Meditation Musings

Lately I've been getting into some conversations around here that got me to thinking about some of the things I wrote while I was living in Hawaii. These writings are the result of my mind thinking far more than it should while sitting zazen. I would have all of these "realizations" of sorts rush into my head during my sit, and when the sitting was done I would immediately get up and begin writing down what thoughts had occurred. It's interesting for me to look at these now, and to see how much of my understanding of the universe is based on both biology and Buddhism; already I'm not sure if I agree with everything in these pieces, but I feel like they're a pretty good look into my worldview. Anyways, it seemed pertinent to post them at this time, and so here they are:

The Universal Search for Balance

DNA may sometimes seem like a virus, an entity solely concerned with its own reproduction, which from its innate desire to replicate itself it has brilliantly created life. Lifeforms then became the means for the proliferation of DNA , with DNA being able to take the back seat in the drive for its own reproduction. It has created these beings with their own blind desires to reproduce, unaware that they’re doing it for their host.

However, upon further investigation, it becomes clear that DNA itself is just a manifestation of the universe, which itself is simply the ebbs and flows of everything and eternity striving to maintain balance. Chemistry and physics are the result of some form of this search for balance, somewhere, someway. It is in the throes of this search for balance that biology was born, that life was born, with DNA at its center. Therefore we no longer look at DNA as a virus, but only as the product of its environment, the universe. It is only a string of chemicals seeking balance.

That string of chemicals became increasingly complex, because its environment is complex. In the beginnings of the world, the source of primordial soup in which the crux of life began was a violent environment, rife with volcanoes and tectonic upheavals, asteroids, and noxious gases. It is tumultuous, the entire burning orb incontent with its place in the cosmos. It is adolescent and moody, trying to figure out its own balance, its own place in the universe. From this chaos came DNA, which, as a string of chemicals blindly driven by they’re innate universal desire to be at equilibrium with their environment, adapted. In this adaptation we have genes, a way for DNA to express itself in phenotypes in the hope of finding a means of surviving and thriving in chaos.

This search for balance characterizes all life. We intake nutrients and dispel waste in the hopes of reaching the ideal balance of chemicals in our bodies. We seek mates that will ideally help balance out our flaws in the next generation. We live our lives in the search of that Buddhist middle ground, where we are aware and at peace. Psychologically this universal, chemical, and physical need for balance has manifested itself in humans with their desire to be happy. Just as DNA developed the complexity of genes to be best adapted for its complex environment, humans have developed an overabundance of neurons in order to best be adapted for theirs. Our attempted solution at balance is the increased awareness that comes along with our plethora of neural connections; it is our increased awareness of ourselves, of others, of our environment, and of our universe. Unfortunately this attempt at balance itself has led to many imbalances. But we continue to progress, along with our genes and our DNA, to be at one with our universe. To be enlightened. We are, after all, the universe realizing itself.

In the universe’s attempt to realize itself it became necessary for the ego to develop; a sense of self, of being distinct and wholly different from everything else around you. This, of course, is a fabrication, created by our brains. Our brains themselves are just a clump of fat and protein that are very efficient at organizing electrical impulses. Our bodies, what we define as ourselves, are just a collection of colliding elements and energy, just like everything else. Carbon and oxygen and hydrogen enter our body as food, water, and breath, and leave our bodies as waste, which then re-enters the environment only to eventually be consumed by something else…our waste is consumed by microbes, fungi, and plants, which are in turn consumed by organisms who are once more consumed, and so on. We all share the same air—oxygen from the arctic ocean and the Congo rainforest run in my veins, build my tissues. When I touch a blade of grass, we exchange surface cells, that plant now embedded in my tissues and I in its.

Sex, power, and money are all drives stemming from the ego, this fabrication created by our DNA, our evolution, all of the random successes in the universal search for balance. But the ego, despite being the result of several billions of years worth of sense for balance, itself is incredibly imbalanced. Thanks to our frontal lobes, our prefrontal cortex, our species has the capacity to imagine a future. This part of our brain came from our DNA’s superb capability of recognizing its environment so as to best adapt. Now its programs to adapt is what drives us. We consistently feel the need to adapt to something, to change our current circumstances because, surely, there must be something better; some better way to exist, to live in equilibrium. So we imagine ourselves more comfortable through wealth, more fulfilled through religion, more connected through sex, and more capable through power. These imaginings are what fuel desire.

True Enlightenment

I think that there’s something just as tangible as enlightenment. I understand the intellectual appeal of enlightenment—that once made aware of the absurdity of human thought and existence it is tempting to escape it, to be above it, outside of it—to take the red pill and escape the Matrix. However, living with this knowledge, that all we are is a bunch of confused molecules and that I don’t really exist in any sort of concrete sense and that none of the people or things I love do either, and then relishing that fact, seems to me to be so much more conducive to a rich life.

Instead of spending my one and only life as this particular bunch of molecules colliding at this particular time in space trying to escape this cycle of death and birth, this cycle of change, this cycle of the eternal ephemeral search for equilibrium,  I want to plunge into it. I want to understand and celebrate my being, however loosely constructed it is. What a miracle it is, to exist as a culmination of successful mutations and upsets. When one reflects on what it takes for one being, one organism, any organism, to exist as it does today, it is undeniably humbling.

To think about how the particles collided in that primordial soup eons ago to create fatty acids, which became DNA, which became cells, which became multicellular organisms, which became vertebrates, which became tetrapods, which became mammals, which became primates, which became apes, which became humans, which became Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth, Einstein, and my grandparents. How my mother from Massachusetts decided to move to Colorado at the same time that my father did from California. How all of these billions of things occurred to lead to me. There is nothing else like me in the universe, and there never will be again. When looking at the history of what led to my existence, it is so overwhelming and humbling. We are all stardust, compacted into controlled forms of energy, and how magnificent of a thing is that?

After all of this, how completely right it is for us to be the universe realizing itself. It could not have happened any other way.

Observations of the Body

When sitting and trying to quiet my mind, it is incredibly easy for my mind in that time to try to grasp some form of stimulation. In this way sitting is entirely conducive to learning more about my own body. I never really got a hold on focusing on my breath as a means for clearing my thoughts. However, it helps if I think about it biologically. For instance, the somewhat unsteadying realization that the air that enters my lungs is not the same air that exits them. It is difficult to pinpoint the exact moment during a breath when this miraculous transformation occurs. Is it done at the bottom of the inhalation, during that half-second before the exhalation starts? The oxygen I suck in gets absorbed entirely into my bloodstream through my lungs and then my lungs replace it with carbon dioxide, pulling from the bloodstream. It is astounding, when focused on nothing else, that this process continuously happens, with or without thought to it.

It is also compelling to notice the moment in between breaths, or the moment when breath stops. If my entire being is solely focused on the act of breathing, during that moment of rest I begin to wonder if I’m actually still alive. That moment feels so still that I think that surely this must be what it feels like to not exist, to ebb into the flow of the universe and dissolve into the stardust of matter from whence everything came. At least, until my lungs independently from my thoughts begin the whole process over again, reminding me that it is possible to live without thinking.

