Eight Realizations of Great Beings (IV): Find Your Enthusiasm
Photo by Jingda Chen
When your enthusiasm for practice slows or seems to come to a halt, what can you do to spark it up again? If you’re unable to practice in a formal way, does it “still count” as practice?
In this threaded talk, Zuisei introduces the fourth realization in the Eight Realizations of Great Beings: the awareness that indolence is an obstacle to practice and, reframing it as “find your enthusiasm,” the sangha takes it up, each person sharing their personal experiences of “failure” and “laziness,” and the profound realization that in practice, nothing is ever extra, nothing is left out.
This talk was given by Zuisei Goddard.
Transcript
This transcript is based on Zuisei's talk notes and may differ slightly from the final talk.
Eight Realizations of Great Beings: Find Your Enthusiasm
May the merits of these teachings benefit all beings. May these words help and not harm. May they clarify and not confuse. May they self-liberate, leaving no trace behind.
All right, good evening, everyone. Welcome. We are at the halfway point of these eight realizations of great beings. And the fourth realization is the awareness that indolence is an obstacle to practice. And the commentary says, you must practice diligently to transform unwholesome mental states that bind you. And you must conquer the four kinds of Mara in order to free yourself from the prisons of the five aggregates and the three worlds.
And I am calling this realization, find your enthusiasm. Because, you know, I think we all know that practice takes work, that it takes effort, that any kind of real transformation takes effort. And I, just before, I was reading this article in the New York Times, I found this article that a man by the name of Larry Schoenberg wrote in 1976, when Daibosatsu Monastery had just been built. And he was a student of Eido Roshi for many years, and he afterwards sat with us at the monastery, so I know him.
And he was saying that one out of 25 people who go to a Zen monastery, a Zen center, one out of 25 will actually stick with it and perhaps become a student. But that if you do it for three years, then you'll do it for the rest of your life. I thought that was interesting. And he also said that in his experience, Zuisei, at a certain point, had become very organic. He said, like eating. And he says, while this makes life without it rather difficult to imagine, it also makes the practice harder.
Like others, I think I used to help myself along by making it heroic. And I thought that was very apropos of this fourth realization. I used to help myself along by making it heroic. I have definitely done that myself. And so, what does it mean to let it be organic? Let it be completely ordinary. And at the same time, be filled with our enthusiasm, with our zeal, with our aspiration for practice.
And the four kinds of Mara, four kinds of demons, four kinds of obstacles, are unwholesome thoughts, the five skandhas, I mean, essentially the self, death, and distractions. So, you know, very simply, this realization is saying to free yourself of the self takes hard work. Doing it half-heartedly won't cut it. Doing it superficially won't really change anything. And so, to free yourself of the self, of desire, of death, of the fear of death, is no small thing.
Knowing this, the real question is, how do we muster up that enthusiasm, especially during those times when we don't feel it? That's the question that I want to work with today. And for the benefit of those of you who are joining us for the first time, today we're doing what I call a threaded talk, which means we are writing the Dharma talk together.
And I was thinking about how Daito Roshi would often introduce, especially when doing Dharma encounters, right? This formal but unscripted one-on-one meeting between teacher and student would happen in public. And he would always introduce these by saying there are five ways that teachers and students interact, and then he would go through and list them. He would say there's a Dharma talk, and there's question and answer, and there's this, there's informal, et cetera.
Connecting and Listening Together
And I was thinking about that as I was looking at the calendar and kind of planning what to do when, and thinking that that's kind of what I've been doing, what we've been doing together, is finding these different ways to interact in a way that feels skillful, that feels engaging, especially in this medium of Zoom. And so, this is different from just an informal discussion. And if we do it well, you will feel the difference, right?
Because in group discussions, two things can happen. Either the group is cohesive and really working together, or it's not. And then each person is kind of in their own world, in their own bubble, talking about their own concerns, not necessarily taking in, listening to, tying together their reflections with anyone else's. A threaded talk is the first, right? When we are working really as one body, where we're very actively practicing listening and speaking from that place of connection, picking up the thread of each other's words, and even if we go off in a different direction, the connection is still there.
