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. Evening. I'm going to start off with a little poem that is attributed to Kezan Jinji. And I'm not going to go into... the ins and outs of Kezan Zenji, but he is the founder of the second Daihansan big temple in Japan. There's a Heiji in Sojiji. He is the founder of Sojiji. And he is considered, well, Dogen is considered the father of Soto Zen. Kezan is the mother. And I invite you to Look that up if you don't know too much about it.

[01:02]

This weekend, they're going to be celebrating the 700th anniversary of Kazon in Los Angeles at that big celebration that they're having. So, maybe appropriate. This is one of my favorite little Zen poems. And sometimes I know what it is. Be like, I know what it means. And sometimes I don't. Abandoning myself to breathing out and letting breathing in naturally still me. All that is felt is an empty cushion. All that is left is an empty cushion under the vast sky. The weight of a flame. Abandoning myself to breathing out and letting breathing in naturally still me. All that is left is an empty cushion under the vast sky, the weight of a flame.

[02:03]

In a memory I have, and remember, a memory is not real. It's a carbon copy of Xerox, something that happened in the past that's no longer with me. But in memory, on a narrow road winding up the mountain above a monastery in Japan, I'm walking. I talk a lot about my experiences in Japan because it's one of my hundred-foot pole depths, you know, where, you know, there's no... Nothing underneath me. No knowing. No expectation. And I'm just out there. And for me, maybe not for everyone, that breaks something that needs to be broken so that I can let go a little bit.

[03:19]

So on this narrow road above the monastery, there are, or were, on one side of the road, a shiitake farm in the woods. And further on into those woods, you can hear, if not see, a stream that flows down the mountain. On the other side of the road is the mountain, gray and green. with vegetation, oftentimes just wet for no reason. The track was really easily walkable up to a point, but it could be dark and gloomy, smelled green.

[04:24]

Sometimes you could hear wild boar in the distance grunting or doing whatever they do. And very often we monks would walk up this mountain trail for exercise and a little quiet or a little, well it's always quiet, but a little alone time. The track was made for these little white trucks of the farmers who were working those shiitake farms and fields. So it wasn't very wide. I don't know if you've ever seen all those little K trucks that they have in Japan. They look like giant hankas. But... So I'm walking there, and at a certain point on this track, the scene changes.

[05:35]

The trees start to get lower and lower, you know, as the path goes higher. And the stone, as I recall it, changes quite a bit. It changes from this gray sort of muddy wall. To a lighter color. That in the sunlight. Seems bright yellow. And the track. Seems to get narrower. And that changes too. The stone. Looks soft. And crumbling. And at some point. It goes above the trees. You get above the trees. And the water. Is down below. I'm not sure where it came out of the mountain or how it comes through that, through what crevice. But you can hear the water far below. And on one side, there's the yellow wall, yellow crumbly wall.

[06:43]

On another side, there's nothing but air. I always stopped, you know, well before I got to this place in my walks. But one day, I saw ahead of me one of my brother monks going ahead and going up further up the mountain onto the cliff, what looks like a cliff face. He's walking pretty briskly. He's a tall man. And I could see. I'm going to say cords, but the ties of his family flapping in the wind as he's walking. And I said, I can go there.

[07:45]

He went, I can go. And I started to follow him. Now, have a severe fear of heights. But that doesn't mean that I don't want to see what's the view from that cliff face. I'd rather see a picture. But something in me just wanted to try. So I kept walking. And the road gets narrower. And the funny thing is that you could see tire tracks on this trail where these little trucks have been rolling up there. And there's like this much space, you know, just inches between the set of tracks and that steep drop. So it's not that big.

[08:47]

You know, it's not that big a road. And I got there and I went maybe... far enough to really clear the trees. And you could see where on the side of the drop where the rock was crumbling. It looked so precarious and so dangerous. Even though it probably wasn't as dangerous as it was making me feel it was. And I got there and I got to the middle of this cliff, looking out, and suddenly there was nothing. You know, the road's still there, you know, but it felt like nothing. And I just kind of backed up against the wall. And I could see out over the trees.

[09:48]

I could hear the water rushing below. And the sun beaming onto my face as I kind of clutched that yellow rock. And I saw the clouds, you know, passing overhead. It wasn't so high that we were actually in the clouds. But I could see them overhead. And I looked up. And there was a lot of talk. You know, in the monastery, they called us in sweet clouds, shifting clouds. And that's what, you know, I thought it was supposed to be, but I wasn't that day. When I got back down to the monastery, I actually made it back down. I won't see. I'd still be hanging on to that cliff, I guess.

