UnMind 13. Zazen Quartet 1: Trust in Zen

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“Trust in Mind,” of course
But Zen Ancestors as well.
Most of all, zazen.

The first line of the ancient, long-form Ch’an poem Hsinshinming, “Trust…” or “Faith in Mind,” is translated, “The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences” in the version we chant in Soto Zen Liturgy. Its main point is that while the discriminating mind (in Sanskrit, Citta) will naturally pursue a near-infinity of preferences — developing attachments to those it finds pleasurable, and aversion to those it finds unpleasant — the deeper mind (Bodhi) can be trusted not to lead us off into greener pastures, or into blind alleys and dead ends.

While it is true that both aspects of mind are constantly in play — the relatively monkey-like foreground mind of sharp focus and intellectual analysis, as well as the more monkish background mind of fuzzy logic and intuition — the kind of conditioning that we develop as we mature into adulthood in America tends to favor the former over the latter. Bodhi, or wisdom mind, is pushed into the background, under the onslaught of getting the good grades, and later, the good jobs, which tend to rely on the monkey’s self-survival instinct, its ability to cope under stress, and to compete in never-ending one-upmanship games with others.

Most grown-ups can remember their parents advising them, or insisting, that they should have “something to fall back on,” if they aspired to being an artist, actor, dancer, poet, or any number of career choices not generally regarded to be financially rewarding. This is only one of many such cultural memes that lobby against any overweening trust in the powers of our imagination.

As life has gotten simpler and easier in many aspects over the centuries, thanks mainly to the inventions of science and technology; and more complicated in other dimensions, thanks to the stubbornly self-centric nature of humankind, we have come to trust in things other than the Original Mind of Zen. Along with relying almost exclusively on the thinking mind, we have come to place our hopes in such societal constructs as preferring certain forms of government over others, all of which are ostensibly designed to constrain the lesser angels of the governed. We have also developed dependencies on organized religions, ostensibly to bring forth our better angels. For our livelihood, we look to corporations to provide the clients, the means and the monetary rewards as well as job security and benefits such as health insurance and retirement pensions. In all too many cases, the built-in frailties of both the leaders of the organizations in which we have vested our trust, and the so-called “systems,” themselves, have let us down.

So we turn to our own devices to fill in the void. We turn from the social sphere to the personal, which is where Zen meets us. We have to trust our teachers in Zen to at least be honest with us, and not to lead us into unnecessary and even counter-productive practices, simply because we can be sure that they developed their own practice in this way. We can generally trust the historical ancestors of Zen to have recorded their experience and process with as much integrity as possible, and that our immediate teachers have no reason to deceive us. In fact, the documents of transmission of the lineage use the word “entrust” specifically, meaning that the teacher finally entrusts the dharma — their dharma — to the student, as one of their dharma heirs. But we cannot trust others for our own insight into the dharma. We have to trust Zen itself, beyond the written documents, and in spite of the all-too-human frailties of its contemporary proponents.

Even if we are confused by the written record; even if we find we cannot trust our teacher or the community with which we practice, we can always trust our own zazen. Zen is not some arbitrary program of activity designed by human beings to reinforce their own worldview, and to impose it upon others. Zen derives its understanding from direct experience on the cushion — a natural, one might say primordial, way of knowing.

Because we penetrate beyond the deceptions of thought, concepts, language and all the baggage that goes with them, from beliefs in superstitious ideas to reliance on others for our very survival, we cannot be fooled by zazen. Throughout the 2,500 years of its history, the trappings of the practice, and the societies that nurtured it, have changed and changed again — dramatically. Zen looms over all, rising above the fray and sailing forward over the roiling seas of Samsara. Its destination is Nirvana, which we never really left, but only forgot about.

Remember that mindfulness in Buddhism is not simply being in the present moment. If it were, Zen would not have lasted this long. Deep remembering — recalling to mind, through direct personal experience, the teachings of Buddha, beginning with the Four Noble Truths, the teachings of impermanence, et cetera — is the core of mindfulness in any meaningful interpretation of the term. The remembrance aspect of mindfulness reminds us, repeatedly, of this humble truth, until we finally get it. Zen does not add anything to reality, does not really change anything, but merely allows us to return to the reality from which we originally came. It is like coming home again, for the first and last time. We can rely on zazen to bring us home safely.