As I was driving to our meditation service this evening, I found on my mind what I often find on my mind these days: Ferguson. There wasn't any particular aspect of it arising, just a general heaviness, thickness and weariness that tends to accompany thoughts about it, even when the thought is a single word: Ferguson. And, as tends to happen more and more when one takes up the Koan Way, I found one of our ancestral stories showing up in that field of contemplation, to join the conversation and perhaps shed a little light. It's good to be curious when that happens, to be interested in what shows up and see what the koan would like to offer.
Koans are curious things themselves and there can be some question as to how these stories from different cultures and times (10th Century China in this case) have any relevance to our modern world and one's particular life. Honestly, when this one showed up I found myself thinking, "That's a weird one. What is it doing here?" But I stayed with it and invite you to stay with it by reading on; perhaps you'll see for yourself how there is indeed a significance and relevance to it, at least today in my particular life. What I tell people about koans is that there is no specific kernel of wisdom or moral to the story locked inside them. They only come alive when you meet them with your life, and what one finds is unique to that particular relationship. Certainly when comparing notes people will find a general trend with any given koan, but what each individual heart-mind discovers is beyond words and description, non transmittable, yet intimately apparent. I'm including the koan itself at the end of this writing, as for now I'd rather give you the gist of it then share what resulted from our having met this evening.
The koan begins with a teacher, Hoshan, giving a brief statement, a summary of a recent teaching, perhaps. Then a student steps forward and asks a few questions. Four questions to be exact, and each time Hoshan's response is, "Knowing how to beat the drum", which doesn't seem to have much to do with the questions being asked or what Hoshan said at the beginning.
One thing that came to mind was although Hoshan is the teacher in this case, the beginning of his practice probably looked fairly similar to that of everyone who takes up this or any practice, in that one learns the basics. Perhaps he was invited to keep time, or lead chanting, or work in the kitchen. There are bells and drums one learns how to ring and beat in a specific way to call others, to indicate what is next, to keep rhythm, and more. After being in one role for a while you learn another, and another, and things build from there. For me this brought up the idea of basic, somewhat universal experiences that take place early on, out of which things grow and find themselves. And not just in the Zen world but just as a matter of being human, of having a life, and the fundamental things each of us experience, regardless. Things that we might move away from and cover up over time but that we never really unlearn, that always remain with us in some way.
I also found myself wondering if Hoshan would have said those words if he had had a drum handy, or if he would have simply beat the drum: buhm, buhm, buhm. Or maybe both - "Knowing how to beat the drum, buhm, buhm, buhm." I found the power and directness of the drum appealing. Then I just felt the drum, in my ears, in my body - buhm, buhm, buhm. Fairly soon the rhythm changed to ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm, and I instantly recognized it as a heartbeat, my heartbeat. What could be more basic to life than that?
So I hung out with the heartbeat for a while. I noticed how I have to get really quiet and still to notice my own, and that I don't have to do that to I still know it's there. I also remembered times when I felt anxious and overwhelmed, not knowing how I would make it through something, wondering how I was going to deal with everything I must, etc., and those thoughts and feelings were abated by simply grounding myself in my body: "I'm still breathing, my heart's still beating...things can't be that bad." There was a spacious calm I got in touch with through that, and over time I had to do it less and less, the basic, primal what-isness of that experience permeating things more and more, increasing a sense of being grounded and connected. The primal quality of the heartbeat, a place that grounds me and connects me, echoing in the beat of a drum - that's where the koan and I landed this evening. And this is how it informed an illumined what I'm experiencing in regard to Ferguson:
I want to stay connected to what happened in Ferguson on August 9 and I want to keep it alive, not let it fade away. Michael Brown was killed by Darren Wilson; another young black man was killed by another white police officer. Those words are like Hoshan's opening statement in the koan, beneath and throughout them is the bare fact of what is: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm. Just as Hoshan offered the same reply to each question, that beat meets and permeates all that arises around it. The media carry their various stories, people offer their various opinions, and yet ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; Michael Brown and Darren Wilson are both vilified, and the actions they each took are justified, and still ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; the grand jury does not indict Wilson, but the drum continues to sound: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; people get distracted by focusing on the looters, or debating whether or not race is still an issue, or scrutinizing whether there is such a thing as white privilege, all the while the beat remains steady and unchanged: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm.
I don't want to stop that drum beating or let it die out. I want to stay close to it, to feel it within me, to have it guide me forward. Writing this is one way to carry it along. Another is to notice my own reactions and opinions, and become aware of habits of thoughts and behavior that I engage in knowingly or unknowingly, paying attention to how they ripple out into the world. I can carry on conversations and explore matters with family and friends; there are groups to which I already belong that engage in matters of justice and I can do more with them; I can seek out other organizations and opportunities that help to keep the conversation alive and vital. And when things feel overwhelming, and hopeless, and endless, I can take up "ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm" as a mantra, like I did on the way home tonight, allowing it to become a part of everything I encounter. Doing so I remain close to it, so that I do not forget, so that it permeates and carries me into and through the changes to come.
The Koan: Hoshan Understands How to Beat the Drum
Hoshan taught, "Studying - we call that 'hearing'; completing study is called 'getting nearer'. Going beyond both of these is what we mean by 'truly going beyond'."
A student stepped out of the assembly and asked, "What is truly going beyond?"
