Emergency!
Excommunicated, I had not even been aware that the master was ill.
Eleanor informed us.
"Kudo is in surgery as I write this from the patient waiting area."
His colon.
Doctors decided that the master needed to have his bowel resected.
Oof!
He had gone into surgery at 3:00 p.m.
Basically healthy and strong the master was expected to do well. Nananda was on her way to Iowa. Eleanor asked volunteers to help at the temple and suggested that friends send notes and cards.
Edward emailed.
On January 1 Eleanor, Nananda, and Edward had been waiting for the master when he emerged from surgery. The master had looked "pretty good," Edward said, and he had been able to speak.
Eleanor reported that in five hours of surgery doctors had removed all of the master's large intestine. His colon had been so dilated that his surgeon felt it would not properly function with a colostomy bag. The master was expected to be in the hospital for ten days.
"His recovery once home," Eleanor said, "will take time."
Nananda emailed.
"Kudo is doing really well and looks great," Nananda reported.
Detail.
The master had gotten up and sat in a chair to watch Iowa football. Nananda and Eleanor learned from his doctors that his large intestine had been removed and his colon resectioned onto his small intestine. The master had no colostomy bag and his doctors felt that in two weeks the master would be living a happy life free of diverticulitis and pain. If there were no complications the master might soon be home. Jane would schedule volunteers. In the morning Eleanor would leave for her long retreat at Tassajara. The master insisted. Not long after he emerged from surgery, Nananda reported, the master had issued his first order.
"Put Eleanor on the plane."
Done.
Nananda would remain at Heartmind until medical decisions no longer required her presence and by the end of the week Nananda hoped to return to Laugh Out Loud. For the local sangha, its members and their families, Nananda asked that 2007 be a year of "great joy" and "deep peace."
Hope.
"Please keep Kudo in your prayers," Nananda asked.
I had already started.
When Ivan first informed me of the master's illness, surgery, and hospitalization, I had retrieved my rakusu from its place on the shelf below the shrine in my room where I sat. I had stored it there in its case after the master had terminated our relationship and expelled me. I had never felt entirely comfortable wearing it and then after my expulsion I was also unsure if I was supposed to continue to wear it. Now I laid it still in its case on the altar near the candle and koro where I offered fire and fragrance each time I sat. There I laid also the small album of photos Edward's wife had taken of the ceremony in which Dean and I had been ordained as lay practitioners. I opened the album to a photo of me kneeling before the ordination table and of the master seated on his cushion for the rite, his big bald head shiny and pink among the brown, gray, white, black, and dark blue interior of Heartmind.
The thought of the master in my mind, his happiness, his health, his illness, his suffering, his pain, his mortality, his teaching, for what I had learned from him, in gratitude I bowed.
I lit the candle. I bowed. I offered incense. I bowed.
I stepped to my mat and cushion, set to the side my zafu, and performed three full prostrations.
Each time I pressed my forehead to my mat in prayer I held in my mind the name of my teacher.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
I sat.
I rocked left and right on my cushion, forward and back. I laid my hands in my lap, the back of my left hand resting in the palm of my right, the tips of my thumbs touching lightly.
I deeply inhaled. I relaxed my shoulders. I settled my knees onto and then into my mat. I settled my butt onto and then into my cushion. I wiggled my torso and trunk just a little and adjusted.
Then once softly through my lips slightly pursed, audibly I exhaled.
I sat and I breathed.
Breath.
Breath.
Breath.
Forty minutes.
My timer beeped. I chanted. I bowed. I turned on my zafu and rose. I performed three full prostrations specifically now to honor the master. I brushed my mat and I fluffed my cushion. Twice more I bowed. I stepped once more to my altar. There I bowed again. I brought my right hand to my mouth and my right index finger to my lips and lightly I kissed the soft pink pad of its tip before I touched lightly with my finger the pink bald head in the photo of the master.
I whispered.
"Kudo."
I bowed once more before I left the altar.
I whispered.
"Kudo."
I turned off the light and I walked downstairs to the rest of my life.
"Hello."
I did not believe in prayer.
I did not pray—
I desired.
I hoped.
I wanted.
I wished.
Eight days passed before I heard another word.
Ivan emailed.
The master's health had deteriorated and he was very seriously ill. A second surgery had disclosed a tear in the connection constructed in the first surgery between his small intestine and his rectum, and fecal matter had leaked into the master's abdomen and caused infection. His kidneys had shut down. In this second surgery his doctor had cleaned up the mess in his abdomen, disconnected the small intestine from the rectum, and created an ileostomy. Parts of the master's small intestine appeared to have been damaged, Ivan said, and the surgeon planned a third surgery in the morning to see if it were necessary to remove any of it. For at least three days the master would be on a respirator, sedated, and unlikely to be aware of his surroundings; but the master's heart seemed strong and his blood pressure satisfactory. Earlier in the day, Ivan reported, both had been matters of grave concern.
