Journey's Beginning

Today's journey begins with an unexpected call from Sifu. This is to be expected. As a student and as his secretary, I've come to expect that I'll need to drop what I am doing for what must be done. This is part of the path I accepted in my heart well over eight years ago. I've never regretted the decision.

There was a time when I trained at the school seven days a week. I was always there; but I've come to accept more and more that I'm human and have to recharge sometimes. I'm now at the school five times a week, six when necessary. I try to take Sundays as a time to organize my thoughts and prepare for the coming week. Today's walk in the woods is for just that reason.

Glen Helen is a nature preserve near where I grew up. I've had a relationship with the place going on twelve years now. I can still remember the days of exploration, stalking down new paths. Each bend in the trails held new discoveries, new worlds to charter. Those days are long gone and the Glen has become something familiar, like an old friend. I know the turns and curves, the slopes and valleys almost by instinct.

I go to the Glen when I need to be alone and remember the feeling of Space and Nature. In the Glen, I can feel the world slip away. I can let go of the things I do and just be. In the Glen there are no schedules to keep, no tasks to be done, no projects to deliver. There is only me and the Glen. Sometimes there are other people, too; but, for me, they are just part of the Glen.

When I walk in the Glen, I try to focus only on everything around me and within me. If thoughts arise, I follow them where they go much like watching a fly buzzing around. When they start to fly away, I let them go... or, at least, I try to let them go.

Thinking on the Dharma

As I begin my walk today, I work my way down a long flight of steps, hewn rock cemented together and covered by mud. It rained yesterday and the ground is slick. I pick my steps carefully, mindful of how I shift my weight so as not to slip, the feel of my weight easing from one foot to the other as I walk. The Glen is beautiful. The trees are all around me, ivy covering the ground. The smell of wet earth and gentle decay envelop me. Birds call from the heights in clicks and cackles and I can hear squirrels squirreling away in the underbrush nearby.

On today's walk, thoughts of the Buddha's teachings, the Dharma, come and play for a while. Dharma is something that cannot be adequately expressed in words. How can we describe an ineffable experience? If we wrote ten thousand words we still couldn't capture the experience of first love's sigh or the sob of first love's loss. The Dharma is like that.

I have an ongoing conversation with a friend about the true essence of the Dharma. He is well read on the Sutras, the recorded teachings of Buddha. He feels that I do a disservice to the Dharma because the things I teach and say do not fit his definition of the Dharma. He rejects my explanations because, in his words, they are those which are given by demons who are trying to lead people away from the Dharma. He is genuinely fearful. I respect the man and don't want to offend him just as I know he isn't trying to insult me. But we have this fundamental difference of opinion. We probably agree on many points, but for so long as we argue about the basics, we'll never discover those points. I don't know how to get past the fundamental obstacle, this seemingly wide difference in views. There's something I need to understand that I haven't yet grasped or else I wouldn't be dwelling on this issue. On today's walk, this became the object of my meditation.

Meaning of Words

Coming to the bottom of the steps, there's a stream and a short bridge across it which connects the entrance of the Glen to the Glen itself. Off to my right I hear the rush of water over the rocks. The heavy rain has swollen the water, increasing the sound of the creek; it almost drowns out the sound of my footsteps in the mud sucking at my shoes.

I am a martial artist. I plan to make this both my life and my livelihood. I also have a day job. And I study and teach Zen's approach to the Dharma.

I was raised Catholic; and so I suppose that at some unconscious level my world view will always have a Roman-Catholic frame of reference. As I study Zen more deeply, I find the teachings I was given as a child still to be essentially true. The main difference is that I now see them in a new light and from a new angle.

When any phrase is used to describe something, there is an expectation by the speaker that the listener understands what is being said. It is as if "martial artist," for example, is a universally understood concept. Yet, when asking ten different people, "What is a martial artist?" we may receive ten different replies. If there are ten different replies, must only one be true and the other nine be false? Can all ten be true? Can all ten be false?

