This podcast is offered by the San Francisco Zen Center on the web at www.sfzc.org. Our public programs are made possible by donations from people like you. This is the last day of May, May 31st. For how many... I just dropped that paper clip. For how many of you is it your first visit to Green Gulch? Well, welcome. Thank you very much for coming out this morning. We just chanted a verse that focuses the mind before a lecture or before studying also. So... That's what you all just heard or participated in.

[01:01]

This morning, during Zazen, the first period of Zazen, which starts at five, this is the time of the year when the birds begin singing, maybe around 5.20, something like that. And you can hear in the Zendo these different sounds of so many birds singing. out at Green Gulch. And it reminded me of, recently I was at a talk given by Laurie Anderson, the wonderful performance artist and musician, and it was just a conversation in front of an audience, but it was just a conversation, and she was talking about the play called The Birds by Aristophanes, the Greek playwright from 300 B.C.

[02:05]

Anyway, this play, which I've never seen, but it sounded very humorous about disgruntled Athenians who are leaving the city and all the political stuff. And there are these birds who they talk with and they... They tell the birds, they convince the birds that all the offerings that are made to Mount Olympus, all those offerings are going through their territory and they should charge the Athenians for the use of the air. And it goes on from there. They build a wall. Anyway, but in the birds, there's a reference to even another story, an Aesop's fable. about larks. And when she told this, I was quite struck by this image, so I'm bringing it to you as well.

[03:06]

So the larks lived at a time when there was no earth, actually. There was the time before there was any earth. And at some point, one of the larks' father, the father of one of the larks, dies. and they have no place to bury the lark because this lark, there's no earth to bury the lark. They don't know what to do. And so the son decides to bury him in the back of his head. And this was the beginning of memory. So each of us has buried, you might say, in the back of our heads, our loved ones, our dear ones, our memories, and when the time is right, the circumstances are right, the conditions are right, we remember. They meet us and help us and can guide us.

[04:16]

And I think this is particularly true of our teachers, those who have been a great benefit to us. we have them with us. I wanted everyone to know, maybe some of you already know, that our beloved teacher, Blanche Hartman, the former abbess of Zen Center and senior Dharma teacher for many years, is moving towards her death. And she, I'm not going to give a eulogy for Blanche. It's too early for that. But I wanted those of you who know her, those of you who don't know her, those of you who remember her, to keep her in your minds during these days, sending thoughts for her well-being, for her peace, for her joy.

[05:24]

Her name is Inconceivable Joy. As she makes this transition, and as we all make this transition, because Blanche has been practicing here, teaching here for, you know, over 40 years. She's 89, just turned 89. Last weekend, I was in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, at a meeting of our affiliate sanghas. Sanghas are different groups who are practicing, and they're affiliated with San Francisco Zen Center because we share the same root teacher, the same source teacher. And the name of this group of affiliated sanghas is called Branching Streams, which comes from a poem called Harmony of Difference and Equality, and the line in the poem is, the spiritual source shines clear in the light, the branching streams flow on in the dark.

[06:37]

So the image of many, many branching streams, but flowing in a mysterious way, in the dark, they continue to flow, And each branching, each streamlet, has its own character, its own conditions, its own way, and yet it has the same source, the spiritual source, which feeds all the branching streams. So at this meeting, there were groups from across the country, actually several parts of California, from Sacramento, Bay Area down to L.A., then moving across the country there was Bozeman, Montana, Arizona, Chicago, let's see, Illinois, Chicago, Illinois, then there was North Carolina, Texas, several places in Texas, Austin and Houston, Richmond, Virginia, New York, Purchase, New York,

[07:48]

Brooklyn, New York, Tampa, Florida. And there's more. There's many more branching streams. There's over 50 small groups that are connected with San Francisco Zen Center and share the root source teacher of Suzuki Roshi, who was the founder of Zen Center. And it was a wonderful meeting, a very, very good feeling. Many of these groups are very small. They meet at homes. in churches, in yoga studios, and other groups have their own building. You know, they're quite a range. And one of the, we met for about three days, and one of the afternoon sessions, I don't know what's happening here, we talked about what is it that makes branching streams branching streams, meaning What is it about Suzuki Roshi's practice and uniqueness and the traditions of Suzuki Roshi that each of these many groups knows and upholds and carries on and conveys?

