This is day two of the October–November 2023 seven-day sesshin.
We’re continuing with Subtle Sound: Zen Teachings of Maurine Stuart, edited by Roko Sherry Chayat.
Picking up where we left off:
Maurine says, "Every day we chant the Four Great Vows. In chanting them, we are reminded again and again of our work. It’s an impossible task: how can we sincerely vow to do what we cannot do?"
This question troubled me too. How can we vow to save all beings when we can't even save ourselves sometimes?
Maurine explains: in Buddhism, the "I" that vows is an illusion.
The first realization with these Vows is that I cannot undertake anything. Recognizing this actualizes the first step on our path. The ego is the obstacle—and by letting go of it, we open ourselves to the vow.
Instead of "I vow," we put our palms together and give ourselves up completely.
When we truly practice this giving of ourselves—whatever we are doing—the stiffness of the ego softens.
There’s no "I" doing anything. In that softening, suffering decreases.
The burden of self is maddening. Seeing the world through the lens of separation makes everything difficult.
Maurine talks about the touchiness of "I"—how easily we’re offended or guarded.
Sometimes after sesshin, we glimpse moments where there’s just nothing in the way.
I remember once: my teenage son came home upset about something. Normally, I might have reacted. But that day, it just flowed—no offense, no resistance. It made a real difference.
Of course, it’s hard to stay in that space. We get pulled back into old patterns.
But over years of practice, something softens. Life becomes easier.
Maurine continues:
The softening prepares us to work through our passions—the emotional fires Buddhism speaks of: sadness, loneliness, anger, resentment, despair, impatience, disgust.
Rather than avoiding or being swept away by these fires, we give ourselves to them.
Not refusing. Not letting them rip wildly either. This is compassion for ourselves.
When we fully enter the fire, it consumes the ego.
With the ego gone, there’s no fuel left—and what remains is our true Buddha nature.
She says the core of Buddhist practice is anatta—no self.
One of the Three Characteristics of Existence (the others being suffering and impermanence).
When the illusion of "I" drops away, everything is seen clearly: different, but not separate.
No clinging, no alienation—only warm connection.
Buddha’s life—birth, awakening, death—teaches the way out of loneliness, separation, and the fear of death.
Without "I," there is no fear.
In the Heart Sutra: "No hindrance in the mind; therefore, no fear."
When the ego shell cracks, the warmth of the human heart shines through. It acts through Buddha’s compassion, lighting our dark places, helping us find peace and joy.
At the end of the Bodhisattva Vow we chant:
"May we extend this mind over the whole universe, so that we and all beings together may attain maturity in Buddha’s wisdom."
That’s what Zen practice is: extending this mind universally.
Everything is only hard because of the illusion of "I."
We're constantly scanning for threats, bristling at insults, judging ourselves when we fail.
But when we lighten that burden—even for a moment—we return to our natural joy.
You see it so clearly in sesshin:
When you have nothing to protect, your burden is light, and your joy, the joy you felt as a child, can come out.
Moving to another chapter: Ordinary Mind.
Someone once said to Maurine,
"It says in the precepts not to become intoxicated. But I feel intoxicated by Zen."
Maurine replied:
"Indeed, this is a wonderful addiction. Drench yourself in it. Drink as much as you like. More, more, more."
This kind of intoxication sharpens the senses, makes the mind alert and vivid.
By accepting everything as it comes, we become freer, more alive, sparkling.
Anthony de Mello once said:
"If you desire to change what is into what you think it should be, you no longer understand."
He compares two attitudes:
A dog trainer manipulates the dog for tricks.
A scientist observes ants purely to understand.
The day we attain this posture—pure awareness without an agenda—change happens effortlessly.
De Mello calls awareness the most delightful, most important thing in life.
But it demands a different kind of discipline: like an athlete's discipline, or a river creating its own banks.
When the bug of awareness bites you, everything changes.
Maurine reminds us:
When we stop trying to change our circumstances and simply be—stable, still, open—the miracle happens.
