Taylor, Paul

This article first appeared in the Autumn 2012 issue of this Journal.

Why is it in our tradition, Sōtō Zen Buddhism, that practising meditation is not talked about in terms of mastering a technique? There can certainly be times of struggle with meditation and it is understandable at such times to look for an answer in technique. Sometimes we do indeed ask for and receive helpful technical suggestions which can ground and clarify our practice, for example, relating to our posture or our orientation of mind. Yet it may be helpful, particularly for newcomers and those not so familiar with a religious context, to get some sense of why many of our seeming problems with practice are not resolved through ‘technique’, and also how approaching meditation can be orientated differently from and yet not separate from technique.

Whilst a focus on technique necessarily is pre-meditated, a means, the focus of our meditation practice of zazen, serene reflection meditation, fundamentally at heart is not, in my experience. In practicing zazen, we let meditation show us. Zazen itself needs no extras, and at the same time, whatever helps, helps, for a while or when needed – zazen does not exclude. For example, particularly for someone newer to practice, if our mind is wandering greatly this might be as a ‘reminder’ to be present, such as gently coming back to being in the body, the posture, or to following the breathing, or maybe to a general sense of our body touching the floor. And yet, this is not intended to be a substitute for zazen; always, just doing zazen itself is enough, and complete.¹

In Sōtō Zen, meditation is not considered as a means to an end. One way it can be explained is as a responding, now, to our deepest question in the way it is presenting itself, now. Such a question is often expressed paradoxically – the question we may not be aware of, or may only be dimly aware of when we deeply reflect.² We may get some inkling of this in an everyday sense, for example, in situations where we see that what we thought we had wanted, was not what we really wanted. For others an explanation of our coming to meditation as such a responding may resonate deeply, even though it may not be understood with the head.

Meditation is a really effective way to listen deeply and open to our lives arising moment by moment. In one sense the ‘technical’ part is our continuing resolve to ‘come back’ to what we are experiencing, moment by moment, when we find ourselves lost or deflected from this. Such a resolve when enacted, opens us again and again to ongoing meditative awareness. Whilst our brain may intellectually accept that we never leave the present moment, we experience our awareness of this as obscured by what seem to be unchosen distractions, like a smokescreen. Meditation as an activity can be seen more like realigning or re-attuning with what is already here, rather than building something totally new.

Such a resolve is expressed in our being willing to ‘listen’ to what is here, allowing it to be here, and not turning away from what arises, whether it may be anguish, confusion, or caught up-ness. In listening in this way we start to notice how we get locked into and loop around trains of thought, emotional upheavals, fantasies and fears, particular to us. While we are caught up they are as blind spots to awareness. And, when we notice we have stopped listening, we simply need to come back, without recrimination or regret. We find we are already here.

Our offering to painful patterns is simple and direct. As best we can we are willing to be open to what arises and passes without getting in the way; we accept and don’t judge (not judging in the sense of not fixing as solid), over and over. We allow such patterns just to be present in meditative awareness, supported and held in the natural meditative process. Experienced meditators have described such painful patterns within the natural unfolding of meditation like knots and tangles untangling and loosening, like ice thawing, or like stains dissolving in the cleansing waters of compassion. When we sit and are willing to acknowledge what is here, we let meditative awareness itself respond to the deepest question and to our confusion, and stop blocking its natural flow. We find we need to contribute our own willing effort, but at the same time it feels like something more than just our own wilful effort is going on.

It is easy to make things sound too ideal. Often, meditation feels lumpy and punctuated rather than smoothly flowing. All we can do is when we notice we are pushing things away, ignoring, repressing, trying to annihilate, is to do our best not to obstruct, to let be, to let be present, to be known. When we find ourselves looping round things we are attracted to, like being glued to them, we let go. We don’t need to manufacture awareness. We only need to come back, to let unfold, to get out of the way.

Through persevering and continuing in meditation practice we may start to notice, often in small ways, that our perspective seems to have become more open, more inclusive, less obstructive, less defensive. For most of us such recognition occurs more in daily life than when sitting. Buddhism teaches that meditative awareness is accessible in each moment. We appreciate this the more our emotional clutter starts to settle and the driven quality arising from blind emotion starts to subside. We certainly don’t become emotionless (for example we may experience empathy more). We also may start to notice that we discern more often, appropriate responses to the situations we encounter, and trust more often such a sense. In different ways each of us may get inklings of a deeper perspective which encourages us to keep practising. But if we cling, this becomes part of the clutter. When we trust, meditation underpins everything. When we demand proof, we get in our own way.

It is not easy to be still and willing to ‘come back’ moment by moment without expectation. But we are not asked to throw out the intellect. Intellectual analysis can be extremely helpful in appropriate circumstances, and can complement the intuitive way of knowing of meditation when we know how to meditate. But if we use it to keep keeping an eye on our efforts in meditation, it can get in the way of meditative awareness and prevent it flourishing. Beating ourselves up when we feel our mind has wandered is counterproductive, causing what is fragile to shrivel rather than inviting it to be seen. To ‘come back’ is enough. There may be good reasons why our mind wanders off in particular ways. If we notice a pattern of beating ourselves up, this can be brought into meditative awareness and let be.