[09:05]

Can you hear me in the back? Okay. So this was... fascinating conversation because some of the group, some of the people who have groups knew Suzuki Roshi, practiced with him closely, were at Tassahara with him, and other people were born after Suzuki Roshi died, you know, and just know from his books and lectures and also from the teachers who studied. So what is it that's unique that creates this good Sangha feeling that's recognizable, that feels like family feeling When you go even to Mexico, Italy, all these different places where there are groups, what is it? Can we name it? And I think we tried, you know, but it still may be mysterious. You know, branching streams flow on in the dark in a mysterious way. But one of the things, a couple of things that we mentioned that we could point to, one was work.

[10:14]

about work and Suzuki Roshi's way of work practice. And I don't think this wasn't started by Suzuki Roshi. This is a lineage of a quality of work and thinking about work as a way of bringing our full energies to each thing that we do. So Suzuki Roshi, there's some famous, famous, there's some stories about him that are famous for me. One story is about work, that is, where Suzuki Roshi was invited to give a talk at a group in the East Coast, Cambridge, Massachusetts. I think it was the Cambridge Buddhist Society. And somehow the dates got mixed up, and he got there... a day before they were expecting him. They have a house. So he arrived there and everybody was cleaning, scrubbing windows and sweeping, and he said, what's going on?

[11:21]

They said that they didn't recognize him. There's a Zen master who's coming tomorrow. So he said, oh, and he kind of got out of his robes and got a bucket and began scrubbing and getting ready for the Zen master who was coming the next day. that feeling of caring for the space. And one person who had been at Tassahara with Suzuki Roshi, someone I'd never met before, who happens to be living out in the East Coast, said when they knew Suzuki Roshi was coming to the monastery down to Tassahara, they would begin to clean. And he said it was so exciting. It was like... the best present ever, that Suzuki Roshi was coming the next day, and they just scoured Tassahara to get ready. That kind of spirit of cleaning and getting ready, not because things are even dirty or that dirty, but expression of care and love and sincere practice.

[12:32]

We take care of things, and when someone's coming, we prepare. carefully. Another work story about Suzuki Roshi is, this is a quote that he said, I hate food trips, which people were on in the 60s, you know, macrobiotics and hate food trips. I don't like food trips, but I love work trips. And it's true. He appreciated, there was a lot of work done by students at Tessar, the building of the kitchen and the gatehouse and rock work, stone work, which he did with students making stone gardens and paths and walls. So he appreciated the craft and the ability that many students had to do things, sew and cook and take care of spaces in beautiful ways. So this

[13:37]

This, as I said, did not come from Suzuki Roshi alone. This is a lineage in Zen of taking up work as a spiritual practice. And right now at Zen Center, and maybe for many people as the school year ends, we shift, and right now we're in the growing season at Green Gulch. and there's a lot of work in the fields and the gardens, many, many guests, and our practice periods are over for this time of the year where we focus more on our zendo practice. Right now we're moving our practice out into our work. We always do that, but now in particular, and at Tassajara, it's guest season, and many, many guests come every day all the way through till Labor Day, till September.

[14:44]

So big turning towards taking care of our guests and our land and growing food. So as I say, this quality comes from Maybe it harkens back before this particular Zen master, but it's notable, this particular Zen master name, Bai Zhang Weihai, who was in the 700s in China, and his name means 100 Zhou, which is a measurement, the... panels of our robes are called Zhou. It's a certain measurement. A hundred Zhou cherishing ocean was his name, Bai Zhang. And he and his teacher were credited with kind of establishing Zen monastic chan in Chinese, monastic way.

[15:51]

And if you picture Buddhism coming from India, where there's a very different way of organizing the monks and nuns for practice. Often they wandered, sat in the forest, came together on the new and full moon, later on were gathered into monasteries, begged for their food, and received alms from the village folks and lay supporters mostly, and did not till the fields, did not do work, did not handle money or do these kinds of things. And when Buddhism traveled into other countries that had different climates and different cultures, Buddhism evolved, changed just the way it has and is always and will always be evolving and changing as it meets cultures and different countries and different languages.

[16:55]

So when Buddhism came into China, there were not laity, kind of ready to provide for the monks and nuns. And there was a decision, plus the monks and nuns lived in mountainous areas. And what got changed was that they began to work and provide self-support, till the ground, work the fields, gather firewood, build. And this quality, especially in Chinese culture, and that became a you might say, a flavor of Zen was taking up work with enthusiasm as a way of extending your meditation practice rather than some drudgery, toil, labor that I guess I gotta do to support myself or my family. It became one more way to express one's understanding through activity.

