The non-arising of ill-will is a gate of Dharma illumination; for [with it] we protect ourselves and protect others.
不生惡心是法明門、自護護他故。

When we considered the gates related to each of the four brahma viharas, or divine abodes--benevolence, compassion, joy and abandonment—we saw that cultivating these qualities is said to help us overcome ill will.  Maybe you've also encountered the five hindrances that are known to be obstacles to tranquility of mind—sensory desire, sloth and torpor, restlessness, doubt and ill will.  That last one refers to all kinds of thoughts related to wanting to reject: feelings of hostility, resentment, hatred and bitterness.  

Early teachings say that ill will arises when we encounter an object of aversion, and that when we pay undue attention to our aversion we both nourish existing ill will and create the causes and conditions for additional ill will arising.  Paying attention to loving kindness does the opposite: it keeps ill will from arising and diminishes the impact of ill will that already exists.

Let’s start with this object of aversion that gives rise to our feelings of ill will.  Hostility, hatred, resentment and  bitterness arise when we feel threatened in some way.  Somehow, the small self isn’t going to get what it wants, and on that basis it’s afraid of annihilation, this despite the self being a temporary collection of five skandhas.  We dwell on the things about this object of aversion that we find unpleasant until we get caught up in ill will and look for ways to remove this thing from our experience.

Thus ill-will is about aversion, running away from stuff we don’t want and creating rejection and separation.  Craving is the opposite, but it provides the same energy and we’re always chasing or running away from something.  However, there’s some subtlety here.  My understanding is that in the Sanskrit, ill will or byapada is not interchangeable with anger or hatred.  It’s the intention to do harm, a malevolent intention.  There’s connotation of movement, rather than just feeling or thought.  Even so, there are those who say that ill will is the same as anger or aversion or other things.  We don’t need to decide that here, but let’s just not lose sight of the aspect of ill will that’s about actively wishing harm to others.  

We investigate what’s happening for us in the moment by moving our attention away from the object of aversion toward the ill will itself.  When Buddha taught about the hindrances of which ill will is one, he said we have to know when it’s present and when it’s not.  We have to know how it arises and how it’s dissolved.  We also have to know how to keep it from arising in the first place.  In addition, we can ask: What is our ill will covering?  Frustrated desire, fear, insecurity, some other discomfort?

Ill will is the ninth on Buddha’s list of ten unwholesome actions.  These are things done with body, speech and mind, and they’re related to the three poisonous minds of greed, anger and ignorance.  Anger or hatred is said to give rise to ill will.  When we engage in ill will or any of the ten unwholesome actions, we create suffering for ourselves and for others.  Avoiding these actions is the path that leads to the cessation of suffering for ourselves and protects others.

Psychologists say there are various reasons that ill will can arise.  We’re envious of what someone else has and we think it’s unfair that we don’t have it.  We’ve convinced ourselves someone else is inferior in some way, and either we need to feel that we have power over others, or we’re worried that we have the same inferior characteristics so we want to distance ourselves to show we’re not the same.  Maybe we’ve been injured or humiliated by someone else, or maybe we’ve just learned this ill will from our parents or community or other social groups.

All of this is based on feeling powerless.  The five skandhas are clinging to the five skandas as tightly as possible, even though the self is impermanent and even though the self is not separate from anything, let alone from the object of our aversion.  Ill will towards others fuels separation and ill will from them can help to fuel isolation.  A like-minded group can be bound togther by aversion; it’s how members connect with each other.  Ill will provides energy and makes life interesting and not flat.  There’s a lot of energy in ill will, and once we get caught up in it it’s hard to find our way out.

The Pali Canon says, If there is a pot of water heated on the fire, the water seething and boiling, a man with a normal faculty of sight, looking into it, could not properly recognize and see the image of his own face. In the same way, when one’s mind is possessed by ill-will, overpowered by ill-will, one cannot properly see the escape from the ill-will which has arisen; then one does not properly understand and see one’s own welfare, nor that of another, nor that of both; and also texts memorized a long time ago do not come into one’s mind, not to speak of those not memorized.

If we’re caught up in ill will, that’s all we can see.

There’s a famous section of the Dhammapada, one of the earliest teachings, that says, He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me: for those who harbor such thoughts ill will never ceases.  He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me: for those who do not harbor such thoughts ill will ceases.  In this world hatred is never appeased by ill will;  ill will is always appeased by love.  This is an ancient law.

We turn ill will and resentment around by cultivating loving-kindness.  That sounds nice, but what does that mean?

The Dalai Lama says we need "internal disarmament" in order to bring about genuine peace.  Internal disarmament is letting go of things like ill will in ourselves before we can work for peace with others.  If we don’t first deal with our own ill will, we might draw from it the energy needed to make external change, but we’ll simply replace one flawed system with another.  We might get angry about systemic injustice and out of that might come some useful change, but then our ill will persists, and when we’re the ones in charge, we can start abusing our own power.  We project that ill will onto whoever opposes us, and then our other hindrances kick in.  I think my intentions are good.  I think I understand the real reality we’re facing better than others.  Therefore, I need to be in charge and run things myself so that they run properly, and I never stop to take care of ill will and anger I’m still carrying.

Non-arising of ill will doesn’t mean we ignore our difficult feelings or repress them somehow.  It means we have to transform how we see whatever it is that’s giving rise to these feelings.  We have to see all beings as those for whom we cannot harbor ill will.

In that earlier essay on benevolence I mentioned that it’s difficult to have ill will for dogs or infants or beings who may be vulnerable.  Can we have that same approach to all the beings we encounter?  Okumura Roshi has written:  Of course it is usually very difficult or seemingly impossible for us to do so. In fact, if we can love someone, that person is not our enemy; people become our enemies because we cannot love them. So each of us must transform our consciousness and go beyond discriminations between friends and enemies.

