When I was growing up, I thought that it didn’t really matter what we thought we believed because our actions, the way we lived our lives, would demonstrate what we really believed. Zen emphasizes nonverbal understanding: "don’t tell me, show me." So in Zen, the way we move and the presence we bring to what we are doing is considered to be a direct manifestation our real understanding.

As you probably know, in Japanese, Zen meditation is called zazen and the simplest and maybe the most subtle form of zazen is shikan taza, which is often described as just being in the present or "being present moment by moment." But Jakusho Kwong,who was a disciple of Suzuki Roshi and who wrote the book No Beginning, No End, said, "... even that is not it. [Shikan taza] is being the moment." Shikan taza literally means "nothing but, precisely sitting" and it is often translated as just sitting. Zazen and shikan taza emphasize the body and posture in a way that I haven’t found in other Buddhist traditions. Dogen Zenji, the founder of Soto Zen in Japan, took a radical approach and reversed the view of mind as the agent or doer of meditation and emphasized dropping the activity of mind, and trusting practice and realization to the body.

Uchiyama Roshi, who wrote Opening the Hand of Thought, was a disciple of Kodo Sawaki who said, "The Buddha way is the faith that zazen posture is Buddha." As far as I know this emphasis both on posture as practice, and posture as enlightenment, is unique to Japanese Zen. Uchiyama Roshi talked about the practice of shikan taza as trusting everything to the posture of zazen. In Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, Suzuki Roshi said, "...try always to keep the right posture, not only when you practice zazen, but in all your activities. ....The state of mind that exists when you sit in the right posture is, itself, enlightenment. .... In this posture there is no need to talk about the right state of mind. You already have it." He ended by saying, "This is the conclusion of Buddhism," which I think would sound pretty radical to the rest of the Buddhist world. And if it sounds strange to you to talk about posture in this way, that might be good – it may shake up your assumptions – but you might also think of it as embodiment, that zazen is how we embody our practice and understanding.

Even though it is pretty apparent that posture is emphasized in Zen meditation, I think many people still think of cross-legged sitting as the best position for the body to support the mind to stay awake and be concentrated in. But zazen isn’t for the purpose of developing concentration. Like any activity, it requires concentration, but it isn’t a technique for cultivating concentration. Instead of trying to put the body into the "right position" for the best physical and mental support, zazen practice or shikan taza is simply joining the bare-bones aliveness or energy of being, before thinking is activated. This more fundamental consciousness is the consciousness that we have in common with everything, rather than our usual thinking that separates us from everything. Dogen used the term, the "true human body" to mean the living presence of one’s original nature." And the scholar, Hee-Jin Kim said that for Dogen the "body is not so much a purely physical entity as it is the bearer of ultimate truth ...." And maybe we could say the body is that which enacts ultimate truth.

In zazen, you might say that we practice stillness; and the forms are a means to extend the stillness of zazen into activity. By forms I mean both the formalized movements we make, like bowing, as well as the way we handle and interact with things when we bring our living presence to them. The forms can bring us back to the aliveness we can only know in our concrete existence. In Chinese Zen the body was viewed as necessary for thorough practice. The 7th century Zen text, the Hsin Hsin Ming said, "If you wish to walk the course of the one vehicle, do not be repelled by the sense-realm. With no aversion to the sense-realm you become one with enlightenment." The forms enable us to embody the teaching so we can get it from an idea up in our heads down into our bodies and out into our lives. For example, when we gassho or bow, I think we pretty naturally exhale and let go of our thinking as we bend forward. So, it is a physical action that brings a mental pause. When we finish the bow, we pretty naturally come up with an open mind that has space to meet whatever we face.

In formal practice, there is a lot of detail for the way we do things including serving and eating the zendo meal, the way we do service, the forms we use for Dharma Talks, and so on. These details help keep us engaged, conscientious and awake, so we are available to meet each activity as it occurs. But, in the midst of the details, if you find yourself feeling busy trying to keep up, or anxious about doing something wrong, then just be present. In practice, choose being present even if it means bumbling through what you are doing, just bumble through with presence making your state of mind your first priority.

I think that the traditional Japanese cultural arts such as Tea Ceremony, calligraphy and flower arranging tend to be associated with Japanese temple practice not just because temple life takes place within traditional culture, but because to a large extent, these are practiced in a nonverbal, concentrated setting with an emphasis on stillness of mind within the activity.

