201 – Story of My Spiritual Journey Part 5: Finding What I Was Looking For

This episode is the fifth and final installment – at least for now – of the story of my spiritual journey. I share a few more of what I call “enlightenments” – pivotal and personal insights I experienced along the path of practice that ultimately helped me find what I was looking for from the beginning.

Read/listen to Story of My Spiritual Journey: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Quicklinks to Article Content:
Enlightenment Three: Inner Mamma Kicks Some Ass
Enlightenment Four: They Who Release Their Suffering
Enlightenment Five: A Vision of Difference and Sameness
Enlightenment Six: Zen Is Not Just about Our Subjective Experience

In case you haven’t already listened to them, the first four installments of my spiritual journey story can be found in:

Episode 174: Conveyor Belt to Death (covering my childhood and young adulthood up to the point where I discovered Buddhism at age 24)
Episode 175: Why I Think Buddhism Is Awesome (covering by early years of Buddhist practice up to my decision to ordain as a monk), and
Episode 176: A Phoenix Rises from the Ashes of Despair (covering my difficult early years of monasticism and how I started to emerge from my dark night of the soul)
Episode 200: Enlightenments (sharing some of the pivotal and personal insights that happened to me over the course of the first ten years or so of monastic training)

Enlightenment Three: Inner Mamma Kicks Some Ass

In Episode 176, installment three of my spiritual story, I talked about the extremely bleak, depressing, and discouraging time I had for a few years, early on in monastic training. Although my desire to practice and awaken was intense, I felt terribly hampered by my ego, selfishness, arrogance, personality, and laziness. I even felt hampered by my own body, as I struggled mightily with sleepiness during zazen. I seethed with frustration as I sat on the meditation seat for hours, bobbing and weaving as I sank into sleep, waking up only when I was about to fall over. The words of the ancestors rang in my ears, “What are you doing sleeping when your eye of the way is still clouded?”[i] I was painfully aware that my inadequacy in practice was reflected in the that fact I wasn’t being recognized or given leadership positions in my Zen community, even after so much time and effort.

I felt split into two parts: One which was willing to sacrifice everything in order to awaken, and another which passively and stupidly resisted awakening. The part of me determined to practice felt like a mouse while the resistant part felt like a giant cow, sitting placidly in the shade, chewing its cud. The cow had no awareness whatsoever that there was a little mouse in the grass next to it, almost killing itself with a mighty mouse-sized effort to push the cow onto its feet and get it to move to more enlightened pastures.

Of course, the metaphor of the cow and mouse is kind of funny and objective, but, being identified with the mouse, I felt desperate and enraged. I guess the metaphor works if you imagine the cow is laying on the mouse’s burrow and she can’t get to her family. Anyway, during this period in my life I got into the habit of internally abusing myself with great vehemence. Inside I would dwell morbidly on my faults, flaws, and inadequacy. I would come up with scathing descriptions of how pathetically I compared to others. I hurl all kinds of insults and cruelty at myself – or, to continue using the metaphor, at the cow part of myself. I was like a parent who desperately needs their child to change but who has no idea what to do except yell about it. This internal abuse would often be reflected in my physical posture in the zendo, where I would sit hunched over, dejected and ashamed.

One retreat while this was going on, I actually had a vision of being two people. The one I identified with had backed the other into a corner, where she crouched, cowering. Then, suddenly, without any conscious intention on my part, my vision changed. (By “vision” I mean this was taking place in my mind with vivid visuals involved, not that I was hallucinating, or thought it was reality, or that I had lost touch with my body.) Anyway, suddenly a large woman inserted herself between abusive me and cowering, inadequate me. She was what I’d call matronly – heavy set, large chest, wearing an old-fashioned dress and apron. All aspects I associate with a strong and potentially fierce and protective feminine presence. The woman got between “me” and the part of me I was abusing. “You leave her alone!” she growled. “Shame on you!”

Sitting there on my cushion I was startled. I don’t know if I physically moved, but internally I felt like I straightened up in shock. It was suddenly so clear to me that my inner abuse was completely and utterly unacceptable – that even if I never progressed any further in my mediation, insight, or behavior, I would never again break precepts by abusing myself. And I haven’t (abused myself, that is). Not only does the means not justify the ends, violence will only drive us further from awakening.

Enlightenment Four: They Who Release Their Suffering

As I described in my first and second installments of my story, I remember being troubled by a sense of despair about the state of the world from a very young age. I knew children all over the world were senselessly starving and suffering while I had more than I needed. Every TV program about the incredible animals, plants, and ecosystems of our planet ended with a description of how they were endangered by the actions of human beings. I saw racism, homelessness, injustice, loneliness, waste, destruction, greed, materialism, and corruption all around me… but I couldn’t see any way to help.

