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. With the aroma of sandalwood incense wafting through the room, my mother passed away 18 years ago. As a scholar looking inward for another book project I turned her death into a major research process, focusing on the healing dynamics of ritualized activities in the Japanese Zen tradition. Losing my mother also launched me into the depths of intense personal experiences of grief, family turmoil, and mourning over no longer having her practical advice on how to raise

[01:00]

my son born just before her passing, nor share in the cooing and giggling with his every gesture. Instead, a solo parent, I was exhausted, caring for him by myself, teaching my university classes, and trying not to perish from too few publications. When I was reflecting on whether my personal experiences were appropriate or even relevant to bear for public consumption, I realized that I had not perished from not publishing in academia precisely because dozens of women willingly opened their hearts to my scholarly scrutiny. Moreover, in this poignant period of transmission and transformation of Buddhism, becoming integrated into the fabric of life in the West, I realize the contribution I can make is enriched, not hindered, by being a scholar practitioner who straddles Japanese and Western cultures.

[02:18]

So just as I have mined the lives of so many others to uncover gems of insight and healing wisdom, I decided in order to explore the possibilities of applying the 10 principles of healing I found operating in Japan to a Western cultural context, my own life was a reasonable place to begin. After all, in Buddhism 101, we learn that each of us must experiment with what tools will work for ourselves. Given impermanence, what works at one time might not be effective another time. And given interdependence, whatever one does has impact on our organismic whole. First, let me offer an overview of the 10 dimensions of the Buddhist healing paradigm I found effective in Japan. Experiencing interrelatedness, living body-mind, engaging in rituals, nurturing the self, enjoying life, creating beauty, cultivating gratitude,

[03:40]

accepting reality as it is, expanding perspective, and embodying compassion. Experiencing interrelatedness is the linchpin. It is distinct from comprehending interrelatedness, which is akin to the ecological model of our environment. Understanding how organisms and cycles of biological and chemical changes functions is vital information. But the conceptual knowledge per se does not carry the experiential weight to affect a transformational shift in the way one feels a process. It's like knowing that eating another cookie is not good for my health and well-being is not enough to keep me from indulging, especially when I'm stressed and tired. It is when I'm awake to the life pulsing through me and feel my connections to others, people, dogs, birds, flowers, that I loosen my grip on the cookie.

[04:55]

This is because we are living body minds that work in harmony, even when our bodies and minds seem to be at odds. Keeping the cookie thread going, and you are free to insert your own vice of choice, once it's in my system, the sugar in the cookie seems to know my name. As in mythology, knowing the name of someone gives power over them. So it is with the cookie. My mind struggles to win the battle and choose a carrot instead. Sometimes my mind succeeds and other times my sugar craving body wins. If I'm honest, however, I know both my mind and body lose when I do things that are at cross purposes with my true self, my no self. Engaging in rituals is an effective way to keep me in touch with my larger self.

[05:59]

And by larger, I'm not referring to the me of whom too many cookies knew my name, but the me that is expansive in its awareness of its integral connectedness to all phenomena in our cosmos. Ritualized actions, by definition, are movements encoded with meaning and import. we can choose what meaning and importance to cultivate and how to convey and embody them through gestures, words, sounds, and emotional valence. The key is to do that which can penetrate obstacles created by our fear, pain, and anger, and to unclog avenues of connection blocked by the residues of jealousy, self-pity, and shame. Drawing on beloved aesthetic qualities of sound, smell, and colors, being in a place you feel safe, and being with beings you trust, whether human, animal, or just yourself.

[07:15]

are often the elements that have the potency to help you cut through that which has clouded the way to experiencing your heart purely. Idiosyncratic and personal elements generate a space of intimacy where it is safe to be vulnerable. Vulnerability is the quality of being soft, flexible, and open. These are the necessary ingredients to dissolve the rigid attachments and isolating tendencies that infect the heart. This is the secret to why homespun rituals are particularly efficacious. As individuals and communities who aspire to be nurtured by the wisdom of compassion, we are aware of the opportunities and challenges in navigating this path. We live in an era where our global interrelatedness is the source of rich interactions with diverse peoples.

