A Reading of Dōgen's "Genjokoan," by Mike Fieleke

This is what Eihei Dōgen's "Genjokoan" expresses through me in just this moment. For a deeper dive, check out Realizing Genjokoan, by Shohaku Okumura, an explication to which I am indebted. You can also read Okumura's translation of "Genjokoan" on page 41 here.

Actualizing Fundamental Reality

Photo by Sandra Raponi

According to Buddha's original teaching, we suffer, but with practice, we can wake up and realize Buddhahood. This is an expression of what Buddhists call "the relative truth," our storied experience in which we suffer, but if we behave skillfully and attain wisdom, we can conquer suffering. When we begin practice, it seems like the truth is in some way outside of our practice. We seek something other than what we believe we are. We seek to conquer suffering according to the Buddha's original teachings and imagine that some future self will attain realization.

The Heart Sutra counters with the "absolute truth" that there is no separate "thinghood" to be found, so there is ultimately "no suffering" to be conquered. Nothing exists separately with fixed essence. All things are impermanent and dependently arisen. Thus, the Heart Sutra teaches that "there is nothing to attain." We can "give up" our dualistic goals and let go of all dualistic notions. The teaching of emptiness is medicine to counter absolutism, wherein we mentally project fixed essences into things. If we become attached to our conceptions of things, then when things change (as they inevitably do because they have no fixed essences), we suffer more.

But we can also get addicted to the medicine, to the teaching of emptiness, and this becomes another burden for us. When we cross the river, we do not bring the raft with us. We need to go beyond affirmation and negation to see life exactly as it is. In other words, even the "no" of the Heart Sutra is dualistic if functioning in opposition to something outside itself. If we become attached to "no," we become nihilistic, actively denying the existence of forms. We might become attached to samadhi states of "oneness." Either way, we are not functioning freely, and we are ironically trapped in a dualistic view that sees duality in opposition to nonduality.

Because the Heart Sutra's initial statement (that emptiness is form and form is emptiness) appears dualistic -- as if form is something other than form, or as if form needs to be negated -- Dōgen writes in his own rendition of the Heart Sutra that "form is form and emptiness is emptiness," erasing a dualistic, intellectual comparison of form to something other than form.

The Heart Sutra also collapses dualistic intellectual comparisons of duality and nonduality by stating that "form is exactly emptiness, emptiness exactly form." The addition of the word, "exactly," means that there is no duality at all. Emptiness is not a separate thing, contradiction, or idea but is exactly things as they are. There is actually no dichotomy between what is solid or real and what is empty or insubstantial. This is not to suggest a middle way between two poles. The poles themselves vanish and we are left with life just as it is. Dōgen emphasizes this leaping clear of all dualities, particularly distinct notions of emptiness and form and their associations with oneness and multiplicity, absolutism and negation.

Leap clear of the many and the one. Beyond yes and no, beyond affirmation and negation, and beyond duality and nonduality, cherry blossoms in the garden and dandelions in the yard.

When we aim in any direction at all, we are lost in delusion. To be deluded is to get lost in our conceptual maps and lose touch with things as they are. This is an opportunity to awaken to delusions as delusions.

As we sit still, shut up, and pay attention, the ten thousand things express themselves as our practice. Practice and realization are not two. 

When we see thoughts as thoughts, we wake up. When we attach to ideas about enlightenment, we fall out of alignment with the way things actually are. To get caught in ideas about enlightenment is delusion. Still, don't even get stuck in judgments about delusion, and don't aim for enlightenment as medicine for delusions. That's delusion within delusion. Let go of all compass points. Throw everything into the fire of practice.

The thought, "I am enlightened," is just a thought. There is nobody to attain enlightenment. Still, Buddha actualizes Buddha through our practice regardless of what we think. Waves do not obstruct the ocean.

Be embodied. Stay awake to the sensations of this body, which inherently include the myriad dharmas. The crow's caw is not outside ourselves. It penetrates the entire universe; it penetrates this body-and-mind.

Sometimes we see particular waves and lose sight of the ocean. When we see only our concepts, the ocean appears two dimensional. Sometimes we see the vastness and depth of the ocean and do not see particular waves. And sometimes we see through the waves into the vastness. When we open beyond concepts to the aliveness of the moment, suchness appears as infinite depth and detail. There is no fixed view that we can or should preserve. Sometimes life appears this way, sometimes that way. Awakening does not depend on the particular content of our mind.

Look deeply into the self and see that there is no separate, fixed self. The self is literally made of non-self elements, just like an eye. The eye is made of water and other non-eye elements. The eye also does not function independently but depends on the objects it sees, the light that enters the retina, and the brain that creates images. The eye cannot function without the existence of all beings. Vision is a dependent arising. Similarly, we do not exist alone or independently. We are the air we breathe, the food we eat, and the culturally inherited languages we speak. More broadly, students are the teacher's life. The child is the parent's life. All beings reside in our hearts and make up our lives. We are relation itself.

Body-and-mind and the bodies-and-minds of others drop away when we realize the suchness of body-and-mind. There is openness at the center of everything. Thoroughly examining this body-and-mind is shikantaza.

Impermanence is life. This is the place of non-abiding. Wake up into the dream.

We express the dream by sitting, standing, walking, and lying down, by washing dishes, eating when we are hungry, and laughing and crying.

When we seek the truth, we get lost in conceptual maps. What we seek is already here.

All things only move relative to each other. The boat moves relative to the shore, and the shore moves relative to the boat. Things exist relationally, and there is no center. The absolute truth is that there is no absolute truth. Still, we often project selfhood into things. 

Enduring selfhood and fixed essences are mirages. There is only change. We therefore lose everything and everyone we love. Firewood becomes ash.

Though it has no fixed essence, nonetheless, firewood is exactly firewood. The firewood exists because there was a tree, and it also has the potential to become ash. The present moment therefore includes the fruit of the past and seed of the future. All time is included in this moment. Still, the present moment is completely independent.

In the narrative sense, each moment is a consequence of endless causes and conditions that precede it, and each moment gives rise to future moments through cause and effect. This recognition of cause-effect allows us make decisions that alleviate suffering for all beings. And, the past and future can be found no place but here. The firewood that became ash no longer exists.

Life is paradoxical. It may seem like contradictions are mutually exclusive, but that is a shallow understanding of life-and-death.

Dōgen contradicts traditional Buddhist notions of reincarnation. Birth is exactly birth, and death is exactly death. Birth is a distinct moment of time. Death is a distinct moment of time. There is no consistent, enduring entity that is born and that later dies. There is no consistent, enduring entity that dies and that is later reborn.

Each phenomenon is a provisional dharma position, exactly thus. When there is fire, there is only burning. When the fire is gone, there is only ash. We tell stories to connect past and future, but there is only one moment. Where could anything go? Still, by the time we finish saying the word "now," it has vanished. As such, this moment is ungraspable. 

Birds sing early in the spring. Leaves rot in the garden. Hunger is simply hunger. Being full is simply being full. Hunger is not being full, and being full is not hunger. Our practice actualizes what is, here and now. When it is time to live, just live. When it is time to die, just die. What is?

