110 Men

At the temple I listened calmly in agreement as the master reflected in his dharma talk on the creation of the self. He described how we separate ourselves from others and call ourselves first different from others and then better than others and how this process can and often does lead eventually to killing and to war. I felt I understood this truth inside and out. The master mentioned how he and many in our sangha wondered how personally to respond to the horror of the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq and to other wars, too, and to all of this killing.

"Marches?" the master asked. "Yes, maybe."

The master paused.

"Protests?" the master asked. "Yes, perhaps."

He paused again.

"Letters to newspapers and congressmen?" the master asked. "Yes, I do that."

The master paused.

"But I believe that the best thing that I can do," the master said slowly, coming deliberately to his conclusion, "is to have a peaceful heart."

With the unexpected words "peaceful heart" I felt a sudden sharp prick at my heartmind and instantly tears moistened my eyes. It had been the stupid, mindless political killing that had sickened me more than anything else in my time on earth, and after years of trying intellectually to "puzzle it out"—to use a favorite phrase of the master—it had become my belief, too, that the best thing I could do to oppose such killing was to have a peaceful heart. In retrospect, it seemed to me that it was the development of that belief, a surrender really, that had opened me, first in 1974 to the seed of Buddhism, next to its literature, next to the practice of honesty and truth, then, in fits and starts, to meditation, then to the Iowa Zen Center and to the master, and, finally, to the daily practice of meditation; and by 2004 it was what motivated me still to continue.

Political murder and war.

Peaceful heart.

When I posted this vignette on my blog it enraged another blogger.

It sure as hell is a lot easier! Someone raping your neighbor? Peaceful heart. Soldiers in the street killing civilians? Peaceful heart. The world is going to shit unless we do something to stop it? Peaceful heart. One thing you can say for Buddhists is that they do very little to contribute negatively to the world. Another thing you can say for Buddhists is that they don't do much to contribute positively to the world either.

Retreat.

Yes.

But I was also a teacher.

Teaching academic discourse seemed to issue naturally from my Buddhist practice. I tried to help people to be brave and honest. Unlike several of my friends at the temple, I experienced no conflict between the dharma and the demands of my job. I knew that I was fortunate.

The master commented.

"Many if not most student journals are full of dissatisfaction and complaint about jobs."

I had guessed as much.

"You are indeed fortunate," the master agreed.

"I am grateful," I said.

"You should be very grateful," the master said.

Practice.

I thought a lot about the master's comments on my journal. My anxiety about ceremonial forms and my duties in them was obviously a manifestation of my fear of loss of reputation, my fear of failure, embarrassment, humiliation, my fear of being the dunce. I had recently begun to recognize how the relationship between teacher and student in Zen resembled the relationship between parent and child. In conversation Mark and Ryan had discussed the analogy. It bothered them, too. Like me the two men were not sure if it was a problem in them, a problem in the master, or a problem in Zen. We were men of thirty, forty, and sixty years of age and unaccustomed to being treated like children. The master had always treated me kindly but his occasional stern reprimands and corrections of other students in my presence reminded me of my father. The master expressed little interest in psychological speculation.

Should I leave that out of my journal?

I wondered.

I had heard the master mock students who tried to raise such issues.

"Blah blah blah."

What about the questions the master asked me in his replies to my journal entries?

Was I supposed to write back and to answer them?

Was I just to think about them?

I didn't think the idea was to have a dialogue.

Or was it?

All of this I entered in my journal.

The master replied.

"What is supposed to be happening with the practice journal is all of the above."

Hmm.

Ruth had read my journal and also the master's comments. I felt a little annoyed, I told her, that the master first invited us to write anything we wanted in our journals and then seemed dismissive of it.

"He wasn't being critical," Ruth said.

"No?"

"He was pointing out that you were obsessing."

"Oh."