z: Sincerely Lost

This is my understanding of what practitioners at the zen center do when they decide to ‘take the precepts’ (they’re like a set of vows, a commitment to live your life in a way that benefits others). They begin an important process in which they work with a teacher to study the teachings of Buddhism and to figure out how to manifest these beliefs throughout all aspects of their life. The teacher and student do this side by side and it involves great study of the self. My other understanding is that in the process, the teacher gets to know the student deeply and, at the end of the process, the teacher gives the student a dharma name. This name represents the essence of that student in their practice.

I’ve always thought this was really cool and totally wanted a dharma name. I’ve even thought about what name I would get. Last week, while I was running, my dharma name came to me:

Sincerely Lost

And that's not a joke. It is, it's pretty funny. I am, utterly and totally lost when I go to the zen center. I don't know how to meditate, can't seem to get the bows right, never know which way to turn, always mess up the chants, and end up showing up for things I am totally unprepared for. I am the Mr. Magoo of the zen center (though I think I may be finding my way and so maybe there are others who are more Magoo than I am). But there's a sincerity to my cluelessness and in some ways, there's an intention to my cluelessness as well.

There’s a very formal procedure at the zen center called oryoki where you eat breakfast in the mediation hall. A friend of mine suggested that I attend it so I studied up on the forms so I wouldn’t mess it up. What I hadn’t planned for, however, was the service before oryoki. Service, to me at least, is a pretty sacred event at the zen center. It involves a lot of chanting and bowing and everyone seems very serious. As I said, I did it with a friend and she was gracious enough to make sure that we were right next to each other so that I could follow her. But then, of course, someone shifted spots so that I ended up in front of her. In a panic, I started following the guy in front of me, looking at him to know when to bow and where to face. This was fine until we got to the chanting part.

There are books to read from so you don’t have to memorize the chants but during service, there are multiple chants and since it’s so formal, there’s no announcement saying ‘turn to page 3 in your chant book.’ On top of that, many of the chants are in Japanese so I couldn’t distinguish one from another and they’re often written in block form so all the chants look the same on the page. Needless to say, I could not discern which chant to read by simply looking over the shoulder of the guy in front of me. The woman next to me was extremely nice. She saw me struggling and kept showing me her chant book, literally putting her finger on the page number so that I could find it. By the fifth or sixth time, I honestly considered just giving up: put my hands in some shape or another and just “hum along.” In fact, I did, I actually put down my arms, but then I pulled them back up again and searched for the page. I did this not so much because I wanted to chant, but more because if chanting was part of the bigger practice that was helping me so much, if chanting was what the people who actually do commit to this practice are doing, then I needed to do it too, and do it well. And in this way, I actually chose to let myself be lost, to be Mr. Magoo, I didn’t pull out of that discomfort, that awkwardness.

And now I’m making an effort to continue to do that.  I'm sincerely letting the zen center carry me along in really choppy waters. I do know that I am not totally giving myself up to it. I definitely draw the line in places, hold on to the side of the pool, grab at a log here and there or kick my feet to head back upstream but for the most part, I am choosing to be lost here and in doing that, my practice is going farther.

So, that's who I am right now, Sincerely Lost. I do hope I can stay that way. I think that if I start to get found, it'll mean that my self is rearing its impatient little head, demanding stability and predictability, foolishly believing that those things could stop the flow of this rushing river of life.