Good morning. So I see we have a few children. Good morning to you. So I'd like to begin, as I was instructed to do, to speak to you children for a few minutes. And then you can go have cookies and drawing and play. I was invited to speak this morning about compassion and what I want to encourage those of you who are younger than I am, which includes the four of you, that you practice kindness to yourselves and to each other. And if you practice kindness with yourself, that will help you know how to be kind to someone else.

[01:11]

And that's not so hard to do if you only do it one moment at a time. So I wish you a happy morning. Enjoy your cookies. And have a very nice time. But remember to please treat yourselves and each other with kindness. Can you do that? Yes. Terrific. That just came up. Unhindered. An unhindered yes. So have a nice morning. Thank you for coming this morning. That's all. That's all. Did you write me to say more? Never ask. Hmm? Never ask. I couldn't understand. Never ask if you want to say more.

[02:15]

Never ask if you want to say more? Oh, I'm so sorry. My apology. Okay. Bye-bye. This is called starting at the right age. So good morning again. Some while ago when Blanche asked me if I would come and give a talk, she asked me if I would talk about Suzuki Roshi's compassion. And I think for many of us who knew Suzuki Roshi and were fortunate to practice with him, what I have to say may resonate with other people's experience.

[03:16]

What I observed in watching Suzuki Roshi closely which he allowed me to do. I was initially the secretary for the Zen Center when Zen Center was still over on Bush Street. And after a little while, he asked me if I would please move with my children closer to where the Zen Center was, which I did, but then it wasn't close enough. that there was a flat that became available next door to the Zen Center on Bush Street, and I eventually moved there. And the window from the kitchen at Sokoji looked into the bathroom in my flat. So I pulled the shade when I wanted some privacy, but then I put it back up again.

[04:28]

And rather often I would look up and there would be Suzuki Roshi standing in the window waving at him. And I would wave back. And after Zen Center bought the property at Tassajara and began the Zen Center there, I frequently was the one who drove Suzuki Roshi to Tassahara and back. And I remember one day when Suzuki Roshi and Suzuki Okasan were planning to go back to San Francisco and it was arranged that I would drive them and we went into Monterey to have some lunch. And during lunch, Mrs. Suzuki launched into a kind of lecture about what a lousy husband he was.

[05:40]

She said all he thinks about are his students. And he nodded and said, yep, that's right. She didn't understand that. and appreciate his commitment to his students, but she wanted to be included also. And I was struck by how straightforward they were with each other, with me in front of them witnessing this conversation. I want to describe two experiences that I know about that I think are demonstrations of Suzuki Roshi's compassion, but more in the tough love school of compassion. At some point fairly early in the history of the Tassahara Zen Center, there were two students who wanted to marry and they went to talk to Suzuki Roshi about that.

[06:55]

And he wrote out on a little piece of paper, because they kept going back and forth about their relationship and did they want to get married and what would they do if this or that problem came up. And Suzuki Roshi wrote out on a little piece of paper, do not say too late, and handed it to them as his advice to them as they... began to contemplate making a life together. And as one of them said to me much later, the advice was not to be taken in general, but to be taken moment by moment. No matter what happened, what happened between the two of them, he didn't want them to ever say, oh, it's too late to go back and apologize or clarify or whatever would enhance their relationship with each other.

[08:02]

So I now have that little piece of paper framed on the wall in our Zendo where I live up in Benicino County. And I see that statement of Suzuki Roshi's every morning when I go into this end up. And I, to this day, find his advice quite helpful. Particularly when I do something that I regret. His advice about do not say too late has been very helpful in being able to see what's possible. even in that situation where regret arises. And I may not be able to change what I did or said, but I can go back into the relationship and act in the way that I would like to.

[09:10]

The other... well, another aspect of Suzuki Roshi's compassion. I remember at some point after the Zen Center moved to this building, a conversation that I had with Suzuki Roshi in which somehow the issue of his being very spacious and accepting of however those of us who were his students at the time behaved, what I observed was that he was very strict with himself and his own behavior and he was very spacious and lenient with those of us who were his students. So when I asked him about that difference between how he was with himself and how he was with all of us.

[10:21]

And he said, well, I'm afraid that if I was really strict, you'd all run away. And of course, what happened as there were more and more of us who practiced with him over some period of time, he began to be selectively less spacious and more strict. once he was convinced that we wouldn't run away. One day, I was sitting at the desk with a window open here in the front office and this was at a time when this whole neighborhood was populated in a way that I imagine is somewhat different than it is now. So we had quite a strict policy about not opening the front door unless we knew who was out there.

[11:27]

I don't quite know how we were going to figure that out since we couldn't see through the glass in the door. Anyway, one morning someone let a young man into the front hall who was quite disturbed. and very agitated. And none of us knew quite what to do with this young man and he got close to the stairs that go up to the second floor. Just at that time, Suzuki Roshi came down the stairs and walked directly up to this young man and faced him and just engaged him in some conversation. And then as the conversation was going along and the young man settled a little bit, Suzuki Roshi would take one step like that towards the front door. And then they would talk some more.

[12:31]

And then he'd take another step. And they'd talk some more and then they'd take another step. Until finally they got to the front door. And Suzuki Roshi opened the door but kept talking to this young man. And so Suzuki Roshi was holding the door open with his back and he was standing at the threshold and he was turned in such a way that the young man went out through the door so he could continue talking to Suzuki Roshi, which Suzuki Roshi continued speaking with him. And then after a little while he said, well, I've enjoyed our conversation. and I hope your day goes well. And he stepped back in and shut the door. I was sitting there watching this whole transaction. And what strikes me still is how much what Suzuki Roshi demonstrated in that situation was his ability to meet someone as they are

[13:44]

with an open heart, but also with very clear boundaries and limits about what was appropriate. And he was so, this whole transaction might have taken, I don't know, 15 minutes. And I remember hearing him say to this young man who was just so agitated, take care of yourself and I hope your day goes well. And he didn't slam the door in this young man's face. He closed it firmly and quietly. The other instance that comes up for me about Suzuki Roshi's compassion Interestingly, it didn't come to my memory until early this morning.

