Several years ago I started to attend a local Zen Buddhist center. I’d been interested in Buddhism for a long time and had practiced meditation on my own but felt to really get anywhere it would be best to recieve some instruction from those in the know.

What is Zen? Zen is very simple . . . What are you? ‘Don’t know.’ Zen is keeping this ‘Don’t know’ mind always and everywhere.

At the time they had a service every weekday morning from 6 to 7 a.m. and longer ones on Saturday and Sunday morning. They would begin with 108 bows which started from a standing position then you went to kneeling on your meditation cushion and touching your forehead to the cushion and then back to standing. It was done at a fairly quick pace and even though I was in good shape it was surprisingly strenuous and I would always sweat.

I enjoyed the early morning practice. The world is a different place before everyone is awake. It’s quieter. You notice things more. The following is a little piece I wrote several years ago about one of these morning practices. ~

Train whistles punctuated the silence and echoed in the distance, which is the usual thing for this time of the morning in Lawrence Kansas. Actually they whistle all day long, it’s just that in the morning quiet they are much more noticeable, more memorable. They were soon followed by some pigeons cooing from their roost on the house next door and dogs barking in the back yard.

We’d just finished bowing & chanting and now sat facing the wall. The sweat built up during the 108 bows was finally starting to dry and cool me. My forehead was dry now but there were still pockets of dampness and the occasional bead of sweat that trickled down my side. I wanted to move so my clothes would absorb them and stop the distraction but instead I just asked ‘What’s this?’

In between thoughts I was able to relax a little into the silence. Just feeling the rising and falling of my belly and chest, listening to the world wake up.

‘What’s this?’ on the in-breath. ‘Don’t know.’ on the out. Make that ‘DON’T KNOW!’ as Zen Master Hae Kwang advised. Big answer to a big question. Believe in yourself completely.

The early spring sun was just starting to come up and illuminate the dharma room. Streaming through the windows, shadows and light cut across the hard wood floors of this converted garage in this older east Lawrence neighborhood. I could make out a slight haze from the incense and candles. The later left a slightly acrid just-extinguished odor that awakens some distant memory in me.

‘Who’s feeling this?’

‘Don’t know.’

In my peripheral vision I could make out other robed figures sitting quietly. Little mountains, so solid on their cushions. Row on row of wanderers. College professors and students, ex-cons and housewives — and me still dealing with a thousand little ‘whys’ and one big one. I try to just observe — whether it’s this room, the sounds of a Kansas morning or my thoughts, but like everyone I find myself caught up in them.

How did we all end up here? I find myself wondering where they are on this path. Are they just beginning or 20 years in to it? Is there really any difference?

‘Don’t know.’

Zen Master Seung Sahn’s words echo in my mind. ‘Just put it all down.’

As I relax more and sink into the cushion, I start to feel grounded, more solid and connected to this earth. That’s when I notice some movement on the floor several feet to the north of where I sit. It’s some kind of bug I guess. It’s spring and insects are coming out. It moves closer and I can tell it’s a spider.

Several weeks earlier during bows I had unintentionally squashed a spider that had crawled onto my cushion. Mashed it right into the cushion with my knuckles — didn’t notice it until I saw a big splotch on the back of my hand.

‘You might want to watch that hand.’ the guiding teacher advised.

‘We have Brown Recluse spiders in the building.’

Brown Recluse spiders are poisonous and can leave horrendous open wounds that take months or longer to heal. Nothing ever happened so I was relieved but mindful of their presence. Another ‘why’.

These spiders are common in the Midwest and although they are ‘reclusive’ and not known to be aggressive, they will bite when surprised and threatened. Instead of spinning webs to catch prey, they hunt at night like little tigers in the jungle of your home — or this dharma room. This is often when people get bit. A spider looking for a meal or a dark place to hide will sometimes crawl into a bed, an article of clothing or somewhere else where a person may unintentionally brush against them and get bitten. Oftentimes you don’t know you’ve been bitten until you have a reaction.

The reaction isn’t nice. Since there is no anti-venom, there’s no cure, only treatment that may vary from antibiotics to surgery (to cut away the necrosis and graft healthy skin). I made the mistake of googling ‘Brown Recluse’ and looking at the photos — powerful imagery.

Of course these are Buddhist here so they’re not keen on killing anything - even poisonous spiders. I have seen teachers calmly stand up in the middle of practice, hold their long flowing robes out and, while balancing a spider, walk outside the hall & shake them off.

Remarkable poise. Remarkable respect for life.

It’s about 3 feet to the north of me between the wall and the line of cushions where we all sit. The spider scurries in small bursts. A few inches here, then a foot or so. When it reaches a spot on the floor directly in front of me it stops. While I can’t see the small upside down violin that marks most Brown Recluse, it certainly appears to be one. ‘Yeah that one has a fiddle on its back for sure.’ I think.

I surprise myself by continuing to just observe. No opinions arise, no judgment just ‘What’s this?’

‘Don’t know.’

Several minutes pass by and still it sits there. Several more minutes pass and I find myself absorbed in this moment. What has brought me to this place, this practice? This spider!? What is this fear? Who is it that feels it?

‘Put it all down.’

Ever so slowly the questions begin to subside until it’s just me staring at the spider staring at me.

The sunlight spills across this wood floor and I see this brown spider crawl under my blue cushion.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 16th, 2008 at 10:35 am and is filed under Zen, mindfulness.