Everything is dependently originated, like the moon in the water. The reflection of the moon is not separate from the water. The moon is not the first cause. The water is not the first cause. Each depends on the other to create the moon's reflection. The two are thoroughly integrated. Thus they are not one, not two, both one and two.

The moon is also a dependent arising. The moon reflects the sun's light. This goes on endlessly. Nothing exists with its own separate essence; everything is born of endless causes and conditions and exists as interwoven relations. 

The watery moon is soaked through to its bone-white eye, and the water is thoroughly penetrated by moonlight. Nonetheless, each phenomenon also exists individually, just like you and me. As Shunryu Suzuki said, "Our life is not only plural but singular. Each one of us is both dependent and independent" (Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind). Though we are completely interwoven, dependent arisings, we also exist as autonomous beings. Suzuki calls this "independency." We try to pin down reality in either-or thinking, but reality does not comply.

Though we are finite beings, we are also inseparable from boundless reality. The moonlight shines through all the dewdrops in the grass. Look into your own heart-mind. What do you see?

Enlightenment is not a "thing." Nor is there any separate self to be enlightened. There is just this boundless moment unfolding as practice. 

Delusion is inherently without substance and cannot hinder the functioning of the universe. Duality is no hindrance to nonduality. Though we have different names, separate, fixed selfhood is a mirage. Enlightenment permeates the entire universe no matter what we believe. It does not depend on the content of our minds. Life is always exactly thus, whether we experience it as "delusion" or "enlightenment."

Each person is boundless. Each dharma is infinitely deep. We find the entire universe in a cup of tea. The tea leaves contain sunlight, earth, and air, and the water contains rivers, lakes, and oceans. Yet it is also still just a cup of tea. "Everything in itself is boundlessness; boundlessness is all things" (James Ford's translation of the Heart Sutra). Reality manifests the vastness of awareness. 

When the dharma has not yet fully penetrated body and mind, one thinks, one is already filled with it. When we rely too much on thoughts, we keep turning toward these conceptual maps for answers. We take senses of self as real and interpret our thoughts as referring to absolute reality. We think we have it all figured out, but we cannot hear the wind in the pines.

When the dharma completely pervades us, we see that there is nothing we can hold onto, that there are no fixed essences anywhere. The more we open our heart-mind, the more we realize that we cannot fathom what is. We are limited in what we can comprehend. We do not attain omniscience. We are human beings. The incomprehensible Dharma is inexhaustible.

Though the universe is infinitely vast and infinitely small, we live in particular contexts and are born out of specific causes and conditions. Sometimes our practice is vast and seems to include the sounds of the world. Sometimes our practice is small and is focused on just this breath. Our practice is to investigate this moment completely, regardless of its content. Even in just this breath, we find worlds without end.

We are all dependent arisings, dependent on our environments to survive. Our function and place depend on our relationships. We cannot and do not exist alone. Without the water, the fish cannot swim, and without the sky, the bird cannot fly. The fish's fins are the entire ocean, and the bird's wings are the entire sky. Each step we take spins the globe and moves mountains.

The bird and fish exist relationally. The fish's life is the ocean. The bird's life is the sky. But it is also the case that the ocean's life is the fish, and the sky's life is the bird. A teacher's life is her students, and the students' life is their teacher. Our senses constitute reality, and reality constitutes our senses. All beings are mutually and relationally conditioned. Though each being exists individually, all beings have no separate existence. Practice-enlightenment is life itself, manifesting as practice-enlightenment. 

Though we cannot know the entire universe and only realize the sensory-world as it is constituted in our practice, still we can investigate the great matter endlessly, and our life is boundless.

We do not need to know everything to begin practicing Zen. Our practice is realizing this particular place and our particular activity, actualizing fundamental reality. This sensory-world is enlightenment. Eighty percent is one hundred percent. One percent is exactly one hundred percent. And yet, this practice is never finished.

Vigorously investigate what is. The ten thousand things manifest as you. Still, we do not possess what is. It cannot be possessed. The past cannot become the present. Ash cannot become firewood. We cannot capture the spring breeze in a bottle. 

Practice-enlightenment is not merely arising now. It is also vanishing, becoming, and non-arising. Have you ever lived outside this present moment? Accordingly, when walking, just walk.

Reality is like the taste of water in your mouth. It includes and is beyond conceptions. We actualize reality by devoting ourselves entirely to what we are doing here and now. For us there is no other place.

Boundaries fall away. The earth and the foot together give rise to walking. Mastery of the Buddha Dharma does not depend upon intellectual comprehension. Life awakens to life through our practice.

We can only know our consciousness till now. Therefore, even this very moment is unknowable by our discriminating minds. Use language freely and open to things as they are. But getting stuck in views is like closing our fist in a bottle and getting trapped. As Okumura says, "open the hand of thought" and enlightenment is actualized by all beings.

We can't see our own eyeballs, and there is no mirror anywhere. Even when we have ideas about enlightenment or attain special states of consciousness, we cannot hold onto them. We cannot hold onto anything. Everything goes its own way. 

Zen Master Bao-che was practicing zazen. A monk asked, "Why do we need to practice to realize Buddha nature if everything already is Buddha nature?"

Bao-che answered, "It is possible to be deluded. If Buddha nature is just an idea for you, you have not realized the Way."

The monk asked, "If I do not understand it, tell me, in what way does enlightenment permeate all beings throughout space and time?" Bao-che just continued to practice.

Did the monk understand?

Practice-realization is the transmission of the Buddha Dharma. When we practice, enlightenment is already present. If we think we understand and therefore do not need to practice, we lose our way. 

Though the timeless wind is unknowable, it is utterly reliable. Waving the fan actualizes the timeless wind. The timeless wind carries golden flowers across the sky and brings forth the fragrance of spring.

Mu: Wielding Manjushri's Sword

Chaozhou Ts'ung-shen was a Chinese Chan (or Zen) master and a Dharma successor of Nanchüan.

According to Case 19 of the Gateless Gate, as a young student, Chaozhou (or Joshu in Japanese) "asked his teacher, Nanchüan, ‘What is the Way,’ and Nanchüan replied, ‘Ordinary mind is Way.’ Chaozhou asked how he should move toward it. Nanchüan answered, 'If you try to move toward it, you go away from it.' Chaozhou said, 'But if we do not try, how do we know that it is the Way?' Nanchüan replied, ‘The Way does not belong to knowing or not-knowing: knowing is illusion, not-knowing is blank emptiness. If you really attain to the Way, it is like vast emptiness – limitless and boundless. How, then, can there be a right and wrong in the Way?' At these words, Chaozhou was enlightened.”

After forty years of training with Nanchüan, Chaozhou wandered throughout China and studied with other Zen masters for another twenty years, deepening his insight. At the age of eighty, he began teaching until his death when he was 120 years old (or so the story goes).

As a teacher, his dharma is both perfectly direct and deceptively simple. He instructed gently and quietly, but in very precise and profound ways. Twelve koans in the Blue Cliff Record and five in The Gateless Gate concern Chaozhou – by far the most often cited teacher, with good reason.

In case 7 of the Gateless Gate, “A new monk asked Chaozhou to teach him. Chaozhou asked, ‘Have you eaten your meal?’ The monk replied, ‘Yes, I have.’ Chaozhou said, ‘Then go wash your bowl.’”