And so this means that we have to be really present with one another. And that's why the couple of times that we've done this, I have really valued it so much, because I think it's such a concrete expression of our interbeing. And not to mention that the practice of deep listening is always, always helpful, right? To listen fully and trust that we don't have to be planning what we're going to say while somebody else is speaking. That when we listen deeply, that when we listen into what is being said and into the silence and into ourselves, that from that silence and from that openness and that connection, we speak from a place of wisdom.
So, that's what I'm hoping for today. And so I gave the question: how do we muster up enthusiasm when it's flagging? But to start us off, I want to offer another question that one of you included in the Blue Sky Reflections, right, on the format of these Wednesday meetings. And one of you said, my guiding question is, how can I show up to be with a sangha for two hours each week and not subtly reinforce the speed, production, transactional consumption, collapse cycle of modern life? How can the way that we come together feel supportive and nourishing for all involved?
And I think this too is an excellent tie-in to that first question I posed. And so, if whoever wrote that on the Blue Sky notes is here, and if you are willing to take up your own question and start us off on this threaded talk, that would be wonderful. So the first question, I guess, is, are you here? I am here. Excellent. All right, so you can take it away, Jess.
Oh, great. Yeah, I... I think whenever I was thinking about that question, the thing that was coming to mind was the way that coming to a Dharma thing or producing a talk for a Dharma gathering just becomes this cycle of production, right? It can be both a practice, or it can also kind of be the way that meditation becomes not practice, becomes a way of hiding. I think I'm curious for the group: how can we hold each other so that it's not that? That's not really what I'm interested in. And also, how does it not become just a social gathering, or just a nice place? How does rigor continue within that balance?
And I guess my answer for the laziness question might go in the opposite direction. And I know that the traditional antidote to laziness is exhaustion, right? You try harder, you keep pushing, you find some way to engage. But I was really struggling with my practice after my own sangha really fell apart in the last few years. And I was talking to a friend and a mentor, and I was just saying, like, I don't know why we meditate. Like, what are we doing here? No, I'm not doing this anymore. I'm just going to watch Netflix. Am I like—that's not any different. How is that different? I'm staring, my gaze is fixed. I'm not doing anything different.
And my dear friend was like, okay, well, just like he had the utter confidence that laziness will burn itself out, right? Laziness consumes laziness. And ultimately, it did. I'm here practicing life. There's something that's here.
So I think to tie those two things together is how do we let what's arising in our own feelings, even if they're not positive? How do we let our practice, and the way that we bring those to this gathering, so that it can kind of consume itself or burn itself into whatever it becomes or tries to make itself?
So, I'll do the best I can to answer, Jessica, I think, but I might fail. And so I think what you're saying is that there's something—you're trying to contradict our notions of productivity and busyness and distraction. And how do we get away from that? And I was thinking about failure, and I was thinking, instead of being very heroic, instead of being lazy necessarily, but to embrace the failure of not practicing well. And I think in our society, especially our educational system, we don't really value failure. We always want students to be productive. We want them to get good grades. If you don't get good grades, you get a penalty, you get a bad grade.
Learning Through Failure and Expanding Practice
But actually, a lot of good work and good inspiration comes out of failing, because you are actually examining yourself. You're being curious about why am I being lazy, or why am I not doing this? And maybe you try something new, or maybe you persevere, but at least you're looking at the failure. And I think failure is the place where we're kind of most vulnerable too. And so I think that's the place that I have to constantly remind myself to be in so that I can interact with others at the most intimate level. But it takes a lot of courage to do that.
Jess: Yeah, I think I have a similar answer, which may be stated a slightly different way, is to make very large the idea of what practice is. I do struggle with how to make it large enough to include everything without making it so large as to be meaningless. You know, making it large enough while allowing space for honesty with myself. You know, like what counts as practice, I think, is something that I am struggling with. But yeah, I think, you know, it's been very important to me in the last few weeks to be able to continue showing up here, even though I don't really feel like I have anything to offer, and don't really feel like my practice feels very, like eking out every little iota of energy.
