It's a good coughing day, huh? I know at least some of you... I know at least some of you were here last week when I spoke about Suzuki Roshi and his teaching and the eight characteristics of Suzuki Roshi's teaching. So, although I am sure that many of you weren't here last week, I want to continue today with

[01:25]

that discussion. As I said last time, last week, the eight characteristics of Suzuki Roshi's way are, of course, completely arbitrary. I just made them up. And I'm sure that many of you, those of you who knew Suzuki Roshi and studied with him deeply and those of you who just read his book, also have your own thoughts about the characteristics of Suzuki Roshi's way. And of course, it would be no good to take my idea or your own idea too seriously. Like any Zen teaching, my words are only given as encouragement in order to help you, inspire

[02:29]

you, I hope, to find out for yourself the way to live your life wholeheartedly. And in Zen practice, this is always the point of our words, not to be telling you something that you should hold on to, but simply to encourage you to find out for yourself. I referred last week to David Chadwick's new biography of Suzuki Roshi, Crooked Cucumber. And in Crooked Cucumber, he tells the story of Suzuki Roshi and Miss Ransom. Miss Ransom was apparently a very headstrong woman. A very strong English woman with a pungent personality. And Suzuki Roshi was her houseboy when he was a student at Komazawa University. Miss Ransom, like many English people abroad in that era, was very certain of the way things

[03:39]

should be, of the universal applicability of the English worldview. And she was quite critical and not embarrassed to express her criticism of the Japanese way of life and the way of looking at things. Excuse me. As a good rationalist and a liberal Christian, she considered Buddhism to be an odd and picturesque form of Asian superstition. She thought it was a mild form of insanity of some sort. And with a good, you know, humoredly pointing it out to the people who would listen. So she had in her house a Buddha statue, which she kept. She was careful to let everybody know, not as a religious object of any sort, but as a

[04:39]

work of art. She could appreciate, you know, culture. So she had a Buddha statue in her house as a work of art. And she kept it in the tokonomo, you know, the alcove where you often hang a scroll. And she, just to sort of make the point that this was nothing special, no object of veneration, she would keep her shoes right next to the statue. And this careless disrespect really bothered the 21 or 22-year-old Shinryu Suzuki, a young Zen priest and student of Komazawa University, who, as I said, was her houseboy. But he knew her well enough to know that to try to speak with her about this and argue with her about why this was a bad thing to do was going to be pretty useless. So he never tried to do that. Instead, one day he began to make offerings to the Buddha in the tokonomo.

[05:43]

He would say nothing about it, only every day at a particular time he would make a cup of tea and offer the cup of tea ceremonially to the Buddha, making formal bows. Sometimes he'd put a flower next to the Buddha. He never said a word about it. Just every day, with devotion, he would do this. And, of course, Miss Ransom noticed, didn't say anything either. But one day she was finally, her disturbance over this got to her and she kind of blew up at Suzuki Roshi and demanded an explanation, why was he doing this? And then Shinryu Suzuki, the young man, young priest, explained then to her very carefully. And he had been practicing, actually, his English and his reading up, you know, so that he, when the time came, he would be able to make a good explanation of why Buddhists make

[06:50]

offerings to statues and so forth and so on, the meaning, the inner meaning of this and so forth, and he explained to her. And she actually appreciated his explanation and began, for the first time, to become interested in Buddhism as a spiritual practice and eventually began practicing herself. And this incident became an important turning point in Shinryu Suzuki's life. And he realized, through this incident, that it's not enough to just explain something, but rather it's necessary to do something and to do something with constancy and faith. And then, maybe if there's a little explanation, it might be worth something. So, whether there are eight or eighteen or eighteen thousand characteristics of Suzuki

[07:55]

Roshi's way, the important thing is not what we think about, but what we do. And Zen, as I said in the beginning, has always emphasized this strong emphasis on our actual experience. And this is because our mind is so interested in something all the time and then easily confused by that which it's interested in. Even the best, most correct ideas, most excellent and true teachings can be counterproductive if there is not an actual lived experience behind them, an experience that is an everyday experience ripening and deepening with each day and each month and each year. In Zen practice, we are certainly interested in the mind, we're interested in thoughts and ideas, but we try not to be led around by the mind like a bull, you know, led around

[08:59]

by its nose. We try to have a balance between mind and body and heart and spirit all working together in alignment. We try not to be too excited, too concerned about complicated ideas, complicated teachings. Actually, when our life is whole, all the teachings make perfect sense easily. When we do Zazen, we try to have our breath, our posture, our spirit, our attitude and our thought all aligned together into one whole being. So I always have to say this in the beginning as I launch into my wonderful description of the eight characteristics of Sukhya Rishi's way. I want to remind myself and all of us not to get too excited about it. So, I'll repeat the eight characteristics that I have distinguished in Sukha Rishi's

[10:09]

way. The first one is no expectations. The second one is faithful daily practice is enlightenment. The third one is no sticking to any teaching. There's nothing special to do or understand. The fourth one is Zazen is the most important thing in our practice. Zazen being Zen meditation is the most important thing in our practice and true Zazen is our whole life. The fifth is kindness and toughness are not two different things. The sixth is a close and loving relationship with a teacher. The seventh is wholeheartedness in all activity.

[11:12]

And the eighth one is paying close attention to the details of form for true freedom is found there. And last week I discussed the first three out of these eight. And what I'm going to do now is in very brief form for those of you who weren't here that last week I'm going to just a little bit make a few points about each one and then I'm going to go on to talk about the other five. So, the first one, no expectations. Everyone comes to practice with great expectations. We expect, I mean we may not be so clear about this in our own mind, but actually we have expectations. Somehow we expect maybe to get enlightened. We expect to become wiser, calmer, or even maybe we just expect to have some relief from

[12:14]

our suffering. I think that Suzuki Roshi appreciated the intensity that our desire for results brings to our practice. But he also saw that it was essentially wrong-headed because this kind of expectation is based on self-cherishing. We want something for ourselves rather than being based on a strong confidence in our Buddha nature. When we really appreciate the nature of our lives as Buddha, then we can have confidence in whatever occurs and we don't have to worry about improvement or achieving something. In the end, rather than expecting something, our practice is about letting go of something. And when we let go, we can be willing to accept every moment as it is, no matter what comes. And that's the way to find happiness, not only when things go well, but under all conditions.