[08:23]

Indeed, Buddha's teachings and practices have taken root in our western soil and grew new fruit precisely because people traversed the seas and skies to share in the bounty of successful experiments with awakening and alleviating suffering. However, this transmission and transformation is not without complications to sort out. That's good news. Indeed, creating ways to integrate and adapt is the path. It always has been for each person throughout history. But we are at a particularly poignant moment of adaptation. After all, it is little more than a hundred years that the 2,500-year-old tradition of Buddhism has been cultivated in the West. Another type of challenge we face in nurturing ourselves today are the toxins leaking into our waterways and food sources.

[09:27]

Nurturing ourselves is not simple. Given our circumstances, nurturance has become more a matter of orientation to life than a matter of control and achievement. Nurturing oneself involves enjoying life, But this is no small feat when one is cognizant of the myriads of disastrous problems currently ravaging our planet. Communities and hearts. To say nothing of the ones we also know lurk just under the surface, primed to appear in the imminent future. A doomsday focus can help galvanize one to take action and care, but it is hard to sustain this type of episodic energy. Even if one can maintain it for a while, it often takes a toll on personal interactions and costs missing numerous moments of joy.

[10:35]

Zen Master Dogen's concept of time can be useful here. For at least fear of the future can be set aside for now. And with this concept of uji, or being time, resonant with the scientific description of space-time continuum, one is where one at. In other words, fretting over a matter you can do nothing about in the present time and location is not helpful and it certainly compromises your ability to enjoy life. This does not mean to not care because caring is a deep source of joy. Rather, mindfully do what you can do in current conditions. which is an intrinsically joy-producing activity. Another intrinsically joy-producing activity is creating beauty.

[11:37]

Beauty-making is a powerful force. It is among one of the most potent, invisible forces for actualizing positive change, along with compassion and love. Creating beauty is a harmonizing activity. It spawns an event that enriches the quality of everything in its midst. Beauty-making extends beyond the works of trained artists. It is in the way food is prepared with attention to nutritional value, seasonal and local availability, and concern for those who will eat the food. It is the manner in which the food is arranged on the plate perhaps handmade by a potter friend. How you carry the plate to the table can be a beauty-making activity, infusing the motion with respect for the food, appreciation for the dishes, and love for the people.

[12:47]

Cleaning the kitchen can also be done as beauty-making activity. Each utensil and pot handled in a spirit of cooperation generates a warm ethos that uplifts, whereas clanging them in a mood of resentment reverberates tension. The difference in volume of sound might not be significant, but the difference in quality of heart is dramatic. Approaching an activity as an opportunity to create beauty, or not, generates waves that ripple through spacetime, affecting the contours of our reality. The trajectory is shaped by the invisible forces that drive the quality of the action. Beauty can be created with any ingredient, in any condition, at any time.

[13:49]

because beauty is only dependent on what one chooses to activate in one's heart. Cultivating gratitude is a reliable way to access the sweet spots in one's heart, even when tired, stressed, and angry. With a little attention on the here and now, there are always things for which to be grateful. The list might be whittled down to having enough oxygen content in the air to effectively respirate, enough potable fluids to hydrate, and enough neural synapses to think about air and water, but it is not nothing. Indeed, the list of conditions for survival is shockingly short compared to the list of things that can threaten survival. This thought alone can be contemplated as a tool to cultivate gratitude.

[14:54]

For a relatively modest effort, the payoff is significant. When grateful, it's easier to perceive beauty. Everything seems lighter, so it doesn't take as much strength to get through the day. Anger cannot congeal. So you can't even complain about dirty dishes piled in the sink or an unrealistic deadline at work. Instead, appreciating that one has food to dirty dishes, dishes to dirty, and a sink to put them in fuels one's heart. Having a job that requires advanced thinking and responsibility bodes well for affirming that one is competent and contributing to a greater whole. In short, gratitude is a direct path to healing many woes. But woes are many. And accepting reality as it is is no mean feat.

[15:59]

Waiting for test results to come back to get an informed diagnosis of a condition that is quietly formed a shadow over you, sapping your energy and stealing your concentration is nothing compared to receiving a diagnosis that there is no cure for your condition. Healing, though, is not about cures. Healing is about dissolving obstacles that appear to be in the way of experiencing everything as integral to the dynamic flux of our interrelated whole and connection with all and everything. Gratitude can help you get into the ballpark, but it is the tough pill of accepting you can't always get what you want, or sometimes, even worse, accepting things you got but don't want.