[10:49]

I wouldn't be here. I later wrote a letter to my teacher. And in that letter, I wrote the phrase, I think I'm too heavy for this life. Because as I walked down that mountain, the fear and the feeling of unworthiness, feeling like a coward, of not feeling capable of continuing. And then that feeling, you know, not just the feeling of not continuing on that road, but just not, you know, total lack of confidence. Who was I to even be there?

[11:51]

Why was I wasting my time? It was so heavy. And I can remember that view, scary as it was. And I'm glad I saw it, scary as it was. And I felt that sun on my face, on my body, out there, and I felt the wind whipping through my clothes. But that day I couldn't go but so far. What I'm trying to say there, I think, you know, practice is never a solitary thing, you know.

[13:05]

Even if I sit in Zazen alone in my apartment or in the mountain, I'm not cutting myself off from the world and the conditions. Zazen is an effort to do the opposite, you know. to drop the boundaries and the shields and be vulnerable. It's letting all the connections connect, including connections to falling rocks, wind, and rain, and balancing on the edge of existence, standing on the precipice, and feeling that wind and the weather, and feeling that maybe a little lack of confidence, and feeling also, you know, and watching my brother walk his path, feeling that encouragement, that inspiration from others, small inspirations sometimes.

[14:23]

Don't be scared. Come on. It's really not about being strong or being courageous. You can be all those things. It's more about standing upright with your clothes flapping in the wind and being sure-footed on that path. Not carrying anything. Not carrying fear or courage. You know, who you're supposed to be or whatever. Your body and mind dropping away like a cloud. That takes a long time to cultivate in this practice.

[15:28]

I'm still scared of heights. but I know I have to look. I know I have to go up there and look. I may not get all the way down the path at one particular time, but maybe a little farther next time. Another, what do I put it? Another experience that I had on the mountain, I wrote about much later. Again, old memory, not real, but still in. Now, I hope I'm not going to take up too much time reading this, but let's see. On another day, doing that same kind of walk that I just described on the mountain.

[16:37]

I peered down at the gravel at my feet on a narrow road above the monastery. A gigantic blue worm writhed there. Its dimensions more like a snake than a worm. They have these big, giant worms that are just really, they're amazing. They're really long, you know. Gigantic blue worm. Dimensions more like a snake than a worm. The creature was just going about its business in the rain-soaked forest near the shiitake farm. I was just going about mine, I thought, when its strangeness stopped me in my tracks, like nothing I'd ever imagined could exist. Terrified and fascinated, I was in wonderland. I was finally here on Earth with all its possibilities. When I came to myself... stepped over the worm, and continued my afternoon stroll back to the temple, I kept looking down for more monsters.

[17:44]

I encountered no others that day, but I knew that amazing being was not the only one. I knew there were other strange creatures behind the trees that had not yet been a part of my consciousness before I made it to Japan. As magnificent as a worm can be, I'm not trying to compare myself to this worm. However, I am also accustomed to being perceived as strange, as the strange one, regardless of whether or not I am in my natural environment. I'm a descendant of African peoples living in America. I'm a Buddhist. I'm a woman. All of these statements have some meaning for whoever. joy, pride, self-defense, falling into mental, physical, financial, social abysses, and climbing out again and again. It has meant crossing the road.

[18:49]

Work. It has meant crossing the road, minding my own business, and finding myself the object of someone's disgust, fear, fascination, ignorance, apathy, violence, or just plain disregarded. Up on the mountain above the monastery, I experienced freedom. I belonged to no race, no nation, no planet. My existence prior to the monastery had been defined as shy, black, female, poor. On the mountain, I sang to the top of my lungs and listened to that voice echo over the rice fields and temple roofs like a bird's call, and I was nobody's anything. And I was just like that worm. And I felt, you know, I'd never seen the worm again. I've seen pictures of it because I've tried to explain to people what I'm talking about, a blue worm, you know.

[19:49]

I never saw that worm again. I never saw another one. But just the understanding that the two of us were on that mountain together, you know, strange as we both are. And that we were that mountain. Think about the forest and all the things that you can't even see that make that forest. Crazy looking worms. I don't have any idea what the function of this worm is. Maybe it's just there for the beauty of it. Or maybe it's holding the whole mountain together. The worm and its other buddy worms and all the other animals and people. And plants that make the world, holding it all together. And I was one of those beings that day with that great worm. We talk a lot about identity, you know.

[20:51]

And I'm talking, you know, this month about no self. And how harsh that is to some people's ears. No self. We spend a lot of time trying to figure out who we are and try to tell other people who we are and trying to avoid other people's interpretations or rather correct other people's interpretations of who we are. Sometimes succumbing to ideas of who we are as women, as men, as Americans. Gay or straight, you know, what does that mean? Does it mean a thing? Because regardless, this is. This is. Deal with it. Love it.

