UnMind 86. Anxiety & Completion — Atlanta Soto Zen Center

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I may not be done —
my race may be almost run —
not yet... not yet... not...

In the discussion devoted to Bodhidharma’s four observations in zazen, we mentioned anxiety and serenity as one of the polar binaries encountered in meditation in the category of emotional mood swings, as the great sage is said to have taught. Indeed, the mind seems to function as a pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other in all manner of ways. But we encounter anxiety in daily life as well, one of the motivating factors driving us to the cushion in the first place, classified in Buddhist thinking as unconscious Mental Formations underlying conscious decisions, one of the Five Skandhas.

Anxiety is a nearly inevitable emotion, or rather a complex mix of emotions and concepts, that everyone confronts sooner or later in life. Most of us, fortunately, do not have to face that level of life-threatening anxiety engendered by natural and man-made disasters, but which are becoming all-to-frequent in today’s geological and geopolitical dynamic. Naturally, this exacerbates our normal stress level. But according to Buddha, stress begins with the very reception of sense data into the nervous system. So stress may be considered natural and necessary, while distress is of our own making, or that of others.

Another source of anxiety and distress, and a benchmark for monitoring progress, is called the “degree of completion,” an extreme example illustrated by the photograph. This townhome development in my neighborhood caught my attention. Driving by once or twice a week, as I watched it rise from the teardown of single-family dwellings occupying those lots — a familiar sign of increasing density in the city, another source of stress — I found myself wondering — as the construction crews completed the contiguous units, then the painters, landscapers, et cetera — why this one lone unit on the end was left in its plywood-clad stage?

The next steps of getting it “closed-in and dry,” as an architect friend encapsulates the essential function of shelter — finishing the exterior, then the interior, et cetera — just never happened. The naked facade still sits there a year later, with sad, gaping window and door openings, the wood turning black from weathering, looking like an orphan stepchild, the other units fully occupied for some time. I wonder what the people who live there think. What does that weird “condo-in-progress” attached to the end of the building do for their property values? I am tempted to try to find out what went awry, but it would spoil the mystery.

Like learning to identify birds by their call. What we call them has nothing to do with what they really are. I would rather not know, really.

Another design anomaly: the façade of the building facing the street has all the attributes of an entrance — front doors, stoops and stairs, little fenced-in front yard, and all — but the residents obviously enter and exit from the back. The only thing accessible from the front footprint is the sidewalk, bordering what is a high-speed through-street, not exactly pedestrian-friendly.

Completion of current or final phases of projects is usually linked to dates certain, deadlines upon which a host of related tasks may depend, and which may determine the success or failure of the endeavor. Coming in over budget and behind schedule is assiduously avoided, except for government work, where the clients (you & I) are diffuse enough that no one can be held accountable to dollar discipline.

In design-build projects, stress and anxiety stem from a variety of sources, including the scope of the project, which often ranges from ambitious to impossible. The phenomenon of “scope creep” only adds to the blood pressure. And then there is contact anxiety, picked up from clients, bosses, and co-workers. Like any of the negative classes of emotions, flop sweat can spread like a virus when the pressure is on. Opening night jitters and stage-fright butterflies when speaking in public are classic examples.

A subtle syndrome that you may have experienced but not recognized as such is called “completion anxiety,” that peculiar resistance often encountered toward the end of the process, in which the last touches seem to take an agonizingly long time. Checking and rechecking details before presentation or launch of the project can grow to obsessive-compulsive levels, when none of them are deal-breakers.

One psychological aspect of the syndrome is that as long as the project, product or program is not complete, it can remain perfect in our minds. Once it is finished, it is what it is, warts and all. Of course, projects are never really complete. Time and change will bring about conditions that require a new phase of revision to the design.

Software is the poster boy for this kind of agile adaptation process. The rate of change in what has been called “cultural evolution” is only increasing. If you do not like the current applications you have on your smartphone, just wait ‘til next year’s issue. I was naïve enough to think that the Steve Jobses of the world had not thought of including a simple but ubiquitously convenient flashlight, when I saw a handyman In my dark basement use his that way. Silly me. A quick check of my iPhone revealed and there it was, the “flashlight” option. The ominous but certain sense that the world is passing you by becomes yet another source of existential anxiety.