[13:19]

And this is the essential thing, that we have a way of practicing that will bring us some measure of happiness, irrespective of the kind of conditions that arise in our life. So that's the teaching of no expectations. The second point is faithful daily practice is enlightenment. Suzuki Roshi, as I said last time, was an ordinary Buddhist priest in a small town. He was not an eminent, great master coming triumphantly to America. He sort of just showed up one day to work at Sokoji Temple in the Japanese-American community in San Francisco. And he did not emphasize brilliance or insight. Rather, he emphasized practicing every day. In his own life, he was an example of that. He was a very steady person, showed up to the meditation hall every day,

[14:21]

lived a pretty quiet temple life, did not travel all over the place, teaching here and there. And for him, enlightenment was not some experience in the future that we would have. It was to be found in the midst of this daily temple life. And he saw faith in the practice as its own reward, as enlightenment itself. And this faith, not in the sense of belief in something outside oneself, but in the sense of a growing, powerful confidence in the truth, the rightness of our own life, of our own widest nature. So that's the second one, faithful daily practice is enlightenment. And the third characteristic of Suzuki Roshi's way is not sticking to any teaching. There is nothing special to do or to understand. And I think I quoted last time my favorite saying of Suzuki Roshi.

[15:25]

Someone asked him, can you sum up the essence of Soto Zen? And he said, yes, not necessarily so. Over and over again, Suzuki Roshi made clear that there was no fixed teaching. Nothing at all to be identified or defined as the way or the one way. While truth itself may be quite clear, expression of truth is always changing, moment after moment, and it really is different for each individual. So to be established in the way is not to become an expert in some kind of ideology, but it is to have an awareness and a flexibility, and not to stick to anything. Although he always pointed out that there are various rules that can be quite specific,

[16:31]

various ways to practice, these are only provisional helps, not absolute rules. So in very brief form, that's what I said last week. I told more stories, but basically that was what I said last week. And now I'm going to talk about the other five characteristics of Suzuki Roshi's way. So the next one is a deep matter. Zazen is the most important thing in our practice, and true Zazen is our whole life. Suzuki Roshi, no question, he really emphasized Zazen practice. Sitting like this, physically, sitting on the cushion, up straight, and doing this every day.

[17:34]

And all of his disciples who are teaching Zen now, and there's actually quite a number of them all over the place, not hundreds, but I don't know how many, but a number, every one of them emphasizes this point in a very, very strong way. This was also an important point for Dogen Zenji. Dogen has an essay called Zamai o Zamai, which means King of Concentrations. The king of all concentrations. And in that essay he says the following, Sitting in the meditation posture vivifies a forthright body, a forthright mind, a forthright body-mind, a forthright Buddha ancestor, a forthright practice enlightenment, a forthright top of the head, and a forthright life stream.

[18:37]

It's interesting how Dogen writes, huh? When you sit in the meditation posture, the skin, flesh, bones, and marrow of a human being are made immediately vivid in the king of concentrations. The World Honored One, who is the Buddha, the World Honored One always sat in this meditation posture, and all his disciples correctly transmitted it. The World Honored One taught humans and devas, who are gods, how to sit in this meditation posture. It is the mind seal correctly transmitted by the seven original Buddhas before Shakyamuni Buddha. Shakyamuni Buddha sat in this meditation posture under the Bodhi tree for fifty small eons, or sixty great eons, or innumerable unclassifiable eons. Perhaps he sat for three weeks,

[19:42]

or perhaps only for a few hours. In any case, the Buddha sitting is the turning of the wondrous wheel of Dharma. In it is contained his lifetime of guidance. Nothing is lacking. The yellow scrolls and the red rolls of the sutras are all here. In the moment of sitting, Buddha sees Buddha, and all beings attain Buddhahood. So, in other words, it's all about this, you've got to sit like this. It's very important, very full. But, you know, this sitting is actually very simple. As I always say, it's embarrassingly simple. One would like to think that one had, you know, teaching this very complicated, very important thing, but actually it's really simple. Any baby could sit there like that, and they're doing zazen. There's really nothing to it in a way. Just to sit up straight, be with your breathing,

[20:47]

pay attention to your life, what could be more simple than that? And yet, as you gather from Dogen's words, and from the many expressions of Suzuki Roshi, everything is contained in this one practice. So, in a way, this is a very odd kind of thing, I think. Maybe you don't think so, but to me it seems really odd, and sort of counterintuitive, right? Because we think of truth or religion or spirituality as some, you know, very lofty thing, you know, deep and mysterious, and certainly not limited to some physical thing, right? Like sitting down in a certain way. And yet, Suzuki Roshi seemed to be teaching that truth means just to sit down in this way. This is truth, in this particular way. So, over the years, I can see that this is a very troublesome

[21:50]

kind of teaching, when you think about it, you know? Because it sounds like anybody who can't twist their legs up into a pretzel, you know, and sit still without moving for many hours, can't be doing Zen. Which seems like a very strange idea indeed, don't you think? I mean, what kind of religion is that, you know? Somebody who's sick, or maybe elderly, or disabled, they can't practice this religion. That doesn't sound right, you know? Don't you think? It's odd. One time, Suzuki Roshi scolded someone who he could detect had a superior attitude, because every morning this person woke up very, very early to go to the Zendo, and his wife was, you know, peacefully slumbering as he got up and got out of bed. And so the person was feeling, you know,

[22:52]

superior about this in a subtle way. And Suzuki Roshi told this person, if you think that you're getting up to do Zazen and your wife is sleeping in bed and not doing Zazen, then you really don't understand Zazen. True Zazen is not limited to a particular posture or state of mind. Real Zazen is ultimate reality itself, and ultimate reality is the actual essence of each and every moment of our lives, and of everyone's life. To sit faithfully is to realize this point. That is what Zazen is, to realize this point. So when we sit, we know that we are sitting with all beings. Not just I am sitting, Zazen. And when we get up, we know that Zazen is continuing.

[23:58]

So Suzuki Roshi's simple idea of Zazen, which is like Doga and Zenji's idea of Zazen, is very hard to grasp. And probably it's ungraspable. We have to practice particularly, specifically, with this actual physical body, with these legs and arms and lungs and heart, with our own body, not just with our mind, with our attitude, with our spirit, but with our actual body in all its detail. And yet, we have to realize that this specific body in its detail is not just our body. If we really understand the measure of this body, we find it is truly the whole universe. So we do have to do Zazen.

[25:02]

And I don't think there can be much Zen practice without Zazen. And yet we have to understand that Zazen is not actually Zazen. Zazen is really life. And our practice is not something foreign and strange, it's just our life. So my fifth point, characteristic of Suzuki Roshi's way, is kindness and toughness are not two different things. Suzuki Roshi, when he was young, and he grew up in a temple and was ordained when he was about 12 or 13, went away from home at that age to study with his teacher.

