OneSangha

Last week, while a bunch of us were getting ready to leave the Zendo (Cleveland winter weather takes some preparing for) we were talking about why people practice. Which actually isn’t something I’ve considered much. But the conversation went along the lines of how you can’t expect anything to happen… but on the other hand, if it doesn’t, or if you don’t expect it to, why do you keep on practicing?

I was thinking of this a bit in terms of my forms practice yesterday. I think there I mostly practice because it’s a good practice. I mean, it’s work, and it takes time, and you have to get started at it and all that stuff – but the practice itself, is good, just by itself. Even, maybe especially, when it’s hard. Even when it seems fruitless. (I really learned that most in the forms practice, especially with the spine injury.)

But then there are those times when the practice, or the world just seems to pour out these absurd riches at our feet. It’s not a reward – that’s part of the absurdity of it. And I wonder a little how much that plays into my own motivation. I haven’t thought a lot about why to practice largely because it seemed kind of obvious. There’s a path, under your feet. So you walk on it. I mean, d’oh!

…and I wonder how much of that is the blindness of privilege. I don’t think I earned my neurochemistry either.

Just opened a Five Mountain Buddhist Seminary group as a vehicle for discussion for seminary faculty, staff, students, friends, and the curious.