Everything You Need is Nothing

In pursuit of knowledge, every day something is acquired
In pursuit of Tao, every day something is released
~Tao Te Ching

We read or listen to the words of spiritual teachers. We takes notes. We study. We try to remember, hoping that the memory of words spoken or written in the past will somehow lead to awakening in the future.

And all the while we are ignoring the only possible time that awakening can happen – the present moment. And we are doing the opposite of what most teachers teach – to release. Instead we are trying our best to accumulate and retain information about a concept that we reach for as it dances just beyond our grasp.

It is never enough. We are never enough. If only I read one more book, listen to one more podcast, attend one more workshop, do more, try harder, be better....

I get that, as my shelves full of books attest. But just as you can’t learn to ride a bicycle from reading or talking about it, you will never be able to think your way to awakening. Because it isn’t a thought.

It is simply our natural state. It is who we are. Its eternal flame is obscured by our effort, by our thoughts, by our stories. But it shines on without regard for our determined quest to find it. The comparison is sometimes made to a fish in the ocean looking for water. But it is even more basic than that. It is like the ocean itself looking for water, unaware of its own nature.

We think it grand, but it is quite ordinary. It is not an escape from reality. Escaping is what we are trying to do as we search for it. It is reality, and when we finally exhaust ourselves and stop looking for it, it is revealed. We are revealed.

And what can we do then but laugh and go on with our day, our ordinary, marvelous, amazing day.

Before enlightenment, chop wood carry water
After enlightenment, chop wood carry water
~zen saying

There Is No How

Quit trying. Quit trying not to try. Quit quitting. ~zen saying

I want to be awakened. I want enlightenment. How do I get it? Where are the instructions? If I read this book, practice these techniques, listen to this podcast, attend this workshop, devote myself to this teacher, read another book, breathe a certain way, think a certain way, meditate a certain way, chant a mantra, go to a retreat, read another book – will I achieve my goal? Will I pass the test and get my certificate? Will I be enlightened then?

How do I do this? Just tell me how. Please.

You want the secret? Okay, here it is. There is no how. Take it from one who has tried everything listed above. And more.

But then how...

There is no how. There is no way to get from here to there, because there is no there. There is no journey because there is nowhere to go. There is no technique, because there is nothing to do. There is no way of teaching because there is nothing to learn.

Umm....

I know. Right? The brain can’t grasp this. Truly, the brain can’t understand this, because our brains think. That’s what they do. Sometimes they do it really well. But you cannot think your way to enlightenment. Because enlightenment transcends thought. Oh, and also because enlightenment doesn’t exist.

What??

Well, it doesn’t exist in the sense of a static state. It is dynamic, offering an opportunity in every moment to enter, as A Course in Miracles calls it, the holy instant. The holy instant reveals all eternity to us in the perfect bliss of oneness.

Missed it? That’s okay. Here is another moment. And another.

I’m trying, but...

Don’t try.

Then how...

Just allow. Take a deep breath and surrender. Let go of everything. It only takes a moment. Because a moment is all there is.

Do or do not. There is no try. ~Yoda

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 15

Followers of Tao are as elusive and mysterious as Tao itself. Mystics, living in the liminal space between being and non-being, movement and stillness, yang and yin, manifesting and returning. In this chapter, we are told that they cannot be known or understood, yet the author tries to give us a description of their demeanor.

Careful, as crossing a winter stream
Alert, as aware of surroundings
Courteous, as a guest
Yielding, as melting ice
Simple, as an uncut block of wood
Empty, as a valley

How could we embrace these qualities as we go through our day? What if I paused to consider before speaking or acting? What if I chose courtesy over criticism? What if I kept an open mind before rushing to judgment? What other ways can we embody these qualities?

The image of an uncut block of wood is used to convey a sense not only of simplicity but also of unlimited potential. The uncut block of wood can become many things. In the process of carving, however, the emerging form begins to eliminate possibilities. As the completed shape becomes defined, it takes on an identity, separate from all other things it might have been. The uncut block of wood represents the beginner’s mind of zen.

How can we live in beginner’s mind? As we mature, we make choices that set us on a certain path. We might have a career, settle down with a partner, raise children. Or not. As we age, we realize that certain choices are no longer open to us. So what does it mean to have beginner’s mind in the midst of life’s commitments and limitations?