The gate statement says that we are to protect ourselves and others.  It’s more difficult to have ill will for someone you’re trying to protect.  There has to be some little spark of compassion.  We can ask: is there some good quality in the object of our aversion?  That tiny spark is the place where we can begin to cultivate some loving kindness.  Is there some common ground, something we share?  Maybe it’s simply that we both care strongly about the topic at hand?  Or simply that we’re both human beings who suffer?  Is there something we can do to encourage this little spark to grow in the other person?  Can we encourage positive behavior?  What can we offer?

Approaching someone with an open hand that’s offering something rather than with a closed fist is a first step.  Maybe it’s only for ourselves.  We don’t know what causes and conditions have led to someone’s words or actions.  While we’re not being asked to condone toxic behavior or ignore injury, we are being asked to give up clinging to hatred and the desire for revenge.  It’s not so much that we can change the people around us and make them stop being objects of our aversion; people suffer from some pretty deeply entrenched delusion, and they don’t necessarily want to change.  The point is that by meeting ill will with loving kindness, we take care of ourselves as well as others.  We foster our own calmness and peace, and by extension that protects others in addition to reducing our own suffering with feelings of agitation and unhappiness.

We can notice what’s happening and how we feed our ill will.  When those feelings start to arise, we can notice them in body and mind before we get hijacked.  We can stop replaying scenes and fantasies in our minds about the injuries that have been done to us and how we’re going to get even.  Being stuck in that loop is a hindrance to taking useful action.  We have to let go even if we didn’t get our revenge and even if circumstances didn’t change, and then we can decide to do something else even though ill will feels good.  Righteous indignation feels strong and powerful.  I know I’m right and someone else is clearly inferior!

Dogen says in the Shobogenzo Zuimonki: Even when you are clearly right and others are mistaken, it is harmful to argue and defeat them.  On the other hand, if you admit fault when you are right, you are a coward.  It is best to step back, neither trying to correct others not conceding to mistaken views.  If you don’t react competitively and you let go of the conflict, others will also let go of it without harboring ill-will.  Above all, this is something you should keep in mind.

We can choose not to accept the gift of ill will and to leave it alone.  In other words, we can choose not to argue unless we have to.  That’s how we protect ourselves and others.

Those early Buddhist teachings go on to say that our own ill will doesn’t really help us achieve anything.  It doesn’t have any effect on the object of our aversion because our feelings are our own creation.  Likewise, someone else’s ill will for you doesn’t diminish your own virtues and good qualities because those feelings are that person’s own creation.  Ill will is no real help to anyone and it takes a lot of energy and attention that you’d really rather be putting toward other things.

Nonetheless, ill will and its resulting actions by one person or organization can lead to ill will and unskillful action by another.  This is why the gate statement says that nonarising of ill will is the way we protect ourselves and others.  If we don’t take on someone else’s ill will toward us and we don’t engage with it, it’s said to be like an unaccepted gift.  If we don’t accept this “gift”, then that ill will has nowhere to go and nothing to engage with.

Hojo-san has several times told the story of Bodhisattva Never Disparaging:
In the Lotus Sutra there is a chapter called “Bodhisattva Never-Disparaging.”  This chapter is the story about a bodhisattva who made prostrations to everyone he met saying, “I will never disparage you because in the future you will attain Buddhahood.”  Other monks and lay people were arguing about Buddhist teachings, each trying to prove their own understanding was best.  But the bodhisattva Never-Disparaging did not study systems of doctrine or meditation; he just walked the streets and made prostrations to whomever he met, saying he would never disparage them because they would someday become Buddhas. But those arguing did not like this bodhisattva because he would not choose sides in arguments; he said he respected everyone involved in any argument since all were bodhisattvas. From the perspective of the people arguing and fighting, a person who respected all points of view in their conflicts could not be a friend. Sometimes people even beat or threw stones at Bodhisattva Never-Disparaging, but as long as he lived he did not stop his practice of honoring everyone he met.

Here’s example of someone who didn’t take up the gift of ill will.  He approached everyone with open hands.

Early teachings give two other ways to work with ill will.  One is noble friendship and the other is suitable conversation.  These are both about putting ourselves into wholesome surroundings that let us take care of ourselves and others, and about developing healthy habits and letting go of unhealthy ones.

Noble friends are people you hang out with who are good examples or models for you.  They have experience with living a wholesome life.  These could be sangha friends and practitioners, but they could really be anybody in your life who has wisdom and compassion.  Spending time in the company of people who don’t harbor ill will helps us not to feed that habituated thinking in ourselves.

As for suitable conversation, one of the ways ill will takes hold is when we forget about right speech and start griping and complaining with others.  Everyone’s views start to reinforce each other and we fan the flames of our ill will.  We really want to be validated in what we think, and if what we think is that this or that person or organization deserves contempt, then we want to know that others agree.  That’s powerful stuff, both because we want to fit in and because we can pick up all kinds of stuff we can use to shore up our ideas about I’m right and they’re wrong and I’m going to get my own back.

We tend not to immerse ourselves in material that challenges what we believe.  We’d rather pay attention to material that reinforces our views and makes us right and comfortable.  That’s one of the reasons that practice is both valuable and difficult.  We’re frequently asked to put aside our habituated thinking and see what’s really true, and not just because the teacher or the sangha says so; we have to do own practice.

Causes and conditions are huge and outside our ability to completely know, so it’s good to maintain some perpsective.  We have to be careful about attributing bad intentions to others.  Someone did something and I feel injured, but was that injury really directed at me personally?  Was there really a malevolent intention or do I just need someone to blame?  Is the threat or injury to me really as big and long-term as I think it is right now?

Of course, one important aspect of being bodhisattvas is accepting that there is suffering in our lives.  We’re all going to be injured and wounded in some way.  We’ll never have peace if we think that happiness and a normal life is a life without suffering.  We need to put that expectation aside, because reality doesn’t work that way and we’re just setting ourselves up.  We have to give up clinging to our ideas about how things “should” be.  I shouldn’t have any less than those around me.  She shouldn’t have been rewarded for poor performance.  We shouldn’t have to put up with people who aren’t like us.