[17:03]

That is the power to liberate. Expanding one's perspective is often the only way to see through the fog and accept things that appear unfair, undeserved, cruel, and tragic. When looking narrowly with fearful eyes, the greater web of interconnectedness is out of view. To look from a larger vantage point is not to diminish the seriousness of a situation, but it helps to contextualize it. it helps one continue to feel that one is an integrated part of a greater whole, which protects one from falling into a lonely abyss of despair. To lose sight of one's true identity, a vital force in a luminous dancing flux of interdependence, is a recipe for suffering. the most effective antidote to suffering is to embody compassion.

[18:09]

Embodying compassion sounds lofty and only for those who are adept at maintaining an equanimous mind when otherwise well-intended and committed do-gooders are leaking stress with each gesture, glance, and uttered word. But I have come to see that I elevated compassion as a defense, an excuse to not engage the present moment fully or to take seriously that I too am Buddha nature. One of the most down to earth and pragmatically oriented Japanese elder women I worked with in my healing research said something profoundly wise one afternoon that transformed my way of thinking and seeing myself. She reflected out loud, I know I am healed when I am kind.

[19:12]

I suddenly realized that healing is a choice we make in each moment. It does not require decades of zazen to offer a warm smile. Pause to choose words that are not or place a pair of glasses gently on the table after locating them for an elderly loved one who has misplaced them for the 17th time that week. It is not only the people who are clearly bodhisattvas living in our midst that bear responsibility to be compassionate and help others heal. For healing is a way of living. We are healed each time we choose to be kind. It's as simple as that.

[20:16]

All of us can do it. But we don't. At least, we don't all the time. This is not a problem to our unique socio-cultural context of importing and transposing a tradition to be effective in a new place. There is a 2,500-year-old tradition precisely because in each era, each place, each person must figure out that which helps them live out of the purity of their heart. or as Dogen would say if he spoke English, actualize your Buddha nature. This is where homespun rites woven into daily life can help. No formal training is required, just some creativity and thoughtfulness. The ritual implements our everyday objects and common materials, such as cleaning cloths, teacups,

[21:22]

and a bit of designated space and time. It is not a matter of a right or wrong way to spin a healing right. You know you have spun a fine right if you gain a sense of wholeness and balance in the midst of illness, anguish, and loss. And you choose to smile when you wake up in the morning. Creating sacred space inside the home is a well-tested experiment in Japanese Buddhist practice and it is likely to be effective in Western homes for similar reasons. I advocate experience with creating a space in the home dedicated to ritualized interactions and conversations. For the need to be heard, understood, and feel safe transcends cultural distinctions. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, I too respond to cues in my environment.

[22:27]

So I try to rig my environment to predispose me to express my Buddha nature rather than my impatient and frustrated nature. Of course, it's not my environment's responsibility when, not if, but when, my Buddha nature does not make an appearance. The primary feature that helps establish sacred space in my home is a home altar. Although a special physical space is not required to express one's Buddha nature, its presence is helpful for encouraging the body-mind to stay in sync with its deeper commitments. the Japanese practice of home altars reflects the range of circumstances and needs of each family, whether it be a large wealthy family that can designate a separate room with a highly refined altar or a single person family in a studio apartment in a corner of a desk designated as the altar by virtue of having an incense burner, candle,

[23:39]

sometimes a vase of flowers and a small Buddha statue carefully arranged. An altar in a separate space can have potent power to enable one to instantly immerse oneself and get a reprieve from competing and confounding stresses. It is also more conducive to weaving more seated meditation into the day. Depending on the home circumstances, The privacy can facilitate more honest conversations with oneself or a Buddha, famous or personal. Because one can relax into vulnerability without having to be concerned about anyone else's feelings or schedules. Having an altar in a high traffic location has its benefits too because it imbues the rhythm of life with an everyday kind of sacrality.

