Crossing Nebraska

  My experience of falling away from formal Zen practice can’t be all that unique. The factors that precipitated my estrangement may have been different. And maybe my Zen practice since “the path disappeared beneath my feet” looks different than that of many others. But Zen practitioners can’t be immune from the experience of “losing one’s faith,” can they? So I write these words with at least some degree of confidence that they’ll resonate with others; not necessarily with those who know me, or even those fellow practitioners who lived through the very same spiritual turmoil as I, but with some. You see, some of my erstwhile fellow practitioners took up formal practice with other Zen teachers in fairly short order. Others diligently set about creating a new place of formal Zen practice to take the place of the old one. I even labored with them for a time on that endeavor, departing just as the bylaws of that new practice community were formally voted into being. I suppose I just w

  The disillusionment that I spoke of in my previous post left me questioning just about everything related to formal Zen practice – with the exception of the zazen, that is. I’d never had reason to doubt that. But how much of what we consider Zen practice is merely cultural artifact? How much is religious accretion? What is essential, and why? What do I really believe, and why? And what do the answers to these questions mean for how I actualize practice in my own life? Obviously, these aren’t questions that can be resolved overnight. They must be “lived into,” tested out for efficacy and authenticity.   Bowl of Green Tea I had the good fortune to practice with a number of teachers while living into these questions. One was the abbot of a Korean Seon (Zen) temple from whom I learned, along with other things, the Korean form of the tea ceremony. Over the course of some months she taught me how to arrange the various cups, bowls, and utensils, how to use the just-boiled water for w