This podcast is offered by the San Francisco Zen Center on the web at www.sfcc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. Good morning. Thank you so much for being here. It's a beautiful day. Wimbledon finals are going on right now. One day Wu Zhao was working as the head cook at a monastery in the Wutai Mountains of northern China. When the Bodhisattva of Wisdom, Manjushri, suddenly appeared above the soup pot while he was cooking, Wu Zhao beat him with his spoon. Later he said, even if Shakyamuni Buddha were to appear above the pot, I would have beaten him too. So of all the things that we human beings have in common,

[01:03]

The one that I'm going to talk about this morning is food. The production, preparation, and consumption of food. And in talking about food, I remembered, it came to mind, the deep truth that there are many animals and humans on this planet that do not have enough food to stay healthy or even to survive. So I want to include them in my thoughts for today as well, along with a sincere wish that food insecurities in this world will continue to be addressed in a realistic way, just as our farm does in sending fresh produce to the local pantries. On a more personal level, the reason that I wanted to talk about food, first of all, is because I really like food, all kinds of food. And also because about a month or so ago, for a brief time, I returned to helping out in the kitchen here at Greenhouse Farm.

[02:10]

It's a place where I have spent a great many years, both at this temple, at the city center, the Tassar Bakery, Green's Restaurant, and Tassar. All of which began when I first arrived at Zen Center and was given a kitchen shift under the tutelage of of a very senior student named Deborah Madison, who went on to become the head chef at Green's. She wrote an excellent vegetarian cookbook, and she retired comfortably somewhere in the Southwest. So when I was added to her crew, she clearly didn't understand just how little I knew about ovens and cooking and cleaning up after myself, which were things that my housewife mother never wanted me to learn. And yet Deborah trusted me for some reason. And so when she asked me to turn on one of the ovens, I didn't tell her that I didn't know how. Instead, I just turned the dial all the way around.

[03:12]

And then I went back to cutting carrots. And a few minutes later, there was a loud boom. And the oven door blew open, and Deborah Madison jumped about a foot off the ground. The words that she spoke to me, although earned, I will not repeat. So since then, or perhaps because of it, I was sent to the kitchen for a good number of years. First as a crew member and then as the summer guest cook at Tassahara twice and then head cook down at Tassahara and later here at Green Gulch Farm. So the head cook at a Zen temple is called the Tenzo. and is considered the first teaching job that one is given while training in Zen. Among the many essays that have been written by our Soto Zen founder, Dogen Zenji, one that we highly value in our temple training practice is called the Tenzo Gyokun, meaning instructions for the Zen cook.

[04:18]

Or perhaps more to the point, as in the title of Uchiyama Roshi's translation of this text, How to Cook Your Life. I do think that learning to cook, as I eventually did, was an extremely valuable thing for me to learn. Not only about Zen practice, but even more so about my life, you know, about how I could cook my life. And as I mentioned in a previous talk here, one of the first questions I had asked when I arrived at Zen Center is, what is this word practice that you keep talking about? Having heard a number of senior students talking and using the word practice, I said to one of them after a lecture, I know about practicing the flute and practicing volleyball, but what is it that you are practicing here at Zen Center? Anyone know? Well, the teacher replied with something like, we practice everything, everywhere, all at once.

[05:25]

which is the name of this recent amazing film. If you haven't seen it, I really suggest you do. So with that boundaryless explanation in mind, I hope to see for myself how being sent to the kitchen again and again could be for me, as it was for Dogen, equally at the heart of Zen practice, as is sitting here in the Zendo, as is going to the farm or the garden. or the office, or going to a baby shower. Meaning in my understanding that however and wherever we engage wholeheartedly in our lives as practice is what Dogen means by Zen. The Tenzo Kyokan was written over a period of years for the benefit of Dogen's own monastic community, a community that like ours depends on providing food and shelter for its members. This is something that's not always easy to do, not today and certainly not in Dogen's time.

[06:33]

There's a word that appears often in Dogen's teaching, the Japanese word shikan, which when combined with whatever word precedes it means only or just. For example, the style of meditation practice that we teach here at Zen Center is called shikan taza. just sitting, only sitting, which is what you're all doing right now. So since Shikan applies to whatever we are doing wholeheartedly, the way of understanding practice runs throughout these instructions that Dogen has offered to his own head cooks. Shikan also explains why Wuzhou get Manjushri with his spoon. Wuju was not in the mood for a Dharma talk at that time, even from the Bodhisattva of Wisdom. He was wholeheartedly focused on making a nourishing pot of soup for the hungry community.

