New Year's Non-Resolution

I've been spending the last two and a half weeks with my dear wife, who resides in another city and country from me because she cares for her invalid mother.  Not having to work during this time, I've been catching up on reading as well as doing things with her.  One thing we did was head off to a thrift store where we loaded up on some old books (they are 15 cents a pound at her favourite one.)

Janwillem van de Wetering

We came across a motherlode of taijiquan, kungfu and Zen books, amongst others.  Included in this embarrassment of riches were the first two books in Janwillen Van De Wittering's trilogy about Zen:  The Empty Mirror, and, A Glimpse of Nothingness. These books have aged well and have created a wealth of thoughts about life, the universe and everything.

Van de Wetering was a fascinating character in that he was a pretty much total generalist.  He was a beatnick who studied Zen under real masters.  He was also a successful businessman.  He had a successful career in the police force (in the reserves) where he quickly rose through the ranks.  (He joined as a means of dealing with problems he had with his national service requirements----Holland allows someone to do other things besides military service.) And he wrote amazingly good detective novels.  I aspire to be as much of a well-rounded guy as him.

If there is an important point that Wetering emphasized in his books on Zen, it was that of what us Daoists would call "the Void".  That is, that we live in a world of complete potentiality, or, as the Laozi would say "Being comes from Nothing".  With regard to our lived experience, the point is to not hem ourselves in with our own personal descriptions of who we are.   We are not fixed in time, prisoners of our past, but rather bubbles of potential that each every moment have the opportunity to engage with the world around us in new and unexpected ways.

Moy Lin Shin

One of the very few times I ever recall hearing Moy Lin Shin (the fellow who initiated me into Daoism) talk about anything was about the importance of getting rid of the ego.  For him (remember, that everything I ever heard him say was strained through absolutely abysmal translators), the "ego" is that little voice that tells you "oh, I couldn't do that!".

That's a pretty important lesson.

In van de Wetering's book his experience with his Japanese teacher was that the trappings of Zen were ruthlessly excised if they were not immediately valuable to his training.  This extend to the point where he was strongly discouraged from formally becoming a Buddhist (what's the point?)  The only thing that mattered to the teacher was for van de Wetering to "wake up".

I feel pretty much the same way.

I recently had a short conversation in the discussion section of a past post with someone who seemed somewhat disappointed that I haven't been putting a lot of effort into writing about Daoism and being a hermit.  I suppose I haven't.  Part of that probably involves changes in my interests, but I think that mostly it comes from my increasing comfort with the essence of Daoism to the exclusion of the trappings.  I don't offer incense to the land god anymore, but I still keep the altar outside my door.  I packed up my internal altars.

I still do taijiquan, and have been teaching myself the Yang spear form to add to my other sets.  I don't do any formal meditation practice either.  But I do find myself spending a lot of time in self-observation and "holding onto the One" in my day-to-day life.

I suspect that a lof of these changes have come about from my being married.  My dear and beloved significant other has become a mirror that reflects back to me many things.  She has precious little time for pretense and "flummery", which is probably why I've packed up a lot of the play-acting with funny robes and incense.  But she is adamant that I write and do taiji.  She also stretches me in very interesting ways.

Yesterday after breakfast she got quite adamant with me about how I was using what she called "white male privilege".  What she was referring to was the way a lot of women will defer (actually shut up and not try to argue) to me when I get emotional about an issue.  We had a long talk about it, and then our day moved on.

A Keisaku being applied very mildly

Van de Wetering talks a bit about being "encouraged" by a Keisaku while formally meditating in Temple.  I've heard a lot of folks say that it is just a gentle "tap", but the way he describes it, he used to get real whacks with it in order to wake up while nodding off.  He talks about it leaving bruises and the monks wearing extra clothes under their robes in order to protect from it.  Like most things, I suspect that the severity varies mightily from Temple to Temple.

I was really upset when Misha (my wife) called me to task on "white male privilege", but in retrospect, she is trying to help me see something that I am oblivious to.  She was administering a much more accurate and effective Keisaku!  The hope is that I will wake up and learn to be more aware of my freedom of action and less trapped by my culture and past personal history.  

The problem is, however, that learning to experience "the Void" isn't just a question of being told something. It involves the emotional upset that I felt when she called me to task. It is hard, hard, hard to fight erase the ego and embrace the Void.

Zen Master with Fly Whisk

One last point I should make, because it might be raised.  I have mentioned Zen Buddhism in this post.  For those readers who might be interested in a bit of history, Zen is a school of Buddhism, but it is one that was profoundly influenced by Daoism.  The trappings of a Zen Master are the same as a Daoist sage---the fly whisk that they carry as a badge of authority was stolen from the iconography.

Daoist Immortal with Fly Whisk

In addition, the famous Ox-Herding Pictures of Zen were adapted from a Daoist source.  And, if you read books like Journey to the West and Seven Daoist Masters, you will see reference after reference to the mutual reverence between Daoists and Zen Buddhists.

But still, why write about Zen Buddhism in a Daoist blog?  Well, the fact of the matter is that until very recently there were no books available about Daoism outside of the Laozi and Zhuangzi.  Even basics like the Liezi were hard to find and the Nei-Yeh was only recently translated into English.

The same situation existed with regard to Zen when van de Wetering first went to Japan, but his book was part of an explosion of publishing that took place in the last decades of the 20th century.  A similar explosion is currently taking place now with regards to Daoism, this blog being part of the phenomenon.  But if I am going to write about Daoist issues, I have to be part of a cultural context in order to make any sense.  If I refuse to make use of available cultural artifacts---like Zen---to explain myself I will be lessening my ability to explain myself.

The point is that what is important is the Void itself, not the shape of the finger that is used to point in its direction.