[24:41]

If it's in a part of the home where people gather, like a dining room or living room, the Buddha is part of every conversation. Of course, the quality of the interaction varies from time to time and who is present. Wherever the altar is located, one can train oneself to respond to its silent, non-judgmental invitation to be fully aware of the present moment, which includes the Buddha nature in oneself, loved ones, and those with whom you have a complicated relationship which can be overlapping categories. An altar creates a safe place to grieve, relieve stress, and be deeply listened to. It offers natural opportunities to acknowledge important moments in life, from births, deaths, marriages, divorces, blending families, coming of age, empty nesting,

[25:56]

stress at work or in relationships, chronic disease, or a terminal diagnosis. A home altar can be a particularly reliable place where you can receive an unconditional hug from a Buddha. I realize I sound like I'm trying to open a new market for selling home altars, but I assure you I have no warehouse of altars that I'm trying to make a profit on. I do have a little more advice, though, for those who want to create a home altar. If you want a Buddha image in your altar, it is most important to get one with an expression that touches a tender part of your heart. It's also important if you have an option to choose a bell that has the sound you find warming and calming. If you burn incense, also choose a scent that invites an open focus.

[27:02]

Although what you perceive through your senses can inflame desire and intensify negative mental states, the aesthetic refinement cultivated in Japanese Buddhist practice has excelled at transforming sensory experience into an opportunity to accept the impermanent nature of reality. Instead of change being the cause of suffering, ephemerality can be the basis of beauty. This paradigmatic shift in the relationship one has with one's senses is significant for ritualized activities. It is especially effective in a Dogen-based Zen orientation because of his distinctive interpretation of a Nirvana Sutra passage. He shifts the basic teaching, all sentient beings have Buddha nature, to the more thoroughly non-dualistic wording, all existence are Buddha nature.

[28:08]

By not privileging the mind over the body as is implicit in sentience, the body and mind are understood to move in concert, at least when actualizing Buddha nature. In this mode, then, we are not fettered by bodily senses that are driven to lead us down delusory paths that we must barricade off. Senses rather can open up avenues of connection to the interconnected web of Buddhas. Each bird we hear is Buddha singing. Each aroma that wafts through an open window is the smell of enlightenment. Each person we greet has the face of Buddha. Therefore, when I sit in my home altar, gazing on the sublimely smiling face of thousand-armed kannon and hear the resonance of the bell ringing, I settle in as the incense swirls around me.

[29:17]

In this, I am a well-trained dog. I have made myself into a being that behaves calmly when I smell certain scents, hear a particular sound, and see certain objects. In these my senses are my friends, not my enemies. They are liberative tools that I consciously employ to assist me in activating my Buddha nature. Just like friends, it is their specific qualities that are endearing. I chose the particular khannon in my altar for several reasons. The primary one is that my then pre-teen son wanted it. The value of money paled in comparison to the value of embarking on parenting a teenage boy who was moved by this exquisitely carved boxwood condone whose thousand arms were effectively suggested by the intricate tools she wielded into her hands too numerous to quickly count.

[30:31]

Perhaps it was that he had just become conscious of the connection he had with this particular kannon, for we had recently gone to a temple on our pilgrimage in Japan that highlighted the Buddha or Bodhisattva heralded for protecting those in each year of the Chinese zodiac. We are both mice, not rats. And 1,000 armed kannon is ours. When such a dualistic cultural construction helps my loved ones and me, I suspend philosophical analysis in favor of anthropological wisdom. This particular construction helps one feel more intimately cared for in an otherwise vast universe. Our beautiful kanon has indeed been there for us. Let me step back in time a little bit to share one of the most poignant moments involving a home altar.

[31:38]

It was in the afternoon about a month after my mother passed away. The altar had become my refuge. Sometimes I would just sit in front of it and ring the bell. Absorbing the so-do's and teaching that one is fully enlightened upon death, At times, even lighting a candle and incense was more than I could manage. To say nothing of making it through a round of the Heart Sutra. My dog would usually come lie down nearby. The rhythm of our daily life for our family, me, a baby, and a golden retriever, was colored by the hues of grief but I so wanted to be happier for my baby. What could he know of death and the loss of one's mother?

[32:40]

My nine-month-old son had just mastered crawling forward. He was napping while I was in the kitchen preparing lunch. Our altar was in the far end of a formal dining room. which was about 60 feet from where he lay on the pastel green afghan my mom had crocheted for him. Then suddenly I heard the altar bell ring. No one else was home. Could the dog's tennis ball have bounced up and hit the bell? I walked into the dining room and around the table to see that Kenji, had managed to crawl down a very long hallway in his light blue onesie and had reached up, grasped the little wooden stick covered with purple brocade, and was striking it against the bell.

