Practicing Zen with Depression

All kinds of studies point to the health benefits of meditation, and as a Zen Buddhist priest, I am not surprised. I have long found meditation to be a healing salve. 

Once we taste the fruits of meditation, it can be tempting for spiritual seekers to imagine that it will save us from all forms of suffering, including sadness, anxiety, and mental illness. Using meditation to avoid pain is commonly referred to as "spiritual bypass." But we suffer more when meditation inevitably fails to relieve all pain because we feel like we must be doing it wrong. On top of feeling depressed, we end up feeling like failures in our spiritual traditions. 

But it is not a flaw of practice to feel pain. A few years after his enlightenment, Eihei Dogen, the founder of Soto Zen, may have suffered from "a depression that had been building up through... the dark times he was going through" (Zen Buddhism: A History, Japan, Heinrich Dumoulin, p.62). Hakuin's autobiographical accounts describe awakenings followed by intense periods of suffering, including feeling "abnormally weak and timid, shrinking and fear­ful in whatever I did. I felt totally drained, physically and mentally exhausted.... My eyes watered constantly" (Zen Sickness). Zen teacher Reigetsu Susan Moon has also written extensively about her struggles with depression. And like my mother before me, I’ve experienced dysthymia for stretches of my life. This darkness sometimes feels like a cave of grief. If you are a Zen practitioner who suffers, you are not alone.

I am a Soto Zen priest in Dogen's line, and the emphasized practice in our tradition is a meditation practice called shikantaza. In shikantaza, we sit still, stop talking, and pay attention to whatever arises. Shikantaza, or silent illumination, allows us to open our hearts to life just as it is and recognize our intimacy with all beings, including our pain. Rather than avoid, we turn toward whatever is arising and open our hearts to things as they are. Acceptance of our condition gives birth to compassion. This is no small thing. 

But a complete Zen practice also includes mindfully using skillful means to alleviate suffering in ourselves and in the world. The practices of opening our hearts to things as they are and taking action to improve things may seem contradictory, but they are actually complementary. Bearing witness and practicing skillful means are like the foot before and the foot behind in walking, and a complete Zen practice includes both.

Bearing witness

 

In Zen practice, the first step is to see what is present. From this perspective, whatever arises is a dharma gate. As James Ford writes, "We are completely subject to the vicissitudes of our lives. Zen is not an escape hatch from this. This is the field of enlightenment." Rumi writes, "Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor... invite them in."

Just acknowledging pain can be a relief. Giving ourselves and others permission to be exactly as we are in any given moment is the heart of compassion and opens the door for us to respond with loving kindness. It also invites more openness and curiosity about our experience. 

If depression is severe, it may be counter-productive to meditate. It may be necessary to seek medical attention and postpone practice until symptoms are reduced.* But in my experience, meditating has been beneficial. 

 

In meditation, without trying to control our experience, we compassionately attend whatever arises as a dharma gate, as an opportunity to comprehend the true nature of phenomena. In nondualistic compassion, beyond "is" and "is not," the emptiness of phenomena is revealed. 

As we pay attention, we first might notice our thoughts. For example, we might think that our situation is hopeless and that life is meaningless. Especially while depressed, our thoughts often become sticky as shameful senses of self arise. We may think, "I am a failure," identifying with our feelings. Meditation brings this subtle identification with feeling states into awareness. 

Curiosity helps release our identification with thoughts. We do not need to manipulate the content of our thoughts while meditating. In paying attention without investing in or pushing away anything, we see that even painful thoughts and senses of self come and go. We notice the space between thoughts and begin to recognize thoughts as thoughts rather than as the absolute truth, and this opens up some space between the brain and the skull. "Opening the hand of thought" allows new possibilities to arise. 

For example, we may diagnose ourselves as depressed, but what is depression? Thinking that we already know the answer can exacerbate our suffering. We may think of depression as a static "thing" or mental state that cannot shift or change, especially when we identify with it. One practice is to drop the hwadu, "what is this?" into our meditation and look beyond our thoughts into the sensations of our body for what is actually present. 

