Yesterday heading home after retreat, standing on a ferry between the two shores, I felt the pleasure of silence, of practice: sitting meditation, walking meditation, cooking and drinking coffee meditation. There in the ferry I saw how important it is, how much we have to do of it; a clear insight that dismantles the argument of those practitioners who explain their lazyness by saying that ”just being” is enough, or ”being natural” or ”mindfull”. This is not so.
One should sit for aeons in order to have a glimpse of what is not bound by views and practices. Moreover, one should walk for aeons, should stand, should lie down, should sweep the floor, wash the dishes, clean the toilet for a million kalpas in order to realize that practice and life are not different.
Half an hour, won't do.
20 years won't do.
Smart answers won't do either.
Will that turn you into a statue? Those who think this spend more time imagining what sitting meditation is than actually sitting in meditation, while those who sit for kalpas are the ones who walk, stand, sweep and wash for kalpas. Imagining what sitting meditation is, is being a statue (a stone with unmovable views); sitting in meditation is discoverying the constant flow, essenceless and change of every breath, thought, action, view...
The ferry, the sun is shining, spring is welcome and the same sea that two days ago wanted to eat me with its brave waves is in calm today, sparkling, throwing stars, playing with the sun.
I'm in peace, dancing peace, at ease and refreshed as if I had slept for thousand years. I love and kiss with tonge that light-play between the sea, the sky and the sun.
Then, as a fish jumping out of the water, a question arises: ”Oneness, oneness, where is oneness?” And I search for it with the mind-eye, with an open heart, confident in the practice, resting in this peace. I look, I see the sea north and south and the plain and dizzy coast east and west. I look but I don't see this oneness. I scan perception, what is seen, what is heard, what is felt and thought... and I can't find it.
This beauty, this magic moment and yet without oneness?
Wonderfull! Then I know I'm free.
Just like those who don't practice buddhism & zen are bound by their sense of separation, the sickness that is consuming zenbuddhists is that of emptiness, no self and oneness. It made us vomit blood and flowers (and worse things).
In those inspiring moments I could only think of two words to express my insight. Just imagine the setting up: a sunny day, the deck of an old ferry boat, the fresh wind, the taste of meditation, the two words:
In awe, I bow.