[33:44]

In that moment, our family became whole again. Literally. that baby taught me that death is not a barrier to love. The altar became an active member of our family. We'd go there and tell grandma, and then eventually grandpa too, about the highlights of our day. Kenji took his first step on his birthday. April Fools, no really, he was born on April 1st. My book got published. When Kenji went to bed tonight, he said, Denki, off. I was surprised he did not resist bedtime and knew it was time to turn the lights off. For Kenji's fourth birthday celebration at preschool, he chanted the Heart Sutra, complete with mokugyo and bell, all by himself.

[34:49]

I wanted to do it. The litany has not stopped, but I will only share two more moments. Kenji was two during the year we were in Nagoya, gratefully having funds to rent a furnished apartment. When obon rolled around, we were able to get grandma, beloved traditional Japanese confections that were not available where we lived in the US. So with a sense of delight, I placed them on a thin wooden dish and asked Kenji to give the sweets to grandma. He went to our makeshift altar, rang the bell, then said, please eat. We had so much fun those three days. If there had not been a ritual to roll up the flowers and special offerings, offering dishes in a grass placemat, tying it together in the shape of a boat, I would not have wanted to let Grandma leave.

[35:58]

After dinner, we went to the temple and cast the boat into the bonfire to send ancestors off. These days, the waterways cannot accommodate even the organic offering remains, so many temples use the potency of fire instead of water. To mill the temple grounds lit by the fire, everyone bowing slightly when passing others along the walkway made it clear we were not the only ones who had to say goodbye to a loved one. With a bit of a heavy heart, we went home. The ethnographer in me was amazed that I could feel so deeply both the special time of ancestors returning for Obon and leaving again. If my mother is a Buddha residing in the altar every day, why did it matter that we had to say goodbye?

[37:03]

Our little apartment felt extra quiet that night, though. The next morning, my inner researcher was again surprised. Chanting the heart sutra at the altar before getting Kenji to daycare was normal. Grandma was there, as always, quietly listening and watching out for us. I chuckled to myself. Even when I mistake the finger pointing to the moon for the moon, the moon still shines. With all the currents competing for Kenji's 14-year-old attention, I decided I was not helpless. I could do something to balance the forces pressing in on him via technological portals, advertisements, YouTube, and engines that search in places he would not otherwise know exist. We had done the traditional Shinto right for acknowledging his full entry into the human realm when he was three.

[38:06]

And I realized we needed another right to welcome him into the realm of being a teenager in the digital age. Lack of a tradition notwithstanding, I invented my own. Marking the eve of him getting his first cell phone, we went to the altar. With a seriousness of intent, he mindfully sat centered in front of Kannon, left hand raised in a half-gasho to indicate respect, he bowed slightly as he lit the candle and incense. Even though I usually intoned the bell and he kept the beat with the wooden mokugyo, just like preschool, he chanted the Heart Sutra all by himself. He then took one of the 18 blank cards I had prepared, 18 being the number favored by Khamnon, and wrote a word on it. For this part of the ritual, I had almost made a major mistake, which would have resulted in a significantly different event.

[39:17]

I was going to write the 18 qualities, I thought. he should cultivate to navigate this period of growing up. I left the cards blank just in time for him to start making his own decisions about what kind of person he wanted to be. Completing the writing, he used two hands to place the card on the altar, rung the bell, and stood to make a full prostration. With forehead to floor, palms raised upward, he vowed to cultivate understanding. He quietly reached for another card, thoughtfully wrote, mindfully wrung, confidently stood, respectfully bowed, and vowed to cultivate wisdom. Solemnly he repeated the ritualized motions, in turn vowing to cultivate

[40:20]

determination, forgiveness, generosity, courage, balance, strength, kindness, helpfulness, love, compassion, bravery, caring, and gratitude. Although these were all qualities I would have chosen myself, I was getting a little nervous at this point. There were only two more to go, and I had wanted so much for him to be conscious about being accountable for his own actions. As if he could hear me think, he wrote the 17th card. But before ringing the bell, he looked my way. This was his first break in ritual form. An impish grin flashed, ring, stand, bow. I vow to cultivate responsibility.

[41:23]

He knew it would be more poignant to have that one toward the end because he knows I am nothing if I'm not serious. Though relieved his conscientiousness was active, I still scoured my mind, wanting to be sure that there was not some last vital quality he might miss. Though I had vowed to bite my tongue and let him do all the choosing, I was internally a fluster, wondering about what critical quality must be included. With gravity weighing heavily in the air, he took the final card. It was sinking in that I had almost lost this incredible opportunity for him to demonstrate his growth and for me to find out who my son was. He wrote extra, slowly. With focused attention, he placed the card on the altar.

