This podcast is offered by the San Francisco Zen Center on the web at sfzc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. Good morning, dear Sangha. Can you hear me? Good morning to those of you online as well. I have a tendency to fade down. any point need me to speak a little louder, just wave your hands there in the back. My name is Soan Eli Brown Stevenson. I'm traveling from just down south at our temple, Beginner's Mind Temple in Hayes Valley. Before I get started this morning, I want to extend gratitude to Jiryu, Abbot Jiryu, who's not here this morning. I think he's in Tallahassee, maybe. and the Green Gulch Practice Committee for inviting me to speak here on what turned out to be a very lovely day.

[01:08]

And in theme of what I'll be talking about today, I also wanted to give some appreciation to my formal teacher, Renzo Ed Sarizon, who over the years has really... held me in this practice, allowing my perception of things to shift, whether that's through birth, death, and everything in between. Also, not present with us in the zendo, but just over in her casita, dear Zenju Earthland Manuel. Some of you may be familiar with what a Shusou is. It's a head student of a practice period. And when I first came to Zen Center, it was during her kind of her Shusou practice period. And while she came in already as a renowned teacher, I got to see her kind of Zen blossoming

[02:18]

firsthand, and it really was impactful to me. And during that practice period, the Shusos are kind of like, you know, stars, so they're really busy, a kind of center sage, and her partner at the time, Sumballa, who's now an ancestor, commonly would come and put her hand on my shoulder, letting me know I belong. So I wanted to... just expressed gratitude to them before I got started. So as I understand, next week perhaps those of you who are residents and perhaps some of you online will be starting a practice period, which is a dedicated time of turning inwards and perhaps going deep in a particular study. And the upcoming practice period is on Suzuki Roshi's teachings, who is the founder of these temples.

[03:21]

And so throughout the talk today, which I'll be talking about perception, I wanted to bring in his teachings just to kind of hold us through the morning. So I don't know. Some of you may have missed them coming in. Some of you may have grabbed them. Who was able to grab some bubbles before arriving this morning? Great. If you don't have any, there's some, I think, outside of that door. It's not too late to grab them. But I wanted to bring them in because they've also been a really relevant teacher. So if you would do me a favor, I've always dreamed about filling this green dragon belly with bubbles. So if you could, or you don't mind, and don't use them all because you'll probably want them for outside later. But if you would do me the honor of bringing some bubbles in here. And after I'm done talking about bubbles, which will be for a moment, you can put them away because I don't want people getting annoyed by bubbles.

[04:32]

But I want you to just take a moment and notice the mood in the room. From my vantage point, I'm seeing some laughter, a little bit of joy perhaps. Some of you are poking bubbles. And just wanted to reflect for a moment and ask why. Besides the novelty of these clear little spheres of joy, I think we enjoy them because we know that they won't last. If they never popped, this room would fill up and it would be quite suffocating. So it's almost like the impermanence of the bubbles is what makes them precious. And, you know, similar to us, they have no fixed core. At least I'm going to try to persuade you of that. Only air and shimmer are held together by this very moment. They're great reflections of these things we study, like impermanence, no self.

[05:37]

And one question I've asked when observing these wonderful teachers are, do bubbles suffer? Do they share these three marks of existence, which I'll mention later? But at least for me, I think that the suffering or the sorrow is ours. The ache that beauty must vanish. And it's kind of one of our points of human conditioning. So maybe that our teaching isn't in the suffering, isn't in popping, but our refusal to let things pop. And some of you have heard me talk about this before, but I really do believe bubbles are like us. They come from the same solution, just as we come from a shared existence, the cosmos. And in Zen Mind Beginner's Mind, Suzuki Roshi says, when you see the water falling from the top of a waterfall, you will see many droplets of water coming down.