However, it is easy for the brain to wander from focused thought to focused thought, from observing one automatic body function to the next. Soon I begin to focus on my spine, and really how unnatural it is for it to be curved so. How our ancestors long ago evolutionarily selected this ridiculous posture. How no one is ever really sure why, evolutionarily speaking, the process or us to be bipedal began at all. And now we’re left with this ridiculously curved spine. How the curves are a reaction to hold us upright, but they don’t really have a super keen interest in playing their part, so that when one is trying to sit perfectly upright for any period of time, one begins to notice how much our spine, our silly s-curved spine, begs to be released from its obligation.

In this manner it is also interesting to notice how much our body is working consistently on maintaining our balance. Our abdominal and back muscles are constantly in the process of micro-twitching and slight adjustments so that we can be upright, so that we can be balanced and live in our world in a tangible and realistic way, despite our ridiculous spines.

Finally, I can feel my blood moving through my body. I can feel the sensation of my heart sucking in blood only for it to be pushed out again. I can feel that pulse, that rhythm, that hum, course throughout my being, deep within and right under the skin. I can feel it in my chest, my neck, my scalp. I can feel it in my wrists, my palms, my fingertips. I can feel it course through my internal organs until it settles uncomfortably at the junction of my legs and hips. I can feel how, if I make a slight adjustment to my sitting posture to allow blood to flow back into my lotus-positioned legs, life returns, sensation returns. I can feel the blood begin at the top of the leg and rush down and spread out until it reaches my toes. I can feel the warmth and assurance that blood brings to my limbs.

I can feel my brains processing all of this information in an effort to be stimulated and I feel ashamed of myself for not achieving enlightenment. For not allowing my brain to become just another organ, trapped in an organism, stuck on a rock that’s spiraling through the cosmos.

Self-Propelled Thoughts on the Mind and the Ego

It is interesting how easy it is for the mind to concentrate on anything besides itself. The concept of the ego, at its core, is the concept of there being an “I.” That makes sense, inherently. I am an organism differentiated from my environment by my DNA. However, the mind becomes very uncomfortable when truly focusing on how it is a separate entity, a separate organ from the rest of the organs. It is what creates the identity, the ego, what creates that inherent sense of differentiation of self and others. It is not meant to be reflected on. It is not meant to be thought of. It almost becomes a paradox; the mind thinking of the mind…and paradoxes make us uncomfortable—it is an obvious instance of the universe in imbalance, blatant like a sore in the fabric of the cosmos which entails all of time and space.

It is also interesting how inherent a second is. Where does that beat come from that runs through all of humanity?

The Four Noble Truths

"We should find perfect existence through imperfect existence."

"According to Dogen, one continuous mistake can also be Zen."

--Suzuki Roshi, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind

Flower of the Week:

Sculpit flowers. I really like using these in arrangements.

Buddhist Lesson of the Week:

The Four Noble Truths

An altar in the garden

The Four Noble Truths are the backbone of the dharma. They are the great revelation of Buddha's enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, and the first thing he began teaching upon his awakening. I could talk about all four of these for a while, and have literally written papers on them...I am taking a six week class on them currently. Therefore, for this (for all intents and purposes) brief lesson segment on Buddhism, I shall just stick to the bare bones of what they are.

1. Dukkha, or the fact of suffering

The first noble truth is the understanding of the fact that there is suffering in the world, and in our lives as we exist in the cycle of samsara (the cycle of birth and rebirth, or reincarnation.)

2. Dukkha samudaya, or the origin of suffering

The second noble truth is that all of the suffering in the world comes from delusion, or an unawareness on the actuality of the world. Delusion leads to greed (wanting, desire, craving) and hatred (avoiding, dissatisfaction, rejecting). Delusion, greed, and hatred are the three great defilements within Buddhism. 

3. Dukkha niroda, or the cessation of suffering

The third noble truth is the good news that there is a way to cease suffering (and thus gain enlightenment,) through the cessation of delusion, greed, and hatred.

4. Dukkha magga, or the path to the cessation of suffering

Altar decorated for Buddha's birthday
(celebrated today, May 1st)

The fourth noble truth is the offering/instruction/awareness that the path to the cessation of suffering is the eight fold path. By following the eightfold path, one can find Buddha nature, thus finding enlightenment. Enlightenment means reaching nirvana, which is a place free from the defilements and free from samsara, where one can see things truly as they are with no delusions.

**Again, there is a whole lot to say about all of these in great detail, which maybe I can do at some point. Something I'll say briefly now is how much I appreciate the four noble truths, as an atheist. In college I took a "Philosophy of Religion" course that tackled many ethical and philosophical queries the come from believing in a God. One of the toughest ones to comprehend was why, if God was all good, there would still be suffering in the world. Why would a benevolent, compassionate, and omnipotent God allow genocide, starvation, infant mortality, rape, etc.? 

Buddhism surpasses this question entirely. Its most basic foundation is the acceptance that that is how the world is, beyond our control. There is suffering. There will be suffering, until every being is awakened. That is where we start, with the understanding that the world can be bad, but that we can be good, and act as lights in the darkness; in Mahayana, Bodhisattvas use their lights to guide others to their own lights, until eventually the whole world is no longer in a fog of needless anguish.

I suppose I should also say that freedom from suffering is not free from pain; pain cannot be helped. Physical, and even emotional pain, happens. If the whole world is full of enlightened beings it does not mean that people will stop stubbing toes, breaking arms, dying in childbirth, or even getting upset, angry, scared, or sad. Freedom from suffering means differentiating the pain from attachment. You will not always be in pain (so the key Buddhist principal of impermanence is also at play here.) Thus we just live with it as it is happening. We do not push it away (for that is a form of hatred for what is happening in the moment) or cling onto the illusion that something will make it better (for that is a form of greed,) but instead fully experience that pain as it's happening. With that comes a sort of peace and acceptance, and even gratitude, for being able to have such a human experience in our short lives.

Outside of zendo (left), Cloud Hall (center), and Stillwater Hall (right), all essentially one building (a complex, I guess)

Life at the Center:

This past week has been another full week full of learning a whole lot of wonderful things. I will say that it is definitely noticeable that all of us are beginning to get tired (physically) of having so much to do all of the time, and having such full schedules. I've heard from quite a few people who have been here a long time that that tiredness does not go away, at least for quite some time. But although it seems to still be an impulse amongst most of the new apprentices to complain about our lack of free time, we inevitably backpedal on our complaints. Yes, we are very busy, but we are very busy doing just such lovely things, who are we to complain in the end? I appreciate this awareness.

