Life and Time

Fifteen years ago I was told that I wouldn't be able to walk past the age of 25. I am 32 now and running 2 KM every other day. In most part I have my puppy to thank for it. She is a Border Collie and takes to chewing her own feet if she doesn't get enough exercise. She is my excuse. The activity of letting go and allowing myself to run again is my reason. The shoes are my enablers. I have owned all kinds of so-called athletic shoes in my life but the cushion and stability these offer have really helped me to believe that running can be something that I do, not just try. I am not promoting, only reporting. I was scared for so many years to let the feet rest. was content with just being able to walk. I was content to plod through life. I have not felt so healthy in years. I enjoy feeling wasted as I push through the pain of the run. There is no space for the build up of the day when the ground is flying beneath you.

Little things

In order for any of this to have any relevance, I think I should clarify the context of today’s experience. For the past year it has been my tiring pleasure to aid international students, wishing to enter North American Universities, with the TOEFL test of the English language. Naturally you’ll probably have little or no knowledge of said internet English test. Let me put it this way: I wouldn’t imagine that many of my personal friends, talented though they are with their 30 odd years experience of using English on a daily basis, would have much success in TOEFL. It’s quoit ‘ard innit.

So, daily, I’m there using my understanding of the language to completely dissect ‘TOEFLisms’ in order to make the mammoth task of digesting the test slightly less daunting to the people who will, most likely, be rather more financially successful than afore mentioned friends, though none of that’s going to happen until they pass the ridiculous test.

It’s all about formulae, do this, this and this and you’ll appear more fluent or capable. I mean, I love teaching, please don’t get me wrong, it’s just that I’m a cynic when it comes to the actual quality of the writing that’s being produced. Yeah, sometimes I’m impressed with the technical language used but I usually drink at least a litre of water when I’m reading through TOEFL essays because they’re all so dry.

So the weekly classes are not bad. On average, most students actually want to be there; occasionally I note that those that are lazier are sporting watches that cost more than my education but, well, that’s life. I assume that they can afford to be lazy. There’s certainly no banter though as everyone’s hidden behind a PC monitor daydreaming of majoring in ‘Business management’ or ‘Media studies’ or, more seriously, properly studying and taking everything I say as gospel truth.

Weekends, though, are different. Severely. My classroom time is cut in half by the amount of effort it takes to keep the children in my class on track. Yes – that’s right – CHILDREN. For some reason immigrant parents feel that their children should begin studying this adult oriented test from the time they can walk. That or the marketing department of the school has convinced them of such. As a result, the dynamics completely change on Saturday as there’s banter a plenty but most of it is directed towards the topic of how I’m a ‘dummy’ or when the next hallowed break time will arrive. I earn my wage on a Saturday, one might say.

The class is like any other, with a mix of characters that would, given good writing, form the basis of a fairly decent mini-series. Well, at least a mildly amusing Youtube video like DUDE GETS PWNED BY PENCIL could be possible. For the purposes of my story though only 2 of the students are relevant.

The first is a 20-year-old boy/man who has a case of mild autism. He’s actually extremely useful as he looks up every single word I use to help the other students out. Granted he does spend about 20 minutes writing and rewriting the letter ‘P’ in his notebook though I would say that in terms of humour he’s light years ahead of his social tendencies. When the other younger students get restless, he reprimands them in quite a stern voice:
‘You should not do that’ or ‘Quit it man’ or (with a glance at me after saying so) ‘Shut the heck up’
Distracting though he may be, he is not even half as distracting as the younger students and we all find him quite amusing, in a ‘we’re laughing with you but not at you’ kind of way.

The second is a significantly younger student though by no means is he less mature. Yes, he is keen to get to the breaks (though, may I admit, I am as well) during our 4 hour TOEFL journey every Saturday. And that’s a good indication of how much I have been teaching this young man – I can almost not remember a Saturday when I haven’t. If you have not already guessed, this young ‘dude’ was the source of today’s enlightening experience.