We'll likely notice a set of feelings that we associate with depression, but it is important to keep paying attention. For me, one sensation is something like a slowly shape-shifting, dark cloud in my brain. This thick fog pressures and heats my skull. There can also be a heaviness in my heart, hollowness in my gut, and pressure behind my eyes, like I might cry at any moment. But with close attention at the cellular level, I see that sensations keep changing moment after moment. The way I'd describe my experience one second is not exactly the same the next. In opening awareness and seeing that thoughts and even senses of self are ever-changing, we can viscerally experience that depression has no fixed essence. Everything changes. Depression is not a constant expression of some underlying, permanent self. When we are suffering, recognizing impermanence is a relief. 

While sitting upright in the midst of depression, we may also be relieved to see that the fog of melancholia is interpenetrated by the sensory world. Depression is not a solid barrier. It is murky but “translucent.” It is not a wall separating us from the world, but we only comprehend this by looking into that which we hate: the darkness. In actually looking, the landscape of life also emerges, like faint moonlight through clouds. It might be the sensation of the breath, a birdsong, the sound of rain, or a honking truck that opens our awareness. 

Sometimes we describe this openness as "creating a bigger container," but we do not actually create this container. It already exists. We just notice what is already present. Though our narratives tell us otherwise, our inner life is inseparable from the wider landscape of this sensory world. There is only an imaginary line between inside and outside, between self and other, and our intimacy with all beings is no small comfort. Even when we think we are alone, we are held by the boundless universe, and the universe resides in our hearts. 

 

As the koan says, "the clearly enlightened person falls into a well." Falling is an opportunity to awaken again. Everything is changing before our very eyes, there is nothing that we can possess forever, and falling releases us from our attachments, the very ones that have made us suffer again and again. While falling, we can open our eyes to the way things are in this very moment of descent and maybe even pluck a strawberry on the way down.

But there is also the deep, dark depth of a well. And though we may surrender, stay curious, and even appreciate the suchness of cold stone walls, sometimes depression feels relentless. The persistence of depression is not an indicator of a failed practice. While wide awake, we can be trapped in a well! In such circumstances, we may need to do more than meditate to take care of ourselves. When hungry, we eat. When tired, we sleep. When depressed, we employ skillful means to alleviate suffering. This too may be part of an awakened life.

 

Practicing skillful means

 

For me, when depression arises, it is helpful to bow, to accept the guest who is with me in the moment, and to offer a compassionate response. Though it may feel like my fault, I remind myself that nobody is at fault. There is no first cause. This is just how it is, the result of causes and conditions beyond counting. 

 

In these moments, faith sustains me -- faith that even depression is without fixed essence, faith that all things change, and faith in something bigger than my limited karmic self. We don't only save all beings but are saved by all beings. The universe is always holding us compassionately, and we are manifestations of its infinite presence. Like Buddha during the night before his enlightenment, we can touch the earth and feel it supporting us, moment after moment, even in our darkest hours. We can even cry out to this universe to save us, and in the moment of our cry, the universe responds, and the cry itself is the voice of Buddha. 

 

We should not pretend that meditating will cure medical illnesses. It would be absurd to tell someone suffering with diabetes or cancer that meditating would cure them. I would not even suggest that someone suffering from a dehydration headache should meditate to make it go away. The compassionate response is to offer a glass of water. To practice skillful means is to alleviate the causes and conditions that give rise to suffering. This means being aware of our symptoms in part through meditation and mindfully trying remedies to reduce our suffering. 

Depression may have multiple causes, one of which may be biological. In such circumstances, medication may be an important part of treatment. Other skillful means may include taking "opposite action" -- doing therapeutically advised activities even though we may not want to, such as exercising, seeing a therapist, joining sangha-mates to sit or drink tea, and asking for help when hurting. For me, a combination of meditation, exercise, sleep hygiene, counseling, and light-therapy offered some relief. Rather than view these activities as in opposition to some image of "pure" Zen practice, I consider them part of my practice. 

 

Though means vary, depression is treatable. Each of us is different, but through our ongoing attention, we learn which remedies work best. Caring for depression is a compassionate practice that cultivates insight, patience, responsiveness, and loving kindness. As we continue to practice meditation and skillful means, we find that our sense of interconnectedness and compassion naturally extend to all beings with whom we intimately share this life. Caring for depression is nothing to be ashamed of. It is a powerful way to manifest our bodhisattva vow to save all beings. 

