The Practice of Togetherness
Why must we counter today’s tendency towards isolation? Zuisei sheds light on the current unbalanced aloneness chosen pervading our society, and offers a way back to ourselves and each other.
This talk looks to the teachings of Bhante Gunaratana (Loving-kindness in Plain English), Derek Thompson's article in The Atlantic, “The Anti-Social Century” and more.
This talk was given by Zuisei Goddard. See below for transcript.
Transcript
This transcript is based on Zuisei's talk notes and may differ slightly from the final talk.
The Practice of Togetherness
Welcome to the Ocean Mind Sangha, if you’re joining us for the first time, welcome to our little buddha field, which we’ve been patiently and diligently building together for a few years to help “dispel the miseries of the world,” as the great Indian teacher Shantideva said. Because living is hard, isn’t it? Living in the world, living in our own minds, living with one another is hard. It’s hard when we love or like one another. It’s even harder when we don’t see eye to eye. Harder still when we don’t understand what drives us, then we just react to every passing wind.
The world is burning with so many fires right now—literal and figurative—and it’s difficult to know where to even begin to put them out. But for us, that much at least is clear: we begin where we always do—right where we sit, right where we stand, right where we live. First doing our utmost to understand how it is that our actions either contribute to or help solve the problem. And then doing our utmost to have what we do, what we say, and what we think all fall on the side of the solution.
I think of the incredible work that some people are doing to develop the cure for cancer, for example, or Alzheimer’s. People who are trying to figure out how to blot the sun to temper global warming, people who are developing laws to grant a wave personhood so it can be protected… from us humans. People who are studying the consciousness of animals and discovering that they’re more like us than we ever thought—that birds dream about singing, rehearsing their songs in their sleep. That turtles can be chatty or cranky, they can vocalize to get your attention, or get huffy if you take them out of their soaking tub too soon (I’ve been reading about a group that specialized in rescuing turtles, these ancient animals that date from the time of the dinosaurs.) That dogs might be able to smell the passage of time, and can therefore pinpoint the exact time their owner will walk through the door—well, some dogs (Lucas doesn’t seem endowed with that particular gift or, if he has it, he keeps it on the down low.).
I think too of the many people in cities and towns and villages spread all over the world who’re right now taking a little bit of time to get still and quiet. Who’re taking the time to see and ask and try to understand what is not yet clear, about their minds, about their bodies, about their hearts—and those of others. It’s very humble work, in one sense, very ordinary. And it’s also humbling, and therefore potentially profound.
Every time we ask ourselves, What if what I see is not all there is?, every time we say, I’m sorry I hurt you—I was scared, or I was confused, or I was anxious or uncertain—and I’m very sorry I put that on you, every time we ask, How can I help, what can I do, where can I serve?, we’re doing work as urgent as the life-saving work of a doctor or a climate scientist. Because this work is life-saving too, and some of us know that in our bones, in our cells. Some of us have seen it save us, or save someone else. It’s part of the privilege I have, doing what I do—to see how the sincere wish to understand themselves can change someone’s life.
Loving-kindness
We’ve been reading Bhante Gunaratana’s book on Loving-kindness—Loving-kindness in Plain English. We’re getting to the end of the book, and many of the teachings we’re reading in these later chapters we’re familiar with. The unconditionality of loving-kindness. The recognition that we all suffer, and therefore all beings are worthy of respect and love and compassion
The power inherent in living in such a way that we wish each other well, despite the fact that others’ actions might point to the contrary. But one thing I was reflecting on as I thought about this, is that in order to see this, in order to feel the effect of loving-kindness in our lives, we need to spend time together. As much as we need the aloneness of meditation, the ability to be in one’s “own chamber” as Blaise Pascal once said, we also need togetherness to understand one another. I need to see you, be with you, smell you—to quote my first teacher, Daido Roshi—to understand that your experience, although different from mine in its particulars, is also the same in its basic facts. All things arise, persist for a bit, and pass—all things, good or bad, pleasant or unpleasant. All things appear in response to a series of conditions, they are what they are, for a while, and then they disappear. A basic fact of life.
