Why do I practice with the Victoria Zen Centre? - Yushin Charles Rose

I think it's fairly common in life to do the things we think will make us happy and provide us with satisfaction. From an early age, my parents, grandparents, the media and friends told me the ways I should live my life in order to have the most satisfaction. Those ways had much to do with how the world sees success.

I remember my grandfather, on his 82nd birthday said (on camera) that it is our achievements that are the measure of our lives. He was an attorney (like his father) and had been the mayor of his town. His son had greater aspirations and became a US Congressman. Although my father had achieved much success in the eyes of the world, he rarely seemed happy, much less satisfied by life. In retirement he seems happiest when returning to his spiritual (Christian) roots.

So I set out to find success. My passion was technology and after a decade and a half of software development (which included writing two books on network technology), I started a company that served software authors. After selling the company several years later, I had achieved success in the eyes of the world. And yet, that success felt hollow. I was proud of the accomplishment and I relaxed in the freedom that the new resources provided, yet I wasn't satisfied. Deep down.

After a marriage that ended in divorce (my second), I began to face the fact that my relationship hadn't made me happy either. I questioned where this elusive happiness might exist, if, at all.

A friend brought me to UVic for a Zen sit, which in 2006 was at 7am on a Thursday. Not being a "morning person", I resisted the idea mightily. Nevertheless, I was desperately searching for answers and I wondered if Zen could provide a few.

In short, it has. Mostly in reminding me that happiness is not "out there," and that this moment is all there is. And that I have all I need right here, right now. I find that the sits on Tuesday at UVic and on Sunday in Sooke ultimately point me back to myself and remind me of the peace and wonder in this moment.

While we were on a 5-day retreat (Sesshin) in May, one of the most profound experiences for me was going outside one morning and realizing the beauty in nature all around me. Something I rarely take the time to fully appreciate. It felt overwhelming, like I had finally put glasses on and was seeing it for the first time.

The sits at the Zen Centre always provide three things for me: a place to practice being in the moment and discovering the gifts that are inevitably there, a teacher (Eshu) who brings me back to my self and a community to practice with and remind me that we are all in this journey together.

For me, the source of happiness and satisfaction is much different than what I was expecting. It's much simpler.

My Buddhist Lesson - Joan Doerksen

When I first came to the practice of Zen Buddhism, my understanding of the word `practice’ was the physical aspect of sitting on a cushion for periods of time, learning to concentrate on my breathing and freeing my mind from the constant deluge of thoughts that come up. I have lately come to understand that the idea of `practice’ is not so much what happens on the cushion but what happens off the cushion.

This has become apparent recently in my life.

This May I started on a five week journey that took me by plane, train and bus to St. Jean Pied in France as I begun a 500 km. trek across the Pyrenees and Northern Spain on a route known as the Camino de Santiago. It was with anticipation and trepidation that I begun my walk with my brother and two friends as I knew that there would be trying times ahead, having done the last 300 kms. the previous year. As I walked 25 – 35 kms. a day, I was able to practice walking meditation for prolonged periods of time, finding myself `keeping in step’ and `close behind’ my walking partners of the moment. My mind was often free from thought (usually because I was too exhausted to think!) and I grew to appreciate the meaning of `being in the moment’ as we traversed steep mountain ranges and long prairie-like stretches for days on end.

Unbeknownst to me, things were not going quite so smoothly at home and I was sheltered from news from home by my partner who thought, kind-heartedly, that it would ruin my trip if I did know. My father was diagnosed with Lymphoma and was requiring a series of painful tests and blood transfusions while, at the same time, my partner’s father suffered a severe stroke and was in ICU in Vancouver. At the same time, we put our house on the market for sale (who knew that the market would slow the same month???)

I had thought I had prepared myself for re-entry into life back home after an idyllic 5 week period of doing nothing but walking with family and friends. I was gearing myself up for the transition from holiday to work knowing that a 2 day break between Spain and Canada was likely going to result in more than a few days of jet lag. I also knew that I was not to have any more holidays for the year and that the next few months would be filled with caretaking our elderly fathers and selling our house, packing and moving.