It’s important not to deal with your ill will by having ill will for yourself, feeling bad about your feelings.  As the Dhammapada said, hatred doesn’t get dealt with by applying more hatred.  Just like other feelings and situations, ill will is impermanent.  It arises and passes, so we can watch it and identify it but we don’t need to identify with it.  Ill will is not the sum total of who we are, even though when it’s happening it’s all we can see.

We don’t need to have guilt about our feelings.  They’re part of the human condition.  We do need to have the courage to look them in the eye and see what’s really going on.  Then we get to consider what will help that ill will dissolve.

Inhibition of self-conceit is a gate of Dharma illumination; for [with it] wisdom is fulfilled.
我慢を治めることは法明門である。

We’ve talked frequently here about the relationship between individual self and universal self.  This isn’t the first time we’ve encountered a gate that seems to be about managing our arrogance and pride.  However, “inhibition of self-conceit” seems like an unusual phrase.  Two important feelings come out from the kanji; one is patience and tolerance, and the other is governing or managing.  In other words, this gate is less about having a high opinion of ourselves and more about having self-control, self-discipline, or self-restraint—we might say personal maturity.

“Wisdom is fulfilled” also seems like an unusual phrase.  This wisdom is prajna, and there’s a feeling of satisfaction or sufficiency.  “Fulfilling” in this case is to realize or make real.  We might say “wisdom is fulfilled” is to completely manifest prajna without any gaps.

Now this gate makes a bit more sense.  If we exercise some self-control, we completely manifest the prajna that’s already here.  We get out of the way.  

That doesn’t mean we suppress the small self, or make it less real or less important than the larger self.  Both are equally real and equally important.  Uchiyama Roshi says that desires and cravings are a manifestation of the life force, so we don’t need to hate them or get rid of them.  We just need to not be caught up in them.

It seems important not to stumble over the English words.  For one thing, if these is no self, then how can there be self-conceit or self-control?  Then what about words like like “inhibit” and “control?”  The root of “inhibit” is to hold something.  Control is about restricting activity.  There’s a feeling of rigidity, or blocking something by force.  However. practice isn’t about forcing anything.  Self-control isn’t about forcing ourselves to be inauthentic or act in an unnatural way.  Instead, we let go of being pulled around by the three poisons, and then we manifest prajna.

In particular, self-control is about not being at the mercy of our emotions and desires and being able to manage how we express them in our behavior, especially in difficult situations.  Not being at the mercy of our delusion is the same as prajna, seeing clearly the nature of self and the nature of reality.  When we see clearly, we don’t go to pieces when strong emotions or cravings come up.  We can keep our patience and equanimity and still recognize what’s arising for us.

Sawaki Roshi said, “Illusion means being unstable.  Illusion means being controlled by the situation.”  When we don’t really know what’s going on, we really feel the need to try to control things.  That’s when we have angry outbursts, say unkind things or take some desperate unskillful action.  In trying to control the situation, we lose control of ourselves and become unstable.

When we see clearly, we’re able to let go of some of that fear of the unknown.  When we let go of our illusions, we’re no longer at the mercy of the situation.  We remember that everything is impermanent, and that the universe doesn’t do things just because they're what we want, so we can manage our expectations.  The self doesn’t really need all the defending that we’re inclined to do.  Ironically, we could say that self-control comes from the small self not needing to be in control, at least when it comes to satisfying all of our cravings and aversions.

It isn’t that the emotions and desires don’t arise—they do, because we’re human.  This gate isn’t saying we should ignore or suppress those emotions and desires, because that’s not healthy.  It’s encouraging us to consider how we express those emotions and desires, what we do with them in the outside world.  Are our cravings and aversions leading us into unskillful behavior?  That could be everything from addictive behaviors, eating disorders or impulsivity to simply getting annoyed with a friend.

Usually we think about self-control as our rational functions prevailing over our feelings and emotions, the rational self keeping the unruly passions under control.  Current thinking in brain science says that that can’t actually work, because they don’t operate separately.  Rational functions are heavily influenced by feelings.  

When I worked for the government, I used to make this point with people I was coaching as they prepared to make presentations.  These presenters needed to get something approved, or at least gain acceptance for an idea or an approach, but government data can be dry and dull, and they make for a boring presentation.  I used to suggest presenters tell stories about humans affected by this information, because decisionmakers weren’t actually making decisions based on impersonal data, but on how they felt about them.  If you’re talking about affordable housing, tell about moving-in day for the single mother with four kids who finally has a safe place to live.  I had to give these presenters permission to include feelings and values in the presentations, and acknowledge the entirely of the audience’s experience and the human condition, because somehow in the government you’re not supposed to recognize that people have and use emotions.  It wasn’t that those feelings and values weren’t there in the audience members—they just weren’t being acknowledged.  

The data are connected to our values, and that’s how we make decisions about our behavior.  Frequently, there are two values in conflict, and that’s where we suffer related to self-control.  On the one hand, we know that lovely big bar of chocolate is going to taste good, and we’re hardwired as mammals to want sugar and fat.  On the other hand, we also want to be healthy and fit and live a long, full life, or have certain kinds of attractive bodies.  If we make the healthy choice, it’s because the desire for health is focusing our reasoning on the wellness consequences of the chocolate binge, not because reason alone made us take the skillful action.  In this moment, one value system came out stronger than the other.

In a previous gate essay, I mentioned that taking an unskillful action once makes it easier to take the same action again (provided you were successful in getting whatever you wanted).  If two sets of values are clashing and one wins out, our habit is to not repeat that argument.  Well, last time it was good (or at least OK) to take this action, so probably it’s good or OK to do it again this time.  This is habituated thinking.

