this place until I was showing them to my parents to try to gain their support for my trip in a last ditch effort before leaving the States. So my expectations were pretty accurate, with some minor discrepancies. For example, in Japan, monasteries are not ‘No Smoking’ and a major one – me! By me, I mean my ability to fit in for all the reasons that have come up in previous posts, some of which could change with practice and some of which I’m stuck with, like my age.

I’ve asked several of the monks here or that have passed through what their take on monastery life is. One thing I’ve learned is that most wouldn’t choose a monastery to ‘retire to’ in their old age if they had another option. Sangha members here are expected to fend for themselves, contribute regardless of their age and competence, and there’s no health insurance plan. In monasteries in other countries, it costs to live there, so people still maintain a day job to support themselves. Docho-san has related that most of the students at the Soto School go there, not by choice, but because they have been told to by their families, so that they can marry their betrothed, or due to a lack of other options. I will certainly look into monasteries in the States to see how they compare. In the meantime, here’s a bit more about two monks who’ve spent time at Antaiji.

Koho-san, the head tenso here, arrived about a month after I did, but had been here before. He’s a programmer and has translated several Zen texts from Japanese into Russian. Whatever success I’ve had, I think I owe most of it to his frankness, patience, friendship. He helped me with my Japanese during the month I led tea meetings and meal chants, though he’s the first to tell me I remained far from perfect. Every sesshin Koho-san has to fight the urge to run away. In fact, he did run away during a sesshin the last time he was here. This urge to run away from Antaiji during sesshin is one that the monks younger than 50 that I talked to seemed to share and it gives me the greatest pause in my consideration of monastery life. How could a monk who’s made the life choice to come here not love sitting? For one thing, it seems they don’t really sit anymore, they’ve lost the motivation, that bit of effort it takes to focus the mind on not-thinking. Koho-san sometimes plans what he’s going to think about during the different rounds, and sometimes he sleeps, though he definitely prefers not to. He has gone so far as to bring sharp objects that will poke him when he starts nodding off. It doesn’t work most of the time. I’ve talked with him about it and can see how things change when sitting is obligatory and such a large part of the routine. There’s another monk whose been around for a couple of years that Docho-san will drag outside on his zabuton when he falls asleep, even when its raining or cold.

A Japanese monk who was here before I arrived spent ~ three years at Antaiji studying with Docho-san, and after finishing his years here went to Eiheiji to train to become priest. After only a couple of days at Eiheiji, he ran away, putting aside his robes to train in acupuncture and homeopathic medicine. Although he had successfully navigated the conditions, circumstances, and self presented by Antaiji, he was faced with a whole new set he was unprepared for at Eiheiji. Apparently there’s a bit of an indoctrination period when you get there...

left to right: Jido and Koho

I think no matter where you’ve been and what you’ve managed to get through or graduate from, whenever you move yourself into new conditions and circumstances there’s a whole new set of things to deal with, both on a practical level and a ‘self’ level. What is this resistance that we keep having to fight in ourselves when we find ourselves in new situations? I think it has something to do with loosing that safe and comfortable feeling that arises when we know the rules, what’s expected of us, and we know we can meet the requirements and expectations successfully to some degree. This ability improves our image of ourselves in our own eyes, but can lead to apathy, indifference and even laziness in the long term.

There's the other extreme too, where folks like to run and end up drifting from place to place never really confronting the challenges of self anywhere. But that's not been me often enough to relate to that story.

Can we approach each moment with a fresh, unlazy mind, a beginner’s mind – letting go of self-image, expectations, assumptions? If we could do that we’d be less likely to get caught off-balance. Would that be true freedom? It seems much easier said than done though.

Thoughts anyone?

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji -The Sounds Coming and Going

When sitting I’m aware of (and sometimes get stuck on) the textures of the sounds that are coming and going. There’s even a change in pitch as a car drives by that I got pretty attached to when I was sitting with my Sangha in Michigan near a street with a fair amount of traffic. My attachment to sounds coming and going has been true here, too, where the sounds are mainly birdsong, though birdsong hasn’t ever really been an interest for me. I don’t know the names of the individual birds, which is probably just as well. I have the iBird App on my iPhone, but it only applies to North America.