One of my favorite stories about traditional Japanese culture is about making pottery which I heard when I was practicing at the San Francisco Zen Center. The story is about a potter whose family had been highly renowned potters, like a National Treasure for generations, and the potter worked with his apprentice without giving much verbal instruction. The apprentice learned by observing the master, and his task was to learn how to mix the clay in the same manner that had been used and valued for generations so that eventually he would be able to pass it on. The apprentice worked mixing the clay, experimenting with different amounts of this and that. When he thought he had found the right combination, he went and told his master who replied, "No," and this happened a number of times. No matter what the apprentice came up with, and even when he finally found the right formula, he was still told "No." The apprentice had to know so thoroughly that the formula he had was right, that even when he was told he was wrong, he knew unquestionably that he had the right combination of ingredients.

This way of nonverbal teaching, that throws us back on self-authentication arising from our own experience, was used as an example of how Soto Zen practice was taught in Japan. However, self-authentication almost always takes place in the context of working closely with a teacher. Learning in traditional Japanese culture, has been described as "80% observation and 20% instruction" which maybe why we spend so much time in zazen, getting to know our own mind, doing the practice ourselves, without much verbal instruction. I heard another story, that in some traditional Japanese pottery traditions the ashes or cremains of previous masters were sometimes added to the clay. The thought occurred to me, can you imagine having a ceramic cup for your coffee or tea whose clay had the ashes of your favorite grandmother or grandfather mixed in – and how differently you might handle it?

Zen practice is characterized by whole-heartedness, doing one thing at a time and doing it with our whole body and mind, surrendering our body and mind to our present activity. Jakusho Kwong in talking about whole-heartedness said, "When we pick up garbage, we pick it up one hundred percent." "...we have to understand that we are also picking up the garbage inside our own minds." He said, "The words outside and inside are two ways of describing one thing. Practicing in this way.... the self becomes the activity... When we pick up garbage, everything is being picked up." When we bring our body and mind to an activity, our whole life is that activity at that point in time.

The San Francisco Zen Center’s monastery, Tassajara, is located within a large national wilderness area deep in a mountain valley at the end of a fourteen-mile dirt road, with limited access to electricity. The cabins have toilets and sinks with cold running water, so the bathing is done at a bathhouse that is heated by hot sulfur springs, a little way up-stream from the main part of camp. There is an altar at the entrance to the bathhouse where, before entering, the practice is to offer incense and recite the verse: With all beings, I wash body and mind, Pure and shining, Within and without. This suggests that as we bathe our body, we are bathing consciousness as well, so inside and outside are not treated as separate.

In monastic practice, there are also altars outside the bathrooms throughout the monastery, where practitioners stop and bow and take off their rakusu or okesa, if they are wearing one. This stopping and bowing slows us down and brings us back to the activity of the present, it brings our mind to the pace of our body. The last line of the verse we chanted before this talk began, I vow to taste the truth of the Tathagata’s words. This is a reminder that, although we hear or even understand a teaching, our responsibility is to taste it, and find out if it is true for us; and if it is, to make it real in our lives.

The word "intimate" is used a lot in Zen stories and the Chinese character has several meanings. One is a feeling of familiarity and compassion like a parent has towards a child; another meaning is almost no separation or to almost be one; and another is to experience something directly or in a non-dual manner. I think "tasting the truth" can go in two directions. One is to be intimate with original mind. The other is to know the truth of non-separation between us and everything else, by experiencing things directly, without mediating, judging, or comparing our experience. I think one indication that this is happening is when we stop reviewing or re-playing in our mind what we have said or done. By letting go of imagining how others perceive us, we let go of "self" consciousness which gives the feeling of separation. Being intimate with Original Mind or Selflessness is the same as being intimate with the Selflessness of all things.

Zazen aims at letting go of thinking which means we don’t need to force out thoughts or to try to hold the mind empty. Rather, just let go and allow yourself to wake up. Surrender your ideas, surrender your desires and expectations, surrender everything to zazen, and listen to the body. Just sit, listening to the stillness within and without. The 12th century Chinese Master Hong-zhi said, "[The empty field of original mind] cannot be cultivated or proven. From the beginning it is altogether complete, undefiled and clear down to the bottom."