[26:06]

He underwent some pretty tough training. And his original teacher, Yokozawa, was a really tough customer. And if he were in our midst today, we might almost call him an abusive person. And we might wonder whether maybe there's something a little wrong with him. Maybe he should see a therapist. Maybe we would think that Suzuki Roshi should go to a therapist to work through his stuff, you know, with Yokozawa. And I don't know, maybe there's something to that. But Suzuki Roshi loved Soen very, very much and appreciated his guidance and appreciated his toughness. Always said, you know, how much he appreciated Yokozawa and Soen's toughness. I remember a number of years ago, someone told me, and who knows if these things are true, but I believed it.

[27:08]

Someone told me that the reason we got Green Gulch was, we got Green Gulch, you know, right around the time Suzuki Roshi died. And we got it because he thought we should have a farm. He thought it would be very important for us to have a farm. And why did he think that? Because he thought that when times got tough and there was no food, food was hard to get, we would be able to feed ourselves and feed others because we had a farm. That's why he thought it was important for us to have a farm. And this seemed to me an astonishing idea. You know, myself, an American, you know, born after World War II, it seemed almost unimaginable to me that there would be a time when you couldn't get food. But Suzuki Roshi knew about hard times, times when you couldn't get food. And in Zen in China, in the early formation of Zen,

[28:14]

in the first few centuries, there was a traumatic time when Zen was suppressed. Monks were thrown out of their monasteries and it happened to be also a time of political unrest in China with famines and uprisings and revolts and warfare. And the Zen school actually was founded at a time, because of the nature of the teaching, it survived, unlike many of the other Buddhist schools that disappeared during that period. So Suzuki Roshi and the Zen school itself were formed in the midst of these kinds of difficulties. And he knew that the Zen life, that our human life, in the long run, requires a great strength, a great endurance. But in this strength, in this toughness, is the truest kindness. For strength brings softness and constancy.

[29:18]

And real kindness is not just an emotion or sentiment or feeling, but it requires the ability to see things through, to see clearly and follow through on what you see. And this really does require strength. So effective kindness, real kindness, I think, requires a kind of strength. Most of the people who knew Suzuki Roshi loved him because he was very, very kind. And he did not consider himself to be a strict teacher. But he understood the virtue of strictness. And one felt that there was a very strong backbone in the midst of his kindness. That his kindness was not just sweetness or sentimental quality, but that there was something very strong behind it. So that's the fifth characteristic.

[30:21]

And the sixth one is a close and loving relationship with the teacher. And again, almost everyone who came into contact with Suzuki Roshi was deeply affected by the experience. And I find it so inspiring nowadays to listen to the warmth and the immediacy with which the people who studied with him years ago speak of him. Even now, 28 years after he's passed on, people speak of him as though it was yesterday. And I've gone, sometimes I go places, and every once in a while I'll meet somebody, some place far away, who all of a sudden, they'll run up to me, knowing that I'm from Zen Center, and they'll get this kind of look in their eyes, and they'll say, I met Suzuki Roshi, and I was at Zen Center for two weeks, you know, in 1968 or something like that, and heard him lecture, and I've never forgotten it, and it's still part of my life. It's still something that I wish I could follow through with more.

[31:24]

So he was like that. He had that effect on people. And he himself had several important teachers in his lifetime, and apparently he trusted all of his teachers, absolutely and completely. As I said a moment ago, his root teacher, Gyalko Jonson, I think we have to say, you know, being our most generous, that he was kind of a mean person. And he seemed to, in many cases, when Suzuki Roshi would express what he wanted, that's exactly what Gyalko Jonson would say, you absolutely can't have. Suzuki Roshi actually wanted to come to America in his twenties. And Gyalko Jonson said, out of the question. So he gave up the idea entirely. Didn't come for another 30 years, long after Gyalko Jonson had died.

[32:25]

But Suzuki Roshi always accepted these instructions and felt that surrender to his teacher was the best way to train. He also felt that despite Soan's gruff manner, that Soan loved him very much and actually was concerned for his welfare. So in Suzuki Roshi's way, because of his experience, there is a strong emphasis on the teacher-student relationship as essentially a mysterious and yet at the same time warm necessity. And without this relationship, the alchemy of transformation cannot occur. Because the teaching takes place not so much in words, but in some much more subtle imprinting, an almost physical communication that occurs

[33:33]

in the midst of living daily life together. A Zen teacher is not a guru. He or she is an ordinary person to be grappled with, as we have to grapple with everyone in our lives. And he or she will definitely have various rough edges, according to karma. And yet at the same time, the relationship to our teacher is not the same as other human relationships. Such a relationship is our opportunity to develop deep faith and trust in the Dharma. That's the point of the relationship. And we trust our teacher not as a person exactly, but as the Dharma itself. And the minimum requirement for a teacher is that he or she throws their life into the Buddhist house. And when we make that kind of effort to throw our life into the Buddhist house,

[34:38]

then we meet each other in the Buddhist house, not in our own house. So we might have all sorts of personal problems with our teacher or not. But if the teacher is true, and if our effort is strong, these personal problems actually don't matter that much. We ourselves find trust in our own Buddha nature through the relationship to a teacher. And when we trust him or her unconditionally, not as a personality, but as the Buddha, in other words, as our Self, our truest, deepest Self, then our Zen work is completed, which means it really begins. And we will always be grateful to our teacher, even if, as in the case of Suzuki Roshi and so on, there doesn't seem to be much overt affection in the relationship. Of course, you understand that with all these eight points,

[35:45]

we could give 1,800 lectures on each point, right? And not exhaust the point. So excuse me if I, by saying so little and misleading, ignore that which seems wrong to you, and just, if something seems useful, please use it. The seventh point, wholeheartedness in all activity. Oddly, Suzuki Roshi seemed to speak somewhat frequently about the nature of time, that time is not an unfolding of things in a linear or a cumulative way, but rather the purest sense of time is the depth and the completion that occurs on each moment. So to practice in time most truly, therefore, means that we would give ourselves completely in every activity, no matter what it is.