A wonderful line from Master Sengcan’s Hsinhsinming — which I like to translate as Trust in Mind or The Trusting Mind — addresses a particular brand of anxiety toward the end, after a rather rapturous series of descriptions and implications of Zen insight:

Waste no time in doubts and arguments that have nothing to do with this
One thing all things move among and intermingle without distinction
Living in this realization we are without anxiety about non-perfection

Suggesting that there is nothing more important in life than Zen realization, which all of Buddhism’s teachings point to, but which cannot be gotten from words and concepts. But have no doubt, and don’t bother to argue the point. It is just a waste of time. In fact, Zen has always taken the position that if you even begin to argue with others, you have already lost.

The middle line reprises the first line about the Way being easy for those who have no preferences. In reality, of course, this is a nearly impossible ask. But at the end of the day, as we say, most of the preferences we indulge turn out to be relatively trivial. But when it comes to taking a backward step and gaining an overview of existence itself, it becomes necessary to make some hard choices. If we harbor a preference for living over dying, and do everything we can to avoid the latter, the effort finally ends in failure, so the very aspiration is one of futility. Better to face the facts and do all we can, to not only age, but also to encounter illness, and to die, when our time comes as we also like to say, gracefully.

Aging, sickness and death are three cardinal marks of Buddhism’s First Noble Truth as applied to sentient beings. Another trio of attributes of existence as dukkha, suffering or change, includes imperfection. At least insofar as people are concerned. It’s doubtful that other denizens of the animal kingdom contemplate their lot as basically unsatisfactory. Imperfection joins impermanence and insubstantiality, which in human perspective also qualify as subsets of imperfection. We long for perfection, permanence and substantiality. Too bad. Non-perfection is where it’s at, my friend.

Yearning for perfection, and the frustration we feel in falling short, is a fault that we often attribute to others, usually to no avail. But also to our own behavior, and to outcomes of that behavior. We are our own worst critics. Particularly in regards to practicing a process, implementing or completing a project. If we regard our Zen and zazen practice as such a project, we might see the light as regards sources of anxiety that may be getting in the way. But we want to avoid setting up unrealistic expectations.

In the formal interview process (J. dokusan) we offer in Zen, practitioners often express anxiety about doing meditation right or wrong, as well as failing to live a compassionate life, in their attitudes and actions toward others. While we make the point that you cannot really do zazen wrong, you can certainly develop wrong or unhelpful attitudes and opinions about it, as well as towards Zen in general. Generally speaking, if you do not give up, and sit still enough for long enough, any such confusion will probably sort itself out. But as in all walks of life, it might be helpful to get some coaching from someone who has been there and done that — in other words, made all the mistakes. Zen masters are the go-to guys for what not to do.

Speaking of Zen masters: Eihei Dogen. He stands out as one pivotal person for the transmission of Zen Buddhism to Japan, as does Bodhidharma for China, and Buddha for India. Matsuoka Roshi stands as one of the earliest pioneers of Zen in America.

When Dogen returned from China in his mid-twenties, he is said to have remarked that he felt his life’s work had been completed, “dropping off body and mind” under the tutelage of Master Rujing in China. But he expressed a sense of urgency that the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and that his return to Japan may comprise a “true mission.” He largely succeeded, but that mission is still incomplete as of this day and time, when we are attempting to transmit the genuine practice of Soto Zen and its zazen to America. Meditation is becoming mainstream, but zazen is still little known or widely practiced. As some wag said, the first hundred years are the hardest.

Shohaku Okumura Roshi is a central figure in contemporary Soto Zen in America, and fortunately for myself and my students, one of the three established teachers who have kindly recognized my efforts. In some of his translations and commentaries, which we highly recommend to all, Master Shohaku has emphasized what he terms the “incompleteness” of our consciousness. He illustrated this with a simple example, pointing out during a talk at our center that he could see all of us in the audience, but not the altar behind him. He knows it is there, and can turn around to see it, but then he would not see us. This incomplete aspect of consciousness is built into our physiological makeup. So even completing our life’s work in Zen, the fruition of our practice, cannot overcome that kind of incompleteness. As Master Dogen says in Genjokoan [Actualizing the Fundamental Point]:

Though there are many features in the dusty world
and the world beyond conditions
you see and understand only what your eye of practice can reach

The “eye of practice” sounds like something that might improve over time and with repetition, like any other form of practice. But we should not fall into the trap of thinking that we can measure progress stage-by-stage, as we can in most projects. How would you determine the degree of completion of your Zen practice? Are you 75–85% finished, even in your zazen? Are you feeling any anxiety about it?

We will continue in the next segment examining this particular can of worms we have opened up.