"I knew you would want to know," Ivan said.
Dread.
In mid-afternoon of the following day Ivan emailed news from Jane.
A forward—
My excommunication required it.
The master had survived both the crisis and the third surgery and his condition was stable. His heart remained strong, his kidneys steady. The master would be on paralyzing drugs for twenty-four hours, Jane explained, to keep his intestines from moving around as functioning intestines do. Unless there were additional setbacks the master would spend two weeks in the hospital and then be transferred to a skilled nursing facility for two months. Though Nananda, Sosan, and Hadu were staying at the temple they were spending most of their time at the hospital. For the day Dean was at the temple, too, cooking and cleaning.
"Is there someone who might be able to do that on Saturday?" Jane asked.
I might but—
Still persona non grata I had not been among the original recipients of her email.
I did not volunteer.
I sat.
Nikki forwarded to me an update from Jane. Doctors had reduced his sedation and the master was conscious now and aware of people in his presence. Though a breathing tube made it impossible for him to speak the master responded to questions with nods of his head.
"He is doing better than expected," one doctor told Jane.
Equivocation.
Nananda had asked that the sangha assemble on Sunday in a special meeting to discuss how to keep the temple running and temple practice going during the master's recovery. After zazen there would be a special service for the master and then the meeting. Jane thanked the sangha for their help.
"Keep him in your prayers," Jane asked.
Thoughts.
"This will be a long recovery," Jane said.
I bowed.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
Kudo.
Breath.
I sat.
Days passed.
My wife had written a short note in a Christmas card to our friend Miko, the member of Soka Gakkai with whom I had corresponded about matters related to Buddhism. The master had twice printed my answers to her questions in Flat Land. In her holiday note, I gathered, Ruth had evidently mentioned that I no longer practiced at Heartmind.
Miko thanked us for our card and inquired about my practice.
"Why did you leave your sangha?" Miko asked.
"I didn't leave," I responded. "I was expelled."
Enough.
I explained to Miko that the master was seriously ill and at the hospital recovering from major surgery. My short report only piqued her curiosity and Miko promptly replied. Ruth had told Miko in her note at Christmas that in my transition out of Heartmind I "had not missed a beat." Indeed I had felt that way myself but this was the first I had known of the impression that my practice—after my expulsion—had made upon my wife. Miko, though, like everybody else, wanted me to explain to her what got a person expelled from Heartmind.
"If you ever want to tell me," Miko said, "I would really like to know."
Miko explained.
Her sangha had never expelled anybody, Miko said, not even members who had become violent, though Miko added that the sangha had urged such members to seek therapy and had made clear to them that if necessary the sangha would take legal action against them.
Miko was mystified by my expulsion.
"I just don't think there is a single thing that a pacifist could do to get expelled from an authentic Buddhist sangha that promotes peace."
I had to laugh.
There had been a time when I believed the same but that was before I had met the master; and at this point in the drama of my Zen practice there seemed little reason for me to be reticent or coy. In my response I summarized very briefly for Miko what had happened and I concluded my recapitulation of the tale just as I had when puzzled friends and family inquired.
"It was all very confusing to me," I said. "It still is.
Indeed.
I was still not sure exactly what I had done wrong.
Triangulation.
Hmm.
I told Miko that I had just accepted what happened as the fruit of my karma and that I continued to practice on my own. My main concern now, I explained, was my former teacher's health.
"I'm just hoping the master can recover from this radical surgery and get well," I said.
Worry.
Perhaps worry and hope were prayer.
Amen.
Miko asked if I thought that in any environment it took a sangha, a body of believers, for an individual to live in harmony. I thought that in almost any environment a practitioner could live in harmony, I told her, but that harmony was obviously easier in some environments than in others and that the solidarity and support of a sangha was helpful. I explained that in the Zen tradition we aspired to the mind that abides nowhere and that in a way this meant that each individual had to learn to rely on and depend on nothing.
Ku.
"Letting go," I said. "That's the practice."
Free.
Existential.
Mu.
But I added that I considered myself very fortunate to have my wife Ruth, my four children, my family, and my many friends, all of whom had tolerated for so long my strange ways and continued to support me and to love me even when I made obviously stupid mistakes.
Miko responded at length.