Practice

Delphiniums in the garden

I've been thinking a lot these past few weeks about something that Suzuki says in Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, in which he essentially told his students to not worry about remembering anything he said to them; that when he gives a Dharma talk, his students should listen during the talk, but then forget about what he said as soon as it's over. Of course, this seems silly at first; however, I've come to realize what he meant by that (at least as it could pertain to my own life.) My first few weeks here I was worrying about remembering everything that I was being subjected to--I felt a sort of stress in expecting myself to remember the schedule, the peculiar intricacies of protocol in the zendo, the names of the flowers in the garden, the medicinal native plants growing along the hills, the names and lives of everybody here, the lessons presented during every dharma talk and class, my own personal revelations, etc. However, the more I'm exposed to something, even (or maybe especially) if I don't make a concentrated effort to remember it, the more likely it is to softly nestle its way into my brain space. This is particularly true for lessons on life understood through the dharma. I often find myself thinking "Oh what a wonderful point, I shall remember this and be such a better person forever," a few dozen times during every dharma talk or class. Eventually I realized while having one such thought that that is seldom the case; I forget most every epiphany learned, only to re-learn them some weeks, months, or years later, only to forget, only to rediscover, until it is just a part of being and understanding. That is why we practice (not only Buddhism, but really anything), so that we may comfortably adapt to our new understandings through repetitive exposure.

My dokusan (practice discussion) with the tanto (head of practice) went very well. I definitely see the benefit of bringing up objections to understandings (or misunderstandings) I have about the dharma or anything I do here. Not all of my qualms were quelled, but she gave me unexpectedly interesting insights into my own apprehensions within my own life through her answers to my questions on practice and life here.

Stillwater Hall--a dorm (upstairs)
and a yoga studio (downstairs)

At one point during morning zazen I watched as the farmer who sits in front of me rose to attend to one of his zendo duties. As is custom, upon rising from his cushion after sitting he carefully fluffed, arranged, and then bowed to his cushion before leaving it; upon witnessing this, I had a revelation. A lot of my questions about what I was doing here that arose last week were answered in watching him attend to his cushion. I felt an immense sense of gratitude and joy to be participating in a practice that for centuries has encouraged people to be respectful to cushions.

Last week's dharma talk was given by Ed Sattizahn, who is the abbott of City Center. He was entirely delightful. I actually laughed out loud a few times during the lecture. He was just so entirely down to earth and at ease with where he was, and took his enlightenment with a side of a dry awareness. In any case, he told one story during the lecture that stayed with me for most of the week, and I think presented a lovely lesson. The story was this: Ed and his wife were traveling around the Vancouver area visiting friends. One night they reserved a table on this lovely patio at a great restaurant; their table would have allowed them to have enjoyed their food while looking out over the whole city. They were very excited for this wonderful opportunity and experience. However, when they were driving into Vancouver to get to their reservation, they hit horrible traffic and weather, both of which offered plenty of opportunities to spoil their moods. When they finally got to the restaurant, they discovered that there was a huge wedding party that had booked up the whole restaurant, which unfortunately included their reserved table they were so much looking forward to. The restaurant offered them a table right next to the bussing station in the back, which they declined, deciding to venture out into the city. They found a little hole-in-the-wall pub, where they struck up conversation with the people at the table next to them, asking them about what they recommended from the menu and such things. The couple turned out to be both entirely fascinating and of like mind to Ed and his wife. Ed and his wife ended up hanging out with the couple for the rest of the night, visiting them at their house after dinner to continue conversing.

Ed made the point that that is why we do not become attached to certain plans, goals, or outcomes. If something does not happen the way we plan for it to, then we should just be still and look around at the new outcome, and be with it. There is usually something just as lovely happening instead of what we planned. This would eliminate unnecessary suffering, as well as give a fresh sense of joy and wonder. This is something good for me to keep in mind. I've always wanted to keep it in mind...that's why I have a tattoo stating "So it goes." Hopefully one day it will become so with me.

Bathhouse altar. That is one of my arrangements :)

As far as actual sitting goes, this was the first full week of two-periods of sitting every morning. I honestly don't really feel much of a difference between waking up at 4:15 am instead of 5:05 am, it's still waking before the sun either way. However, I do notice how much harder it is to stay awake in the morning now. During first period I am pretty much just consistently catching my brain drifting into dream like thoughts--which I guess in and of itself is fairly interesting, being able to now consciously identify when my thoughts become ones that lead into a dream. It's actually sort of surreal that I can watch the process of my brain drifting from conscious to subconscious, disjointed, surprisingly illogically logical thoughts. When I catch my brain forming a seamless connection between say, my fifth grade teacher and a city alleyway and a crate full of rabbits (or I don't know, whatever,) that's when I can say "Ha! Brain, nice try. But that is not what we do right now. Right now we sit with our eyes slightly open and stare at the table leg in front of my cushion. Stop connecting such silly thoughts for the time being." I'm interested to see if I can eventually feel awake and aware during morning zazen (at least the first period, the second period usually isn't so hard.)

Sometimes during zazen, when my mind just will not slow down or be still in any sort of way, I see what all sorts of detailed and obscure facts I can remember from college--you know, the stuff that you force feed your memory right before an exam only to forget it completely as soon as the exam is finished? One morning I went through the entire history of the planet, in as detailed a way as possible, and then presenting it back to myself as though I was teaching it to someone else. It was not at all zen, but it was useful to have so much time to spend thinking about such things. Now I remember so much more than I used to, so that's neat.

Work

Most of the work we do in the garden is weeding...but that's okay. I actually quite enjoy weeding, and it's good work for practicing mindfulness. People from the farm (as well as others) actually ask Juniper and myself quite frequently what it actually is that we do in the garden. It occurred to me this past week that our job is essentially just to make sure that the garden is beautiful. This includes, in my mind, cultivating, propagating, and cutting flowers. It also includes mowing the lawns, trimming the hedges, and of course, weeding the beds. It means ensuring that the flowers and herbs growing in the garden are as healthy and happy as possible, which means making sure they have access to our lovely artisan compost, are watered regularly, and of course, not surrounded by weeds. 

I was able to do flower arranging again this week, which was just stupendous. I love it. Not only for the reason that I don't have to wear my garden work pants for the day. It's very interesting seeing which arrangements get reactions, which don't so much, which flowers last, and which don't, as well as potentially understanding my own state of my mind when I create them. It's something I'm very excited to explore further.

Baby apple bunches

On Thursday we started to work on the orchard a bit. Claudia is letting us have our own little patch of trees in the orchard that we tend to, which I am quite happy with. That way we can see more easily and directly see the impacts of our work with the trees. Right now all that we are doing is thinning the apples. The apples in our orchard (and I imagine apples elsewhere as well) naturally grow in clumps of 5-6. When they grow to the size of a walnut, it is important to thin out the bunches so that only one or two apples from each clump remain; this helps the apples grow larger (more room) and sweeter (more sugar and water diverted to only a few instead of all of them.) I'm going to be honest, it felt like playing God a little bit, choosing which ones were allowed to grow to fruition (literally) and which ones could not. I suppose that playing God is all that artificial selection is, though. I was also comforted by the thought that either way all of the apples will die at some point, so it doesn't really matter which ones live now, in the grand scheme of things.