To me, the focus of beginner’s mind is internal rather than external. After all, the term is beginner’s “mind,” not beginner’s “life.” What characterizes a beginner’s mind? It is open, curious, eager, courageous, engaged, willing. It is what Jesus meant when he said that we must become like little children to enter the kingdom of heaven.

How would beginner’s mind change the way I live my life today? How would it change yours?

Murky water through quieting becomes clear
Stillness through movement brings life

I have described the practice of martial arts as meditation in motion, stillness within movement, movement within stillness. This is Tao, manifesting as the ten thousand things, then returning to the beginning. It’s like the rise and fall of breathing, the natural rhythm of the universe.

When we are able to enter this rhythm, our individual identity begins to soften. Because we do not grasp for ego separation, we become one with all creation. In nature, there is no separation. Nothing exists in isolation. Everything belongs in interconnected harmony.

What if we went through our lives today looking for connection rather than separation? How would our thoughts, words, and actions be different?

In describing the characteristics of a follower of Tao in the context of the natural rhythm of the universe, we are offered some insight into how our daily lives can be transformed, lifted up, ...beautiful.

For today, newly bright  ~title of the painting by Cecilia Lin in the photo above

Tao Te Ching – Chapter 13

Unlike many chapters which use just a few characters to generate lots of meaning, this chapter uses a lot of repetition to convey what I think is a very simple message: Equanimity = peace.

Equanimity requires a certain degree of detachment. This doesn’t mean not engaging with life. It doesn’t mean not caring about anything. It means, to me, not getting hooked by the stories others tell or that we tell ourselves. It means not struggling against the natural flow of impermanence that is reflected in the human condition.

What we detach from can be external or internal. Honor and disgrace come from what others think of us. As the chapter says, both can cause us to be fearful or unsettled, because they depend on what we can’t control. Even if we are being honored, the honor can be taken away. When we give others the power over our well being, we can never be at peace.

Fortune and misfortune come from our own judgment about our circumstances. Because we see ourselves as separate individuals, we tend to evaluate everything in relation to how we think it affects us.

Remember the zen story of the old farmer? A poor old farmer had one son and one horse. One day his horse ran away. A neighbor exclaimed over his misfortune since without the horse, he couldn’t farm his land. The farmer replied, “Who knows if it is good or bad?”

The next day the horse returned leading twenty wild horses. The neighbor congratulated him on his new wealth. “Who knows if it is good or bad?” shrugged the farmer. The next day his son broke a leg trying to tame one of the wild horses. The neighbor (who obviously was not taking care of his own farm!) bemoaned his ill luck. You know what the farmer said.

The next day the army swept through the village, taking all the young men away to fight...except the son with the broken leg.

You get the idea. When we are able to detach from our own self-centered judgments, as well as from what others think about us, we reach a state of unshakable equanimity. We recognize the illusion of opposites (as we saw in Chapter 2), and remain at peace as we engage with our lives.

As we transcend our individual selves, we experience our natural connection with, as the chapter says, everything under heaven. Individual events and circumstances are woven into the great and beautiful tapestry of all creation.

The old farmer’s refrain has helped me countless times to detach from a story or judgment. Its wisdom allows me to engage fully with life without being at its mercy. I think this is what the Bible means when it tells us to “rejoice always and to be thankful in all circumstances.” It doesn’t say to be thankful “about” but to thankful “in.” No matter the situation, equanimity allows us to be at peace, to be grateful for life itself.

There Is No Try

Quit trying. Quit trying not to try. Quit quitting. ~zen saying

Ha! The universe just had a good laugh at my expense. Or perhaps at my benefit. I’ve been “trying” to write this post for days. The basic structure of a post generally comes to me easily. I spend some time editing and polishing, but there is rarely a sense of struggle. But not this one....

I have come at the topic from different angles, using different examples, changing vocabulary, deleting everything and starting over. Nothing seemed to work.

