Tomorrow I leave for Great Vow
The new little Honda CR-V is packed and it seems as though there is an awful lot crowded into it, for someone going off to the monastery. I guess I had the impression that I would just go with my robes and my bowls, but it turns out it's more complicated than that. Of course you need to bring a toothbrush, and my dentist has cautioned me to use an electric toothbrush or risk losing some teeth. So there's that. There are work periods during the day, so you need work clothes. I hope to continue working out and running, so there are some workout clothes and running shoes. And a yoga mat. Rain gear and warm boots, a quilt because the dorm is unheated. Pictures of Ben and Becca, Joko, Flint, and others, because I want to see their faces and remember them. I'm bringing a Jizo panel that was completed here, and some small gifts for Joko and for Great Vow. A warm jacket is necessary. I'll be working on the computer to lay out and edit a journal that will be a historical record of the first meeting of the Soto Zen Teachers of America. So the computer, printer, and cables. My phone, for days off when I will call family. Various chargers and adapters for the phone, computer, etc. Paper for writing, envelopes, and pens. A box of books that I just can't leave behind, Joko's books, some Ken Wilber, my running book, Slow Burn, A General Theory of Love, Ron Kurtz's Body-Centered Psychotherapy, Bill Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything, and of course, my master cookbooks, in case there is a need for me to pitch in in the kitchen. I need to bring some financial papers because my taxes will be due while I am gone, and I will still need to pay bills and keep my finances current. I'm bringing some fresh fruit for the drive, because that seems to be difficult to find at rest stops and convenience stores. I have printed out the maps for the route I'm taking, from Austin to Las Cruces, New Mexico and from there to San Diego, from San Diego to San Francisco and then on to Portland and Great Vow. I have a flashlight and a reading lamp, vitamins and aspirin. Of course I did pack my robes and oryoki bowls, but I also have to bring a couple of extra jubons, my zafu, my little Buddha, my mala. Whew!
Now I have everything tucked into the car it seems to fit perfectly, but it is not exactly the mendicant monk in dusty robes approaching the monastery gate with begging bowl in hand. Different times, different places, and oh yes, different gender. I had the same experience when I moved into a room at Austin Zen Center. Because I was renting my house to a family from Israel, I had to move a lot of personal belongings out of the house that I would probably not have thought to bring with me into residence here. We need so much stuff to maintain our lives these days! I have been dropping away pieces of my life for a long time now, and there is still so much complexity left that it is kind of staggering.
Progressively I have been stripping away whatever is not essential, dropping roles that identified me until I feel quite molten and entirely unknown, even to myself. I do not know if this is a good thing, but it feels transformative even though it is quite unsettling. I do feel that unless I am willing to literally lay down my life in setting out on this path, I will never be satisfied. Ben said, in his aspiration for me, that he hoped I would find what I am searching for, then he paused and said, that's not exactly it, is it, but I don't have the words for it. I've been thinking about my own aspirations for this time at the monastery, because I, too, do not have any sense that I am searching for something, or seeking the truth, or anything nearly as specific and focused as that.
This journey cannot respond to any "why" question. I guess I simply see it as the next step on the path I seem to be on, what Francisco Varela called the path laid down in walking. It's kind of like, you get to a certain point, and you look around, and you say, hmm, looks like I need to be heading this way. Yes, that feels right. It is not a question of "doing the right thing," or "finding yourself," or "being spiritual." It is way more mundane than that. It is more like a carpenter setting a piece in place that fits neatly, straight and true, a piece that supports and holds something together and brings it to life. I think that sense, the sense of fit that gives a feeling of aliveness, is the way we can tell when we are headed in the right direction, continuing to evolve as optimally as our karma-riddled lives will allow. To get there, we must abandon our very limited ideas about our own lives, our goals and expectations and requirements, and, like a hunter in the forest, study the minute traces, the bent blades of grass, the tuft of fur on a thorn, that tell us which way to go. So tomorrow, I will head out, not into the trees, but out of them, out into the vast open space of Texas and New Mexico and California, watching the trail for the twists and turns of this unexpected life. I approach Great Vow with a completely open mind and heart and a great curiosity about this experience.
So dear readers, I may be able to post from the road once or twice, but most likely you will not hear from me again until July, when I emerge from the great silence. I hope you will continue your sincere practice, whatever it may be, that is your life, and that you will appreciate the priceless gift of each moment. Please take good care of yourselves!
Now I have everything tucked into the car it seems to fit perfectly, but it is not exactly the mendicant monk in dusty robes approaching the monastery gate with begging bowl in hand. Different times, different places, and oh yes, different gender. I had the same experience when I moved into a room at Austin Zen Center. Because I was renting my house to a family from Israel, I had to move a lot of personal belongings out of the house that I would probably not have thought to bring with me into residence here. We need so much stuff to maintain our lives these days! I have been dropping away pieces of my life for a long time now, and there is still so much complexity left that it is kind of staggering.
Progressively I have been stripping away whatever is not essential, dropping roles that identified me until I feel quite molten and entirely unknown, even to myself. I do not know if this is a good thing, but it feels transformative even though it is quite unsettling. I do feel that unless I am willing to literally lay down my life in setting out on this path, I will never be satisfied. Ben said, in his aspiration for me, that he hoped I would find what I am searching for, then he paused and said, that's not exactly it, is it, but I don't have the words for it. I've been thinking about my own aspirations for this time at the monastery, because I, too, do not have any sense that I am searching for something, or seeking the truth, or anything nearly as specific and focused as that.
This journey cannot respond to any "why" question. I guess I simply see it as the next step on the path I seem to be on, what Francisco Varela called the path laid down in walking. It's kind of like, you get to a certain point, and you look around, and you say, hmm, looks like I need to be heading this way. Yes, that feels right. It is not a question of "doing the right thing," or "finding yourself," or "being spiritual." It is way more mundane than that. It is more like a carpenter setting a piece in place that fits neatly, straight and true, a piece that supports and holds something together and brings it to life. I think that sense, the sense of fit that gives a feeling of aliveness, is the way we can tell when we are headed in the right direction, continuing to evolve as optimally as our karma-riddled lives will allow. To get there, we must abandon our very limited ideas about our own lives, our goals and expectations and requirements, and, like a hunter in the forest, study the minute traces, the bent blades of grass, the tuft of fur on a thorn, that tell us which way to go. So tomorrow, I will head out, not into the trees, but out of them, out into the vast open space of Texas and New Mexico and California, watching the trail for the twists and turns of this unexpected life. I approach Great Vow with a completely open mind and heart and a great curiosity about this experience.
So dear readers, I may be able to post from the road once or twice, but most likely you will not hear from me again until July, when I emerge from the great silence. I hope you will continue your sincere practice, whatever it may be, that is your life, and that you will appreciate the priceless gift of each moment. Please take good care of yourselves!