Community

They give us many opportunities to learn more not only about zen and gardening/farming, but also our surrounding area. Last Saturday evening, as well as this most recent Friday morning, a local ornithology enthusiast--as well as past Sangha member--Zach Denning came and gave simply astounding bird walks. They were incredible. His knowledge about birds was unbelievable. He knew some sort of fun fact about every single bird that was posed to him. He could sit and listen and hear 15 different bird calls when the rest of us could only hear 4. He would often be delving into some really interesting fact about a species of bird I had never heard of and will probably never remember the name of only to be distracted by a bird flying above, and then he would delve into a story about that bird, only to hear the call of another one, and so on. It was a splendid onslaught of bird information that I absolutely loved. 

On a related note, quails are abundant here. I think that if Green Gulch were to have a mascot, it would be the quail. They're just so wonderfully dithered at all times. They're cutie pies. Anyways, quail calls are easy at this point to identify and mimic, and sometimes in the garden we'll do them to find each other.

A rainbow of irises in the garden

On Saturday (yesterday) the farm and garden apprentices were treated to a lesson/experience in Green Gulch's tea house to the zen art of tea. It was so so wonderful. Being inside the tea house felt like being inside of a doll house, because everything is so delicate and well-crafted by skilled artisans. The tea ceremony is, of course, very intricate and completely different than zendo ceremonies. It was interesting to see how much we actually are conditioned in the mannerisms of the zendo. Simple things, such as how we hold our hands (hand positions are called mudras) have become second nature; in the tea house there were different mudras than those we use in the zendo, and different ways of sitting, speaking, and bowing. Something I loved about the ceremony was that when we were offered tea we had to bow to the person before us and say to them "I will join you in having tea," and then bow to the person after us and say to them something in Japanese that translates along the lines of "excuse me for drinking tea before you." It is important to be as clean as possible in the tea house, as well as to hold the tea bowl in a very steady and respectful way. At the end of the ceremony Meiya (who runs the tea house and does all of the tea ceremonies and classes,) read an absolutely lovely poem written by Reb Anderson about tea that was so absolutely stunning and stirring we asked her to read it a second time. Meiya said she will give us a copy of the poem at some point; when she does (hopefully she will), I'll post it here for you all to enjoy.

Outside of the dining hall (bottom left) and
Wheelwright Center (top right)

On Monday night I started my "Wisdom in Writing" class taught by our tenzo (head cook) Catherine, which was just wonderful. The class was an hour, and we only wrote one thing, but it was a really interesting exercise nonetheless, because everybody read aloud what it was that they wrote down. The prompt was inspired by a couple paragraphs from Jorge Luis Borges' "The Other." The paragraphs read were a conversation in which Borges talks about himself in both the first and third person, essentially discussing himself as seen in the world and the self that is true within him. He talked about how sometimes they related and were the same, and how sometimes they were very different. In our writings we started with the sentence "The other one, the one they call (our names)..." and just let our stream of consciousness write what it willed for ten minutes. It was beautiful and inspiring just how different everybody used the prompt, and what deeply profound understandings emerged about our own selves and the selves of the people in the room with us. I have gone back and forth about sharing mine on here, and I think I will. I'll post it below.

On Wednesday we had a residents' meeting, which was just an opportunity for the residents here at Green Gulch to share ideas or discuss concerns with each other, so as to best live and work together here. At the end of the meeting Fu, our abbess, had us write our own version of the shingi (a manual of rules for living in the sangha.) The rules we wrote were to be about how we could live here as a "we" over the summer, instead of a collection of "me's". My group wrote three rules, but I can only remember two of them right now. They were: 1) Accept every moment as it happens, it all its myriad forms, and 2) Work on remembering that the sangha extends beyond the temple.

Also on Wednesday we had our first evening Dharma talk, which was great. It was given by Doris, who also teaches my class on the Four Noble Truths. The talk was about exploring what "faith" means in Buddhism. Faith in Buddhism means three things: 1) a conviction that something is, 2) a determination to accomplish goals, and 3) a sense of joy in accomplishing the other two. It is a remedy to doubt. It is something more than belief--it is something that involves inquiry and investigation into the alignment between what the dharma teaches and your own values. It involves contemplation, and is not just a blind following of some belief. It is different from hope, because it is not limited as hope is. It is a process, and cannot be fixed, because everything in our world changes. It is given and yet can be cultivated. It is believed that, especially at the beginning of the path of dharma, some faith is needed; there needs to be some not knowing in order to intrigue the mind--it is the seed of the spiritual path in Buddhism.

Pool deck where we often eat meals on nice days. The building in the background hold showers and saunas.

Book of the Week:

Honestly, I have not had any time this week to read even a little bit. So instead of again simply just stating how I'm still reading Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, I thought I'd share the book that we start our days off with in the garden. Every morning after we bow in and before we start working, we trade off reading aloud one paragraph from Love Letter to the Earth by Thich Nhat Hanh. It's amazing how every single paragraph from that book is stirring in its own right. It is, quite simply, delightful, and indeed as moving and profound a love letter to someone as anything I have yet encountered. I would definitely, definitely suggest perusing it, especially if you feel some sort of loving connection to our planet (which I suspect is most people.)

Song of the Week:

"Someone New" by Hozier

I chose this song for this week because I really do feel this way. Every day I fall in love with someone here, in some way, unfailingly. The people here are just so beautiful and interesting, and I'm truly loving getting to know all of them (and having them get to know me.) I think meaning of the song isn't really as pure as I intend it to be right now, but maybe that's the beauty of interpreting art.

"I fall in love just a little, oh little bit every day with someone new."

The Other:

The other one, the one they call Catherine, I am just beginning to get to know, it would now seem. The fog of angst and delusion that surrounded her adolescent years persists with great stubbornness to this day. In those times, she felt like nobody, because every moment of every day was one of growth. I suppose that is still the case, but now the growth is more steady, predictable, and deep than the growth that was present throughout the teenage years. Young Catherine never felt beautiful, in any real sense of the word. She was discovering that the childish, whimsical, and petulant behavior that had for so long served her no longer held its charm. Without the patterns of her youth to fall back on, she felt empty and scared; this led her to a chronic sense of worry that derailed many chances for her to be happy.

Now, Catherine is more grounded. She is standing upon the slippery slope of her growth of character, looking over the edge into the abyss of the past. She is steadily gaining her feet and looking around to find me, standing right beside her. Gently, I take her hand, although she initially flinches from my touch. Together we walk up the hill. Sometimes Catherine gets ahead of me, but she's learned to be patient for me to catch up to her. I can see how desperate she is to hold on to me now that she's found me, and I don't mind consistently and softly reminding her that I won't let go.

It is lovely becoming acquainted with Catherine, and I can see that she feels the same for me. As we calmly climb this slippery slope together, we have begun to find time to look around at the wildflowers blooming here. Together, we learn to look over the horizon that once seemed to be full of a dark fog, only to discover that it is actually a soft, bumbling, and bouncing cloud.

