Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Cultural Adaptation of Buddhism



In a comment to my post on Religious Traditions and Community, Pastor Jon raised an important question:
I am curious how much the practices of your group have been molded to accommodate western culture, and how much they remain authentic to their Korean tradition. For example, is it normative for groups like yours to meet on Sunday?


I found this such an important topic that my response deserved its own post:

I want to start this essay by stating that I feel it's very important for Buddhism to adapt, to a degree, to Western culture. To not adapt would be tantamount to hypocritically contradicting Buddhism's views toward, and use of, skillful means in conveying its teachings. I will return to this point later.

Let's first approach Jon's question from the viewpoint of my temple's monastic order--the group that has dedicated their lives to Buddhist practice. In this aspect, our temple almost identically adheres to native Korean Zen temple practices. While not privy to every detail of their lives, I have experienced the daily routine of my temple. The percussive beat of the moktak wakes temple residents at 5 am. A quick shower is followed by morning exercise, the morning bell chant, 108 prostrations, chanting, and seated meditation. Work practice--gardening, cleaning, cooking, etc.--comprise a portion of the rest of the day, as does sutra study and meditation, seated and walking. The evening bell chant, prostrations, chanting, and meditation end the day. This same routine is followed by native Korean temples, such as the one at which our head priest was ordained, throughout that nation. (I'd also like to note that the Japanese Zen temple to which I belonged before joining my current temple also practiced identically to its parent temple organization in Japan.)

In terms of our Sunday schedule, I don't know the Korean custom for lay services. That being said, I think this is one of those areas in which cultural adaptation is so important. In Journey to Mindfulness, Bhante Gunaratana explains that in the rural Sri Lankan village in which he grew up, the villagers visited their Theravada Buddhist temple daily. He wrote about how he woke each morning to his parents changing sutras in Pali. Again, this is Sri Lanka, not Korea, and a Theravada sect, not a Mahayana Zen sect, but in our society, very few people--sadly--have that kind of devotion to their religion. People in my culture are not, generally speaking, willing to sacrifice many of the things they love to follow such a time-consuming devotional routine. That does not mean, however, that we cannot benefit greatly from Buddhist teachings. Actually, I think it is imperative for the health of our culture to embrace practices such as those contained in Buddhism--our lives tend to be so hectic and over-scheduled that mindful meditation and a focus on developing compassion for all others is a vital necessity.

Given the work schedule of our culture, it is convenient to schedule group services for Sunday, as we have done. While I cannot verify whether there are Zen services in Korea on Sundays, I can confirm that the activities in which we engage at the services--reciting the refuges, chanting, and meditation--are primary practices in all Korean Zen temples. Additionally, many of our chants are actually in Korean (with English translations available for our study, of course).

For those who are more dedicated to their practice, we have twice-weekly membership sittings. These include additional practices performed in Korean Zen temples, including prostrations, additional chants, walking and seated meditation, and interviews. For the truly devoted, my temple has designated times for congregants to come for work practice. Plus, as is common among Korean temples (and I'd imagine most other temples and churches), members are always invited to come to the temple whenever they wish to meditate, study, do prostrations, etc.

Back in the 5th century BCE, the Buddha preached regularly the necessity of skillful means on the path to Awakening. Because of the nature of the path, the teachings must meet each person where they are at in their life and must convey the Dharma in a manner from which the person can benefit (it is completely senseless, for instance, to explain the multi-faceted layers of Dependent Arising when a person is struggling with acting toward others out of loving-kindness and compassion). In my culture, to get people to sit in silent meditation for an hour is already a monumental achievement. Therefore, to offer a Sunday service, even if such a practice is not normally followed in Korea, is a skillful means of giving people the opportunity to experience the benefits of Buddhist practice for themselves.

