Just Sitting: The Spiritual Legacy of Dogen Zenji
Shohaku Okumura

Opening lecture of the "Practice on the Prairie" series
Given on August 20, 2002 at MZMC City Practice Center

Good evening, everyone. I'm very happy to be here this evening and very honored to be asked to give a talk as a part of the series of lectures for the occasion of the 30th anniversary of the Minnesota Zen Meditation Center. This center was established 1972 by Katagiri Dainin Roshi and his students. I was really happy because I could be a part of this history of 30 years, even though I stayed here only three years as head teacher and one more year as a part time teacher.

Today [lecture series organizer] Cal [Appleby] asked me to talk about "Just Sitting," and the subtitle is "The Spiritual Legacy of Dogen Zenji" - big title! Just sitting is our legacy of Dogen Zenji. "Just sitting" is an English translation for the Japanese expression: shikantaza. Shikan means "just, simply" and taza means "sitting". So just sitting is shikantaza. The original person who used this expression shikantaza was a Chinese Zen master whose name was Tendo Nyojo, who was Dogen's teacher in China. Dogen was born in Kyoto in Japan 1200. We celebrated his 800th anniversary of his birth two years ago. At the time of Dogen, Zen was something very new in the history of Japanese Buddhism. Before Dogen, Japanese Buddhism had already a history of 600 years. Still, Zen was not introduced. Zen was first introduced to Japan by a Rinzai master whose name was Eisai. And some traditionally said Dogen met Eisai and practiced for a few years but these dates cast doubt about it.

Anyway, he practiced Zen with Eisai's disciple, whose name was Myozen. They practiced together at Kenninji monastery for several years, 6 years, since Dogen was 18 years old till 23. Dogen and his teacher Myozen thought they should go to China to practice Zen with an authentic Chinese Zen master, so they went together. They stayed at Tien-t'sung monastery and unfortunately Myozen, Dogen's teacher, died there. He was about 42 or 43 years old when he died in China, and Dogen brought his ash from China to Japan --he wrote about carrying the ash of his teacher. Fortunately for Dogen, he could find a true teacher: that was Nyojo. Dogen Zenji recorded his question and answer with his teacher and the record is still there; it's written in Chinese, so he could speak and write Chinese freely.

One section of question and answer Nyojo said, "Zazen is shinjindatsuraku." Shinjindatsuraku is dropping off body and mind. This expression shinjindatsuraku is a kind of unusual expression in the history of Zen, so Dogen didn't understand what this means, dropping off body and mind. Shin is body and jin is mind and datsu is like to take off, like to take off your clothing, and raku is to fall down. So your body and mind somehow take off something and drop off. This is Nyojo's expression of being released from karmic self. But at that time Dogen was 25 and he didn't understand. He asked, "What is shinjindatsuraku? What is dropping off body and mind?

Then Nyojo said, and this answer is very interesting, "Dropping off body and mind is zazen." Usually we think zazen is a kind of a method to attain dropping off body and mind or some kind of revelation or enlightenment. But Nyojo said "Zazen is dropping off body and mind," and yet he said "Dropping off body and mind is zazen." Just sitting. And he recommended Dogen just sit. This is the origin of this legacy of just sitting. And Dogen transmitted that just sitting to Japan.

He went back to Japan when he was 27, so as a Zen master he was very young, only 27 years old. First thing he did after went back to Japan was writing manual of zazen, and the title of that manual is Fukanzazengi, that is in English, Universal Recommendation of Zazen. Later he founded his own monastery, named Koshoji, in Uji, that was 1233, so Dogen was 33 years old, still he was very young. He practiced together with his own small group of practitioners, and he practiced there for ten years in Kyoto; at that time it was not inside of Kyoto but outside of Kyoto. Somehow after 10 years he left Kyoto -it was the capital and the biggest city in Japan at that time, but somehow he left and moved to the countryside in presently Fukui prefecture and he established another monastery named Eiheiji. Eiheiji is still there and still served as a true main temple or monastery of Soto Zen in Japan. But Dogen's monastery or sangha was still very small, maybe they had 20 or 30 people, that's all, even when he died.

