Practicing with Everything
Any activity can be used for Zen practice. In counting the breath and following the breath, you notice thoughts and return to the breathing. In walking meditation, you notice thoughts and return to the walking. Anything can be practiced this way: repeatedly notice your wandering thoughts and return your attention to the activity at hand.
In the setting of a Zen monastery or retreat, everything is practiced this way or at least one is encouraged to practice everything this way: sitting practice, walking practice, chanting practice, eating practice, lawn mowing practice, carrot chopping practice, telephone answering practice, video editing practice, driving to the post office practice, jogging practice, showering practice, even rest practice.
The more complicated the activity is and the more conceptual thought it requires, the more challenging it is to notice wandering thoughts and return one’s attention to the activity. This is one reason that the tasks assigned during the work period at a Zen retreat tend to be simple, repetitive, physical tasks like weeding the garden, washing windows, peeling potatoes, or stuffing envelopes.
Toward the end of a Christian contemplative prayer retreat, in discussing the transition from silence to ordinary daily life, one participant, a Korean Baptist seminary professor, said slowly and in halting English, “Here, I have been observing silence. Afterward, I will observe noise.” Zen practitioners return regularly to the silence of zazen. Then the awareness being uncovered in zazen is gradually expanded to include all the activities of our noisy lives.
Anything Practice
To practice with any activity, just fill in the blank:
•Attend to _________________________.
•When you realize that your attention has wandered off, notice the thought and gently return your attention to _________________________.
return to _________,
notice the thought,
return to _________,
notice the thought,
return to _________ . . .
Following are some examples of “anything practice.” The list of recommended resources at the end of the book includes a section of books on practicing with certain aspects of life that can be especially challenging: stress, pain, illness, depression, fear, anxiety, anger, ambition, death, and dying.
Eating Practice
Pay attention to the food and to all the physical sensations involved in eating. What does the food look like? How does it smell? How does the utensil or the food feel in your hand? How do your hand and arm feel as you move your hand toward your mouth? How does the food feel in your mouth? What does it taste like? How does your tongue move as you chew? What does it sound like when you chew? What does it feel like when you swallow? When do you get the impulse to reach for another bite of food? What does that impulse feel like? How does your hand move?
When you realize you are no longer attending to your eating but are caught up in thoughts—and this includes thoughts about eating like “This could’ve used more garlic,” “Homegrown tomatoes are so much better than store-bought,” “Why does he always overcook the eggs?”—notice the thoughts and gently return your attention to the physical sensations of eating.
•Attend to the physical sensations of eating.
•When you realize that your attention has wandered off, notice the thought and gently return your attention to the physical sensations of eating.
Notice the thought,
return to eating,
notice the thought,
return to eating,
notice the thought,
return to eating . . .
Listening Practice
In some of the meditation groups I’ve led, we share observations and thoughts about our practice with other members of the group. During these conversations, we do “listening practice”:
•Look at whoever is speaking and listen to what they’re saying.
•When you realize that your attention has wandered off, notice the thought and gently return your attention to listening.
Notice the thought,
return to listening,
notice the thought,
return to listening,
notice the thought,
return to listening . . .
Try this with your family, friends, coworkers—anyone. (My husband would be grateful if I did this practice more often with him!)
Practicing with Pain
Practicing with pain is, I think, one of the first ways in which many Zen practitioners get a taste of what no-self really means. When we let go of a self-centered view of reality, there is no longer me suffering from pain; there is simply pain. The separation of “me” from “not me” is what gives rise to suffering—our own suffering and the suffering we cause others.
When pain arises—for instance, your knees begin to hurt as you do zazen—instead of squirming and fidgeting and trying to escape the pain, try sitting still with the pain, both physically and mentally. Open your compassionate awareness to the pain. Let the pain in instead of trying to keep it out. Sink into the pain as you would sink into a hot bath. Experience the pain fully. Where exactly do you feel it? Is it sharp, dull, throbbing, tight, achy, tingly, warm? Does the sensation remain constant or does it change? Let the whole universe be the pain. Become only the experience of pain. Be the pain.
At least for a moment, you may get a taste of being in pain without suffering from the pain. It’s not that the pain goes away or that the pain is no longer painful, but that the pain is okay. The pain just is.
When you notice that you are separating yourself from the pain and are caught up in thoughts—and this includes thoughts about the pain like “I hate pain,” “I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” “I’ll never be able to walk again,” “‘Be the pain’? What’s that supposed to mean?”—notice the thoughts and gently return your attention to the physical sensations of the pain.
•Attend to the physical sensations of the pain. Open your compassionate awareness to the pain. Be the pain.
•When you realize that you are thinking about the pain—separating from the pain—or are caught up in some other thought, notice the thought and gently return your attention to the physical sensations of the pain.
Notice the thought,
return to the physical sensations of the pain,
notice the thought,
return to the physical sensations of the pain,
notice the thought,
return to the physical sensations of
the pain . . .
Practicing with pain does not mean being masochistic, fatalistic, passive, or stupid about pain. If you get appendicitis, you go straight to the hospital for an appendectomy and you practice with the pain while you’re waiting for surgery and while you’re healing. If you’re suffering from depression, you get it treated and you practice with whatever depression is still present—opening compassionate awareness to it instead of separating from it. If you always have knee pain when you do zazen, you do what you can to alleviate the pain—you get some advice on your sitting posture, maybe learn some stretching exercises, maybe choose to sit in a chair instead of on the floor—and you practice with whatever knee pain you do experience. Practicing with pain in no way precludes trying to prevent or alleviate pain. It isn’t necessarily easy to get the knack of simultaneously trying to change a situation and opening compassionate awareness to it exactly as it is. It can feel like there’s a tension there or even a contradiction, but there doesn’t have to be.
Pain can be a useful thing to practice with, but this doesn’t mean that you should go out of your way to experience pain or that you shouldn’t try to relieve pain. As my husband likes to point out, this life has no shortage of pain, so you needn’t worry that you’ll run short and have none left to practice with. Please do all you can to free yourself and others from pain. This is a vital part of the practice of compassion.