Approaching the Creek

Across the bridge the path splits to the right and left. To the left are small waterfalls and bridges, an area called The Grotto. To the right are Buck Creek and the big waterfall, an area called The Cascades because of the two smaller waterfalls which lead up to the larger one. Today, I go right. Coming to the creek, I am faced with another choice. I can go up the stones and take the high path to the big waterfall or I can cross the creek on stepping stones and then take the low path to the waterfall. When I visit the Glen with friends and it is their first time, I generally take the high path. The high path eventually drops down next to the creek. This approach hides the waterfall until almost the last minute. Generally, when alone, I will cross the creek on the stepping stones and take the low path. This path starts low but then winds gently uphill before coming to the waterfall, which also appears suddenly, almost as if by accident. I know both routes so I always explain the hazards and advantages of both. "Going over the creek you might slip on the rocks. Going straight up you might slip as the trail gets steeper."

Life is a mystery. People are a mystery. When terms are used, they serve as an angle of entry to something. The something is always greater than any one angle.

After I cross the creek, I look back at it. From this vantage, the creek is immediate, close and personal. I can smell the water and see the individual rocks on the bottom. If I had gone straight up, the view would have been different. I'd have seen more of the overall terrain and would have had a clearer view of where the low path led. In either of these paths, I'd have both gained and lost something.

I can only follow one path at a time. I can't simultaneously take both the low path and the high path. The experience of the creek is different on each path. If I were to ask for someone's impression of the view from either vantage, which would be correct? Can a view from either angle possibly describe the complete view?

In asking about or understanding anything we can only state one view at a time. Human speech cannot encapsulate all angles at once. In order to communicate, we have to use similar frames of reference. These frames are not merely verbal. When we use words, we expect that our meaning will be understood, yet without having lived the same life, no two people will ever possess the precisely identical meaning. Our experiences color our definitions.

Each of us lives our own lives. We have shared experiences and similar feelings but each of us lives in a world unique to us. I mentioned my Catholic upbringing for a reason. Without having a similar background, it would be impossible for anyone to appreciate the nuances and connotations I bring to my interpretations of various concepts. Yet, too, no matter how well-versed in Catholic teachings one person is, he still cannot fully appreciate the different shades of meaning applied by another Catholic. A person is even more than his Catholic upbringing.

Reaching the Waterfall

Taking the low path, I cross the creek and turn to the left, heading for the waterfall. The low path travels close to the creek before moving away and starting to rise. But today, because of heavy, recent rains, the trail is muddy and slippery. In some places, I have to reach for trees to use as stabilizers, watching each step. My heart starts to beat fast from the exertion. The rains have changed the path, eroding the natural steps, revealing roots and loosening rocks.

In the paths we take in life there are steps to be taken. These steps can be natural or deliberately structured, or even a combination of both. We can never be sure of where our foot will securely set itself on the path; we can be certain, however, that there will be surprises, some pleasant and some disturbing.

In Buddhism the start of the journey towards enlightenment is the Four Noble Truths. All Buddhists agree that craving for things of the material world brings bitterness and pain. All Buddhists agree that following the Noble Eightfold Path is the cure for this bitterness and pain. But how we interpret the details of each step in the path does not always lend itself to agreement. For example, some Buddhists are devout vegetarians, never eating any form of animal life while the Buddhists in Sri Lanka do not consider fish an animal and therefore include seafood as part of their vegetarian diet. The approach used in Zen is not the same as in other branches of Buddhism; and even within Zen there are many variations.

Who and what we are, the experiences we have lived, and our personal history bring us to the present moment. In Buddhism, this is sometimes called a "karmic root." This idea refers to the fact that each of us is unique with different experiences and cultures. While we are all walking towards a common destination, the journey is as unique as the one who travels it.

Seeing the Waterfall

Finally, the low path brings me to the top of the waterfall. I stand on the bridge over it and marvel at the beauty. I see the foam and flecks of water spraying far and wide. The sound is loud and wonderful. Standing over the waterfall, I see the water racing over the edge and hear it crash on the rocks below.

I cross the bridge and start towards the high path. I look back over my shoulder and I see the waterfall from a different angle. I'm still at the same height as I was on the bridge but the waterfall looks completely different. I see the water, the foam, the flecks and spray; I see the water racing over the edge but I now see the water falling and crashing against the rocks. The sound has changed as well.