[07:36]

I think what makes this story about cooking feel so important to us, as it was for Dogen, has to do with its focus on our everyday life activities, the actual world in which we care for our families, or our daily chores, and where we begin to understand how doing what we do wholeheartedly is at the center of the Buddha's awakening experience as well. In fact, wholehearted sitting, shikantaza, would be quite meaningless. In my view, if it only didn't have any influence on the rest of our day, it would have no value. So at the beginning of Dogen's Tenzo Kyokun, one of his most important practical essays, he even writes that I shall now take up the work of the Tenzo covering a period of one complete day. One complete day sounds somewhat limited. But then as I thought about that, one complete day is about all that the eye of my practice can reach.

[08:46]

I really don't remember much about yesterday. And I have no idea what's going to happen tomorrow. But today, at least right now, I am completely intimate with the activity that I am doing. It would be hard to miss. In fact, I am nothing other than the activity that I am doing right now with the support of all of you. Just this is it. No other it in sight. This is Shikan. So having just said that, it feels a little bit funny to talk about cooking when I'm not cooking. But given that the underlying principle is the same, that just this is it, whether cooking or not, I think it's okay for me to go on talking about the work of the Tenso. Just talking. Dogen is very specific in his instructions to the cook, specific instructions being necessary, as all of you know who are experienced cooks.

[09:56]

When I told a senior student many years back how terribly nervous I was being a guest cook at Tassajara, she said to me, oh, don't worry, just follow the recipes. And she was right, but to a point. And the point was that cooking itself, does the actual teaching. Such as the smell of burnt cookies or the sound of the pressure cooker about to blow and the sight of breaking glass falling onto my stir fry. These are just a few of the lessons that cooking has taught to me. Dogen begins his essay by telling the cook to order enough rice and vegetables for the morning and noon meals. And then quoting the Zen master Ren Yong, he says, use the property and possessions of the community as carefully as if they were your own eyes. I can remember reading that line while I was in the kitchen and thinking that my body responded to this teaching, particularly my eyes, you know.

[11:08]

What could be more important or more intimate than taking care of these everyday things like rice and vegetables as carefully as I care for my own eyes? And yet I had never thought about how I care for my eyes or my fingers or my toes. I just do. I really do. Especially in the kitchen. where huge pots of water are boiling and knives are unintentionally flailing around, it's not so difficult hurting yourself in the kitchen. What's difficult is not hurting yourself in the kitchen. I was once carrying a tray of pizzas, a hot tray of pizzas, out of the oven into the courtyard at Tazahara, and as I went out the door, these two young kids came running at me. I had no choice but to lift the tray onto my forearms. I can remember hearing the sound and feeling the sensation just about at the same time.

[12:12]

I still have these tattoos, one on either side from that occasion. And a reminder of the noble, albeit mostly involuntary, gesture to protect those children. So there are a great many stories that we could all share about kitchen mishaps, but I think the best story, as far as I can tell, is that in over 50 years of Zen-centered kitchen practice, no one has been seriously injured. And I hope that such faithful kitchen practice will continue here forever. Dogen then tells the Tenzo to handle all the food they receive with respect, as if we were giving a meal to the emperor. And what he means, I think what he really means, is not only to treat food, but all the things that come into our hands with that same degree of respect, which, from my point of view, is the entire point of Zen training.

[13:17]

In a recent Thursday night class on the first chapter in the Transmission of Light, I retold a story from Reb's book, Being Upright, about Lord Sendai and the T-Bowl. which illustrates this principle of showing our utmost respect for both people and objects, even when the objects are broken. So in this story, there are three main characters. There is Lord Sendai, who represents the Buddha. There is a monk named Tetsugyu, a sincere practitioner who is making tea for his noble guest, and a monk named Chon, who has come to join them for tea. Choan represents the non-dual reality on which our Zen practice is precariously balanced. A reality in the sutras is characterized by selflessness, wishlessness, and emptiness of any separate existence. The reality in which there is nothing outside of ourself to wish for and no one inside of ourself to make a wish.

[14:24]

So here's the story. During the Tokugawa era in Japan, a monk named Tesugyu was serving tea to Lord Sendai when his Dharma brother Chowon dropped by the tea room. Lord Sendai invited Chowon to join them for tea. Tesugyu chose an especially precious antique tea bowl that Lord Sendai had given him and put it down on the tatami mat to make tea. In the midst of appreciating the great beauty of the tea bowl, Chowon suddenly reached out with his staff and smashed the tea bowl. Now look at the authentic tea bowl that exists before birth, said John. Tesugu turned pale and nearly fainted. But Lord Sendai was able to stay present, and he said to Tesugu, I gave you that tea bowl, but I would like you to give it back to me now. And before you give it back, please have it glued together and have a box made for it. On the cover of the box, I ask that you write the name of the bowl.