Interestingly, what’s hardwired into us as humans for prehistoric survival is sometimes at odds with modern values, as we saw with the chocolate example.  I see a direct link here to Uchiyama Roshi’s conundrum about peace and progress.  Again, his big question was about how we maintain some contentment and peace of mind while still engaging in the development and progress that we need in the modern world.  Humans, like other animals, have always been engaged in competition for territory, food, mates and other things.  Today, people are also competing for fame, profit and self-image, yet they also want to be happy, contented and comfortable.  These two value systems can be in conflict.  One kind of self-control can be to put off taking time off at home and resting in order to work hard for a promotion.  Another can be to let go of the need for fame and gain in order to live simply and peacefully.  Neither of those things is bad; both could be skillful action, and both could be examples of self-control.  How can we find a balance?

Self-control or self-discipline can be related to habituated thinking, and if so then we can begin to see how to practice with it.  Our habituated thinking says that there is a fixed and permanent self that needs things or needs to avoid things.  It says that I’m separate from others and from the universe, and I’m not responsible for the effect my actions have in the world.  Out of these delusions, we’ve developed some habits of body, speech and mind.  Breaking any habit is a matter of paying attention.  Here’s that craving, aversion, impulse or thought again.  What’s really going on here?  Recognize what’s happening, don’t look away, and accept that this habit or feeling is there.  Why does this seem important?  What values are arguing with each other here?  What’s going on in the body?  Investigate this thought or feeling.

Looking carefully and seeing clearly allows some space for our natural prajna.  We can stop identifying with the feeling and have some nonattachment.  Nonattachment is not separation; we can completely enter into what’s happening for us while not being attached to what’s happening.  This is the realm of governing or managing ourselves with patience and tolerance. 

We need to briefly consider here the relationship between zazen and self-control, and it takes us right back to “zazen is good for nothing,” Okumura Roshi’s famous translation of a Kodo Sawaki phrase.  Actually, this teaching shows up much earlier in Dogen’s Fukanzazengi as “Zazen is not shuzen (習禪)” or “Zazen is not meditation practice.”  Shuzen literally means “learning Zen,” which is to try to control the body and mind with your intellect.  It also means you’re sitting zazen with the objective of seeking some spiritual peace and tranquility.  “Learning Zen” or shuzen is when zazen is used as a means to get something. 

However, the next line in the Fukanzazengi says, “It is simply the dharma gate of joyful ease.”  When we just sit and open the hand of thought, then the mind settles down and we find ourselves right in the midst of the dharma.  Zazen is not a practice of self-power or self-control.  It’s not about forcing ourselves to sit still in a certain way when we’d rather get up and do something else, and not a matter of trying to put things in order with our own energy or intellect.  When we let go of the self, we’re already in order.

If zazen is not a technique for cultivating self-control, what can we actively do to begin noticing when we’re falling down and try to work on it?  One thing is to pay attention to our temptations and distractions.  Once we’re aware of what triggers our impulsive behavior, we can minimize those distractions.  Something is winning out over our good intentions—it’s a clash of values.  What are we running away from by giving in to our cravings and aversions and losing our self-control?  What’s our motivation for managing ourselves well, and what’s our motivation for giving in to unskillful impulse?  Do we need to avoid the potato chip aisle or the beer and wine section of the grocery store?  There’s a reason we don’t bring our tablets and phones into the zendo, why the things in that room are simple, and why we do sesshin without toys.

Another thing we can do is to consider the role of faith in our practice.  We’re willing to delay gratification, if you will, when we believe in what we’re doing.  Because zazen is good for nothing, it’s not about thinking that there’s a bigger reward coming for sticking it out and finishing the period than for getting up and getting a snack.  If we believe that our being bodhisattvas is wholesome and necessary in the world, that value can win out over the cookies.  Our forms and precepts are also helpful in reminding us about our vows and the teachings, and helping us manage ourselves compassionately.  Having some structure can help us work with our impulses and remind us about the interdependence between self and others, and between the individual and universal selves.  Forms and structures are handrails we can hold onto until we can manage ourselves in the way we want to on our own.

Speaking of compassion and tolerance for ourselves, we need to make sure we rest.  When we’re under stress and under siege, we’re much more likely to lose our self-control and act out in unskillful ways.  After sesshin at Sanshin, we take the next morning off from the usual two or three hours of practice that start before dawn.  Being committed to the dharma center is good, but burnout is not.  Going straight from one task to another to another is a recipe for fatigue and instability.  Everyone needs balance, a life outside of the dharma center and activities that are not directly related to zazen, work and study.

Exercising self-control doesn’t mean we don’t take care of ourselves or that we become cogs in the practice machine.  There’s no question that our practice asks us to consider self-control.  It’s important to know that what we do affects others as well as ourselves.  When we lose control and do stuff we regret later, we reinforce unskillful habits for ourselves and maybe we cause suffering for others.  Thus to practice with self-control so that our prajna shines through, we need to deeply understand the nature of self.  We need to see how our delusions about self cause us to put a lot of energy into gratifying cravings and aversions.  It’s not that we negate the self or become martyrs, because then that small self becomes a toddler having a tantrum.  What more common image is there of losing self control?

If we can patiently and tolerantly become familiar with our values and motivations, we can see what’s really happening when we lose our self-control.  There are some important questions we can ask ourselves about this and there’s some discernment we can do.  One of the five elements of spiritual health is clear understanding of one’s inner truths and on what these are based. (1)  If we’re encountering situations in our lives and not always making the choices we want to be making, what’s going on?  What value is struggling with what other value?  Are there things you can understand about that argument that help shift the balance of power?  Are there ways you can remind yourself of the benefits of seeing with eyes of prajna rather than with eyes of toddler?

If self-control is about being skillful in expressing our emotions and desires, then we don’t have to deny our strong feeling when they come up.  If it’s time to cry, it’s time to cry.  If it’s time to get someone’s attention with some strong words, so be it.  We can do those things fully and authentically without being destructive.  That happens because we’re not at the mercy of these strong feelings.  We can completely integrate them into our moment by moment experience and see them fully for what they are, and  maybe we’re a little less likely to be blindsided by them and knocked off our feet.  We can keep our attention where we want it, wherever that may be, without being distracted.