Photo by Sandra Raponi

In case 37, “A monk asked Chaozhou, ‘What is the meaning of Bodhidharma's coming from the west?’ Chaozhou said, ‘The cypress tree in the courtyard.’"

And in Case 2 of the Blue Cliff Record, Chaozhou taught, “'The great way isn’t difficult if you don’t pick and choose. As soon as I speak, you’ll think, That’s picking and choosing, or That’s clear. But I don’t identify with clarity. Can you live like that?’ A student asked, ‘If you don’t identify with clarity, what do you live by?’ ‘I don’t know,’ Chaozhou answered. ‘If you don’t know, why do you say that you don’t identify with clarity?’ ‘It is enough to ask the question. Make your bow and step back.’"

Of course, the most famous koan involving Chaozhou is Case 1 from the Gateless Gate: “Chaozhou’s Dog.” 

Wumen Hukai, a Linji Zen master who lived in 13th century China, compiled the Gateless Gate koan collection and offered comments and verses on the cases. As a young monk, Wumen is said to struggled with Chaozhou’s dog for six years before he broke through. As the koan that opened the Way for him, he passed it along to us – our gateless barrier.

Please note the tenacity in both Chaozhou’s eighty years of study with teachers and in Wumen’s six years on one case. It reminds us of Bodhidharma staring at the wall for nine years when he came to China. These great teachers exerted great effort examining the gateless barrier over many years to realize freedom.

And that is at the heart of things, isn’t it. We aren’t just playing with riddles here. We are not dedicating ourselves to the Way to feel a bit less stress. If that were the goal, we can get massages. Most fundamentally, we have heard that Buddha was deeply enlightened and, together with all beings, he attained the Way. We have heard that he conquered suffering. We come to practice because we have heard that we too have Buddha nature, and we long to see this for ourselves. We long to be free.

We are not alone in this longing. Our Zen history is replete with stories of people of great determination seeking the Way. Many of these stories include nameless monks who bravely lay their hearts bare and make themselves vulnerable in asking questions of their teachers.

According to the first case of the Gateless Gate, “A monk asked Chaozhou, ‘Has the dog Buddha nature or not?’ Chaozhou answered, ‘Mu.’”

Mu means “has not,” “without,” or more simply, “no” – a shocking response to this monk who was perhaps seeking consolation in a moment of doubt.

We read in Living Vow's dedication that “Buddha nature pervades the whole universe” and Hakuin writes that “all beings by nature are Buddha.” Why would Chaozhou answer “no”? We all have the capacity to be enlightened to our true nature and to be liberated just like Buddha, do we not? Isn’t that why we are here?

I find it helpful to begin with koans by reflecting on where the people in the story may be coming from. It helps me understand what the case is about. So first, the monk asks, “Has the dog Buddha nature or not?” What is he really wondering?

Though we feel differently now, dogs then were generally considered filthy creatures. The monk therefore might be asking: “does even a filthy rat have Buddha nature?” But again, why ask such a question? There is likely something deeper that he wants to know. The monk might really be asking, “does even someone as unworthy as me have Buddha nature?” He might be thinking, “I am told that we all have this salvific Buddha nature, so what is it? Does it really include every being in the world? Does it include my shame and broken heart? Am I too of the essence of enlightenment, because I sure don’t feel like it.” 

Or maybe he is saying, “I have the nature of enlightenment, but I am special! Does a filthy being like that lazy monk across the courtyard actually share in this Buddha nature with me? How about the murderer in the prison yard? Can Buddha nature really include those that I detest?”

Either way, there is a painful sense of separateness.

In another context when asked the exact same question, Chaozhou answered, “yes.” But one teaching does not fit all circumstances. This is why we consider dokusan, meetings with the teacher, private. The teaching you receive in dokusan is meant for you in that precise moment alone.

Still, koans have an archetypal quality. On some basic level, we all have our inner monk asking similar questions.

So Chaozhou is meeting his student where he is. And this student’s question is likely based in some amount of self-centeredness. Okumora states (in Living Vow's liturgy), “No matter how hard we practice, our motivation for practice is always based in some amount of self-centeredness.” In a relative sense, this is true. We begin practicing because we want to suffer less. We want to feel better. We want enlightenment for ourselves. And maybe we question whether we are worthy. Or maybe we think we alone are worthy. Two sides of one coin.

So this monk may be caught in the relative truth of separate beings. And this monk is lost in ideas about Buddha nature and needs to wake up from this dream.

This “no” is Manjushri’s sword of wisdom cutting through delusions. Enlightenment is not as we think; nor is it otherwise.

Will the monk take up this sword and “cut off the mind road?” This does not mean stopping thinking but realizing the origin of thoughts. We call this practice “great doubt."

In his comment on Chaozhou’s dog, Wumen wrote:

“For the practice of Zen it is imperative that you pass through the barrier set up by the Ancestral Teachers. For subtle realization it is of the utmost importance that you cut off the mind road. If you do not pass the barrier of the ancestors, if you do not cut off the mind road, then you are a ghost clinging to bushes and grasses.

“What is the barrier of the ancestral Teachers? It is just this one word ‘Mu’ – the one barrier of our faith. We call it the Gateless Barrier of the Zen tradition. When you pass through this barrier, you will not only interview Chaozhou intimately, you will walk hand in hand with all the Ancestral Teachers in the successive generations of our lineage – the hair of your eyebrows entangled with theirs, seeing with the same eyes, hearing with the same ears. Won’t that be fulfilling? Is there anyone who would not want to pass this barrier?

“So, then, make your whole body a mass of doubt, and with your three hundred and sixty bones and joints and your eighty-four thousand hair follicles concentrate on this one word ‘Mu.’ Day and night, keep digging into it. Don’t consider it to be nothingness. Don’t think in terms of ‘has’ and ‘has not.’ It is like swallowing a red-hot iron ball. You try to vomit it out, but you can’t.

“Gradually you purify yourself, eliminating mistaken knowledge and attitudes you have held from the past. Inside and outside become one. You’re like a mute person who has had a dream; you know it for yourself alone.

“Suddenly Mu breaks open. The heavens are astonished, the earth is shaken. It is as though you have snatched the great sword of General Kuan. When you meet the Buddha, you kill the Buddha. When you meet Bodhidharma, you kill Bodhidharma. At the very cliff edge of birth-and-death, you find the Great Freedom. In the Six Worlds and the Four Modes of Birth, you enjoy a samadhi of frolic and play.

“How, then, should you work with it? Exhaust all you life energy on this one word ‘Mu.’ If you do not falter, then it’s done! A single spark lights your Dharma candle.”

And Wemen’s Verse:

“Dog, buddha nature–

the full presentation of the whole;

with a bit of 'has' or 'has not'

body is lost, life is lost.”

It is best to establish stable sitting before taking up mu. We begin by counting or following our breath to help establish concentration. Please do not try to rush through this practice. Indeed, this practice is enough for a lifetime. There is no other place we are trying to get. We are just deepening our realization of what we actually are.

Having developed concentration, in consultation with a Zen teacher, we might let go of the breath as an object of concentration and just sit still, be quiet, and pay attention to whatever arises. We call this practice shikantaza.