On one ‘free day’ in early June, in which there was no morning zazen, I got up and started a log with descriptions of the sounds I hear while sitting:

4:00 –

One creature, 2 notes, a low note followed by a higher pitched one. The sequence is regular and repeated, the effect being something like a swing or a door hinge going back and forth.

Off in the distance, maybe over the next hill, a group of frogs producing a sound that is something-like hitting a empty wood tube. The sound has the rhythm of boat halyards hitting the mast of a boat as each wave passes. At this distance it is very different from the loud clacking of individual frogs under my bedroom window at night.

4:10 –

Two birds sometimes closer, sometimes farther away. I actually think they sound like the voice intonation pattern from a Japanese for Dummies tape I bought (but didn’t get very far through) saying “whatashi”, which is the word for I. The basic song is composed of three notes, a bit like a whippoorwill’s and has been around since March when I arrived.

4:18 –

The low hollow hoots of an owl.

4:24 –

The overall volume of the birdsong increases enough so that it is no longer possible in most cases to distinguish single birds. oo-ee-oo, wheat-wheat, we-we-see-sea, siding scales and a bunch of other stuff appears and increases over the next few minutes.

4:30 –

A crow. Boy, they are big around here. I can feel, as well as hear, the air being moved when one flies by the hondo.

4:39 –

First time hearing the second of the most melodic of the birds, whose song has been around since I arrived, too. The melody of the call fits pretty perfectly to the words: “By the dawn’s early light”… & “That our flag was still there…” No kidding! That song is around all day, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. At times it gets annoying in its constancy.

4:45 –

2 woodpeckers adding their hollow taps to the rhythm section. A single sequence sounds a bit like a door creak-, creak-, creaking open (or closed).

More “whatashi” birds arrive or the same ones that began the morning augment their song. A variable two or three more notes get added to the basic song, but the tone of the added notes is amazingly rich and clear and includes a very slow vibrato. I’m impressed that these birds can change the tone of their voice at the drop of a hat. This aspect of the song only appeared at the end of spring, so maybe there’s a seasonal change in the song for some of them...maybe its just an instinct change for mating season. This varied beautiful song remains throughout the day. While sitting my brain has written a whole song to accompany it, mostly a couple of organ chords and some choral voices, very simple... Weird having it going for a whole five day sit. When I work in the fields the song causes me to “flash back” to sitting in the Hondo, though now the song seems to be a bit more along the lines of a soundtrack to a spaghetti western or Tarrantino flick. On the few chances I’ve had to go to town, the song is there too, but now its more upbeat and instead of organ, an accordian predominates. The only thing that manages to wipe this song out of my brain is the sound of the surf when I am sitting by the ocean (Sea of Japan) as I recently had a chance to do on the last ‘free day’.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh….Sound of the wings of the crow pushing air….

4:50

The overall volume of the orchestral cacophony starts decreasing… the sun is now truly up.

…That’s the end of the log.

I’m writing this on a day when the other three people who arrived the day I did have already left Antaiji. The continued presence of the sounds coming and going, even though they come and go and have changed with the progression of the seasons gives me a special sense of peace with the world. One thing I know, especially when not-thinking, is that these sounds will always be here, at least in my lifetime (although who knows about Antaiji and I guess the world as I know it could come to a disasterous end).

The sounds coming and going will be here, but someday in the not too distant future I won’t be… at Antaiji anyway. Maybe on that day I’ll begin to figure out where I stand as far as the rest of my life is concerned. One thing that hasn’t changed for me at all for quite awhile now is that I’d rather sit. That’s why I came here in the first place and I doubt that will ever change. I don’t know what that makes me or how much impact that will have on the choices I have to make regarding my life. I know that this preference makes me a variety of things in other people’s eyes, but I don’t care. Really. Those folks are just coming from their own set of judgements and delusions. We all have them, including me. What I said doesn't make me not care about those people and I hope they will still regard me as a friend. I will try to be there for them when life gets tough.