Notice that we never change the key practices--meditation, prostrations, chanting, etc. What changes, adapts, evolves, is the means by which we make the practices available to as many people as possible so that they can see for themselves if Buddhist practice fits their disposition in this life. Even if it doesn't right now, they may return to Buddhism later in their lives, recalling their exposure to it. We even have several Christian congregants who have realized the necessity and benefit of regular meditation and, hence, regularly attend our services and trainings. For those who develop greater levels of devotion, the opportunity is there for advanced practices, as have been available in Korea for millenia.

In adapting to Western culture in this way, the pioneer monks who brought Buddhism to the West performed the most skillful, and most compassionate, act possible. Just as the Buddha, 2,500 years ago, taught his disciples how they, too, could Awaken fully, these pioneer monks gave us in the West this same gift. The Buddhist approach may not be right for every person in this lifetime, given the innumerable dispositions and attitudes of people today, but I can think of nothing our culture needs more than the message of peace, mindful living, and love taught by the Buddha.

Thanks, Jon, for such a thought-provoking question!


Monday, November 27, 2006

Interfaith Blog Event #3: Religious Traditions and Community


Welcome to the third Interfaith Blog Event! In each installment of this series, which we're hoping to do on a monthly basis, we'll explore a single topic across three different religious traditions. I am, obviously, writing from the Mahayana Buddhist tradition. Jon, from Jesusfollowers Journal, will be writing from a Protestant Christian perspective, and Sojourner from A Pagan Sojourn, will be writing from a Pagan perspective.

The topic we'll be discussing today is the following:
Within your religious traditions, what rituals and/or traditions give you a sense of connection to your fellow congregants, beliefs, and communities? What actions do you take to ensure the stability of those connections? Do you feel that the connections that have been made are sufficient for your spiritual and/or religious needs?

[Jon's Essay] [Sojourner's Essay]



In the 4th century CE, Buddhism was introduced to Korea by a Chinese monk. Buddhism quickly flourished in Korea, and traditions quickly developed, some dating back to the inception of Buddhism in the 5th century BCE. These traditions still live in our temples today, thanks to the line of teachers that has ensured their continuity.

Every Sunday, my temple hosts two services, one in the morning and one in the late afternoon. During our standard Sunday morning service, we sit in seated meditation, followed by a short session of chanting and recitation in which we mindfully take refuge in the Three Jewels of the Buddha (our perfect inner nature), the Dharma (the teaching and path to recognizing our true nature), and the Sangha (the community of beings with whom we live). The recitation is followed by another seated meditation, after which we listen to a Dharma talk by one of our priests.

Our Sunday afternoon service is different. It begins with a seated meditation, followed by a recitation in which we take refuge in the Three Jewels. We then mindfully chant & sing a very simple verse, "Ma-Um," which means, "My mind is Buddha." Singing is followed by a question and answer session.

While these two services have very different atmospheres, two commonalities emerge--the taking of refuge in the Three Jewels, and meditation. I believe these two "rituals" give the primary sense of connection among our congregants.

Meditation has many different flavors. Some methods focus on concentration through counting the breath. Other methods are more analytical, examining such topics as emptiness, impermanence, or any number of other areas. Still other methods are based on generating and sustaining loving-kindness and compassion. Meditation is a very personal endeavor, with each person working on the aspect of the path that he or she needs to at that time. How, then, can the practice of meditation function as the primary means of community and connectedness?

The answer lies in the depth of wisdom contained in the seemingly simple formula of taking refuge in the Three Jewels. We say, "I go for refuge to the Buddha. I go for refuge to the Dharma. I go for refuge to the Sangha." Each of the refuges is simultaneously operative on several levels. When I take refuge in the Sangha, at the most basic level I acknowledge the shelter and protective value of community. Slightly deeper, I remind myself that my temple's community is there for me. Deeper still, I recognize that the entire world of beings is my protector because each plays a vital role in my life--family and friends nurture, protect, and love me; strangers and other "neutral" beings serve to educate me and provide me with opportunities to meet new people and act compassionately, lovingly, and mindfully; enemies challenge me to overcome my anger, greed, and hatred, giving me the opportunity to learn patience, love, and compassion for all. Thus all beings deserve my utmost respect, compassion, thanks, and blessing.

