The Noble Eightfold Path, the fourth of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism, amounts to a prescription for practice, an octet of dimensions of daily life to pay strict attention to, in order to bring about Right View and Right Understanding, the dyad which, in combination, comprise Buddha’s idea of Right Wisdom. Right, or correct, wisdom in daily life will come about naturally through the daily observation and practice of Right Conduct: right speech, action, and livelihood; along with Right Discipline: right effort, mindfulness and meditation.

Needless to say, but I will say it anyway, in Zen, it all starts and ends with right meditation, opposed, we may suppose, to “wrong” meditation. And in truth, there are styles of meditation, and attitudes about it, that would be considered wrong, in the sense that they do not work well, or at least not as well as zazen, with its modus operandi of objectlessness. Such approaches as bompu Zen: meditating for health and happiness, wellbeing, i.e. ordinary goals and objectives of living; or gedo Zen: a practice that disregards the Buddhist underpinnings of Zen meditation, with its emphasis on transcending the self in order to penetrate to the depths of reality, in favor of some other framework such as Taoism or Confucianism from the original context in China, or a religious attitude of spiritual transcendence of ordinary life.     

So even within the personal practice of meditation itself, there can be competing ideas that lead to confusion. More so when we consider the cultural context in which we are practicing Zen. Nowadays we might want to add more dimensions to the original eight attributed to Buddha’s prescription for practice in a simpler time. Perhaps today we would end up with a Noble Thirty-two-fold Path as the last of the Sixteen Noble Truths.

One of the more explicit dimensions might be called “right balance,” indicating what I have termed “social samadhi.” Along with physical samadhi in the posture, which fosters emotional samadhi: less anxiety, more calm; mental samadhi: more clarity, less confusion; we begin to find more harmony, less friction, in our relationships.

 For Americans interested in pursuing a Zen practice, finding the right balance between the demands of household, work and family; and the necessary intensity of zazen practice may seem to be the most pressing and stressing dilemma in actualizing a Zen life in modern times.

We imagine that in simpler times, people had more time to spare, and could devote a greater share of their time to meditation and study. With all the touted time-saving devices of current technology, we still seem to have little or no time to ourselves. The current droll expression, “The hurrier I go, the behinder I get” captures this syndrome. An ancient version of the same idea, from the Chinese Zen poem Hsinshinming—Faith Mind, says it a bit differently, with specific relevance to Zen practice with a Taoist slant:

To live in the Great Way is neither easy nor difficult

But those with limited views are fearful and irresolute

The faster they hurry the slower they go

This is a critique of those who approach Zen practice with limited views, as well as those who do not practice at all, and an admonition to practitioners to be fearless and resolute in pursuit of buddha-dharma. This general mindset underlies Right Effort, and gives a clue to how we may achieve balance in our practice.

Usually when someone brings this issue up, it indicates that they suspect that they may not be practicing with sufficient intensity. They worry that it is not possible to find the time for zazen, both at home and away, without compromising obligations to family and career. For every project or task in which we invest the present moment, there are a dozen others that go wanting.

The source of this dilemma is the tendency of the discriminating mind to compartmentalize, dividing life into separate categories. The next step in the process is to set the various pieces in opposition to each other. Then we conceive of them as taking time to plan, engage, and complete. Thus, we are forever caught in the bind of measured time, another compartmentalized conception. Taking this concept of time for the reality of time, we see no way out.

Time-and-motion gurus, along with efficiency experts as well as life coaches, apply various techniques to this problem, such as making it visible. One such approach recommends drawing up a pie chart, in which we give a portion of the whole to each of our regular activities, whether based on a 24-hour daily, or weekly, monthly, or annual, cycle. Then we examine the activities to see if they are out of balance in some obvious way, looking to reduce one to make room for another, to arrive at a more desirable allocation of time to our goals and objectives. In other words, we use measured time to re-plan a measured dedication time to tasks.

If we closely examine this process, and pay attention to the singular subjects that appear to conflict, it becomes apparent that the boundaries are not so clear. What we sort into categories are aspects of life that are more related than opposed. This is not a simplistic assertion that all is one, just an admission of the not-two nature of life promulgated in Zen teachings, particularly those from China.

If, for example, we imagine that time spent in zazen is time neglecting our family, we might remember that when we do not sit in zazen for some period, our relationship to our family begins to deteriorate. We may secretly, subliminally even, resent the fact that we have to give up something for the sake of our spouse, children, or parents  — or worst case, in-laws — with any lack of appreciation for our sacrifice on their part, adding insult to injury.

