This is the third—and hopefully last—installment of Monkey Mind—Monkey Body (MMMB). If there are any further comments calling for a response, we will publish an appendix to honor those. In the prior installment, one of the last things I mentioned is this issue of people publishing commentary about meditation who apparently have not done much. Let’s dispose of it early on, so we can get to some of the more interesting and germane aspects of the Zen monkey.

ZEN AS THEY UNDERSTAND IT
It is troubling to me when some leading lights in psychiatry publicly caution against practicing meditation without access to a therapist. It seems a bit self-serving, from the perspective of an admitted amateur. The concern, as I get it, is that individuals may confront negative emotions, suppressed memories, and aggravate latent impulses, which may lead to negative consequences. This may be a legitimate point, for fragile individuals, but I think not for the great majority.

My concern with this model of the human psyche is that it seems paranoid, which in turn seems to me the very bedrock of neurosis. Buddhism, Zen in particular, does not share a dark and distrustful view of the original nature of the human being. The appearance of any such fearful manifestations represents, at best, an early stage in meditation. If the authors, and their patients, were to penetrate beyond the level of initial discomfort on all levels—physical, mental, and emotional—they might discover their fears evaporating, in the direct experience of Samadhi.

As I said in closing MMMB Part 2, quoting Master Dogen’s Self-Fulfilling Samadhi (Jijuyu Zammai), “Mind and object merge in realization” and then, he says, “go beyond enlightenment.” It takes some time for this to happen, usually. Those who cannot take the time, and will not expend the effort, to reach this turning-point, are in no position to criticize meditation, let alone to spread fear of its consequences to others. They have not yet experienced the true benefits of meditation—that is, of Zen meditation—but have apparently stopped short at the first sign of encountering something unpleasant.

Again, the process of getting there is one of subtraction, not addition. Allowing our preconceptions—such as mind and body—to “drop off without relying on anything.” Including our preconceptions of the demons, Mr. Hydes, and other imagined bogey-men that we are told lurk in the shadows of our minds, waiting to pounce. Here, I fear, we glimpse a commingling of the precepts of psychiatry with those of theological thinking (Satan!) in a presumptive suspicion of human nature. This is not a Buddhist view, and, I suspect, not even good psychology.

Again, recovering our awakened Buddha nature is not dependent upon our worthiness, intelligence, whether we harmonize well with society, or any other arbitrary attribute—including a lack, or presence, of neurosis. In Zen meditation (zazen), our fears and delusions are precisely the dharma that we are encouraged to examine thoroughly, on the cushion. But it is not analysis.

Rather than an endless process of navel-gazing, zazen becomes objectless—moving far beyond the concepts of good and evil, right and wrong, sanity and insanity. Objectless meditation is not your ubiquitous New Age brand of meditation. Because it is ultimately objectless, and thus subject-less (self-less), there is nothing left to fear. If we do not include our fears and anxieties in the content of our meditation, it is not complete. Enough said. Now let’s move on to other things.

Chopping wood
An interesting phenomenon is the arousing of angry internal dialog, following from heavy physical exertion, brought to my attention many years ago by a senior student (now priest) of Zen. He mentioned that while digging a ditch, he noticed an obsessive internal (and infernal) exchange recurring between himself and another person from a former relationship. This familiar scenario can be interpreted in a variety of ways, mostly amounting to a dog chasing its own tail.

I suggested that instead of pursuing an endless regress to get to the bottom of where the wrangle is coming from—who started it, how to end it (winning or losing the argument)—and hoping for resolution through rational analysis; that the phenomenon might more usefully (and briefly) be dealt with as a backformation of body-mind. That is, when we experience anger, fear, or its many variants, the body excretes various chemicals, such as adrenaline. We feel that rush of energy, which triggers and enables the survival-oriented “fight or flight” syndrome. Then we either engage in some pretty heavy physical activity as a result, or perhaps simply enjoy the cheap thrill. Anger, particularly rage, feels really good. We feel fully alive, a relatively rare experience.