Trying to maintain control by willpower, or force of intellect, is only going to get us so far.  Prajna doesn’t show up until we open the hand of thought.  Being authoritarian with ourselves just creates more ideas and more thinking and more disturbance.  We’re already wise.  We don’t need to coerce ourselves into being something we’re not.  There are consequences of taking this human form, but this form is also the ground of our practice.  Befriending our impulses means we become more intimate with ourselves, and because we’re not separate from the universe we become more intimate with that too.  

Studying the self might mean taking a psychological approach, but from a practice perspective that’s not the whole story because it doesn’t necessarily take into account the universal self and the three marks of existence: impermanence, interconnection and no-self.  In order to fulfill wisdom, or completely manifest pranja without any gaps, we need to patiently steer ourselves toward our aspiration and our vows, because then self-control, self-discipline and self-restraint arise naturally.

Notes
(1) There are five generally accepted elements of spiritual health:

• a balance/integration between individual and universe or self and whole
• a feeling of hope or optimism that one is capable of getting through tough times and an understanding of where to turn for help
• an underlying sense of peace and wellbeing
• a sense of purpose in life and that life has meaning
• a clear understanding of one’s inner truths and on what these are based
• a way to work with (not necessarily to completely answer) the big questions: Who am I? What is my life about? What’s my place in the universe? How do I make decisions? What’s my relationship to other beings?

Awareness of time is a gate of Dharma illumination; for [with it] we do not treat spoken teaching lightly. 
知時是法明門、不輕言故.

This gate is about having a sense of urgency and not wasting time.  It’s not just a matter of applying ourselves, but applying ourselves properly.  If practice is based on ignorance, it’s a waste of time.

First let’s review the ways that Dogen looks at time, and then let’s take up this idea of wasting time in our practice and whether that’s possible.

According to Okumura Roshi, Dogen considers time in three different ways.  The first is the common way: time flows from the past through the present to the future.  The second is the time that is the absolute present.  The past has gone and doesn’t exist anymore, and the future has not yet come and doesn’t exist yet.  The only actual time is the present. There’s a famous passage in the Genjokoan in which he says:
Firewood becomes ash. Ash cannot become firewood again. However, we should not view ash as after and firewood as before. We should know that firewood dwells in the dharma position of firewood and has its own before and after. Although before and after exist, past and future are cut off. Ash stays at the position of ash, with its own before and after.

Although before and after exist, past and future are cut off.  At this present moment, firewood is completely dwelling in the dharma position of firewood.  In the past it was a live tree, but that time has gone.  In the future, after the firewood is burned, it will be completely gone and only ash will exist.  The ash isn’t here now.  The live tree isn’t here now.  There is only firewood now.  The past isn’t reality any more, and future isn’t reality yet.  Only this present moment is actual.   That’s what “past and future are cut off” means.

Okumura Roshi frequently explains Uchiyama Roshi’s view that the present moment has no length.  If it had any length, we could cut it in half and one part would be in the past and the other in the future.  The present is only a boundary between the not-existing past and the not-existing future.  The present is 0.  Time disappears when we look at in this way.  This is the second way of looking at time: time is the absolute present, what I often call the eternal now.

The third way of considering time is that it doesn’t flow.  In Bendowa, Dogen says:
Therefore, even if only one person sits for a short time, because this zazen is one with all existence and completely permeates all times, it performs everlasting buddha guidance within the inexhaustible dharma world in the past, present, and future.*  In our zazen, we sit at this absolute present or eternal now.  When we do that, we are one with all time and all beings; there’s no separation.  This is the time that does not flow.  There is only one moment, without any parts or segments like seconds or minutes or centuries.  Those are our ideas and ways of measuring, and we need them in order to function, but that’s just our story about the eternal now that doesn’t actually flow.

In conventional thinking about time, we can write a story about ourselves as karmically conditioned beings.  Dogen says that in zazen, the time that doesn’t flow appears because we recognize that we’re in the absolute present, and in the absolute present there’s no coming and going.  There’s only the eternity of awakening throughout all space and time, or Buddha’s eternal life.  Sawaki Roshi said, “It’s pointless for human beings merely to live a life that lasts seventy or eighty years.”  He was talking about this third way of considering time that doesn’t flow.

All three of these ways of considering time are true.  Somehow, we’re right in the middle of all of them, even though they seem to contradict each other.  Awareness of time in the conventional sense reminds us that in spite of what Sawaki Roshi said, this body has a limited lifespan.  We only get so many years in which we can practice and carry out our vows, so it’s foolish to waste time either not practicing or practicing unskillfully.

Three texts related to this gate come to mind immediately: Sandokai, Fukanzazengi and Gakudo Yojinshu.  Sandokai, or The Merging of Difference and Sameness, is a long poem by Shitou Xiqian  (J. Sekito Kisen) written in the 8th century.  The theme of the poem is that we need to see both the individual and the universal.  This is the difference and sameness.  Seeing both of these—form and emptiness, small self and universal self, individuality and universality—is seeing reality.  If we don’t see both aspects, we’re only aware of half of the story and we’re not living out our lives completely.

The end of the Sandokai says, I humbly urge you who study the mystery: don’t waste time or don’t pass your days and nights in vain.  Not wasting time in this context is not practicing with only one or the other aspect in view.  If we’re not making an effort to awaken to both form and emptiness, we’re not really practicing wholeheartedly.

In Living by Vow, Okumura Roshi says about these two lines that no matter how hard we practice, if our practice is not based on true reality we are wasting our time.  Suzuki Roshi’s advice about this line was that we shouldn’t sacrifice actual practice for idealistic practice.  If we’re practicing based on how we want things to be, or our ideas about what practice is or should be, we’re sacrificing actual practice for idealistic practice.  We’re not awake to both difference and sameness.