So his life was very simple. He started to practice Zen when he was 18; before that he studied and practiced Tendai school. He went to China to study what is Zen and he received dharma transmission and introduced that tradition to Japan, and just devoted his entire life to introduce this just sitting. It's a very simple practice. Really just sitting. His practice has been transmitted for nearly 800 years. He died 1253. Even when he died he was still young as a Zen master, but somehow he died when he was 53. It was kind of a shock to me. Now I'm 54. [laughter] I'm one year older than Dogen when he died, but still I don't understand.

He really focused on just sitting. He wrote many writings, and all of his writings are very unique and profound and difficult to understand. For more than 750 years we have been studying Dogen and practicing this just sitting following Dogen's teaching. This tradition of just sitting was transmitted to this country by several Japanese teachers such as Suzuki Shunryu Roshi, who was the founder of San Francisco Zen Center. Suzuki Roshi came to serve as a minister at Shogoji in San Francisco. Shogoji was a temple for Japanese American community. I think Suzuki Roshi came in 1959, more than 40 years ago, and somehow young American people came to sit and practice this just sitting with him, and they become a Zen Center. Katagiri Roshi came to this country in 1963 or 4. First he served [as] a minister in the Zenshuji temple in Los Angeles, but somehow he didn't like it and he moved to San Francisco and helped Suzuki Roshi to teach. Suzuki Roshi died in December, 1971 and after Suzuki Roshi died, Katagiri Roshi moved to Minneapolis and established this community. Since Cal has asked me to talk about just sitting and legacy of Dogen as a part of the 30th anniversary of MZMC, I tried to read Katagiri Roshi's book again, "Returning to Silence." I think you are familiar with this book. I read almost all book, and I found that all of Katagiri Roshi's teaching was based on Dogen's teaching. Of course his expression was kind of unique, and I think he head a hard time to explain and express Dogen's teaching and make it understandable for American people. I think at that time not many of Dogen's writings were translated, so resource was very limited. These days there are many books on Buddhism and Zen, so American people understand better and have a lot of knowledge about Buddhism, Zen, and Dogen's teachings. But 30 years ago I think no one knew who is Dogen. Not only Katagiri Roshi and Suzuki Roshi but other teachers, so-called first generation Zen teachers, had a very difficult time. Somehow they tried to transmit this legacy of Dogen, just sitting. Not only just sitting, but there are many other things, but all other practice, such as chanting sutras or doing ceremonies or oryoki meals and many other forms are really based on this simple practice of just sitting. I really appreciate those pioneers' effort to transmit this simple practice from Japan to this country.

At San Francisco Zen Center they published a small book that is a collection of experiences of Suzuki Roshi's students, a collection of anecdotes. I think the title was "Shining Outer Corner" or something like that. There are many interesting stories in that book. One of the interesting stories was recorded by Sojun Mel Weitsman. Sojun Mel Weitsman was a former abbot of San Francisco Zen Center and he is still the abbot of Berkeley Zen Center, so he was a student of Suzuki Roshi from the very beginning and he practiced with Suzuki Roshi at Shogoji - the Zen Center and Shogoji, the Japanese temple, share that same place. I think it was in early 60s, according to Mel's story. They sat every morning and they chant robe chant. But they chanted in Japanese -- after morning zazen they chanted this strange verse in Japanese, so no American understood what this means. Katagiri Roshi was there at that time. Mel Weitsman asked, "What is this chanting after morning zazen?" Mel said Katagiri Roshi started to find a translation of this robe chant but somehow he couldn't, so probably they didn't have even an English translation of the robe chant. Mel said Suzuki Roshi came to him and pointed his heart and said, "love." Mel was really impressed with this answer. It was really wonderful, heart and love.

