Why Bother? Part 2
In my previous post, I started to describe my journey to hara development. I explored how hara development, as a part of Rinzai Zen training, transforms the whole person (physically, psychologically, and spiritually). My introduction was through learning to perform hara breathing physically. During this phase of development, I stumbled upon an experience that was quite powerful, but my lack of psychological/spiritual capacity meant I couldn’t fully integrate it.
The result was feeling unsettled, confused, and intrigued. Ultimately, this drove me to deepen my training. I wanted to “get bigger” so that I could hold more, understand more, and trust more. With this post, I want to pick the thread back up and explore how the Chosei Zen training model helped (and still supports) me in this intention. Note: Throughout this post, I will shift between past tense and present tense as my training is ongoing.
I’d like to start with some context. Our lineage of Rinzai Zen is deeply influenced by Omori Sogen Roshi through Tanouye Tenshin Roshi. In 1979, Omori Roshi quoted Miyamoto Mushashi’s somatic description of Zen as the “body of a huge boulder–going through life rolling and turning like a huge boulder.” Omori Roshi went on to state, “Besides this actual realization, there is nothing else. Zen without the accompanying physical experience is nothing but empty discussion. Martial ways without truly realizing the “Mind” is nothing but beastly behavior. We agree to undertake all of this as the essence of our training.”
Each time I read this statement, which can be found in the opening of Omori Roshi’s Introduction to Zen Training, I am struck by the image's power and the mission's clarity. It also affirms the call, as outlined in earlier posts, to not be satisfied by just the physical experience of hara breathing.
Fortunately, shortly after becoming a Chosei Zen student, Daikozen-ji opened for in-person training. In addition to zazen, the training model at Daikozen-ji includes martial and fine arts. Accordingly, I expanded my training to include: hojo (a martial sword form), okyo (chanting), shodo (calligraphy), and kado (flower arranging).
I quickly learned that these ways of training function as a mirror and, as such, provide immediate feedback. I can see the quality of my brush stroke and flower placement, hear my voice shouting and chanting, feel the vibration of two swords connecting (or not), etc. That feedback, paired with the repetitive nature of the training, creates a multitude of opportunities to study how my physical state impacts my mind and how my mind impacts my physical state. This process opens the door to spiritual forging.
Through the process, I learned how my habit of perfectionism leads to tension and how my habit of tension leads to overthinking and overanalyzing. In short, it showed me the loops I get stuck in that result in me getting in my own way. As you might imagine, frustration became a regular training partner. Fortunately, another pattern also emerged.
I’d train and train, sometimes feeling like I was getting nowhere when suddenly something would shift. I’d experience a physical release that was almost always paired with a non-specific psycho-emotional release. I did not know why I was crying and my inability to pin it down was again confusing. What was I letting go of? Where was it in me? What made this happen right now? These releases happened with some regularity but also changed over time. They became softer and less dramatic as I was able to sustain them.
Now, I can let a release happen without fear or worry. I can let go and get out of my way. My hara becomes broad and supple, as does my mind. My voice becomes more resonant, the flowers feel more alive, the calligraphy rounds out, and my shoulders flow with the sword. The duality between body and mind drops.
I want to be clear that this is no easy task. The container built by the Chosei Zen teachers and students is a critical component. My ability to let go in this way depends on the safety I feel in this community. I am less and less dependent over time, but feel very clearly I could not have gotten this far without that container.
More recently, I have started to be able to sense the release coming and can now orient towards it. A conversation with Scott Kiel Roshi helped me understand this phenomenon; he explained that these experiences become ‘sign-posts’ and the repetitive nature of the training means these sign-posts become familiar territory. From that familiar territory, I then continue to forge; I keep releasing and finding new signposts as I go deeper into samadhi.
The other piece that this training emphasizes is the need for checks or guardrails. The habit of getting in my own way is strong. When I feel lost or uncertain, my teacher is there. I can turn to him to process it during our regular training times.
I also engage in sanzen (koan training) with my teacher. Koans serve as grist for the training mill and require that I integrate my training experience in a way that I can express. This interaction makes it very clear when I’m getting off course…and when I’m right on. This is an ongoing process.
Ultimately, within the simplicity of Kushner Roshi’s answer to “Why bother?” lies a complex non-linear process evidenced by my own experience. From my perspective, Rinzai Zen’s emphasis on community, the teacher-student relationship, and physical and fine arts training make it a highly effective path for full hara development. Without these, we risk falling into Zen without the accompanying physical experience - empty discussion, or martial ways without truly realizing the “Mind” - beastly behavior.
I am grateful for the support I’ve received (and continue to receive) and am honored to have the opportunity to pass this support on to others through this blog and the training we offer. I look forward to future explorations and development together.
To learn more about the training happening through Chosei Zen and Daikozen-ji, please visit their websites.
Ellen McKenzie