[15:28]

which I now give as the authentic tea bowl before birth, which I will reverently pass on to my descendants. So it's from within Lord Sendai's understanding of the intimacy between the ultimate truth, that the teacup is already broken, and the relative truth, which allows us to take care of such precious transient things, that the Bodhisattva vow is born. the vow to take care of these precious transient things, including our own eyes, to the end of our days. So as you may know, the driving question that had sent the young monk Dogen off to studying in China in the first place was the question of why we humans need to practice if according to the Buddha's own teaching we are already endowed with Buddha nature, already Buddha, as they say. One of the primary insights that Dogen Zenji had in response to this question was not an answer to why we should practice, but more to the point how we should practice, meaning how should we live, not why.

[16:44]

That one's too late. Dogen's awakening transformed his teaching into both profound abstract reasoning as well as concrete practical instructions such as what to do with our hands, our head, our torso, our legs, and our feet. Without a doubt, working in the kitchen is a very good place to put the question, how, to the test. For example, from Dogen's essay, when washing the rice, remove any sand that you find. In doing so, don't lose one grain of rice. How? When you look at the rice, see the sand at the same time. When you look at the sand, see also the rice. Examine both carefully. If you do that, the meal will come out naturally altogether. So this instruction about the rice and the sand gave Dogen an opportunity to tell another story about a time that our Chinese Zen ancestor Dongshan was in a Dharma conversation with the Tenzo of his own temple, a monk named Zheng Feng.

[17:54]

One day, Zheng Feng was washing the rice. Dongshan happened to pass by and asked, Do you wash the sand and pick out the rice, or wash the rice and pick out the sand? Sand and rice, according to one commentary, represent right views and wrong views, or the ultimate truth and the relative truth. Chui Feng replied, I wash and throw away both the sand and the rice. Then what on earth do the residents eat? Dongshan pressed him. In reply, Shen Feng knocked over the bucket of rice. On seeing that, Dongshan said, the day will come when you will practice under another master. So what Dongshan is telling the Tenzo is that his expression of understanding is okay, but like Chowon, who smashed the precious tea bowl, too rough. In other words, Shui Feng is not behaving with respect for all things, which is at the very heart of Dongshan's own understanding of Zen.

[19:03]

And as it turned out, Shui Feng did go on to study with the Zen master Daishan, who is in the lineage of Rinzai Zen, a school of Zen notable for the kind of dramatic gestures that Shui Feng had made as Tenzo. Along with knocking over cooking pots and breaking tea bowls, Rinzai masters, as far as my knowledge goes, which isn't very far, still employ a variety of vigorous teaching methods such as shouting and hitting and mastering martial arts like archery and kung fu. Such Zen art forms, along with the tea ceremony and flower arranging and calligraphy, had been highly developed among the samurai class of medieval Japan. Soto Zen, on the other hand, the Zen of Dongshan, Dogen, and Suzuki Roshi, has been characterized as more gentle and rustic in spirit. They're in the saying that Rinzai for the shogun and Soto for the farmers, which tells us something about how we ended up on a farm here in California.

[20:07]

And yet, whichever of the Zen traditional schools you find yourself drawn to, once you have been sent to the kitchen, Dogen's primary admonishment is the same. The way seeking mind of the Tenzo is actualized by rolling up your sleeves. A saying that echoes in a famous Zen statement by another of our early ancestors, Bai Zhang Waihai, who is credited with founding the first independent Zen monastery in China. A monastery that included periods of work and farming, activities not normally permitted for Buddhist monastics of his day. Along with a number of rules for establishing a Zen monastery, Bai Zhang was said to have declared to his monks, a day of no work is a day of no food. A statement I have heard cited as part of the formation of our own Zen Center monastic training requirements. Some of the other regulations that Dogen cites in his instructions to the head cook are still being followed in our very own kitchens.

[21:17]

For example, number one, taking care to cover the pots of food lest a mouse or a rat should fall in. Number two, under no circumstances allowing anyone who happens to be drifting through the kitchen to poke their fingers into the food or to look into the pot. Number three, put the utensils that naturally go on a high shelf on a high shelf and those that would be more stable on a low shelf on a low shelf. Four, Keep your mind on your work and do not throw things around fearlessly. Number five, clean everything thoroughly of all dirt and insects. Number six, keep your eyes open, not allowing even one grain of rice to be lost. Wash the rice thoroughly, put it in a pot like the fire, and cook it. There's an old saying that goes, see the pot as your own head and see the water as your lifeblood. And then for the Tenzo, number seven, when you go to your room, close your eyes and count the number of monks to be fed.