The class was winding down and during that last 20 minutes or so I was doing what I regularly do at that time: marking the previous weeks’ essays. Bear in mind how dehydrating a task that is when I say that the dude’s essay literally had me in stitches about 3 times - to such a degree that the other students were asking what all the fuss was about. I had literally been unable to stop myself from exploding with laughter.

- Oh Dave… now here I was thinking that you were a sensitive human being. Laughing at an adolescent English language learner’s ability really is terrible… so disappointed in you right now…

No no no no! You’ve got it all wrong. The dude’s writing had hit me the same way I am knocked back by Bill Hicks or Douglas Adams or other writers who simply FORCE me to laugh; I have no choice in the matter.

The subject for the essay had been something asinine like the pros and cons of the computer or something equally uninspiring and the dude had transformed it into a dialogue between the members of the class in which they comically discussed the topic. I mean, it wasn’t Shakespearean, though I guess that aside from Will’s own work not much is, but it was a twist and a sting in the tail. At one point in the dialogue the mildly autistic student enters and begins shouting at the other students and the phrase used was the dude’s own figment though it was completely apt! I was on the train to Gigglestown with a single ticket.

As a person interested in the written word, I read a lot and I know when something speaks and when it’s just going through the motions and this young man’s writing had spoken to me. So much so that I had to do something about it, in other words I felt a responsibility to his talent and I felt that it had to be recognised, if only by me. So when his mum came to pick him up from school, I asked to have a word or two with her and she, being unable to communicate fluently with me, asked one of the school staff to interpret. I told her that her son was very talented and that, in my honest opinion, needed to have another more creative outlet for his writing, perhaps in a short story writing class. I could see that the dude’s mum was shocked but very proud of her son to be excelling in a language she could hardly grasp. The most endearing thing about the whole conversation was that throughout the young student had been sitting there sweating, visibly, with beads on his brow.

Now if he (or more accurately, his mum) decides to take my recommendation and run with it then I think that would be great. If not, then yes I think he could possibly get bored with writing without any creative stimulus and leave it within the realm of ‘childhood’ – in the same way that most children draw beautifully but it is not something they ‘do’ when they become an adult) or he could not. What was important for me was to point out, more to the dude than anyone else, that I enjoyed his creation and that I would hope that he could develop his talent and skills and bring them to many, many more people in his life.

This in itself started me thinking about the value of created things. So often we are trained to believe simply in the financial value of any work or process and this has begun to instil in me a wholly depressed outlook concerning ethical behaviour in our modern society. I had honestly begun to find it very difficult to perceive anything to have intrinsic value. It seemed to me that the only end is profit and that the things produced for us to consume reflect that. My experience with this young man’s writing, however, had brought a piece of truth back into what I now understand as a slightly warped view on created things. Yes the majority of humankind’s creative effort goes into producing means to the profit end. Yet there it was, directly in front of me – a clearly communicated message without taint.

So, apart from inspiring me to immortalize the moment in writing, my young friend’s talent has also inspired me to look more closely to catch the message, which I may have been disregarding recently due to unhealthy perception habits, and to be more open to finding real connection in the most unlikely of places.

A summary

As promised, much too long ago, I would like to share some of my experiences during my time in the land of the rising sun.
It should be noted that whilst I lived in Japan I was almost entirely cut off from my previous life. I had no home internet connection, I had no English speaking friends at all and my life was comprised of mainly working, teaching English to mainly children, and practice. I was able, due to the isolation I experienced, to deeply involve myself with the investigation of the Dharma through study and Zazen. Many moments of awakening were given to me, in the most unexpected places! Whilst walking to the train station, in beholding the local mountain, and even in the footsteps of drunken businessmen on their way home at ungodly hours. Of these moments, I am afraid, I have no words - other than to say I truly felt the joy in being alive.