[36:48]

And he often used the word, again, quite oddly, the word sincerity, to refer to this completely doing one thing with our whole body and mind, no matter what our feeling about it may be. Zazen is the center of our practice, but Zazen is really just being ourself, and being ourself is being present throughout the whole universe on each moment of our lives. This is why we understand that everything that happens, everything that happens, every activity we engage in, from those that seem important to those that seem trivial, is decisive and complete. When we approach the world with our ordinary, ego-inspired mind, which projects a cumulative, linear sense of time, then we have a lot of evaluations about our activity. This activity is a good one, this is bad, this is important, this is not important, this is interesting,

[37:51]

that is not interesting, and so on. And these evaluations actually absorb our attention and make it very hard for us to be present with our activity. And even when we are present, because it's something we like, and we think it's important, even when we're present with our activity, there's some quality of attachment, and that quality of attachment is like putting on a pair of blinders, you know, like a horse wears, you only see part of the world, half of the world is not in view. But when we try to pay attention to our preferences without validating them, but just being aware of them, we see that all our activity is a field of profundity, and that any gesture, any activity, can bring up the whole of reality. And this is one reason why, the main reason why, we stress in our practice, work. Instead of studying profound texts, we clean toilets, and sweep floors,

[38:53]

and plant seeds, and fix machines, because we understand work as zazen itself, or we could say, work as a form of worship, or a form of devotion, or a form of making offering. And our favorite work, as we inherited from Japan, is cleaning. Every day, you know, in the schedule, in the zazen schedule, there's a period of cleaning, that everybody runs around and cleans everything. And Suzuki Roshi used to do cleaning practice a lot in his whole life, especially when he was young, and one of my favorite stories about him is the time that he, I've told many times, when he visited the Cambridge Buddhist Association, maybe you've heard this story, and he made a mistake, and he showed up several hours early, and when he got there, everybody was running around, cleaning the windows, and just cleaning everything up for this, you know, important zen master who was about to come, and he shows up in the middle of this activity, and he said, oh, and zen master's coming, we better clean up.

[39:55]

So he took off his robe and his kimono, he's cleaning along with everybody else, preparing for the famous, wonderful zen master who was about to come. And for me personally, cleaning practice has been very important in my life, mostly because it was something that I totally ignored, and thought was beneath my attention. But I learned from my practice that when I swept the floor, I was actually sweeping my own mind, and the whole world. And I know now that if I could put one corner of my room in order, with attention, then whole world systems, above, below, and all around, come into order. And nowadays, at Zen Center, and some of the old timers grumble about this,

[40:58]

but nowadays, we actually honor people's preferences, and we understand that sometimes, it may be difficult for someone to do something, and maybe they should do something else, because they really don't want to do something. So we say, okay, you know, do something else. And believe it or not, these days at Zen Center, people are sometimes asked to do a job, and they refuse to do it. And we say, okay, we understand your reasons, we honor that, so you don't have to do it. And I think that it's good that we practice in this way. I think this is a compassionate way. And it's proper. I think it makes sense that we would practice in that way. But, it would be too bad if we forget that in the end, what we're trying to do is to become liberated from our preference. Maybe we're not ready for that now, you see what I mean?

[42:00]

Maybe now, we actually would do violence to us, to override our strong sense of preference. That's okay. There's no shame or trouble in that. But let's not forget what we're trying to do, where we're trying to go, that we're trying to be wholehearted in whatever we do, accept whatever we're given, and completely take it on. This is our ideal. This is our goal. This is our aspiration and direction. And definitely, this is the way Suzuki Roshi taught us to practice. So now I'm down to the last one, the eighth one. It's nice to have these little things, one, two, three, four, you know. Then you know what you're going to say next, right? The Buddha had that, you know. In Buddha's teaching, he always said, the four this's and the eight that's. So anyway, the eighth one is careful attention to form as freedom. Suzuki Roshi was at pains

[43:03]

to teach his free-thinking, individualistically inclined American students in the 60s that being free to choose and to express ourself is actually not what it seems to be. In fact, true freedom is not found in the exercise of our preferential expression. True freedom is actually found in the spaciousness of our lives and full self-expression is found in whatever form appears. One time he said that when everybody wears the clothes that they like and sort of shows up with their own particular body language, he had a hard time seeing people's individuality. But when everyone puts on black robes and sits in a row on their cushion

[44:05]

in exactly the same way, then it becomes very clear the way that each person is absolutely unique. I know that this sounds like paradoxical Zen-speak, but I have found myself that it actually is literally true. By letting go of preference, which when you think about it is not our individuality, it's just habit and conditioning. By going beyond preference to our real, deeper individuality, we find our own particular spin on Buddha nature. It was with this spirit that Suzuki Roshi stressed the importance of form, of how to bow,

[45:06]

how to walk and stand with the proper decorum in the zendo, how to follow all the temple forms, how to strike the bell, how to do all the details of orioke eating. He always taught this, not because it was the absolute way of doing things, the best way of doing things, the Zen way of doing things, but because formal practice is a way for us to find a big openness inside, a truer kind of freedom than our conditioning would ever be able to produce. I know that a lot of people find Zen practice too regimented, too stiff, too formal. And it certainly looks that way from the outside. But actually, when the body can be guided with form, these forms, and completely merge with them so that you forget the forms,

[46:08]

there can be a soaring spirit of real freedom. And a real beauty, because the forms, once you harmonize with them, are beautiful. And so many of the forms of Japanese art that we love so much, tea ceremony, flower arranging, and so on, come out of this spirit of form of the Zen hall. So it's not that formal practice is the best way to live, or even the Zen way to live. It's just arbitrary. But I don't know of anything more effective in helping us to let go of our deeply conditioned nature, which is, after all, ultimately the force that binds us to our suffering. So formal practice works at the level of the body, at its most unconscious aspect. And ultimately,

[47:14]

if we don't touch ourselves at that level, the unconscious level of the body, I think it will be very hard to find our Buddha nature and to bring it to the forefront of our lives every moment. So this is what Suzuki Roshi was trying to tell people at a time in America when wild personal expression of all sorts was the thing to do. So I'm sure that he learned a lot about patience in those days. And he was patient with all the hippies and other kinds of people who would come into the Zen Do with their own ideas about how you're supposed to dress and how you're supposed to behave, thinking that Zen was beyond forms. But he was very patient and he seemed to be amused by what he saw. He was not a narrow-minded person.

[48:15]

So I think he got a kick out of the colorful variety of what he saw. And yet he also knew that right in the middle of this so-called freedom was lots of confusion, lots of suffering. And he knew that the only way to help them see that was to help them with the forms of the practice and let that work on people slowly and steadily. So that's what he would do. Not saying much, just gently, quietly, correcting, not complaining or getting mad at anybody. And little by little people did take to it. So that's my eight characteristics of Suzuki Roshi's way. And I know, again, like last week, see when you say eight, you have to talk about all eight of them and it takes a long time, so I apologize.