I was not prepared, however, for the anxiety that came with dealing with the unknown and the crises that had now become the `new normal’. I resorted quickly to what Charlotte Joko Beck describes in her book `Nothing Special .. Living Zen’ as The Baseboard “an electrical baseboard that jolts us whenever we encounter what feels like a problem .. whenever we feel threatened or upset, we plug ourselves into the .. defensive reaction to block the possible misery.” As a child, this baseboard was created as a means of dealing with not always getting what we wanted and may have presented as a tantrum or withdrawal. As an adult, this baseboard was represented, for me, as anxiety and constant worry and argumentativeness. I felt as thought my Buddhist learning’s had been totally negated as I reverted back to the only way I knew to react to a `moment’ that was unpleasant and difficult (and not the way I wanted it to be)

With time spent on the cushion, and some very relevant Dharma talks by Eshu, I have come to realize that this moment is my life, regardless of whether it is where I want to be or how I planned on things working out. I have come to appreciate that with continued daily practice and a deepening awareness of my response to situations as they arise, I am better able to live in the moment with integrity and Zen-like grace. Not always, mind you, but more and more.

I am extremely grateful for the awareness that my practice of Zen has given me and for the support of my Sangha and my teacher, Eshu. As we share our stories on Tuesday night, I am constantly reminded that each and every one of has our dark periods and that practicing Buddhism does not rid us of these trials but gives us the tools to live in the moment even if the moment isn’t enjoyable.

Thank you.

Zen Banquet - Doyu Tom Oak

Almost two years ago I started my association with the Victoria Zen Center. Since my first tentative Tuesday evening appearances at the UVic interfaith chapel in September 2006 my Zen Buddhism practice with our Sanga has steadily deepened and elaborated. I could never have anticipated the profound and positive influence this practice would have on my daily experience of living. Zen is teaching me to finally enjoy the banquet which had always been laid out before me.

My marriage: for over two decades I have been married to a vivacious woman. I love being and living with her but have been unable to fully express my appreciation for my marvellous partner. I questioned whether she was the right one for me. My eyes and thoughts wandered to other possibilities. I complained about and judged her ways and choices. I held back. I played it safe within the narrow circle of my own perceived needs. In recent months I am opening up. Our physical relationship is taking off. Spontaneous hugs and laughter abound. Not much about her has apparently changed but so little of what she does bugs me any more.

My career: I had grown to resent my work. In the first few months of my practice I agonized over what to do next. Further sitting afforded me the strength to leave my job and take up the role of homemaker. Meanwhile my wife’s real estate business grew. She was run off her feet with work while I idled, struggling with what to try next. I felt guilty about not ‘working’ and thought she must think less of me for this. My practice spurred me to take heart and talk about my fears with Rosemarie; her main fear was that I didn’t love her. Now I prove my love daily and our solitudes of busy and idle are healing. We are working as a team and our real estate business is flourishing.

My “girls” are 17, 20, and 22. I have been a good father to them over the years, but it is only through my Zen practice that I have come to acknowledge and recognize this. Previously my parenting was riddled and hampered with guilt and feelings of inadequacy. At this stage of parenting so much is about letting go. Alexis, Nicolia, and Rhea are increasingly keen to take the reins of their own lives and my Zen practice has guided me in aiding this transition.

I breathe easier and feel happier these days. I dine far less often on bitter self critiques. I have come far and am exceedingly grateful. And I love that there is no end in sight; every day I take the time to sit, and every day I am savouring a little more of life, this sumptuous banquet.

Finding Sangha - Joshua Goldberg

It took me a while to come to the Victoria Zen Centre, and I’m profoundly glad that I did. The experience of being part of the VZC sangha has changed my life in many ways.

I first became interested in Zen when I was 16 years old, when a friend with hippie parents loaned me Roshi Philip Kapleau’s “The Three Pillars of Zen”. I couldn’t figure out how to endure the mental and physical pain of sitting, so for the next 15 years read every book about Zen that I could find while fantasizing about giving away my meager possessions and heading to the nearest monastery. Zen was a fantasy, an escape from a life that I didn’t want and from a self I couldn’t face.

A couple years into my first marriage, with a husband also intrigued by Zen but like me flailing to put it into practice (we sat together for 10 minutes at a time, supporting each other to endure what at the time felt like an eternity of pain), I felt pulled to at least try to take a step forward to engage in practice more seriously. By that time I had built up a rather searing level of social anxiety and self-loathing and was very sure that no sangha would allow me to be a member, but in a moment of bravado I called the number for the Zen Centre listed in the phone book.