So to be able to be really honest about what practice looks like, and not to have the definition of it be so small that only if you're doing these things are you practicing, and otherwise, maybe don't show up. I'd like to just pull out a thread there and hold it up, because I think it's important. And that was your question, what counts as practice? And I think it's an interesting way to frame it, and it's a common way to frame it. What counts as practice?
Marguerite: Well, I am going to respond to Blue. I'm glad she mentioned failure. When she said failure, I thought, failure? I don't think I'm failing at anything. But then you went on to say failing at the practice. And I thought I am. And I sit with the Buffalo Zen Dharma community. I'm from Buffalo. And I sit with them on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I get a couple hours in each of those nights. And then I'm very, very grateful to be with you folks on Wednesdays. And then I do a Thich Nhat Hanh group on Saturdays.
But when I'm with the Zen Dharma community in Buffalo, and I'm with those students that are always going to the continuous thread at the monastery, I feel like a failure because I don't always go. They're always going. They're always going. I think, oh my gosh. And so that really makes me look at myself and feel like I'm a failure because they're so into doing that. And so I think, like Jess said, what else do I do to practice? I was thinking of my mindfulness, and I thought, is mindfulness good enough? Is it good enough just to be aware of everything that's happening, aware of washing the dishes, aware of being aware?
And I worked with Tony Packer, and she says, just stop the “eye stuff” and just say, awareing. I'm awareing the sun. I'm awareing spring. And I thought, well, maybe that could be good enough. I don't know what's going to be good enough. I think the mindfulness I can do as much as possible, because it's always happening, obviously. Zazen isn't always happening. So I really can put more effort into being mindful of everything that's happening in my life.
So that awareness and that mindfulness, I think, is like a bonus. That's where I think I'm… I don't even want to be good or bad or fail or pass either. That sort of gets my ego all tangled up into this. And so I look at my ego. So I think maybe I'm practicing when I recognize my ego is just running rampant, and I'm so upset with it, and I want to tell it to go away. And so I guess as I talk to you all, I think I'm doing practice, and I'm doing it in a variety of ways, but I'm not doing the continuous threads all the time. And so I don't know.
Let it be completely ordinary. And at the same time, be filled with enthusiasm, with zeal, with aspiration for practice.
Be my teacher later when we can talk and tell me about these students and their intensity. And I'm not a student. So I don't know. That makes me feel like the failure. Gosh, this is enough. Thank you all.
Marguerite: Thank you.
Zuisei: Marguerite, it's okay that you don't do the continuous practice, such as retreats, all the time. It is perfectly fine.
Jitsuko: Yeah, hi. I remember going up to the monastery, just meeting people, and they're like, I never miss a day of sitting. And this is back in the day, like, you know, I don't remember, but just remember going up there, meeting people like, I don't miss a day. I'm like, what the heck? Like, I miss a day. I always miss sitting. Like, I don't sit. And then just like definitely feeling like a failure, you know? And I guess, like, trying to engage the practice in other ways, and that was really helpful. Like, especially where I was living, I was living out in the middle of a Navajo Indian reservation, and it was very, very sparse. And I was just kind of able to practice all the time, whether or not I was sitting or not.
And I think that that was useful to realize that, oh, I actually can always be practicing, because like you said, like mindfulness is always happening. I'm like, oh, yeah. And like that was kind of my point of sitting in the first place is that I wanted to have this impact my life while I'm not on the cushion. Like, that was sort of like, I like how I feel when I'm on the cushion, but I want to feel like that all the time, you know?