In 1999 we had our Dogen Zenji symposium at Stanford University as a kind of an event for the 800th anniversary of Dogen's birth. At the period of question and answer Mel Weitsman talked about this story at the symposium. It was nice. But after we finished that period Carl Bielefeld -- a professor at Stanford University and he wrote Dogen's Manual of Zazen - he is an expert of Dogen study in this country. Carl Bielefeld started to practice with Suzuki Roshi about the same time, early 60s, and right before Suzuki Roshi died he translated Shobogenzo Sansuikyo or the Mountains and Waters Sutra, with the help of Suzuki Roshi. So Carl Bielefeld knew Suzuki Roshi very well. And during the symposium, after the period of question and answer, Carl asked me, "How do Japanese people pronounce "robe"?” Do you understand what I mean? Robe is R-O-B-E and love is L-O-V-E. [laughter] In Japanese we have no distinction between L sound and R sound, and B sound and V sound. So for us Japanese to pronounce "robe" and "love" is very difficult. I still cannot do it in the correct way. Carl's guess - I think this is a guess - that Suzuki Roshi pointed his rakusu and said "robe." [laughter] I think this is a very interesting story!

I introduce this story at the end of my series of lectures - I had gone to a sesshin at San Francisco Zen Center last March. I gave two lectures a day; one lecture was one and a half hours, so I talked three hours a day for seven days. I talked on Carl Bielefeld's new translation of the Mountains and Waters Sutra. I talked more than 20 hours in seven days! At the end of my lectures on the final day I introduced this story, and I thought that I talked 20 hours and I thought it was interesting many people took note of my lectures and if collect all the note and compare, it must be really interesting. [laughter] There must be something like "robe" and "love."

It's kind of very difficult to translate or transmit something very important and difficult and subtle and deep from one culture to another culture. People had and still have difficulties how to transmit or transplant one kind of spiritual tradition to another culture, a culture with a completely different tradition. People had many difficulties and also many mistakes - there are very good positive mistakes or misunderstandings. I'm not sure whether this is a misunderstanding or not - this is just Carl's guess. Maybe Suzuki Roshi really said "love." But that's OK. It's kind of very positive and creative misunderstanding, even if it was misunderstanding, because it was a heart to heart transmission and so I think it's very wonderful.

But there are another kind of misunderstanding, so we have to be very careful. There is something we can misunderstand and it doesn't care, doesn't mind. Some part of the culture or the tradition can be misunderstand or interpreted in different ways. That is what Dogen did when he transplanted this simple practice of just sitting from China to Japan. He followed the Chinese traditions but his teachings [and] his writing are not really Chinese and also not really Japanese. It's really very uniquely Dogen. He's very ingenious and I think we need a person like Dogen in this country to really grasp the heart, the essence of teaching or tradition and really experience it and express it through his or her own expression and style of life.