[06:40]

But it is all one water. Each particle of water is related to each other. You cannot separate one from another. Each particle of water has its own form, but it's also the whole river. And so each bubble, if you watched them, they take shape in flight according to causes and conditions of the space that they inhabit, the breath that filled it, the wind in the room or light shining through. And you'll notice some of these things will hang out for like 30 minutes. It's quite incredible. And to think about this, every bubble is filled with human breath. And if we really take this in, I know this has been brought up in Zen spaces before, the air we breathe now is not new. It's recycled and ancient. The same breath that came from Dogen's lungs, the same molecules breathed by Suzuki Roshi, by our ancestors, every living being that's ever existed.

[07:51]

So even as these bubbles drift for a moment in the air, they're carrying traces of everything that's came before them in breath. And that's not an exaggeration or... or poetic exaggeration, it's quite literally science. The air on earth circulates endlessly, and we're literally breathing in each other. When we forget that, when we think of ourselves as separate, that's when the three marks of existence appear as suffering, the ache of loneliness, or the fear of change. When we remember that this breath connects us across time, that same impermanence that once felt painful becomes intimacy itself. So if you blow out some bubbles again, and this will be a little bit more apparent when you go into the sunlight, you'll notice that each bubble has kind of one reflection of light that's caught on the outer surface and one on the inner surface.

[09:03]

And to me, this is very similar to the two truths we speak of in Buddhism, the ultimate and the relative, kind of this inner and outer form and emptiness or silence and story. And both of these realities shimmering together in one fragile sphere. Bubbles and us, we both carry vastness and intimacy, holding our own inner world of colors, while at the same time reflecting all the colors around us. We're like that too, infinite inner life and ever-changing outer world. And usually we're trying to figure out how to configure the two. So it's a little sobering, but just like bubbles, we too will pop. Every single person that we love, and even those that we don't, will die. And it's interesting. Sometimes impermanence leads towards things like nihilism.

[10:05]

If everything changes, if nothing lasts, if everything is one, what matters? But the opposite is true. These three marks, as I'll get into a little bit more, can help us actually become more intimate, more alive. Going back to Suzuki Roshi's teachings, he said... Things are continuously growing or changing to something else. Nothing exists in its own form or color. And so bubbles remind us of this teaching. So we'll put the bubbles away for a bit, because even though I love them, somebody in here will get annoyed if you're blowing them the whole time. So I wanted to talk a little bit about these three marks. or sometimes previously translated as perceptions. And they are suffering impermanence and no self.

[11:08]

And every experience that we have as living beings carries these marks. Suffering because even joy can't last. Impermanence because... The way we hold and view things does change in no self because we can't track down that one thing that is exactly us. And if these three marks describe the nature of our experience, then practice, perhaps, and other life experiences offers the medicine for meeting them. And so it's really important not to just... think about these things kind of conceptually, which I did probably for the first 10 years or so of practice. But these antidotes to these perceptions are not at all intellectual. They're something that has to be realized through the body. And they're cultivated through steady, through practice.

[12:19]

And it's not something that we think our way beyond things like impermanence, but instead we learn to have stability within it. We don't analyze our way out of suffering. We meet it in the body and learn how to stay with it. And we don't solve the question of no self. We experience it directly through awareness that sees phenomena as arising. and passing without a solid center. And that's what practice trains us for. We learn to sit through clinging, inversion, anxiety, laziness and self-doubt, which are the classic expressions of dissatisfaction. And in doing so, a deeper sense of well-being is there to emerge. And when we practice, it's not to erase these marks of existence, but it allows us to touch them without turning away.

[13:22]

I'm a very big fan of science and love how it's kind of mirroring a lot of the things we've been studying for the last 2,600 years or more. But I was reading an article by Christoph Koch, who's a neuroscientist, and he says each of us lives in... inside what he refers to as a perception box. Out of the endless, infinite universe, our senses and brain let us only kind of take in a very thin slice. The box, I guess my box is kind of up here, I'll say, filters what we see, what we hear, what we taste, feel, and think. We believe that we're perceiving some form of reality, but... Really, we're perceiving our version of reality. So what no science describes as this perception box Buddhism has been describing for thousands of years through these three marks.

