Wading through the muck

The past 18 months have challenged me in ways I could not have previously imagined. It may sound funny, but I’ve come to think of this period as the shugyo (deep spiritual training) of being a federal bureaucrat. There’s truth to the stereotype that government bureaucrats value stability. Lately, though, many of us have discovered that nothing is truly permanent or guaranteed. That realization has raised the difficulty level and enabled me to see it as a Zen experience.

The daily life of a bureaucrat — or really any human being — involves the simple repetition of caring for what needs to be cared for: work, home, community, family, friends, pets, and self. Even under the best conditions, we encounter difficulties, and few of us can honestly say we’ve transformed our daily lives into an Art or Way. But now I find I need an increasing willingness to be humbled and wade into the muck — my own muck, other people’s muck, and the muck flowing from the top — on a daily and weekly basis. The questions I return to are: How can I best be of service here? Am I persisting without the need to survive? Without being driven by fear of failure, or fear of being wrong?

Facing life this way takes some courage. In the process, I’ve had the unexpected experience of confronting annihilation several times — not literally life-and-death, but something the ego experiences that way — while becoming or being created anew. Before finding this, I could feel myself getting trapped in survival mode and looking backward: focused on what was being lost and on what once felt familiar or safe, rather than envisioning and expanding into the future.

So what have I learned about resilience? That our capacity to adapt and recover is not a permanent state but is renewable. Maintaining that resilience seems increasingly difficult in our current environment, where othering is pervasive and there is an endless stream of news and content vying for our attention. I find new daily practices need to emerge, such as: Searching for the humanity, honesty, and humor of hard situations. Resisting the habit of self-righteous judgment and the urge to consume things that cannot truly satisfy. Reminding oneself that we can’t fill a cup that’s already full – that space is needed.

What helps? Reengaging with the slow exhalation from my lower abdomen and 180-degree vision, returning to sincere intention, and reconnecting with nature and community. Even when lost, coherence can be restored. We can experience joy, even amidst the muck. We can remember who we are again.

It would be difficult to describe how much I value the Zen training I’ve received and the community enabled by Chosei Zen. I deeply appreciate your support in making it possible.

Gassho,

Resonant Sound in the Great Land 

(meaning of Meikyo in Japanese and the Unangax word alaxsxaq, which later became “Alaska”)