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Dharma-Body Building
by Kent Wimberly
© 1997 All Rights Reserved
Many people in prison embarking on a Zen practice have followed some
sort of body building program at one time or another. Zen and body building
are both sometimes referred to as "disciplines" because they both involve
"training that corrects, molds, or perfects," but their similarities do
not end there.
Zen practice and body building both sprout from the same kind of seed:
a dissatisfaction with the way we are or the way our life is, and a desire
for change--something better. We want to reduce our weight or reduce our
stress. We want to gain muscles or strengthen our resolve. We may have
our own personal goals of self-improvement, or we may just want to be more
like someone we know: the guy with he 20 inch arms, or the ex-girlfriend
who seemed so at peace with the world. We set up an ideal for ourselves,
an aspiration to work toward, and it is often the more advanced practitioners
along the way that give us confidence that our aspirations can be realized.
Like body building, Zen is based on DOing rather than thinking. A
good understanding of what we are trying to accomplish is essential, but
reading magazine articles on nutrition supplements and workout routines
is NOT body building, and studying the practices of famous Zen masters is
NOT sitting zazen. Instead of thinking, our DOing should be done in the
context of AWAREness. When body building, we need to be AWARE of the
mechanics of the exercise we're doing, the right weight, the proper form,
the muscle group we're putting into play. When we sit zazen, we need to
be AWARE of our breathing, our thinking, and our body sensations.
Simple? Yes, but not easy. Body building and Zen are hard work.
It takes discipline and working through resistance, especially in the
beginning. Resistance is met when we encounter laziness, boredom, pain,
impatience, or disappointment from unrealistic expectations. Perhaps we
pulled a muscle or smashed a toe while working out. Maybe our legs fell
asleep and our back aches from trying to sit zazen. Or maybe we just felt
really stupid and anxious and out of breath. How we handle these encounters
with resistance will determine how far we go in our practice. In either
case, the important thing is to JUST DO IT! Feeble attempts at doing a
little here and a little there are not much good. We must make it part
of our daily routine. Without following an established schedule or routine,
we can neither reap its benefits nor judge its effectiveness. We have to
give our practice or our routine time and serious dedication before we can
honestly say, "This is (or is not) working for me."
People new to Zen or body building often have unrealistic expectations
of the gains they will make and the amount of time and effort it will take
to achieve those gains. Training, both physical and spiritual, is hard
work, and it takes time. You're not going to build your arms from 15s to
18s in six months, and it will probably take longer than that to sit zazen
for 30 minutes with a still body and a calm and focused mind. But it will
come, a little at a time. In fact, it probably won't be you but the people
around you that first notice a subtle change in you. The good news is,
the longer you work at it, the deeper the change becomes, and the longer
it lasts.
When you first sit zazen, it's like doing an exercise for the first
time. Put your individualism aside for a time and learn the correct way
to do it from someone who knows. Pay attention to what you're doing. What's
going on? How does it feel? What's working? Notice that as you try to
concentrate on your breath in zazen, your attention wanders. You gently
pull your attention back to your breath, and it's pulled away to distraction
again. This is very much like lifting a weight against gravity. And what
a blessing gravity is! Physical exercise is working against resistance.
Without gravity, we would have to create resistance with springs or rubber
bands. We've all seen equipment like this. Doing zazen is working against
resistance. With each repetition, with every pulling of our attention
against the resistance of distraction and fantasy, we grow and become a
little stronger.
And then comes the pain. Working against physical resistance causes
fatigue and a build-up of lactic acid--Pain. Working against mental
resistance causes a percolating-up of all our discomforts, anxieties, and
inadequacies--Pain. So what! No pain, no gain--right?
But eventually comes the pleasure. Just as in working-out, when you've
been sitting for a while, you'll overcome the little aches and pains and
reach a place where it starts to actually feel good. You begin to see the
beauty and harmony in what you're doing and learn to appreciate the purity
of JUST lifting a weight or JUST following your breath. Slowly but surely
you'll begin to see the fruits of your labor and start to develop a love
for DOing rather than thinking, fantasizing, or avoiding, and your
perspective, your very life, will begin to undergo a subtle shift.
We workout every day, not because we expect to look like the Incredible
Hulk, but because we enjoy it. It feels good to get out and exert ourselves
against the resistance of gravity, to experience the perfection of the form
and function of our body, to reveal and enhance the muscles that were there
all along. Likewise, we sit zazen every day, not because we expect to be
something or someone were not, but because it brings an increasing amount
of serenity, dignity, and joy to who we already are and always have been.
And, if you worked-out only one time, as long as you did it with
awareness, you experienced body building. And, if during zazen you are
able to experience complete awareness of your life--of this very moment--even
for only an instant, you have experienced enlightenment itself!
Song Of The Bell
by Kent Wimberly
© 2001 All Rights Reserved
I found the little round bell that our zen group used during meditation sessions
here in the prison chapel. Along with the inspirational books and tapes, it had
been raided from the Buddhist storage locker a couple of years ago and scattered
throughout the institution. About a year ago, someone gave me the bell, but I've
since kept it in my desk drawer at work, afraid that taking it back to my cell
would get it confiscated. Another Buddhist wanted to take it and fill it with
sand for use as an incense holder, but that didn't seem right to me. Bells are
for ringing, and I thought of the pleasure they must feel when their purpose is
fulfilled, and remembered what a joy and a challenge it was for me during my
time as our group's bell ringer.
So finally I bring the little bell home. I set up my blankets on the floor, sit
into position, and carefully arrange the little cushion, bell, and striker in
front of me, just right of center. I feel a touch of excitement and anticipation
at ringing the bell again, and I think the bell reels it too. I bow, then,
I strike the bell the
first time.
DINGGGG
!
From
far, far away, the song of the bell rushes in, like air into a vacuum, filling
every space. It's a joyful song that says, I'm happy to be a bell. It's the song
of baby birds chirping from their nests, the crash of waves against the rocks,
the echo of a slamming door, the laughter of my best friend over the phone. It's
the last rasping exhale of my cancer-riddled Granddad, passing forever into
morphine-induced peacefulness with his loving family at his side. It's the
gleeful screams of children playing in a sprinkler on a hot Summer's day. It's
the splash of a tear drop hitting my folded hands.
I strike the bell the second time.
DINGGGG!
The
voices approach, a hundred carolers triumphantly marching home. The
reverberations penetrate everything, wiggling and sifting the universe into
order. The concrete hears it, the steel hears it, the mountains and oceans hear
it. Men and women hear it, beasts hear it. Perpetrators and their victims hear
it. My family, teachers, and friends hear it, and so does that asshole on the
yard.
And all at once, we are awake!
DINGGGG!
I
strike the bell the third time. And I realize that I'm not ringing the bell. The
bell was rung long ago. It was always ringing, and always will ring, as is its
nature. But I do not always hear it, as is my nature. I'm not striking
the bell, but striking myself, opening a door to better hear a familiar and
comforting tune.
As
the song of the bell recedes into the nearness and soaks into the marrow of my
bones, I bow again.
All
is as it should be.
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