Originally Posted by
Neika
I wrote a blog piece this morning and wanted to share my rambling here, I'm interested in other perspectives and responses. It may be a bit long and disjointed, reader beware.
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I work in a hospital and the past few years have been horrific for us. Last year hit me particularly hard. And this year seems to not be letting up any. I used to think I had it all figured out – I thought I was carrying my sitting practice into my daily life, keeping equanimity a constant in my daily life and interactions. But a year ago I had all of that thrown in my face. And I’ve had to change some perspectives.
Early last year (2021) I had an interesting experience meditating. Normally I try to avoid discussing any experiences I have while sitting zazen, I think they tend to mislead me from the point of sitting. But this one is important to the story. I had been studying a lot on the five aggregates and the ideas of self and not-self, grasping with lingering concepts of soul, eternal life, reincarnation, things like that. Stuff that a lot of us who grew up in theistic homes have to grapple with at different times. While sitting, I had this moment of really seeing that the dropping of one skandha causes the loss of the “I”. Without form there is no I. Without sensation, perceptions, and so on, there is no I. Of course, this is something basic to Buddhism, but there was just this moment of really understanding it. Nothing profound, nothing to write home about, just the intellectual study wanting to settle into something deeper I think. But not five minutes later, before I could even get my ‘monkey mind’ back to just sitting, my practice was interrupted and I was told we lost a close family member. It was a bit unsettling this sudden understanding that there is no I, no you, without body, and then to simultaneously learn about the loss of a loved one. Furthermore, that same week, two coworkers and another family friend, people that my wife and I both knew, died from complications related to COVID. For some reason it really shook me up. I stopped sitting, I stopped meditating, I stopped reading or studying the Dharma, I hid from the world, from friends, family and teachers. For a couple of months I basically went to work, came home, buried my face in video games, and went to bed. There was nothing else. To a large extent, I shut myself down.
And it took several months to start coming back around. It took a couple of months to start sitting again, to overcome the anxiety of facing myself. I spent some time at first ‘sitting angry’, trying to force myself to get over things, trying to force myself to accept what I knew intellectually but was struggling with emotionally. I was disappointed with my own perceived failures and was trying to push myself to recover my sense of equanimity, of calmness, even of joy to some degree. Most of the time though, all I was doing was pretending- going through the motions and putting on the brave face. And, to be frank, pretending for myself more than anyone else.
Honestly, it took me a couple of months to relax again, to be able to sit without expectation, to simply do zazen. It took a while to begin accepting that I had been labeling myself, my emotions, my experiences, and then trying to force those labels into my worldview. And when those labels suddenly stopped matching up to what I thought they should be, I began questioning my worldview, rather than simply viewing the world and the labels as they were. I had to let myself be okay with having fears and emotions and experiences that suddenly thrust me out of my comfort zone. Even in the middle of practicing zazen, I was holding onto these labels, holding onto what I thought I was supposed to be doing, feeling, experiencing, even though I knew better. I had to let myself accept what I was doing before I could let myself move on and try to sit again without so many expectations.
It’s hard to put into words exactly what happened and the process of moving forward. How much of what I write now is clouded by a year of life, of looking back, of self-recrimination and guilt? But now, a year later I am again in a position of just having lost another family member, of facing the inevitable and all-too-soon loss of another. But this time around, I feel a bit better prepared. Not in the sense of being able to accept it, not sure I’m quite there yet, but rather I’m at a place where I’m not attacking myself or hiding from the inevitable feelings of loss and pain. I’m finding myself a bit more accepting of my where I am and what I’m going through. Which has made it less difficult to keep up the zazen even when I feel like not doing it.
But I’ve also come to another interesting conclusion. I’ve always strived to take my sitting practice into my daily life. To take the sense of equanimity, of calm and even joyful mind, into my daily life. I think it’s what a lot of us in the Zen world are taught, or at least the conclusion we come to. But I think it’s an erroneous conclusion, or at best an incomplete one. One thing I have come to realize is that our daily life is as much an influence on our zazen as our sitting is on our work, family, life. I really think that, while we strive to carry our sitting into our daily life, we need to be aware of how much the reverse is true. If we really want to have a better zazen, we need to consider the structure of our non-zazen time, and then come to realize that ultimately, they aren’t different. It’s one of the reasons Buddhist monks have better zazen or why we have ango and other times in Buddhist centers. That structure outside of zazen is profoundly influential. It accelerates our zazen, or at least helps to stop from holding us back. I’m not sure that ‘better zazen’ is the best way to word what I’m going for, but I think most Zen practitioners will understand what I mean.
I’ve had the opportunity to do retreats at several Zen centers in Southern California, to practice with some wonderful teachers, and I can say without doubt that zazen in ‘easier’ and more ‘productive’ in these environments. But I’m not really sure that’s such a good thing. Anyone can be ‘spiritual’ in the right environment, but what good does that do us in the rest of life. If I struggled to maintain equanimity in the face of so much death and difficulty, what good was that zazen? If I wasn’t able to face life, was the Dharma really working? Was I really understanding and applying it?
Questions. I have a lot of questions, and very few answers. As I write this, I’m sitting here drinking my morning coffee, watching squirrels play in the backyard. I sat zazen for about an hour this morning and am preparing to attend a memorial service this afternoon for my step-mother who recently passed away, very unexpectedly. A year ago, in a similar situation, I wasn’t able to practice zazen. Today I sat. I just sat. Chanted the Heart Sutra. And just sat. And I feel good. Not happy that someone I loved is gone, but good none the less. So what’s different. Fewer labels, that’s for sure. Fewer expectations of how I think I’m ‘supposed’ to feel. I’m far more accepting of what I actually do feel and experience as opposed to how I think I’m ‘supposed’ to be. I’m trying not to force my zazen into my sometimes way too narrow view of what it’s supposed to be, but I’m also trying not to force my zazen into my life; it’s become more circular, more of a give and take where I try to roll zazen into my day and my day into zazen. None of which really makes a lot of sense does it?
We’re all going to die. I will, my wife will, my siblings, children and friends will. But I’m no longer trying to hide from it’s inevitability, I’m also no longer trying to deny the pain of loss. It’s okay to be sad and hurt. It’s okay to not have the answers, it’s okay to just sit.
Gassho,
Neika
--sat today
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There's no way we can escape/banish that sense of self.
We neither turn away nor run toward, and when we grieve, we just grieve. We have lost someone we love. 