Unless a koan has been assigned to you in dokusan by your teacher, please continue with your practice. And please only practice koans with a Zen teacher who has completed a koan curriculum with an authorized koan teacher and who has received authorization to teach (transmission). But if mu calls to you, you may ask about it in dokusan with such a teacher. Working with koans is not inherently better than breath work or shikantaza. But for some, koans do have special power for the Way.

What might sitting with "Chaozhou's Dog" look like? We might sit for a few minutes coming into the body and breath before breathing out “mu.” Then we might drop our focus on the breath and just sit with that single word.

As Wumen says, “with your three hundred and sixty bones and joints and your eighty-four thousand hair follicles, concentrate on this one word ‘Mu.’ Day and night, keep digging into it…. Exhaust all your life energy on this one word ‘Mu.’”

You may notice that you want to understand mu. When we begin practicing, we imagine that “knowing” what Buddha nature is will enlighten us. We seek mu with our thoughts. We may need to exhaust ourselves. For some of us, this can take years. We are rather stubborn.

We might remember that when Chaozhou was asked, “what do you live by?” he simply answered, “I don’t know.” When Bodhidharma was asked who he was, he replied, “I don’t know.” And when Chaozhou himself asked his teacher how to practice the Way without knowing what the Way is, Nanchüan responded, “the Way does not belong to knowing or not-knowing.”

The way does not exclude knowing, but knowledge is not enough. Has a dog Buddha nature or not? If you think you know the answer, ask yourself again, do I really know what Buddha nature is? Do I know what I am?

We may answer, “I don’t know,” but in the dokusan room, this is not enough. Time and again we are expected to respond. We must actualize the Way, neither lost in knowing nor in not knowing. We have swallowed a red-hot iron ball.

You may want to give up. Sometimes feelings of unworthiness and frustration arise. But as Hakuin wrote in his Song of Zazen, "Bind grasses to build a hut, and don’t give up." Recall our ancestors staring at the gateless barrier year after year, and throw yourself back into the furnace of practice. Give yourself completely to mu, and, together with all beings, "at the very cliff edge of birth-and-death, you find the Great Freedom."

Priest and Teacher Training in Living Vow Zen

Most practitioners of Zen in the US are lay, but every so often, one feels a deep calling to become a Zen Buddhist priest. Becoming a priest is an expression of a deep commitment to serve the sangha, honor the bodhisattva precepts, and embody the buddhadharma in this world on fire.

Photo by Sandra Raponi

Living Vow Zen priests, as recognized clergy in Massachusetts, officiate ceremonies marking life's most significant transitions, visit sick sangha members in hospitals and their homes, and support sangha members in time of grief. Priests also perform liturgical rituals at services and sesshin. We attend climate demonstrations, correspond with prisoners, and advocate for peace and justice. And in daily life, priests do our best to avoid causing harm, practice good, and alleviate suffering in our communities. When we screw up (and we do), we atone and vow to do better. (Indeed, one of our prerequisites for becoming a priest in LiVZ is acknowledging a mistake, atoning, and beginning again.) We vow to support all life -- our children, spouses, pets, colleagues, co-workers, friends, acquaintances, and all beings.

Living Vow Zen's priest lineage has its roots in the Japanese Soto tradition through Peggy Houn Jiyu-Kennett, Roshi, the first woman to be authorized to teach by the Soto school in Japan. Living Vow Zen's priest and teacher formation is inspired by Boundless Way Zen's, where I was ordained and received transmission (permission to teach).

There are two levels of ordination, unsui (clouds and water) and osho (senior). In Living Vow Zen, to be initially ordained, unsui candidates must have attended 100 days of sesshin and must demonstrate a number of competencies, including pastoral skills (as informed by the Zen tradition in the context of supporting sangha); an ability to perform Zen ceremonies and forms (except Jukai, ordinations, and transmissions); an understanding of Soto Zen; a capacity to meet people as they are; self-awareness; leadership; public speaking; a priestly presence (hard to articulate but easy to recognize); and a means to support themselves with right livelihood. No koan training is required for one to ordain as an unsui priest as the role's emphases are service for the sangha (and beyond) and embodying our Soto forms, not teaching. (Unsui priests have no students of their own.)

LiVZ's model where priests are generally expected to earn their own living allows for an admirable path that also honors the life of vow. We have no expectation that our sangha will support our priests financially. This means that we expect our priests to work in the world according to right livelihood in ways that contribute to the well-being of the larger society, perhaps as educators, social workers, carpenters, therapists, ministers, health care workers, researchers, and more. This model appears to be the most common way the dharma has transmitted to the West, encouraging lay folks to practice with priests rather than creating and supporting a separate monastic class.

Many of the priest competencies are gradually cultivated as sangha members play important roles in facilitating sangha practice, such as being an officer for sesshin (an intensive Zen retreat). For example, the tanto (the provisional practice leader for a sesshin) serves an important role for the sangha while developing the skills to serve potentially as a LiVZ practice leader one day. And practice leaders have their own support group facilitated by a Guiding Teacher(s). In this way, through practice, service, and mentoring, aspiring priests mature in the dharma. Before ordination, an ordination committee reviews the candidates performance and offers support and feedback. The final determination of preparedness is up to the ordaining teacher.

Ordination is conferred by a LiVZ senior priest through the authority of her or his own ordination and precepts transmission, in consultation with the ordination committee and the Living Vow Zen Guiding Teacher(s). After ordination, unsui are supervised by, and serve under the authority of, their ordaining teachers and therefore must remain in shoken relationship with their ordaining teachers or another LiVZ senior priest in order to continue to serve as priests. Priests are expected to attend LiVZ sesshin to continue their training and service. 

Unsui ordination represents a public vow to practice intensively, to offer pastoral and liturgical services, and to support the well-being of the sangha and all beings. It reflects a commitment and stability of heart and practice. Ordination publicly affirms the significance and prominence of the role of the dharma in one’s life, in the same way that a marriage ceremony might be said to publicly affirm a commitment and relationship to one’s long-time partner; as James Ford says, "nothing changes, and everything changes."

It is entirely possible and even likely that most priests would choose to remain unsuis for their entire lives. Not all priests are called to teach. To be an unsui is a noble calling to serve the dharma, sangha, and community with one's deepest heartfelt commitment and no gaining idea. It is a pure and complete expression of the bodhisattva vow. Still, in Living Vow Zen (LiVZ), being a priest is not a necessary step along the way to becoming a fully authorized Zen teacher. For those Zen students -- either ordained or lay -- for whom teaching might be a good fit, we offer extended, supervised internships as practice leaders. Our training guidelines for practice leaders follow. Practice leader permissions are granted incrementally by one's shoken teacher and may be rescinded at any time.

After perhaps 5 years of practice with a Living Vow sangha, some sesshin experience, and usually after significant progress in the Gateless Barrier koan collection, a practitioner may be named a practice leader and facilitate a practice group in Living Vow Zen. Practice leaders are supervised by, and serve under the authority of, the LiVZ Guiding Teacher(s) and must remain in close relationship with a Living Vow Zen teacher in order to continue to serve as practice leaders.