[42:26]

A round peal of the bell filled the room. Moving deliberately, he rose for his 18th full prostration. Palms lifted in a gesture of ultimate respect, he managed a monotone as he uttered his final vow, don't forget to be playful. Success, the child had become the teacher. Just as the transmission of teachings between each parent and child is full of idiosyncratic patterns and is encoded with language, looks, and jokes that are effective precisely because they emerge out of shared intimate moments and specific constellations of fears and flaws, so too are teachings between master and disciple. Translating teachings communicate to new people requires a collaborative effort between those who already understand the teachings and those who are trying to learn them.

[43:41]

But those who already understand take the lead in assessing if the teachings are properly transmitted. Transposing ritual to suit a new context similarly requires a collaborative effort. but due to the nature of ritual, those who are in the new context are the ones who assess what is effective. This involves an evolving process of experimentation, creativity, and adaptation Inherent in the dynamics of ritual activity, however, is an impulse to replicate traditional ways, for it is the inertia set in motion by the past that buoys those in the present. Ritual is the catalyst for connecting to a vast network beyond oneself. Yet, mere imitation has limited capacity to do transformational work.

[44:45]

of ritualized activity. Moving in a particular way will activate certain qualities of being for the body and mind both experience the motion. However, the more the body and mind actively engage with the aims of the ritualized activity, the more poignant the impact. Therefore, the transmission of ritualized actions involves customizing, especially as they traverse cultures and continents. The rituals must be tailored to fit the bodies of those who will perform them. For a sense of intimacy with the aesthetic elements of the ritual is vital to arousing holistic participation. to reach into the interstices of one's being where transformation occurs. The rhythm of sounds and motions, cadence of voice, aromas, images, and hues must have the distinctive constellation of qualities that make one feel at home.

[46:03]

Such force can then quietly ease a person into a safe space where vulnerabilities can be faced. One's malleability, then, enables one to move in the direction of ritual's encoded intent, which, for Buddhists across the spectrum of cultural and historical transformations, is to ease the suffering and flow with compassion fueled by wisdom. Each of the ten qualities of the Buddhist healing paradigm I found at work in Japan can be applied to any cultural context. The details of how they are interpreted and employed, however, best be determined by the participants. Cues from Buddhist cultures that already have long traditions can inform and inspire Some may find fashioning a home altar conducive to contemplating, integrating, and connecting to oneself and others, deceased or alive.

[47:15]

It is a matter of exploring where one feels safe enough to be vulnerable. Even though I am comfortable with a home altar, if I go to a friend's home altar to offer incense to her deceased spouse, It activates that part of me that awakens my heart, but I would never consider exposing my fears, problems, or shortcomings there. Even at a temple altar that I go to on a regular basis, I do not feel it is appropriate to expose my raw self. That is why a home altar is a powerful place for healing. The potential of having your own home altered as support even those who have not been raised with one is conceivably extensive. In our social context, coming of age is increasingly fraught with negative forces beyond a family's control. The family itself is often pared down to a fraction of a nucleus.

[48:21]

Rarely does a child share trials and tribulations with a large brood and or reap the benefits of intergenerational insights. A home altar can be a place where a child can relate to elders with whom they may have never lived, yet receive their wisdom, support, and love. In this way, deceased grandparents can provide a buffer as challenges are faced and amplify joys experienced. Or in the case of someone who lives alone, perhaps having lost family members through death or dysfunction, meaningful rituals of interaction at a home altar can dramatically reduce loneliness, perhaps even ameliorate the deleterous effects of a depressed spirit.

[49:22]

Established teachings and practice guidelines have developed over the millennia, and even as they fuel and inform each person on their journey of healing, each person must explore what is most helpful in the conditions of their own life. Communities can cooperate in discovering the qualities, skills, and practices that are most in tune with their specific subculture. Ritualized practices, in particular, require transposing as they move into new environments because rituals are most effective and meaningful when they are homespun with the textures, sounds, smells, aesthetics, values, assumptions, and idiosyncrasies of the people who create them.

[50:29]

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 Dharma.

[50:52]

@Transcribed_UNK
@Text_v005
@Score_98.36