[17:59]

Great activity is one of the names of Samantabhadra, an enlightenment being whose activity or great activity expresses understanding. So in China, this work became part of the everyday Zen life. And the other things that were added were... a regular daily schedule that had certain periods of Zazen and longer periods of Zazen, the spiritual working practice, as I mentioned, and then different duties for everybody in the monastery, which is a change. This is a change. Everybody works no matter what. You're kind of a universal, everybody works, whether it's manual work. administrative work, growing food, taking care of plants, whatever, everybody works.

[19:03]

And then also they established having a talk like this with question and answer. That wasn't necessarily a forum. So these different qualities of how to live together and practice and study together were established. And that comes down through the centuries to Suzuki Roshi and to us. So we have on Wednesday morning at Green Gulch, and every morning after zazen, we have a period of work, a brief period of work, tidying up the zendo, dusting, emptying trash, cleaning the bathrooms, just freshening up. And then on Wednesday morning, we go down to the fields to hoe or other areas other activities that the farm and garden needs. Now, the name of this kind of work, this community work time, it has a name which is fushin.

[20:17]

It's also called sammu in Japanese, or fushin, which means everyone's invited. It has a very broad, everybody, come on down. Everybody's invited to go down and work. Rather than, oh, do I have to, you know. And same with dishes, you know. Everybody does dishes, from the abbot and abbess senior dharma teachers down to the newly arrived guest student who's just coming for a few days. And we sometimes have people come who, I remember one lady, when given the assignment of dishes, she said... I don't do dishes. She did say that. And I said, everybody does dishes here. We all take part. We all do dishes. She had never done dishes. She had come from a... She came from a very wealthy family in South America and had never done dishes. And, well, it was a good time to start.

[21:18]

Join in with the crew. And... And she did, but that was not her idea of Zen. Zen was sitting zazen, working with Zen stories, talking with a teacher, but washing dishes. But that's this quality of Zen. That's this Sangha feeling. That's when you go to other groups. There is work practice together and an understanding that we all pitch in. so much as many hands make light work or some idea like that, but that this is an expression of our zazen. This is the great activity, the moving and action of our zazen, of our meditation practice and our understanding. Actually, while I was just... saying that about I don't do dishes, I remember this thought, this memory, actually, in the back of my head, of when I first did dishes when I was a little girl.

[22:27]

I had been too young to do dishes. My sisters were older, and I remember they did dishes, but they were like, that was their chore, right? But it looked so much fun. We didn't have a dishwasher. There was bubbles and splashing, and they got to do all this stuff, get their hands in the water. So I remember... I remember asking, could I please do dishes? Oh, they thought that was the funniest thing. She wants to, sure, you can do dishes. And I got a stool so I could get up high enough to get my hands in the soapy water. And it was the most fun, you know. I didn't get it, why they didn't want to do this. Later, I understood about not wanting to do dishes. And then coming to Zen Center, I retook up. how much fun it is to do dishes with your fellow Zazen practitioners. So Fuxian, everyone's invited, and all of you are invited to take up your work.

[23:34]

Work is, you know, it's an interesting word because we tend to think of it as drudgery. We might think of it as toil, drudgery, labor. but also we know how it enlivens and enriches our life to have work, especially work that we love. I remember when my grandma was very, very old, she would come to visit and say, give me some work to do, mending, anything, you know, because it's boring sitting around with nothing to do, right? We want to have activity like this. The origin of the word work is really interesting. The clusters of words that come from a similar root, one is in the Greek, ergon, work, action, energy, liturgy, which is sacred readings.

[24:41]

metallurgy and surgery, it's interesting, coming from the same root. Also, a maker, or the word right, and I think rot and right and work are very similar, so like a wheelwright, someone who makes things, this is work. And then this was interesting from also this cluster of words, tool, secret rights, worship and service, coming from another word from the Greek. So these kind of branching streams of the word work. So I would like to broaden what is work and, you know, not only can be, I suppose, certain kind of work in particular is toiling and drudgery. How do we enliven it so that it's service and liturgy and worship, you know, expressing our gratitude through our work and our connection with our life through our work.

