Chattanooga

The problem with newcomers is that they're so new they don't know when to come.

Today was supposed to be the extended newcomers session in Chattanooga. Announcements were distributed to yoga centers and green grocers and posted in the local alternative press, and we expected a good turnout. But as it turned out, no one showed up (other than the dozen or so Chattanooga regulars).

In Zen, we train ourselves to be adaptable to changing circumstances (that's part of the reason why it's so hard to get a Zen Master nonplussed). I was prepared to speak for 60 to 90 minutes about the origins of Buddhism and of Zen, about the Four Noble Truths and the Eight-Fold Path. I was ready to give basic meditation instruction to a group of beginners, but seeing no newby faces, we instead held our regular services. But as it turned out, several of the things I was planning to say to the newcomers came up in practice discussion.

During sitting, the legs can turn numb, or "go to sleep." One person complained that his sleeping feet were "distracting." He could not answer when asked from what it was that he was distracted.

I had been planning to address the pins-and-needles sensation of sleeping legs and feet with the newcomers anyway, so I had a response ready. "Sleeping feet" does not mean that one's circulation is bad, although it may be a sign that one is putting too much weight on the legs and that one's posture needs adjusting. There is an old expression describing zazen as "a fire that begins in your toes and consumes your whole body." The smallest thing - even the feet falling asleep - can be subject to closer examination in Zen. You may notice, say, that when your legs and feet are asleep, your ankles are unusually flexible. This in itself is no great revelation, but can lead to still closer and more profound examination.

Another had a question about bowing. In Zen, as in all Buddhism, there is much bowing. It has been said, "When bowing ends, Buddhism will end." The meaning of a bow may be empty or distorted in the beginning of practice, but becomes profound with time. We put our two hands together - two opposites creating one unity - and bow to one another to show the non-duality between self and other, the two bowing.

This placing of right and left hand together to form one non-dual entity is similar to Joshu's putting his sandal on his head. In Buddhism, the top of the head - the highest point on the body - is a symbol of the sacred. In some traditions, monks will put their folded rakusu (a clerical vestment) on the top of their heads and recite a chant prior to meditation. It's an odd sight, but moving in its devotedness - Zen Master Dogen was said to have wept in China the first time he saw this practice. On the other hand, the soles of the feet, dirty with mud and filth from the road, is a symbol of the profane. To this day, showing the soles of the feet to another is profoundly insulting in some cultures, and historically, Jesus shocked his followers by once washing the feet of his disciples. But to express "a word of Zen," Joshu impulsively put his straw sandal on top his head, unifying many sets of opposites - top and bottom, up and down, sacred and profane - into one unity. Nansen praised Joshu's spontaneous action.

We then batted around a few random ideas and I went over my mnemonic trick for remembering the eight parts of the Eightfold Path, and we then called it a day. After a meal at the local Green Life grocer, I drove back to Atlanta, grateful once again for the opportunity to share in the practice of the Chattanooga sangha.