Over time, a practice leader, whether ordained or not, might provisionally be granted permission to offer talks after about 150 sesshin days and generally after having made significant progress in the Blue Cliff Record koan collection. 

Next, a practice leader may be also granted permission to offer dokusan (private meetings with students) after about 200 sesshin days and typically having made significant progress in The Book of Equanimity koan collection. 

Each practice leader needs to be in a shoken relationship with a Living Vow Zen teacher and to meet regularly with their teacher to reflect on their experience and receive guidance. This extended internship is considered fundamental to teacher formation in Living Vow Zen. Under the supervision of their mentor, a practice leader cultivates essential skills related to teaching Zen forms of practice, offering dharma talks and dokusan, managing transference and countertransference, establishing appropriate boundaries, cultivating supportive group dynamics, and many other competencies that support sanghas and individual students of the Way.

After a practice leader has interned for 7-10 years (usually practicing in LiVZ for at least dozen or fifteen years) and been supervised in offering talks and dokusan, their teacher may consider offering the first stage of dharma transmission. For one to receive this first stage of transmission, due to the associated teaching responsibilities, generally one will have attended at least 300 sesshin days, demonstrated insight (substantially completing The Record of Transmitting the Light koan collection and through other appraisals by one's teacher), and shown commitment and skill in teaching. Dharma transmissions are granted by fully transmitted teachers through the authority of their own transmission in recognition of experience, insight, commitment, ethics, and teaching competencies.

For a priest, the first stage of transmission is called denkai and confers the title "osho," or "senior priest." For a lay teacher, this stage of transmission is called "dharma entrustment" and confers the title "dharma holder." An osho may receive shoken students, offer the precepts, and ordain unsui, though they may not offer dharma transmission to dharma heirs until they have received the second stage of transmission. (A dharma holder has the same authorities as an osho, minus ordaining priests.)

After a few more years, at least 350 sesshin days, and after having completed the entire koan curriculum, an osho or dharma holder might receive the second stage of transmission called denbo, or full transmission, if one's shoken teacher determines it fitting. This number is not determined in isolation; the American Zen Teachers Association, while not a credentialing body per se but a support group for Zen teachers, also has a working guideline that teacher formation requires about a year's worth of sesshin days, in addition to transmission from one's teacher. In a sense the most significant stage of transmission, denbo confers the title of "Sensei" and may offer transmission to dharma heirs and function as an entirely independent Zen teacher.

The third stage or "final transmission" is called inka shōmei and confers the title "Roshi," meaning "old teacher" or "master teacher." Inka shōmei, which means the "legitimate seal of clearly furnished proof," commemorates a Soto teacher who has given years of service and is also the traditional acknowledgment of mastery in the Rinzai tradition. My transmission in the Seon lineage traces its roots to Linji, the founder of both the Korean Seon and the Japanese Rinzai traditions. Inka shōmei for me therefore commemorated my lineage roots in both the Soto and Linji traditions. Most who receive final transmission have more than 400 days of sesshin experience. By the time I was given inka shōmei on May 28, 2022 by David Rynick, Roshi, I had attended 413 days of sesshin (plus about 80 "zazenkai," all-day practice periods) and had practiced weekly with sanghas and daily at home over nearly two decades. I had completed the koan curriculum years before with my teachers and been evaluated and supported by an ordination committee and mentored in teaching for nine years. Of course, practice is never finished, no matter one's title or role. I continue to attend sesshin and zazenkai and consult regularly with my co-teacher, Bob Waldinger, and with Zen teachers outside of Living Vow.

While titles, roles, and permissions in LiVZ as practice leaders and unsuis can be revoked by their teacher at any time, dharma transmissions and final ordination as an osho cannot be rescinded, though all spiritual leaders in Living Vow Zen serve at the pleasure of the Guiding Teacher(s). Of course, joining Living Vow does not nullify permissions, ordinations, or transmissions in other traditions, but to function as a spiritual leader in Living Vow Zen requires an appointment by a LiVZ guiding teacher and, in the case of Guiding Teachers, the Board of Trustees.

Some Soto Zen groups require a 90 day residential ango as a primary qualification for senior priesthood. Ango, a monastic practice period, is generally less intensive than sesshin but may include some sesshin training. While such an experience is wonderful for those who are able, in Living Vow, we do not hold this as a requirement. James Ford, Roshi, a former Soto Zen Buddhist Association board member, was central in developing Boundless Way Zen's ordination and teacher training programs through which I was trained and which serve as a model for LiVZ's training programs. James writes that some trainees are fortunate enough to have the formal cloistered experience ranging from several years to ninety day retreats. When possible, this is encouraged. However, an ango can be both overly burdensome and, ironically, insufficient training for senior priesthood on its own. Practitioners in the West experience the cloister more commonly by repeatedly attending sesshin, briefer but more intensive meditation retreats, over many years. Most sesshin days include nine or more hours of zazen, plus meal and work practice. Additionally, in LiVZ we offer extensive koan training (the Harada-Yasutani koan curriculum) to foster and integrate awakening as a "householder." Koans also allow for a more objective evaluation of spiritual growth. Based on this vision of training, in LiVZ we offer paths to senior priesthood and teaching that cultivate spiritual maturation while honoring other life responsibilities.

As should be clear, becoming a Zen priest and/or teacher takes patience, commitment, and humility. It's a long winding road, and we face many inner demons and outer obstacles. Still, befriending these demons, navigating obstacles, developing compassion for ourselves and all beings, and sharing dharma practice with our sangha -- is there anything more meaningful? I'd walk every step of this road over and over again for eternity were that an option. But since we are not even guaranteed our next breath, I'll pour all that love into just this.

Zen's Bodhisattva Precepts

Many Soto Zen Buddhists take the 16 Bodhisattva Precepts, which are ethical vows we try to uphold. As formulated by Eihei Dogen, they include the 3 Refuges, the 3 Pure Precepts, and the Ten Grave Precepts.

Sometimes Zen practitioners praise enlightenment and imagine that the precepts are expendable guidelines for behavior that enlightened people do not need, but this is actually dangerous. The precepts are a powerful means for us all to practice awakening -- a practice that is never finished. Without the precepts, we tend to get lost in self-centered ideas and goals. The precepts help us expand our orientation so that our practice includes all beings, just like zazen. The precepts are how we express awakening both on and off the cushion. 

Ways to Approach the Precepts

As Robert Aitken discusses in his book The Mind of Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics, we can take three different approaches to practicing the precepts. We can take them literally as statements telling us what we should and should not do. We can also view them compassionately and recognize that we all make mistakes. And we can enact them nondualistically with “don’t know mind," an awareness that opens beyond all ideas, even of right and wrong. 

But here's the key: we need all three approaches, or we are likely to get lost. We need the literal view to offer us a sense of direction and wake us up when we are causing harm. But if we only take the precepts literally, we can get lost in fundamentalism and neglect important contextual information. The classic example of someone taking a moral precept too literally is the person who refuses to lie when the Nazis knock on the door looking for Jewish people, condemning those hidden inside to death. Clearly something has gone wrong. Additionally, sometimes two precepts may be in conflict. We might indulge our anger and yell at our child for running into a busy street, but our deeper motive is to preserve their life. We can become overly judgmental of ourselves and others if we are too rigid with the precepts. 