So what I want to talk this evening is this one point which should not be misunderstanding -- only one point when we study and practice of this simple practice of just sitting. That point is, according to my own understanding, this is a really important essential point of our practice, just sitting. To me, that is the essence of my teacher's teaching, and Katagiri Roshi said the same thing. And that is a problem. It is really a problem, to make my mission to share this just sitting practice with many American people. So we have to really awake to the difficulties and importance and discipline. This is a really important kind of koan for us, to try to follow Dogen Zenji's tradition if we would like to succeed in Katagiri Roshi's teaching or my teacher's teaching. That is what one point I'd like to introduce from Katagiri Roshi's teaching. This is from the section entitled "Casting a Pebble into the Ocean," from "Returning to Silence." In this section he is talking about the meaning of day-to-day formal practice. I read one paragraph: Some Zen teachers tell us how helpful it is for us to do zazen. But zazen is useless. At an international yoga conference in Chicago sometime ago, I was asked to talk about Zen life, so I explained Zen life and zazen. In yoga meditation, meditation must be useful, physically, mentally, psychologically. But I said just the opposite: zazen is useless. No one was interested. [Laughter] But remember this, in the place where no one is interested, there is something that you have to be interested in, and that is life and death. And he says almost same thing [in] another section, "Understanding Life and Death." Here he is discussing about life and death and he said when he was young, when he just became a monk, he didn't like to do funeral ceremonies. He didn't like to face death. When he started to practice at the monastery, because at the monastery they don't do funeral service, he thought he could escape from death. But he found [that] the wood block in the zendo said, "The important matter of life and death -- everything is impermanent." It is written on the han. So he found that he couldn't escape from life and death as far as he practice zazen. Our zazen has something to do with life and death. Katagiri Roshi said: In "Shushogi," by Dogen Zenji, which talks about the meaning of practice-enlightenment, the first sentence says, "The thorough clarification of the meaning of birth and death -- this is the most important problem of all for Buddhists." Boom! That's it. A big shock. We don't see our life including death. We just see birth and living and we ignore death. For instance, if Zen centers were to offer lots of things that are good for human happiness and health, such as yoga exercises, vegetarian food, macrobiotics, I Ching, astrology and various kind of meditation, then maybe Zen centers would develop pretty well. [Laughter] Many people would probably come to them because people want these things in order to be happy and healthy. But where are we heading? Of course he is saying we are heading to death. Whether we are young or aged, we are always heading to death and yet we don't think of death. We don't want to think about our death because we don't know what is death. Death is never [our] own personal experience until we really die, and when we die we can't experience it because there is no I, no us. Death is something we never experience. We know death through other people's death, other people dying. It's always about other people. People who were here somehow disappear, and we don't like it - we have fear. So we try not to see that reality that we will die 100%. It's really a very clear reality that we are going to die - we are heading to death, but we don't see it. We try to ignore it and we try to be happy during the time between our birth and death. We only see this range, from birth to death. We want to be happy, healthy, rich, wise, or whatever we feel is nice. Whatever we feel happy [about] we try to get it and whatever we don't like we try to escape from it. This attitude toward life, to chasing after something we want, something we like, something positive, something valuable, and try to escape from something we don't like or we don't think valuable or we don't think positive or we don't think healthy, this attitude toward life of chasing after something and escaping from something creates samsara. Even though we chase after something we want, we think valuable, healthy, happiness - sometimes we can be successful and we feel happy and we feel life is worth to live, and we feel "I'm great!"

But more often we don't feel so successful and we feel there is something wrong, something is missing, something is strained, something is crooked. So we start to find our right path. We want to become healthy and we start to practice something spiritual, or we start to study some spiritual teaching, or we start to read many books, or we start to look for teachers. But within this aspiration to study something better than this way of life within samsara, we still create samsara. I don't like this way of life and I want to find a better way of life, and I don't like samsara, so I want to enter nirvana. Or I want to become enlightened. I want to be free from desire. Still we chase after something, something spiritual, something higher, something more lofty or noble, and we try to escape from samsara or our day to day busy material life. When we start this kind of spiritual trip, the same thing is happening actually inside of ourselves by chasing after something spiritual, something like enlightenment, we try to get this and we try to escape from where we are.

This creates another kind of samsara and sometimes we can be successful and we feel like we are enlightened, so life is great. But more often we suffer - even sitting in the zendo, we suffer. We feel our pain or our busyness of mind or sleepiness or sometimes we're just bored - sitting is very boring; nothing exciting. So within our spiritual practice we create samsara in that way, by seeking after something we wnt - like nirvana or enlightenment -- or we try to escape from delusion, or delusive way of life. What not only Katagiri Roshi but Sawaki Roshi, my teacher's teacher, said "Zazen is good for nothing." I think Katagiri Roshi's expression, "Zazen is useless," and Sawaki Roshi's expression, "Zazen is good for nothing," are originally the same Japanese expression, that is, Annie mo nara nai - Katagiri Roshi used "useless," and I translated it as "good for nothing." Nani mo nara nai means it produce nothing, no good result - not only good result, but no bad result either. So nani mo nara nai or good for nothing.