Miko described her own past struggle to belong. Miko asked if I would join her in the effort to embrace all people even if this meant that we would encounter the suffering of meeting people we did not like and people with whom we disagreed. Until we had learned to integrate every kind of human being with every kind of belief into our philosophical paradigm and to embrace them, Miko explained, we lost the means to realize our vision. If we ostracized even one person, Miko believed, and said just to her or to him, no, not you, see you later, the big picture was lost, the big boat, the mahayana, sunk, the whole truth left unrealized—
Humanity fragmented.
"Would you like to vow with me," Miko asked, "that we will never expel anyone from our church?"
Tears!
Hot tears blurred my vision.
I squinted.
Her generosity and her question made me smile and cry.
I dried my eyes.
Now as I edit this part of my book my eyes moisten once more.
"Would you like to vow with me—"
Yes.
"That we will never—"
Yes.
Yes.
I said I would.
Yes.
Jane emailed.
Jane reported at the end of January that the master continued to recover. He was sitting up, practicing steps with a walker, and receiving both occupational and physical therapy. The master still had no appetite, however, so he had trouble getting enough calories, and that now had become the main goal. Nananda had returned to Philadelphia. Nisen, both a physical therapist and a monk, would stay at the temple, take care of the master, and practice with the sangha. The master would like visitors, Jane said, but the master was so weak that talking wore him out. She asked friends to limit their visits to five minutes. Either at home or at Heartmind, the master had suggested, members of the sangha might offer a stick of incense and then chant for him seven times the "Enmei Jukko Kannon Gyo." At Heartmind this was the short sutra chanted in the special service for healing and well-being.
Kan ze on
Na mu butsu
Yo butsu u in
Yo butsu u en
Bup po so en
Jo raku ga jo
Cho nen kan ze on
Nen nen ju shin ki
Nen nen fu ri shin
I had still not visited the master at the hospital.
Doubt.
In the beginning I had been concerned that my presence might upset him and perhaps even slow his recovery—he had banned me from the temple, after all, and excommunicated me. Later it seemed that each time I planned to visit him the master had experienced a setback. Now the most recent message from Jane still had not been encouraging and once more I postponed my visit. But following my usual chant—Heart of Great Perfect Wisdom Sutra or The Repentance, The Refuges, and The Vows—to conclude my daily sitting I now added the "Enmei Jukko Kannon Gyo." Though each day I chanted the sutra in Japanese as I had been taught by the master the temple sutra book offered this translation.
Kanzeon—
Praise to Buddha
All are one with—
Buddha
All awake to—
Buddha
Buddha, Dharma
Sangha
Freedom, Joy and
Purity
Through the day
Kanzeon
Through the night
Kanzeon
This thought comes
From Buddha Mind
This thought is one
With Buddha Mind
Each day at home I began my sitting with bows to the master and concluded my devotions with my fingertip kiss to the master's bald head in the photograph of my lay ordination.
I learned when I called the hospital the following week that the master had been released. I emailed Ivan who told me that the master had been transferred to Acute Physical Rehabilitation at Immanuel Medical Center. He had been released from the hospital much sooner than expected, Ivan said, and the master had been doing well until just this past weekend when the master had suffered new setbacks. Doctors had discovered an infection and the master was now back on an IV.
Ivan said also that at the temple Sosan Davis had given the dharma talk. Speaking so softly that Ivan said he had to strain to hear, Sosan Davis had talked of what he called the Four Reliances, a teaching new to both me and Ivan.
Ivan listed them.
1 Rely on the teaching—not on the teacher.
2 Rely on the spirit of the teaching—not on the letter of it.
3 Rely on the definitive teaching, on emptiness—not on the conditional.
4 Rely on the inconceivable.
This I liked.
Ivan said that in his recapitulation of the talk he had not done it justice, that it had been frequently interrupted by appreciative laughter, and that the talk had been much more than a list.
I was sorry I missed it.
Ivan:
"Whatever his failures or problems Sosan is certainly capable of teaching."
I did not doubt it.
I did not.
But neither Zen practice nor the rigorous new statement of temple sexual ethics nor the determined efforts of master and monk devoted to religious reform had deterred this married father, teacher, and priest from falling in love with his student and having sex with his soul mate.
I had been there done that.
Why?
Hormones.
Heaven's just a sin away
Uh oh!
Just a sin away
I can't wait another day
I think I'm giving in—
Heaven help me if I say
I think I'm giving in—
Uh oh!
Way down deep inside
I think I'm giving in—
Uh oh!
I think I'm giving in—
I think I'm giving in—
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