Ryokan, a 17th century Japanese Zen monk and poet, stumbled through the door of his straw hut and fell naked and trembling to the mud floor. Behind him, the August full moon broke the horizon above Mount Hiei. Ryokan had just returned home from his weekly begging round in the village. He had been chanting and begging for rice at the local shrine when a thief knocked him over, stripped him, and stole his robe and bowl. It had taken Ryokan twice as long as usual to climb the mountain path to his hermitage, because each time he heard footsteps he dived into the underbrush and hid.
When he felt his energy return, he stood up and looked around. His second robe was gone, the roots he had hung in the window were gone, his box of poems was gone. Ryokan threw his hands in the air and cried out, “Another thief has been here. He has taken the last of my belongings.” He swung around to face the open door. The full moon slapped him across the face. At that moment, he joined his surprise with meditation. He dropped to his knees, did a full bow to the moon, held the moon between his outstretched hands and said, “Would that I could give him this as well.”
It is easier to maintain the mind of meditation when our lives are going well. But when things happen fast, it is not so easy. It is also easy to think of others if we ourselves are not in the crisis or caught up in an amazing opportunity. But when we are blindsided by unexpected events, it takes great effort to maintain an even keel and stay true to our deepest values.
Ryokan didn’t go through a complicated process to wish happiness for the second thief. He did it in an instant, in that tiny gap that occurs at the very moment that surprise happens. It’s as if you are walking down the street looking up at crows on a wire and you step into a deep pothole. For a moment, there is no ground to stand on. That moment is a surprise; that moment is the gap that awakens — and it is in that gap that we are most likely to “lose it”. Think how much richer Ryokan was because he didn’t “lose” his practice of generosity. He could have fallen into despair over his own situation and missed the moon.
Like Ryokan, we can pause before we react by dragging out our usual arsenal of habits. We can interrupt that momentum. Instead of joining surprises with our beliefs, self-absorptions, opinions, and conditioned responses we can immediately join them with meditation. That is, we can insert awareness, compassion, generosity, joy and patience into every situation. We can make each encounter an opportunity for growth and awakening.
Practice suggestion: Begin to pay attention to how you “lose it”. Try to see each event without judgment or commentary. Notice, just notice.
This column is a long series of short essays exploring the meaning of the Lojong Slogans. It is inspired by the work of Judy Lief.
Kuya Minogue is the resident teacher at Creston’s ZenWords Zen Centre. For more information, she can be reached at 250-428-3390.