Meian Elbert, Rev. Master

This is an edited version of a talk given on 26 July 2012, during a lay retreat at Shasta Abbey which focused on meditation practice. It also appeared in the Spring 2013 Journal and in Serene Reflection Meditation, a Shasta Abbey publication.

Today I’m going to talk a bit about meditation practice. We all know basically how to sit, and we all know more or less what we’re supposed to be doing, and we all know that it’s hard to do. Our form of meditation – Serene Reflection, shikantaza, just sitting – is difficult to describe. It’s very simple, and yet it’s subtle and it’s not easy to grasp. When it comes down to it, we just allow ourselves to fall into it in a certain way – it’s hard to do it too deliberately – and it’s different for everybody: everybody meditates slightly differently. We all sit a little differently; we experience it quite differently. People who teach meditation each teach it a little differently. It’s not a hard and fast thing; it’s fluid and dynamic.

For some people meditation is simple: sit down, look at a wall – fine, they seem to get it right away. For others of us – maybe for most of us – it’s hard. We can spend years trying to figure out what we’re supposed to be doing, or why we’re con­stantly distracted, or what we’re supposed to be doing with our mind: “And if I really want to meditate, why is it so hard and why do I keep getting distracted, or falling asleep, or why do I have pain ?” It’s just not an easy thing for many of us.

To practice Serene Reflection Meditation is really jumping in the deep end, because it’s formless. Most meditation practices have more structure: You count your breaths, or you have a mantra, or a kōan, or you visualize a Buddha or a Bodhisattva. Or you contemplate the parts of the body or you reflect on death. There are all kinds of things that many traditions do in their meditation practice. Strictly speaking we don’t do any of these things: we just sit.

However, sometimes it is useful to use some extra method to help us to anchor the mind. Because of the formlessness of our meditation it’s hard to grasp, so sometimes it’s helpful for some of us to count the breaths if we’re really distracted or we’re just beginning. Or maybe to do it occasionally when the mind’s all over the place, or regularly at the beginning of meditation. If it helps, it’s fine. Eventually, it’s nice if you can let go of counting breaths and just sit. For some of us, following the breath without counting works well. There are various other ways we can help to focus the mind, but fundamentally we just sit. Serene Reflection Meditation is “the Dharma Gate of repose and joy,” as Dōgen calls it. Actually, we’re lucky, because although it’s hard and subtle, it’s a wonderful practice; and in fact many other forms of practice eventually come down to doing what we actually try to do from the start – to just sit.

So how do we ‘just sit?’ Where do we put our energy and our focus? I have found that the best thing for me is to sit whole­heartedly in the body: just sit in the body.

There’s a phrase that Rev. Master Daishin Morgan uses in one of his books, “Fully occupy your body.”¹ I find this very helpful. Put your energy into just sitting there in the body, the whole of the body, not focusing on any part of the body. It’s a vital, dynamic practice. We’re not just sitting there passively, as if we were watching TV. We’re sitting there with energy and a certain kind of effort. It takes a while to get this — for it to mesh as it were. It’s not forcing, we’re not trying to get something or achieve something. We put our energy into just sitting fully in the body. To do this, we need to commit ourselves completely to just sitting, here, in this body, in this very moment. We have nothing to do; we have nowhere to go. All we have is this very moment, right now. And we need to invest in it fully, because this is our very life. At this moment right now, all we have is this moment, right here, in this body, in this breath.

Uchiyama Rōshi wrote a lovely book called Opening the Hand of Thought,² which has some good instructions on medi­tation, and he says, “Doing zazen [or meditation] means taking the correct posture and entrusting everything to it.” Entrusting everything to it: this doesn’t mean we have to have some per­fect posture. We can sit on a cushion, on a bench, on a chair, we can lie down, we can stand, we can walk. All of these things are pure meditation, if we commit ourselves to it fully, entrust­ing ourselves to it.

It’s this wholehearted commitment that is the point. We keep coming back to being here in this body: “Am I sitting up straight? Are my eyes open? Am I relaxed or am I knotted up in some way?” If there are things we habitually slide into – leaning over to one side or hunching our shoulders or closing our eyes – we just need to check now and then to make sure that we’re upright, relaxed, alert, without constantly worrying about our posture. We can just be aware of what we’re doing, that we are sitting up straight, awake, alert; and yet not tense, not forcing, not trying to get something. We put our whole vitality into it, and then relax ever so slightly so we’re not striving against something; we’re not trying to push our way through some door. We’re just sitting, wholeheartedly, in this very body, in this very breath.