Compassion inspires us to honor the precepts out of care for everyone's well-being. We love our neighbors as ourselves. In addition, compassion helps us forgive ourselves for breaking one precept to honor another. We can actually forgive ourselves for lying if it means saving human life. Additionally, we can be compassionate with others who break precepts for we have seen how often we break them ourselves. But if we are only compassionate in understanding why people break precepts, we lose all clarity on what is beneficial and what is harmful. We recall the literal guidelines to help us behave skillfully and reduce suffering, but we hold these guidelines compassionately.

Finally, we practice-realize the precepts nondualistically. When we practice zazen, our practice includes all beings. Expressing nonduality in an elegant way, Thich Nhat Hanh writes that "the self is made of nonself elements." Indeed, our awareness is composed of "others." From this perspective, there are no separate beings anywhere. We naturally honor the precepts when all beings reside in our hearts. Dogen writes, "To study the Buddha Way is to study the self. To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be actualized by myriad things. When actualized by myriad things, your body and mind as well as the bodies and minds of others drop away. No trace of enlightenment remains, and this no-trace continues endlessly" (Genjo Koan). In opening beyond conceptions, there is only the no-thing-ness of everything. Ultimately, as Aitken says, "there is no absolute [truth], and that is the absolute" (Mind of Clover, 110). Everything is shapeshifting. There is nothing that we can hold onto. This lack of absolute truth continues endlessly. So rather than grasp ideas of right and wrong, we hold our ideas lightly and open beyond our conceptions to things as they actually are. If we get lost in fixed conceptual maps, we miss ever-changing circumstances. We are the driver driving straight down a curving road. "A monk asked Yun Men, 'What are the teachings of a whole lifetime?' Yun Men said, 'An appropriate response'" (Blue Cliff Record). We must be awake to offer an appropriate response; this is the heart of our practice of the precepts.

Still, it is possible to be lost in the "hell-cave" of nonduality in which we deny our discriminating minds; we need our complementary approaches to the precepts to help us wake up when we are lost. A lack of ethical compass points can be dangerous. We need some guardrails to prevent us from veering off course and causing harm. Sometimes enlightenment is described as "awakening to nonduality," "opening to oneness," "realizing suchness," and "no knowing," and the path to enlightenment is described as silencing our discriminating (thinking) minds. Some would say that this basic samadhi practice fulfills all the precepts and that it is all that is necessary. The argument goes that in a state of oneness, one does not break the precepts because one exists in harmony with all beings, moment after moment. While it is true that we may entrust ourselves to "oneness" when we are doing kinhin, meditating in the zendo, or even instinctively reacting to stop a child from running into a busy street, it may be misleading to suggest that "practicing oneness" upholds the precepts in all circumstances. During World War II, Japanese soldiers described themselves as "at one with killing," and Zen masters encouraged this view, describing meditation in battle as the "highest wisdom of enlightenment" that "preserved the precepts." Causes and conditions (like mob psychology) sometimes inspire harmful actions. We may also be deluded and believe we are “at one" with our circumstances, then cause grave harm. Delusions are endless. We need the literal precepts to ring like alarm bells and wake us up when we are lost. "Do not kill." 

Unfortunately, spiritual teachers sometimes imagine that nondual realization (which is little more than initiatory awareness) is the equivalent of enlightenment and automatically honors the precepts even as it transcends right and wrong. Some teachers who are "lost in oneness" neglect ethical guidelines and abuse students, telling them they too should let go of all notions of right and wrong and "be one" with them. They say this nonconceptual "intimacy" is enlightenment itself. One might say about those teachers, "they only behaved that way because they were not actually enlightened." But why do we believe this? Because we conceive that a precept was broken and someone was harmed. 

Perhaps practitioners imagine that if they allow any view to arise, they will get lost in conceptual maps, but in a mature, integrated practice, duality is no hindrance to nonduality. Even thoughts are "thus." While it is vital to recognize thoughts as merely thoughts if we hope to be free from the tyranny of absolutist thinking, we go too far when we deny the value of the literal interpretation of the precepts. 

Even Buddha initially rejected women from his sangha. He had to be convinced by Ananda's careful arguments to admit women. Save all beings. We hold all kinds of unconscious biases, and consciously considering the precepts while we interact in this world can help awaken us to these biases. Careful deliberation of right and wrong action is also essential, even for Buddha. 

Another common refrain is that one of the attributes of "the enlightened person" is being satisfied, which means that one no longer breaks the precepts because all immoral actions are born of dissatisfaction. But describing "an enlightened person" this way projects limited, fixed ideas about enlightenment into an idealized, separate self that does not actually exist. If we imagine that we are that enlightened person, we are lost in delusion. If we believe that "being satisfied" defines enlightenment, we also might abuse ourselves for being upset when we feel wronged -- innocuous enough when we don't get the last cookie, but how about when a person is raped or someone they love is taken from them violently? At the very least, this judgmental idea makes people feel unnecessary guilt about their pain. A person who is awake still gets hungry. When we are hungry, we want food. This is an appropriate response. We can even awaken to dissatisfaction. Every phenomenon is a dharma gate, just as it is. The expression that there is "no suffering" is true but one-sided, and we do not comprehend "no suffering" by denying the relative truth of suffering. Indeed, as Thich Nhat Hanh says, without the dust of samsara, there can be no nirvana. We all feel dissatisfied sometimes, and the precepts help restrain our response, just like zazen, so we can awaken to dissatisfaction and reveal it as nirvana.

In short, we should practice the precepts with our intellect, compassion, and nondual awareness. But we do not need to think much about cultivating nondual awareness. It is not an idea we can attain. It is on already our side. Zazen helps us realize this by de-centering our small-minded, self-centered ideas and opening us to whatever is. In this way, zazen nourishes our practice of the precepts by helping us transcend greed, anger, and ignorance. Zazen is therefore an essential part of practicing the precepts. We practice zazen for all beings. What matters most is not our success or failure but our sincerity. 

The Three Refuges

In our list of sixteen precepts, the Three Refuges are the first three: we take refuge in Buddha, Dharma, and sangha.

In a literal sense, we take refuge in the historical Buddha, in his story of enlightenment, which serves as inspiration to us in our practice. 

From the compassionate view, to take refuge in Buddha is to take refuge in ourselves as Buddha. This does not mean that we are separate, fixed identities but that we are each dependent arisings born out of infinite causes and conditions. Each of us is an expression of this buddhanature, though we must practice to realize this.

And nondualistically, we take refuge in realization. Ultimately, there is "no suffering, and no cause of suffering" (The Heart Sutra). We are already free and there is nothing to attain. This is the intimate realization of "things as it is" (to quote Shunryu Suzuki).

Second, we take refuge in the Dharma, or literally, the Buddhist teachings. We allow the teachings to guide our practice and cultivate insight so that we might alleviate suffering. Of course, part of the teachings is to question them and try them for ourselves. 

We can also translate Dharma as "phenomena," things exactly as they are. From the perspective of compassion, we take refuge in the intimate caw of a crow. We take refuge in our own broken hearts. We take refuge in laughing children and "ants and sticks and grizzly bears" ("Dedication," LiVZ liturgy). 