I like the English expression "good for nothing" more than "useless" because of my own experience in Massachusetts. I lived in Massachusetts for 5 years, from ‘75 to ’81. We started to build a small zendo, but we had no financial support, so we had to work to get some income. The first job we found was blueberry picking. There were blueberry farms, and the blueberry fields were really beautiful, especially in the morning -- each blueberry was covered with dew and in the sunrise it was very like gems. It was really beautiful. But picking blueberries terrible work! [Laughter] Blueberry bush was very low, and we pick with a scoop, like a dustpan but the bottom is metal [tines]. Anyway, we keep [working] this way all day long. I had a pain in my back. Blueberries are beautiful but all over my body it stick and start to smell during the daytime. At that time I was 26 or 27 years old, so I was still young and healthy and strong so I could do that. Within the blueberry field there are some places where they have another kind of berries, and those berries are not edible. They called those berries as dogberries. Picking blueberries is not a job for an actual worker, so almost all workers were like high school students; they don't pick so carefully. They don't mind to make money. The owner of the farm always shouting to those young people to clean them all, clean them clean, and when they are picking in the area where there are many dogberries the owner said, "Don't pick those good-for-nothing berries." That was the first time I heard this expression "good for nothing." I liked it! [Laughter] I really liked it. Good for nothing. I found that that was the way I want to be - good for nothing. I became my teacher's student or disciple because of this Sawaki Roshi expression, "Zazen is good for nothing." Those good for nothing berries really are not good for nothing. They are beautiful, but they are not edible, so there's no market value. Market value is only within human beings, the human community. The dogberries don't care whether they are valuable or not. But they are beautiful and they grow just the same as blueberries but only because we human beings can eat blueberries - blueberries taste good - blueberries have positive market value and those berries don't Same idea appeared in the History of Chuang Tsu, the Chinese Taoist philosopher. He talked about example where big huge tree which is good for nothing, which cannot be used as a timber or anything, it's too weak and too crooked, really good for nothing. But because good for nothing, no human beings cut the trees so it could grow huge and could give shade for people. That tree is good for nothing, but that is good enough. I felt I wanted to live in that way and practice zazen is like these dogberries. We don't need to be good for something, but zazen is good, and that's enough Our zazen does not need to be good for something else. Zazen is good, period. That is, to me, the meaning of "zazen is good for nothing." Zazen is good, but for nothing. That means zazen is good as it is, of itself.

I wanted to live in that way. I don't think I need to be good for something else. If my life is good, that's enough. We don't need to chase after some kind of invitation from other people or even by ourselves. Just be who I am and just live. In another expression of Katagiri Roshi, and Uchiyama Roshi, my teacher, used the same expression, just burning the fire of life force. Just purely burning the fire or flame of life force. We don't need to burn anything. Just be burning itself, or like the title of the book of Suzuki Roshi anecdotes "Shining at a Corner - just be shining, even at a tiny small corner. That's enough. We don't need to be like a sun; we can be just a small candle or even small incense. That's enough.

I think this is really important point in our zazen - zazen is good for nothing. We just sit. We don't need to find any market value. We don't need to add any value in our zazen. It's very simple, very peaceful. But this is a problem, I think. I knew and I had a faith in practice in this way. But I had a question. I was still young and I had a lot of energy. I came from Japan to practice with American people, but when I lived in the mountains in New England, no one came. When we came to this country, my teacher, Uchiyama Roshi, encouraging us not to make advertisements, not collect number of people, not collect money, but just practice, just quietly practice at least for ten years. We really honestly followed his encouragement. We didn't make any advertisement. We didn't do any fundraising activities. So we had to have other odd jobs like picking blueberries or helping with potato harvesting or those things or we worked at a tofu factory. [Laughter] We had many different jobs. We tried to just keep sitting quietly, good for nothing zazen. No one came. Even some American came, they didn't stay long time. That was my question, why I'm here, why I have to practice in this way, in this country. I could practice in Japan. [Laughter] I don't need to do blueberry picking. In Japan I could support my practice with begging and I didn't need to speak English. [Laughter] It was a very difficult thing. It was a problem for me. If I came to practice with American people, why I practice in that way? How can we share the dharma or this simple practice with more people? That was another koan to me.