And then now I'm realizing, I think there is something to sitting formally constantly, or like on a regular basis; it's like a little bit like gas in your fuel tank. And I think I remember reading about Bodhicitta, and like that you can overcome Mara if you build up a certain amount of Bodhicitta, but you have to build it up. Like you can't, like you have to have a full gas tank. And so I'm starting to kind of connect those two, like maybe if I sit on the cushion, maybe my life will feel better. Maybe if I sit on the cushion, maybe I can tell Mara, “You're not going to bother me today, Mara.” You know, like maybe those are connected. Maybe, but I hate sitting on the cushion. And I can't stand those people that are like, I sit every day. I mean, good for them. Bravo. But I have a hard time. It's so hard for me to sit on the cushion. I want it to happen naturally. And I don't want to work for it.
Zuisei: Something about what you said, Jitsuko, in terms of Bodhicitta, that's exactly right. You know, so there's the arising of Bodhicitta and the first, you know, that it can happen naturally, I think for many of us, at some point, if we recognize it, and then you have to maintain it, you have to actually take actions that will nurture it, that will feed it, and Zazen is just one of those sections. But that is very true. And that is true of Zazen too. There is an aspect of it which is so natural, because remember, we're sitting as the beings that we already are, right? As the Buddhas that we already are, the awakened beings that we already are. But we don't know that most of the time. Most of the time we forget. Therefore, we put in effort to remember, which is the meaning and the root of the word mindfulness: to remember.
Trusting the Sufficiency of the Moment
Chris: The feeling I got from what Tsutsuko was just talking about, she didn't use this word, but I really felt it like the sufficiency of ourselves in each moment. And for me, that's what's been running around, circling in my head for the past few minutes, is trusting the sufficiency of our experience in each moment, and trusting that if we're feeling lazy, that there's something there for me. You know, in the laziness, everything appears to teach us and to help us, and so I can't exclude that. You know, the laziness and the times when I've been less than fully motivated, I think, are fruitful. You know, if nothing else, they provide some contrast and some space and definition and things to practice. And they actually, in some ways, I think laziness and feeling like I need to overcome it invites good questions about how do I motivate. And those questions I can take for granted for a long time.
Like when I was in the year of residency at the monastery, I don't recall doing any real inquiry or reflection about what motivates me, because the container is so strong that as long as you show up, some nice person will come get you if you don't show up. So talk about not needing to generate your own motivation. You can get by without looking at your own motivation very much. And then the times when I have to generate it myself… I'm in one of those right now. Do much more of that. It's actually very much a blessing. And the sort of shame story about not being naturally motivated, you might say, can hold me back. But it's also that, like, that's something to look at too. It can all become grist for the mill. And I think that's the beautiful side of indolence—I think is the word that you said in the beginning. It's such a great word. It just means to be free from suffering, actually. But we use it as lazy. And those are two very different things. So that's something that comes up for me.
But to trust the sufficiency of that in this moment is a great practice by itself. Because if I'm not okay with that, that means I'm not okay with some significant part of myself. I'm not okay with this moment. I'll get more agitated if it keeps going forward in time, you know? And that's not really advancing my practice or my inquiry.
Liz: Hello. I like what you said, Chris. The container is so strong. I think we all have to sort of make our own container wherever we are. But that's something I'm working on. I was thinking about also just the sort of mundane nature, too, of sitting sometimes, and what, in contrast with being, I don't know if I'm ever heroic, but sort of like making your bed. You know, you get up and you make your bed. I've been doing that pretty consistently, which I didn't always. But I think I went through a life stressor, and I just started making my bed. And it helped me feel that I had some control, I guess. So I guess we could look at our practice a little like that, that not that that's accurate, but, you know, giving it shape and a time and a place can help us to bring it into our life more easily. So that's what I've been working on a little bit the last couple days.
I had made sort of a list before about just things that helped me. I know Wuda, I think, even said that good friends can help us practice. And that's true in my life, for sure. Reading, listening to the Dharma, talking to teachers, just creating conditions. So that was my little list. But I also like talking about failure. You know, it is, we all fail on some levels all the time. And those are usually our greatest teaching moments, and can be the hardest time to sit, but probably, I don't know, probably the most worthwhile somehow, right?
