Good bye

1. This morning after a period of zazen, Misha Merrill, Jane and Patty's extraordinary teacher, and the treasured guiding teacher of our Twining Vines Sangha, gave a dharma talk. Then we cleaned the temple for an hour, the kitchen cupboards emptied and all its contents washed and dried, the bathrooms scrubbed right down to the grout, every surface dusted, every zafu and zabuton beat whisked down to purest black. Then, after coffee and sweets, a few of us rehearsed tomorrow's Shuso Hossen ceremony, reviewing the complex choreography, the unfamiliar playing of instruments--han, inkin, the brass bowls of the doan. Among us plenty of uncertainty, even anxiety--will we get it right? Amazing, the distraction of the ego. I had my own version for most of the morning. Oh, but the waste, the endless waste of it all; how lost to the moment, to the connection we might share when instead we are caught up in the fear that we'll blow it. Of course we're human and that's what we do. Except when we don't. Except when we are so completely present for each strike of the brass bowl, each bow, each call of the Shuso's "Hai!" that there is no ego, there is no thought of failure or success, no I striking the bowl, no bowl, only striking; no I, no bow, only bowing.

2. It's over. The practice period ended last night. Tonight's entry is the mirror image of the one I wrote the night before practice period began. I offer no summary, no sweeping insight cast like a bright light over these 30 days. No last thoughts, no questions, no answers. But these days, the zazen, the incense and candles burned, the services and sutras chanted, the meals prepared and served and eaten, the dana bowls emptied and filled and emptied again are alive in this body, and ripple out from each of us, touching, as Misha said this morning, every shining figure of Indra's net, all sentient beings, all inanimate objects, sky, weather, light, space and time.