[14:48]

In 1971, when Suzuki Roshi had finally been correctly diagnosed with metastasized gallbladder cancer, he had a very young doctor who initially misdiagnosed his condition. And then when the diagnosis was corrected, this young doctor assumed that Suzuki Roshi would be in a great deal of pain since that was characteristic of metastasized all-bladder cancer. And he gave Suzuki Roshi some pain medicine. I got the prescription filled and I took the bottle and water and told Suzuki Roshi that this is the medicine the doctor wanted him to take and he took a pill and I kept checking in with him and after about four hours when I went to see how he was doing, he said, Yvonne,

[16:13]

I do not want to take any more of those pills. I don't like what happens to my mind. Can you get rid of them for me? And the first thing I thought of, which I now realize is not environmentally correct, I said, well, I could flush them down the toilet. He said, excellent. So I... flush them down the toilet. And he said, now you have to get rid of the pill bottle. That was not a problem. I just stuck it in my pocket. But I remember being so struck by the tension for him between taking care of his state of mind and not doing something that would upset his young I think that particular episode in particular really for me illustrates the nature of the practice of compassion.

[17:36]

As I said to the children, if I'm not compassionate, if I'm not acting with kindness and open-heartedness with myself, what are my chances of being able to do that with another person? in some way that's authentic and balanced and appropriate. One time when I was driving Suzuki Roshi to Tatsahara, we passed an area, it's interesting, the last couple of times I've gone to Tatsahara, I know exactly the spot. big no trespassing sign on the fence, barbed wire fence. And on the other side of the fence was this wonderful stand of ferns. And at this particular time when we were driving together into Tassajara, the fern fronds hadn't opened.

[18:44]

They were still closed. Fiddlehead ferns that stage before they opened. And he said, oh, oh, please stop and get me some of those fiddleheads. So I climbed under the no trespassing sign through the wire fence and got quite a substantial portion of fiddlehead ferns and put them in the car. The moment we got to Tassajara, he grabbed the ferns and disappeared into the kitchen where he proceeded to make fiddlehead fern soup. And I later asked him about the tension between wanting the fiddleheads and the no trespassing sign.

[19:44]

He said, well, desire overwhelmed ethics. And he said, I don't regret it for a minute. I said, well, you didn't climb through the fence. He said, that's all right. I'm very grateful. So she had a very flexible relationship to the precepts. That experience casts a kind of light for me on how much I observed his strictness with himself and his reluctance to be strict with those of us who were practicing with him in the early years of Zen Center when he thought we might run away. Interestingly, once he was convinced that...

[20:52]

A student was really committed to Zen practice and practicing with him. Then he would begin to be strict. But he was very cautious about it. Very strict with himself. Very gentle and open-hearted and patient with the rest of us. So I think back on what I'm talking about, what I'm accounting or calling with you, is that Suzuki Roshi really understood how to be kind. And when it was appropriate for kindness to be in the context of some...

[21:55]

strictness that to do otherwise was not supporting our capacity for more than we might be used to or think we're capable of. So every morning when I walk into the Zendo where I live, I see the Yaga leaf that he used to make, turned it into a Sumi brush to do the calligraphy on the cover of Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. And underneath it, nicely framed, is this little piece of paper that says, do not say too late. I'm grateful for that pointing out, even though he was not.

[23:00]

When he wrote the piece of paper, he was directing it towards two particular students. Now, he's saying that to me from that script in his hand, signed, Reverend Suzuki. Do not say too late. I think that advice from Suzuki Roshi is very much in the spirit of the cultivation of compassion for ourselves and for others. Because what I observe is that when what arises in the mind is, oh, too late, that's a judgment. and blinds me to seeing what I might do in this moment that I didn't think of doing a few moments ago or a day ago or a year ago.

[24:16]

I went to the Zenbo this morning, I went and sat in the Dokusan room, which was wonderful to be able to just be in that room for a while. Because I remember so vividly those of us on the staff meeting with Suzuki Roshi in that room for morning tea. Some of you may know the photograph of Suzuki Roshi where he's Playing with some glasses. They were my grandmother's glasses that collapsed and you'd push a button on the side and go like this. And I brought them to morning tea one morning and gave them to Suzuki Roshi. And you kept playing with them, pushing the button so they'd go out like this. Playing. They were a great treasure to me. I was delighted that he enjoyed them.

[25:34]

And not very long after I gave them to him, I asked him if he was enjoying the glasses. He said, glasses? What glasses? I said, my grandmother's glasses that I gave you. He said, oh, I gave them away. So much for clinging. What I want to recommend from my experiences with our dear late teacher is to recommend pay attention to clinging, pay attention to craving, which leads to grasping. If I can keep my attention on the arising of craving, I may keep from grasping. And to do whatever practices I do that arise from the path of the precepts with a kind and open heart towards myself.

[26:47]

And hopefully towards others. So I think that's all I'd like to say. And I wonder if any of you have something you'd like to bring up or should we adjourn? There'll be Q&A. In there? Yeah. Okay, so that'll be nice for the knees of those of you who are sitting so quietly on the tatami mats. So if you'd like to talk some more, we'll retire to the back of the dining room. Thank you very much.

[27:26]

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