Author: dorakuan

Lesson 3 – MUSHIN / 無心

This is part 3 of a series with instructions for self-study of Hitsuzendo (筆禅道), a Zen-exercise with brush and ink I teach and occasionally write about in my blog. Before continuing to exercise with the below sample, you might want to read what I suggest for practising Hitsuzendo here and here.

Today’s exercise consists of two characters, 無 (MU/nothingness, emptyness) and 心 (SHIN/heart, mind, soul …). The translation of 無心 (MUSHIN) is by no means “no heart” or “heartless”, but quite the opposite. It describes an “empty” or “clear” state of mind, which is not pre-occupied by ideas or concepts or prejudices and such able to perceive and accept something new.

Students of Zen sometimes wish to achieve MUSHIN through their practise, alas, a strong desire to reach a goal scares MUSHIN away. MUSHIN is like giving up, let it go, and just focus on the next step instead of occupying the heart with desires to reach the summit.

To prepare for today’s exercise, please follow my previously posted suggestions.

The two characters can be written in one breath, or two, one for each. The lines and numbers 1-2 indicate the direction and where to start.

Some points to consider:

• write slowly, with breath-power, not with muscle force
• exhale deeply and fully while writing
• don’t rush, from start to end you might need as much as 5 seconds
• don’t accelerate towards the end to produce and artistic effect –
  instead, put energy in your stroke and extend beyond the end
• compare your writing to the sample: thick and thin, rhythm, balance, over-all impression

Today’s example (especially the upper character MU) is written in gyosho or cursive style, which does not much resemble it’s (more complicated) standard form.

I will post more samples later … for hands-on instructions please consider my seminars in November at Benediktushof Holzkirchen (near Wuerzburg/Germany).

In our Western culture Chinese/Japanese characters are often appreciated as meaningless symbols. Most of us simply value or imitate their graphical expression as an abstract art. I remember seeing Robert Motherwell‘s “Fronier #3”, obviously inspired by Nantenbo‘s “Katsu”, hanging side by side in an exhibition about Zen an the western art many years ago.

Sometimes the characters appear upside down, mirror-inverse or in a nonsense or embarrassing context at awkward places (bed-sheets shouting “sit” and tattoos maybe amongst the most spooky I have seen).

While teaching Hitsuzendo (Zen calligraphy with brush and ink), I sometimes worry about what the Chinese/Japanese characters tell someone who knows nothing about the language. When I started studying calligraphy two decades ago, luckily I could already read some basic Japanese. Shape, expression and the underlying layers of meaning in the context of Zen, martial arts and Asian philosophy formed a much inspiring unit for me from the very beginning. Each new character, each new word or phrase was a discovery in meaning and writing.

Therefore I believe that a “vision only” approach is a pity. Japanese calligraphy can develop an impressive, inspiring, maybe shocking unit of graphical impact and meaning when both is perceived simultaneously as an entity.

After returning from a one week stay at a rural Zen temple outside Kameoka last spring, I was walking around a busy shopping area in Kyoto. The contrast between intense Zen-practise in the peaceful nature and the buzzing sound-scape and visual impressions of the city was inspiring and confusing at the same time. After a longer period of Zazen, eyes, ears and all senses are more perceptive and sensitive than usual.

Turning around a corner near Teramachi, suddenly I saw a huge calligraphy suspended above my head reading 心 (KOKORO/heart):

Seeing this dynamic “heart” while reading “heart” in that special situation and environment, I felt my own heart deeply moved. Intense periods of Zazen are called Sesshin 攝心, which can be translated as meeting or touching your heart (notice the second character in “Sesshin” is KOKORO). My heart was suddenly touched by this 心 in a busy shopping mall …

For more than half a year every now and then I thought back about that encounter, until yesterday accidentally I came across the artist’s webpage. I was pleased to see that artistic skill and beauty meet with social engagement … though, not surprised. It was already visible in that one character 心.