Consequently, though my life was extremely fortunate and full of opportunities, I felt a constant and pervasive sense of guilt. How could I relax and enjoy myself while there was so much misery in the world? How could I allow myself to be content and risk complacency when so much needed to be done? I carried my grief and guilt around with me at all times, like a heavy stone, so I wouldn’t get too carried away by pleasure and thereby slip into the forgetfulness that most people in the world seemed to embrace.

One spring morning I was walking along a street near the Zen center. The ornamental cherry trees were in bloom, and vibrant crocuses were emerging from the winter soil. It occurred to me that, although I had been diligently carrying around my grief and guilt for as long as I could remember, doing so had not actually resulted in my taking any action to help others. I believed I ought to work hard to help relieve the suffering of the world, but I wasn’t doing it. Instead, I was preoccupied with my own pain, and by the fact that it never felt like I was fully engaged with life.

Apparently, holding on to my burden of guilt and grief wasn’t helpful, at least so far. I thought, “What if I released it? What would happen? Would I stop caring about the suffering of others? Would I become complacent in my contentment?” It seemed worth a try… so I tried it. I walked among the trees covered in blossoms and allowed myself to be truly content. As I did so, it became obvious to me that I had been in bondage to my ideas about contentment, suffering, relationship, grief, guilt, and action. Based on these ideas, I was creating a problem where there was none.

In our Zen text on the moral precepts, the “Kyojukaimon,” Dogen says, “They who release their suffering and embrace all beings are called the Sangha treasure.” It always struck me that he says we become part of the Sangha treasure, and therefore a support to others, by releasing our suffering. Not by overcoming it, or figuring it out, or gradually training ourselves out of it. We release it, which suggests that when we’re suffering we’re actually holding on to something. Despite the fact that we suffer, we hold on because of our delusions; part of us believes we have to hold on, or else.

It’s when we release our suffering that we can become useful to others. As I walked along the street that spring morning, I felt so much lighter. I could meet the offering of the cherry blossoms and crocuses with gratitude, where before I couldn’t receive their beauty because of my preoccupation with suffering. The joy I felt was calm and did not encourage me to become complacent. Everything was still as it was before in the sense that the world was full of suffering and injustice but knew that I would only be more likely to perceive it and respond to it after having set down my burden of grief and guilt. Since this experience I have certainly been troubled by grief and guilt, but I have never again believed that holding on to suffering is helpful to anyone.

Enlightenment Five: A Vision of Difference and Sameness

Central to my practice – from the beginning, and even today – is a koan of effort. Effort is definitely required in practice, and sometimes that effort means pushing ourselves, disciplining ourselves, practicing renunciation, and being brutally honest with ourselves. Through effort, we change over time, strengthening good habits and decreasing harmful ones. And yet, effort can easily become a toxic activity for the ego. It also doesn’t get us all the way there. Some kind of surrender has to happen in order for us to awaken, and that surrender is not something which can be achieved through effort.

The ancestors tell us we are already part of the One. From the beginning we are not separate from it. We already have buddhanature. Okay, great. How do we access that truth? How do we make use of it? As we sit, still feeling trapped within our individuality, cut off from the One, alienated from buddhanature, what can we do? As individuals we want to be redeemed. We want to understand, to improve, to awaken, to manifest the reality of non-separation from all that is. But the more the individual strives, the further the individual sets herself apart. Striving happens in the dependent dimension of space, time, and causation – where progress is measured in a relative way. To speak of my progress, it must be relative to a standard, or to my past, or to someone else. This is the realm of effort.

If effort won’t get us there, then what? What is it the individual could awaken to, be part of, which doesn’t depend on relative achievement? In what sense does Dogen say, “Intelligence or lack of it is not an issue; make no distinction between the dull and the sharp-witted.”[ii] If the reward is there for the taking, regardless of your capacity, regardless of your conduct, why don’t you have it already? In what sense does the individual need to show up and participate? Because Dogen continues, “If you concentrate your effort single-mindedly, that in itself is wholeheartedly engaging the way.” [iii]

Sitting in retreat at some point, maybe after three or four years of monastic training, I had another vision. Again, this was just an internal experience with strong visual elements, not a hallucination, but it sprang into my mind fully formed and with all the associated meaning already inherent in it. I pictured a huge maple tree with all of its leaves having turned a vibrant golden-yellow in the autumn. The leaves were so bright they were almost glowing. I was one of those leaves. I was beautiful and perfect, and felt joyful to be one of countless leaves on that magnificent tree. Every other leaf of the tree was also beautiful and perfect. We were all individual leaves, but we were all also simply part of something bigger. The tree could not exist without us, and we would not exist without the tree.