We put our energy into sitting in the body, and don’t worry too much about what the mind is up to. This is why I think sit­ting in the body is so helpful, because we can get all wound up in our mind, “thinking about thinking about thinking.” When we notice we’re distracted, we just come back. We don’t have to get all worried about what we’re thinking about, or worried that we’re thinking, or worried that we shouldn’t be thinking. Just come back, just relinquish the grip and come back (this is easier said than done).

Sometimes we’re in turmoil about something. We’re upset about what someone’s done, or what we’ve just done, or we’re confused and afraid, or we just have a lot of emotion coming up. This is all fine, we don’t have to fix it. We don’t have to try to calm the mind. Don’t try to calm the mind because it’s like trying to smooth out pancake batter with your hand – you just get it all sticky and everywhere and it makes it much worse. Just leave it be and let it settle of itself, even if it doesn’t seem to settle down right away. Not pushing things away, or squashing them down, but just not stirring them up. Just let them come up and go through.

As I said, easier said than done, because sometimes tur­moil just seems to go on and on. We’re really upset about some­thing and we chew it over and over and over, and we can’t seem to let it go. Just be patient. Just let it come up, and try not to feed it with the mind. If we’re angry it doesn’t help to keep going over and over and over the event, thinking about what we’re going to say to the person next time we see them, or justifying ourselves in some way. That just feeds it and makes it worse. Let the anger be there, without feeding it. Let it be there in the body, just feel it in the body. Accept it with kindness. It’s not a problem that it has arisen. It’s what we do with it that counts, neither holding on nor pushing away; neither gripping on and feeding it, nor trying to squash it down or get rid of it, thinking it’s bad.

We sit in the body, with whatever is there, with patience and not with judgment; with kindness to ourselves and to others – patience, kindness, compassion. Not thinking, “I shouldn’t be like this. I should be calm. I’m supposed to be meditating.” We just let it all come and go – with kindness and acceptance – as best we can. It’s not always easy; we just do our best and trust that that will work, that it is sufficient.

A lot of the time we simply have thoughts arise, not par­ticularly emotional thoughts, but just thoughts, distracting thoughts, and we tend to follow them. “Oh, I should have done this. Oh, I need to do that. Oh, this other thing that happened the other day.” We’re pulled off by the endless drooling mind. When we notice we’ve gotten distracted, we just come back. When our intention is just to sit, when this is the most important thing we are doing at this moment, our distraction vanishes in an instant. It just disappears, because it has no reality. It’s just a thought; it’s not a real thing. It’s just our thinking mind. When we notice: “Oh!” – just come back.

When we’re invested in our thinking it’s harder to let it go ­ “I really need to remember to do such and such,” or, “I really must sort out this problem” – then it sticks to us. But if we can just trust that the most important thing, right now, is to sit here no matter what, and that we can attend to all these other things later, then we can come right back, and we aren’t pulled off so much.

This is partly a matter of will, and yet it’s not just will. It can be quite hard to relinquish something that we’ve just thought of and feel is really important. Then we ask, “What is really important?” – just sit, right here, right now, and let everything else fall into place after that. We commit ourselves to simply sitting, here in this body, not grasping after our thoughts — opening the hand of thought, as Uchiyama Rōshi calls it — relinquishing the grip. It’s gripping onto the thoughts that’s the problem; then we follow them and get pulled off. But if we just open that hand, and see that they are not the most important thing, then they just slide right through and we’re not pulled around by them.

I think the most important section in Great Master Dōgen’s Rules for Meditation is, “Sit steadily, neither trying to think nor trying not to think; just sitting, with no deliberate thought, is the important aspect of serene reflection meditation.”³ This is just what we have been talking about: sitting steadily, “neither trying to think nor trying not to think.” That’s how Rev. Master Jiyu put it in her translation, and it’s a really helpful way to look at it. You’re not investing in your thoughts and you’re not trying to push them away. Sitting steadily in the body – wholeheartedly; just sitting, fully present, in this moment, with this breath, right now.

We’re not trying to attain some perfectly controlled state where we have no distracting thoughts. We tend to think we should be in some perfect samādhi where we’re just peaceful and blissful. But we’re not trying to get to some perfect place.

Our meditation is dynamic; we sit still and yet it’s constantly moving and flowing. As I sometimes have said, it’s like sailing a boat: we’re constantly moving, constantly adjusting to the wind, to the slight movement of the body and the mind. It’s something that we’re continually doing, coming back to the body, sitting still, sitting upright, entrusting ourselves to the posture, to the practice, to our own commitment, to our effort.