So the simple proposition is that this can go backwards. The heavy physical activity triggers a more rapid breathing and heart rate, leading to the release of the same chemicals; the mind recognizes the frisson of energy coursing through the body, the heart beating ever-faster and the breath coming in short spurts. So the mind is confused: What’s all the excitement about? Well, it has to be about something, and if there is nothing that threatening in the act of digging a ditch, by god the mind will work something up. Like that argument we had, what, two years ago? Three? Can’t remember, but we never did resolve it to my satisfaction. How did it begin, again? Oh, yeah, she did this, I said that; she said this back at me and I responded…

All of a sudden, with little or no connection to the present reality, we are running over and over those same neurons, revving up the engine for all it’s worth. Man, it feels good to revisit old wounds. Perhaps this is the cleansing process. Or maybe it’s just picking at the scab.

At any rate, seeing it as a mindless process—a natural process—“born of this body, mouth and mind,” provides the necessary distance from guilting oneself over it, adding to the sturm und drang. The monkey likes to wallow in self-obsession. It is endlessly fascinated with melodrama.

IT’S ABOUT TO BLOW
Not that there is absolutely nothing to fear. Fear has a foundation in truth. This line from a Bonnie Raitt song reminds me of a dream I had in the past year. It was quite lucid and revolved around a booth that we (I often find that “I” am associated with a “we” in dreams) had set up in some sort of festival, or trade show. The items we were displaying were attractive and interesting, and a young lady (part of “we”) was working the booth while I visited and looked over things. The undercurrent was that I and others in the “we” group knew, somehow, that there was a bomb, or a threat of a bomb, planted in the booth (whether by us or others wasn’t clear); and that it might blow up at any moment. Lifting one of the items to examine it, I noticed it was wrapped with string, which suggested it might be a tripwire, connected to the bomb.

I think this a pretty good metaphor for everyday life, whether one lives in the shadow of suicide bombers, or IEDs, or not. At any time, our lives may come to an abrupt end. The “explosion” may come in the form of an aneurism, a car wreck, or the proverbial bolt of lightning.

Someone in the history of Zen admonished practitioners to “Stamp life and death on your forehead and never let it out of your mind for an instant.” This may seem a bit obsessive, but it is certainly more realistic than running around day after day, avoiding any attention to the precariousness of our situation, until we find ourselves on our deathbed. Life takes its meaning from death. If you don’t think so, just try to imagine what life would be like if we did not die. Horrible to contemplate.

The germane point in the context of this text is that the body is in charge of this eventuality. We can postpone the inevitable through a variety of dodges—including diet, exercise regimen, and looking both ways before crossing the street—but eventually, the last beat of the heart in a finite sequence will appear. It is out of our control to any significant degree. It’s about to blow.

DESPERATE PEOPLE DO DESPERATE THINGS
In the light of this reality, it is not unexpected that people will do silly and desperate things, as if that will make a difference. People engage in all sorts of melodramatic behavior, based on their melodramatic view of existence, and their subliminal recognition that it is not under their control. The archetypal control-freak is the caricature of this persona. We try to control things we think we can control, precisely because we cannot control anything of any consequence.

As an aside and example, some people even think it important to control the administration of the Zen center. Some want to get rid of all vestiges of Japanese accretions to the form of the practice. I tell them that it doesn’t matter whether the lifeboats are Made in Japan or in America; the point is that the ship is going down.

People do ridiculous and foolish things because people are foolish and ridiculous. While this may be a tautology, it does not follow that it is not true. Take a look in the mirror (of Zen). When we sit on the cushion in zazen, we call a halt to the foolishness. Sitting still for protracted periods of time may appear ridiculous—and in the common culture, which, again, is based on the idea that we are in control (whether ordained by God or by Science)—of course zazen is ridiculous. It is a truly ridiculous idea—that by simply sitting upright and still for a sufficient amount of time, we can accomplish anything positive, or to any degree meaningful.

We have to reach a point of desperation, to even give zazen our serious consideration. Hey, this is just crazy enough that it just might work! Buddha was at the end of his rope when he sat down under the bodhi tree. Most people are at the end of their ropes, but they may not know it. Or maybe they are simply shy about admitting it. Most men (and presumably women—why should they be any different?) “lead lives of quiet desperation” according to Henry David Thoreau. Even in the magical, pastoral surround of Walden Pond, we may imagine the acrid smell of his desperation seeping forth. Remember Emily Dickinson’s self-assessed monkey?

I'm nobody! Who are you?Are you nobody, too?Then there’s a pair of us — don't tell!They’d banish us, you know.