At that time, the requirement for entry into the Zen Centre was to sit with Eshu for three 15-minute periods, followed by tea and cookies. The first sitting period was excruciating but I was determined not to show what a wimp I was so I gritted my teeth and hobbled around the living room after Eshu. The second sit, I was convinced that Zen was a stupid cult and Eshu would never let me leave his living room; the third sit, the only thing that stopped me from bolting for the door was my feet being so asleep that I couldn’t move. Eshu was warm and welcoming after the sit, but even the plate of Peak Freans with the delicious red squishy jelly centres couldn’t stop me from freaking out. Zen was definitely not for me. I shook Eshu’s hand, said it was delightful and that I looked forward to meeting others in the sangha at the next sit, and bolted out the door for five years.

The problem, of course, was that even though I was entirely certain that I was too fat, stupid, disgusting, crazy, and rotten to be part of a sangha, that drive to practice remained. I continued to read, to sit intermittently (while feeling ashamed that it was so difficult), and to fantasize about practice. I knew instinctively that the ways I was approaching activism, work, and relationships was destructive, and that unless I could engage with my life in the context of spiritual practice then the destruction would continue, but I thought I was too broken to be able to practice.

In 2006, after reading Claude AnShin Thomas’ biography “At Hell’s Gate”, which details his experiences as a soldier in the Vietnam war and his subsequent experiences of violence, imprisonment, addiction, homelessness, and a long journey to becoming a monk – I was rocked by the realization that I didn’t need to have my life together to engage in Zen practice. AnShin had had an even more extreme life than I had, and he was somehow managing to live in a fully engaged way, doing peace work with an impressive clarity and passion. I contacted him and arranged for him to come to Victoria to speak and to lead a day of practice.

AnShin’s visit here was exactly the kick in the butt that I needed. It was not possible for me to manipulate AnShin into pitying me for the difficulties I’d faced in life, or use any of the other strategies I had used over the years to make excuses for not engaging in practice. He didn’t pressure me, just met my eyes and didn’t turn away and said the choice was up to me. No excuses.

The next week I came to a Tuesday night sit at UVic, and there’s been no going back. That’s not to say it’s been easy. When I came to that first Tuesday night sit, being greeted by what seemed like a wall of people wearing black gis brought up the same old panic that there was no way I could do this, that they would find out how freaky I was and it would all be over. But Susanne, who I’d met at the day of practice, met my eyes in the same way AnShin had, and I decided to try to sit through one Tuesday…then another…then the intro course…then the Fundamentals course…then one-day intensives…then two days of sesshin. Along the way I realized I had an amazing marriage, let go of my ideas about what I should do for work and found a job that I really love, stopped compulsively using activism to try to persuade everyone that I’m a good person, reconnected with my parents and sister, let go of the cane I’d been using as an emotional crutch for many years, lost forty pounds, and started meeting people’s eyes and hearts on the bus, on the street, at work, everywhere.

Zen practice may be simple, but it’s not easy – at least not for me. The physical pain is still overwhelming at times. Although the practice has uncovered some really pleasant surprises, like playfulness and a love of children, it’s also made me more aware of habitual patterns and reactions that I’m embarrassed about and don’t like to experience. But I can face them instead of panicking and trying to run away. As difficult experiences arise I can explore them within the container of the form and bolstered by the strength of the sangha, rather than feeling constantly at risk of exploding into a thousand pieces from the anguish of life.

As part of writing this article I asked my husband what impact he thought Zen practice had had in my life. He was quiet for a moment, and then in his usual thoughtful way said “I think you do more hard things now. Before, you were hiding.” As I’ve become more honest about who I am, and more willing to let other people see my heart, my birth family – deeply secular and very suspicious of religion – has become blended with my sangha family. Finally, after a lifetime of desperate separateness, the wholeness has become manifest.

My Experience as a residential student at the Victoria Zen Centre - Jundo Jaron Holder

Initially, I came to the Victoria Zen Centre to become something better and to feel better about myself. I didn’t see it that way then, but that was my intention. This still is my approach to practice actually, but to a lesser degree I think. It’s not that I want it to be, it just is. Zen Practice has helped me to see this.

At first I was really exited about my situation at VZC; everything was new and I had big hopes for what I was going to become. Once in a while something would happen in practice and I would think I was starting to “get it”. But every time, my excitement would fade because it didn’t seem to change anything, it didn’t make me feel better. Then my practice would seem to take a different direction, which perhaps was me looking elsewhere for some realization, a particular experience. There has been a fair bit of disappointment because of my expectations.

