I was the doorwatch at afternoon zazen last night. Being doorwatch at City Center, especially in the afternoon, is like being a driver on a Muni bus: ANYONE can walk through your doors and you just offer them service.
The first time I was doorwatch it was kind of sweet. There was an absolute newcomer who broke every rule imaginable (and this was during the three week intensive)! I had much sympathy for him, but totally feared what the Ino would do to me for letting him in without telling him about the seating assignments. The rest of the people that afternoon were mellow: respectful, inquisitive, and pretty innocent.
But last night, people were totally clueless. A group of people walked in talking, IN REGULAR VOICES! I couldn't believe it and totally wanted to shooosh them. But they weren't actually in the zendo yet, they didn't know that they were supposed to be quiet, and when I whisper/ asked them if they had any questions, they clued in and started whispering immediately.
Other people took off their shoes but then walked everywhere in their socks. I cringed with each step, imagining all the dirt they were collecting on their socks and how it would eventually end up in the zendo.
About half the people entered the zendo on the right, only 20% of them took three steps and bowed, and one guy turned left immediately, heading for the altar. I totally expected the Ino to jump out of his seat and grab the guy but he must have sat down before he crossed because the Ino didn't get up.
I cringed with each of these infractions, partly because it felt so wrong, partly because I felt responsible for not telling them enough, and partly in sadness that the Ino would conclude, "Well, she's not so cut out for this job, maybe we'll just have her sweep next time instead."
But for each infraction, there were just as many genuine questions: How do I know when to start and stop? Where is the Buddha hall? Is this a meditation center? What do I do, this is my first time? These questions, people's willingness to just 'show up at the door,' eventually softened my shoulders and made me smile. The whole beauty of City Center is that it actually practices what it preaches: we are all Buddha, enlightenment is available to everyone. I suppose we could post a little "top ten things to know before entering the zendo" poster by the door, but that would mean that we were saying that the rules are more important than the intent.
And I guess that's why the Ino can just sit there and let it happen. For all of my cringing, I imagined the Ino boiling inside. I'm just learning these rules and I learn them more for survival and respect for the people who practice here than as my life's practice. I wondered how in the world he could watch all these people break rule after rule outright and not go crazy correcting them. But I'm assuming that he's watching them the same way I did when I heard their genuine questions: they're trying, they want to make things better, they can't possibly learn all the rules of the zendo even if they do attend the Saturday intro. The point is that they're here. What they need from us is space to learn and encouragement to keep trying.
And I laugh heartily at myself as I write this post. I was the newcomer at this afternoon's zazen: bowing in shasu instead of gassho, still totally confused about the whole timing of chanting and bell ringing and drumming during service, and feeling just as petrified tonight as I was when I first entered the zendo over a year ago. It's pretty hilarious to hear myself talking about these rules like they're obvious, like they're normal, like everyone should know them. I'm not sure what it says about me, that these things are normal to me now and that watching others break them makes me cringe. I guess I hope that I keep the smile on my face instead of a stern look. I remember the difference in my heart between someone explaining the rules to me and someone chastizing me for breaking them. I hope I can keep welcoming newcomers with open hands instead of a wagging finger.
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