Indeed they would. Especially if we continue to insist upon the inconvenient truth that what we are able to control is truly pitiable. Nobody has less control than a nobody, and in truth, we are all nobodies. Of course, nobody wants to hear this. Everybody wants to be somebody.

How dreary to be somebody!How public, like a frogTo tell your name the livelong dayTo an admiring bog!

And then only if you are exceedingly lucky. Most bogs are not very admiring; indeed, they can be quite self-absorbed. Bogged down. Even Buddha had his detractors. When the hoi polloi were assembled to hear what was billed as his last teaching, the Lotus Sutra, he was told that some had come only to debate, or criticize. He said they were “free to go.” The first exit poll ever recorded.

WHAT WOULD A GUY LIKE ME DO IN A CASE LIKE THIS?
This circular bit of phrasing, coined by another person who was myself some years ago, shines the light on the fact that we don’t even know what kind of person we are, let alone understand body-mind. To even ask the question, Who am I? or to assert a self, betrays a misplaced confidence in conceptual thinking. Recognition of this state of affairs reduces all of our knowing to learned concepts, which have only slightly more validity than those we make up on our own. Knowing here does not only include our so-called knowledge base, but the very act of knowing itself, filtered through the senses and discriminating mind.

“A guy like me,” for example—what exactly does that mean? “A case like this”—as if there were circumstances that can be completely grasped for their definite meaning. Placing quote marks around each and every word can be illuminating:

“A” “guy” “like” “me.”

A anything, as if we can isolate one from the many; guy as the cavalier presumption that we know what this self is; as if anything is like anything else; and as if there is a me that is, actually, something, anything. Let alone in a “case” “like” “this.”

Of course, it’s not just a guy thing. “Gals” are subject to the same implacable monkey. As are all sentient beings, to one degree or another. Including, notably, monkeys.

The idea that we are better than monkeys, in the sense that we resist, resent or outright reject the notion that we are descended from apes, or have a common ancestor with them, is tied to the idea that Zen will make us better. Surprise! Zen changes nothing. “Before and after, not a hairsbreadth of difference” is one old aphorism.

We do not practice Zen in order to become better people, let alone better monkeys. Zen practice allows an insight into the true condition of things-as-it-is, to use Suzuki-roshi’s succinct phrase. What it means to say that we are, indeed, a monkey, in some wise; and, just as indeed, not at all a monkey, on the other hand; becomes clear in the light of the insight that arises with awakening to the truth of buddhadharma. The issue may not exactly become moot in the clear light of satori, but the distinction between both being a monkey and not being a monkey becomes ridiculously transparent in the warm embrace of the magnanimous, nurturing, and joyful mind. Of course I am a monkey! Are you a monkey too? Then there’s a pair of us — don't tell! They’d banish us, you know.

Returning to where we began, with the teaching that all this confusion comes with the territory, as becomes apparent when we begin to appreciate the implications of the Repentance verse that we in Zen chant so frequently, perhaps without really getting it:

All my past and harmful karma born from beginningless greed hate and delusion through body speech and mindI now fully avow

PATIENCE IN ACTION
In Zen, we are clearly training the monkey in patience. Aspirations and expectations of higher pedestals aside, we come to recognize that while this “stinking skin sack” may not be a monkey, exactly, it is close enough for jazz. It may as well be a monkey even if it isn’t. And we may as well get used to it. We may find that the beginningless three poisons are not necessarily endless.

The monkey is beset by conditions beyond its control, including the obvious present quagmire, but also consequences from the past, even past lives, that cannot be avoided or wished away through magical thinking. Dancing and singing, we must eventually pay the piper.

One modest Zen student remarked that at least he finds himself reacting in his head, rather than in reality, which is one step up from mindless impulse. Karma derives from the root word, kr, which means action. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and not only in physics. Taking action in the present determines karmic reaction in the future, whether immediate or long-term. That’s the good news, the really good news, according to Buddhism.

What is the action we should take, given the inescapable monkey-mind-body? In the three actions: body—sit upright; speech—admit to ignorance; mind—go beyond thinking, or grasping. “If even for a moment you express the Buddha’s seal in the three actions by sitting upright in Samadhi, the whole world becomes the Buddha’s seal, and the entire sky turns into enlightenment.” This is the most we can do. Monkeys, start your cushions!