Buddha sitting outside of the welcome center

The Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts

"To study Buddhism is to study ourselves. To study ourselves is to forget ourselves"---Dogen Zenji

"If it is unatainable, how can we attain it? But we should! That is Buddhism."--Suzuki Roshi, Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind

Flower of the Week:

Viburnum Opulus, "Snowball Bush" or "Guelder Rose"

Buddhist Lesson of the Week:

The Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts

The Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts are the rules that all Bodhisattvas are expected to follow. As practitioners of a Mahayana form of Buddhism, all of the sangha here at Green Gulch are considered to be Bodhisattvas, as we focus most of our energy on working on ourselves for the betterment of all living beings. They also serve as general rules for living in a sangha and serve the community in much the same way that the Ten Commandments do in Christianity. They are broken up into three sections: The Three Refuges, The Three Pure Precepts, and the Ten Grave Precepts. They are as follows:

The Three Refuges:

1. I take refuge in Buddha

(I promise to immerse myself in the Buddha way and live accordingly)

2. I take refuge in Dharma

(I promise to immerse myself in the Buddha's teachings, and live by what they teach)

3. I take refuge in Sangha

(I promise to immerse myself in living with others in a compassionate and mindful manner, and to work towards liberating all living beings from suffering)

**We chant the refuges three times in Pali (the oldest language of Buddhism from India) every morning after zazen

Our little bodhi tree in the glass house (Buddha
attained enlightenment under a bodhi tree)

The Three Pure Precepts:

1. I vow to refrain from evil

2. I vow to make every effort to live in enlightenment

3. I vow to live and be lived for the benefit of all living beings

The Ten Grave Precepts:

1. I vow not to kill (definitely not humans, but most of the time this means animals too.)

2. I vow not to take what is not given

3. I vow not to misuse sexuality (not to be chaste, but to just use sexuality with mindfulness and a a conscious and enlightened intent.)

4. I vow to refrain from false speech (even to our own selves)

5. I vow to refrain from intoxicants (you cannot live the Buddha way without a clear mind)

6. I vow not to slander

7. I vow not to praise self at the expense of others (I love this...it's alright to be proud, just in a mindful way)

8. I vow not to be possesive

9. I vow not to harbor ill will (having right mind is just as important as having right action)

10. I vow not to disparage the Three Treasures (aka the Three Jewels: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.)

A beautiful fuchsia rose in the garden

Life at the Center:

Last week I found it useful to think about my time here differentiated into my experiences with the practice, with the work, and with the community. I think I'll probably do the same thing this week. It is amazing how much seems to happen here in a week, although not very much happens at all. Our whole days are structured around being aware and mindful, not only of ourselves and our own thoughts and growth, but also of those around us and our surroundings. This is conducive to a sort of elongated sense of time here as well as plenty of time for contemplation.

Practice

I feel inclined to start my discussion on practice by talking about last Sunday's Dharma talk, which impacted me in a rather real way. For those who don't know what a Dharma Talk is, it is sort of like a sermon that is delivered by a priest every Sunday. The priest who delivers the Dharma Talk rotates every week, and it is usually a priest from GGF, but sometimes it can be a priest from the greater SFZC sangha. The public is invited to watch the talk, and afterwards they stick around for some tea, some Q&A with the speaker, and then lunch with us.

The speaker for this most recent Dharma Talk was Reb Anderson, who has been with GGF since its founding as a temple in 1972. He was the Abbot here for a while, but is no longer. Those who used to be Abbots/Abbesses but are no longer are referred to as "Senior Dharma Teachers." Reb lives here still, and I see him around every once in a while in the dining hall. I have always been sort of intimidated by him, although he seems to be a very timid and modest man, because he has a very strong presence. Although we're not supposed to speculate about who is enlightened around here, (and I'm not sure exactly what that means for me anyways,) I'm going to go on ahead and say Reb is enlightened. He has that soft aura of excellence. 

Reb's talk was about living with stillness, which he never really defined, but I interpreted as living with a sort of all-abiding and unbound compassion, perceptibility, and awareness. Essentially, what one lives with when one is enlightened. All Buddhists practice this, in some sense, although I had never really thought of it in such terms until the talk. Living with stillness is easier, it seems, with consistent zazen. That makes sense, because all that zazen is is a concentrated period of being as still as possible, in both body and mind.

Lovely pink roses from the garden. I love pink flowers :)

At the Q&A there was a woman (who ended up dominating the conversation, which I thought provided a wonderful opportunity for all in attendance to practice what Reb was preaching,) who was asking Reb how she should handle people who were Dharma practitioners, yet were often unkind to her. He provided an entirely insightful and inspiring answer, which was to just practice stillness with them, or to simply be with them as they are. That's it. No judgements, no expectations, no reactions; just allowing yourself to be with someone else as they are moment to moment. 

I thought this was a wonderful thing to practice and think about, and I have been doing so for most of this week. So much strife in the world would be avoided if people stopped being solely reactionary to each other. Of course it's harder to practice when encountering someone who just seems to be unfoundedly unkind, such as people who are adamant racists, sexists, homophobes, anti-Muslim, etc., especially if said person seems to be attacking you or people you care about. But, of course, encounters with such people are when it is most important for you to be still. Be a mirror. Allow the other person to see themselves in the reflection of your still passivity. Such people are often just hurting, in deep and profound ways. As someone who has the benefit on not being wounded in such a way, you have the advantage to be kind and compassionate. Even if it seems logically, and maybe even justly, wrong for you to not speak up. If you must speak up, do it with a still mind...reaction begets reaction, but stillness might inspire stillness.

On another note, I have had moments of real struggle with the whole religious part of the practice this past week. It first occurred during one morning zazen when suddenly I realized where I was and what I was doing. It startled me to be viscerally aware of the fact that I was in a room surrounded by about 60 people all dressed nearly the same just sitting together silently in the dark. It felt, for lack of a better or more concise word, cult-ish. I had to fight the urge to walk out of the room and gather myself.

A beautiful neon rose growing in front of the cob shed

This feeling was heightened the next morning when we had a special service to honor the full moon after morning zazen. Usually I actually quite enjoy service, but this "new moon" service had an especially religious feel to the whole thing. We did even more bowing and chanting, and a lot of the chanting was done in a call-and-response style. At one point we were all chanting the Bodhisattva vows, and I was mildly repulsed by myself and instantly uncomfortable. To me, a vow means something; it is something that should be done seriously and with great intent. I was struggling with being told to avow something and expected to blindly do so in that moment. Oftentimes, when such things happen here, I can find some way to bend the Buddhist words to more fit my Atheist interpretation of the world, but that morning I could not do it. Did I actually believe in any of the Bodhisattva vows, really? Can I stand here and hypocritically vow to something just because it is polite and expected of me to do so? 