Zuisei: And if I may, Liz, don't shortchange yourself when you were speaking about making the bed, and that that gives you a sense of control. You went through a huge, huge transition. The death of a parent is a seismic shift. The death of a mother, even more so. It doesn't become more intimate, more personal than that. I mean, you came out of her body quite literally, and now she is gone. And so there's that. And you seem to very naturally then turn to a very simple, very mundane, very ordinary task, right, of just making your bed. I would encourage you that as you do that, you really touch in, be mindful, as people have been saying, about how that makes you feel while you do it and afterwards.
Because if you think about it, you're just very naturally doing what monastics have been practicing for millennia. You could say the ritualization of very ordinary tasks for the purpose of partly, or let's say mainly, at least in the case of Buddhism, to waking up within that task. But then there is also the… the word that's coming up is relinquishment. There's something that happens even in very small instances and for short moments of doing something like that, where you're no longer thinking about it. You're just giving yourself to the task.
I really feel that there's something that happens that just… Marguerite was talking about the self, that it just kind of erodes the strength of the self. So whether you feel like it or not, we've talked about this before, whether it's time for it or not, whether you think it's going to help or not, you just do it because there's something that happens just in the doing. So I just want to throw that out there, that I think you've turned very naturally towards something actually quite profound. Just don't turn it into a thing.
Adam: Gosh, there are, I sort of want to pick up on every thread that has been put out. I, you know, think about when I began practice, and I began practice at, you know, at Fire Lotus on 23rd Street, and I so craved, you know, what Chris was talking about, that container. And because I wanted to practice so badly, but I, you know, needed the container because that's just who I am. And I really went… the way I found to create the container was I lived nearby, so I quickly became the person who had to open up, I became, every single morning, I was the one who had to be there, you know, before seven, and then open up and get ready. And that was, you know, and then I ended up doing many of the evenings, too. And it was not selfless. It was, I mean, it was helpful, I think, but it was what I needed. I needed that.
And, you know, for a while, when the temple opened up in Brooklyn, and Morning Singh moved to 6:30, I was still sometimes getting up for two or three mornings a week and getting on the subway at 5:30. And eventually that couldn’t keep. But I guess, you know, I also think about failure. There came a point where there was an upheaval at the monastery and within the sangha, and I felt that I had been failed. And then I turned from practice, and I felt that I had failed, that I didn't know how to meet what was going on.
And I had many years of in and out of practice. Sometimes working with Miyotai Sensei, when she's been in New York and available, other times just sort of on my own, and times where I just felt really failing, just… I'm not doing this. And feeling that my practice sometimes, you know, I would sit, but it felt very stale. And I just, you know, I would say a little bit before the pandemic, I started going and sitting with the Village Zendo, just because I needed… I wasn’t… I wanted to sit again. I wanted to, and to, you know, and I needed some container.
And then the pandemic happened, and I really, really, really needed to, I needed it. I needed it really badly. And in a way that, you know, that felt as necessary and vital as when I first started practice. And, you know, to pick up on the idea of what, you know, what is practice, what counts as practice, was all of that time wasted? Or was there a practice going on? And because the, you know, the question, the whatever, the urge that brought me to practice in the first place was still there, it was still alive. I was, you know, sometimes I gave attention to it, but so I don't know, was that practice?
And, you know, what revitalized my practice for me was let it for a while, letting go of what my current practice is. And I just went back to counting every inhalation and every exhalation, and just saying, I'm starting at the beginning. And it was the first time I did it. It was like, it was a revelation. I was, it all came alive for me again, because it was, I had nothing to prove. I had nothing to, you know, I didn’t need to get anything. I just wanted to be there.
And so, I don’t know what, I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I think I’m trying now to find a way to create my own container and to keep this thread of practice going. And I guess if I have, if I've seen one thing that has allowed me to do it, it's when I come up against something that seems familiar or stale, maybe just letting go of what I think I know about it and seeing, can I let go of that habit of mind and approach it without everything I know about it, which is what, I guess, that's what worked for me with Zuisei: I don't need to know anything anymore. I don't need to have attained anything anymore. And it came alive for me. So I think I will leave it at that.