When I was teaching legal writing to law students, I would sometimes encounter a student’s paper that was muddled, either in parts or overall. I would meet with the student, put the paper aside, and ask her to tell me in her own words what she wanted to say. In almost every instance, it was quickly revealed that the problem was not in the writing, but rather in the thinking. The student would realize that she didn’t really know what she wanted to say. By pushing ahead with the writing, she hoped to achieve some clarity, or to convince her reader of some clarity, that was not present in her own mind. That never happens.

This morning, as I sat at the computer befuddled and frustrated, I suddenly sat back and laughed. I saw how hard I was trying to write something about not trying. When I questioned myself, I realized that I had no idea what I wanted to say about this topic. I’m not even sure what the topic is!

How absolutely perfect. The message of this post was not for my readers; it was for me! And now that I think about it, that is surely true for everything I write. A Course in Miracles says that we teach what we want to learn. I am forever a student, and sometimes, like right now, a very humbled one.

So I’m sitting back in my chair and belly breathing, and waiting....

And what comes to me is the scene in Star Wars where Luke Skywalker is tasked with using the Force to lift his space ship from the depths of the swamp into which it sank. He believes it is impossible, but sighs and says he will try. Yoda responds quickly, “No! Do or do not. There is no try.” If you missed the scene, here it is:

Yoda and Luke

Trying is something we value and encourage in this culture. Try, try again is our counterpart to the quotation at the top of the post. But we can easily use this admiration of effort to justify trying to control or force something. Instead, we can align ourselves with an inner harmony. Then, no matter what we call it, there is a sense of energy flowing through us. What needs to happen, happens. There is no try.

PS–Since we are in Star Wars mode, here is my favorite “Force” scene ever. It’s not from the movie; it’s from a commercial! Enjoy.

Darth Vader and the Force

Emptying Our Cups

One of my favorite zen stories goes something like this:

A university professor went to visit a famous Zen master. While the master quietly served tea, the professor pontificated about Zen, holding himself forth as an expert on the topic. The master poured the visitor's cup to the brim, and then kept pouring. The tea spilled onto the table and then to the floor. The master kept pouring. The professor watched until he could no longer restrain himself. "Stop! It's overfull! No more will go in!" the professor blurted. "You are like this cup," the master replied. "How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Two years ago, I took this story to heart. I stopped writing my first blog, I dropped all the commitments I possibly could, and I cleared everything off my meditation altar except for the cup that you see in the photo above. And while not completely embracing the simplicity movement, I did clean out a lot of drawers and closets. 

And it was all good.

After two years of sitting in front of this cup every morning, though, I’ve come to understand the story at a different level, one perhaps more in keeping with the teaching of the zen master in the story. 

My cup can easily fill up and overflow with judgments, stories, expectations, opinions, worries, and all other manner of thoughts. However, when I become aware of the various thoughts, I find that very few of them are worth keeping. 

I can’t completely stop all these thoughts from occurring; after all, thinking is what brains do. Even the zen master didn’t say not to put anything in the cup at all; he just said to empty it. 

How do we do that? 

First, by becoming aware. Studies show that we think tens of thousands of thoughts a day, most of them habitual and below our level of conscious awareness. Pausing to see what’s going on in our busy brains can lead to some interesting discoveries. 

Second, by gentle questioning. It’s easy to start thinking about our thinking! Once we become aware of some of our thoughts, we can pile on more judgment, expectations, and worries. We criticize ourselves for holding certain judgments, or feel frustration at our lack of control over worries. Instead, we can begin to loosen them by being softly curious, by gently questioning. For example:

That judgment that is so entrenched–on what is it based? What does it cost me in terms of harmony with others to keep it?

The story I tell myself about a situation–do I know for a fact that it is true? What impact does it have on my response? 

That worry that keeps me up at night–how likely is it to become reality? Will my worrying prevent something or help me deal with it?

Finally, we empty our cups by openly releasing. We’ll find that most of these thoughts, when compassionately investigated, will naturally fall away. All we have to do is not hold on to them. 

With practice, this process becomes more natural and automatic. We become instinctively aware when we have attached to a particular thought, and without much effort, the thought is emptied from our cup. What flows in naturally flows out.

And meanwhile, we can relax and savor a cup of delicious tea!

In pursuing learning every day something is added. In pursuing Tao every day something is dropped. ~Tao Te Ching