When I woke up

Again I see that, in returning to Zen practice, some patterns seem to be repeating. Apologies for the disorganized jumble that follows.

Today when I woke up and before I opened my eyes, there was a short space of nothing before I had the thought (something like) “Oh shit it’s late” followed by the thought “but that’s ok” followed by the thought “because there is no good or bad” followed by the thought “but if I knew that in my heart I wouldn’t have the thought ‘but that’s ok’. Then a bunch of other thoughts started raining down – analyzing, justifying, self-soothing. At that point I was lost in thinking so I dropped it until now when I could post about it.

First of all there was the wordless space of unknown duration during which I had no thoughts, but instead, just raw perception. This is a heavenly thing to me. When I was practicing regularly in the past, it happened every morning. Upon awakening there would be sounds and (if my eyes opened) sights, tactile sensations and perhaps scents but I would not judge these sensations as good or bad – at least for a short (probaby VERY short) time. I can’t really say how long that state lasts. It is a blissful feeling, but doesn’t become so until it disappears.

Li Tung and I

I am wading through The Roaring Stream, a dense (for me) book that traces and describes the basic lineage of Chan or Zen starting with Bodhidharma. In skimming through the book before starting it, I ran across this little poem that pretty much describes me if you replace “rice” with ramen noodles, bundles of sticks with ‘half a tank of propane” and thatched hut with “trailer”, and so on. I feel all cuddly and validated.

For the Monk San-tsang on His Return to the Western Regions< – by the ninth-century Chinese poet Li Tung.

All my life too lazy to try to get ahead,
I leave everything to the truth of Heaven.
In my sack three measures of rice,
by the stove one bundle of sticks–
why ask who’s got satori, who hasn’t?
What would I know about that dust, fame and gain?
Rainy nights here in my thatched hut
I stick out my two legs any old way I please.

Daily Dharma

I was delighted to find this on one of my Yahoo Dharma groups. I have been a fan of Leonard’s for a long time, even before I knew he had become a Zen monk.

On the path

for C.C.

On the path of loneliness
I came to the place of song
and tarried there
for half my life
Now I leave my guitar
and my keyboards
my friends and s-x companions
and I stumble out again
on the path of loneliness
I am old but I have no regrets
not one
even though I am angry and alone
and filled with fear and desire
Bend down to me
from your mist and vines
O high one, long-fingered
and deep-seeing
Bend down to this sack of poison
and rotting teeth
and press your lips
to the light of my heart

Leonard Cohen