[25:53]

So this teacher Bai Zhang, who I mentioned before, who kind of established Zen, codified... ways of being and gave structure to monastic life. We've never actually found, supposedly, the rules, the pure, they're called the pure standards, or the rules that he was supposed to have invented. We've never found that actual text, but at least stemming from him and those at that time, these rules came. And this Baizhang was particularly interested in this fushan, or universal, everyone invited work. And he led the work as abbot, this daily work of the monastery. He worked every day. And there's a story about him. When he got older, much older, his fellow disciples, the work leader and the different people who cared about him were younger than he,

[27:04]

were very concerned that he was not taking good care of himself and he was going out to work every day. So they hid his tools. And he searched for his tools and searched for his tools. He couldn't find his tools. And they said, you know, they had concern for him and they didn't want him to work. And his quote is, I have no virtue. How can I leave the work to others? This is very kind of humble. Here he is, the abbot of the monastery. You know, I need to continue my effort and practice. How can I leave other people to do it? And then he made the decision to stop eating unless he could work. So this phrase, a day of no work, is a day of no eating. which you might have heard as a Zen phrase, is from Bai Zhang, from this Zen master where he felt, if I can't offer something, then how can I take the monastery's gift of food?

[28:16]

This is pretty strict practice, I would say, but it's been inspiring people since 800, when he died in the 800s. A day of no work is a day of no eating. And I feel like Blanche, just coming back to our teacher Blanche, you know, here she's been practicing faithfully all these years, living within the monastery at 300 Page Street Zen Center in the city. She lived at Green Gulch as well. And apologizing to people recently that she couldn't get to the zendo every day. She's 89 years old. difficulty walking, getting down to the basement where the zendo is. And it's very similar to this, you know. Acknowledging everybody, everybody sits, everybody comes together to work, and I'm not able to now. And expressing that concern and continuous effort.

[29:28]

to participate as best she could. So this quality of work from Suzuki Roshi was one of the qualities that we could name that was emblematic of the feeling of Suzuki Roshi. The other was kindness and compassion. and care for students and warmth. So this quality was conveyed in so many, many, many, many ways. People told stories. And of course, compassion is not just being nice.

[30:31]

True compassion is suffering with another and also not just suffering, not just empathy. not just being nice and kind to students, but kindness in its truest sense, which is meeting students where they were in their practice and addressing their difficulties in the best way he could. So there were story, could you hear me before?

[31:36]

We're switching to this. So the stories included raising the voice at times, not going along with someone's understanding, being out of compassion, not one-upmanship or I know better, but this is what is needed right here, right now, which is... the appropriate response, which is another way of talking about compassion. It's not just being nice and kind in the traditional way we think about compassion. It's meeting each moment appropriately, whatever that takes, whatever that means. But the kindness and warm feeling And Suzuki Roshi talked about this and talked about it in lectures.

[32:43]

And I'm going to come back to that in a minute, but I wanted to tell one more Zen story that kind of pulls together work practice, kind, compassionate mind, and appropriate response, kind of all together. in one story. And this is another story about Bai Zhang, this Chinese Zen master. And this is a work story. So Bai Zhang was out in the fields with the monks, and they were hoeing, which is what we do. Everyone's invited, Fu Shan, Fu Xin, every Wednesday morning, hoeing. They're out there hoeing away, and all of a sudden, the sound of the meal drum, which is a big drum is hit right before a meal, was sounded. And one of the monks took his hoe and kind of raised it up and threw it down and laughed heartily and stomped off home, but stomped off back to the monastery.

[33:50]

And Bai Zhang said, what fine work this is, wonderful, splendid. This is the way that the bodhisattva of infinite compassion enters the Dharma gate or enters the gate of truth or reality. And then later, Bajang went and found this monk and said, what was it that you realized there? And the monk said, well, I was really hungry and I heard the meal drum and I dropped my hoe and I went off to get something to eat. which Bai Zhang laughed very hard about. So that's the Zen story. They're out there doing their work, concentrating on their hoeing, and the mealdrum hits. Now, you know, one of our kind of shared guidelines is when the sound for the meal or the end of zazen or work ends,

[34:59]

you drop your agenda, you drop your personal preferences, and you do the next thing. Whether it's the end of a period of zazen, even though you're extremely concentrated and very happy sitting there, the period of zazen is ending, is over. Let it go. Doesn't matter that you're in some, you know, wonderful concentrated space or a horrible space. Doesn't matter. It's over. Bow and get up. And when we're out in the fields, the end of work bell rings, and you're hoeing. Oh, I just have a little bit more. I just want to finish my row. Can I, I just, no, I just, I'm, yeah, that kind of preferences, holy onto, I just, This is what I, doesn't matter that it's the, and I've got more work to do. Just this one last paragraph. I'm going to just finish before I have to go to work meeting.