A Buddha statue sitting under a rose bush on the farm

I know that somehow I will be able to move past this, and to be able to practice, serve, chant, and work with meaningful intent. I have a meeting with the Tanto (head of practice) later today, so that I can talk to her about these qualms of mine. I'm sure that she can give me something to work on to make me feel better about it all.

We had our first day of zazen on the normal schedule (not interim) today, which means two periods of zazen in the morning, starting at 5:00 am. I have experience with this already, but I haven't done it for years; however, I think that I like the two periods better. Already today I noticed how much more productive the second sit was.

I realized recently that I look at religion in much the same way that I look at art. I love impressionist art. One time I looked at a Van Gogh painting at an exhibit in Boston and was so unnervingly struck by the painting that all I could do was stand there in front of it and look at it for five minutes. I have never met Van Gogh nor been to the ravine that he had painted, yet I was ineffably and tangibly drawn to and connected to that painting. It was, simply, beautiful, completely. When I learn about religion, or listen to a sermon, or live in a Buddhist community, I feel the same way (most of the time.) I love religion despite my own ethical aversion to it because, inexplicably, it is beautiful to me. It is deeply, profoundly, enigmatically beautiful. 

The Ravine by Vincent Van Gogh
www.wallart-direct.co.uk

Work

Some freshly planted zinnias in the tube house on left, spearmint
and peppermint growing on the right

Work has been wonderful. I am really enjoying working in the garden. I love going to the garden everyday and seeing the flowers. Every day I am struck by their beauty. We have had some rainy mornings here this week, and when it rains the flowers are especially vibrant. I think this is because they're happy having water, but I also wonder if maybe the water on the petals acts sort of like a prism and refracts the light not being absorbed by the petals in a way that makes it appear brighter. I'm not sure how I can research this question quite yet. A quick Google search was unfruitful.

I love harvesting the herbs, especially the rosemary, because then my fingers smell lovely for a while afterwards. Without fail, every time we harvest herbs the Simon & Garfunkel song "Scarborough Fair" runs through my head (because we do in fact harvest sage, rosemary, and thyme...but no parsley.) I also actually love the (mild) manual labor we do as well (which mostly entails shoveling, edging, tilthing, and hoeing.) 

Baby plant starts in our glass house

On Tuesday we did compost. We do all of our compost in the garden by hand, which I guess is unusual. The farm uses tractors. We learned that the recipe for a good compost pile follows the acronym F.G.M.S. (which we remember with Farm Girls Must Sing.) In actuality the acronym stands for Food, Greens, Manure, and Straw. We made a big bed of straw and then piled food compost from our kitchen here at GGF, weeds from our garden, and manure from the horse stalls down the road on top. We did three layers and then wrapped it all up in a tarp and caged it up (to keep animals away.) I think we turn it every two weeks (but it might be every week? I guess I'll see.) We turn it three times and then it's ready to use on our garden beds once more!

On Thursday to honor Earth Day Qayuum (who is the Farm Manager) screened an absolutely lovely film titled "The Symphony of Soil," which was a beautiful and thorough examination of soil. Soil is wonderful, let me just tell you. The conclusion of the movie was essentially how organic farming has the potential to dramatically improve our world in just so many ways, so it was also very inspiring. I highly suggest watching it if you're a person who's inclined towards documentaries.

There is a wave of sickness sweeping through the community right now, and on Wednesday that wave knocked right on into me head on and dragged me through the surf a bit. But luckily I live and work in a community that highly encourages staying in bed and resting when sick (it's as much a practical thing as a compassionate thing,) so I just stayed put on Wednesday. No zazen and no work...which unfortunately for me meant no flower arranging for this week. However, people threw a myriad of herbal remedies in my direction, and I slept for (no over-exaggeration) 20 hours practically straight through, so I got better real quick. Also fortunately for me, I have lovely yurtmates who helped to take care of me. Juniper brought me my breakfast and lunch, which was very good, because the trek to the dining hall from the yurt would have been not so good for me (not to mention the likelihood of me contaminating others there if I did go.)

Community

I want to talk about the wild turkeys that roam the farm. As far as I can tell, there's only one pair who saunter around...but there could be many more. At times it seems like there could be a lot. At any rate, there is definitely a pair that live over by the yurts, and it is not uncommon for the male to perch on the roof of the guys' yurt or the porch of our yurt. One morning this week the male turkey found his way onto the roof of the zendo just in time for morning zazen and gently serenaded us with his guttural turkey call throughout our sit. He was also so moved by our service that in the middle of our chanting he began pecking at the roof in a very fervent manor. Oftentimes, if one calls to a turkey (using turkey sounds), the turkey will return the call. I have been slowly perfecting my turkey call so that I may have better relations with my neighbors, and have recently inspired others to do the same.

Siberian Irises

All of the residents here are expected to perform jobs for zendo operations throughout the week. All of the new apprentices only have one job right now, but eventually we'll be expected to be familiar with all of them and be able to perform all of them when need be. The boys are learning the job of shoten, who open and close the zendo doors during all of the various stages of entrance at the beginning of zazen as well as ring the bansho bell (this huge bell that hangs outside of the zendo) during the first half of the first period of morning zazen. The girls (which includes myself) are chidens, and we essentially maintain the altars. This primarily involves cleaning and maintaining the incense bowls that are used every day, but also means general tidying and restocking. It's the sort of fastidious and detailed work I quite enjoy.

The central space inside Cloud Hall. It used to be
a horse barn.

On Friday morning Qayuum brought all of the farm and garden apprentices on a hike in Muir Woods with Wendy Johnson, who is an absolutely DELIGHTFUL lady. She actually founded the farm and garden apprenticeship program here many years ago. She is another person who has a soft and strong aura of enlightenment, and she was so completely and obviously wise. I don't know if I've even been so evidently struck by someone in such a short time of their wisdom. She was not only very knowledgeable about the history of Green Gulch, Muir Woods, Marin County, and the United States, but had a quiet knowledge about her surroundings as well. She was very reverential, and as such she was the perfect guide for our walk through Muir Woods. I had never been in a redwood forest before, and as soon as I stepped into the gate, my jaw literally dropped a bit. The trees are huge and wonderful; they're ancient and strong and so very present. I was in wild wonder throughout the walk, which was only heightened by Wendy's apt ability to stop us at opportune moments so that we may quietly absorb our surroundings in an aware and solemn way. The entire walk we were silent as a group; Wendy encouraged us to not only appreciate the obvious splendor of the venerable trees, but also the ferns (who are indicators of the the tree health,) and the water in the river that runs through the woods and is the only unprotected salmon run left. 

To be honest, the whole experience unnerved me a bit (but not negatively.) My mind was just so awake....which I realize might sound a bit contrived, but I don't intend it to be so. I felt raw and open, as though the world was pouring through a crevice in my mind space. Although it was indescribably lovely, the visceral sensation of the experience left me feeling scored. 

The sensation quickly abided, however, with some playful inanity in the garden planting zinnias with Juniper.