And so, although you and I may struggle differently, maybe you get anxious and zingy when things become uncertain, while I get quiet and shut down. Or you lean toward anger when you don’t get your way, while I’m more of the resigned type. The fact that we struggle is universal—it has nothing to do with race or gender or age or nationality or religious beliefs. We struggle because we are. So part of the trick to practicing loving-kindness is getting past surface appearances and really looking at what’s happening under the lid, as it were. And also looking at how we’re making things harder than they really need to be.
How We Disconnect
A fellow teacher was saying earlier today that some members of congress are advocating to withhold disaster relief funds for California—the argument being that state and local governments should take care of these events. One particular congressman went so far as to say FEMA shouldn’t exist, that it’s a misuse of federal funds. It’s not our problem, in other words. How does this help, this increasing isolationism, this false belief that I’m only responsible for me and my loved ones, and no one else? That building walls to keep others out will 1) do that in any meaningful way, and 2) lead to happier, more fulfilling lives for those on the inside?
I recently read an article about our isolation—about the fact that so many Americans, in this case, are choosing to spend more time alone, in front of their screens, than with one another, and the effect that this unbalanced aloneness is having on everything from our politics to our brains. We used to go to the movies, for example—my brother and I went to the movies with my grandparents 3 or 4 times a month when we were growing up, and later, as a teenager I’d go every week with friends. Now if I go to the movies once or twice a year it’s a lot, because I do all of my movie watching at home. (Apparently the typical American watches 19 hours of television a week nowadays—roughly the equivalent of eight movies.) Eating out—same thing—people would rather order take out, so they can eat while watching TV.
Learning a new language, playing sports, volunteering—they’ve all declined precipitously over time. I don’t know what the statistics are for meditation, but it’s clear that since the pandemic, many people have moved their meditation practice homeward—us being one example, of course. I think about this—are we contributing to the problem by choosing to practice in this way?
Oh, but what’s the problem? What’s the result of all that time we’re spending at home instead of in the world? A growing sense of disconnection from nature. I remember in my last few years at the monastery, noticing that with the kids that were coming in to Zen Kids. They didn’t want to get dirty. When I was a kid I jumped at the chance to get out in the rain, for example. To get good and wet and muddy, just because I could. Not these kids—they weren’t used to it, so it was uncomfortable.
Another effect of our hermeticism is our inability to relate to others, to build the social relationships we need to thrive as human beings. A breaking down of boundaries and the exhaustion that comes from that, because even though we spend more time alone, we’re spending that time not with ourselves but looking at others on social media—which makes us constantly disappointed in ourselves and constantly exhausted. We’re like “a walking battery that is always stuck in the red zone,” as the author of the article said. Young men, especially, are among those spending more time alone, watching or playing videos, and lacking a sense of neednessness (the sense that someone needs you in their life; that you’re useful in some way), they’re suffering from depression or dying from drug overdoses. Perhaps most tellingly, we’re all losing the ability to make room for others in our minds, because we have so few opportunities to spend time with people who aren’t like us, that we’re never exposed to other ways of seeing the world. Add to that Artificial Intelligence, where you can start a relationship—any kind of relationship you choose—with a machine programmed to affirm your every opinion, meet your every emotional need, that the space between us might get so wide, we’ll have a very hard time bridging that gap.
What is insular is fragile—
a whole chain is much stronger than a single link.
In our case, my hope, my vow, is that we use this digital space to further our connection—particularly people who wouldn’t be able to practice otherwise. But I’m not naïve enough to think it replaces in-person interaction. I know with certainty we sit together less than we would if we had a physical zendo, a place to find each other, and work together, and run into problems as we try to work together because we don’t always see eye to eye, then working to get past our differences and into common ground. And it nags at me, because I don’t want us to play at practice. Because without regular, committed, sometimes intensive meditation periods, everything else we’re trying to build is on shaky ground.