At the deepest level, that simple sentence, "I take refuge in the Sangha," represents the truth that my community is not different from me--I am not fundamentally different, or separate, from other beings, sentient or insentient, in the world. We are all of the same basic nature, Buddha-nature. One person may understand this truth intellectually. Another person may argue against it ontologically. But once a person personally experiences this truth, it is clear and authentic. The experience is intimate, immediate, spontaneous, and obvious, like feeling a sneeze coming on--you just KNOW when you're going to have to sneeze, there is no doubt about it, and nobody can really explain to you the feeling of having to sneeze. You have to experience it for yourself to know it.

This truth of inter-being, expressed in the third refuge, is the reason why group meditation is such a powerful communal practice. In row upon row of cushions, we sit, meditating on the aspect of the path that is right for us at that very moment, and the energy of the community truly unites us into a congregation, as we all share a common goal: to develop altruism and wisdom to the utmost degree.

The truest experience and development of community paradoxically occurs on retreat. I say paradoxically because our Buddhist retreats are marked by silence. Shorter retreats are comprised of intensive, repeated meditation sittings and walking meditation, interspersed with silent meal preparation and mindful eating. Longer retreats include silent work practice, such as mindful cleaning, gardening, and sewing, and interviews with the head priest. (Yes, you do get to speak during interviews. :) ) Retreats provide the ideal mixture of solitary and communal meditation--you sit in communal meditation like during services, but the intensive repeated sessions and silence often lead you toward much-improved mindfulness and invaluable insight. And the feeling of unity, of inner connection, of true inter-being, of the congregants is unmistakable.

In order to ensure the stability of these connections, we need only to practice in a group setting. Group meditation can never, and is not meant to, replace solitary practice. However, when performed in conjunction with a regular solitary meditation practice, group services and retreats not only develop our capacity for altruism and insight, but also foster the deepest levels of community and oneness among the congregants. The connections I have established in this way are more than sufficient for my spiritual needs, and in speaking to my fellow temple members, that feeling is nearly universal. I have heard story after story at my temple from members who had struggled spiritually, physically, and emotionally under other religions, who have since found in Buddhism the spiritual connectedness of community, discipline, happiness, and emotional and physical health that they could not find anywhere else. Therefore, it is my fervent wish that more people begin Buddhist practice and personally experience the truths that become self-evident in such practice, bringing a level of true happiness, mindfulness, and peace to this country that has been eroding for years.



Monday, October 16, 2006

Is A Physical Expression of Spiritual Practice Necessary?



I've been thinking about this topic recently because I've begun to feel that something was missing in my practice. When I first started my Buddhist practice, I was concurrently training in Aikido, a Japanese martial art. While my meditation practice is stronger today than it was then, I'm finding that its effect on my life is reduced. One cause is undoubtedly a more complex life today than I had then. However, the more I examine the situation, the more I see that another primary cause is my lack of a physical expression of my practice.

In Aikido, training centers around control of one's self. Aikido is based on a sphere, with the practitioner at the center. As attackers enter that sphere, aikidoka must maintain their awareness such that they can touch, and thereby redirect--with the minimum possible force--the attacker around that sphere. When one watches high-level Aikido, it often appears as a sort of dance, with the practitioners feeling the attack and moving WITH said attack, never forcefully AGAINST it. Furthermore, Aikido trains you to feel what others are doing to you, and teaches you how to go with that flow to avoid personal injury. If you are about to be thrown, and there is no true way to avoid that, it is healthier to allow yourself to be thrown and focus on protecting yourself than to strain to avoid the throw.