Hoshan replied, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked again, "What is true inquiry?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked, "I'm not asking about 'just mind, just buddha'. What is 'not mind, not buddha'?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked again, "When it comes from the ancients, how do we welcome it?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
Koans are curious things themselves and there can be some question as to how these stories from different cultures and times (10th Century China in this case) have any relevance to our modern world and one's particular life. Honestly, when this one showed up I found myself thinking, "That's a weird one. What is it doing here?" But I stayed with it and invite you to stay with it by reading on; perhaps you'll see for yourself how there is indeed a significance and relevance to it, at least today in my particular life. What I tell people about koans is that there is no specific kernel of wisdom or moral to the story locked inside them. They only come alive when you meet them with your life, and what one finds is unique to that particular relationship. Certainly when comparing notes people will find a general trend with any given koan, but what each individual heart-mind discovers is beyond words and description, non transmittable, yet intimately apparent. I'm including the koan itself at the end of this writing, as for now I'd rather give you the gist of it then share what resulted from our having met this evening.
The koan begins with a teacher, Hoshan, giving a brief statement, a summary of a recent teaching, perhaps. Then a student steps forward and asks a few questions. Four questions to be exact, and each time Hoshan's response is, "Knowing how to beat the drum", which doesn't seem to have much to do with the questions being asked or what Hoshan said at the beginning.
One thing that came to mind was although Hoshan is the teacher in this case, the beginning of his practice probably looked fairly similar to that of everyone who takes up this or any practice, in that one learns the basics. Perhaps he was invited to keep time, or lead chanting, or work in the kitchen. There are bells and drums one learns how to ring and beat in a specific way to call others, to indicate what is next, to keep rhythm, and more. After being in one role for a while you learn another, and another, and things build from there. For me this brought up the idea of basic, somewhat universal experiences that take place early on, out of which things grow and find themselves. And not just in the Zen world but just as a matter of being human, of having a life, and the fundamental things each of us experience, regardless. Things that we might move away from and cover up over time but that we never really unlearn, that always remain with us in some way.
I also found myself wondering if Hoshan would have said those words if he had had a drum handy, or if he would have simply beat the drum: buhm, buhm, buhm. Or maybe both - "Knowing how to beat the drum, buhm, buhm, buhm." I found the power and directness of the drum appealing. Then I just felt the drum, in my ears, in my body - buhm, buhm, buhm. Fairly soon the rhythm changed to ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm, and I instantly recognized it as a heartbeat, my heartbeat. What could be more basic to life than that?
So I hung out with the heartbeat for a while. I noticed how I have to get really quiet and still to notice my own, and that I don't have to do that to I still know it's there. I also remembered times when I felt anxious and overwhelmed, not knowing how I would make it through something, wondering how I was going to deal with everything I must, etc., and those thoughts and feelings were abated by simply grounding myself in my body: "I'm still breathing, my heart's still beating...things can't be that bad." There was a spacious calm I got in touch with through that, and over time I had to do it less and less, the basic, primal what-isness of that experience permeating things more and more, increasing a sense of being grounded and connected. The primal quality of the heartbeat, a place that grounds me and connects me, echoing in the beat of a drum - that's where the koan and I landed this evening. And this is how it informed an illumined what I'm experiencing in regard to Ferguson:
I want to stay connected to what happened in Ferguson on August 9 and I want to keep it alive, not let it fade away. Michael Brown was killed by Darren Wilson; another young black man was killed by another white police officer. Those words are like Hoshan's opening statement in the koan, beneath and throughout them is the bare fact of what is: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm. Just as Hoshan offered the same reply to each question, that beat meets and permeates all that arises around it. The media carry their various stories, people offer their various opinions, and yet ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; Michael Brown and Darren Wilson are both vilified, and the actions they each took are justified, and still ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; the grand jury does not indict Wilson, but the drum continues to sound: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm; people get distracted by focusing on the looters, or debating whether or not race is still an issue, or scrutinizing whether there is such a thing as white privilege, all the while the beat remains steady and unchanged: ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm.
I don't want to stop that drum beating or let it die out. I want to stay close to it, to feel it within me, to have it guide me forward. Writing this is one way to carry it along. Another is to notice my own reactions and opinions, and become aware of habits of thoughts and behavior that I engage in knowingly or unknowingly, paying attention to how they ripple out into the world. I can carry on conversations and explore matters with family and friends; there are groups to which I already belong that engage in matters of justice and I can do more with them; I can seek out other organizations and opportunities that help to keep the conversation alive and vital. And when things feel overwhelming, and hopeless, and endless, I can take up "ba-buhm, ba-buhm, ba-buhm" as a mantra, like I did on the way home tonight, allowing it to become a part of everything I encounter. Doing so I remain close to it, so that I do not forget, so that it permeates and carries me into and through the changes to come.
The Koan: Hoshan Understands How to Beat the Drum
Hoshan taught, "Studying - we call that 'hearing'; completing study is called 'getting nearer'. Going beyond both of these is what we mean by 'truly going beyond'."
A student stepped out of the assembly and asked, "What is truly going beyond?"
Hoshan replied, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked again, "What is true inquiry?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked, "I'm not asking about 'just mind, just buddha'. What is 'not mind, not buddha'?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
The student asked again, "When it comes from the ancients, how do we welcome it?"
Hoshan said, "Knowing how to beat the drum."
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