Every Moment as Practice
Amy: I'm going to pull out another thread. How is something wasted? Well, I thought about this a lot, because, as some of you might know, I went to the monastery for quite some time, and also the temple in New York City. And at a certain point, I stopped coming. And I struggled a lot with practice. It was very performative at times for me, trying to do it right or not fail, things like that. And, you know, and Zuisei, I'm sorry, you had said the thread you pulled out, I forget exactly what you said, but could you repeat it one more time? Because it was related to what I was just about to say. How is something wasted?
So yes, so that's what I was wanting to get at, because that sense of being performative or not wanting to fail, and a lot of people are not going to be able to do that. For me, it was around, I literally, when I would sit physically, it was so painful for me. It was physically so painful for me that sometimes I would just be either nauseated or trembling. It was that painful. And I just couldn't, I was younger, and so I thought I needed to sit in cross-legged positions or whatever and just try to manage that. I was on ibuprofen throughout sessions, and it was really difficult.
And I think when I stopped practice for a while and then came back to some other sanghas in the area I live in, one thing I brought that to one of the teachers there, and she was like, well, just sit in a chair. Now, I know that seems very obvious, right? But I was younger, and so I didn't, I felt like it would be failure to do that because I'm like, well, why would I sit in a chair? I'm not that… I'm pretty young.
So, I don't consider that time wasted, because what it did for me, even throughout all that pain and all that difficulty that I experienced that, in retrospect, could be considered very unnecessary, what I learned was I did achieve a sense of how to quiet my mind so that when I wasn't formally in practice, I did start bringing that into other places in my life. I resolved to bring it into my physical activities, my sports activities, my music, this, that, and the other, and to just breathe and use that quietness of mind that I had learned through that kind of discipline, if you will.
And I realized practice isn't discipline per se. But because I had applied myself in that way, again, you could say it sounds maybe like it was wasted time, but I don't think so, because it made me look at it. And then, in retrospect, now, I just say to myself, I want to practice, and I'm going to remove the barriers to my practice. I'm not going to sit here and be performative or to focus on whether I'm going to fail or not, but just remove the barriers. And I'm like, you know what? I'm going to sit in a chair. I'm going to sit however I can sit where I'm not so much in pain that I can't even focus on breathing practically.
And so, to me, I don't think it's wasted time, even if, you know, you could say the practice was maybe not what it should have been, but it was where I was at at the time. And so I guess I had to go through that. I don't know. But I wouldn't say that we waste time in these places. We just sometimes have to be where we're at until we're not there anymore. Which then makes the "should" irrelevant. You are where you are until you're at a different place. Exactly.
And so tying that to what Chris said earlier, there is nothing that is not part of that whole. There is nothing that stands outside. There's nothing that we cannot use.
John: I'll be with you in just a moment. Just James had his hand, and then you can go.
James: Thanks. Yeah, this was pretty incredible. Sometimes perspective is wasted. And I think the thing that hit me was that every single person here on the call came out of mother's body. Everyone on the planet came out of mother's body. Everyone. So I think that perspective is kind of missing. We all came out of mother. And the sky just fell on my head like a blue pancake. Thanks. Thank you.
The threads are well interwoven at this point, but the one common thread I hear is failure, and then some about wasted. And this is from someone who's a bit inconsistent with practice at best. So I don't think failure is accurate, because it sounds like that would be only based on comparisons. I could consider myself a failure for being as inconsistent as I am, and yet I don't, because I started at some point long ago. And wasted time is also relative. That is to say, maybe a session is not as expected, but therefore it's not wasted. It's a learning experience.
But the original thread was how to reignite enthusiasm as it starts to falter. And that could be very different for everyone, but I think remembering the benefits of sitting when one is not sitting can encourage one to sit again, because although things can be difficult, the benefits from something difficult are always there. So I just wanted to get that in as I kept hearing the word failure, because I don't think anyone hears a failure or failed at all. And that's it for me.