I continue down to the high path and move closer to the waterfall. I'm now at the foot of the waterfall looking up. The roar is almost deafening. The spray reaches all the way to me. I can no longer see the water racing toward the edge, only the water falling and falling.

While I walked the low path as opposed to the high path, I still arrived at the waterfall. As I walked around it, experiencing it from different angles, it seemed to be a different waterfall entirely. Suppose I had blindfolded some people and taken them to any one of my three vantage points, shown them the waterfall, and then taken them away from the waterfall. I then show them a picture of the waterfall from one of the other two angles, would they realize that it was all the same thing?

Even from three angles, three experiences of the same thing, it is possible to have conflict in understanding.

What is Dharma? Two people can talk about it but if neither realizes that the discussion will have both insight and illusion, conflict will arise. If each person assumes that he is right and the other is wrong, there is no possibility for mutual understanding. There is only a clash of egos.

What is Zen? Zen is only a name for a path to reach an understanding, the insights of personal experience of the Dharma. Zen is not a single set of rules that must be followed in a prescribed manner and order. The steps of Zen are not Zen, they are merely steps in a method. The recipe is not the cake. The finger that points to the moon is not the moon.

All paths lead to the same destination and it is only by walking the length of a path will we reach the goal. But even if we walk the same path and travel the same steps, each of us will experience and respond to every step in a unique way. We cannot condemn another for not seeing what we see. Our eyes and our interpretations are products of our own karmic history.

Sometimes the view of the destination is hazy. Especially when we're unfamiliar with the path we can become confused. Take the two smaller waterfalls that precede the large one. Without knowing the destination, we might think that we've reached the goal when we encounter one of them. We might describe a lesser waterfall to our friends and show them the trail to it, very certain of the path we took and of its dangers. They might see what we have seen and we might all agree that we reached the grand goal. But if one of us, not content to accept this easy conclusion, continues to explore, to climb, to search, to haul his body up the steep climb, one arduous step after the other, he might arrive at the greatest waterfall.

Continuing on the Road

Continuing on my walk I take the high path back to the entrance to the Glen. Along the walk, I travel over rocks and under rocks, around trees, over trees, through trees, close to the creek, far from the creek, up rocks, down rocks, over roots and across boards.

As I walk, the woods are all around me. The weather is perfect - not too hot, not too cold, not too damp, not too dry. Wearing my sunglasses, the greens are muted and lush, vibrant and deep. When I take off my sunglasses the colors are bright and washed out. Enjoying the air, I breathe deeply and enjoy the chance to lose myself in the experience.

While walking the low path, I noticed a family. As I travel the high path, I see the family again. They are excitedly playing and climbing on a giant tree that fell over about six years ago. The area they are in has since been marked an area of re-growth and the trail is blocked with brush and brambles. People are not supposed to be back there.

Looking at this family, I want to call out, "Hey! You're not supposed to be there! What's the matter with you, can't you read? What lesson are you teaching your children? That rules don't apply to them? That it's ok to do what you want to do, whenever and wherever you wish? Don't you have any consideration for others?" And in that thought, consideration for others, I still my thoughts and my tongue.

In consideration for others, how would the children feel and react to see their father chastised by a stranger, a man several years younger? How would the father respond to being "called out?" What would happen to this family's fun day out and their laughter at enjoying the woods? Minding my thoughts, I say nothing, learning from the moment and continuing the walk.

When I shared this experience with my father a few days later, he suggested that I could have approached the family and commented on the beautiful day and made small talk. During the conversation, I could have allowed them to teach me the meaning of the posted signs by asking, "I've been around here a few times and I was wondering at those signs that say "Re-growth Area;" do you have any ideas?" By feigning ignorance, I could have let the family lead me to awareness. Is my father's suggestion the right way to go? By continuing on my journey as I did, was I wrong?

Coming down to the bottom of the high path, I turn to my right and head towards the Grotto. As I pass the path to the bridge, two young men are just entering the Glen. One wears a beard with easy comfort while the other has many piercings in his face and a glum expression. I'm glad to see people getting out of the world for a time and exploring the Glen. I pass them quietly.