Of course, it’s not easy. We will fail, hit rough patches, get bored, experience pain.
But somewhere inside, we know: this is the way forward.
We practice gratitude, mindfulness, responsibility—without blaming others or ourselves.
She says:
We seek security, but everything is constantly changing.
When we see this, we’re freed from the need for security. We stop grasping.
The only place to begin is within ourselves.
Nobody can do this work for us. Nobody can carry our burdens. We must experience life directly.
No amount of definitions or reports can replace direct experience.
The heart beats not because we define it, but because it beats.
Zen practice is the reality of life itself—not something you memorize or put in a box.
We are responsible for ourselves as followers of the Dharma.
Compassion (karuna) and wisdom (prajna) must go hand in hand.
Compassion without wisdom becomes mushy; wisdom without compassion becomes cold.
About Zen’s supposed "coldness" in Japan:
Yes, sometimes a Roshi would whack a student over the head—and it was seen as an act of deep care.
But Zen must adapt to each culture.
Maurine asks:
How do we show compassion?
Leave a bathroom clean for the next person—without leaving a note about it.
Do our work completely—for those who come after us.
This is spontaneous, creative compassion. Not about memorizing precepts mechanically, but living intuitively.
She warns:
Be careful not to make excuses under the guise of spontaneity.
Precepts exist for a reason: to protect others and ourselves.
As someone who struggled with drinking, I understand now: an "honest drink" isn’t so honest when it numbs pain we don’t want to face.
Maurine says again:
Opinions clog things up.
When we let go of judgments, we experience ordinary mind—radiant, spontaneous, clear.
When sitting in Zen, letting go of body and mind, what remains is a pure condition—free to come, free to go, free to feel, free to grow old, free to die.
Zen requires intense men, or "present mind."
When we add the Bodhisattva Vow, subject and object melt into one:
We inhale the universe. We exhale to the universe. No gate between us and it.
Giving It Away
It’s easy to say, "Just live in the present."
It’s incredibly difficult to do.
We cannot apply old solutions to new moments.
We must pay fresh attention every time.
Way Nung, the Sixth Patriarch, said:
"We’ll never grasp anything by thinking about it afterward."
If our minds are clear—not trapped by tradition, resentment, or fixed ideas—we see our true nature immediately.
True forgiveness is not saying "I forgive you" while pushing resentment underground.
It’s letting the pain transform us.
It’s seeing difficulty as galvanizing, helping us grow toward light.
There’s a prayer:
"May I have the appropriate difficulties so I may open and grow."
Our Zen practice is spontaneous response from an open heart.
Not something we can plan.
Not something we force.
Zen becomes the root of our lives—not separate from it.
Our bodies, not just our minds, carry the real wisdom.
Our bodies remember what they've experienced.
Pain, fatigue, boredom—they're all part of it.
Usually, these reactions arise because we’re afraid to find out who we are.
To sit together in the Zendo, despite the pain and discomfort, is paradise.
During sesshin, all you need to do is let everything drop away.
Zen is not a trance—it’s being absolutely present. Wide awake. Alive.
Anthony de Mello says:
"There’s nothing more wonderful than waking up."
Be grateful for the opportunity to do the work.
It helps others.
Sesshin power comes from everyone’s effort.
Yes, we all struggle. We all grasp at results.
Just keep waking up.
All the work happens right now.
No point regretting the past—you can't change it.
We’re still very early into this sesshin. These first days are the hardest. But already things are settling.
Don't worry about performance.
You're here to learn, to make mistakes, to open up.
Time is up. We'll stop here and recite the Four Vows.
(End of Talk)
Quick Summary:
Drop the "I" — Softening the ego decreases suffering.
Give yourself to the fires — Transform emotions into wisdom.
True Zen is spontaneous, compassionate, and rooted in direct experience.
Forgiveness is a heart change, not a surface gesture.
Zen is daily life — Not a special trance, but awake presence.
Gratitude and effort — Sesshin is powered by collective sincerity.