Does anyone really know the truth of Zen?

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - Rinko 14.6.2010

Text of Shobogenzo-zuimonki 2.23 and 2.24 can be found on the SotoZen-net website.

Summary: Shobogenzo-zuimonki 2-23 contrasts the way of a monk with the way of the world. 2-24 finds similarities between how a person in the world ideally approaches their occupation and how one should approach the buddha-dharma. Both passages offer insight for our practice if we are to become people of ‘great peace and joy’, become enlightened in this lifetime.

Since I can remember I’ve been taught to follow the ‘way’ of the secular world, which is goal-oriented and based on attainment of either objects or status in our society. Ego-gratification or end-gaining are some of the new fangled embellishments folks have come up with these days, but the term “goal” is simple and direct. Goal-oriented behavior has often caused me to put off what I want to do now in favor of some other activity that will eventually result in my attaining or acquiring of some ‘thing’, whether its new clothes, a house, an education, or even enlightenment. 2-23 is not an excuse for doing whatever comes to mind, however. Shobogenzo-zuimonki 2-22, and 2-24 temper and qualify what 'doing what I want to do now' should be for a practitioner of the buddha-dharma. Both 2-22 and 2-24 emphasize whole-hearted practice..

In 2-23 Dogen says the buddha-dharma is the opposite of this worldly way of thinking. He emphasizes that a person following the buddha way minimizes goal-oriented behavior, e.g. one meal a day should be enough for sustenance, so why worry about more? He doesn’t say we should eliminate goals entirely, but rather keep them to what is necessary for survival.

In this passage, Dogen states what the buddha-dharma is not…

In Shobogenzo-zuimonki 2-24, Dogen offers suggestions as to what the buddha-dharma is, drawing an analogy to an emperor in the world. If the emperor performs his job whole-heartedly, “the manner of governing is in accordance with the will of heaven.” As Buddhists practitioners, we want to behave and perform our function “in harmony with the will of Buddha”. This means we should make every effort. Don’t expect the buddha way to be easy. It is not a retreat from the world in terms of effort, but maybe just in terms of view. Dogen also says that we have scriptural teachings, teachers, and advisors (Dharma sibs?) that can help us figure out, ideally, what the Way or Path is and help us in our practice.

During discussion, questions concerning desire and goal-oriented behavior were raised. Docho-san used the analogy of a map and a mountain to address these points. Our desires and goals are “maps” that should give us direction in our trip up the mountain. Maps shouldn’t be our primary focus, nor should we spend our lives attaining and comparing maps, otherwise we’ll never make it up the mountain. However, we do need to plan ahead. Preparing for this Rinko, for example, or the Tenso planning and prepping for tomorrow’s meal, are necessary goal-oriented behaviors, but they should be carried out within a mindfulness of the present moment. But we shouldn’t allow ourselves to get lost in the planning...

...Just a simple Rinko prepped and presented at Antaiji. One tiny step.

I hope these efforts are helpful in clearing my own delusion as well as that of others. Comments are welcome.

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - From Where I Sit

At Antaiji they rotate seating (and sitting) arrangements at the beginning of each month. A few of my family members, when reading this blog, were bothered by the idea that I would be staring at a white wall for hours and days on end. I found their reaction surprising given that I've been mediating for years. Maybe they'll feel better now.

From where I sit, this is what I am:

"At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point there the dance is."

from Four Quartets (Burnt Norton) by TS Eliot

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - On Mind and Mindfulness

Here at Antaiji it’s been raining for four days, but regardless of the weather it sometimes feels like the days blur or smear, running into each other like watercolors on wet paper, losing some of the distinction that seems to mark them in a more secular place.

