A Crow Caws

I was out of town recently and had the opportunity to sit with a Zen Center that I’ve never sat at before. Well, not exactly never. This center moved to a new location from the last time I sat there. I used to join in morning zazen and stay for breakfast occasionally. This was before my life as a priest.

The temple moved further out from the heart of the city and into an area of large property. The Sangha turned the new space into something very beautiful and natural. There were trails for walking and I saw people enjoying the property with their dogs on walks. I saw many wild flowers and grasses growing tall and strong. There was a beautiful rock garden and crows cawing their calls flying overhead.

The temple building itself, the zendo we sat in was beautiful and bright with the years of practice humming through the floors, walls, and space in between. It felt as if the dedicated practice was holding this building up strong and gentle for all beings to enter, if they only could.

This all stood in stark contrast to the drive up to the temple. The drive was still very much connected to the city. It was 6 in the morning so, I passed many folks who were still shaking off the previous night. There were people sleeping in tents off the road, on side walks, and walking the streets looking for how they were going to get by. I passed XXX theaters, stripped cars, and empty bottles crushed across the road.

There seemed to be an invisible line from the street to the temple, that once crossed, left the suffering world behind.

I was kindly greeted and shown where to put shoes and I changed into my robes. I entered the zendo, found a place to sit and folded my robes neatly while I sat zazen. It was very peaceful and quiet. So different from the world beyond the invisible line. Yet, I couldn’t stop seeing all that suffering in my mind. Why was it that I get to be here in this temple and not stuck out there? Each “CAW-CAW!” of the crows outside brought me back to just sitting, holding the posture of Buddha, sitting in Dharma, and surrounded by Sangha. The crows sat cawing, I sat breathing, The tents beyond the invisible line fluttered in the early morning breeze, before the hot summer sun would bake us all indiscriminately.

Surely, somewhere the XXX theater owner would be waking up and making coffee to get ready to go to work, prompting those who enter to try and fill up the bottomless well of desires. Desires are inexhaustible and even Buddhism can be a bottomless well of desire and attachment. Everyone has their routines.

“CAW- CAW! LISTEN!” the crows were using their Kyosaku to wake me up again. “Just sit. There is no inside and no outside. The invisible line is your mind! The gate is always open to those who wish to abandon pain and joy, love and hate!” I was reminded of those who have said that this very world of samsara, this ocean of birth and death is no other than the Buddha’s Pure Land. This seemed especially true, as I was sitting in this Zen temple, listening to birds, insects, and nature around me; while just outside in all directions the suffering of birth and death was playing out for those in unfortunate and painful circumstances.

This world of pain and suffering is no other than Nirvana. This is a massive pill to swallow; especially for those deep in the trenches of poverty, sickness, addiction, oppression, and all endless manor of possible misfortune. How can this be the other shore of awakening? Yet, where else will we experience the dharma? Where else will we experience the transformative power of zazen? Where else will we wake up, if not in this very life of samsara? This life is precious. This life is fragile and hard. Buddha-dharma is not just a means of waking up to reality, our life just as it is, but it is also a way to open our hearts/minds to the notion that we are not separate from anyone, nor anything in the universe.

We are this very universe. There is nothing out there, and nothing in here that is separate from anything else. The people I passed, the glass, the xxx theater, all of it is included in awakening. Within every problem is the solution and with every solution there is a problem. Form is emptiness and emptiness is form. They are not two and they are not one. I don’t have any answers, but I had this experience that morning sitting zazen, listening to the crows cawing their heart-minds out and felt that I too was cawing my heart-mind out.

THEY weren’t waking ME up from dozing in zazen or being lost in thought, but it is just that waking up, dozing, and being lost in thought occurred. This whole thing is happening, so that is why it is so important not to leave anyone nor anything out. Be kind. Be caring. Saying a prayer for people you pass on the street matters. making offerings is the most important thing. Material, spiritual, emotional; all are great offerings of incalculable merit. Nobody needs to know about what you're doing or offering to make a difference. Just make that difference by removing your self from the equation.

There is deep suffering in this world; unmeasurable and painful. There is an invisible line, a fence that divides this shore of birth and death to the shore of Nirvana, but don’t lament; The gate is never closed. Everyone is welcome to walk through it with ease. All that is necessary to do so is to let go of both joy and pain, love and hate. Don’t choose the known pain because it is familiar. Choose the unknown and continue to experience unknowing.

Before I left the Zen center, I thanked the abbot of the center and mentioned how beautiful the temple was. I mentioned I loved the sound of the crows. I said, “ I felt like a crow today” and shook my black Koromo sleeves like wings, letting out a little “ Caw- Caw.”