 

*Please note that clinical depression is a medical condition. This article is not intended to provide or replace treatment for those who may suffer from clinical depression or other forms of mental illness. If you are in need of help, you can call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to access free, 24/7 confidential service for people in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, or those around them. The Lifeline provides support, information, and local resources. You can also text the Crisis Text Line at 741-741 for free 24/7 support with a trained crisis counselor right away. 

Seeking Enlightenment is No Hindrance

There's this perennial debate among Zensters about whether Buddhist teachings should reference enlightenment (sometimes called kensho, awakening, or realization), and whether the term points to anything "real."

This debate goes back to ancient times when some suggested that seeking is a delusion, and others suggested that seeking is essential.

Nowadays, some argue that the notion of enlightenment is problematic because it is the basis of hierarchies (teachers are "enlightened" while students are "not"), and these hierarchies result in abuses. Also, some, particularly from the Soto tradition, suggest that the notion of enlightenment is problematic because it suggests a particular state of mind that exists in opposition to other states of mind, creating dualistic notions. Therefore, anyone using the term is actually deluded. Third, they say that this notion of enlightenment causes striving, which is counterproductive. Finally, some suggest that awakening itself is makyo -- a temporary illusion generated by demons that comes and goes like everything else.

Others, like Dosho Port, defend kensho, citing Buddha himself who, as the story goes, was enlightened and "together with all beings attained the way." (James Ford, my first teacher, lovingly tells that tale here.)

I am a Soto priest in Boundless Way Zen and have practiced in the trackless land of shikantaza for many years. We take the Buddha seat, "sit down, shut up, and pay attention," as James is fond of saying. There is a kind of faith and recognition in this practice that whatever life offers is exactly the Way. In this practice, we find the wisdom of no escape, an openness to whatever is as the very dharma we seek.

Still, we make the effort of joining sangha-mates for intensive practice periods. We put on our robes at the sound of the bell, offer incense to the Buddha, and follow highly choreographed forms. To leave home and practice like this requires great commitment and suggests that even though lying around eating bon bons is also the Way, doing so is unlikely to help us realize it.

Many of our Soto practices are based on the teachings of Japanese Zen master Dogen. In the early years of his practice, Dogen's driving hwadu was, in short, why practice? "If everything already has Buddha nature, and if we are therefore already enlightened, why should we practice at all?"

But Dogen did not then take this intellectual notion that we are already enlightened as an excuse to avoid seeking the truth. Dogen went on a quest, crossing the sea to find a teacher in China who could help him resolve this troubling matter. He traveled the lands meeting master after master and was not satisfied till he had his own enlightenment experience. The story goes something like this:

"Dogen studied with Master Rujing. One evening during the intensive summer training, in the first year of Pao-chang, 1225, Rujing shouted at a disciple, 'When you study under a master, you must drop the body and mind. What is the use of single-minded intense sleeping?' Sitting right beside this monastic, Dogen suddenly attained great enlightenment. Immediately, he went up to the abbot’s room and burned incense. Rujing said, 'Why are you burning incense?' Dogen said, 'Body and mind have been dropped off.' Rujing said, 'Body and mind dropped off. The dropped-off body and mind.' Dogen said, 'This may only be a temporary ability. Please don’t approve me arbitrarily.' Rujing said, 'I am not.' Dogen said, 'What is that which isn’t given arbitrary approval?' Rujing said, 'Body and mind dropped off.' Dogen bowed. Rujing said, 'The dropping off is dropped.'"

It is essential to note Dogen's sense of purpose, his sense of release, his checking with his teacher to confirm his enlightenment, and finally Rujing's encouragement that Dogen let go even of the notion that body and mind dropped off.

This enlightenment experience was transformative for Dogen. Dogen could not comprehend the truth of the dharma until he saw it for himself. Faking it based on some intellectual claim is no substitute.

