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| Screen: Monks Bowing |
In the mountainous Korean Buddhist
monastery, Song Kwang Sa, the older monks spoke fluent Japanese, but reluctantly.
It had been the language of occupation in their youth. It, however, was a
blessing for the two of us who spoke Japanese as we could talk directly to KuSan
Sunim Roshi during the three month winter retreat. After living in Zen temples
in Japan for several years I was surprised by the dedication and purity of the
monks and nuns of South Korea. Very different from Japan, Korea is considered a
Christian country, the Buddhist practioners are in a minority but they embrace
deeply the path of enlightenment.
We were a motely crew of five women
in the hermitage across the river from the monastery. There was a French and Scottish
woman, both ordained Buddhist nuns in different countries, now living in Korea,
a young Swedish woman traveling from Japan, myself and another American from a
privileged political family with feminist leanings. Ch’an Buddhism of the mainland is the root of Japanese Zen before it divided in Soto and Rinzai. Our
Roshi, KuSan Sunim instructed us, however, to do nothing, but sit. We asked
if there was any expediency that could support meditation. Only one! he
responded, and that is to imagine that Death in standing behind you with his
hand on your shoulder.
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| Screen: Sitting on a stupa disrespectfully |
I was recently reminded of the
Korean retreat when I saw the old cowboy movie, Hombre with Paul Newman, 1967. The movie opens with Newman, who
had been captured as a child by the Apaches, patiently watching a herd of wild
horses that he is luring to a water hole for capture. The Mexican outlaw, who addresses Newman as Hombre at the
end of the movie takes his last breath to ask Hombre’s name. Called hombre—man, he goes unnamed by most of
the immediate characters in the story. Nameless, our hero bridges the duality between the everyday world and beyond. It is interesting to note that training a horse is often used in
Buddhist metaphor as the discipline is takes to give the wild ego an opportunity
for a powerful partnership with Self. Hombre, the nameless one is the guide had
leads the rest through the liminal, the space between worlds. We can only
ponder how each one is radically changed by their experience with this figure.
In the Wild West and in Buddhist
practice it takes willingness to walk the edge between worlds as a path of realization. Yes, physically our man---hombre
has the kind of gumption, symbolizing the warrior spirit, but also it crosses
gender. Besides the bullying bad guys, the
only other person who shows any grit is a female character, who ultimately catalyzes
the climaxing action. When she asks Hombre why everyone is following someone
they don’t trust? He answers, “Because I can cut it.” The group sees in him
what they don’t want see in themselves. He is their shadow aspect. But he is
the only one capable using the hand of Death on his shoulder to give him
clarity of vision.
The monks in the winter retreat
explore awareness of the hand of Death by choosing difficult conditions,
freezing weather in paper and mud housing, sitting fourteen hours a day, with a bucket of hot
water on bath day. There was an urgency in their practice. It is not part of
the equation when life is easy. The Tibetan Buddhist, say that we need to
practice our final dying everyday. Every activity in life offers that
opportunity, especially art making. I know in the studio when I am
back-peddling and when I am on my game.
I think we all do.
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| Screen; Tango Dance Buddha & Kuan Yin |
At Song Kang Sa after a dharma
lecture one day, the other American in our group asked the Roshi in Japanese what the difference was between men and women in practice. His immediate answer was, “ Gintama!” followed by a gale of
laughter. We had never heard the expression, but our experienced Swedish friend,
even with her limited Japanese translated it promptly into English, “Golden
Balls,” slang for testicles. So there you have it, across all time, culture and
gender, there is only one thing that puts you into the game, male or female…cajones, except in the true paradox of Zen Koans, they are also a metaphor of the most fragile and vulnerable part of the body.