A reminder in the sowing shed on the farm

Book of the Week:

I am still working my way through Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind. I have not had a lot of time to read this past week. I thought that I would maybe just share some of my favorite quotes from the book so far:

"Nothing comes from outside your mind. Usually we think of our mind as receiving impressions and experiences from outside, but that is not a true understanding of our mind. The true understanding is that the mind includes everything; when you think something comes from outside it means only that something appears in your mind."

"According to Dogen, one continuous mistake can also be Zen."

"The awareness that you are here, right now, is the ultimate fact."

"You must be true to your own way until at last your actually come to the point where you see it is necessary to forget all about yourself."

"When my teacher was seventy, he said, 'When I was young I was like a tiger, but now I am like a cat!' He was very pleased to be like a cat."

"The result is not the point; it is the effort to improve ourselves that is valuable."

"You are living in this world as one individual, but before you take the form of a human being, you are already there, always there. We are always here."

"You may think that when you die, you disappear, you no longer exist. But even though you vanish, something which is existent cannot be non-existent. That is the magic. We ourselves cannot put any magic spells on this world. The world is its own magic."

"When we hear the sound of the pine trees on a windy day, perhaps the wind is just blowing, and the pine tree is just standing in the wind. That is all that they are doing. But the people who listen to the wind in the tree will write a poem, or will feel something unusual. That is, I think, the way everything is."

"We are just expressing the smallest particle of the big activity, that is all."

"You should eat what is there, you know. Sometimes you do not eat it. Even though you are eating, your mind is somewhere else. You do not taste what you have in your mouth. As long as you can eat when you are eating, you are all right. Do not worry a bit. It means you are yourself."

Song of the Week:

"The Only Living Boy in New York" by Simon & Garfunkel (I know another S&G song but this one holds merit of its own)

"I get the news I need on the weather report.

I can gather all the news I need on the weather report.

Hey, I've got nothing to do today but smile."

The Three Jewels

"When you find the place where you are, practice occurs"--Dogen Zenji, Shobogenzo

Flower of the Week:

Dianthus sp. or "Sweet William"

Buddhist Lesson of the Week:

The Three Jewels

The bark on a Tibetan Cherry tree
in the Peace Garden

The Three Jewels are the Holy Trinity of Buddhism, if you will. They are the entirety of the basis of the religion. There are no concepts in Buddhism that are not attached to at least one, if not all three, of these ideas, and they are the foundation for all practice here at Green Gulch. They are:

1. Buddha 

Buddha means great teacher. The Buddha, as in the great enlightened one who provided the philosophy and concepts for the religion, is by no means the only Buddha. Different Buddhist factions have different ideas on who a Buddha is, but in Zen I have heard many times that a Buddha is anyone who lives with Buddha-nature, or someone who is compassionate, mindful, forgiving, wise, etc. As far as actual practice goes, it can also mean a teacher for you to study with and have discussions with as you navigate your practice.

2. Dharma

The Dharma is the teachings of the Buddha. It is all of Buddhism's philosophies, dogmas, sutras, and lessons. One of the Boddhisattva vows is "Dharma gates are endless, I vow to enter them." This essentially means that there are many ways to discover the truth within the framework of Buddhism. There are endless opportunities to grow and learn, and those who are true with their practice will embrace all of those learning opportunities, even if they are unusual, unexpected, or even at times unwelcome. When you study Buddhism, you study the Dharma.

3. Sangha

The Sangha is the community in which you practice. Contemporarily it often refers to the groups of people who study the Dharma together. For example, Green Gulch is a Sangha, but so is the San Francisco Zen Center, as is Zen Buddhism in general, and Buddhism as a whole. Many Buddhists believe the whole world, and all of its population, to be a Sangha of sorts. Living and working in a community is such an important element of Buddhism because it is hard to actually practice if you do not have others to practice with. Living, working, and studying with others provides many more opportunities to practice compassion, patience, and awareness than if you were to only study by yourself. Sanghas also provide the opportunity to interact with teachers and people who can help guide you in your navigation of the Dharma.

My First Few Weeks:

Some broccoli and chard on the farm

It is hard for me to think about where to start. This past week and a half has felt like a month. It is hard for me to realize that I have not really shared very much of what has been happening here during this time before this point. The days here are wonderfully long and full, and it has been widely noted amongst us new residents that one day here often feels like it lasts two days in its fullness. 

I think that perhaps the easiest way for me to start to talk about the beginning of my journey here is to break it up in nice, little, organized pieces. I have been told many times, especially during my application process to obtain this apprenticeship, that there are three main elements to living at Green Gulch, and it is imperative to partake in those three elements during our time here. I think I will talk about each part separately.

Practice

Practice is perhaps the most central of the three elements of living here, for obvious reasons; this is, after all, first and foremost, a religious center. The new apprentices moved to Green Gulch at the beginning of an interim period schedule, which is a more relaxed schedule than normal. This really only means that instead of two 40-minute periods of zazen in the morning, we only have one. That means that we have only had to start our days at 5:50 am instead of the more typical 5:00 am. We have two full weeks of this schedule before we jump deeper into the zazen. 

There is an emphasis at Green Gulch on "work practice," which means living and working with a zen mind outside of zazen in the zendo. This is largely due to practical reasons, being we live and work on a relatively large and busy working farm and garden. The residents here need to be able to work while still placing their emphasis on their religious study. This means that when we work, we work and only focus on that. So when we pull weeds, we are encouraged to put all of our attention on pulling that weed. Or when we cut flowers, we focus only on the flower bush we are cutting. This of course is hard to do consistently through out the whole day, but that is why it is something that we practice.

Covered beds in the "kitchen garden," actually part of the farm

My sitting right now is largely unstructured (within my mind.) I don't try to push or pull my mind in any direction while I sit (which you're not supposed to do anyways when you sit zazen,) but I also haven't really been making a concentrated effort on watching my thoughts as they transpire at will. At times I worry about this, but I feel that it is okay; a lot of times in Zen it is important only to make the effort to make time for sitting, and through consistent sitting, a calm mind just kind of follows.

We are highly encouraged to engage in "practice discussions" (or "dokusans") while we're here, which are chats with members of the senior staff here at the center. We can talk to the abbess or the senior Dharma teacher, but they are hard to schedule time with because they are very busy. Most people seem to just find someone they like a lot who has lived here a long time and practiced for a long time. We are told that we can talk to them about anything during that time, because anything is relevant to our practice, including such seemingly frivolous things as crushes or disputes with your roommate. I am still figuring out who I would like to talk to...and really what it is I would talk to them about. I am sure things will come up. Perhaps they already have, and I just need to notice them in some coherent way.

Some lovely irises in the garden. The irises are fairly abundant right now.

After zazen in the mornings and in the evenings we do a service, which consists of bowing and chanting. It is definitely the part of our schedule that most new people find to be the most uncomfortable, only because it is by far the most religious part of our day. I feel like people are surprised by the religiosity of it because they think of zen as not all that religious, and as more of a philosophy. It is definitely a philosophy, and can be used that way (which is what I do), but that philosophy is based on a religion, and this is a center entirely devoted to that religion. As with everything in zen, I can take the whole religious aspect of our chants and interpret them however I like, which once I actually found something that worked for me, works very well. I might talk more later about what all that actually entails.