My time was spent in an area fairly under-influenced by Western culture and as a result I was able to immerse myself well in the culture. Japan is a paradox to a western Buddhist because the influence of the religious side of Buddhism can be seen in so many things: incense is offered to statutes on mountain passes, the birth of the Buddha is celebrated by all and even the Amida Buddha is revered by regular people, as is our Christ. And yet most laypeople’s understanding of the actual practical teachings of the Blessed One is almost nil. ‘He’s a god, isn’t he?’ was a typical response.
I was, however, more interested in application of Dharma practice and I could also see the evidence of Dharma habits often in the everyday lives of the people: in the customary bow, continuous respect for others and the care with which lost strangers are guided, on foot, to their destination. Of these things I was mindful always and have a great respect. So much so that when I returned to Western lands, I was slightly mocked for my use of the bow and how I gave way to every passer-by.
Yet please don’t assume that I am working for the Board of Japanese tourism! By far, Japan is not a perfect place for, as we know, there is no such thing. I was, however, able to deepen my practice there.



One of my favourite moving meditations was to visit temples. Temples are almost absolutely everywhere in Japan and they are mainly treated as public areas. So, after I was able to shed my fear of myself, I would regularly enter temple grounds and knock on doors to have conversations with the abbots and receive a seal and signature from the temple in my traditional Japanese book. On many occasions I was treated to tea and the conversations were very much light in nature and inherently expressed the joy of life and experience.
On one occasion, I happened to meet with the abbot of a Rinzai Temple in Kyoto. His name was Soen Ozeki and he was a very charming and intelligent man. He commented on my shaved head and ‘jokingly’ said I looked like a monk! To which I stated that I was lay person in training to become a monastic, as was true at the time. He seemed surprised and we exchanged ‘gassho’. He then told me that, actually, we are all here to learn in this life and that teaching is only relative between students. He said that life is a classroom, only that there is no teacher up front, and the only things we can learn from are our mistakes and each other. So blaming others is to be avoided because we are all just students, all of us capable of mistakes. All of us are capable of learning. He then wished me the best on my path. We then exchanged a deep bow and, in truth, a discernable energy passed between us.



In my home town of Shizuoka, when I had first arrived in Japan, I organized to meet with a priest from a local temple of the sect of Zen that I was studying. As luck would have it, he was fluent in English – having lived in Arizona and other places in the US for over 13 years. In fact his temple, Hodo-ji, had just been relocated after hundreds of years and was, basically brand new. He invited me into the temple and we discussed the Dharma for hours and hours and sat in Zazen together. After which I as able to join his family for dinner and felt immediately accepted by all. After that time I came to visit the temple regularly, to sit Zazen and chant the Heart sutra and enjoy life with his family. Every time I left to go home, Koryu (as was his name) would come outside and play around in the parking lot and wave a lot to me as I walked away. It’s a small detail but it really expressed to me his joy in life.
After some time we began to discuss monastic life. Koryu told me that to study on my own was superb but to be able to step out of everyday life and focus 100% on practice was an invaluable gift not to be turned away from lightly. I must admit, I was hesitant and yet also very eager. After some consideration, I decided that I wanted to live the life of a monk for at least a year. My parents were, to put it lightly, a little taken aback. For me though it was really just the logical extension of the life I’d been living only I’d have a bit more company in trying to become a better practitioner.
Something happened though that changed my life forever. A friend of mine introduced me to the most precious person I have ever met. She was radiant, beautiful and intelligent and from the moment we met – she has held my heart. Within a month I knew that she was the person for whom I had been made.
This caused an internal conflict for me though and I discussed it with Koryu. He said to me that the teachings of the Buddha resonate with the heart and that the heart has more to say than we will ever know. I was afraid that I’d miss my one real chance to practice. To which he laughed! I was a bit confused but he helped me see that practice, both inside and outside of the monastery, is one and the same. It is only that the focus of practice is changed. Morning Zazen is followed by chanting and then breakfast, which is then followed by duties and lunch, afternoon Zazen and discussions followed by evening Zazen and rest. These are the focus of monastic life. In these do we base our practice. To love and lead a family life is different in substance but no different in our devotion to practice as disciples of Shakyamuni. We need only turn that focus onto the secular life.
We study the Dharma to live, not reject, life, I suppose.
After which I discussed the idea of a homemaker monk with Koryu, of which he had not heard before. Perhaps this is a western concept? However he said that I could take a name and the Bodhisattva vows and precepts if I thought it would be beneficial to my practice. He gave me the task of creating my ‘first name’ and told me that he would come up with my ‘family name’. The name was to be comprised of 4 Chinese characters, two by me and two by Koryu.
I thought long and hard and meditated on what I thought would best represent my practice. I came up with 2 characters. The first is ‘Ren’ which means to repeat (as in practice). And the second is ‘Shi’ which means to look inside [literally it means mind-see]. I must admit that my friend and teacher, Koryu, was pleased with my efforts. He gave me the family name of ‘Ryu’ which means dragon, and was from his first name, and ‘Gaku’ which means mountain peak (because I had discussed with him my moments of awakening, as a teenager, in the Himalayas). He also explained to me that every temple in Japan was linked to a mountain as they are seen as sources of strength and wisdom. So my name came to be ‘RyuGaku RenShi’ – or Dragon Peak Meditation.
In my ordination ceremony, we first sat in Zazen and then Koryu performed the series of rituals, all of which were quite beautiful, as I recited the traditional Japanese vows and Precepts. On that day I felt humbled and very bright. I will never forget it as a great source of inspiration to me. I can close my eyes anytime and smell the newly carved timber of the rafters in Hodo-ji, smell the incense and hear the drum beat out the rhythm of the sutras.