And nondualistically, we take refuge in the exact equality of emptiness and form -- in the way phenomena are boundless and boundlessness is nothing other than phenomena. All phenomena are dharma gates exactly as they are, exactly thus.

Third, we take refuge in sangha, or literally, our Zen practice groups. And what a joy it is to come sit, walk, and bow together. Somehow, almost magically, when we practice with others, our awareness is magnified and our own meditation deepens. Like mirrors, we reflect and hold one another in our practices, and this is deeply nourishing. We can feel held in sangha. One sangha member described sitting together like floating in warm water, and we entrust the ice cubes of our suffering to this larger body, where they slowly melt away. 

Waking up is not easy. It is counter-cultural in a rather materialistic society. And life is sometimes hard. We all can use a little help. One definition of refuge is "assistance in distress." Taking refuge in sangha means giving ourselves a safe haven to be vulnerable rather than needing to protect and defend ourselves all the time and rather than habitually acting on or trying to escape our pain. That which we run from controls us. 

In sangha, we see that our pain can be held by something bigger. As Thich Nhat Hanh said, when we add a tablespoon of salt to a small glass of water, the whole glass tastes bad. When we add a tablespoon of salt to a river, the water still tastes pure. In joining a sangha, we are no longer alone. In our practice, we all support each other by showing up and holding one another in our hearts. 

From the broader compassionate view, our sangha also includes the entire world. Like Avolokiteshvara, we hear the cries of the world and respond with a thousand hands. The world is very much with us, and we are very much with the world. We might notice of the way the earth holds us when we sit and the way the air sustains us when we breathe. We might notice the way our life is sustained by all beings moment after moment, and thus, the world is our refuge.

And nondualistically, there is no separate world at all. There is no self, no other. What language can possibly describe the way all beings reside in our hearts just as we reside in the world?

The Three Pure Precepts and the Ten Grave Precepts

After we recite the Three Refuges, we recite the Three Pure Precepts. The first pure precept is, "I vow to cease from evil." 

For me, it is not helpful to think of evil as some metaphysical entity or devil, though such associations may arise. Rather, evil points to the many things human beings do that cause suffering in the world, and in that sense, evil does exist. 

The ten grave precepts which follow the three pure precepts offer more specific advice on what we should try to avoid in order to cease from evil: killing, stealing, misusing sex, lying, taking intoxicants, slander, praising oneself at others' expense, sparing the dharma assets, harboring ill will, and abusing the three treasures (Buddha, Dharma, and sangha).

Of course, we have to break precepts all the time, so we can't take them too rigidly. For example, the first grave precept states, "I vow to take up the way of not killing" ("Shorter Precepts Recitation," LiVZ Liturgy). But at a minimum, we kill plant life to eat. We must at least harvest grains, fruits and vegetables to live. So how do we practice with the precept of not killing when we must kill to survive? 

For me, first comes the practice of awareness. This is the nondualistic practice of being awake to what we are doing. We enter into the suchness of eating where there is no gap between the killer and the killed. Second comes the arising of the precept in my mind. With the awareness that I kill to eat comes the humbling realization that I cannot always uphold the precepts. I know that I have participated in killing, and I know what it tastes like. Unfortunately, I also live in a world where nations goes to war, and my tax dollars are used by my elected government to produce and sell weapons that are used to kill. With acknowledgments of my shared responsibility, remnants of spiritual superiority deflate. I see clearly that I am not above breaking precepts, and when I point my finger in accusation at others, three fingers point back at myself.

This deflation of superiority softens my heart. I see that I am complicit in causing suffering, and I feel compassion for the lives I take. I also feel compassion for all living beings who must kill to survive and for all the living beings who are killed. We are in this together.

The precepts open our hearts to the entire universe that gives and takes life. Out of our practice of awareness of breaking precepts, compassion arises, inspiring us to try to find more skillful ways of behaving to help reduce suffering in the world. For example, I might reduce how much meat I eat or stop eating meat altogether, both of which which would reduce suffering among sentient beings (and help fight global warming).

While we literally try to minimize the killing of beings and the suffering it causes, we can also view these precepts figuratively. Do we subtly kill others' ideas and enthusiasm for life? Do we kill time when we could be appreciating our lives? In what other figurative ways might we interpret each of the precepts? This allows us to work with each of the precepts in all realms of our lives.

So we can hold the precepts not as rigid rules but as reminders to pay attention to our actions. We hold the precepts as literal and figurative compass points that help us wake up to what direction we are actually going. When we see the way we cause harm, this naturally gives rise to a compassionate response and sometimes a course correction. And, we have compassion for ourselves and for all beings in our failures, for we have been humbled. We all cause suffering sometimes. So we atone and start again, our vows renewed. "All evil karma ever created by me since of old, on account of my beginningless greed, anger, and ignorance born of my body, mouth, and thought, now I atone for it all" ("Gatha of Atonement," LiVZ Liturgy). 

While the first pure precept is cautionary regarding causing harm, the second pure precept encourages positive action. The second pure precept reads, "I vow to practice good." Once again we can be guided by the ten grave precepts, which, like the second pure precept, can be re-articulated as positive aspirations. I vow to: support life; be generous; engage in mutually respectful intimacy; tell the truth; nourish my mind and body; speak kindly; appreciate others; share the dharma; be compassionate; and support the three treasures.

The second pure precept sharpens our awareness, deepens our reverence for all life, and encourages beneficial responses and harmony. This precept encourages us to be active rather than passive. We not only cease from causing harm but actively practice benefitting all beings.

This brings us to a deep, synthesizing vow, the third pure precept: I vow to save all beings. Of course upholding all of our vows is impossible. We cannot free or save all beings from suffering. But that is okay. As a high school teacher, I know I can't always engage every student, but I vow to do so anyway.

So in the literal sense, we make the vow to save all beings. In the compassionate sense, we know we will fail, we forgive ourselves, and we keep trying because we feel for all beings who suffer. Why? Because we too have suffered. And in the nondualistic sense, there are no separate beings anywhere to save. Each of us is inseparable from the infinite universe and is already saved.

Given our flaws and pains, it can be hard to believe the teaching that we are "saved." But as we practice and keep turning toward whatever arises, this teaching penetrates us and we come to see that yes, even our flaws and pains are buddhanature -- perfectly manifesting suchness. Everything is exactly thus.

You may wonder why this nondualistic realization is important. In one sense, realization has no value outside itself. And, without it, we may find ourselves constantly overwhelmed by our striving and failing. We may burn out. We may find no possibility of salvation. It is salvific for us to feel deep in the marrow of our bones that while there is suffering in the world, there is also no suffering. When we look deeply into suffering, we find only non-suffering elements, just as when we look into the self, we find only non-self elements. We find the universe itself. So we say that samsara is exactly nirvana. Ultimately, there is neither form nor emptiness, neither samsara nor nirvana. Just this.

And, though all beings are already saved and perfectly manifest universal enlightenment, still we should save all beings! Thus we make our bodhisattva vow and honor the precepts.

