Crossing Nebraska

Disillusionment is not usually spoken of in positive terms – stinging, as it does, with a sharpness commensurate with our investment in the illusion. But as the stinging subsides, and awareness of newfound truth comes to the fore, we find ourselves faced with a choice. We can keep clinging, perhaps even with self-righteous indignation, to the illusion that we were once so invested in. Or we can be grateful for the new glimpse of truth that we’ve been given.   Seated Buddha in altar cabinet I was pretty disillusioned after parting ways with the teacher from whom I’d learned so much about formal Zen practice. It was wrenching to see someone descend into narcissistic delusion who I’d previously associated with a practice of awakening. I came to realize, however, that my disillusionment went much deeper than that of just one student/teacher relationship gone sour. I began to see my personal experience within the context of a religious system that seems to foster unhealthy power relat

  When I left the big city for small town life some years ago, I had the distinct sense that my relationship with “formal” Zen practice would never be the same. Sure, there was a temple not too far away from my new home that I’d already visited with some regularity for retreats and special events. It was still too far away to attend with any great frequency, though. And so I set my sights on diligently maintaining a solitary practice still guided by the bodhisattva ideal . During one of my last visits to that big city temple where I used to practice I purchased a couple boxes of the incense that we used there. I rationed out that stock over the ensuing years, first using a stick every now and again, then a half stick, and, finally, a third. It was surely quite diminished of its finer essence by the time I lit the last partial stick not too long ago. Nonetheless, it still had the power to take me back to that zendo where I first experienced its rich scent. I’ll never forget my first