Zazen is Buddha

An interview with Jôkô Shibata by Arthur Braverman

Jôkô Shibata lives alone in a suburb of Komoro, a town in northern Japan, known as the Japan Alps. He moved to Komoro over twenty-five years ago in order to be with his teacher, the late Yokoyama Sodô Roshi, otherwise known as ‘the grass flute Zen master’. Jôkô is of average height and build, wears horn rimmed glasses and samue (work clothes worn by Zen Buddhist monks). He welcomes me into his home with a reserve that drops away quickly as we get to know each other.

I had first seen Jôkô (we hadn’t really met) in 1971 when he accompanied his teacher to Antaiji, a small temple in Kyoto, where we both attended the yearly memorial service for Sawaki Kôdô Roshi. Jôkô leads me through a corridor lined with pictures of his teacher to a small chanoma (tea room) where we have tea. On one side of the chanoma is a kitchen, on the other a balcony with a view of Mount Yatsu­gatake. Across from where we sit is a newly built Zen meditation room, or zendo, with the distinct smell of fresh wood and new tatami straw mats. At the far end of the zendo is a small altar with pictures of Jôkô’s teacher, Yokoyama Sodô Roshi, and his teacher, Sawaki Kôdô, both sitting in the zazen [formal sitting] posture. Jôkô’s life attests to his devotion to these two teachers.

CLACK! by Trevor Leggett

In the classical Zen of China a monk, called by the Japanese Kyogen, was famous as a scholar who after many years had mastered the scriptures. When the Abbot, his teacher died the new Abbot told him he could if he wished leave the monastery as he had now full knowledge of the doctrine. To the others’ protests he set Kyogen the Koan riddle: “What is your true face before your father and mother were born?” Baffled and furious Kyogen left the monastery but the riddle haunted him. He spent the next years in isolation minding the shrine of the 6th Chinese Patriarch without hope or expectation but still revolving the riddle in his mind.

There’s No Point in Punishing the Car, by Ven. Ananda Maitreya

Good will, loving-kindness, friendliness, a friendly feeling, metta. How do you practise metta? You start by trying to understand the value of your own life; you must see how much you love yourself. The dearest thing for every individual in the world is their own life. Therefore, first of all, feel the love for yourself. I do not mean carnal appetite when I use this word ‘love’; I mean good will and benevolence. You must hope for the welfare of your own life.

Anyone who doesn’t love himself or herself cannot love others. First practise love for yourself, and then extend that very same love to your nearest and dearest — your child, for example. Do this until you feel that there is no difference between your child and yourself. Then go a little further and try to feel love for, say, a brother. Again, do this until you feel there is no difference between you, your child and your brother. Continue practising like this from person to person, from individual to individual. Extend love to relatives, friends, neighbours and all the people in your vicinity. Then direct your loving-kindness to those living further away, and on and on until you gradually encompass all the people in the whole country. Then continue; extend your love to those in surrounding countries, and further and further until all the human beings on the whole earth are the objects of your love.

Season’s Greetings from all at Buddhism Now

Stillness to shake the universe!
Shudders of astonishment!
The deathless was never lost . . .

Zen Graffiti

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The Still Silence, by Ajahn Sumedho

The first Noble Truth is the understanding of suffering and the second is the insight into ‘letting go’. The suffering that we are talking about comes from attachment out of ignorance, out of habit, greed, hatred, and delusion. We tend to react to sensory impingement, either wanting the pleasant, or not wanting the unpleasant. So the tendency is to react and grasp; and grasping also implies trying to get rid of things. Then the third Noble Truth is the realization of cessation, nirodha. Cessation doesn’t mean the ultimate cessation of everything where we go into a kind of blank vacuum; it is the mind empty of ‘I am’ where there is no grasping, no hatred, and no delusion, where there is simply the realization of what we might call ‘the empty mind’, or  ‘the silence’.

