Living Budo: Chop Wood, Carry Water

 

Budo as Embodied Practice

Integrating Mind, Body, and Spirit

"Mind, Body, and Spirit as One" (design by C.S.)

“Mountains and waters are the expressions of old buddhas.” ~Eihei Dogen

This quote from Dogen comes from his masterful “Sansuiko,” or the “Mountains and Waters Sutra,” an insightful and rather poetic work (as are all of the great zenji’s pieces) written in the 13th century.  If Dogen would have been a follower or a practitioner of budo—as many of his spiritual descendents would come to be in the following centuries—he may have added, “and fists and feet are nothing other than the Way.”

Or not.

But there is nothing cute (or trivial) about such statements.  They are expressions of a deep, somatic truth.  The “spiritual” is not something otherworldly, but is expressed—and, therefore, encountered—in the mundane, the material, and the everyday; in mountains and waters, in punches and in kicks.

This is the reason that budo is not true budo unless it contains a “spiritual” element.  It must be realized—and then actualized through practice—that the “physical” aspects of practice (punches and kicks) are not just physical.  They are the portal for the entry of a Sacred dimension into our lives.  And as this realization of the spiritual aspects of budo are explored, more and more does the budoka come to see the importance of integrating the “spiritual” with the most mundane parts of her life.

If you take up the practice of zazen (seated meditation), you will quickly discover that it’s difficult to consistently practice mindfulness of the breath or the hara (or whatever is the “object” of your meditation; even if it’s “objectionless”), much less make steady progress in deepening your meditation sessions, unless you do your very best to integrate mindfulness and awareness with all aspects of your life.  If, however, you do your best to consistently practice awareness even while you’re at work or parenting your child (the “mundane”) then you will find it much easier to quickly settle into a deep, peaceful zazen.  Budo practice works in much the same manner.  You cannot expect, upon arrival at the dojo, to just “turn on” this spiritual dimension of your practice. It must be cultivated so that it is with you before and after training.

“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.”  ~Zen saying

This popular zen quote—pithy and easy-to-remember—is often talked about, quoted in dharma talks, and written about.  Most writers (and keep in mind that this quote is well-known enough that even “non-zennists” write about it) take this quote to refer to the fact that, no matter how “enightened” one may be, no matter how wise and sagely one becomes, one must still “deal” with the most mundane parts of life, such as household chores and shopping for groceries, feeding the dog and folding the laundry.  I won’t deny that this might be a part of its meaning, but I also think that its meaning is more straightforward than that.

Chopping wood and carrying water are decidedly physical activities.  Their transformative power is in their very physicality.  And this is the reason that budo, potentially at least, is capable of a potent transformation of the budoka.  In other words, the more physical an activity, the greater its potential to transform.

Before enlightenment, physical practice helps to integrate the body with mind and spirit.  One way to think of what is termed “enlightenment” (this is probably the most common way to think of it) is as a transformation of consciousness.  I think this definition is fine so long as you don’t think of “mind” as the center of consciousness.  You could argue that the mind is one place where consciousness is “localized” but consciousness pervades the body (and space, and, therefore, spirit).

After enlightenment, physical practice is the only way to fully integrate the enlightenment “experience”—what seems to occur in the mind—with daily life in the body.

Before and after enlightenment, once again the more physical the practice the better.  But keep in mind that budo, no matter how great it is—and it is great for this purpose—it’s still just an entry point.  Chopping wood and carrying water are only entry points.  Practice must continually go deeper, opening up to those less physical “practices” mentioned earlier, such as folding laundry and shopping at the supermarket.  Eventually, you will arrive at a very felt presence within the body, even during “non-physical” rest and (if you truly go deep) even sleep.

If you continually persist at deepening your budo practice in such a manner (and remember that the first and the last “key” to success at anything is CONSISTENCY), an interesting thing will eventually, and most likely, occur.  As this transformation of consciousness pervades your body, the sense of separation between what you take to be “you” and “not you” starts to break down.  Your sense of “self” and “not-self” begins to dismantle.

When our practice reaches this point, it’s important not to try to “understand” this encounter with what is Self and what is not-self.  The important thing is to simply rest in it.  And then go about your daily life as if—at least to the outside world—nothing is really happening.  So, yes, you embody it as much as you can during budo practice, and any kind of strenuous work—lifting weights, for example—makes it often easier for this embodied practice within practice.  But you then carry it on during all of the activities I have already mentioned, and whatever else might come up in your life, especially unexpected events.  The more “scheduled” your daily life is, the easier it is to maintain your practice.  For the most part, this is good, as it allows you to cultivate this very embodied spirituality.  (If your life was constantly chaotic, this would be near impossible to cultivate.)  But when things come up that require you to do something spontaneous, then use it as part of your practice, as well.

If you persist at this practice, there will eventually come a point when you have reached the budo that cannot be seen.  According to Morihei Ueshiba, the founder of Aikido, this is the ultimate goal of practice, to “Do the budo that cannot be seen.”  But until you reach a point where you have encountered it, these words of O-Sensei remain just that: words.  So remain constant in practice, and realize that anytime when you believe you have “got it,” then you probably don’t.  With this in mind, I leave you with the words of the 15th century Zen master Ikkyu Sojun:

     Don’t pick up tea leaves, but practice zazen.

     Don’t read sutras, but practice zazen.

     Don’t clean the house, but practice zazen.

     Don’t ride on horseback, but practice zazen.

     Don’t make fermented beans, but practice zazen.

     Don’t sow tea seeds, but practice zazen.

Of course, Ikkyu was not telling his students to sit around and meditate all day long while neglecting one’s daily activities.  Quite the contrary.  All of life, including our budo, is to become zazen itself.