Stuff that Comes Up when Sitting

The past couple of times I've done sitting practice, I've had strange physical reactions that I've never had before.

At the temple last week, I kept getting these spasms in my lower back. This morning, when I got close to the 20-minute mark, I felt like I was hyperventilating. My mental reaction in both cases was to adjust... shift my back a little... slow my breathing a little... DO something about it.

I'm smiling as I write this because the last Dharma talk I heard mentioned something about not giving in to the need to itch because there's always another one that follows... once you scratch that itch, within minutes another comes in its place.

I guess my urge to "do something about it" was because these sensations were sp foreign to me. Normally, I sit without any discomfort in my back. Normally, my breathing is steady. My legs fall asleep. My feet fall asleep. My mind wanders at times. Those are the things I am used to. Is it strange that this "other stuff" brought up a sense of panic... an urge to stop?

That's why I wanted to review the six points of posture in today's Daily Dharma entry. I have a hard time remembering them... Legs I remember because mine always fall asleep. Hands... sitting zazen we hold our hands in the dhyani mudra... Eyes I remember. I get fuzzy on the other ones.

I don't ever expect to be completely comfortable when sitting... maybe remembering these points will resolve some of the recent strangeness. Maybe not.

Daily Dharma

The Six Points of Posture

Sitting meditation begins with good posture. Awareness of the six points of posture is a way to be really relaxed and settled in the body. Here are the instructions:

1. Seat: Whether you're sitting on a cushion on th floor or in a chair, the seat should be flat, not tilting to the right or left, or to the back or front.
2. Legs: The legs are crossed comfortably in front of you--or, if you're sitting in a chair, the feet are flat on the floor, with the knees a few inches apart.
3. Torso: The torso (from the head to the seat) is upright, with a strong back and an open front. If sitting in a chair, it's best not to lean back. If you start to slouch, simply sit upright again.
4. Hands: The hands are open, with palms down, resting on the thighs.
5. Eyes: The eyes are open, indicating the attitude of remaining awake and relaxed wiht all that occurs. The eye gaze is slightly downward and directed about four to six feet in front of you.
6. Mouth: The mouth is very slightly open so that the jaw is relaxed and air can move easily through both the mouth and nose. The tip of the tongue can be placed on the roof of the mouth.

Each time you sit down to meditate, check your posture by running through these six points. Anytime you feel distracted, bring your attention back to your body and these six points of posture.

[...from Comfortable with Uncertainty: 108 Teachings by Pema Chödrön, pg. 15]

The Bodhisattva Path

I'm reading a couple of versions of The Bodhicaryavatara (A Guide to the Bodhisattva Way of Life) by Santideva. My interest in this text was spawned by a simple quote on the Still Point home page:

May the poor find wealth,
Those weak with sorrow find joy;
May the forlorn find hope,
constant happiness and propserity.
May the frightened cease to be afraid
and those bound be free;
May the weak find power,
and may their hearts join in friendship.

This quote sums up what a Bodhisattva wants. If you're unfamiliar with the term, a Bodhisattva is an enlightened being who consciously delays the personal experience and reward of Enlightenment until all beings everywhere can be saved. Santideva wrote the book on it.

Santideva was that Buddhist that could never catch a break. When he worked in the service of a King to ensure that the country was ruled according to Buddhist principles, he inspired the jealousy of other monks. When he resigned his position with the King, he joined the monestary. The monks thought he was lazy and inept. Hoping to prove their opinions of him, they challenged him to a recitation. Santideva asked if he was to recite an existing text or an original composition. When the monks encouraged him to recite an original composition, he recited the Bodhicaryavatara—one of the most beloved texts in Mahayana Buddhism to this day.

Studying the Bodhisattva ideal humbles me. When I look at what it takes to really be a Bodhisattva, I'm struck by the ways in which I whine about my world, my laziness, my frequent detachment from the suffering of others. I see living, breathing examples of this ideal and start to really get what selflessness means.

Would I forgo food for 100 days to save the salamanders?