So it seems these two are kind of contradicted. If we cling to one side, we may lose the life of our practice. If we cling good for nothing side, then we can just practice by ourselves - we don't need to practice with other people. But if we put too much emphasis on practice with many people or make dharma accessible to many people, then we might forget about good for nothing side of our practice. In order to collect people, often many people are here and we have to speak why we are here, what is the good point of this practice. It is very difficult and actually I haven't yet resolved this contradiction and I don't think I can in this lifetime. I have been working for establishing another Zen practice center. We are going to build a zendo from scratch. I did the same thing 25 years ago in Massachusetts, so I think this is my karma [Laughter], to start something from scratch.

But when we practice as a bodhisattva, we cannot neglect other people. How we can share this dharma, this simple practice, with other people? It's a very important point of our practice. If we are not careful, we try to make a kind of a commercial product from this simple good for nothing practice. If we want, we can make a commercial effort from this practice. What I wanted to talk this evening is just point out this point. There are many Buddhist sanghas or Soto Zen sanghas in this country, but somehow we need to find the middle path, the middle way to share the practice with other people, but still keep our practice good for nothing. How can we do it? This is our koan, for each one of us and also a koan as a sangha. So that is the point: even in the different tradition or culture or society we need to really transmit without misunderstanding or misinterpretation. If this point trying to find the middle path, and the middle path is always moving. Middle path is not one fixed path, it's really moving, changing, depending upon extreme two side. Middle path is not one fixed point. If we cling to one fixed point, we make a mistake. Somehow we have to be careful and we have to be alert each time, each moment, in each situation. That's why I think Dogen Zenji said our practice is endless. We cannot say if we practice in this way we are safe, we are good forever. We have to be careful each moment -- otherwise we miss the middle path or middle way. A very essential point.

I think I'm really lucky from the very beginning -- even before I was interested in Zen or Buddhism or whatever spiritual practice, first I encounter my teacher's teaching. Through my teacher Uchiyama Roshi, the first teaching from Buddhism or Zen to me was "zazen is good for nothing." So I was really lucky -- from the very beginning I knew zazen was good for nothing, and that means, according to Dogen, we should not practice with some desire to attain certain good result or desirable result. I really understood, even though I knew nothing about Zen or Buddhism, even though I was just 17 years old. I really felt that is the way I wanted to live. Somehow I wanted to be my teacher's disciple. I went to Komazawa University to study Buddhism and Dogen's teaching. Through studying Buddha's teaching and the history of Buddhism, Dogen's teaching and the history of Soto Zen, and I also studied my teacher's teaching, I really found this is the way I wanted to live. I was ordained as a Soto Zen priest when I was 22--I was a university student. So as a kind of idea I knew this teaching from very beginning. I know many people who encounter different approaches and for those people, it's very difficult to accept this attitude good for nothing. If it's good for nothing, it's really good for nothing.

But although I have practiced based on this teaching of good for nothing, still I was looking for something. One big kind of a point for me was I practiced in Massachusetts for 5 years in that way and we had nothing but the land. So we cut the trees and clear the land and take the stumps out, and I dug a well with a shovel. I dug about 10 feet, and we had water. Anyway, I practiced zazen and working in that way and in my 20s it was OK.. I thought the more I use my body, the stronger my body become. But when I became 30, it didn't work in that way. I had a problem with my body. I had a pain in my neck, shoulders, elbows, back, knees, everywhere. I had to leave. I went back to Japan. My body was half broken. I couldn't practice in that way any more. We had a 5 day sesshin every month, 12 sesshin a year. During 5 day sesshin we just sat one period of 50 minutes and 10 minutes kinhin -- we just did it 14 times a day for 5 days. We did nothing but sitting. It was really powerful practice. I thought I was practicing this zazen with no desire, no expectation. I thought I knew zazen is good for nothing. I really devoted my entire life into that practice for 5 years at Antaiji in Kyoto and next 5 years in Massachusetts so I practiced in that way for 10 years. All my 20s were really focused on that practice.