In my secular life things were moving at a rapid pace. I had married my angel and adopted her wonderful daughter into my family. To this day they love me and test me to such levels of joy I cannot describe. After 6 months another being had decided to join us. We had to wait another 9 months for him however and on February 26th 2009, we were joined by my son.
Before that time, though, I had decided that relocation was required. Supporting 4 people for a foreigner in Japan was going to be too difficult – with the lack of possibilities for employment. After much discussion we decided to move to Canada, primarily for the sake of our children, who could not find a more accepting and tolerant nation on the face of this planet (in my opinion).
It has been difficult though. Red tape has held us back for the past year and though we’ve been surviving, there have been times of extreme trial for all of us, not least my dear wife. I too have felt much strain and, embarrassed though I am to admit, have put my practice at the bottom of my priority list. This has caused me no end of problems both in the spiritual and physical realms. It was as though ‘RyuGaku RenShi’ the seeker, had become lost within my small mind. Though funnily, he reemerged about 2 months ago. The immigration process had completed and, as I held my son in my arms, I blew at the wind chime I had brought back from Nara, in Japan. Its sound – so clear and full of life – brought me back from the storm.
It is with this renewed energy that I write to you today my dear friends.
Let lightning strike in wind chimes and diapers!!

Poetry

I hear you and listen to your heart
And in turn, my own is fully unlocked.
Teeth gritted,
I force back tears while on the bus.

I weep not due to what you say or your intent.
Instead,
I am touched by that which lies between the lines.
Stuck by a universal wordless message:
‘I am you and you, therefore, am I’

So human!
And yet not.
Something more.

And so I remain here with smiling tears,
On the one three five into town.

Dropping down to knees of ash
And mud.
Further depths all reached and probed.
So much easier to recall than peaks of
Snow-capped friends and yet,
CONTROL-ALT-DELETE fails me once again.

Though through the mire:

On one darkened night,
A flash of sound to my left,
Moments of clear sight.

Thus, I stand up strengthened
And with eagle brethren fly
To visit long-lost hermit sages of high-rise times,
In their mountain caves.
Upon arrival, my questions are forgotten.

All through the mire.

Time

It seems that we are, in almost every way, captured and twisted by time. As we open our eyes in the morning, the first conscious thought that is raised is usually: "What's the time?" So often we are told to 'take time' or 'make time' as if it were a malleable thing and yet, more often than not, we lead our lives whilst feeling pressured by the immovability of time.

As I sit here and type, my trained mind tells me that I have been writing for about 5 minutes. But how much of this presumption is actually useful to me as a spiritual being upon this planet? Is there any way I can actually prove to you, or even myself, that it has been in fact five increments of a time measurement? So often I ask myself this kind of question and always find the evidence of the past exists solely to be found in one place: the present.

I would like to make a suggestion. Let us, for now, disregard the idea of time as a linear process. Let us stop considering what has been and what will be and focus on now. Please, I implore you deeply, to consider only now, right now.