Next is Dogen’s Fukanzazengi, or Universal Recommendations for Zazen.  This is the first thing he wrote after coming back from China, where he practiced with his teacher Tendo Nyoji and had an experience of awakening while sitting zazen in the zendo.  He understood the importance of zazen and wanted to help others to understand by providing instructions and explanations.  Near the end of the Fukanzazengi he says:
You have gained the pivotal opportunity of human form. Do not use your time in vain. You are maintaining the essential working of the buddha way.  Who would take wasteful delight in the spark from the flintstone? Besides, form and substance are like the dew on the grass, destiny like the dart of lightning — emptied in an instant, vanished in a flash.

Human form is the only form within the six realms of samsara in which we can practice.  The other five have various impediments, so we’re frequently encouraged to be grateful that causes and conditions resulted in our being born in human form.  Fukanzazengi says it’s a pivotal opportunity and we need to not throw that opportunity away.  It goes on to say that what we’re engaged in is the essential working of the buddha way.  There’s nothing outside of that, and we don’t need to waste time looking around for things to fulfill us or make us better somehow.

Who would take wasteful delight in the spark from the flintstone?  The spark isn’t the fire—it flashes and then it’s gone.  It’s a distraction from the main thing.  To take delight in just having the spark rather than the fire is a wasted opportunity.  That’s just being pulled around by the three poisonous minds.

Earlier in the text Dogen asks why we think we need to leave our own seats and travel around through dusty foreign lands looking for awakening, peace or nirvana, and says that that’s fruitless or meaningless.  It’s just a distraction from the practice and awakening that are right in front of us, and a waste of time.  Then Dogen reminds us that forms are impermanent.  Not only are the things we’re chasing after impermanent and ultimately unsatisfying, but also this human form won’t last forever.  We have to take this opportunity to practice while we can.

Finally, we come to Dogen’s Gakudo Yojinshu, or Points to Watch in Studying the Way:  Out of fear of time slipping away too swiftly, practice the Way as if you are trying to extinguish a fire enveloping your head. Reflecting on the transiency of your bodily life, practice as diligently as the Buddha did when he raised his foot for seven days.

If your head was on fire, you would expend every effort to put it out!  This is a well-known passage, and I think it’s not a coincidence that Dogen uses a fire image.  The Lotus Sutra includes the image of the burning house, which represents samsara, where we’re in the midst of our craving, aversion and delusion.  The opposite is the peace and calm of nirvana, where we’re not pulled around by our desires and we’re not creating suffering for ourselves and others.  Our heads on fire is a powerful image of the energy that comes from our thoughts and emotions.  There’s some urgency about that picture, like we ought to pay attention to what’s happening there.

Reflecting on the transiency of your bodily life: here again we have only a limited amount of time in this human form in which to practice.  Practice as diligently as the Buddha did when he raised his foot for seven days: there’s a story that Buddha raised his foot for seven days out of admiration and respect for a buddha called Pushya.  I don’t know the circumstances of that story, but imagine effort it takes to stand on one foot for a week!  Dogen says that’s the kind of committment we need to have to practice.

All three of these texts are making the same points:
1) This human body is impermanent and it’s the ground of our practice, so we have to take advantage of that opportunty while we can.
2) Not making an effort to see both form and emptiness or both individual and universal is not practicing based on true reality, and it’s a waste of time.
3) Getting distracted by chasing after things to satisfy our cravings is wasting the limited time we have in this form to wake up.

I think it’s interesting that the gate statement makes reference to “spoken teaching.”  There’s some immediacy about spoken teaching.  Of course, the sutras are said to be transcriptions of words spoken by the Buddha; some of these are apocriphal, but when they begin “Thus have I heard,” that’s Ananda reciting what he heard the Buddha say.  Thus “spoken teaching” here could just mean all the sutras, but I’m going to read something else into it, and of course this is just my response to this gate statement.

Maybe you’re familiar with the expression ichigo ichie, literally one time, one meeting.  The idea is that this moment is unrepeatable; it will never come again.  When we encounter some teaching, we have to take advantage of that moment, or that meeting with the dharma.  If teachings are written down, maybe we can read them again later; that’s the maintaining version of the dharma treasure.  Of course, that moment of returning to a teaching is different from the moment of first encountering it.  If we hear spoken teachings, that’s a moment of encounter, whether the speaker is a dharma teacher or a sangha friend.  It might be people chanting sutras and doing liturgy, or even the sound of a creek, or wind blowing or a cat purring.  That moment won’t come again and everything is impermanent—one time, one meeting.

In that moment of encounter, we have the chance to experience the teachings (and everything else) with a fresh mind.  This is before we judge and label and decide anything.  We have the chance to absorb the spoken teaching with the body and mind before we try to study it.  

This kind of fresh encounter is the reason that Sawaki Roshi found zazen so important, not because sitting gives us the spaciousness to understand one time one meeting, but because that’s the way he first encountered zazen.  He went to Eiheiji to become a monk, but he couldn’t be ordained because he didn’t have a teacher.  Instead, he became a lay worker at Eiheiji, which gave him the opportunity to observe the practice of the monks, particularly their zazen. He saw them sitting day after day and felt something deep and sacred, but he couldn’t identify the source of that feeling.  He later said that he had encountered the real thing before studying what it was, and on that basis zazen was very special to him.

Anyway, according to this gate statement, if we really understand the nature of time, we don’t disregard any opportunity to hear and absorb spoken teachings.

The Lotus Sutra in particular encouraged people to recite it.  It says that anyone who recites the sutra or expounds the contents does it in place of Buddha, taking on the role and characteristics of Buddha or carries the Buddha on his/her/their shoulders.  Reciting or teaching the sutra is important because anyone who hears this spoken teaching is said to instantly attain awakening.  “What is the reason? When this person joyfully speaks the Dharma, those who hear it for but an instant shall directly achieve ultimate Annuttara samyak sambodhi.”