We cannot balance our relationships to others, when they are built on such underlying self-centered impulses to begin with. Our complaint that we do not have time to do zazen is a symptom that we do not understand either time, or zazen. When we do zazen, we are using our time to its utmost efficiency and efficacy. When we leave the cushion, this mindset goes with us. We eventually begin to find that we waste less time in futile pursuits, or in resentment and acrimony between ourselves and those making demands on our time.

This is especially true at work. A majority of people may report that they are happy with their work. But whether this happiness is genuine — or feigning contentment in fear of losing their job, or resistance to confronting genuine underlying unhappiness — is anyone’s guess. This was probably not included in the questionnaire. But most of our discomfort at work stems from relationships.

Compensation in terms of salary and benefits is always related to at least one other person, usually the identified “boss,” or management in general, especially where unions are involved. It is difficult to apply principles of compassionate engagement when the deck is stacked against us, with the other person holding all the trump cards. Often, we have no idea how much they themselves make for being our boss, but they know that — and more than we would like — about us.

Our subordinates present another set of interpersonal issues, where we find ourselves on the hot seat in terms of supervising their performance, dealing with personalities that can be difficult. We are uncomfortably aware of the interconnectedness of our role in the enterprise, particularly with those in close proximity. We also have to be mindful of the viewpoint of others higher in the chain of command, to whom our boss reports. And then, over time, these roles and relationships are as impermanent as any other elements in the Buddhist universe. As the old adage has it, “Be nice to the people you meet on the way up the ladder; they are the same people you will meet on the way down.”

Then there are client and supplier relationships outside the company; or students in the classroom; patients at the hospital. Patterns of relationships repeat, though the nature of the product or service varies. Sometimes disputes come out of left field, and we are blindsided with a conflict that begins to take up all of our time, including agonizing over it after work, over a drink. At the end of the day — so ubiquitous and overused a phrase that it is distasteful to repeat it — we begin to see home as a refuge from work. In some cases, work becomes a refuge from home. And the annual vacation becomes a refuge from both. Thus, our entire annual calendar is sucked into the relentless maw of time-consumption.

What if this is all just fantasy, simply the workings of our imagination? The monkey-mind is endlessly capable of playing such games. What about a real vacation, a time-out from this daily merry-go-round?

Zazen has been referred to as a mini-vacation, a brief respite from the rat race. One of the great secrets of Zen is that it really takes no time at all. In fact, Zen holds that we do not live in real time, unless we enter into it through zazen.

When we think of the entire scope of a project — such as writing the great American novel — we shrink back, in intimidation. The mountain seems insurmountable. But the mountain is climbed one step at a time, though we might prefer a helicopter. If we see a mountain as a series of molehills, it is not so daunting. The only question is, Which molehill is in front of us, at the moment?

If we think about all the other things that we do in a day, that take a half-hour or so, are there none that we could easily forego, for the sake of sitting for a half-hour? If not, how about fifteen minutes? Ten? Five? As Matsuoka Roshi would often say, “Sit five minutes: five-minute Buddha! Sit half-an-hour, Buddha for 30! But wouldn’t you rather be Buddha all day?”

By this, he did not mean sit zazen all day, needless to say. The effects of zazen are both immediate, and cumulative. They go with us, off the cushion. Our resistance to zazen is the molehill become mountain. I once consulted with a Canadian company named DYLEX. It is an acronym, meaning “Damn your lousy excuses!”This is a compassionate message for us. We don’t need no stinking excuses. 

Zen and zazen is very powerful on a personal level. But its halo-effect on our multifarious activities off the cushion operates on a subtle plane. It is better to assume that it is working to bring about personal samadhi on a subliminal level, rather than look for it to manifest in some obvious way. Often, one’s fellow workers and colleagues notice it before we do.

This is what Matsuoka Roshi referred to as “confidence in everyday life,” one of the side-effects of Zen practice. Everything is already in balance, if not obviously so. It may not be apparent to our associates, either. After all, they are only human beings, like us. And they may not have the benefit of a practice like Zen meditation. We can afford to be a bit more balanced in practicing patience with them, in the midst of our shared suffering. We have the balancing effect of Zen. Thank Buddha!

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Elliston Roshi is guiding teacher of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center and abbot of the Silent Thunder Order. He is also a gallery-represented fine artist expressing his Zen through visual poetry, or “music to the eyes.”

UnMind is a production of the Atlanta Soto Zen Center in Atlanta, Georgia and the Silent Thunder Order. You can support these teachings by PayPal to [email protected]. Gassho.

Producer: Shinjin Larry Little