Phuong Ertley is a marriage and family therapist in private practice in Palo Alto and San Francisco, a university instructor, and a yoga teacher. She was ordained as a Zen monk in 2016.
When a visitor comes to the meditation hall, he or she notices behaviors that are not customary to contemporary Western society: bowing, silence, folded hands, and an orderly way of moving. This can seem rigid or off-putting to some people. For others, it may be a source of comfort.
Each of the forms has a functional as well as a poetic purpose. Consider silence in the meditation hall. The cumulative lack of talking of eighty or so people creates a cushion of emotional rest. This collective silencing of extraneous thought and pleasantries among people allows for a deeper relationship to grow. The silence, born of the discipline of each person, contributes deeper connections. When you are silent, your thoughts slow down. Your eyes become more alert. Your body becomes more responsive. As you move in silence with others, you begin to notice a flow or order that you can drop into, like swimming in a stream. When you aren’t sure how to proceed, the best thing to do is to simply observe what others are doing.
Second, bowing. We bow to Buddha, we bow to the cushion, we bow to the group. What does it all mean? The answer may be unique to each person as she or he practices. In my experience, when I tip my head over, it bends my spine. This bending over invites a feeling of reverence: I’m humbling myself before something. If it’s the statue of the Buddha, it reminds me of all I don’t know. Life operates on a bigger scale than my small mind. I find it comforting that there is something more than my personal desires and wishes. There’s a universal order that is beyond my ken. Our habitual mind always tries to control the events in our lives, especially the ones we deem important. However, I believe we become anxious because we know that we’re prone to make mistakes. What a relief it can be to surrender to the fact that we’re not responsible for everything, and it will all still go well.
When I bow to my zafu or meditation cushion, I’m reminded that I’m not alone on this path. The cushion supports me to sit comfortably. If it weren’t there, my experience would be more painful. The cushion, situated on its base zabuton before my arrival, has also supported countless meditators before me and will continue to support others after me. The cushion reminds me of the other sincere practitioners. Just knowing that others are interested in this path encourages me.
When we sit, we do so with an upright spine, hands folded in our laps, signaling an alert mind. The folded hands are soft, not tense, and self-contained. This gesture reminds me that all that I need is contained in this moment. Everything I need for my spiritual awakening is right here. The point is to be awake and calm, no matter how internally distracted I feel or how loudly others swallow, fidget, or cough. Seat firmly planted and spine tall arouses a confident attitude that says all will be well.
After the sitting practice, we fluff our cushions, wipe off any dust, and ready it for the next person. This action says that I care about who comes after me. I think not only of myself and my needs, but also about others. When I turn toward the center of the room, once again I bow, this time to the community. By bowing, I offer my gratitude for the existence of the Sangha, a group of people who want the same things I do. We’re all here to learn a way to live that results in peace and harmony. We take time out of our busy lives to quiet the storms inside, so we may have the clarity to behave respectfully, gratefully, and conscientiously toward others.
To behave well means to behave with discipline. Restraint in speech, restraint in movement, and the ability to detach from thoughts are all forms of discipline. Many of the mistakes we make in life have to do with the lack of consideration for others—a misplaced word, thought, or deed. We’ve all had experiences with the proverbial foot in the mouth. How many times have we said something that was hurtful, unkind, and not exactly true? Conscientious speech is a daily challenge in our practice.
This is where the ritual of chanting helps us. Chanting in Zen practice involves 90 percent listening and 10 percent vocalizing. In order to chant in harmony with others, we need to listen to the cadence, pitch, and tone of the people around us. It doesn’t mean to mimic others, but to participate in a way that it supports the whole group. Be vigorous, yet supportive. Chanting requires a concentrated and pliable mind. Go with the flow and stop when it stops. Don’t stand above others, don’t drown others out, but also be heard.
Zen practice asks that you participate in all the ways possible: in your actions, your words, your thoughts, and of course, with your heart. It’s said that of the three treasures, the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, the Sangha is the most important. By engaging our minds and bodies in these simple acts, we create a healthy Sangha. By being quiet, alert, and attentive toward ourselves and others, we create an experience of depth and presence for all. Who is the Sangha? It’s you and me. By meditating together on a regular basis, we provide for and protect each other’s right to an internal life. Spending the time to sit and observe ourselves is much easier with others and quite difficult by ourselves. By doing it together, we create the opportunity and likelihood that we may all grow wise together.