If we’re not listening when that opportunity comes along because we think we’ll have plenty more chances . . . well, maybe not!  Practitioners sometimes ask, "Does that mean we have to be hypervigilant, driving ourselves crazy trying to look for all these gates so as not to miss something?”  No—not possible, and that would be fixating on an idea about what practice and wisdom and awakening are.  We’d develop some real clinging and we might become selfish.  I need to seize the opportunity to sit that sesshin whether or not it creates problems for my family or coworkers that’s I’m away.

Instead, we let all of these teachings seep in gradually.  If we sit shikantaza and deeply experience time, for instance, in the ways that Dogen does, we understand some things about this gate statement.  We can see that in the conventional view of time, our lifetime is limited and we’re subject to illness, old age and death.  We don’t want to look back at the end of our lives and say “I wish I’d taken the time to practice more.”  Our circumstances are changing all the time, so it might not be possible to practice tomorrow or next year.  We can also see that it’s important to stay focused on our vows and not be distracted by other things that come along, and that because time is absolute, we can only act in this eternal now.  We can’t act in the future, so this is our chance to practice.

To work for the Dharma is a gate of Dharma illumination; for we act in conformity with the Dharma.
爲法是法明門、如法而行故.

Let’s start with “to work for the dharma,” and break that down.  When we hear people talking about working for the dharma, they’re usually talking about enabling practice in some way.  Does it mean having a job in a dharma center or temple?  Not necessarily, though it can.  Anybody can work for the dharma, no matter our life circumstances, as we’ll see.

The kanji that are translated here “working for the dharma” have a feeling of moving toward or carrying out a vow or aspiration for the sake of the dharma.  One way to think about “working for the dharma” is that the dharma is our boss.  To “work for” can mean I’m employed or supervised by someone or by an organization:  I work for the university or I work for the general manager at the auto repair shop.  If we work for the dharma in the sense that the dharma is our boss, what might that mean?  It means we take our direction from our practice and we make decisions based on Buddha’s teachings.  All of that comes from living by vow.  That means we’re always walking in the direction of liberating all beings from suffering—and now we’re back to the feeling of the original kanji.

We take our direction from the four bodhisattva vows, from the precepts and from the Eightfold Path.  We could say that the four vows are our job description, the precepts are the employee handbook and the Eightfold Path is our set of work assignments.  It’s reassuring to have a purpose.  One of the components of spiritual health is that one’s life has meaning, that we have a reason to get up in the morning.  Working at the direction of the dharma gives us a solid basis for decisionmaking.  We don’t have to wander around without a lifeline.  We can look to the three treasures and our practice.  

We can also take working for the dharma to mean working for the sake of the dharma.  “For the sake of” means  “for the wellbeing of.”  We’re working for the health and wellbeing of the dharma so it doesn’t die!  However, that sets up a contradiction.  On one hand, spreading the dharma to those who are looking for it and enabling practice are important.  We’re here practicing today because people have transmitted dharma and embodied teachings for 2500 years.  Traditionally, you earned considerable merit for copying sutras, feeding monks or underwriting things at your local temple, because these things helped to keep practice and teaching alive and available to people.  The Lotus Sutra, for example, actively tells the reader to propagate it.

On the other hand, working for sake of the dharma is really meaningless from the point of view of the dharma as the reality of the universe.  The dharma doesn’t need anything from us.  It was here before Buddha, and it will be here long after we’re gone.  It’s not going to die, ever!

The dharma is just doing what the dharma does.  It’s perfectly complete and fine just as it is, and there isn’t actually anything we can do for its own sake.  Sometimes we get worried about the condition of the dharma when we think that teachings are being misinterpreted or practice isn’t being done properly.  In other words, we’re concerned about the maintaining version of the dharma as one of the three treasures.

The manifesting version happened in the past and we can’t do anything about that.  As we’ve just said, the absolute version will always be fine.  The maintaining version of the dharma can certainly be misunderstood or even lost.  We have only to look at Facebook and all the greeting-card sentiments wrongly attributed to the Buddha that completely corrupt his teaching.  This is the kind of thing that Mahayana practitioners are afraid will happen during a gradual degeneration of the Buddha’s teachings in a three-phase process.   The age of the true dharma was the first 500 to 1000 years after Buddha’s death; followers were able to practice in accordance with his teachings and thereby attain awakening.  The next 1000 year period is called age of the semblance dharma.  The practice continues and things look good on the surface, but spiritual corruption has set in and true awakening doesn’t happen any more.  The final period lasts ten thousand years; that’s the age of the end of the dharma, or the age of mappo.  The teachings of Buddhism survive but actual practice of the dharma has died out and nobody is able to attain awakening. 

In Dogen’s time, everyone believed in the age of mappo, and that’s why Pure Land schools became popular.  They said that trying to attain awakening by your own efforts was impossible during the age of mappo; instead you had to rely on Amida Buddha to save you.  While Dōgen and Keizan said that traditional practice was still effective in attaining awakening, they didn’t entirely reject the idea of the age of mappo.

Thus, although the absolute dharma doesn’t need our help and there’s no way we can really work for it, there is a longstanding feeling in our tradition that teaching and practice are in some danger of being corrupted or lost.  We also have sutras asking us to propagate them and a precept about not begrudging the dharma.  Yet, we don’t have a strong evangelical streak in our tradition.  We’re not told to go out and convert everyone we can find to Buddhism and teach them all to sit.  Nonetheless, somehow people find the Buddha’s teachings and start to practice.  When we help new practitioners get a good start and we help enable the practice of our sangha, we can say that that’s working for the dharma.

Of course, Dogen had a lot to say about how we support the practice of our sangha friends.  He wrote about various things that had to be done in a temple: how to be the treasurer, how to cook the meals, how to be in charge of the zendo, how to take care of guests, etc.  All of these things are working for the dharma in that they are enabling practice within an organized sangha.  Of course, we can once again take a step back and say that the absolute sangha is the sangha of all beings, so anytime we’re moving through the world in a skillful way, we’re taking care of the sangha of all beings and working for the dharma.