In the face of complete selflessness, I'm forced to look at all the little things I could be doing to make the world a better place. Instead of beating up on myself for being lacking in saintly behavior, I look at what I can do today.

The Bodhicaryavatara has many suggestions. The beginning of the text focuses on the awakening of the Bodhichitta mind.

Bod · hi · chit · ta In the Tibetan tradition it is seen as having two aspects, relative and absolute. The relative mind of enlightenment is divided again into two phases (1) the intention and wish, nurtured by limitless compassion, to attain liberation for the sake of the welfare of all beings and (2) actual entry into meditation, the purpose of which is the acquisition of the appropriate means to actualize this wish. The absolute mind of enlightenment is viewed as the vision of the true nature of phenomena.

[...from The Shambhala Dictionary of Buddhism and Zen, pg. 23]

So, here's what we can do:

1. Invoke in ourselves the desire to be compassionate and work for the welfare of all beings
2. Meditate to acquire the means to be more compassionate and actualize the bodhisattva ideal

This is why sitting matters. No matter how much we might want to save the world, we need to develop ourselves in order to do so. Saving the world starts with saving ourselves. The ability to be compassion, loving-kindness, equanimity and joy increases as we sit with courage and mindfulness. But we have to be intentional. I have to be intentional. I'm off to sit.

What Makes Us Happy

A recent feed from The Buddhist Channel proclaims that Scientists Want to Know What Makes Us Happy. The article by Justin Maynor suggests that money can't buy happiness, but mindfulness might yield joy. Happiness is alluded to as a goal of the ego—temporary, fleeting, conditioned on externals. Joy, interviewees suggest, is a deeper contentment that can come through meditation practice or reliance on a higher power.

I'm noticing that the moment I intellectually "got" the fact that meditation/zen practice is no quick fix, my practice waned. I'm noticing that although I recognize the fact that practice won't "fix" me, and although I conceptually "get" how my life/the world can benefit from my practice, I'm not practicing as much as I was when I started this blog.

What am I waiting for? Happiness?

Life gets hard. I get tired. I have other responsibilities. So what? Maybe the anxiety of these past few months might've lessened if I continued daily practice instead of settling for weekly sittings at the temple. Maybe if I had listened to my teacher and practiced with Mu I would have known what to do to alleviate my stressors weeks ago.

Two weeks ago at temple I arrived late for interviews. I stood waiting mindfully with hands in hap'chang and listened to the bell ringing in the first morning sitting. We knelt quickly on a landing midway up the stairs.

"Just do your practice," she urged gently. "How are you practicing?"

"Alternating between counting breaths and Mu," I respond.

"Do Mu... use it like a sword. It can cut through anything," she says.

I'm still uncomfortable with Mu. I feel like it gets stuck in my throat. I don't really understand it. Blah, Blah, Blah. I contemplate it more than I sit with it. It's time to start really practicing it. It could be my path to joy. How will I know if I don't jump in with both feet and really try?

My First Koan

Our teacher is gently preparing the sangha for next year's transition. After founding Still Point and offering five years of service, she will step down as our Guding Teacher and pass the reins to a recently ordained Dharma student. He is a great teacher. He oversees the Intensive Practice program. He wakes us up. He is funny, gentle, kind, and very serious about this practice. He will be great for Still Point. What I realize, though, is that I have a limited time to practice and study with my first teacher... the teacher who presided over my precepts ceremony and gave me a name. I intend to take advantage of it. I decided when I learned of the transition that I would attend as many interviews as possible from now through September. That was nearly three weeks ago. I haven't missed one yet.

We sit and she watches as I settle into the cushion and count my breaths. She tells me my practice is strong, that she sees that I am serious about my practice, that she intends to push me a bit if it is okay. I nod and smile. She starts to tell me about Mu.