[49:16]

I thought about, if I said that there were six characteristics this week, would they remember that there were eight? I thought about that, but then I rejected that idea. So anyway, even though I've gone on a bit longer than I should, I don't want to leave without quoting you another section from Suzuki Roshi's talks as I did last week. My whole talk is a footnote to this. So here's a little talk by Suzuki Roshi given in the City Center in June 6th, 1971. If you live in each moment, you do not expect anything with everything, you become yourself. To feel yourself without any idea of time, even in the smallest particle of time,

[50:18]

that is zazen. If you are involved in an idea of time, various desires will start to behave mischievously. But when you have no idea of time, your practice will go on and on. This practice is not so easy. You may not be able to continue it for even one period of zazen. If you want to continue it, you must make a big effort. Maybe, though, you can practice extending this feeling moment after moment. Then, this practice eventually will be extended to your everyday life. How you extend the practice is to expose yourself as you are without trying to be someone else. You should be very honest with yourself and express yourself fully. You should be brave enough to do this. Whatever people may say, it's all right. Just be yourself

[51:19]

at least for your teacher. When your teacher says, OK, you should continue your practice in this way, you should try hard. And when your teacher says, OK, now you should continue that practice forever. You don't need me anymore. That is actual practice, the actual life of you. This is rather difficult unless you trust your teacher. But if you find out that your teacher's spirit is the same as your spirit, then you'll be brave enough to continue this kind of practice. Sometimes you have to argue with your teacher. Sometimes. That is OK. You should do that. But you should be ready to give up your argument when you are wrong, when you find yourself foolishly sticking to only one viewpoint or when you are making some excuse. That is how to be honest

[52:21]

with yourself. Then you should give up. I surrender. OK, I'm sorry. If you cannot accept what your teacher said, you should try to understand until you can accept it. You and your teacher are trying to have perfect communication. So for a teacher, the important point is always to be ready to surrender to the disciple. When a teacher thinks he is wrong, he should say, Oh, you are right. I was wrong. If your teacher has that kind of spirit, you should too, even when it is not so easy. If you continue this kind of practice, some people may think, He is crazy. Something is wrong with him. But it doesn't matter. We are not the same. Each one of us is different from the other and each one has unique problems. That's OK. You should be yourself. Unfortunately, you have Sangha. Sangha is not an umbrella.

[53:22]

No. Yes, Sangha is not an umbrella to provide shade which will protect you, but it is a place where you can have real practice. You can express yourself fully and you should open your eyes to appreciate others' practice and be able to communicate with others, without words, to appreciate them and to know them well. That is why we have rules or rituals. You may feel that no one knows your Zazen practice. But for me, it is the best chance to understand you, especially if I see you from behind. It is very easy to understand what kind of practice you have. That's why I walk around the Zendo. Not to hit you, but to see you. This is very interesting. If you are dancing or talking or making a big noise, it is rather difficult to understand you. But when we are sitting together, each one sits in their own way. I am going to skip a little bit. Usually our society

[54:24]

is built up in some superficial, frivolous way, which is always changing. The controlling power is money or some big noise. This is because our eyes and ears are not open subtly enough to see subtle things and our feeling is dull. Most people who visit Zen Center feel it is a strange place. They do not talk so much. They do not even laugh. What are they doing? We laugh a little more now, but probably it is still the same. But without talking so much, we can communicate. We may not always be smiling, but we feel what others are feeling. Our mind is always open and we are behaving exactly, expressing ourselves fully. Actually, even when you are not trying to express yourself, you are expressing yourself anyway.

[55:26]

If your mind is open, you can see and you can feel. Those who are accustomed to big noises cannot see anything here because we do not make a big noise. We should extend this kind of practice to city life. We can be good friends with everyone. This is not difficult when you decide to be honest with yourself and to express yourself fully without expecting anything. Just to be yourself and to be ready to understand others is how to extend your practice to everyday life. Just to be yourself and to be ready to understand others is how to extend your practice to everyday life. So, I appreciate having the chance to think about these things together with you and give these couple of talks about Susuke Roshi's Way. Let's see, in May,

[56:27]

early May, David Chadwick will come and give the Sunday talk and present his book. I would encourage all of you to come. May 8th, I believe, is the date. Something like that. May 2nd. And then, in July, on July 18th, also, on a Sunday morning lecture, we will have... It's been very nice in the last year or so, some of the original disciples of Suzuki Roshi have been gathering together to meet and reacquaint themselves with each other from far and wide. And they're going to come on July 18th to give a presentation. I don't quite know what they'll do, but they'll tell stories about Suzuki Roshi and so on. And it will be a benefit for the Suzuki Roshi Archive. As I mentioned last time, thanks to the efforts of David Chadwick, we now are seeing the necessity of making a proper archive to preserve tapes and transcripts

[57:28]

and so on of Suzuki Roshi's talks. And somehow, this costs exactly $108,000. Not a penny less, not a penny more. This is how much we're trying to raise. if any of you feel moved to help us with that, please do that and come anyway on July 18th. It will be a historic occasion, a wonderful occasion to hear these people speaking about the teacher that they knew and loved so well. So, if there's no new business, the meeting is adjourned. Thank you very much. May our intention So, it's a nice, intimate group. I feel like we should

[58:29]

make a campfire, doesn't it? Sit around and get some marshmallows. So, does anybody have anything they want to bring up? I'm sure that as we talk, a few more people will be coming in, but we might as well start. Was it you who asked the question and answer about that last week? Somebody asked in the question and answer. Yeah. I still,

[59:40]

in my mind, can't forget what kind of those two things work together. Yeah. Well, let's see. Uh, I guess, sort of, conventionally, we think that someone who appears strict and tough is strict and tough inside, that has a hard heart, you know, or isn't in touch with their heart. We would think somebody who's that way is not a very tender person, you know. And conversely, we would think that somebody who's very loving and very sweet and very kind is that way on the inside also.

[60:41]

So, we have a fairly linear, simple-minded idea, but inside and outside, you know, people show their outer, show outwardly their inner characteristic. But, sometimes that's not the case. And I think that in Zen, uh, training, there certainly are Zen teachers and Zen places where it's harsh outside and harsh inside, you know. But, uh, I think Suzuki Roshi was, saw that we all need some strictness, but that when the strictness comes from loving kindness, that's the reason for the strictness, the strictness can be helpful and not harmful. So, uh, with kindness, there should be some strength,

[61:45]

not just sentiment. And with strength, there should be, uh, some loving kindness, not just being a tough guy. And I think that what's behind that is an appreciation of impermanence. When, um, you see someone suffering, your heart goes out to them, but also, you know, one knows that in the middle of impermanence, there's always suffering. And suffering can't be eliminated or wiped out in some way. So, mixed in with your solicitousness is, uh, a deep acceptance that this is how it is. So, there's a, you know, and that's an example where you might have kindness and compassion and yet, at the same time, toughness, knowing that, you know, this is how it is and this can't be prevented. So,