[14:28]

So suffering, impermanence, and no-self are not just ideas. They're the very walls and opening of our box. And this Zen practice is about expanding this box, softening its edges, sometimes even dissolving them. Going back to teaching from Suzuki Roshi, when you sit, you are not the same person as you were before you sat. You are a slightly changed person. The difference may be small, but it is there. So in Zazen, we allow things to be as they are. And in that letting go, that presence of being, we become more intimate with these three marks. So I'm not just talking the whole time. I'm inviting you really briefly to just lower your gaze or close your eyes if that feels appropriate.

[15:34]

And to take a moment... Just to settle into this very moment and notice what is inside your perception box right now. What stories, habits, or worries fill its spaces? What doesn't make it through the walls? You can hang out here for a moment. I still have a couple more questions for you to ponder. But to widen that reflection a little bit, our perception boxes aren't shaped by only our personal stories or memories. they're constantly being filled with what we consume.

[16:38]

And that could be the media that we scroll through, the entertainment that we watch, or even the Dharma that we prefer to hear. You know, all of it forms and colors our box. So again, from that reflective place, just to ask yourself, Does what I take in expand my perception box or shrink it? Does it soften my judgments or does it harden them? Does what I take in cultivate curiosity or certainty? flooded with opinion, outrage, and performance, our perception box can become easily saturated with knowing, with criticism, comparing, or division.

[17:59]

So you can come back, or you can stay there. But this practice of Zen invites us to notice these things. To let in less noise and invite in more stillness. To create space again for unfiltered seeing. Going back to the words of our founder, if your mind is empty, it is ready for anything. It is open to everything. And so when our perception box is full of opinions, there's no room for the world to enter. And so expanding this perception box is not just an abstract idea. It happens in the body. And it also happens in moments when life cracks us open. And so I've had my perception box cracked open in ways that I didn't ask for.

[19:02]

Well, not entirely. So I wanted to share some of those. So the first one I wanted to share is when I was 12 years old, I remember my parents sitting me down and letting me know that my dad had non-Hodgkinson's lymphoma. And, you know, this is in the 90s, so to my 12-year-old self, I just heard death. And... You know, over the next eight, nine years, he would go in and out of remission until finally it was quite clear that, yeah, he would perish. And I remember living in a very closed box in dread for years, watching his body change, anticipating the inevitable. And even after he passed, I realized how long, it was quite far after he passed, where I realized how I had been living in a tight, fearful box.

[20:13]

And part of it, I think, was age and not being able to configure to it. But I remember at the time thinking, oh, the person that I was with that would later become my wife lost her mom to the exact same type of cancer at 12. So I kind of was like, oh, well, she, you know, lost her at 12. At least I had my dad until I was 19. Another aspect of good old bypass was that he died September 14, 2001. So three days earlier, you know, we had had quite a huge tragedy to our country. And so I, yeah, kind of folded in my grief into... I think, was more going on collectively. My mother, switching to the next story, was diagnosed with vascular dementia in her early 60s. And this was right before I turned 30 and actually had came to practice during that time.

[21:22]

I'm now 43, just to give context. And for her, the way that I met it was quite different. Like I said, a year or two after she was diagnosed, I came in to practice. And I remember one time in particular, I was at Tassajara during the summer. I'm sure some of you have been there. And I had gotten a call telling me that she had probably had a stroke and she was living independently at the time. And a family friend said, hey, you've got to come home and take care of the situation, help her get it established in an assisted living facility. And if you've been to Tosar, it's very remote, so I couldn't just kind of snap my fingers and get on a plane to Arizona. So the quickest flight I could get was the next day. And so...

[22:24]

That was that. That day I woke up in the morning and we were having a half day sit at Tassajara. And so the wonderful staff there told me I didn't have to participate, just take care of myself. But I chose to sit. And it was life changing. It really shifted the ground beneath me. sitting there and meeting my angst, my grief, overwhelm, all these things, and not needing to move or adjust from it. And furthermore, each visit after that, especially the last three years when she managed to stay on hospice through that time, every time I would go there, I would obviously think this could be the last time that I'll see her. While I was in the room, yeah, able to sit and be with all the different versions of her expression and her experience, along with my own.