Because the days blur, I’ve been noticing what the ‘mind’ does with this sameness. How the mind likes to take me on a ride to virtual destinations that I had no intention of going to. Or take me on a thought loop, motivated by a desire to find a solution to a problem or resolve a scenario. In the latter case, I fool myself into thinking that my mind can reach a destination or solution, when in fact it just runs around in circles like a scared mouse. These days I can often stand back and notice that I’m being taken for a ride or a loop, and the mind’s influence lessens. So that I use my mind when I need to, but it doesn’t use me.

But who or what controls the kind of ride or loop? And who or what initiates it in the first place? Theoretically, I’m in control and the more I practice, the more in control I am and the better the overall ride should be...if I even go on a ride in the first place.

At least one key element of practice is mindfulness. But the meaning of mindfulness and its practice has changed drastically for me since I got here. Before, mindfulness, to me, meant short-circuiting mental rides and thought loops and focusing in on whatever I was doing whether I was brushing my teeth, washing dishes, or engaged in kinhin. Since coming here, I’ve often felt I haven’t been mindful enough, because when I focus, there’s a lot that’s going on that I’ve been excluding from my perception. Here, I’ve been gradually forced to increase the bandwidth (Docho-san’s term) of my mindfulness practice to include as much of the here and now I can possibly fit into my brain:

Not only do I want to be aware of the task I’m engaged in, but I also want to be aware of all the other Sangha members, whether I can be of assistance to someone else, the environment in my vicinity, and whether there is a Sangha-related activity or responsibility coming up in the near future I should be paying attention to now in order to perform it more efficiently. It’s weird that it should be so hard to do this. On a positive note, it does get easier as I become more practiced in the routines, in what to expect… But then, maybe the clue is really just to be so present, so balanced, so ‘out of the way’ of myself, that I can function mindlessly:

“If you are mindful, you are already creating a separation ("I - am - mindful -of - ...."). Don't be mindful, please! When you walk, just walk. Let the walk walk. Let the talk talk (Dogen Zenji says: "When we open our mouths, it is filled with Dharma"). Let the eating eat, the sitting sit, the work work. Let sleep sleep. Kinhin is nothing special. We do not have to make our everyday life into something special.” – from Antaiji - Adult Practice:18 (Dôchô-san Neruke Muhô)

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - On Giving Up and Not Giving Up

"There will always only be something to give up and nothing to take away."

- Antaiji Manual

As I was planning to come to Antaiji, a couple of my Dharma friends responded with something along the lines that, in Zen practice, no matter where you go or what your circumstances are, there’s no escape: you always end up having to face yourself.

At the time I think that statement was made to suggest that I could practice anywhere so there was no reason to go to a monastery. While that's true to a degree, the change in circumstances has given me a lot of new 'self' material to work with. Whereas I was comfortable with my practice before, its obvious to me that, here, I am falling short. Though I’ve been mediating for more than 20 yrs, I am new to Zen and have minimal experience with Zen protocol and rituals, the Japanese language, and I'm female, older and less able physically compared others here. Also, being older, I’m less flexible mentally. While trying to memorize and remember one protocol, I become absent-minded with regard to others. (There’s a bit of truth to the ‘absent-minded professor’.. ) Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen a Zen monastery to retreat to, given the lack in experience. At any rate, I’m here now and to summarize what I am feeling, whereas before I got here my practice (and zazen in particular) was a source I could always turn to for a bit of peace of mind, right now, nothing could be farther from the truth. I also know that, in spite of these short-comings and difficulties, I have a certain amount of faith originating from my past experience given that sitting has ‘saved’ me more than once. So I haven't given up. But I can only speak for this moment… and as I say that, I smile, because this moment is all there ever is.