[36:04]

Or this last email. Instead of, drop it. The next moment has arrived. Where are you? Are you holding on to something that's already passed? So in this story, Bajang and, you know, the monk, they're busy working, and the drum sounds for breakfast. This is really just like Wednesday morning. The bell sounds or the drum sounds, it's time. And I really, I can often feel like I just, with just those more weeds, you know, they're just, they're just, they're so, they're just calling to me to weed them. But no, let it go. Stop. And this, that's a moment of, I don't even know what to call it, inconceivable practice. And that's what that monk did. He kind of threw his hoe up. There's different translations. One is he threw it down. Another, he threw it up. Probably went up and down and laughed and headed off to the meal.

[37:05]

And Bai Zhang says, what fine work this is. Splendid, wonderful. He really praised him. This is our practice. This is the way that the Bodhisattva of infinite compassion enters. the gate of truth, right there. This is the gate of truth. This is the next moment appropriately responding to let go of the last moment and open to the next. The last moment's gone. Opening to the next, not trying to hold on to what came before. And this is Suzuki Roshi's definition of enlightenment. letting go of the last moment and opening to the next. So then, you know, afterwards when he asks the monk, and the monk isn't named, which, you know, gives us a clue that this wasn't a great Zen teacher or anything.

[38:12]

And he just, very everyday mind, you know, he says, when asked, what was the, you know, what principle did you understand? Maybe he didn't understand principle in a conscious way, but bodily he expressed the principle of appropriate action and call and response. Inquiry and response comes up together. Or poetically, when the wooden man begins to sing, the stone woman gets up dancing. we respond to causes and conditions, align ourselves, accord with what's going on. And that's what that monk did in a very natural, un-self-conscious way. Just, I'm hungry, time to eat. And this is another description of Zen. When you're hungry, eat. When you're tired, sleep. So...

[39:15]

This story, there's so many things packed into it. One is how you live together in accord with conditions, seeking nothing for yourself, no special, you know, I work harder than others, I'm going to stay longer. You let it go and join and stay with whatever's happening. The bell sounds, you drop it or let go. and do the next thing. And for people who don't live in a monastery or a practice place that has the sounds of the day, you have your own sounds or your own visuals, the red light or the yellow light. The yellow light blinks. What does that mean? When I went through a yellow light and had an accident, I was told yellow light means prepare to stop, not speed up and go through. What does yellow light mean?

[40:16]

What does red light mean? What does the phone ringing mean? What does beep mean on our computer that we've got mail? And when do we close things? When do we turn off things? When do we eat? When is it time to go to bed? Oh, just one more chapter. This is a practice for everybody. What does the mealdrum mean? of our everyday life, and this laughing and going on to the next thing, that quality of our life. And this quality, I would say, is compassion. That's why he says, or this is my understanding of why he says, why Bai Zhang said, you know, what fine work. This is the way the bodhisattva of infinite compassion enters the Dharma gate or the gate of reality. This is compassion for ourself and others and the activity.

[41:21]

When we're clinging to things and doing things for self-serving reasons and self-involvement and how we're better than others or praising self, compassion is lost. Kindness and compassion for self and other get lost. in that mix. So I think Bajang brings up Guan Yin or Avalokiteshvara, the names of the bodhisattva of infinite compassion right there as this person responds to their life, to the circumstances. So I wanted to come back to Suzuki Roshi's kind and compassionate way And this lecture that he gave, February 23rd, 1971, you know that all of the transcripts are online, and the audio are all on Zen Center's website.

[42:32]

So you can hear Suzuki Roshi give a talk. And if you have the transcript in front of you and listen, because the... In some cases, it's hard to understand, but you can read along and then really not miss a word. So this particular lecture, he gave Atta Sahara, and it was... Just historically, it was a time when he hadn't been at Tassahara for about six months, and he had invited the ino, or the head of the meditation hall from a monastery in Japan, to come to Tassahara and establish, similarly to what Bajang and other teachers established, a kind of structure to Tassahara. Tassahara had started out kind of with a big... don't know how we're going to do this feeling, but let's experiment.

