The Path IS the Goal

 

A “Nothing to Do, Nowhere to Go” Practice for Contemporary Budoka

     In my last “Budo Zen” article on hard work, I mentioned at the end how a lot of practitioners don’t like—or, at the very least, don’t know what to make of—the goalless practice in Zen of “nothing to do and nowhere to go.”  If there is nothing to do and nowhere to go then what is the point? This is a common enough refrain, and it’s what I would like to explore a little further here.

     Goals are needed in life.  That’s the first thing that needs to be understood.  You are not going to achieve much (in many aspects of your life) if you don’t have a clear goal, and a means to get there.  Often, when it comes to lifting, I discuss on this blog how too many lifters—bodybuilders, strength athletes, and, yes, martial artists, too—will often allow the means to justify the ends.  This is the wrong approach.  If you allow the “means” (the workout itself) to justify the “ends” (whatever goal you are trying to achieve via working out) then you may or may not achieve your goal.  You first need a clear goal (the “ends”), and then you need to use a method (the “means”) that will allow you to achieve that goal.

     In many aspects of your life, you need a clear goal, and you need to ensure that you are doing the necessary things to reach that goal.  Zen practice—and, thus, what I also call here Budo Zen—is a little different.  Zen is often highly transformative because of this sort of “backward-facing” stance that it takes, where the path itself is the goal.

     Before we get around strictly speaking to this goalless practice, it must also be noted that there should be goals in Zen, or just in the “spiritual life” in general.  I am not saying otherwise.  We should, through practice, become calmer, more patient, more loving, and we should strive to attain a peace of mind that is not contingent upon the conditions of this world.  But, unlike with other areas of our life such as lifting weights, oddly enough these goals are attained by not grasping at them and not focusing on them.  The only way to “achieve” these goals is by letting go of them, and focusing solely on the path, and the path is attained only in the present moment, not in some fantasy of the future.

     In the Shinjinmei, Sengcan, the 3rd Patriarch of Zen, says this: “To be attached to the idea of enlightenment is to go astray.  Just let things be in their own way.”  And the Dzogchen master Longchenpa said, “If you want to experience natural mind, you can only do it by not wanting to.”  Both of these quotes point out that, if we want to achieve our “spiritual” goals—even the loftiest goal of all, to be enlightened—then we must not grasp at or strive for these goals.

     Perhaps a good comparison to that of the path of Zen is the ripening of fruit.  If you plant fruit or vegetables, or even if you start a flower bed, then, yes, you must first desire to have a garden, and you must till the soil, preparing it for planting.  Then you must plant whatever it is that you are attempting to grow, watering as needed, applying fertilizer—whatever it is that gardeners do to grow their gardens.  But it’s not up to the gardener—not ultimately, at least—whether the fruit truly grows to its full potential.  The nature of the terrain, the chemical makeup of the soil, and the unpredictable patterns of weather contribute just as much, if not more, as anything else.  You must simply focus on the path itself—the gardening—and trust that, in due time, some of the fruit will ripen.  And some of it will.  But some of it won’t.

     This is the path of Zen.  If we are attached to the outcomes of our practice—tranquility, peace-of-mind, enlightenment, awakening, whatever—then we are unlikely to achieve those goals.  Instead we focus on the day-to-day—our breath and our body posture during zazen, the present moment, our feelings as they arise and fall of their own accord—and the fruit will ripen when it’s ready.  And, as with the garden, some fruit will ripen and some won’t.  We are individuals, not robots, and our particular individuality will often determine this, which is another reason that our focus should be on the path itself, and not whatever goals can be attained.  Some of us will still struggle with thoughts of hopelessness even after years of practice.  For some of us it will be anger.  For some of us it will be impatience.  We may find, even after decades of practice, that we are still—to use a Japanese term—bombu; foolish, deluded, silly human beings.  And that is okay, too.  We can simply walk the path, and allow the particular fruit to ripen when it will, or even if it doesn’t.

     The reason that there is nothing to do and nowhere to go on this path is because its heart lies in the present moment, in this moment just as-it-is, without striving for it to be different or trying to change it somehow.  If we think that there is something to do and somewhere that we have to go, then we are apt to miss what is occurring right now.  And it’s in the present moment where we must face whatever it is that comes up in our thoughts, emotions, and feelings.  The present moment is the only moment that has the power to transform us by facing whatever demons arise or whatever feelings of true joy bubble up to the surface.  And if we can face this moment each day, day-after-day, both on the cushion and in the more “mundane” aspects of life, then we can be transformed, and our goals will be achieved, but they can only be achieved by letting go of those very goals in the face of the present moment.

     Oddly enough, it takes effort and skill to let go of goals.  This is one of the most paradoxical things about the path of Zen.  Roshi Reb Anderson, in his book “Warm Smiles from Cold Mountains,” has this to say about this very thing: “There is nothing to do, because we are already at this place, but, because of our accumulated opinions, philosophies, and striving human nature, we are obstructed from this simple practice of paying attention to what is right under our feet at this very moment.  Great effort is required to be free of our ideas about effort.  It takes courage to give up our personal views and to attend to our lives, just as they are.”

     I believe this is where it most ties into budo practice, as well.  Budo practice, even though it is highly physical, and even though you will have goals that you want to achieve, takes courage because you must free yourself from fantasies and delusions, and you must attend to your training in the present moment.

     The best budoka practice with shoshin, “beginner’s mind,” at each and every training session.  A great budoka doesn’t worry about what rank she is, about what she has achieved in the past, or how good her technique looks to others.  Those are the fantasies and delusions that keep one from attaining the true goal of deep practice.  Deep practice, and, therefore, the development of skill, takes place with the mind of nothing to do and nowhere to go.

     In his book “Following the Martial Path: Lessons and Stories from a Lifetime of Training in Budo and Zen,” Walther G. Von Krenner explains the importance of this kind of attitude in order to truly make progress in budo: “Some students can train for years, going to class three or four times weekly, and yet at the end of years, have made little progress… Good students approach each class as though it were new.  They do not care about gain or loss, winning or losing, and gradually they learn how to relax.  They watch their instructors’ movements closely, trying to perceive even the smallest details.  Then, they go home and meditate upon what they learned, so it becomes a part of them.  These people improve, and these people might one day surpass their teachers.”

     Because the path is the goal of these students, they are able to improve.  It’s the goalless path-walkers that don’t care about “gain or loss, winning or losing.”  And, oddly enough to those who don’t walk this path, it is the path to true achievement.

     In another essay, we will look at some more of the “minds” that the budoka must have during training, and some more ways to apply this “goalless path” at the dojo or dojang.  Here, I would simply like to end with this quote from the great Zen Master Linji (Japanese: Rinzai): “As I see it, there isn’t so much to do.  Just be ordinary—put on your robes, eat your food, and pass the time doing nothing.”

Sources

“The Two Biggest Problems with the Spiritual Path: There’s Nothing to Do and Nowhere to Go,” article by Andrew Holocek, Fall 2023 issue of Tricycle: The Buddhist Review

“Warm Smiles from Cold Mountains: Dharma Talks on Zen Meditation” by Reb Anderson, published by Rodnell Press, 2005

“Following the Martial Path: Lessons and Stories from a Lifetime of Training in Budo and Zen” by Walther G. Von Krenner with Ken Jeremiah, published by Tambuli Media, 2016

“Zen Battles: Modern Commentary on the Teachings of Master Linji” by Thich Nhat Hanh, Parallax Press, 2013