We’ve seen that there are several ways we can think about this English phrase “working for the dharma”—the sense in the original is “for the sake of,” but we also considered that “for” can mean working for a boss or employer.  “For” can also point to what we get in exchange: I work for a salary or I work for my room and board.  The boss and the salary are not things that arise in the original Japanese text of this gate; English just gives us another way to look at it.

Let’s think about what working in exchange for the dharma might mean.  I don’t work for a paycheck, I work for the dharma.  In other words, when I do work anywhere in my life, I receive teachings.  That’s not so far-fetched, is it?  Even though this English phrase is not the original, this sense fits right in.  It’s a restatement of the teaching that everything we encounter is a dharma gate.  If I’m paying attention, all of my moment-to-moment activity is an opportunity to understand how universe works.  No matter what I’m doing, I have the chance to observe what’s happening in this body and mind and to let go of ideas about small self.  If I’m digging a hole in my yard or building a website, I’m receiving teachings from the universe about the nature of reality and my expectations about that reality.  For example, I live on a busy street and a lot of trash ends up in my yard.  It’s really annoying that I have to pick up after other people.  Every time I go to cut the grass, I have to clean up the yard first, and none of this is my garbage.  The reality is that unless I wall off my yard from the street, there will always be trash out there.  If I’m getting annoyed about doing the work of picking it up, it’s because I have an unrealistic expectation that somehow it’s going to stop overnight just because that’s what I want.  When I feel that frustration and contraction in my body, instead I can turn that around and call it caring for my property.  

I also have a lot of large trees that throw down big branches.  I have to pick those up too before I cut the grass.  That’s also a nuisance, but I don’t get annoyed at the trees.  They’re just doing what trees do as part of the dynamic functioning of the universe.

When I’m doing yard work, I have the opportunity to work for the dharma, to do work in exchange for receiving teachings.  Now, Dogen says that all sentient and insentient beings preach the dharma, so teachings are there whether I’m receiving them or not.  It’s not like I have to make a contract with the yard.  To work for the dharma in this sense is simply to open my eyes and pay attention.

Now we need to look at what it means to act in conformity with the dharma.  There are a lot of teachings about this, and they center on the term nyoho 如法​, which literally means in accord with the dharma.  Traditionally, nyoho is about color, material and size as they relate to food, clothing and shelter.  When we’re sewing rakusu or okesa, we pay attention to what we make them out of, what color they are and how they fit.  The material should be plain and of a broken color.  Food for meals taken with oryoki is the same.  There should be five colors, food should be nutritious and appealing but not exotic or expensive, and we should make the right amount and not waste anything.  The place in which we live should be made of appropriate materials and be the right size for what happens there.  All of these things then are made according to the dharma.  They are not distracting and we don’t form attachments.

Of course, these teachings apply to whatever we’re doing, acquiring or making.  If we are working for the dharma by enabling practice, ours or others, then the things we make and use conform to the dharma.  Also, the way we act is in accord with dharma.  Dogen famously taught that practice and awakening are not two.

We might not be concretely enabling practice for others, but we are constantly enabling our own practice.  We need to consider the ingredients we use to create that container for ourselves.  Are we building our practice out of things and activities that are in accordance with the dharma?  We can’t do this in an intellectual way, by constantly stopping to ask whether this or that is a good fit.  We’d make ourselves crazy and never get things done.  We can, little by little, put things into our lives that support our practice.  Regular zazen is the place to start; then over time we can begin to consider things like how we make our living, whether our relationships with others are what we’d like them to be, or what our buying or eating habits look like.  Gradually we can see our lives coming into conformance with the dharma, because we can see that everything is practice.

It’s not necessary to make sudden drastic changes.  We see this with newbies who come to practice and then suddenly decide they’re going to sit for three hours a day and only going to eat this or wear that or that they’re going to give away all their belongings.  Of course, this doesn’t last long.  For one thing, that’s all based on some idea about what practice is and what a practitioner is.  For another, drastic change usually isn’t sustainable.  It’s just not authentic because it doesn’t arise from understanding—it’s a performance.

When we let practice seep into us over time, we can feel our lives coming into alignment with the dharma.  Working for the dharma is conforming with the dharma.  The most basic idea of conform is to take the form of something.  We take the form of, or embody, the dharma.  Two things come up for me when I think about this.

One is that even when we don’t feel like we’re in touch with the dharma, we follow the guidelines of the teachings: following the precepts, carrying out zendo forms, trying to remember our vows.  Some days being in accord with the dharma doesn’t come from our own insight.  We can feel disconnected, troubled or confused, but fortunately, we can still rely on the teachings and practice to help us keep walking in Buddha’s way one step at a time.

The other is that when we embody the dharma, our form is seamless with the universe, without obstruction or hindrance such that everything flows and there’s no separation.  Working for the dharma means our actions are clear, direct manifestations of buddha-nature, with no muddiness caused by three poisons and no wacky bits sticking out and causing obstruction or tripping us up.

When we hear a word like conform, we might immediately think that we have to fit ourselves into a rigid mold that’s imposed on us and follow a lot of rules.  Ironically, conforming with the dharma means to be your most authentic, flexible self.  Impermanence means that there can’t be a fixed set of responses to our circumstances.  Our karmic conditions are all different, so forcing everyone into the same mold would be impossible.  If you’re dancing to music, you’re in accord with the music.  If you’re canoeing down the rapids, you’re in accord with the river.  If you’re really good at using a piece of software or a power tool, you’re in accord with that.

Nothing about practice or the dharma should be forced.  That’s not to say that sometimes practice is not difficult or uncomfortable, but the effort shouldn’t feel like we’re forcing anything.  We don’t force the body into the sitting posture, and we don’t force ourselves to stop thinking.  None of that is in accord with the dharma.  The reality is that this human form has limitations, and if we don’t recognize that, we’re caught in our delusion.

When we’re working for the dharma we’re in accord with the dharma, not just the movie of the moment that the self is showing us in our heads.