Kusen are oral teachings given during a Zen meditation session.
One Cannot Help But Become Aware
Be present in the posture, feeling the gentle uprightness of the body. Chest open, shoulders relaxing backwards. Spine gently drawing upwards; chin tucked in; back of the neck long; crown of the head towards the sky. Weight even on the sitting bones; thumb tips touching gently. Appreciating each breath.
Having found the posture, letting go of effort. Letting go of any hint of making things different from how they are. Simply allow the awareness to be open to what is in this moment. Let the posture do the work.
The cliche image of meditation is being calm and serene. It’s often used in advertisements – maybe for body hygiene products, that sort of thing. And sometimes meditators are criticised for suppressing their emotions, not feeling them, pretending they're calm and serene. But anyone who's practised for maybe more than 10 minutes knows that neither of these is true.
The practice of Zazen meditation is to shine the light inwards, shine the awareness inwards. Not by trying to do so. But one cannot help but become aware when one sits. And that awareness creates an openness in which emotions arise and express themselves. They are no longer hidden by the everyday nattering of the mind.
It can mean that they felt more intensely, and also at the same time, can mean that they are seen as things which are transient, always changing. Even if when one is inside an emotion, it feels like it is there forever, whether it's anger, romantic love, grief. All strong emotions have this sense that they feel everlasting from inside. In truth, when they're expressed and given space, then they transform – naturally, unconsciously and automatically into whatever is next in life.
And the practice of Zazen is not to reject but to accept: this moment, and then the next. But also not to be caught up in the belief that an emotion is somehow all-important.
Honestly Living through what Life Offers
So today I'd like to consider Zen practice and emotions, because it's something that's often misunderstood, particularly by those who are outside the practice. Those who have lived it, do understand. But it's not easy to put into words.
To be human is to feel and experience emotions, up and down, good and bad, pleasure and pain, love, hate, desire, disgust, companionship, loss, grief. Some people look at practices like Zen and think that they are an attempt to push this away. Push away the experience of feeling what it means to be human; trying to maintain a calm, placid mind in the face of everything. Some people in their practice try to do this; when a difficult feeling arises, they try to push it away, reject it, say ‘it's not part of me’. But in many ways, the zen attitude is the opposite - to wholeheartedly accept what our experience of being human is, right now.
And sometimes that can be painful for months, for years, coming to terms with a loss, with grief.
The singer Nick Cave, who lost his 15 year old son, wrote about how after the death, he felt he would never be able to meditate again. But still, he went back to it again and again, experiencing the intensity of emotions more strongly than everyday life. And how that honest facing didn't take the pain away. It but allowed it to process, slowly but surely, without expectation of what would happen at the other end.
Mushotoku - no gain, no expectation of sorting out, but nonetheless honestly living through what life offers. And the irony is that when one creates space to allow these things to arise through practice, then they do transform to something else. This too does pass.
So zen is therapeutic, but if we treat it as a therapy, it doesn't work.