Zen-people are sometimes suspected that their strong focus on what they do “right know” makes them ignore the long-term effect of their actions. Always when I visit the Kyoto Kokusai Zendo, I see a poster hanging at the wall with words from the Temple’s head priest Hozumi Roshi:

The headline あすおもう (asu omou) can be translated as “let’s think of tomorrow”, with the five Japanese syllables a-su-o-mo-u standing for:

• ありがとう – I am grateful
• すみません – I apologise
• おかげさま – I am content with what I have
• もったいない – I won’t waste
• うれしいな – I am so glad

Acting in that way moment by moment, we can enjoy a happy life while acting responsible with the resources we just borrowed from our next generations.

I was shocked (but not surprised) to read yesterday that high levels of toxic strontium-90 have been found in groundwater at the devastated Fukushima nuclear power plant. The radioactive isotope strontium-90 has a half-life of 28.8 years (that means: after 28.8 years still 50% remain) and is mainly accumulated in the bones of the human body, where it can can cause bone cancer, cancer of nearby tissues, and leukemia. It is not mentioned as a health danger as frequently as the radioactive caesium-137, because luckily it is much less volatile after a nuclear accident. But Tepco recently planned to release huge amounts of that radioactive water into the sea …

What else do these experts plan?

Japan and France on Friday agreed to boost nuclear cooperation to secure a larger share of global atomic energy markets Tokyo’s pro-nuclear government looks to restart reactors despite public unease in the wake of the Fukushima disaster.”

(Reuters, June 7th, 2013)

Let us share forces to stop that! Let us conduct our life moment by moment considering あすおもう (asu omou)!

The title of this post refers to a book I read last week: a thrilling report about how a few monks successfully defended the Tessajara Zen Temple (a branch of the San Francisco Zen Center) in 2008 against a huge forest fire, in spite of the strict advise from the fire fighting professionals to evacuate. The Temple was founded in 1967 as the first Zen Monastery outside Asia by Shunryu Suzuki, a Japanese Zen-pioneer in the US who’s Zen-talks are collected in the highly recommended book  “Zen Mind Beginner’s Mind”.

Most things coming to my mind while reading “Fire Monks” were discussed in the book and blog which updated the community while the fire approached and passed through Tessajara:

Is it bold or stupid risking your life for preserving a few buildings? Is it a sign of attachment to one’s belongings, or non-attachment to your own life if you do such thing? Shouldn’t they not have better listened to the professional fire fighters? What a loss for the community if someone died, compared to loosing some buildings? Didn’t all this in the end prevented a fruitful re-build from scratch? Were they just lucky when surviving … and what, if not? And so on … everything is already said and written.

What really got me in the end and made me belief they were not just a bunch of suicidal Zen-freaks: eventually, those five who returned to the burning forest to defend their Temple relied on their own responsibility and authority.

Nowadays we are so quickly and willingly listening and following the advise of “experts”. Be it a health problem, financial issues or a technical question … always “out there” is someone who knows much better than me. If I ask “the expert”, he or she will let me know the verdict about my case … if I don’t follow the experts’ advise or don’t even ask for it, I am likely being called stupid and ignorant. And experts often like to tell us the way they see things is without any alternative  (“alternativlos” is my German Angst word of the year).

What can I do then, aside from finding experts and ask them how I should live my life?

What does it mean in a Zen context to defend your Temple against the firemen expert’s advise? First of all, that you do not transfer your responsibility for your life and your actions to somebody else. It is your decision, your acting and your responsibility. Ideally, you know yourself better than anyone else does, and only you can decide what is your next step, your way … no expert can tell you this! Of course you need some expertise, also the “fire-monks” acquired certain fire fighting skills through numerous drills and thorough preparations. Developing the required skills for mastering your life is part of the game, and likely a bit more work than just asking the experts … but most important is knowing yourself, and for this, years of Zen-practise provide a really good basis.

So I admire the “fire monks” not just for risking their lives and acting bravely, I respect them for taking their own decision and realising their own responsibility to act (which as well holds true for those who decided to evacuate last minute). Not handing over to the experts, but knowing yourself and being expert of your own life wherever you are, whatever your task or duty may be, is the meaning of Rinzai’s Zen-Word 随処作主 立處皆眞  (ずいしょにしゅとなれば  りっしょみなしん).