Particularly in sitting, I began to notice a constant effort to achieve something, a constant mental projecting and evaluating. There were times when I thought that my effort had settled, my mind had settled, but gradually I noticed how there were always subtle thoughts which were watching and evaluating. Practice grew more frustrating as I grappled with a constant struggle to do “good practice” and to not struggle. I have found this to be one of the biggest challenges for me in practice.

Particularly outside of sitting, I became more and more intimate with my internal responses to my fixated schedule, social encounters, challenges and lack of stimulation. It was painful to watch myself worry and resist, make a big deal and search for escape. It seems less painful now; I think I accept it more.

My initial enthusiasm became contrasted by irritation and uneasiness. This is largely due to Eshu provoking my ego by keeping me on my toes and putting me on the spot, which he does regularly.

On top of that, I am noticing more and more the projecting of my ego in much of what I do and say, trying to make myself look good. I find this embarrassing when I notice it afterwards.

Also, practice seems to have made me more aware of the rise and fall of my egotistic self. Often when I feel good, I notice that it is ego based, that there is this energy behind it, this effort and struggle, like I am on guard; it seems like the good feeling is vulnerable, fragile. Eventually I will “screw up” somewhere and my ego will be crushed and I will feel horribly foolish and emotional. This seems to be good opportunity to be accepting that I am not perfect, that I am what I am, and the more I can do that, the quicker the difficult emotions pass; often they are replaced by a sense of humility, ease and relief, like I don’t need to be on guard anymore. This seems to be a strong good feeling, not fragile, not based on ego. Eventually my ego inflates again though, and the pattern continues.

I’m not sure how much practice has made me feel happier, or more confident, or more relaxed like I hoped it would, but to some extent it seems to have helped me let go of these ambitions and just accept what I am. In general, it seems that I am more aware of my ego at work and have a clearer understanding of why it causes me dissatisfaction. I think this is a good thing, an important thing, so I like practice.

In conceptualizing some of my experience over the last six months, this is what I can say. I should mention however that I don’t know how accurate an interpretation this is. In hindsight, it often seems that my “understanding” of my experiences in life are distorted.

What is Sangha? - Sei-in Eric Jordan

Here is the answer for me:

I have just finished my first sesshin (May/07). It is the morning after the sesshin. We are gathered together for breakfast the next day. Sesshin had been a powerful experience for me and even though we had the opportunity to share our experiences the night before, I did not feel comfortable or ready to share. In the morning, I had a powerful dream and I felt that I needed to share my experiences with the group – I needed to break through a silence and give voice to a part of myself that I had kept locked away. So, I sat there during breakfast, feeling very nervous, knowing what I had to do, but being worried about doing it.

The conversation moved along quite quickly as everyone was very happy to be able to speak after a week in silence. Finally, everyone is done eating and there is a pause before we start clearing the table and getting ready to go. I know that it is now or never. If I am going to speak and share, I need to do it now. I ask the group to stop and wait. I say that there is something I want to share from my experience on sesshin.

Then I talk with the group about my experience of childhood sexual abuse. I talk about my guilt. My community sits there and listens with love in their hearts. I make eye contact and there are tears several people’s eyes. I can feel their support as I share something that I have almost never shared. I had tried talking about my abuse to a few people before, but it was a very negative experience and too painful to try repeating. Now, I am safe enough to try again and I get unconditional love and support as I share. This experience gave me the confidence to talk about my abuse. It gave me a solid foundation to think about when I am feeling hurt about my abuse. This has become the meaning of sangha to me.

Bodhidharma in LEGO - Sei-in Eric Jordan

Growing Community Through Communication - HoYu Tommi Boulter

The root of both the words community and communication come from the Latin munus, which means the gift, and cum, which means together, among each other. Literally, to give among each other. As we come together to practice, we grow community; Zazen is the seed for Sangha. And more Zazen nourishes self and community. Naturally, from this inward growth, we reach outward through communication. Thus the birth of Living Zen. In the first issue members have shared thoughts on books, feelings on sesshin and ideas through story. Living Zen lives because of you. All contributions, words, images and ideas gratefully appreciated. Please send to TommiWrites@shaw.ca 

Zen Butterflies - Seishin Susanne Ledingham