We have been simply delighted with the absolute abundance of flowers around the temple and in our Zen garden this spring and summer. Since the garden was only planted last year, this is really the first time we have seen it well established and in bloom, and it’s a complete joy. Our special thanks to Desi Wood of Dobro Design, who designed the garden, and to the crew of Phase One Landscapes, who installed it. If any are wondering, we do also expect to soon replace some trees and plants around the grounds that did not survive last season, and look forward to having the landscaping essentially complete at that point.
Karin Ryuku Roshi takes up case 20 in the Book of Serenity:
Dizang asked Fayan, “What are you up to these days?”
Fayan said, “I’m wandering at random.”
Dizang said, “What do you expect from wandering?”
Fayan said, “I don’t know.”
Dizang said, “Not knowing is most intimate.”
Karin Roshi comments:
“I don’t know” is actually the absence of any form of identification. It contains both knowing and not knowing, and yet does not stand opposed to either. It takes off our clothes, removes our possessions, even our skin, our hair color and eyes. It’s laying down the karmic burden of our life that we drag around constantly, like a bag of rocks.
In this teisho, Peggy Metta Roshi takes up case 1 in the Gateless Barrier:
A monk asked Chao-chou, “Does a dog have Buddha nature or not?”
Chao-chou said, “Mu.”
Peggy Metta Roshi comments:
Does the questioner understand what he or she is asking? What is she asking? And how could a single word – Mu – open that door, resolve this monk’s inquiry, and transform his life – and yours, and mine, and all beings’ across time and space? If this whole thing confounds you, then you are approaching it correctly, and you are in the right place.
In this teisho, Karin Ryuku Kempe Roshi presents an old Zen story of Master Ichu (Ikkyu):
A student said to Master Ichu, “Please write for me something of great wisdom.” Master Ichu picked up his brush and wrote one word: “Attention.” The student said, “Is that all?” The master wrote, “Attention. Attention.” The student became irritable. “That doesn’t seem profound or subtle to me.” In response, Master Ichu wrote simply, “Attention. Attention. Attention.” In frustration, the student demanded, “What does this word ‘attention’ mean?” Master Ichu replied, “Attention means attention.”
Karin Roshi comments:
Really, attention forms the backbone of our practice. As we learn more about the benefits of practicing being mindful, we are learning that there are some important aspects to this paying attention. It has to be intentional, not accidental, and therein lies a kind of effort. It needs to be complete, not split by competing mental activity, daydreams or planning. When our attention is complete, our usual habit of dissociation disappears, and all separation from our life evaporates, falls away. Attention becomes the practice of nonduality. In attention, in awareness, we are our life. Our life is us. There is no gap.