[62:47]

in a way, you might say that, uh, what stands behind this teaching of toughness and kindness are not two different things, is, is the teaching of emptiness and impermanence. The knowledge that, whoops, somebody doesn't know how to use it. Okay. Yeah, slides. Maybe, maybe leave it open for the moment because many people are coming. So, so, uh, so when you appreciate impermanence and emptiness, there's always a tough side, right? In the sense that, you know, you know that this is how it is. Can't be prevented, can't be helped. Sometimes, when we're kind, there's a feeling of, if only this hadn't happened, you know, if only I could take away your suffering. But, when there's a real toughness, you know, one has a tender heart for the suffering, but knows, uh, this can't be taken away. There's no such thing

[63:49]

as this shouldn't have happened. This is, you know, and that's the way it is. So, something like that. And I think that, uh, then the question is, how do you appear on the outside? Do you appear tough? Do you appear tender-hearted? Well, I think that in Zen, you know, there's a lot of discussion about this point. And basically, the, uh, what it says is that when toughness is needed, appear as a tough guy. When tenderness is needed, appear as a tender person. And know the difference. Know, have the skill to know, you know, when, which one is needed. But, for a person who can really see, uh, you can see the tenderness in the toughness if you're looking, if you actually, your eyes open to see it. and vice versa, you can see the toughness in the tenderness if you're able, if your eyes are open. Uh, I think that the problem, uh, that we face, just a practical problem

[64:49]

in, uh, Western Zen is that, um, for too many people, the toughness, the tenderness within the toughness is not visible because of past experiences or wounding or something like that. So, actually, uh, I think our style of teaching has to be a lot more, you know, they call this in Zen, the grasping way and the granting way. The granting way is the kind, kindly way on the outside looks like. And, and the grasping way is the tough way on the outside looks like. Although inside, it's exactly the same. So, uh, Japanese Buddhism, the Buddhism that Suzuki Roshi experienced as a young man was, first of all, completely masculine. Basically, no women underwent that training more or less, number one. And number two, it was, you know, it came from a background of a recently

[65:49]

evolved samurai culture and a whole combination of factors within Japanese culture that made that kind of toughness, uh, understandable and useful to the Japanese mind, at least to some extent. That same thing appears to us as meanness, abusiveness, so on and so forth. And many people who practice, in fact, have had those things happen to them in their lives. With all that, all we know now about, you know, alcoholism and all this, so many people have in their background. So therefore, it appears as if that approach to practice, although, uh, it's beneficial in many ways, it may not be skillful at this point for many, many people. And since our Zen centers are open centers in which people are coming who we don't know who they are, you know what I mean? It's like people come and go all the time here. So we have to have a style of teaching that will be hopefully not watered down,

[66:52]

but at the same time the most beneficial for the most people. So my own feeling is that, uh, from experience, you know, is that it's just not skillful for us to have too much of an external appearance of toughness because it won't work for most people. And yet, in the intimacy of teacher-student relationship, when there's a certain trust built up and when there's a relationship that's ongoing and we really get to know each other, then I think there's a place for that. And toughness doesn't have to take the, uh, appearance of, you know, beating somebody up because, of course, they did use corporal punishment in Zen, absolutely. In Suzuki Roshi's day and certainly the centuries before that, they had corporal punishment. Obviously, that's not something that we're going to have. It doesn't have to be corporal punishment, but some firmness or some saying no at the right time or, you know, just waking somebody up to their suffering may be

[67:53]

skillful and may be possible in the midst, in the context of a relationship that's warm and has an ongoing quality to it. So, it's a tender matter, you know, and we're still working on it. Yes? Oh, hitting them with a stick. Yeah, yeah, you know. I mean, it's nothing more dire than that, I don't think. But, I mean, of course, we know about the stick in the meditation hall, hitting with a stick, which isn't really painful, you know, or it's not supposed to be. Sometimes they make a mistake or something. But that is used. We actually don't use it here. We have not used the stick here at Green Gulch for some time. They use it a little bit once in a while in the city center and I don't think they use it at Tassajara. So, mostly we don't use the stick, but other centers in the West do use the stick and that's not considered corporal punishment. You know, that's like relieving tension in the back. But in the doksan room, the teacher would have a stick and sometimes,

[68:55]

you know, they would whack you and seriously hit you with a stick in response to something. You'd ask a question that was stupid or something or, you know, be hard-headed and you might get whacked with the stick. Yes, yes. Yeah, but in reality that doesn't happen too often. You know, you're not supposed to do that. You don't hit the boss, you know. So, basically, otherwise, you know, you got all these young monks and these elderly Zen masters, you know. The elderly Zen master has to be free to beat up on the young monks without feeling that he's going to get beat up, you know. So, if the young monk beats up on the old Zen master, they'd probably get kicked out of the monastery. And there are stories where that happened, where they, you know, in old days they'd beat each other up and they were kicked out for that, you know. Well, I was never beat up by any of my teachers, but we had the stick and... Yeah, Kyusaku, yeah. Well, I do

[69:56]

and I don't. I do miss it. I always thought it was kind of neat, you know. And I used to carry it and I used to, you know, receive it and it was kind of nice to have someone walking up and down, you know, and hear the sound of the stick. To me, it was always encouraging, but I realized that to a lot of people it's not encouraging. It's like terrifying, you know. And the thing is that somehow, even though it was fun and I miss it, it also created a kind of atmosphere in the Zendo that probably is less good than the atmosphere we have now. And my impression is that there's a, you know, one of the points of the stick is to wake people up. I mean, literally, they're sleeping. You can sleep in meditation. You know, you're tired. It's early in the morning. You know, you're tired. You fall asleep. Somebody comes by with a stick, whacks you and wakes you up. And in the days when we carried the stick, there was a lot of people sleeping, so they needed to get woken up. And now that we don't carry the stick, there's far less sleeping. So I,

[70:59]

you know, somebody asked me to explain, you know, why is that? I'm not sure why that is, but it seems as if there's some kind of causal relationship there, that somehow the existence of the stick seemed to inspire people to sleep more, you know, somehow. I don't know how or why, but now, so in other words, now people are sitting and it's their responsibility to stay awake, not somebody else's to wake them up. So somehow they feel, okay, I'll stay awake. I don't know what it is, but, so I actually feel like there's better, the stick is supposed to foster more intensity and more concentration, and I actually think the intensity and the concentration seems to be better without it. So in that sense, you know, I'm not tempted to reinstate it, although I thought it was neat. It was, you know, all these little things that we do in practice are, every time you learn how to strike the bell or learn how to do orioke meal or learn how to serve a meal or all these little details which seem like, you know, why is that important? In a way, it's not important, but every time you learn how to do one of those things, some aspect of your practice is opened somehow. So I remember,

