Crossing Nebraska

  It has been a season of many losses within my family and circle of friends, bringing life and death to the forefront of my mind. Life and death is something of a koan that each of us must resolve—the Great Matter that I spoke of in a recent post. Dogen’s Shoji ( Life and Death ), on the other hand, is a koan in the more traditional and literal sense. It is one short fascicle of a larger work, the Shobogenzo , composed sometime in the first half of the 13 th Century by Eihei Dogen, preeminent teacher within the Soto Zen tradition. Sunset with silhouette of trees Dogen begins Shoji with a quote from another Zen teacher: “Because in life and death there is buddha, there is no life and death” (Nishijima and Cross, 2009, p. 299). This first sentence may well be a koan unto itself—a koan within a koan, if you will. What does it mean? Perhaps we can gain a toehold by thinking of Buddha as ultimate reality beyond all so-called separate things. Thus, when we recognize Buddha in life a...

Koku is one of the shorter fascicles of Dogen’s Shobogenzo . Notwithstanding its brevity, it is still as dense and difficult to comprehend as many of his other works. One can glimpse the nature of this difficulty by contemplating for a moment the various English translations of the one word title alone: Space (Nishijima, 2009), On the Unbounded (Nearman, 2007), and, of course, Universal Emptiness (Nishiyama, 1975). Each of these reveals a slightly different way of thinking about the Buddhist concept of shunyata (Sanskrit) or ku (Japanese). According to Okumura (2012) koku actually has three different possible meanings. In our very ordinary way of looking at things it can refer to the empty space that is between objects or which is bounded in some way. It can also refer to space which does not lose its nature on account of being occupied. Yet another meaning, however, points to the most profound of Buddhist teachings, i.e. the emptiness of all phenomena. As Okumura says: ...

The commencement of any solitary creative endeavor is an act of faith. Depending upon our area of interest, we sit down with our notebooks or in front of our computers, we reflect upon the materials available to us, or we gaze upon our subject while sitting in front of a fresh white canvas. And as we do we have faith that something will materialize: a poem, a manuscript, a sculpture, a painting, etc. I’m steeped in such faith as I write these words, having promised the world in my last post that I’d have something meaningful to say under the title “Beyond Faith and Reason” -- without my having written a single word on the subject up until now! In addition to faith, the creative process requires at least a modicum of reason and objectivity. The writing process especially requires a great deal of time spent in rational reflection on the work in progress: Have I made any spelling or grammatical mistakes? Is that the most appropriate word to use in this instance? Have I made my point ...

The world is broken. From the terrorist attack on the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, to police and citizens battling in the streets of Ferguson, the world is broken. From the inhumane and exploitative factory farming practices that put cheap food on our tables, to the murderous rampages of the drug cartels down in Mexico, the world is broken. From the actions of those with money and power who use them both to keep them both, to our dependence on cheap fossil fuels that is driving climate change and the likely extinction of numerous species, the world is broken. Nonetheless, I’m hopeful. I think this brokenness can be fixed, as long as we come to understand its nature. The nature of the world’s brokenness is that we all too often think that the brokenness is somewhere else, or in someone else. We rarely grasp the fact that the brokenness is in each and every one of us. Ah, but don’t we all behave like little despots much of the time! It’s just that when we wield whatever power...

Regular readers might recall that my partner is a Christian minister. As such, we often find ourselves discussing whatever Bible passages she might be reflecting on for an upcoming sermon. This past week the lectionary included a reading from the Gospel according to Luke. When she asked me what I thought of it, I immediately saw its abundant potential for initiating Buddhist/Christian dialogue. The passage is Luke 12:32-38. I’ll quote it in its entirety before reflecting upon it further: 32  “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. 33  Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. 34  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 35  “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; 36  be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so t...

I suspect that most readers of this third piece in my Live Below the Line series will not have all that much experience with going hungry. Sure, we’ve all gotten to the point where we’re just dying for lunch or dinner only to have it superseded by some fairly rare event – we’re in the middle of a project, for instance, or we’re travelling in between towns. And so we become ravenous – feeling as though we could “eat a horse”! Thankfully enough, though, the moment soon arrives when we simply go get something to eat. End of story.   If you’ve ever fasted, you have a little bit more realistic view of hunger. As dinnertime comes around you do indeed feel as though you could eat a horse. But as the karma of your dinnertime subsides so do your hunger pangs, and in their place is that low blood sugar sensation of lightheadedness, weakness, headachiness, and whatever other sensations you might associate with your body tapping into its stored fuel and starting to burn it. If you’ve...

Then he took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” And he did the same with the cup after supper, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” – Luke 22:19-20, NRSV   Yes, at the risk of prompting the eyes of many Buddhist-leaning readers to begin glazing over (What, is this going to be a sermon or something?), and at the risk of prompting the eyes of many Christian-leaning readers to narrow in suspicion (What does this Buddhist know about Christianity, anyway?), I’m going consider how the Lord’s Supper might appear if viewed through a Buddhist lens. In doing so I hope that Buddhist and Christian alike will glimpse something that leads to deeper spiritual understanding within each respective tradition.       Perhaps a little personal background will assuage your curiosity as to why I’m even con...