When I was 31, I couldn't practice in that way any more because of pain of my body. I went back to Japan and Uchiyama Roshi asked me to work on translation -- because I couldn't work with my body, I should work with my head. So, I started to work on translation since then. But before I found some way of practice I was really in trouble, because I had nothing. My body was half broken, I didn't have job, I didn't have place to practice, I didn't have sangha, I didn't have nothing. I stayed at my brother's apartment for several months because I didn't have money, I didn't have job. I did takuhatsu [begging] for my treatment. I had a treatment by a kind of a Japanese chiropractor and that person said when we do takuhatsu we hang our bag from our neck, and I had a pain in my neck. He said, "If you practice takuhatsu your neck never get better." So I had to make a choice to stop both takuhatsu and treatment, because I didn't have money to have a treatment, so I did. I really gave up everything. I did takuhatsu only for food, enough food for one month. That means a few times a month and that was enough. Maybe 150 dollars in this country.

It was difficult, not only physically but mentally - I was kind of puzzled. I thought, why this is a problem, if zazen is good for nothing and I didn't expect anything? Now I can't do this anymore; if that was good for nothing, then why I have a problem? That was a good question to me, and very difficult question to ask. This is questioning Dogen's teaching, and my teacher's teaching, and my own personal belief. I found that even though I practiced in that way and I thought I had no expectation, still I was really relying on that way of practice, that way of life. I felt because I lived and I practiced in that way, my life is OK or my life is better than other peoples", or this is a kind of a lofty, noble, high way of practice or life, even among Buddhist community. I felt it was the highest practice and others are not so good. I found a kind of an illness based on my own faith that this is highest practice and because I practice in this way I live in the highest way, so my life is OK. That was a problem, but why, when I couldn't practice in that way, I felt my life was good for nothing any more?

This is really terrible thing and I had to face to that problem because I lived by myself. Before, I lived with the sangha. I could explain using some Buddhist philosophy. But I have only myself. I cannot deceive, so I have to be really honest I was really alone and I had no reason to practice, no reason to sit, and I couldn't sit. I had so many reasons not to practice, but somehow one evening I found myself on a cushion. I didn't want and I didn't need to. Somehow I found a kind of a very profound peace. I found this is what Dogen Zenji said and this is what Sawaki Roshi said: good for nothing. Before that I thought I practiced with my personal understanding of that practice what is good for nothing and I thought that is highest practice but I found I don't need to say so. I don't need to compare with other people. I don't need to practice in such a difficult or strict way. I don't need to sit 5 day sesshin every month. I could sit just for this moment, and that is enough. I don't need to say this is highest practice or discipline and I am a good Buddhist. I don't need to be a good Buddhist. That was really a kind of a turning point in my practice and I found that I first understood what Dogen said, what Sawaki Roshi said, what Uchiyama Roshi said: zazen is good for nothing.

That is kind of a liberation from our own belief, our own grasping, our own understanding. No matter how noble or lofty, if we cling to this and rely on that kind of a system of value, still our practice is good for something. We are looking for something. We cling to or we desire something else. That is one point but even before or after that experience I have many different questions. Each moment I try to find an answer, and next moment I have different questions and I find different answer. So this is a kind of ongoing thing, but basically my faith in this good for nothing practice doesn't change. In a sense, because I was lucky, I knew the answer from the beginning, but my experience and my understanding and my question didn't really reach the depths of the teaching or the answer. I think in a sense from the time of Shakyamuni Buddha, 2500 years ago, as a Buddhist the answer is really clear, but our practice, our understanding, our faith is not really deep enough. That is why we have to practice moment by moment, probably until the end of our life.

Thank you very much for listening.