"You can pour everything into Mu... hope, fear, heartbreak, everything." Then she demonstrates. My first instruction was to count my breaths. Breath in... Breathe out "One...." Breathe in... Breathe out "Two...." Now, I breathe in, and breathe out "Mu". I hear her and I get it... it comes right from the abdomen... gentle but constant like the whisper of sea shells. "Now, you try..." Mine is not as gentle or constant as hers yet... my voice breaks a bit, but I push my belly inwards as I try it. It's not comfortable... I will need to work with it a bit, but the prospect excites me. She tells me that many teachers feel that Mu is all you need. Once you have Mu, you have everything. I feel like I've graduated. I smile and push ego away. So I am instructed to take Mu, use it, make it my own, and go save the world.

The student in me accepts that all I have to do is Mu but has to know more. I wouldn't be satisfied until I properly consulted my books, Google searched, collected and documented my findings. This has been a week-long inquiry.

The first article I read online suggested that Mu is not even something to do... it is something to be:

The teaching of mu is a matter of examining the essential question of whom and what we really are, of being pure at heart, and of no longer being confused by what confronts us.

Being mu, or empty of self, allows one to actively take in whatever comes. Our world today and all in it are separated into dualistic distinctions of good and evil, birth and death, gain and loss, self and other, and so on. By being mu, not only does one's self-centeredness disappear, the conflicts that arise with others dissolve as well.

[quotes from the article The Zen Teaching of Mu by the editorial staff of Kateigaho]

After I read the Kateigaho article, I continued to browse through the results of my Google search. Wikipedia posts a definition of Mu [무] along with its Hanja character and a brief account of the koan that inspires practitioners to penetrate Mu. I think the Hanja would make a good T-shirt.

Many Buddhist teachers and writiers have written commentary on Mu. I've bookmarked several articles that I intend to read later:

• Chau-chau's Dog
• Chao-chou Ts'ung-shen
• Life Koan

I'm sure I will post more on this subject as my practice continues. For now, I'll end with the koan as printed in Zen Flesh, Zen Bones:

A monk asked Joshu, a Chinese Zen master:
"Has a dog Buddha-nature or not?"
Joshu answered: "Mu."

Recess is Over

Sitting at Still Point was difficult yesterday. I came in early, hyped up and ready to settle in. I sat alone at the front of the room, breathing in and out as dharma students, members and guests filed in behind me. After about 30 minutes, someone came in and rang the bell to signify the start of the first official sitting. Recess for me, meant recess. Without the sangha there to bolster my practice, everything just fell apart.

About midway into the first sitting, everything hurt. My left foot fell into a deep sleep. I quietly massaged it a bit, trying to revive it without disturbing anyone. I felt restless. I was ready for the dharma talk. We still had another sitting to go.

I started to really listen to myself. I was berating myself for being lazy, for letting my practice go. I started to reflect on how easy it seemed for everyone but me to be sitting there... especially the dharma students. They didn't seem to need to move at all. How did they do it? They probably stuck to their practice until it didn't hurt anymore. The thoughts kept streaming. "God, I suck."

After the Three Refuges, the second sitting. I sat with my shins folded under my thighs. Why I chose that moment to try a new posture, I'm not quite sure... well, I was ready to try anything to stop my legs from tingling. The posture sucked. I sucked. Everything sucked. I wanted to get up, but I wanted to sit more. I stuck with it, then finally the dharma talk. Before she began, P'arang nudged my foot with her foot. "You did fine," she said. I stopped feeling like a loser.

I expect it to be easy every time I sit. That last sitting, I tell myself, has carried me to some type of samurai state of being where I have total dominion over my body and my mind is peace. Then I sit and I am pulled back to reality. My thoughts run for the horizon like a runaway train. My body, in pain, is the boss. I am distracted, but I fight to focus on my breath. Thoughts take over. I think about what happened yesterday. what I want to happen tomorrow. I remember my breath. I think about Jakusho Kwong. "Breath Sweeps Mind." I mentally repeat it like a mantra.

I was excited to learn that something called the "Intensive Practice Program" is beginning. There is an interest meeting after the morning service. I realize that I really relaxed my practice after the Precepts Ceremony. With no structure in place, my practice waned. "I'm going to do this," I think. I'm starting tomorrow.