Zen is a deeply personal experience encompassing mind and body. Because feelings and bodily sensations are ultimately registered and experienced in the mind, Zen directs particular attention to the mind and its functions. We can therefore certainly describe Zen as a training of the mind. Yet Zen also observes how the mind manifests itself, and the body is part of this, too. Some schools therefore practice Zen in a strongly body-centered way.
The Latin term schola, from which the English word “school” is derived, goes back to the Greek scholē and originally meant leisure or free time. It therefore has nothing to do with hard work, rote learning, obedience, or punishment.
There are, in fact, Japanese Zen schools that maintain a comparatively strict practice. These forms of practice have historically been shaped by samurai culture – by military training, discipline, and, in part, physical and psychological punishment. This is incompatible with the Buddha’s original teachings.
What we in the West call “meditation” was called Dhyāna in India at the time of the Buddha, who lived about 2,500 years ago. Dhyāna is a Sanskrit word meaning contemplative concentration or quiet attention. When Buddhist teachings reached China, the term was rendered there as Chán; in Vietnamese, it is Thiền. Later, the Chan tradition reached Japan, where the term Zen became established. Zen thus goes back linguistically, via the Chinese Chán, to the Sanskrit term Dhyāna.
I consider it important to know this, because if we in the West wish to draw inspiration from Buddhism, we should avoid misunderstandings. That kind of Zen, in which people are asked during zazen – seated meditation – to move as little as possible, assume a very upright posture, and even endure pain, can essentially be seen as a yogic exercise. It is strongly body-centered and tied to specific forms and rituals.
For some practitioners, this form of Zen may be exactly right. Personally, however, I prefer a gentle, inclusive method that can also be practiced by people with physical limitations. Awakening does not depend on a particular posture. I see a very upright seated posture, such as is depicted in certain Buddha statues, as a symbolic expression of sincerity – a quality of mind.
I consider the practice of sincerity central to Zen. This is, as I have already mentioned, a very personal matter. Sincerity means mindfully observing and accepting our bodies and their sensations, as well as our minds and everything that arises and moves within them. We will soon notice that this is not easy at all: a feeling manifests itself or a thought arises, yet we cannot remain with what appears. At once, secondary thoughts arise and draw us into trains of thought, where we spin a web around what first appeared – like a spider wrapping its prey in silk. I can only be a student of Zen if I acknowledge the madness of my own spinning.
Or we allow our thoughts to drive us and gallop away: as fast as we can, anywhere but here.
There is a story about a rider who suddenly comes galloping up. A man standing by the wayside calls out to him: “Where are you off to in such a rush?” The rider quickly calls back: “No idea – ask the horse!”