The chanting is also a neat way to encourage social cohesion of our sangha...just like singing together in church, chanting together in the zendo enables us to feel more cohesive as a group.

The "Peace Garden"

Work

I don't know the names of the flowers in the
foreground, but those are baby
sunflowers in the background

I work as a garden apprentice. There is only one other garden apprentice besides myself. Other people working in the garden right now include three apprentices from the garden season last year who either stayed at Green Gulch during the winter or are now returning to help for a little bit. We also have a garden manager. There are only ladies working in the garden, which can be interpreted however you like. 

There are also many people who work on the farm, which is larger and right next door to the garden. There are 8 farm apprentices, I believe (most of which are men,) 4 returning farm apprentices from last year, and 3 farm managerial-type people. The farm and garden apprentices are often lumped together in activities around Green Gulch (the apprenticeship is technically the "farm/garden apprenticeship"), and we are all either friends already or working our way slowly to friendship :)

We work 5 days of the week (the typical Monday-Friday workweek) and have Saturday and Sunday off. However, our days off are hardly ever "off," or completely free. We are required to do morning zazen one of our two days off, and once we start going to Farmer's Markets we're going to be doing that on Saturdays.

Bed with baby zinnias

My work right now consists mainly of edging, weeding, and planting beds. We have two ceremonial gardens within the garden called the "Peace Garden" and the "Herb Circle." Today in the Herb Circle there is a large party (for a group separate from the center,) and so we had to spend most of our work time this week weeding the beds, mowing the lawns, and trimming the hedges in the Herb Circle to get it ready for today's events. There were a couple days where all we did was weed all day long, which was good for practice (in that it enabled us all to work on our patience.)

All people who work at Green Gulch are expected to work with "noble speech" which means that we only talk when it is necessary for the work we are doing. For example, I can check with my manager which plants I'm taking out in a bed or keeping, or I can ask for someone to hand me a spade, or some such thing, but no idle chit chat. We are not even really supposed to be talking about what we're doing in a general sense (i.e. asking questions about the flowers we're planting.) If we have questions of that sort while we're working we're expected to either research it in our free time or ask someone at another time.

I don't know a lot about plants, and I'm quickly realizing just how much I don't know about flowers at all. As those who know me well might know, I find it uncomfortable to be ignorant about pretty much anything, and so accepting my current ignorance about garden flowers is something I'm working with. I'm looking forward to learning more about them as my time goes on here, and to become proficient in something completely new to me.

On Wednesdays the garden is in charge of making flower arrangements for all of the altars at Green Gulch (of which there are many,) as well as for some of the offices, and the tables in the dining hall. Claudia, the garden manager, knew how much interest I had in the flower arranging, and thus gave me the first rotation in learning the ropes. I get to arrange flowers for the next two weeks as well, and then Juniper (the other garden apprentice) gets to do it for the three weeks after that. I absolutely loved the flower arranging. It was interesting to learn the process of choosing and clipping the flowers we use for the arrangements...of course it was more interesting to get to work on the arrangements themselves. I found it so wonderfully nourishing to be able to work on a creative project all day, and one that is important to the center and is genuinely enjoyed by everybody around here.

The "cob shed," or main garden building

Community

Of course, since Green Gulch is a relatively confined Sangha, participating in community life is important. This means a number of things--it could mean showing the proper respect (we bow an obscene amount here, around 70-100 times a day); it could mean being punctual (also very important here); it could mean just forming new friendships and new relationships with the practice leaders. 

Before starting our apprenticeship on the 6th, all applicants for the apprenticeship program had to come here together for a sort of trial-period in February. Many of us from that period returned for the actual apprenticeship, and it was really nice to have our time together in February as a foundation for our friendships with each other now. That time in February also gave us the opportunity to be introduced to the community, and many of those connections are now growing stronger.

Our lovely yurt

I am living in a yurt that is about a 5 minute walk from the main campus buildings with 2 of the apprenticeship ladies, Juniper (the other garden apprentice,) and Isabelle (a farm apprentice). There is another yurt just above ours in which two of the male farm apprentices live. At first I had mixed feelings about the yurts (mainly just because Cloud Hall, the main dorm, is attached to the zendo, and you can practically just roll out of your bed in the morning on to your zazen cushion.) I am actually quite happy to have our own little haven away from the main hubbub of Green Gulch where we can wear tank tops without being reproached. It is also actually nice to get up kind of early before zazen and go and do yoga/stretch in Still Water Hall (a yoga room, essentially,) to get all nice and limber before sitting. Also the nights/mornings in the yurt are kind of cold as balls, so the allure of getting up and out to Still Water (where it is pleasantly balmy at all times) is a very good way to get going in the morning and make sure I get to zazen on time.

We also don't have any bathrooms out at the yurts (but we do have a faucet with potable water.) So that means we usually just have to plan on going to the bathroom around going to the yurt...but sometimes that doesn't work. At night we've developed a system that involves a bucket for our mid-slumber urination callings, which so far has worked out just fine. There is a compost toilet attached to the yurt, but it doesn't work, and I guess it would be a real big pain to get it working again.

I really enjoy spending time to get to know the various people who live here. We are all very similar people, as might be expected. It's a certain kind of person who's attracted to this place and this life. It's almost amazing just how intelligent everyone is, and how everybody is knowledgeable about something unique. 

Some mist burning off the top of a hedge in the garden in the
morning

There are little activities all the time here for some community bonding/learning, especially for us apprentices. We have gone on nature walks where we learned all about the native plants around us (as well as many of their medicinal properties,) and walks to learn about our water systems (Green Gulch isn't attached to a municipal water system and gets all of its water for living spaces and the farm from 2 creeks, 3 reservoirs, and a well.) There was a movie night where we watched a delightful anime film called Paprika (form which Inception probably stole most of its ideas). Last night we played Avalon, which is a game that my friends and I would play all the time in Boulder, and I was very excited to play it here. It is also almost always possible to find a buddy to go on a hike with or go on a walk to the beach with at any given time.

Book of this Week:

I am re-reading the SFZC staple Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind by our founder Suzuki Roshi. It is entirely DELIGHTFUL and a great way to find inspiration for practice when I'm starting to feel tired. If there is anyone reading this blog who has not read Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind, and you have an interest in learning some basic Zen philosophies, then you should definitely read this book. It is easy to read and is actually quite funny in parts and you will find Suzuki entirely endearing, I promise.

Song(s) of this Week:

I have been rediscovering a band that was an old favorite of mine in high school, called Blind Pilot. In general I think that their first album is better, as I find it to be more poetic and insightful, but their second album can be fun as well. A good song from their first album is "Oviedo" and a good song from their second album is "Half Moon."

Oviedo:

Half Moon:

 The Orchard: