Contact Misha or Jill if you wish to participate and receive a schedule.
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Special bows for today:
- Please continue to offer bows for the family of Alison Templeton, a Peninsula School parent, who died on April 1st after a long struggle with cancer
- Please continue to offer bows for Jeff Ghazarian and his family, friends of Lilliana Mendez-Soto’s nephew who died on March 19th at the age of 34 from COVID-19
- Please continue to offer bows of well-being for:
- Jackie Little, Jim Little’s aunt, who is recovering well at home from COVID-19
- Lisa McCrossen, Dainuri Rott’s niece, who is recovering from COVID-19
- Carmen Ibanez, Lidia Luna’s mother, who is recovering well at home
- Rev. Les Kaye, Misha’s Zen teacher, who is recovering at home while undergoing chemotherapy
- Brendan, Kate Haimson’s son, who is recovering at home from surgery
- Lilith Armitage, Shannon Bergman’s daughter who is recovering well at home from surgery
- Michael Tieri Ricaud, Dainuri Rott’s brother, who is suffering from MS
Our new ZHS on-line schedule (go to our website for more information: zenheartsangha.org):
- Mondays: 7-8:30pm - zazen, short service, lecture/discussion
- Tuesdays-Fridays: 5:30-6:10pm - zazen, offering of merit/bows
- Saturdays: 8:00-10:15am - zazen, short service, tea, discussion/study
Wonderful links shared by sangha and friends:
- New from Zen Heart Sangha: a new tab on our website with resources about COVID-19
- From our dharma sister, Jill Kaplan: Jack Kornfield's Bodhisattva Response to the Virus: https://jackkornfield.com/the-bodhisattva-response-to-the-virus/
- From our dharma sister, Diane Comey: a tour of Hakone Gardens during cherry blossom time https://youtu.be/cJ09GLc-cek
- From our dharma brother, Brian Dipert, in Colorado about faith in troubled times: https://www.denverpost.com/2020/04/05/colorado-coronavirus-religion-faith/
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From Misha's lecture on Monday evening: Iris Mind in COVID Time
(This lecture is based on one Misha gave on April 3, 1991 when she was the Head Monk for a practice period at Kannon Do with her teacher, Rev. Les Kaye; photo by Shannon Bergman)
On a Monday near the end of the practice period, I had gone into the Kannon Do garden at the old zendo on College Avenua and cut some irises to put behind my seat near the altar. The only iris that was actually blooming was the very tallest one on which there were many buds. I picked one other stalk that looked like it might open in a couple of days and then put them in a vase and set them behind me on a low table.
It was a very quiet night that Monday. There weren't many people sitting in the zendo and the neighborhood was also unusually quiet. After weeks of sitting, my mind was also finally growing quiet. And in that stillness during the first sitting, all of a sudden I heard a little cluck. As it was completely silent, I noticed it and thought, "What was that?" The sound was very close, but I just went back to zazen. About three minutes later: cluck. Now I really began listening (which, by the way, is different from 'hearing'--listening is hearing with attention.) About every three to five minutes there would be a little cluck. It was the sound of something pushing against something crinkly, like rice paper. I couldn't figure out what it could possibly be as there was no rice paper or shoji screen near me. When that period of zazen was over and I stood up and turned around to plump up my cushion, I noticed that the iris bud was beginning to fully open--what I had been hearing was the iris blooming and the little papery sheath at its base had been crinkling as the bud opened up!
The entire rest of the evening I sat there amazed...who would have thought you could hear a flower bloom? I had probably heard this sound in the garden before, but was never silent or slow enough to be aware of it. What a magnificent gift! For three periods of zazen that night, I had 'iris mind'. I began to feel its energy pushing; I was inside of it and it was inside of me. The teaching of emptiness--no separation and inter-dependence--manifested itself in that single iris bloom and then extended itself to everything--people, robes, candles, tatami, and the cat yowling on the street.
For instance, if you look at my brown robe, it may just look like a large (and sometimes cumbersome!) piece of material. But if you look closely you will see that the cloth is made of thousands of threads, each made from spun cotton that came from the cotton plant boll. That plant grew from a seed in the ground, nurtured by the sun, fed by the rain, and worked into the ground by the farmer. If you look carefully at this robe, it isn't just a robe anymore because of interdependence--it's the cotton harvesters, the mill workers, the truck drivers, the textile workers; it's the clouds in the sky, the worms in the earth, and the sun beating down. In short, this robe contains everything when we look with the mind of practice, just as the iris contains everything when we take the time to listen and pay attention. If this is true of a piece of cloth or an iris, how much more so is it true of all of us? By paying attention--listening, observing, seeing with our Buddha Mind--we begin to see that none of us exists without everything else, but that like the iris, we can bloom very naturally and slowly but with great energy--that is how we find our place in the world, by finding the world in us.
On a Monday near the end of the practice period, I had gone into the Kannon Do garden at the old zendo on College Avenua and cut some irises to put behind my seat near the altar. The only iris that was actually blooming was the very tallest one on which there were many buds. I picked one other stalk that looked like it might open in a couple of days and then put them in a vase and set them behind me on a low table.
It was a very quiet night that Monday. There weren't many people sitting in the zendo and the neighborhood was also unusually quiet. After weeks of sitting, my mind was also finally growing quiet. And in that stillness during the first sitting, all of a sudden I heard a little cluck. As it was completely silent, I noticed it and thought, "What was that?" The sound was very close, but I just went back to zazen. About three minutes later: cluck. Now I really began listening (which, by the way, is different from 'hearing'--listening is hearing with attention.) About every three to five minutes there would be a little cluck. It was the sound of something pushing against something crinkly, like rice paper. I couldn't figure out what it could possibly be as there was no rice paper or shoji screen near me. When that period of zazen was over and I stood up and turned around to plump up my cushion, I noticed that the iris bud was beginning to fully open--what I had been hearing was the iris blooming and the little papery sheath at its base had been crinkling as the bud opened up!
The entire rest of the evening I sat there amazed...who would have thought you could hear a flower bloom? I had probably heard this sound in the garden before, but was never silent or slow enough to be aware of it. What a magnificent gift! For three periods of zazen that night, I had 'iris mind'. I began to feel its energy pushing; I was inside of it and it was inside of me. The teaching of emptiness--no separation and inter-dependence--manifested itself in that single iris bloom and then extended itself to everything--people, robes, candles, tatami, and the cat yowling on the street.
For instance, if you look at my brown robe, it may just look like a large (and sometimes cumbersome!) piece of material. But if you look closely you will see that the cloth is made of thousands of threads, each made from spun cotton that came from the cotton plant boll. That plant grew from a seed in the ground, nurtured by the sun, fed by the rain, and worked into the ground by the farmer. If you look carefully at this robe, it isn't just a robe anymore because of interdependence--it's the cotton harvesters, the mill workers, the truck drivers, the textile workers; it's the clouds in the sky, the worms in the earth, and the sun beating down. In short, this robe contains everything when we look with the mind of practice, just as the iris contains everything when we take the time to listen and pay attention. If this is true of a piece of cloth or an iris, how much more so is it true of all of us? By paying attention--listening, observing, seeing with our Buddha Mind--we begin to see that none of us exists without everything else, but that like the iris, we can bloom very naturally and slowly but with great energy--that is how we find our place in the world, by finding the world in us.
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ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteShelter in place now
ReplyDeleteChange will come after the storm
The flowers still bloom
Buddha moon so bright
ReplyDeleteWhat do you think of mankind
Shower us with light