For testing my condition, especially ahead of a Sesshin, I occasionally write on expensive Japanese paper I brought all the way from Tokyo. Does it make a difference, writing on a nice pure white surface, compared to the cheap newspaper I usually employ for practising? Do I stumble in my attempt to write “nicely” and not to spoil the precious paper, resulting in weak characters full of hesitation?

I don’t think “good” or “bad” … what I see is just me, on this picture already a week ago …

Last week I shared 3 1/2 intense days with nice people practising Zazen, Hitsuzendo (Zen-exercise with brush and ink) and Aikiken (Aikido based exercise with a wooden sword) at Benediktushof Holzkirchen. I much enjoy these Sesshin, since they allow us to focus on our practise for some uninterrupted time. And particularly for me as a teacher, dealing with the various characters is always a good exercise …

Zazen and Hitsuzendo went surprisingly well without any problems. I much enjoy when I don’t have to talk too much for getting the writing periods running smoothly and there is a good concentrated working atmosphere in the room: not just when it’s my turn writing on a sheet of (news)paper, but also helping and observing the others.

Said that, eight beginners handling wooden swords can be thrilling … so I handed out a sheet of paper the day before with written safety instructions, and repeated the main points how to avoid accidents before we started exercising. Nevertheless, one person got injured, of all participants the most experienced one with the sword (I was already looking forward to having such a skilled swordsman available for demonstration): he twist his ankle when walking down the stairs on the way back from the Dojo. My warning “most accidents happen before or after the actual practise when concentration slows down!” didn’t help … I hope he gets well soon!

After Sesshin it is once more lots of packing and un-packing at home, finally washing the brushes one more time. Always when these brushes are hanging above the sink in my kitchen slowly dripping out, I know the Sesshin is really over … and I let my concentration slip for a few minutes over a cup of tee.
–
P.S.: Since I got a related question: no, I am not using the soap you can see in the background of the picture to wash my brushes, only cold water! Never use soap, and warm water only if the ink dried into the hair (which ideally does never occur).

This week I will teach Zazen, Hitsuzendo and Aikiken at a three-and-half days Sesshin at Benediktushof Holzkirchen. The final round of preparation has moments when I slightly envy my colleagues who do “just Zen”: all you need to bring to a Zen-Sesshin is your tooth-brush and maybe some fresh underwear …

My preparations started weeks ago when I searched for a source to order some suitable but not too expensive bokken (wooden swords). You can spend above 100 Euro for one, or below 20 … (the below 20 are not bad at all I found).

Next is preparing a schedule: when to sit, when to practise calligraphy, when with the sword? What is a good sequence of exercises for the various participants, not boring for the young but not too demanding for the elder ones? When to have breaks?

Then Hitsuzendo: brushes, ink, suzuris, paper-weights, water-jar, canvas to protect the wooden floor from the ink and last but not least hundreds of opened newspapers to write upon have to be prepared. How much do we need? 50 kg of newspaper is what I usually bring for 10 students and three days …

Finally comes filling my car with all the things … nothing must be left behind. Once my former teacher forgot his brushes in my car when he headed to the next seminar: a big disappointment for his students (which could be partially cured by a very expensive express delivery service). Once I brought all the material for the Sesshin but forgot all my private things at home (including toothbrush) …

I guess when I get older I will teach “just Zen” … fingers crossed I leave nothing behind this week!

Yesterday I visited an art event related to Butoh and Japanese Tea Ceremony. During a long introduction the two Western speakers confessed having not too much experiences with Japanese culture and the Way of Tea in particular, while the Japanese artist let us know she just discovered her Japanese roots after studying Western art for decades, and now wanted to promote Japanese culture in the West.

The event itself I found not particularly enlightening for a Western audience to understand the basic concept behind the Way of Tea. Performance and environment left it unclear to me how the ideas of Wa (harmony), Kei (respect), Sei (purity) and Jaku (tranquility) were intended to be exemplified by what could be heard and seen. As much as I am interested in modern versions and re-vitalisation of ancient concepts, once more I had the feeling the equation Japan = complicated and somewhat strange served as a background for an art event, which was interesting in its own but in certain contrast to the intentions of the organisers to promote Japanese culture.