Little by Little, by Maezumi Roshi

We can see in both Soto practice and Rinzai practice sudden and gradual aspects. We can say it is a continuous process — first practise, then sudden realization, then further practise   and   further  realization continuing endlessly. From the experiential point of view, the gradual and sudden aspects together are a gradual  process.

In Soto Zen we also emphasize the intrinsic point of view. In other words, from the beginning, practice and realization are one. Practice is this life, and realization is this life, and this life is revealed right here and now as each of us. Realization is nothing other than seeing this plain fact. Whether we realize it or not, it is the fact. Whether we practise five years or ten years or not at all, it is the plain fact. In each moment the Buddha Dharma is completely revealed as this life. Every instant appears and disappears as the absolute truth. What could be more sudden than this?

Connecting with Certainty, by Oscar Yerburgh

We have posted this in memory of our old friend Oscar Yerburgh
who died on 29 October 2011

There are experiences in life which we feel to be undeniably true; I expect that everybody has them. But there are also experiences which many people do not have which seem to be of a different order. If you experience one of these and try to describe it to others you often get a blank stare (even a tapping of the forehead!) or an ‘I know exactly what you mean’, but you instinctively know that they don’t and that your ‘mystical’ (I feel compelled to use that word) experience is not describable in words.

Words are dualistic and need subject and object. We cannot therefore speak about Unity, or rather can only speak roundabout Unity or Oneness. No words are necessary when subject and object become one, which perhaps explains why great spiritual masters seldom disagree ― whatever path they are following ― and spend little time just talking. They live in the present moment and allow it to come to them.
Up to now, aged eighty-four, I have had three what one might call ‘other experiences’ which might be of interest to those trying to follow a spiritual path. None of these experiences in any way boosted my ego; all of them in fact gave me a wonderful feeling of increased strength and of the ego being momentarily removed.

Forest and the Way Out, by Ananda Maitreya

There is a vast forest abounding in huge trees with thick foliage overshadowing and darkening everything underneath. Its inhabitants, being quite accustomed to its darkness, do not feel the real nature of the forest. The fruits of the trees which serve them as food bring on them a long slumber, in which they dream curious dreams, while worm-like reptiles emerge from the soil, waiting for opportunities to suck out their blood. When these unfortunate beings awake, they feel exhausted, thirsty, and hungry owing to the loss of blood. Then they eat the delicious but poisonous fruits, sip the juice thereof, and fall asleep, thus becoming a prey again to the blood-sucking reptiles. Very few see even faintly the frightful nature of this forest and even they are very forgetful of its dangers. One may rightly call this forest ‘an enchanted land’.

Final Lesson, by Arthur Braverman

I’m sitting on my cushion in the morning before going to work and that feeling of openness comes, — not a thought-free feeling but one of awareness of being there, on the cushion, and of being content with just that. Then there is a feeling of gratitude for being taught a zazen with no strings attached—no elaborate initiation, no progress reports, and no conclusions. But there is a personal mystery that shrouds my feeling of gratitude. Why have I felt such ambivalence for the man who introduced me to and guided me through this practice? I feel that I must contact him again and work through these feelings and put some kind of closure to our relationship. The man is Uchiyama Kôshô Roshi and he was abbot of Antaiji from the time of his teacher’s death in 1965 until his own retirement in 1975. During his ten years as abbot of Antaiji, Uchiyama set up a temple where clergy and lay people, Japanese and westerners, men and women, could practise zazen together in as accom­modating an atmosphere for practice as one can imagine in a temple in Japan.

Western Cultural Accretions

There is a certain unease among traditionally trained Buddhists which is that some of that which goes under the heading of ‘Buddhism’ in the West is questionable regarding its authenticity. The fear is that some of the adaptations that have taken place over the years have departed too far from the basic teachings of the Budd­ha.

The discomfort is not only felt by traditionally trained monastics. There are many westerners too who are concerned about what is going under the heading of ‘Buddhism’.