...

Could you do it?

Perhaps it's not as easy as we would wish it to be. We see so much, in our lives, that indicates to us that such a focus exercise is without value. It is natural, therefore, that we cannot easily disregard time altogether. Instead, shall we then not try to approach time from two separate perspectives. The traditional perspective of ticking hands and a perspective of slightly more depth.

Ticking clocks and our common perception of time serve their purpose well. Indeed, in the world of the family, we need them in order to not let our societies fall into chaos. I propose that though convenient, however, the idea that time is forever surging forward does not aid us in our internal lives.

Allow me to expand on the latter perspective. I feel that time has no distinct beginning or end. Instead of the flow from one moment to another usually conceived of, there is only one moment or one no moment (depending on how you want to look at it). Life simply consists of now. AND now is a constantly shifting and changing state of being that is in itself pure and real. It is like my son, playing on the bed. First he is near the pillow, then he crawls to the foot of the bed, after which he gets under the blankets. Would we say that he has significantly changed in each position? Of course not, but his perspective changed, I'm sure - for one moment the pillow was close and large and the next it was not, this is likewise for time.

This is my spiritual understanding of now. It is a beautifully subtle shift in perspective only, and where we are is only ever now.

This is important to me in my practise of becoming me, because so frequently I desire now to be something other than what it is:

I desire now to be yesterday when it was not raining.

I desire now to be 3 years ago when I was care-free.

I desire and I feel pain from this desire because, essentially, I am wishing that reality would change. What can be gained from the thought "I wish this wasn`t happening"...

It is not, however, impossible to act purely in this world and help your perspective to change, but it will not change the nature of now. So much unhappiness is derived from desiring that which cannot be.

It is in times such as those that I bring myself back to my intuitive understanding of time. Whether it be a falsehood or not is of no consequence to me. It arose out of my practise and it continues to allow me to not be overrun by circumstance.

Walking with mountains

How much do the opinions I attribute to myself actually matter in this life?

So much pain and misunderstanding is caused by what I want and what I think. Every moment of suffering in my brief time on the planet has been caused by me and me alone.

To consider my pain to be the result of another's actions is folly and leads to, simply, more pain. Hate is a prime example of such. What positive effect has ever been caused by this torrential emotion? I hate therefore I am, perhaps.

In fact the realization of self is, in my humble experience, derived from negativity (or the lack thereof) and is inherently designed therefore to continue to feed on such emotions. To be begotten is to continuously shape your experience of life around either a repetition of such experiences or their absences.



So our teacher is who? To whom do we look for guidance in these times when we sink further and further into ourselves and our own negativity? To paraphrase the great teacher Dogen Zenji: we should walk with mountains.

Now, at first this may seem to be an ambiguous statement. And enigmatic though it may seem, it is actually very practical in helping one to ground experience in a truth other than that of the self. A mountain, seen from the distance, can inspire a person to feel dwarfed by reality though this is not, I believe, Master Dogen’s intention when referring to walking with mountains.

Though we perceive it not, all things, even those that seem immovable, are in a constant state of change, including the peaks of mountainous ranges. They too are moving, all be it, at a relatively much slower pace, and it is in this fact that we can find union with all things and, more importantly, peace.

As I walk and as the mountains walk, how do our experiences differ? A mountain simply is, until the eventual moment of becoming another (pebble on the beach, for example). I am simply not, or, to put it more clearly, I simply do not allow myself to just be. I am clouded by my own notions of distrust, unhappiness and fear, which distract me from being. This is especially true in consideration of the moment of myself truly becoming another, by which I mean death.

This can change though, when one realizes that the steps we take are not that different than those of mountains. The clouds of negativity around us are not realities, not permanent. They are fabrications issuing from the greatest fabrication of all: that which differentiates between action as actor. They are no more a problem for us as are the wisps of clouds to Everest. If we return to our mind and see it for what it is (pure and impartial) then we can truly walk with mountains.

So when you face another situation in which the self has created the discrimination of failure or success, please consider the mountain in your mind. You may then begin to perceive the beauty of the blizzard of chaos that surrounds you.