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - Arriving in the Cold

The most obvious place for me to begin this post is the night prior to my arrival on March 26th when I and a 19 year old fellow, also headed for Antaiji, spent the night in the waiting room of the Hamasaka train station. We both arrived after midnight and the town was shut down for the night. I 'gave up' of my idea of a comfortable hotel room and even thought the situation humorous, given I was heading to the home of 'Homeless Kudo'. Instead I spent the night getting to know my compatriot, pacing to keep warm, examining the pictures decorating the station walls, reading, closing my eyes and trying to shut out the noise of the train on stand-by, and even got in a bit of zazen. We thought that at dawn we'd make our way down to the beach, but it was pouring rain and very chilly at dawn so we decided against it. By the time we boarded the bus that would take us to the mountain road leading to Antaiji, the rain had started to turn to snow...

We were saved from most of the cold wet hike up the mountain by a van that stopped and offered us a lift to Antaiji's doorstep. Once inside, we were treated to hot tea and a warm wood stove in the hiroma (dining room). Although I'd been unaware of it in my preparations for the trip, the rest of Antaiji is without heat, as is typical in Japan. I went to bed wearing my coat and, in spite of the previous sleepless night, had trouble sleeping because I was shivering intensely. [Hint: Be sure to pack for a winter camping trip if you're arriving in March.]

My battle with the cold continued the following day, a work day, beginning with zazen to which I wore all the long underwear, sweaters, and coats I'd brought along. With about 6 inches of snow on the ground, wind rattling the shutters and blowing through a number of openings in hondo, zazen consisted mostly of facing the fact that I was cold.

After breakfast, the four of us that represented the first arrivals of the season and Docho-san, hiked through snow and up the mountain to drain and clean out the muck, mainly mud and gravel, from the bottom of Antaiji's water reservior. I was thankful for the hike and work because the exercise warmed me up. At some point, I was taking a break from shoveling and rinsing the mud off of the rock walls and noted that I'd gotten soaked getting the water from the nearby waterfall. It wasn't long before I was freezing again. In less than 24 hrs I'd managed to 'use' and 'use up' all my warm clothes. In addition, during our absence, the wood stove in the hiroma had been dismantled in recognition of the start of the spring season. Luckily, Antaiji keeps a limited supply of clothes left behind by previous residents. [Hints: If you're cold, try working. Also, water resistant pants are an essential. The ones I had intended to bring had either been loaned out or misplaced...Pack a couple of days in advance so you have time to correct for unexpectedly missing gear.]

Needless to say, I spent the evening zazen period again facing my miserable state of being cold. I know, to some folks, it may sound like I'm a bit of a whimp as far as being cold is concerned, but from conversations I've had with other meditators or overheard, I think I'm about average. Or maybe I am a whimp having experienced hypothermia on a winter backpacking trip in the White Mountains many years ago. Either way, as I was leaving the hondo I recognized that, while the cold weather was indeed impermanent, it was going to be around for a few more days at the very least. I knew that if something didn't change, I wasn't going to make it even that long. Most times, when I've been cold, there's always been somewhere I could go to escape from the cold close by and in the near future. That wasn't the case here. So as I was leaving the hondo, I 'let go' of something -- my psychological reaction to being cold. In other words, I've continued to be cold -- in fact, tonight marks only the third night I've been here where I won't be wearing my coat to bed -- but I've stopped cringing in response to it. Was this a one time fix? Nope, I've had to flip that mental switch over and over, but it gets easier every time I do. And now, finally, almost two months since I arrived, the impermanence of being cold has been realized. It is spring and heading into summer.

Reflections: Visiting Antaiji - A Few Notes on Sangha

Anyone with any commitment to Buddhist practice knows of the Triple Gem, Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, because we take refuge in it on a moment-to-moment and daily basis, or when we chant if nothing else. For many years now I have used the word 'Sangha' loosely to refer to the group of people I gather around me (or go to) to support my practice and, if I'm lucky, they may actually get and even laugh at my jokes now and then. In the states, Sangha and "support group" appear to share similar meanings these days in at least some cases and that may not be a good thing, but who am I to judge..it may be what's needed there. As I write this, I also begin to wonder what I mean by 'take refuge' since I haven't taken monastic vows or vows in the formal sense. As a partial answer, what it means to me is a recognition and acceptance of a grounded source to which I can go and return to at any given moment, given that I still venture out into the secular world and have to navigate the stress and confusion that can result from those ventures.