[72:00]

you know, like when I first learned how to carry the stick, it was like, wow, it's great, kind of a great thing, a new avenue for practice. So we don't have that avenue anymore. People don't learn how to carry the stick. It takes a while to learn how to do it, you know, learn how to hit properly and all this. So, in a way, that's too bad. But I think, on the whole, I wouldn't reinstate it. And when I teach elsewhere, you know, I have groups in different places that I go and visit, and I don't ask them to get a stick. I'm happy. We don't need a stick, you know. I think our Zen has to be different. Probably, maybe the number one factor is that, I mean, you know, Japanese Zen is basically young men 18 to 30 years old. And that's why they run up and down cleaning and do all this stuff. Well, you know, because young men 18 to 30 years old who are, you know, short, can, you know, bend over and run down the room with a cloth. In reality, our students are men and women just about equally,

[73:00]

in equal proportions. And they're from 18 to 75 years old. So, to create a kind of a tough guy samurai atmosphere seems faintly ridiculous to me, you know, at this point in time. I mean, sometimes I go to a place like that and, it seems like silly, you know. Grrrrrr, you know. Oh, geez, come on. We're just trying to practice here, you know, and live our life, you know. Do we really need to growl like a lion and hop up and down like a rabbit? Yes? Well, I think that, to me, it seems like what we're doing is a middle way. In other words, we don't say, sit however you like and if you feel like leaving in the middle of Zazen, you can leave. We say, no, no, sit, don't move, you know. Try your best not to move. So, our practice is relatively strict and, you know, we have sashins, you know, we sit from five in the morning until nine at night and, you know, don't move, sit there, eat all your meals, sit there, don't move.

[74:01]

After the lights go out at nine o'clock, come back, sit some more, you know, we, you know, people practice hard. It's just that the spirit and the attitude doesn't have to be nasty or too, or harsh, you know. So, I consider that the way we practice now is pretty much the middle way between, you know, take it easy, relax, don't worry, and, beat you up. Yeah? Yes, yes. Oh, that's where I know you're from, Ring of Bowen. Did you? Yeah, but I used to, you know, I used to sit at Ring of Bowen, yeah. Yeah. Yes. Right, right. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yeah.

[75:03]

Yeah, right. And we, we did come to, here we used to have, for a long time, uh, we followed the, the rule of, if someone's sleeping, you hit them. And also, you can request it. And then we, we went to what you, what you say, where the only people who would be hit are those who requested it. We were that way for many years. So, yeah. So, anyway. Uh-huh. I think I have a question, but it's about time. Uh-huh. You talk about the Suzuki issue. You talk about time in terms of death, residency, or care. Uh-huh. And that, uh, one second. I want you to, I would like you to talk about that, the issue of, I think I understand what you meant by that, that experience, of, that moment when you, you have eternally experienced that there is no time past or present. There is, you know, you have lived all time in this. Uh-huh. And,

[76:05]

and that pretty much everything that's above all resistance is a function of the conscious awareness. Uh-huh. And that, um, but it occurred to me also that it's not just about a conscious awareness of time. There's sort of hardwired about time, the drive to make this about time, to, you know, migrate this about time. Uh-huh. Some, some brainstem sense of time that's not conscious. Uh-huh. Which makes it like, okay. Could you talk about that? Uh-huh. Well, uh, I think in, I guess in the, today, in the little excerpt I read from a Suzuki Roshi talk, he talked about time in there too, didn't he? He said desire was created by time. Yeah, by, by, by thinking of time as... He said any thought of time... Would create desire.

[77:07]

Yeah, right. So in that talk and in what I was saying also, uh, I was emphasizing and Suzuki Roshi was emphasizing, you could say the absolute dimension of time, which is everything is right here, there is no time. But as you, as you're pointing out, uh, human beings have a very natural and probably inescapable view of time as linear and cumulative, uh, and that is something that won't be destroyed or disappear as a result of our practice. But the reason why, uh, Suzuki Roshi would emphasize the absolute side of time is because that's the part we don't know about. What we need to do is know about both of them. You see, we need to know that each moment of our lives is the intersection of those two ways of being. And we have to see that, um, those two ways of being are on each moment present. And when we,

[78:07]

uh, so when we practice with conventional time or linear time, we have to be aware that the absolute side is also there. And when we practice with the absolute side, we have to be aware that the, that the relative side is there. If we lose sight of either one of them, then we'll have trouble. Because we can't really live in absolute time and ignore relative time because that's the conventional world. When we're sitting on our cushion, there is no relative time perhaps. But as soon as we get up, we have to be able to grapple with the relative world. And so, what we lack is a balance. We're so completely, um, overcome with the relative that we have no appreciation of the absolute. And Zen practice is to help us see that side as well. But then eventually we have to put them together. So, in, in this talk, that was not emphasized, but if you study texts like, uh, Emerging of Difference in Unity, it's all about this. And, and, you know, the next book of Suzuki Roshi that'll be coming out is actually a series of lectures on that text, Emerging of Difference in

[79:08]

Unity, where he talks about the relationship between the absolute and the relative. Nina, do you, are you looking for something or do you need something? Edwin Herzog here? That's okay. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Yes. Mm-hmm. [...]

[80:10]

Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Well, this is sort of acupuncture point issue in our lives and in our practice is how to understand preference and work with it. Um, there's a famous, uh, Zen poem which then became the subject of a number of koans that begins, uh, the true way is without difficulty. Just avoid picking and choosing. In other words, there's nothing to it. All you have to do is not have any preferences. And then every moment is forever. Everything that comes is perfect. And there's no desire for anything beyond what we receive right now. So that's sort of the absolute perspective. And we are trying to

[81:19]

appreciate that side of our lives. When you study that, uh, verse as a koan, one of the aspects of it is the recognition that because, as you say, of the relative nature of the human being, uh, preference arises all the time. And, uh, you can't really avoid it. And the denial of preference, the repression of preference, is not the same as going beyond preference. It's just repression. So, of course, you can be a good boy or girl and, you know, I'm a good monk, I have no preferences. But inside, you have all these preferences and you're constantly, you know, pushing them. You know, don't feel that, right? So that doesn't work out that well, actually. You might as well be running around exercising all your preferences as, you know, jamming them down. So, what's the middle way there? And the middle way is to recognize, uh, that preferences arise according to our conditioning. And to, uh, be able to, uh, observe and hold the preferences,

[82:20]

uh, without being compelled. Without being, you know, not being under the compulsion and sometimes the obsession of preferences. So, um, that means, uh, where it's appropriate and harmless to ourselves and others to exercise our preference, we do. Where it becomes, where, where it becomes, uh, an increase in our attachment and our suffering, we let it go, if possible. So we work with the ideas that we, it's an issue that we're aware of. I think that, that it really is true. I mean, let's face it, you know, our economy depends, absolutely depends on people exercising their preferences in increasingly minute areas of life. What brand of this and that, and you have to have several of them in different brands and so on and so forth. This, we'd have no economy if people were not. So, we get a lot of information and a lot of encouragement to exercise our preferences because, why? Because, well, that's who you are. I'm a Mac user. So, I'm different from a PC user.