Besides the chance of taking a really spooky photography,  it brought an idea to my mind…

What if, after almost three decades of studying Zen, Japanese fine and martial arts and (to a certain extend) the Japanese language, I’d suddenly discover my “Western roots” and go to Asia to teach, say, German football, F1 car racing or playing the violin …?

Ridiculous! my friends would say, you have no idea about it! Right. It is not your home country’s “cultural background”, it is not your DNA or your passport which qualifies you for expertise and skill in this or that art. It is years of study and training, of spending long time with good teachers and eventually finding your own creative way after becoming one with your art. Maybe for a few selected geniuses it is up to modernise and transfer to the next generation what they have learned from their ancestors…

Especially when it comes to Japanese art, we are too easily put off the scent by “qualification through nationality” and mislead by experts whose expertise is founded upon being born in a country they struggled to leave behind most of their adult life. What can these experts present to us? Most likely another iteration of the cliché spread about Japan in the West, since this is mainly what their understanding is based upon.

When years ago I saw this job advert in Tokyo I was tempted to apply at once, since I misunderstood someone might be looking for a German barbecue expert. Grown up in Nuremberg, I was convinced of having the Grilling Expert’s DNA in my genes for sure, and what a nice story of finding back to my Bratwurst roots I could tell to a delighted Japanese audience! But no, they wanted to hire Japanese staff for a German Teppanyaki restaurant … of all ways making something look Japanese maybe the most preposterous one, promoting a completely weird idea what Japanese cuisine has to offer to the world. Based on an early Teppanyaki experience, for years I really believed enjoying “Japanese food” means someone juggling knives in front of my nose …

As much as I appreciate and support the efforts of true experts promoting their art, beware of those who believe to know just because of the place they happen to be born. It’s not in your DNA. I can’t play football and the violin, my driving skills are poor …

I have been writing much about Zen and Photography in this blog without actually showing some pictures.

My recent research on the photographer Hiroshi Moritani gave me the inspiration to develop my approach of taking pictures towards a Zen Way of Photography. I want to call it Shazendo (写禅道), in analogy to Hitsuzendo (筆禅道), the Way of Zen Calligraphy with brush and ink.

To avoid this Zen blog becoming too crowded with photographies, I started another site to show some samples of my work here: http://shazendo.blogspot.de/.

Photography is a great way of communication. One can tell a long story with all it’s circumstances, atmosphere and emotion in just one picture, without words.

Last December I found an old book at the Temple in Kameoka with fascinating pictures taken at a Zen Monastery. It was not just a documentary of the Monks’ daily life, the photographies transmitted an atmosphere of participation, as if seen through one of the fellow Monk’s eyes instead of being taken from a safe distance through a camera’s lens.

I learned that the photographer, Hiroshi Moritani  (森谷洋至), after being granted permission to shoot at the Monastery showed his initial series of work to the Master, but was turned down with “your pictures reflect you do not understand anything of our life!”. So Moritani decided to join the temple for a longer period, participate the Monks’ life and demanding daily routine, and then produced a new series of photographies, now full of understanding and compassion.

This style of Zen Photography is not observation and documentation from a safe outside position. The camera, too often creating a distance or barrier between the artist and the object, completely disappeares. Once the photographer is totally immersed in a situation, fully part of it, pictures can be taken from inside out, as looking through your eyes.

No surprise that Hiroshi Moritani is convinced that Sha-do (写道), derived from Shashin (写真, the Japanese word for photography) will be practised and accepted as an art or Way (道) similar to Shodo (書道), the art of writing with brush and ink, or Kado (華道), the art of flower arrangement (also known as Ikebana). And the same way Hitsuzendo (筆禅道) was developed from Shodo (書道), I believe a Shazendo (写禅道), a Zen Way of Photography, can emerge from Hiroshi Moritani’s Shado.