Someone I know who’s been meditating for many years, not in our Order but in a similar Sōtō Zen tradition said, “It seems I’m always going away and coming back.” He is not locked into some perfect static place. This person is deeply devoted to meditation, has been doing it for many many years, sits for long hours, and sits like a rock – impressive – and yet he’s always going away and always coming back. Always distracting thoughts can arise and always the person brings themself back. It’s dynamic, constantly moving, you’re never there: “Here I am, I’ve arrived.” We’re always “going on, going on, always becoming Buddha”,⁴ always continuing our training: it’s never perfect. We can’t say: “I’m satisfied. This is fine, now I know what I’m doing and I can just lock down in this position and here we are.” We’re always having to make that effort, the adjustment to the wind.

Don’t get discouraged if meditation seems really hard. I know all about meditation seeming really hard: It still works. Don’t worry about the thoughts: “My meditation is terrible…” or, “I’m no good at this.” Don’t worry about it, it still works, this is the wonderful thing about it. Despite our best effort, despite our view, despite the ideals we may have, despite our expectations, it still works. It changes us in a profound and subtle way. We don’t know how it works, it just does. We just have to get out of the way and let the meditation do its work. We set up the conditions, we try our best to do our part: something else does the rest. There is something that helps us. Sometimes it seems like we fall easily into meditation and sometimes we’re just struggling to stay awake, or we’re just constantly distracted, and we can get discouraged. But do not worry, because it still works, it still helps us. There is something that helps us that is more than just our little struggling self trying to do its best. There is something bigger that helps.

We need to let go of all expectation – of ourselves, of our meditation practice, all ideals, all standards. We’re not trying to get something. We’re not trying to get anything. We’re not trying to have experiences or get enlightenment. If we have experiences of insight, or blissful states, or anything else, it’s fine. They can be very helpful, as long as we don’t grab at them and try to hold onto them, or try to get them back. It never works, you never get back to it, because you’re always moving forward. It’s like trying to get back to that point on the sea you just left — it’s gone. Just keep moving forward: we can’t get back to the moment before. To try to get back or to grab onto some ideal is missing the point. All we can do is set up the conditions: do our part, try to do our best, and trust it. Have faith in the practice: the meditation does us, it’s not us doing the meditation. It’s bigger than us; it works in spite of us.

Our way is the gradual way. It’s not a quick fix – there isn’t a quick fix. Meditation can make a huge difference in our lives, and quite quickly. But its effects are subtle and profound, and they can take years to ripen. It’s not the dramatic experi­ences and insights that help us most. They can take years to understand and make use of and incorporate into our lives.

That’s done through our daily practice: our daily meditation, our daily training in sitting still, keeping to the Precepts – all the things we do. Many of us don’t have dramatic experiences at all. We just keep on doing the training faithfully, and that is what counts; training without expecting something – just giving ourselves to it.

We’re not trying to get something; we’re giving ourselves to something – completely. The more we give ourselves to our practice, the more it rewards us; but we don’t do it to get rewards. The other day I was talking to somebody about their job and how rewarding it is to work just for the sake of doing the job well, and not for the sake of rewards – of getting a lot of money for it. Meditation and training are like this. We do it for its own sake, not to get something out of it. And there is joy in it. Yet we don’t do it because of expectations or ideals, we do it because it is good to do. We do it because it is our true heart’s desire: all of us know this. We train because we have to train, because it’s what we need to do. It’s the purpose of our life, fundamentally. We follow that true heart’s desire, go where it leads us, without expectation, without ideals, without seeking some perfect static place. We keep on faithfully walking the way, because it is good to do, because it is our true heart’s desire.

Serene Reflection Meditation, “the Dharma Gate of repose and joy.” May it be so for all of us, as we give ourselves to it.

Notes

1. 1. Morgan, Rev. Master Daishin, Sitting Buddha: Zen Meditation for Everyone, (Throssel Hole Press, UK: 2004).
2. 2. Uchiyama, Kōshō, Opening the Hand of Thought, (Wisdom publications, US: 2005).
3. 3. Dōgen, Great Master, Rules for Meditation, in The Liturgy of the Order of Buddhist Contemplatives for the Laity, (Mt Shasta, CA: Shasta Abbey Press, 1990) pp. 97 – 100.
4. 4. The Scripture of Great Wisdom, Ibid. p. 73.

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