[23:38]

I even sewed this okesa while there. Yeah, over time, the grief became a sort of presence. I could meet her as she was and not as I wanted her to be. So in both of these cases, the suffering was real. But the shift only came when I stopped resisting, when I turned towards what was happening, even though it was very painful. That's when the box would stretch. And again, the pain did not vanish, but the way I related to it did. When we resist impermanence, we fragment ourselves. But when we meet it, even in heartbreak, we can become whole. A beautiful quote, not Suzuki Roshi, but close enough, in the way of tenderness by our beloved Dharma teachers, Andrew Earthman Manuel, says, death, whether our own or others, can be a powerful gateway to complete tenderness.

[24:47]

The confrontation with the impermanence of all things is perhaps the widest gate to liberation from suffering. Facing death or dealing with death, our sight becomes clear. Parties and omissions are etched in a merciless light. Given the sheer quantity of death around us, Why not use this merciless light to better see who we are? So in a lighter note, around the same period, a couple of years before mom passed, another threshold opened up, the birth of my daughter Maya, which I wish I had a picture here. But holding her for the first time, the still wet, and warm in my hands. She came straight out over her mom, and I got to hold her first.

[25:49]

It was beautiful. Something in me dissolved. It was almost as if every idea of self loosened its grip. My mind and body opened. The boundaries that had kept me separate felt like they fell away. In that time, I'd been practicing in residence for... I think around a decade, close to a decade. And I thought I understood something about compassion from these years of Buddhist practice, but this was different. It wasn't the wish that all beings be free from suffering. It wasn't in more like an instinctive knowing that her life and mine were not too. It was love without center or edge. And watching her grow over the years moment by moment has been a teaching in impermanence that feels both ordinary and luminous.

[26:50]

In every laugh, every small letting go reveals how presence and change can coexist. And children are remarkable at showing us how to release anger how to forgive, how to return fully to the next moment. And in that, she teaches me how to meet suffering honestly and to forgive quickly. The current issue, so Vanessa, Vanessa, I'm forgetting her last name, at City Center right now is also a parent, and she was saying there's not enough teachings on this. being a parent, if at all, in Zen. But there is one that my friend Brian reminded me of in the Tenzo Kyokun, which is something that we study and chant in our Zen kitchens, speaks of grandparental mind, a mind that naturally cares for all beings the way a parent cares for their child.

[27:58]

And for me, this awakening did quite come literally through having Maya, the boundary between my breath and hers, my life and hers, felt permeable and shared. And having her during the time of my mom's passing revealed the full circle of life and death, the same stream continuing. So these experiences that I bring up, witnessing death and holding a new life, are bookends of my perception box. They keep teaching me that suffering, impermanence, and no self are not separate truths, but part of our one living process. And when I meet them fully, what arises isn't despair, but intimacy, a widening of heart that includes everything. So each of these moments, my pop's illness, my mom's long decline, and the letting go that followed revealed these teachings are not abstract.

[29:12]

That stability amongst impermanence is not found in control, but instead release. Well-being is not in the absence of pain, but in the capacity to stay present within it. And then seeing no self is not a philosophical insight. It's a feeling of life when it moves through you, unowned yet intimate. And not always so, another Suzuki Roshi book. He said, when you realize the fact that everything changes and you find composure in it, there you find... or find yourself in nirvana. So again, I'm going to allow you to do some reflecting. So if you'd like to cast down or close eyes, and just think for yourself, when has life forced your perception box to stretch?

[30:20]

Maybe through illness, grief, or loss. Maybe through unexpected love, joy, or beauty. How did it change the way you experience? Just to hold that for a moment. Bring it forth in your body. Maybe take a couple of breaths. So another, yeah, more, I guess, formal engaging of this perception box transformation. I wanted to speak about one of our central texts You can call it one of our Zen anthems, the Heart Sutra, which is a map of this.