[43:36]

And slowly, slowly, I think it became clear that structure and some guidelines and standards for how we do things were necessary. This is in the 60s, you know, and actually, yeah. So, So certain things were established, you know, that everybody gets up and sits together. And I think before it was left up to people. And, of course, when we leave things up to ourselves, we tend to follow our habitual way. So the guidelines and the structure is a help for us to learn and grow and find our way. When left to our own devices, we might flounder or not be able to because of our karmic, habitual way of doing things. So Suzuki Roshi is coming back to Tassara and noticing the changes that have happened.

[44:46]

And then he brings up... I'll read a little bit from this. This is about, now we have these rules and structure. But then he says, if we don't feel some actual feeling of practice, some warm, big satisfaction in your practice, then it is not practice. Even if you sit with the right posture and follow the instructions, follow everything, if there isn't some kind, warm, compassionate feeling, who cares? It doesn't really matter. It's not really practice. So then he says, you should be very kind, you know, with yourself.

[45:48]

Not just count your breathing to avoid your thinking mind. One of his practices he taught was counting the breath from one to ten. Not just count your breathing to avoid your thinking mind, but to take best care of your breathing. If you are very kind with your breathing, then one after another you will have refreshed warm feeling in your Zazen. And he goes on to say, the instruction is just to help you, but if you get attached to the instruction and doing it right, and there isn't this warm, kind feeling for yourself and the practice and your breath and I would say your body and everything you touch and every person you speak with, then what's it all about? What is Zen?

[46:51]

What is Zen practice? What's the purpose of even entering such a practice? And this quality of kindness and compassion and warmth in the Branching Streams meeting, this was brought up. This was the touchstone. And this particular lecture, he says it many, many times. And he brings up mercy, which I usually use the word compassion because mercy has a, we have mercy for those who are, we have power over often. We can give them mercy. But compassion is on the same level. We don't look down on anyone or up for asking for pity. Compassion is eye to eye, face to face. But he says, if you don't feel Buddha's mercy in the instruction, and if you don't feel Buddha's mercy in your form and breathing and take care of your practice, then there's no warm feeling in it.

[47:59]

And it is not... well-satisfied zazen. You should be fully satisfied with your practice. You should be very kind with yourself. So you know when you are very kind with yourself, naturally you will feel satisfaction. So he connects this kindness with oneself and compassion for yourself with this feeling of contentment. You know, a contentment reigning within our borders, you know. Just in a very quiet way. No big, nothing even to write home about. Just a quiet joy with each breath, with each activity. And he gives some... instructions about that. On each breath, you attune and take care of it the way a mother watches a baby.

[49:02]

Oh, the baby's smiling. He says this. The baby's smiling. Oh, the baby's crying. Oh, you know, you're just, you know, one breath after another. You're that attuned and that intimate with yourself, which allows you to be intimate, compassionate, and warm with others. It doesn't happen without kindness for ourselves. And if we think Zen is some big, rough, strict, which I think it has this reputation, hard, it is hard practice, but it's not hard for the usual reasons. It's hard to continue year after year finding kindness and compassion on each breath. So it's a wonderful lecture, which you can look up online if you'd like.

[50:05]

But at the end, after bringing this warmth up over and over, the last thing he says, almost like a little postscript, because he's already said thank you. Then he says, I have to go, I have to leave this afternoon from Tassajara. And the last thing he says is, take care of your practice. Take good care of practice and to be very kind with yourself. That is the final parting words. So that is my final parting words to ask ourselves, what is it to be kind and compassionate and warm? Starting with myself. Starting right there. knowing that this is how the bodhisattva of infinite compassion enters the gate of reality, the gate of truth, that bodhisattva doesn't abide somewhere else.

[51:24]

It arises right here when we practice in that way with warmth and kindness. Thank you very much. Thank you for listening to this podcast offered by the San Francisco Zen Center. Our programs are made possible by the donations we receive. Please help us to continue to realize and actualize the practice of giving by offering your financial support. For more information, visit sfcc.org and click giving. May we fully enjoy the Dharma.

[52:04]

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