[22:24]

Don't forget the elder priests or those living in single rooms, in the infirmary, or the newly arrived. But perhaps the most important instruction of them all, number eight, handle even a single leaf of a green in such a way that it manifests the body of the Buddha. This in turn allows the Buddha to manifest through a single leaf of green. So when I read through Dogen's instructions to the Tenzo, I find myself transported back to those many years that I spent in Zen Center kitchens. Many years of ordering food, saving scraps for the compost piles, cleaning the pots and the cooking utensils, calculating the number of people likely to show up for a meal, serving the food, and planning out what needs to be done for the start of the next day. So when I became a mother at the age of 45, I had already been Tenzo for a number of years, and somehow the multiple tasks of child care were literally baked into my bones.

[23:32]

I was pretty well trained by kitchen practice to warm up the food, but not too warm, to clean up after myself, to explain things in accordance with the listener's capacity to understand, and especially to keep my mind on the work, such as not forgetting where I last saw my child. In other words, as Dogen says to the Tenzo, in your day-to-day life, do not forget these things, even for a moment. He also says that if the Tenzo, or the parent, the guest manager, the director, the farmer, the gardener, throw their energy into the work of the day, then both the activity and the method, will naturally nurture the seeds of the Buddha Dharma. Just taking care of the unique functions within each of our Dharma positions enables all the residents of our communities to carry on their practice in the most harmonious way. Then, on the other hand, as Dogen laments, when we fail to take care of things in a wholehearted, respectful, and considerate manner, as in the case of caring for our food,

[24:42]

Then we eat the same way as animals eat, with no concern for how the food is made or how it comes to us. So there's a chant that we recite before each meal, including in our homes, that helps us to remember what our founding teacher considered primary in the daily practice of the Buddha way. We venerate the three treasures, the Buddha Dharma Sangha, and give thanks for this food, the work of many people, and the suffering, of other forms of life. There's really no choice for us living beings unless we manage to manufacture our own food, as plants do, than to eat other living beings. Acknowledging the taking of life through wholehearted respect and care for what we have taken is perhaps the best we can do to remain conscious of the hidden costs of a healthy vegetarian diet. So the last section of the Tenzo Kyokun that I'm going to share with you this morning is near the end, where Dogen talks about the mind of the way.

[25:51]

He says, in reflecting on those who have labored as Tenzo with an attitude of practicing the way, we see that in every case, the manner in which they carried out their work coincided exactly with the virtues of their character. Dai Gui was enlightened when serving as Tenzo under Bai Zhang, The story of Dongshan's three pounds of sesame took place when he was Tenzo. Is there anything of greater value than realization of what the way is? Is there any time more precious than the time of realizing the way? And then he says that the duties of the offices of the Tenzo, the director, the Eno, and so on, are the same now as they were a hundred years ago. For us, 800 years ago. If the activities and functions have not changed, how can we today fail to actualize their marvelous nature the same as those at ancient times did? In striving to maintain the spirit of the way, there are three minds to carefully consider.

[26:59]

These three minds are written on round wooden tablets, and each of them is placed on our kitchen altars here at Zensa. You can see them here in Green Gulch Kitchen Altar. round wooden plaques. The first one says joyful mind, characterized by buoyancy and gratitude. Gratitude, Dogen says, for having been born into the world where we are capable of using our body freely to offer food to the three treasures, to the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. The second is grandmotherly mind, as Suzuki Roshi called it, the mind of a parent. And with this mind, we care for all life as a parent cares for their only child. It is the grandmotherly mind that handles water, rice, and everything else, with the affection and concern of a parent raising a child. The third is magnanimous mind, a mind like a mountain, stable and impartial, a mind like the ocean, tolerant in its views with the broadest possible perspective, refusing,

[28:09]

to take sides. Magnanimous mind does not get carried away by the sounds of spring, nor become heavy-hearted on seeing the colors of fall. Without magnanimous mind, Dongshan would not have responded to the question of what the Buddha is by his now famous act of picking up a bag of sesame seeds. He ends the Tenzo Kyokan saying, whether you are the head of a temple or a senior monk or other officer, or simply an ordinary monk, do not forget the attitude behind living out your life with joy, having the deep concern of a parent for their child, and carrying out all of your activities magnanimously. His essay is signed at the bottom, written by Dogen in the spring of 1237 at Ko Shouji. For followers of the way in succeeding, So I offer a deep bow of gratitude to our farsighted ancestors.

[29:14]

Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center. Our Dharma talks are offered at no cost and this is made possible by the donations we receive. Your financial support helps us to continue to offer the Dharma. For more information, visit sfcc.org and click giving. May we fully enjoy the Domo.

[29:40]

@Transcribed_UNK
@Text_v005
@Score_98.42