[31:36]

Form is emptiness, emptiness is form. It shows us that what we feel is so solid is also transparent. That what feels so separate is also interwoven. And not always so, Suzuki Roshi says, When you understand form as emptiness and emptiness as form, you are not alone. You are with everything. To tell another short story, years ago after, well, it was during a Tassajara practice period in which we were studying the Heart Sutra. I spent probably the last couple of weeks of the practice period not... doing this kind of separate practice where I would recite it internally, almost where I lost maybe the formulation of words and just tried to experience this sutra from within.

[32:41]

And I remember in particular one time after Sishin, which is a dedicated time of sitting, it was I think a seven or a nine day one, so I was deep. but I walked out of the Zendo and went down to the work circle area, for those of you who are familiar with it, a nice little sunny patch, even on the coldest days, and just stopped and put my head up to the sun with my eyes closed, in case you go try this in a few, don't open your eyes, and had my palms out and just let the sutra recite through me. And, yeah, it was amazing. I just so vividly remember, you know, hearing the sounds of students walking on the ngawa, in the kitchen, I think prepping whatever lunch or whatever was next. Of course, I heard the squirrels and the blue jays, the crunching of the gravel, which those of you who have been there know.

[33:53]

and just becoming very aware of this cacophony of sensation, of color, of sound. And again, something shifted. Of course, it was not intellectual, but the body knowing that the sutra describes the permeability of perception itself. This box that I hold up here wasn't as real as I thought. And so that's why we chant that every day, not as a ritual, but as a practice in seeing through the walls of our own boxes. So I'm about at time here, but I can't close out a Dharma talk without bringing in some kind of koan. And... Suzuki Roshi, it's not from him originally, but he did commentate on it in the most recent book, Becoming Yourself.

[34:56]

And it's a koan from Zen master, Umam, who, and I'm going to really shorten it, so please, if you want to go for a full dose, do it on your own. But in short, he asked his students, I don't ask you about the 15 days before What about the 15 days to come? No one could answer. So Uman said, every day is a good day. And this is not a statement of optimism or bypassing, although I felt that way the first couple times I heard it. But it really is a shift in perception. Every day is a good day. Not because nothing bad happens. but because each moment fully met is complete. My teacher, Rinzo Roshi, wrote those words on the back of my rakasu, which is the little bib that you see some folks with.

[36:03]

Your teacher, it's customary for them to put a teaching on the back of it, and that's the one I received. And every time I put it on, I'm carrying that koan on my body. And it reminds me that it's not the day itself that is good or bad. It's the way we meet it. The size of the box we allow ourselves to live in. Again, what Suzuki Roshi says, for Zen students, a weed, which for most people is worthless, is a treasure. With this attitude, whatever you do, life becomes an art. So what would it mean for you to live if every day was a good day? Again, not in denial of pain, but in recognition of its completeness. So a practice period, which some of you are going to get into, is quite a bubble itself.

[37:15]

A unique bubble. and temporary container. And most of us spend our lives reinforcing our boxes with work, preferences, roles, different ways we like to edit life. But here in this bubble that some of you will be able to enter, we'll dedicate weeks to loosening these walls, to sitting still, chanting the Heart Sutra, studying things like the three marks, And this is not about achieving a bigger or better box. It's about seeing more clearly, living more openly, and relating more intimately. Suzuki Roshi says, when you bow, you should just bow. When you sit, you should just sit. When you eat, you should just eat. And if you do this, the power of practice will appear. And again, as you take these bubbles out with you, remember that they're part of a long, historical, ancient stream of people breathing before us.

[38:26]

Dogen, Suzuki Roshi, all the beings that have practiced before us. Know that your sitting is not separate from theirs. Your breath is not separate from theirs. So as you go on to your day or into this practice period, just notice your box of perception. Notice when it feels small, then when it expands, and when it dissolves. And of course, remember when this bubble pops, as it inevitably will, May you return to the world with a more intimate way of seeing. May you carry with you the Heart Sutra, the Koan, and may you discover in your own body the truth of Uman's words. Every day is a good day. Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center.

[39:33]

Our programs are made possible by the donations we receive. Please help us to continue to realize and actualize the practice of giving by offering your financial support. For more information, visit sfzc.org and click Giving. May we fully enjoy the Dharma.

[39:59]

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