You have to go up and up and up, and finally, you have nowhere to go up and you have to come down completely. You relate with yourself as the lowest of the lowest. You become a grain of sand.
*Chogyam Trungpa. The Teacup and the Skullcup: Where Zen and Tantra Meet.
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When meditating, I often place my hands in my lap and one hand holding a mala - "mala" is Sanskrit for "garland." A mala has beads made of precious stone, seeds, wood, bone, or a combination of these. It is somewhat like a prayer rosary. Persons use malas in varied spiritualities for prayer, bowing, chanting, meditation, and sacred adornment.
Recently, I had an old hand towel rather than a mala. I sat in quietness, eyes closed. During the silence, awareness moved to the hands holding the towel. The truth arose of how real this towel felt, how sacred, as much so as holding a mala. In fact, I rarely feel anything that most would associate with sacredness while holding a mala. I once did, but rarely, if ever, now.
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Many persons would not see how the old hand towel can mediate sacredness as well as a mala or prayer rosary. They would think you off your rocker if you told them this is true. Many cannot see how the old hand towel can be sacred, or how a dilapidated barn can be as holy as the Vatican or the Ganges. Well, we do not see this until the seeing arises. We see with the eyes we have at any point in time. We become seeing.
Before we live with these new eyes, we may have them put in briefly, and we get a glimpse of this everyday holiness, truly felt, everyday, and sacred. And part of experiencing is first theorizing it. Yet, we too often talk about the menu and think we are eating the meal. A menu can be very appealing, the pictures whetting our appetite. Religions and other paths can present enticing menus. So, we get mesmerized by the images of this delicious-looking food and drinks. When we eat the meal, we realize it is much more tasty than the menu. But, possibly, the restaurant we are going to does not give anything but menus. People there keep eating menus. They seem to enjoy them, but they seem always hungry. We may need to go to another restaurant. We, too, once enjoyed the menu - or thought we did - but no more. We leave feeling empty. Yet, the menu served its purpose - creating awareness of dissatisfaction. The menu did an excellent job. We can write back to the restaurant, "Thank You!"
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In Buddhism, this seeing is called pragna. The symbol of wisdom is Manjusri with a sword. The sword cuts through ignorance, the duality between malas and old hand towels, gold coins and rocks, pecan pies and poop, and priests and prostitutes.
For this insight to occur, it has to be natural. You cannot think yourself into this seeing. The wisdom is called in Buddhism "nondiscriminative wisdom." Still, the hand towel is the hand towel, and the mala is the mala. We would likely enjoy eating a piece of pecan pie but not poop.
There is a playfulness, curiosity, and lightness. The hand towel and mala are both absolutely ordinary, yet both can equally be means of powerful and illuminating wisdom. Things all about us can become a mandala of inspiration. The mandala breathes.
With this arising of unitive wisdom, a certain freedom occurs, which is not the freedom of rebellion, a childish show: "I'll do what I want. Leave me alone, and get out of my way!" Still, there is a sense of independence right amid the energy of compassion. This compassion entails acting in a way not to harm others, to act in blessing.
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I was online with a mediation group, interfaith. Only two of us are practicing Zen Buddhism. I had, as usual, my favorite hat on. Something was said about the hat - I do not recall. The other Buddhist said he does not meditate with a hat on.
My hat stayed on, and I recognized, according to many Zen practitioners, that he was acting more Zen-like than I - at least in an official sense. They might say I was practicing Sloppy Zen or Lazy Zen. One could say my hat is like my halo. Well, it is just a hat. His bald head was a bald head, which was a halo, and my bald head had a halo. Well, well.
Zen, like any other thing in life, can become so itself that it becomes a trap. Zen can get too precise, too sharp, turning you into a Zen clown. Zen becomes like Zen looking at itself in the mirror, admiring how precise and aesthetic it is behaving. It becomes so exact and accurate, so get-it-right and ritualistic that it becomes oddly un-Zen. Such is like having a precise way to blow your nose. One has to be careful about that one way to wipe the nose, or one can just wipe the nose so the nose is clean.
This un-Zen becomes like a corpse all dressed up in the casket. Suit and tie and shiny shoes. Pale, bloodless face with makeup. Even with a flower attached to the white shirt. "Oh, doesn't Uncle Bob look so good! They did such a good job on him, didn't they?" That body is dead, really dead, dead as dead, and it cannot breathe or walk or laugh or enjoy ice cream anymore. Uncle Bob is stiff, stiff as a board. He is a stiff. So, our spirituality can become like that.
You can apply this to any spiritual path, grocery shopping, brushing your teeth, jogging, or wiping your rear. As I have written before - the purpose of Zen is to undo Zen. The spiritual path is the candle, and the practice is the fire. Walking the path, you are burning up the path. The path is burning away the path. Then, you have Zen or whatever, but you are left with your hands empty. The ax chops four legs off the chair, little by little, until you sit flat on the floor. Initially, you thought the path was about turning the samsara chair into a nirvana throne. But the chair is all sawdust now. What a tragedy! Wonderful! You fell for the joke.
We can be afraid of this freedom. We rightly shy away from it. But the path prepares us for it. If we try to enjoy such freedom too soon, we are jumping into the ocean without growing gills. You can only ride the horse energy once you tame the horse; otherwise, it will ride you and suddenly throw you off. We think we want to go to heaven, but heaven is hell unless we are prepared for heaven.
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So, what is spirituality? Good question. We do not learn what spirituality is from being told what it is. Life shows itself, and thereby, we know life intimately. The Way teaches us the Way - whatever the Way is. Wisdom arises - nonconceptual - and an old hand towel can manifest supernal intimacy, so nothing is supernal about it. And a hat can become a halo, and then, you see, a halo is just a hat. Then, you can hold the hand towel or mala. You can wear the hat or not. It is your choice. You are no longer looking over your shoulder; you are just acting in union with compassion and wisdom. You have grown into this, so it is not an ego injection. Here, there is no imitation, not even imitating Buddha, Krishna, Jesus, or your superstar roshi, guru, saint, or preacher.
And you are not looking at someone and saying, "Hey! Take off that hat" or "Why hold that old hand towel, not a mala?" You are no longer trying to be anything or make sure you get it right. You realize it is not about getting it right, for there is no right to get. You act, and there is no gap for right or wrong to peak in or out even a little.
Augustine of Hippo points to this in his Confessions, "Love and do what you will." When you act in love, your will is not willfulness. So, you can adjust to specific situations through insight and compassion, knowing you do it from a heart of love, and you do not feel someone is taking a personal right away or threatening your freedom.
Sometimes, you obey the rules, but not out of obligation to the rules. Sometimes, you disobey the rules out of wisdom and compassion. That is the insight and compassion: you are not acting against anyone or anything. You are just acting wisely. You find joy in doing what pleases others. They suffer less thereby, and so do you.
Wisdom has cut through the neurotic display of willfulness, which always entails self-righteousness. Someone may see a buddha walking and say, "Look at that. That's a buddha walk." You know, however, there is no buddha walk. There is only someone walking, and someone just walking is a buddha walk, but it is a gorilla walk, too.
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You may recall this Zen story. The Buddhist monk was known to have become enlightened. Someone asked him, "Before you became enlightened, what did you do?" "I chopped wood and carried water." "Well, what after?" "I chop wood and carry water." Everything has changed and nothing, but what does that mean? It is like saying you have been born again, but you look and act even more real, more ordinary. Your realness and ordinariness may now scare some people. And some people may be fascinated, confused or in awe of the penetrating ordinariness. Most people will see you as just another critter among critters.