Opening Beyond Self-Concern

It is pretty easy to get preoccupied with taking care of what we think of as ourselves, and it is important to do so. But we are also one with all beings throughout space and time. Opening beyond self-concern, compassion inspires us to take action to reduce suffering and protect all life. This vow opens us beyond dualistic notions of self and other and includes even those whose actions we consider evil. With deepening compassion, we see that just like ourselves, all beings are manifestations of infinite causes and conditions. "There but for the grace of karma go I." Those who act in cruel ways are suffering from greed, anger, and ignorance and also deserve our compassion, even as we work to prevent them from causing further harm. All beings truly reside in our boundless hearts. The vow to save all beings is a manifestation of our inherent interconnectedness.

Being interdependent, we cannot live in a just society if we participate in unjust systems that result in massive inequities and deplete our environment for future generations. We save all beings by doing what we can to be of benefit. We won't all agree on what should be done, but that is okay. We discern as best we can, and do something. In joining with others with similar goals, we can make an even greater impact.

According to Robert Aitken, "When the members of the Zen Buddhist center act together as bodhisattvas, they generate great power for social change — this is the sangha as the Buddha intended it to be." This is one reason why Morning Star Zen Sangha includes bodhisattva practice. Acting in the context of sangha supports our commitment to saving all beings and heightens our impact.

Fundamentally, the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts help us avoid self-centered, harmful actions and encourage beneficial actions in the service of all beings. They are the ethical commitments that open us beyond self-interested goals and expand our motivation to practice. For example, we don't practice mindfulness only for our own stress reduction but to help us alleviate suffering for everyone in our lives. The precepts invite heightened awareness and offer us means to alleviate suffering, moment after moment.

Zazen and the Precepts

Our formal practice of sitting on the cushion and paying attention helps us wake up when we are tempted to cause harm due to greed, aversion, and ignorance -- our impulses to act in self-centered ways while neglecting to pay attention to how others may feel. Sitting still rather than taking action while possessed by any of these "three poisons" is like pressing a pause button, interrupting our habitual tendencies to cause harm when we are caught up in delusive certainty. As Dogen says, "When we sit zazen, what precept is not observed?" Instead, we simply bear witness to our greed, aversion, and ignorance. We learn to tolerate these uncomfortable feelings. We come to realize that we do not have to act on strong impulses and reactions. These painful feelings do not need to be "fixed" outwardly. We can just let them be, and they eventually pass. Our hearts open, and we find that our practice includes all beings. Then we can respond more calmly and compassionately, taking a wider view of the situation than our initial reactions suggested.

For me, this pause is the key to breaking the cycle of reactivity and harmful actions. This is why we call sitting "practice" and how we practice freedom. We find our freedom in our forms of sitting still, being quiet, and simply paying attention. These forms may feel at first like we are restricted in our behavior, but they are teaching us a deeper kind of freedom. We learn how to watch self-centered impulses without being their slaves. 

The precepts inspire our sitting, which cultivates a deep realization of the emptiness of mental formations and of all phenomena. And so we can see why Hakuin wrote in his Song of Zazen that "Devotion, repentance, training, the many paramitas, all have their source in zazen." The Paramitas are the six perfections, and one of the paramitas can be translated as "morality." The practice of morality is cultivated on the cushion, then brought forth into our lives.

Consciously Practicing the Precepts

You can find two recitations of the sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts in LiVZ's Liturgy Book. You may find it helpful to practice with each of the precepts for a week (or more) each. This would be a 16-week process minimum if you hold one in your heart for a week at a time.

Here are 3 questions you might explore to deepen your practice with the precepts. If planning to work with each precept for a week, you could hold each question in your mind for 2 days. (Or you could double or triple the time -- up to you.) Let the question percolate like a koan as you live you life.

*1) First, how do you interpret the precept? 

Take some time brainstorming what each precept means to you literally and figuratively. For example, what does taking refuge mean to you? Who or what is this "Buddha" in whom you take refuge? What situations in your life are illuminated by the precept? It may be that every moment of our life can be illuminated by each precept.

2) In what ways do you honor and break the precept?

Just let the question arise like a koan as you live out your day. For example, do you take refuge in Buddha while chopping vegetables or while stuck in traffic? Or you might notice the way precepts related to right speech illuminate each word you type in your emails or each word you speak at the checkout counter. And what is it like when you fail to uphold a precept? Please remember, breaking precepts is inevitable. We can be gentle here and just notice without judging ourselves, or if judging does arise, just notice that too. Can you bring meditative awareness to the moment when you break a precept? How does it feel in your body? What is arising in your thoughts?

3) Finally, how does your awareness of breaking precepts affect you?

When practicing with nonjudgmental, open-ended questions, we may learn something that naturally leads us to honor the precepts. Pay close attention to what it feels like to overindulge alcohol, and we may find that the pleasant feelings pass pretty quickly, and the hangover hurts. Pay attention to what it feels like to spread gossip about someone, and we may find that our relationships feel shallow. If you observe that breaking the precept increases unpleasant feelings, what do you suppose drives you to continue to break the precept? Is there some underlying feeling you are hoping to avoid? What happens when you take no action at all or try behaving differently? How does it feel? Can upholding the precept also be a dharma gate for meditative practice?

Of course, some situations may be complicated. We will make mistakes or even be unable to discern in gray areas whether our actions were harmful, beneficial, or both. We may realize we broke one precept to honor another. The precepts are not intended to be hard and fast rules, but being mindful can help inform decisions that alleviate suffering for ourselves and others.

After six days of practicing with each precept, on the seventh day you might speak with a friend or dharma teacher about your experience and what you learned. Remember, the goal is not to come to a judgment about yourself but to describe your experience. 

Afterward, consider composing a sentence or two that you could write in response to the precept -- something that distills what the precept means to you, at least in that moment.

When you have finished practicing with all of the precepts in this way, you might try consolidating them into a guiding ethic and living with that pointer for a period of time. As mentioned above, for me, the precept to save all beings has a way of expressing them all. How about for you? Might you consolidate them in some way and try living according to that vow? This can be a deep process of integration of all of your effort thus far.

Formally Receiving the Precepts in a Jukai Ceremony

Jukai Ceremony, Living Vow Zen

In Living Vow Zen, we suggest sitting with one of our practice groups for a year, and then, if so inspired, students ask their teacher to formally receive the precepts. If approved, students join a precepts study group (some suggested readings are below), practice with the precepts (perhaps as above), and sew a rakusu. After about a year of study and practice, students confirm their intention and request permission from their teacher to join a Jukai ceremony.

Receiving the precepts in Jukai can be a transformative event. When I received the precepts, I cried without knowing why, as if the ceremony were operating on a level below my conscious mind and releasing and fulfilling all kinds of ancient karma. It is different for everyone, but receiving the precepts in a formal ceremony makes our personal vows public in a way that reverberates throughout space and time.

*For another look at practicing the precepts, check out this dharma talk that I offered on 2/8/23: "The Precepts: A Clear View of Muddy Water." 

**For further readings, in the following order, check out Diane Rizzetto's Waking Up to What You Do, Robert Aitken's Mind of Clover; Reb Anderson's Being Upright; and John Daido Loori's The Heart of Being.