Yes, thank you for bringing that up, John. I think, you know, another way of looking at it would be, if you're going to fail, fail completely, thoroughly, every ounce of your being fail. Then where's the problem? Or what's the problem? Yes, can you hear me?
Amy: Thank you. Thank you for what you said. You renewed my… my… my wanting to participate in these talks. So, I went into Ryushin Dokusan once, and I said, sensing I'm lazy. And he said, okay, no, he said, we all are. What I heard was, okay, fine, now what? And maybe we just don't do enough of that. Okay, fine, now what? That's all I have. Thank you.
Cultivating the Spark
Nina: Yeah, I just, I wanted to circle back to the thread that John touched on at the end, which was the original question, I believe Jessica had written. Or, no, I'm sorry, Zuisei, maybe this was yours, the how to revive enthusiasm in the practice, turning the indolence into that question. And as I listened to everyone and I, too, heard these words failure and waste and found it interesting that those are connected to what we think of as capitalist productivity, consumerist kind of lens on what we do, doing rather than being, like is there an outcome that's wasted because there's no outcome? It's like, and failure, it's like people recently, I've been really conscious of people talking about failed marriages. And I'm like, well, what does that mean? You know, that there was no… what's the outcome? Is it the length?
And it actually made me think about practice. And that, you know, we, well, I'm sure many of you have done long retreats, and then others have been monastics. And when you disrobe as a monastic, does that mean you're a failure? There's so many examples of incredible teachers that have left and married each other, whatever. So I just, yeah, those words failure and waste, I've been sort of trying to replace those with other words, perhaps because I have an aversion.
But the other, the sort of one contribution I wanted to, I think, is that indolence for me could be also replaced with the word boredom. Or I guess the, what I think of in my practice, which is, you know, not continuous either, when I am avoiding sitting, or when I'm indolent, and I'm beating myself up about that, I try to get, the antidote for me is to get curious, to investigate why. And very often, when I feel strong aversion to sitting, there is a reason, there is a hindrance, there's a fear.
So the very act of engaging with my indolence is, my noticing my indolence, you know, oh, wait, is practice, and nothing is wasted. Because there's an outcome there, which is that we remember and we try to return. And often, and I'm sure this is a paradox, is that when I most don't want to sit, and I overcome that indolence or that avoidance or the underlying fears, then that is the time that I am most nourished and most liberated by sitting. So it's just, it's sort of like there is no failure, if you can get interested.
And then I just wanted, one last thing is I've had a mantra in my head that I plagiarized, and I have to figure out who I plagiarized it from because it's either Christina Feldman or Ajahn Sushito, which is, it was a talk on virya and energy, and the line was, where there is interest, there is attention, and where there is attention, there is energy. And so just to conclude, for me, enthusiasm could be replaced by energy. Like, how do I get interested enough to bring my full attention to a mind state, even like indolence, enough to generate a new energy or enthusiasm?
So thank you. Yes, that is a very nice place to, well, to stop just because, you know, we could keep going, but… You know, there's something very simple, I think, to remember, which is that we don't have to be on fire to practice. I mean, if we are on fire, great, then use it. Use that natural hunger and energy and enthusiasm. But if you're not on fire, that's okay, you know. I've said before, you start with a little spark, a tiny little spark.
I was remembering how the Pekani of the Blackfoot Nation, they carry a live coal in a container made out of a horn, a buffalo horn. Understanding how sacred fire is, understanding how fire is life, how that little spark will bring something to life. So they would carry it every time they would move to another place, and they would tend it very carefully. That's basically it. That's basically it. Protecting that little coal with everything that we have.
And sometimes it is going to be a tiny spark, or we have to, like, there's that koan where one of the monks is kind of raking through the embers, and he's like, no, there's nothing here. And the teacher comes and rakes a bit more, and says, how can you say there's nothing here in finding those little bits of fire? That's it. That's it.
Eight Realizations of Great Beings: Find Your Enthusiasm, a dharma talk by Zen Buddhist teacher Zuisei Goddard. Audio podcast and transcript available.
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