Applying meditation in our daily lives is equally significant, even though we seem to lose sight of what is fundamental, easily and often. Just as when we sit in meditation, in daily life too we resolve to come back to our present experience when we notice that our mind has wandered off and we listen to what is here, which might be agitation. Accepting and not judging it, whilst not easy, brings naturally a defusing quality. What seemed to be behind us and driving us is now in front of us within meditative awareness. We are able to accept and respond even though our emotions and thoughts may be turbulent, even if things are not as clear as we would like. What is good to do right now? An appropriate response is often to act based in trust in meditative awareness and its inner compass. We listen deeply to the questions our life asks and trust the response that comes from meditative awareness. We see how it changes our lives for the better, and in profound ways. Sometimes seemingly insignificant situations point us to a deeper significance. We trust more and more that meditative awareness is always present when we get out of the way, and that sitting meditation and meditation in activity complement each other.

Meditation has different scenery on different days, though the need for willingness and appropriate effort does not change. Rather than seeking for a blank mind, meditation is rather staying with what is here, and trusting ourselves as best we know how, to the meditative process and to our deepest sense of what is needed. This may involve accepting how annoyed we feel, how attracted we feel, how scared we feel, or how meaningless it all feels. We continue in our resolve to come back when we notice we are lost, caught up, or find ourselves going round and round. We listen deeply to what is going on without clinging to, fighting against, or judging. Just this opens us to the compassionate process of meditation and we trust its bigger perspective, not obstructed by the fear, anger, or despair. We do the next thing flexibly, bowing but unbowed, just as we are, connected.

In relation to effort, suppose a person is asked to facilitate a group of people working together, each of its members having different personal styles and perspectives. If the facilitator ³ takes no notice of what goes on, conflicting viewpoints and styles may clash and the group may pull itself in all directions and get nowhere. Similarly, when we don’t pay attention in meditation, addictive loops will loop, difficult things will get pushed away, and our meditation will probably be scattered.

If the facilitator is too directive and controlling, members of the group will follow orders in a constricted way or rebel, and the group will not make use of the experience of its members effectively. When we monitor our meditation too closely or try too hard, we clamp things down, we do not trust our natural abilities and meditation does not flourish.

An experienced facilitator is both relaxed and focused, and reflects back to people what is heard, brings people into discussions and keeps the group on track, sometimes in such an unobtrusive and flowing way that he or she may seem almost invisible to the group. Such a facilitator will make regular, often very minor course corrections when they notice they are being slightly too controlling or when they sense they are not quite ‘there’ with the group. Such seemingly effortless facilitation is usually the result of much experience and perseverance. By learning from experience and perseverance in practice, a meditator may recognise in a sensitive and focused way when they are not putting in appropriate effort, which includes when they are trying too hard or when they recognise that they are wanting to know too much what is going on in their meditation. In trusting the meditative process and letting go and letting be in accord with it, we cease to hold on so desperately to a solidified sense of ‘me’ doing the meditating. In this way we find that we incline quite naturally towards an already ongoing unfolding and fluidity.

Rather than mistakenly chasing a blank mind, we begin to appreciate the non-solidity of our thoughts and feelings arising and passing according to conditions. And to the best of our ability we take refuge in what is real⁴ as best we understand it now, in the ever bigger perspective which is always trustworthy.

 “This type of meditation is not something that is done in stages; it is simply the lawful gateway to carefree peace. To train and enlighten ourselves is to become thoroughly wise; the koan appears naturally in daily life”.⁵

Notes

1. 1. …“The means of training are thousandfold but pure meditation must be done’, Rules for Meditation, Great Master Dōgen, translated by Rev. Master Jiyu Kennett. Available in several publications including the Scriptures and Ceremonies booklet available in all OBC temples and meditation groups.
2. 2. Master Jiyu Kennett said, in some of her talks, that when a questioner came to a Zen master, they would come with three questions; the question they asked, the question at the back of their mind of which they were dimly aware, and the question of which they were not aware. She said it was the responsibility of the Zen master to respond to the third question.
3. The comparison between facilitator and meditator above is intended here to give some flavour of the type of effort in meditation using the analogy of a more ‘external’ process. It is not meant to imply a correspondence between facilitation and meditation, which to me has more an ‘internal’ connotation, though there are maybe some fruitful parallels and helpful common qualities.
4. 4. An invaluable and indispensable resource in helping us refine and deepen our understanding of meditation and of what this involves is the time-honoured Buddhist practice of taking refuge in the Sangha, which for many of us involves keeping in regular contact with the monastic community (Sangha), for example through spiritual counselling on retreats or by telephone, or by training alongside more experienced meditators, for example at a meditation group. This is so helpful because meditation is an intuitive ‘path’ and it is easy to mislead oneself by confusing an intellectual-led understanding with one based in experience, or to become discouraged without the support and guidance of those more experienced in practice.
5. 5. From Rules for Meditation in the Scriptures and Ceremonies

This article is available only as part of the Spring 2020 Journal of the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives.  

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