This blog hosts articles contributed by members of the Chicago Zen Center. For news about events at the Center and in Chicago, please visit our (I) Doubts and a Crisis
by Laurel Ross
It has been just about five years since I threw in my lot with the Chicago Zen Center. The Center and Zen practice became an important part of my life almost instantly after I walked through the front door. Over the years I have been filled with gratitude for the great good fortune that brought me here. The sincerity, generosity and effort of the Sangha are both humbling and inspiring. This is hard work, but it pays off, sometimes in ways that can’t be imagined in advance. And yet grave doubts have permeated it all, manifesting themselves in various churning scripts.
Recently, upon returning exhausted and drained from a very difficult work trip, I suddenly pretty much decided to quit Zen practice. There was no specific last straw that inspired this decision, but it was not a fleeting impulse--it seemed final and frankly, a great relief. No more of that! My mind raced, thinking of the possibilities: I would have time for things like movies again. It wasn’t clear what to do to make it official so I just stayed away, stewing and rehearsing goodbyes. Three weeks passed without going to the Center or sitting at home. This was a very negative time. Scripts roiled in my head.
Anticlimax. I sat. I went to Dokusan. It was fine. Nothing major happened, bad or good, but the urge to quit lifted like a change in the weather.
Shortly after this crisis I attended a couple of days of a long sesshin and threw myself into the practice as sincerely I knew how. The old feeling of being in exactly the right place was there again.
So I am back. I never actually left except in my own mind’s experiment. But it was a real crisis and the reservations too are real—like crossing my fingers behind my back when making a promise. The doubts seem flimsy now compared to the reality of the experience of Zazen and for the moment they seem powerless. Who knows if I have it all figured out, but some of it is fear of commitment. All those scripts in my head are the mind plotting escape routes—barriers to commitment. Giving up on the scripts is making the commitment. Now I am in it for the rest of my life and I will just have to do it. Questioning is good.
It has been just about five years since I threw in my lot with the Chicago Zen Center. The Center and Zen practice became an important part of my life almost instantly after I walked through the front door. Over the years I have been filled with gratitude for the great good fortune that brought me here. The sincerity, generosity and effort of the Sangha are both humbling and inspiring. This is hard work, but it pays off, sometimes in ways that can’t be imagined in advance. And yet grave doubts have permeated it all, manifesting themselves in various churning scripts.
“I am a light weight and will never be able to work hard enough to do this. Some people have what it takes. Clearly, I do not.”And so on…endless mind pudding. These thoughts have been there sometimes at the very same time as I am supposedly putting forth great effort in the practice. Sometimes they seem to be part of the practice. Other times background chatter. Ignore the noise--it’s only noise. Become the noise. Mu.
“Zen practice takes so much time. I am busy. How can I justify all of this time spent?”
Recently, upon returning exhausted and drained from a very difficult work trip, I suddenly pretty much decided to quit Zen practice. There was no specific last straw that inspired this decision, but it was not a fleeting impulse--it seemed final and frankly, a great relief. No more of that! My mind raced, thinking of the possibilities: I would have time for things like movies again. It wasn’t clear what to do to make it official so I just stayed away, stewing and rehearsing goodbyes. Three weeks passed without going to the Center or sitting at home. This was a very negative time. Scripts roiled in my head.
“Zen practice is self-indulgent and narcissistic. Is it more valuable to the world and to myself to sit and stare at a wall when there is so much desperate need in the world to work towards peace and justice? My time and money are better spent on some practical, measurable good work—like a food pantry or a hospice.”These difficult few weeks held moments of longing for the smell and sound of the Zendo (was I addicted?) and moments of reveling in my perceived freedom. I confided my decision to a trusted old friend who asked, sensibly, “Why quit? Why not just slow down a bit and see how it goes?” Blam! That good advice deflated the manic energy that had built up around the idea of quitting that had almost taken on a life of its own. Now I was confused. I felt less negative, but apparently was still looking for an escape route.
“My friends think I have gone off the deep end and maybe they are right. This system may have some value in Japan but here it is foreign and pretentious. People who do it are either faking it or they are deceiving themselves. So what the heck am I doing here? I am a sensible and serious person.”
“I am just not getting this. I am trying my best, but having a dry spell. A break will help me to reenergize. I’ll be back some time when it feels right again.”More confusion and vacillation followed. My carpool buddy called to arrange a ride to a morning sitting. At the moment she asked I wanted to go, so I agreed. I reasoned that I would just go to the Center to see how it felt to be there. I promised myself that I didn’t have to go to Dokusan. It’s optional isn’t it? Nervewracking self-torment.
“Zen practice/koan practice is a very good way of life for some people, but after giving it a good try it is fair to say that this is not really the best fit for me. Besides I can achieve the same thing through making a deeper commitment to my music, or my writing or my work, or my garden. I have already gotten all that I can get out of this actually, and now it is time to turn my attention to something that suits me better.”
Anticlimax. I sat. I went to Dokusan. It was fine. Nothing major happened, bad or good, but the urge to quit lifted like a change in the weather.
Shortly after this crisis I attended a couple of days of a long sesshin and threw myself into the practice as sincerely I knew how. The old feeling of being in exactly the right place was there again.
So I am back. I never actually left except in my own mind’s experiment. But it was a real crisis and the reservations too are real—like crossing my fingers behind my back when making a promise. The doubts seem flimsy now compared to the reality of the experience of Zazen and for the moment they seem powerless. Who knows if I have it all figured out, but some of it is fear of commitment. All those scripts in my head are the mind plotting escape routes—barriers to commitment. Giving up on the scripts is making the commitment. Now I am in it for the rest of my life and I will just have to do it. Questioning is good.
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