As I walk along the path towards the Glen, I start to thinking about angles, working on a paragraph for this paper--

Then after a sudden stumble, I stop thinking and go back to feeling. The words and thoughts start to fade, replaced by the breathing of my lungs, the slight pain in my right ankle from turning it two days ago, the tightness in the arch of my left foot, the low rumble of the water falling from height into water and the higher, sharper splash of water crashing on rocks from the small waterfall to my right.

Taking a moment to pause at the stones and an old broken dam near the bridges, I relish the greens and browns, the dank air musky with mold and water. I'm happy that I had the chance today to be outside and just walking.

Continuing around the bend, I arrive at the second small waterfall and continue walking. On this side of the Glen, there is less smell of water and more smell of decay and growth. The birds are louder - or the lack of the sound of water gives them stronger voices.

Walking along the trail, I pass the two young men that entered the Glen as I passed the path to the entrance. The one with the beard is now staring down at the ground, quiet. The other, the glum and pierced one, has his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. Passing me, he raises his head and glances at me furtively, as if explaining that his different appearance doesn't make him appreciate the beauty of the Glen any less, that, yes, he, too, belongs here. I smile an acknowledging grin and continue on my path.

That he is here is just as natural as the trees. That he looks as he does is also just as natural. I don't condemn him for the way he looks, the clothes he wears or the metal in his head (two studs in each eyebrow, four in each ear, nose (through the middle), two lip rings). I feel for him that he feels it necessary to wear so much metal and keep the world at arm's distance, but it doesn't matter to me. He's just a guy out for a walk in the woods, same as I, and he has as much a right to be there, enjoying the day.

Turning the bend in the trail, I encounter two young lovers who are standing near the entrance to the waterfall, looking around to see if anyone is near. They don't see me since I'm farther back and higher up on the trail. They embrace and kiss passionately. I take a different route back to the entrance to give them privacy. I smile to myself as I turn away, thinking of my last love, holding her in my arms for the moment.

There was a time not too long ago that I would have been consumed by sorrow and a sense of loss. Since that time, I have loved more deeply and lost more quickly and learned from the loss. Now, as I see these two lovers, I am happy for them and their joy, and happy, too, that finally I have no regrets.

Journey's end

As I continue on my walk, thoughts of this paper come more and more strongly. It is as if I was given this chance to take a walk to help me think about my situation with my Buddhist friend.

There's a circular aspect to the journey. Up to the top of the mountain and then down again to help others make the journey. Just as we can encounter the lesser waterfalls on the way up or later on the way down, depending on the route we take, we can encounter people with differing insights and experiences at any point in the path.

I didn't stop to chastise the family that was playing in the re-growth area. Why not? Because I had to gauge the effect my criticism would have on the innocent pleasure they were having, on their respect for their father, on their good fortune at being a family together in the woods on a beautiful day. My reaction would have been different had I seen any evidence of damage to the re-growth area. I could have asserted my right to continue walking on my path even if it meant that I would disturb the lovers; but I didn't. Why not? Because the inconvenience I caused myself by taking a small detour was not worth the effect that asserting my right would have had upon the lovers. They may have been entirely wrong in kissing in a more or less public place; but I have been in love, too. I think that in both cases there was an overriding compassion that guided my choice. Compassion is the hallmark of the Dharma. I could have thought, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread." and let that be my reason for acting in the way I acted. But the Dharma means more than that, doesn't it? It means that we run a few risks and accept a few inconveniences because if we cannot be kind to others, we cannot, in any sense of the word, be followers of the Buddha.

In dealing with my friend, I decided to leave things as they stand and learn more of his approach to the Dharma. Perhaps by walking a part of his path with him, I can better understand his views and opinions. Rather than instruct him in my opinions of the error of his ways, perhaps by demonstrating a compassionate interest in him and his views, he might learn some of my path and soften his opinions.

Today's walk was my personal time in the Dharma; God showed me what I need to learn, experience and understand to be ready for the next lesson.

In sharing my experience, I hope that you find something in my afternoon for you as well.

Thank you for joining me on my short journey. Now that you've read about Glen Helen, if you're ever in my neck of the woods, we can take a little walk sometime. It's a nice place to get away and just listen to everything and nothing.
 

back