On the other hand, spending time alone is really helpful. Without that ability, this kind of spiritual practice is very challenging. So we need to be able to spend time with ourselves, to face the ups and downs of our minds, the restlessness of our bodies, and staying steady, discover what’s on the other side.
Technology and Togetherness
On the other hand, technology isn’t all bad. And it can be used wisely—and this is something I really, really want for us. The Amish, for example, choose which technologies to bring into their communities in order to enhance the good. They have refrigerators and washing machines, but not radios or TVs—because what matters to them is time spent together.
In closing, the article asked some good questions:
Although technology does not have values of its own, its adoption can create values... For decades, we’ve adopted whatever technologies removed friction or increased dopamine, embracing what makes life feel easy and good in the moment. But dopamine is a chemical, not a virtue. And what’s easy is not always what’s best for us. We should ask ourselves: What would it mean to select technology based on long-term health rather than instant gratification? And if technology is hurting our community, what can we do to heal it?
One of the answers, the author suggests, is ritual—one thing we do and know well—particularly ritual that brings us together. And this doesn’t refer to religious ritual only, but also to regular, secular events that bring people together in some way: The weekly movie night, the monthly book club, the biannual retreat.
Ritual is observance, and observance can be as simple as taking someone in—standing in line at the cash register or sitting in the doctor’s office, starting a conversation with a stranger, on a plane or a train or a ferry. That moment when we smile at someone, ask them how their day is going. Inside, we might be wishing we could just stay quiet because it’s easier and feels safer, but some part of us also understand that the moment is connection is not just about us. Connecting means bonding or tying together. So, in a moment, we highlight what brings us together, not what sets us apart.
I’ll admit though, that I’m talking to myself as much as you as I say this. Since leaving the monastery I spend a lot more time alone and connecting with strangers takes work. But I still get emails from people I spoke with at the monastery, years and years ago. Maybe we had dinner together—30 minutes where we did what was difficult and shared slices of our lives—we connected in some way, and they still remember that, and now they’re reaching out to say, How are you? How’s your life going? What are you up to? Have you read this or that? I remember you had an interest in…
Togetherness in Everyday Practice
So maybe another way to think of loving-kindness is as the practice of togetherness. Whether for a brief moment, or for a lifetime, to nurture what brings us close. So, you tell me, how do we counter our growing tendency to be insular? What we’re looking for is safety in that aloneness, but does it even work in the end? The article argues that it doesn’t. Buddhism would say the same. What is insular is fragile—a whole chain is much stronger than a single link.
But what practices do we use to close the gap of our apparent separation? When we take a risk and we reach out, and it doesn’t go well because what we encounter is friction, how do we work with the impulse to rush back into our shells? How do we repair a link that got bent or broken? How do we inspire ourselves to not just do what comes easily—which might be to retreat? And for us, how do we use this technology wisely for the service of our practice and not against it?
Sometimes I notice some of you sitting during one of your intensives with the phone next to you, and when you get bored or restless, it’s the easiest thing to just scroll for a while. I’d like to ask that at the very least you not do that on screen. Remember we really do need to work to protect this zendo, this sacred space. And each one of us has to do that in our own space. But working with this challenge doesn’t need to be a drag.
Someone pointed out during our virtual sesshin that having to sit that many hours, not in a zendo but in front of their screen helped them really see how addicted they were to their phone. At any point, they could just pick it up, if they wanted. But they were determined to break themselves from that habit, because they saw what it does to their minds.
So, how? How do we do this? The world we have now is the world we have? How do we live well in it, fostering our togetherness, because that’s what will help us in the end?
Explore further
01 : Lovingkindness Paramita with Zuisei Goddard
02 : On Loving-Kindness with Zuisei Goddard
03 : The Anti-Social Century by Derek Thompson
The Practice of Togetherness, a dharma talk by Zen Buddhist teacher Zuisei Goddard on today’s tendency towards isolation and how we can and must counter this in our every day practice.