The only way to succeed in such practice is to lose your ego. Ego causes you to think, "Resist! He's not going to get the better of me!" Then when you do, you sprain your wrist in the process. Without ego, you realize, "I've recognized this throw too late for a skillful counter; therefore, I must bend like the willow tree and absorb the throw, landing with minimal injury." Ego causes you to think, "Strike harder! He deserves to be hurt!" Without ego, you realize, "He is striking me out of his ego; there is no need to inflict major injury. Respond with the minimal force necessary." Beyond philosophy, however, you learn very quickly when training in Aikido that when you use muscular force, your moves are ineffective. So not only does Aikido philosophy teach these principles, the physical component provides proof. To be blunt, your Aikido will be completely ineffective and worthless if you respond to force with force, to attack with defiant resistance. In other words, Aikido acts as a physical expression of the value of egolessness, compassion, and wisdom.

Having not trained in Aikido for 5 years, I find that loss to have had an effect on my life. Such physical expression of one's practice helps to bring one's practice "out of the dojo" or "off the cushion" into everyday life. What good is meditation and Buddhist training if you leave your practice in the temple after service? The Buddha did not teach any particular physical expressions of the practice. Therefore, to me this indicates that such practices are not strictly necessary. However, in that they involve the physical body your mind inhabits in this life, I think they provide a skillful means by which to "practice in motion." Walking meditation is often touted as a great means to bring your meditation to physical activity. A lay person's life involves much motion, and if he cannot figure out how to bring a meditative mind to his actions in life, his practice will be worthless.

Therefore, I have begun studying Yoga at a highly respected studio here in Chicago, Yogaview. So far--and it's only been 2 weeks--I've already noticed an increase in my ability to carry the mental state of mindful awareness to my motion-filled life. So while I don't think such physical expression of training is required to achieve Awakening, I think if you are disposed to such practice, it can act as a skillful method to improve your practice dramatically.


Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Seeing the Truth


The mind is like the ocean, a vast pool that reflects its surroundings. Just as wind blowing across the surface of the water obscures its reflections, our mind, when tainted by delusion, does not see clearly the True Nature of the formations it reflects. Rather, it perceives a version of those formations, unable to see their True Suchness. We can extend the analogy further in that the ripples and waves cause the surface to continuously reflect different objects, mirroring how our monkey mind leaps from idea to idea to idea, out of control.1 But if we learn to control the wind, we can still the ripples, and attend to a single object. The more we practice, the more still the surface becomes, and the longer we can be mindful of our chosen object.

What happens when we learn to still the wind entirely? We become capable of deep examination of the object of our mindfulness, uninterrupted, without taint. Suddenly, we are no longer seeing the object filtered through our relative biases, but unblemished, in its True Suchness.

This is how we see Truth.



1Analogy derived from Joseph Campbell's lecture entitled "Mysteries of India."



Tuesday, May 30, 2006

1 Minute 30 Second Meditation

"What is emptiness? That is, what is anything when we take away all our notions and ideas? What is a stick, when I take away all my notions of what it is? We say, 'A stick.' Take that idea away. 'Straight.' Take that away. 'An extension of my hand.' Take that away. What is it?"1


Like peeling an onion. Take away layer...after layer...after layer...after layer of answers. What is it that is seeking progress on your chosen path? Bring yourself into the now, and truly question, "What is it that seeks?"

Take 30 seconds to contemplate, then return.

Did you come up with a "Who" answer? Did you answer "I am seeking"? If you did, take another 30 seconds and question, "WHAT is Who?" "What, truly, am I?"

Take 30 seconds to contemplate if you answered with a "Who" answer, then return.

What is it, then, that truly attains progress? When you feel like you've progressed in your practice, what has progressed? "What is it that attains?"

Take 30 seconds to contemplate, then return.

Don't take the surface answer. Look deeper. Peel away that surface layer. Expose the substratum. "What is it that attains?"

Take a final 30 seconds to contemplate, then return.

Peeling the onion. This is our practice.



1Roshi Bernie Glassman. Infinite circle.