But the Pali word 'Sangha' originally had a much more precise meaning, a meaning that I am learning on a practical level through experience these days. Like right now, even though its a 'free day', its time for breakfast!

tenso in kitchen before breakfast

...And now, an hour-and-a half later, the nine or ten of us here have had a wonderful breakfast, the dishes have been washed, and the dorms and hondo, etc have been thoroughly cleaned, things I would have spent my weekend on in the past, alone and likely with a bit of irritation, interruptions, and frustration along the way. Is everyone off relaxing now? Not at all, most everyone is doing a little extra thing, sorting their daily portion of rice, repainting a door, patching cement steps, or writing a blog (cough, cough.. Okay, I have plenty on my schedule for later and maybe someone will benefit or someone will come here who wouldn't have otherwise.) Dochosan is riding the tractor working on getting the new rice field ready for planting.

Here at Antaiji, Sangha is less of an entity and more of a process. A process in which 'I' is let go of in favor of 'just doing'. That manifests itself in a lot of ways. For example, when you arrive you are taken on a guided tour of procedures and rules for various activities. Even having read up on Antaiji, it's impossible for most to remember it all, including me. So you are bound to be corrected not just once, but several times, until you get it right. You learn to let go of the typical psychological responses to correction. My motto, an old friend, "don't take it personally" works well here. Try to do better. Realize that the purpose of correction is just to have the Sangha run smoothly. Typically, the person doing the most correcting, in trying to be helpful, is being the most compassionate of all.

"You should never be waiting for something to do."

Another example is that, as you may have gathered from above, if you aim to truly be part of this Sangha, there really is little 'free time'..or as I have come to think of it "self time", there is just time when the schedule is a bit more flexible and the doing is a bit more random. So if you aim to truly be part of this Sangha, you do it by giving up self-related notions and activities, and what results is a time-space that is filled with generosity of spirit, a buoyancy in which you can rest. An important note to this is that, though individuals in the Sangha (including, or maybe especially, me) may fall short from time-to-time, hopefully enough individuals practice Sangha that this sense of buoyancy of the Sangha is maintained. It is the institution of Sangha we take refuge in, not any given individual at any given time. In short, Sangha is a process of no-self, everything is just as it is... there are no major dilemmas that require mental gymnastics to sort through and, to the extent that I let go of I, "I" can be happy and at peace. Sangha is the chance of a lifetime to live the Buddha-Way and through our efforts and the efforts of those around us, if we are lucky, gain a glimpse of the happiness of nirvana through practice... Letting the Sangha be through me.

Antaiji Haiku

A few haiku about my Antaiji experience:

Good fellow, next bench —

stretched out, hat pulled over head —

not snoring, not yet.

A late mountain snow.

Below, the green field patchwork

still holding it's own.

After a hot bath,

in raggityanne loaners,

she's a warm homeless.

Hands at quiet work

sorting a portion of rice

her thoughts are elsewhere.

Sitting quietly

a sudden downpour and gusts

shaking the hondo.

A homeless ghost

winds his shape through the forest.

I think of his face.

Rushing streams gouge out

new paths in the mountainside,

my paths lead to you.

Four visiting monks,

laughing, play with the children,

smoke, drink beer, eat cake.

Cleaning out the bugs

from ashes of ancestors —

A fine remembrance!

All the walls fallen

the small I that once was now

transparent as wind.

Early spring morning —

monks rake the pine needles off

one hundred eight steps.

Continuous rain —

day spent cutting and glueing

shoji paper strips.

A bit like sitting

in snow this early morning

and no socks allowed.

Late in land of Oz

Thoughts cloud over a cold moon.

Winds stir old tea leaves.

Collecting wild eats —

Warabib and soft zenmai —

Your morning harvest.