Dogen subsequently returned to Japan where he assumed a teaching position and began to write. In his Genjokoan, Dogen writes, "If you say that you do not need to fan yourself because the nature of wind is permanent and you can have wind without fanning, you will understand neither permanence nor the nature of wind." We should not say that we do not need to fan ourselves (or practice) or we will not understand the living dharma. He continues, "The nature of wind is permanent; because of that, the wind of the Buddha’s house brings forth the gold of the earth and makes fragrant the cream of the long river." The gold of the earth and fragrance of the cream of the long river are already thus. And, there is no gap between the wind of the Buddha's house and the wind from a fan. Fanning is no hindrance to the wind.

The founder of Soto wrote about enlightenment extensively (e.g. "Enlightenment is like the moon reflected in the water"*). Still, I appreciate the cautions offered by those who speak against using the term. As for how the term contributes to hierarchies, there is truth to this, and hierarchies have their shadows that we must recognize. But in throwing out teachers, we would throw out the baby with the bathwater. I am deeply indebted to my teachers and could never repay them for their guidance and wisdom in helping cultivate compassion and cut through delusions. Still, we must learn from abuses in the past. We have seen again and again that even teachers with deep insight stray and cause harm. In fact, one of my teachers suffered at the hands of her first teacher who had some insight into the great matter. She had to leave him to find another teacher. So what can we learn? First, my teacher abandoned the abuser, not the dharma. We do not need to throw out the dharma because some fail to live up to it. Second, we can recognize that enlightenment does not mean perfection of character. In fact, enlightenment never means what we think it means. Regardless of spiritual insight, we need the container of the precepts to guide us. Third, we need structures in our sanghas such as clear ethical guidelines, means for students to air complaints, and real accountability to help prevent future abuses.

Now, what to make of the argument that we should abandon the notion of enlightenment because it creates dualistic notions? Actually, any teaching is dualistic. The moment we open our mouths we are in the realm of dualistic thinking. This doesn't mean we abandon the dharma. The dharma helps us see how yin depends on yang, how enlightenment depends upon delusion, how emptiness depends upon form, and how all of these notions collapse. In practicing with thinking, we gain our freedom as we see that even dualistic thinking is another dharma gate. Duality is no hindrance to nonduality.

Another complaint is that notions of enlightenment lead to striving. I would suggest that striving is not so bad. It can even be good! It depends what we are striving for. For me, practice sometimes feels like swimming upstream. Our conditioned habit minds are strong. So often we unconsciously long to get through this moment so we can get to the next one, which we often imagine will be better. We are conditioned to feel dissatisfied by endless TV commercials that tell us life would be better if only we owned this or that product. We can also be possessed by our judgments of right and wrong, so much so that we are blind to the people in front of us, so much so that we even kill one another. We get caught up in conceptual maps of reality, like a driver who imagines that looking at Google Maps is the same as watching the road. One reason we get so caught in our conceptual maps is because we are taught in schools to value "knowing" above all else. When we do not know something conceptually, we are labeled as failures. We desperately want to avoid that shame. Point is, if someone suggests that there is no reason to awaken, I would be concerned that a touch of hubris may have slipped into that person's view of themselves. All we need to do is pay attention for a few moments and we realize that "delusions are endless" and we do get swept along. So we "vow to end them." This doesn't mean we cut off thinking. We practice seeing our delusions clearly. This we call waking up! It requires intentionality.

Terms like awakening, enlightenment, and emptiness which convey something beyond conception help us realize that though our proud brains wish it were otherwise, our conceptual maps cannot "know" immeasurable reality. Sometimes we catch a glimpse of the "intimacy" toward which all this language points, and it make our eyes water. A pebble strikes a stalk of bamboo. A bird sings in our heart. A flash of lightning in a summer cloud. And with that opening, we begin to trust something that includes yet extends beyond words, that includes yet extends beyond striving. And in this boundless intimacy, language and striving are no hindrance at all.

As for the question of whether kensho is makyo, Dosho puts it this way: "If you think kenshō is makyō, you might consider the possibility that this thought itself is makyō."

My encouragement: if you are curious, follow that curiosity. Find a sangha with an authorized Zen teacher. Draw on all the "technologies of awakening" available to you. And go ahead and seek the truth. "Bind grasses to build a hut, and don't give up!"*


* Dogen's "Genjokoan"
**Shitou Xiqian's "Song of the Grass-Roof Hermitage"