Zen Characters of Living

Many years ago, I borrowed a video tape from the public library. It was about Zen Buddhism, a practice that I was just entering into. It covered the history of Buddhism, monastic practice and aspects of Japanese culture influenced by Zen. I was intrigued by what was described as the “seven Zen characters of beauty,” aesthetics that have come to be the hallmarks of the art and craft of Japan:

• Asymmetry (Fukinsei) - not adhering to perfection or purposely breaking away from formed perfection
• Non-attachment (Datsuzoku) - to be open-minded and detached: this is freedom because being without form is of every form
• Naturalness (Shizen) - that which is artless in its natural form; without pretense
• Simplicity (Kanso) - neither complicated nor gaudy; artless simple beauty
• Silence (Seijaku) - limitless silence; the inward looking mind
• Wise Austerity (Koko) - wizened, solitary and stern; dignified like an old tree
• Profound Subtlety (Yugen) - a lingering memory hidden deep inside; limitless implication

These are the exact descriptions from the video. The images of artwork and craft that accompanied the narration were especially haunting. Three years later, I participated in a Jukai ceremony, where I formally became a lay Zen Buddhist practitioner. There one “receives” the Bodhisattva precepts, the precepts being guidelines of sorts that help the Zen student in their training toward enlightenment. Further, it provides a common reference for one's daily conduct and the spiritual evolution of the Zen community.

At some point I felt that the community stopped talking to me. Maybe I stopped listening to it. It is many years later and while I still value the Buddhist precepts, it is no longer a preferred language of understanding. I'm finding that it's useful understand many languages because you never know who you are going to meet and how they would prefer to communicate. What I've noticed is that most people at least have a feel for the language of art aesthetics.

So when I consider the Zen characters of beauty, it is like I'm considering precepts. Not as guidelines per say, but as a way by which I can recognize that I'm growing toward the light and not simply aiming at a reflection.

I would like to think of my life as artwork of the kind described by these characters, or at least moving toward it. It doesn't require that I be a follower of a specific belief system (although I'm not like those would fear religion). Instead, it asks me to become an artist…and there is great stimulation in talking and sharing about art with other artists of all types.

The community I connect to is now a little bit larger; it's a little easier to hear them.

© Richard Aquino, 2007

Strangers, Friends, Community and Giving Thanks

In past years, I would open up my home during the holidays. Not just an opportunity for friends and family to get together, these gatherings were really meant for strangers and displaced souls who didn't to have a a community to share this time with. They were times for engaging interesting conversations, eating international dishes and to making a fair bit of noise. My mother, roommate and I would invite the different people involved in our lives, strangers to each other, to see who would show up and how they would mix it up.

And then like everybody else, I got too busy.

I had taken a job that leveraged off of my workaholic tendencies (again). My connections to friends and family became more tenuous until I no longer had time to participate our usual activities. The workplace became a surrogate for the community I was leaving. My personal experience of community at work was authentic due to the unique relationship I had with all departments and company clients. But a looming specter of fear and lack of staff empowerment diminished that sense of community from being a global corporate experience.

I have a very basic way of knowing when you and I are in community: it's when you and I are in each other's laps, when we are intricately involved in each other's lives. In that sense, "community" is a foreign experience to most people. We only seem to draw to each other under times of acute, regional distress, or when we're forced into it (that's where corporation's idea of "teamwork" comes into play). Otherwise it is much more convenient to commune with our Internet connection and TiVo box. It's not that we've become totally incapable of engaging as community, its just that it has become less obvious why it is necessary to do so.

I now find myself with free time on my hands (having left the workaholic-inducing environment) and with a renewed ability to give myself to these gatherings and other things again. And in this Thanksgiving season, I find myself thankful for particular things: With the recent fires here in San Diego and the losses that some have experienced, we all came through it safely; With the passing of my favorite uncle I was reminded of the importance of generational experience and wisdom, and how it prepares us to meet our future; Even though some of us are moving into "interesting times," we can be utterly surprised by who will walk back into our lives to keep us company through it all.

My cousin's husband defines a friend as someone you are willing to invite into your home. So if you happen to be in the North County San Diego area next week, I invite you to come over for Thanksgiving dinner. By tradition, it's a potluck deal where we supply the meat and you bring something that can keep the mouths of 3-4 people busy. The planned highlight will Mark's famous smoked turkey. This year I thought I'd try something different. The "Main
Event" will be held the Sunday before Thanksgiving Day, with the "Leftovers Event" held on Thanksgiving Day. Come on Thursday and you may not have to worry about bringing a dish! Because people do get busy during the holidays, having two gatherings gives people a chance to stop by.

We run an open house, so arrive at your own leisure. The door opens at 1:00pm and closes when the last person leaves. Invite your friends and family along (children are welcome). Drop by for a few minutes or stay the whole evening. Bring your swimsuits because the Jacuzzi is all warmed up. Bring an appetite. Bring your laptop (I'll have a wireless Internet connection available).

Community is created when at least one other person shows up. Let me know if you need directions.

© Richard Aquino, 2007

Labyrinth: Faith and the Path

Faith isn't believing 50 impossible things before breakfast. Faith isn't believing that the mystery of God can be captured in words. Mature faith is risking your life, throwing yourself into it with abandon.

from The Journey from Fear to Faith by Alan Jones

“Doubt,” we said in answer to his question, “the opposite of faith is doubt.” It seemed fairly obvious.

Alan Jones, the dean of San Francisco's Grace Cathedral, was speaking to us at the beginning our training to become Labyrinth facilitators. He would tell us that no, the opposite of faith is certainty. “When you're absolutely certain you have nothing to learn, there's no mystery; no risk, no real joy.” This was the first time I had heard a Christian teaching that framed faith and religion in terms of the experience and exploration of life.

The Labyrinth offers a metaphor for faith: it's a single path from the entry point to the center. But to look at the path and its convolutions only creates feelings of uncertainty. The eye vainly traces the pattern in attempts to understand where it goes, to make sure where it leads to. And the human tendency is to want the sure thing. But the moment it is unclear that the sure thing is correct, I deviate from the path, perhaps begin seeking a more certain thing. Or perhaps I'm looking for that which is more modern, more relevant, or more to my style. The problem is that in doing so I never get anywhere and I never arrive.

Faith is that which holds me to the path, especially when I come to distrust that path. Even though my mind knows that the Labyrinth path is a single path, there are days when my eye still feels the need to trace it. But rather than be swayed by the rational, I allow myself to be guided by intuition (which has a better sense of where Truth might be). When I can put my faith in the path, I will be led to where I need to be.

So as I walk the Labyrinth, I can begin to become familiar with my feelings of fear and uncertainty as they arise, how they are joined by the feeling for the need to be certain. I come to recognize how those feelings (and the thoughts created with them) begin to control and direct me. When I walk the path of everyday life, it's now easier for me to sense the moments when I would try to delude myself into a life that would be less than, so that I may begin to ease myself out of that delusion.

Understanding faith in this way, I've learned that the spiritual path is not a narrow sliver of dirt, although that's what one tends to see. Rather, the path is boulevard-wide, able to hold space for many people and their experiences, thoughts and beliefs. When I know that faith is about experiencing life, then I can approach life courageously and live it fearlessly each and every day. I can then walk a more direct line toward my Truth.

© Richard Aquino, 2007