[83:21]

And that's, Mac, everybody knows Macs are better. You see? And then I wear this and that and this is where I eat my meal and this is what kind of car I drive and so on and so on and so on and so on. And there's a whole unbelievable industry of information beaming trying to distinguish, tell you why it is that the Mac is better and so forth and so on. Look at this great ad campaign of all these people. The Dalai Lama's even telling you Macs are better, right? So, one has to recognize that this is the milieu in which we live. This is actually what's going on. And, I would say that, I don't think it's that successful, personally. I mean, the economy is going good and so, you know, if that's the measure of our success as a species, that the economy is going good, we're doing great, right? But, if the measure of our success is how well we take care of the planet, how well we take care of each other, how beautiful

[84:23]

our lives are, how calm our mind is, et cetera, et cetera, to me, we're not doing that great in this whole business of exercise. This is what, you know, now in the world at large, you got me started, sorry. Now in the world at large, now in the world at large, we understand that freedom equals a free market economy and a free market economy equals the proliferation and absolute celebration of preferences which are not necessarily created out of our own souls but are created by marketing departments. This is what we, this is the highest value in conventional culture. So, to me, this proliferation of preference and exercise of preference is suffering because I'm going to definitely

[85:23]

come up against many moments in my life when my preferences will not be realized. Things that I want, I will not get. Things that I don't want are going to come to me. Bad things will happen, things, you know, and so forth. This is going to, for sure, this we know. It's definite. And so when that happens, if I don't know how to work with my preferences and I don't know how to contextualize my preference in a wider context of what my life is all about, then I'm just going to suffer. And so I think what we all do is we pile up more stuff as a buffer against the inevitability of the loss of our preference. And our biggest preference, of course, the biggest preference of all is, I want to live, I don't want to die, right? Well, forget about it. There's no way that you're going to, that that preference, which is the one preference that really matters to us, that preference will not be fulfilled, and then what? So we're piling up more and more stuff to buffer

[86:24]

ourselves against the inevitability of the failure of our preferences, and it just doesn't work out. And we hurt each other, and we have confused lives as a result of that. So we have to work with preference. And freedom, to me, is having a spaciousness around our preference, to see, oh, I prefer that, but it's okay, I can let it go. And you know, it's not a, when you let your preferences go, you may think, oh, this is such a deprivation, my God, you know, like these poor Zen people that get up so early, you know, they don't get to go to the movies all the time, and this and that. But actually, the truth of the matter is that it's not at all hard to give up preferences many, many times. you know, to be quiet and simple is actually more pleasant, I think, personally, than it is to surround myself with a number of different things that only confuse me sometimes. So, um, you know, I think that there's a great joy,

[87:24]

actually, in living a life in which you can accept what comes. And whatever comes, oh, I can work with that. Oh, this is wonderful, this is wonderful. So, you know, we still have our preferences, and we find that when our preferences are really strong and we come up against our preference and we suffer a lot, we say to ourselves, oh, that's something I need to work on. There is, there is an issue, there is something in my life that I really need to turn to, because the strength of my preference here and the strength of my suffering when that preference wasn't realized shows me that this is a sticking point. So, we begin to study our preferences and our relationship to our preferences as a way of studying our attachments and our suffering. And little by little, as we clarify that, we have a happier life. So, you know, nobody is a zombie, you know, the Zen people are not zombies, like they don't care, oh, I don't care, oh, what kind of ice cream do you care? Oh, I don't care, any kind is okay. You might say that, but actually, you like chocolate, you know, maybe, because it's your karma to like chocolate

[88:24]

or maybe you don't like ice cream. Then you say, oh, I don't like ice cream, no thank you, you know. So, people have preferences, people you like, people you don't like so much, but everybody you're friendly to. You see, that's the idea. Ice cream you like, ice cream you don't like, but you eat it if it's given and you enjoy it. See? So, anyway, it's a big area of study. How do we work with our preferences? How do we hold our preferences so that we, first of all, we find out what are our real preferences, not just what the ad companies tell us, what are our real preferences, and then, how can we be free within our karmic preferences rather than being pushed around by them. So, anyway, this is all a lot of talk. It doesn't mean a thing at all unless you yourself study in your own way, in your own life. It's all in the details of your life. Otherwise, this is, you know, this is a good idea, but what does it mean? So, take a look. And I think that meditation practice does really make a big difference because we are

[89:26]

so conditioned to identify ourself with our preference and immediately to go for our preference as soon as it comes up that we don't even notice that we have any area of choice or that there's a conflict with conflicting preferences and this isn't really what we want. We think we want it, but we don't really want that kind of thing. We don't have the spaciousness of mind to even look at that. That's why it's important to sit down and shut up, you know, and just sit there for a while and let the mind be. And then, you have access to what happens in your experience in a different way. And then, practice is very interesting, you know, and it's very creative and you get the chance to look and see and you say, oh, look at that and I go this way and that and this and different things, you know, come up. So anyway, good luck on working with your preferences. Yes? Oh, good. Yeah, right. Exactly. That's the idea. Yeah, yeah. I remember, I have twin sons,

[90:27]

you know, and boy, I learned a lot about preferences, you know, watching them grow up. Because the second twin, his preference was always clear. He wanted whatever the other one had. Made no difference, you know, what it was, whether it was desirable or not desirable. I remember, like, one time, there was some kind of thing, you know, I don't even know what it was, like a piece of a broken toy or something like that. I mean, the most useless, stupid thing in the world, but his brother had it so he wanted it and he threw, like, a major fit. I remember, like, screaming and crying and I just couldn't believe, you know, I said, you want that? You know, yes, I want the red thing. It became a famous thing in our family. I want the red thing. And I remember, you know, like, this was one time when, you know, I didn't try to intervene. I just sort of watched this whole thing unfold. And, you know, he was very little and I tried to explain to him, you know, well, I mean, you want this? Why are you so obsessed? Of course, it didn't make any difference, naturally. But years later, it became an emblematic sort of incident.

[91:28]

And to this day, you know, sometimes we say to each other, you know, I want the red thing. Just kind of code for I'm obsessed over this thing that absolutely means nothing. And yet, I can't help myself. And most of us are living our lives, you know, desperately wanting the red thing, you know. Yes? When? When to, yeah. Yeah. Well, this is a difficult thing. And, when to, yeah. And, when to, yeah.

[92:28]

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