Gordon Gaho Tyrall – What Feels Important About Practice

I came to Zen, and Buddhism generally, through reading. I came across Peter Matthiessen’s book The Snow Leopard when it came out in the 1970s. I’d never heard of Zen, but I was intrigued, and then read Zen Flesh, Zen Bones—another cult classic. Then more and more reading. Then I went for a long trip to India, to see Bodh Gaya and other places. None of this was really practice, though; it’s just spiritual tourism. Very nice and enjoyable, inspiring even—but not practice (or is it?)

When I started trying to practise after coming back from India, I found it really hard going. I attended a weekend sesshin with Genpo Roshi in London. I hated it! I thought this was not for me, I think Tibetan would suit me better. They let you slump against the wall with a blanket over you, not cross-legged in agony with someone standing over you with a stick and shouting “wake up!” But weirdly, I found myself coming back, again and again, and receiving jukai from Maezumi Roshi, even though I hadn’t a clue as to what I was doing. That was quite a long time ago, and even now I’m still not entirely sure what keeps me coming back. In my younger days, I developed a kind of Zen enthusiasm and evangelism, encouraged by books like Three Pillars of Zen, eager to have a big experience, satori, like in the books. I pushed myself quite hard, fainting on the cushion sometimes. I did two hours of zazen a day at home. It’s embarrassing now—it was, of course, pure ego. Then pride in passing my first koan. Plus, the added iniquity of boring all my acquaintances with my evangelism. Maybe it’s a phase you go through. Is it better now that I have abandoned a lot of that enthusiasm? I’m much more laid-back about it all now. I still love working with koans, but I don’t care about having an earth-shattering “experience”, and I don’t care about enlightenment. I see now that in my younger days, I wanted to be special (oh, you are so spiritual!), and I wanted something to make life meaningful.

All that had its uses, I suppose—I shouldn’t be so critical of my old self, perhaps. But practice for me now is the occasional sesshin and my prison work. At Crosby, a few weeks ago, the reason for practice becomes clearer—it strips away some of the detritus from your life, the distractions that we all surround ourselves with, and lets life breathe. Sesshin is always a challenge, for me at least (not helped by being bitten by my parrot!), but it enhances life. Just by sitting still and being with others. I used to expect to make big changes after coming home from sesshin, and then I’d find that I’m soon back to my old ways. I’m not disillusioned by that anymore. I think the important thing is to keep going. Do it for its own sake and don’t look for a reward of any kind. That feels more like a sound reason for practice.