In this vision of the maple tree, there was absolutely no conflict between individuality and oneness. There was no conflict between individuals. A comparison between leaves, from the perspective of a leaf, would have seemed ludicrous: “Hey, look at me! Aren’t I an amazingly special leaf? I’m much brighter than that leaf a little further down the branch.” Comparisons and measures were utterly irrelevant, because no leaf had to earn its place on the tree. Within this vision, all needs were fulfilled simply by being able to be one leaf on a magnificent maple.

What’s important about this vision is not that it’s elegant or a perfect teaching tool for others… what’s important is what it meant to me, how I experienced it in that moment. I felt a huge release of struggle. A sense of belonging, completeness, perfection, and connection. The tension between difference and sameness disappeared. You might say I awakened to some degree to my buddhanature, which manifests through me as an individual, but does not belong to me, and which is not different in any way from your buddhanature. I didn’t need to be better than anyone else, I didn’t need to meet some standard. I just needed to be wholehearted me – to proudly, happily, shine as one leaf on that vast, luminous tree.

Enlightenment Six: Zen Is Not Just about Our Subjective Experience

There were, of course, countless other insights that occurred over the course of my practice, small and large. Many of our insights and openings can be very specific, such as how to relate to a loved one better. Each insight contributes to our blooming.

I’ll share one last one, though. After my Dharma transmission – or empowerment as a Zen teacher – was still struggling with a particular koan. By this I mean a natural koan, not a formal or traditional one from the literature. It was this: Zen is obviously a great path for relieving your suffering and helping you live a wiser, more compassionate, and skillful life. But is that it? Is it just an effective self-help program? Is the benefit of Buddhism and Zen limited to those who practice it? Openings and awakenings are great, but is this really all about the subjective experience of each individual?

This was a lingering source of doubt and pain for me. I remember asking my teacher this at Kyogen Carlson’s public memorial in 2014. It happened during a Shosan ceremony, where senior students of either Kyogen or my teacher, Gyokuko Carlson, took turns asking formal dharma questions of Gyokuko. Visibly and audibly crying, I asked, “What good is Zen practice in this world of impermanence and suffering? What about when people are faced with violence and injustice? Does Zen just make you feel better sometimes? Even though I’m a ‘Zen Teacher’ I am having doubts.”

As I stood there, I imagined Gyokuko feeling embarrassed and regretful that she ever transmitted me as a teacher, given that I still so clearly (and publicly) didn’t have it together. But Gyokuko smiled back at me with that expression of deep love and stillness that drew me to study with her. “Doubt is what we’re good at,” she said. She went on to recommend staying with the question.

“Sometimes,” I responded, “I’m afraid my heart is going to break right open.”

“Perhaps that would be a good thing,” she replied. “Stay with the doubt. But when it gets to be too much, take a break and watch a silly movie.”

This question remained with me for several years. I clarified my response to it over the course of a number of sesshin at Great Vow Zen monastery. At some point I reflected on what I had perceived countless times over the course of my practice: the oneness of things, the luminous quality of buddhanature, the undefiled preciousness of this moment. I had been thinking this was all subjective – I could see things this way because of my 20 years of Zen practice. I had worked on my mind, heart, and body, and could take this cool and encouraging perspective on life when I needed to.

I hesitated to say this is the way things really are. Why? Part of me was afraid of being wrong. Part of me is skeptical of any statements of absolute truth! But then I asked myself, “How do I know anything?”

I realized I was like a doubting Thomas, the disciple in the bible who couldn’t believe Jesus had risen from the dead until he was allowed to feel the wounds in Jesus’s hands. I wanted everything scientifically proven on paper in an intellectual way no one could argue with. In the meantime, I was surrounded by the truth. I could feel it and breath it. It permeated by body, and every waking moment. What could be more real? What could be more true? And this reality holds all being, regardless of whether an individual is awake to it or not.

Finding What We’re Looking For

Our enlightenments, our moments of insight and awakening, fall into place in our lives like pieces into a puzzle. The path of awakening isn’t linear. It only provides a neat narrative in retrospect, with lots of editing. The process is organic and natural, with each enlightenment reflecting the opening of the lotus flower, one petal at a time.

As I mentioned in a previous installment of my story, when I was dismantling my life in order to get ordained as a Zen monk, my soon-to-be ex-husband warned me, “You know, you’re not going to find what you’re looking for.” Although it’s impossible to define what “it” is, I can say confidently that I did find it. It took a long time and lots of effort, but I did. The path of practice, thankfully, never ends, but my confidence in it is what made me want to devote my life to sharing the Dharma with others.