[21:52]

Use it, please. Receive. I kind of received a little lesson. Well, not a lesson, but again, an inspiration from that one on that mountain. That this is strange as it is. And in that brief realization, because of course, ego, starts again. There was a freedom that I'd never felt before. A freedom that meant that, you know, I wasn't shy.

[22:56]

You know, I talk so much, people don't believe me, but, you know, I can easily go sit in a corner and hide from you all, all day. Ego. I was a kid. My grandmother used to tell me stories. She'd been looking for me all over the house. And I'd be under the table. Quietly playing. Because there are people out there. There are, you know, times when I still come to this wall that says I'm not supposed to be here. Well, who else is supposed to be here? I remember standing in this room years and years ago when I was first ordained, early part of my ordained life, and Daigaku Rume, Reverend Rume, was here.

[24:05]

And I kept standing in the back with my robes on. And one day he just pulled me into the first row of the rear bond. I said, I don't think I'm supposed to be up here. Who else is supposed to be here? And it was just like a, that was that Dogen, you know, slipper slap. You know, one of them, one of many for me, you know. Who else is supposed to be here but us? but you. It's a great weight that we carry that keeps us from floating like clouds in this practice, in this life. You know, carrying everybody's expectations about who we are and what we're supposed to be doing.

[25:09]

And whether this practice is working. And this and that. Yeah. Of course, I'm diverging from my script. I try to stay on it, but that's okay. My form, function, mind. Life is changing all the time, just as those of every other being around me. We are constantly becoming because of each other. If there weren't so much resistance, this might just be fun. I don't know where I was going with that. I'm glad y'all can't see my notes. You know? A gentle flame has some weight in the world.

[26:14]

I looked it up. It's like 0.3 something. I don't do numbers. But it actually has some weight in the world. It burns and it warms for however long it exists. It flickers and floats and dances. It lights the bit of the world that it inhabits. And then it's gone. But as it does all that, it sheds the fuel and the energy from which it manifests. This body sits on the cushion, moves through the world, I hope. I hope I'm shedding its delusion. At least a little. emptying the fear and the identities.

[27:16]

Sitting, you know, in Zazen is not all. It's not, it's not a, not all. What am I trying to say? It's an action, it's action and inaction, kind of. It's, happening without happening. We think that this practice is not working because it's hard to see the effects in the world. Sometimes we feel And if practice is real, then everything we do, everything we do in the samsara is practice.

[28:26]

And as small as the flame is or as large as the flame is, it has some effect in the world. It affects everything around what I call I. So it's my most important, it's most important for me to make the greatest effort I can in this practice. Shoah Gogomara, his father is good for nothing. And he's right. It's good for nothing. But in that nothing, it's not like it's, you know, we vanish. We disappear. We simply... We simply fold into... I don't know what to say, how to say this.

[29:36]

I'm going to throw up something silly here. But we simply... come into the big self. And so that flame warms everything. It spreads out to all of the beings to whom we are connected in this life with. Not even just this life, but lives beyond. And that helps to you know, us here. The way the sky holds the cloud, you know, the clouds are part of the sky. And the cloud holds the sky and the sky holds the cloud and the mountain holds the worm and it's holding me and the water and the shiitake and even those little trucks rolling up and down.

[30:37]

We are all part of that mountain. We are that mountain. That's the mountain. That's just it. I'm going up on it again. The weight of a flame. We are as light as we can be at any given time. And if we just, then the weight is not really, you know, real. The weight is here. One of the favorite images that I have is of Bodhidharma floating on a twig. Remember the story? He answered the emperor's question, and the emperor was a little upset when he said, you know, when he answered, who is this in front before me?

[31:49]

And Bodhidharma said, don't know. And then he just took off and went off to Yangtze, where the case says he goes. I can't remember. Lots of things right now. But I do remember the image of Bodhidharma, this great big old man with big eyes, you know, floating on the river on a twig. And I think, can I be that light? Can I just keep going? Flapping in the wind. Why not? So I keep trying. And that's what this is all about. Okay, I'm doing okay with the times at 825.

[32:55]

I think I'm doing okay. So I think I just want to close with when I go. close the talking part with this poem again. Abandoning myself to breathing out and letting breathing in naturally still me. All that is left is an empty cushion under the vast sky, the weight of a flame. So that's kind of what I have to say tonight. And I hope I haven't been talking too much. 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.

[33:57]

For more information, visit sfcc.org and click giving. May we fully enjoy the Dharma.

[34:06]

@Transcribed_UNK
@Text_v005
@Score_95.62