DISOWNED (21 page)

   In the silence and all together, as one person, they stand.

   "Put your palms together and bow to one another a little. This is our way of saying thank you here. In the zendo there are many ways of speaking without words, chatter or the confusion of our mad minds."

   Rivkah puts her hands together and bows a little in thanks to the unknown man who is standing across from her in the silence. She longs to look over at him directly. Who are you? How did you get here? What kind of a journey have you been on?

    "You can relax a moment now and look this way if you like."

The young woman is standing in the middle of the room. They all look up at her. "Good evening," she smiles. "My name is Jonen. I'm a resident student here. I'll be giving you instruction tonight."

   Rivkah cannot take her eyes off her. She is tall, slender willowy and ageless.

   "Zazen is not difficult," Jonen continues. "What is it really? Just the way to find your long lost home."

   Rivkah breathes in sharply, as if stung.

  "Now, you can all sit down cross legged on your cushion. It's good if your knees touch the floor. If they don't, don't worry. The zazen will help it by itself."

  Rivkah's knees are stiff and they hurt.

   "Some can sit in full lotus with both feet crossed over each other. If you can fine. If you can't, you can't. You can try half-lotus, or even like this."

   Then Jonen shows them a few positions. She sits on her knees, and then straddles a cushion.

   Then she goes on, "your hands are held like this." She holds her left hand in her right with her thumbs touching. "Your head is straight and your eyes look down. You hold this posture and do not move after the bell has rung out. You wait until the sitting is over. You know it's over when you hear another bell."

   Rivkah has no idea how she can do it. Her legs ache. Her back feels wobbly.

"No matter what you feel, stay as still as you can. Here you become stronger than any pain you might be feeling."

   Rivkah feels as though she could listen to her forever.

"After the sitting is over, we do walking meditation, kinhin. During kinhin, we pay attention only to the bottom of our feet. Then, when you hear two clappers, the walking is over and

you go back to your cushion again. For another round of zazen."

   Everyone is listening raptly.

   "When you sit, just sit. When you walk, just walk. That is the teaching. That's all."

   The students all laugh.

   "And it's more than enough," she says kindly. Her kindness permeates each pore, each bone, each broken memory that arises within Rivkah as she sits here and breathes.

"Let's try it now for a few minutes, until the instruction period is over. Turn and face the wall. Take the zazen posture. Keep your eyes on the floor and start counting your breath. From one to ten. Count your natural breath. There is no need here to change or fix anything. Your own natural breath is fine."

   Rivkah turns, takes the posture and tears start to fall.

   Jonen rings a bell. "This means that the sitting is beginning."

   The tears fall harder. Pain starts to build very quickly in Rivkah's legs and her back. Her mind starts racing.

   "Only stay with the breath."

   Her mind becomes quiet then and rests upon her breath lightly.

Finally a bell rings out again. It sounds sweet, open, playing with them.

   Jonen's voice is gentle. "Now we will go downstairs, and join the others in the main zendo. We'll go one behind the other in line. Tonight there will be a talk by a senior student, Dogo, an ex-middle weight boxing champion. Then another short sitting."

   Everything is simple here, clear cut, plain and beautiful. Where does this enormous beauty come from? Rivkah wonders.

Before they go down, Jonen puts her palms together and calls out "Buddha nature pervades the entire universe, existing right here and now."

   What's Buddha Nature? Rivkah's mind keeps erupting.

   "Buddha Nature," Jonen says then, "is nothing other than your own nature, your own heart and mind. This is not a so-called religion. It is a universal teaching about our very own lives. When your clear mind grows inevitably, sorrow and difficulties melt all by themselves."

Rivkah feels her heart beating wildly. 

   "Now we'll all walk downstairs."

   Rivkah lifts her head a little higher as they all begin to walk down the thin, narrow stairway to the main zendo below. As she walks to the staircase, Jonen comes over and taps her lightly on the shoulder. Rivkah turns, surprised.

"Welcome," Jonen says to her softly.

   "Welcome," Rivkah whispers back, her face shining like the morning sun.

   One by one they file downstairs into the main zendo. It is completely breathtaking. A long, narrow, immaculate, intensely silent, wooden room. Rows of black zazen cushions are lined up facing each other on straw tatami mats on the floor. At the front is a wooden Buddha with a fresh spray of flowers near it, and in the middle, a round, enormous, standing black gong.The beginners enter and walk very quietly one behind the other on the cool, wooden floor.In the center of the room a gruff, senior student stands still.

   "Walk quickly, one behind the other," he announces harshly to all. He has silver hair, and an old face which is beaten up and yet beautiful. "Come on, move fast. Every minute counts here!"

The students pick up their pace. Two clappers sound and they are led to new cushions to sit on. The air is filled with strength, immensity, expectation. A bell rings and everyone sits down on their cushions and erects their spine. 

  "Backs straight! Eyes half open! Hurry up! No time to lose!" The gruff senior student goes and sits down on a cushion in the middle, up front.

   "I'll be giving the talk for tonight," he says. He doesn't smile. He doesn't have to. He just looks ahead firmly.

Nobody in the room moves a muscle as Dogo speaks in a tough, yet sweet, street voice. No matter what he is saying, the students can't move. They are fascinated by Dogo. Why not? Rivkah thinks. He is what he is and nothing else.

   "Don't come here and expect something unusual. There's nothing unusual about zen. Maybe it looks like that, but don't be fooled. Come here and expect to work hard. If you're looking for miracles, don't come to zen. The only miracle in the zendo is that we're here at all."

   Rivkah likes him immensely. She wants to laugh out loud.

  "What you end up getting here," Dogo goes on, "is just more of what you are. And sometimes that's not so terrific."

   Everyone laughs.

"If you have any questions," Dogo continues, "save them for later. I've been sitting for about ten years now. And what have I learned? See for yourself. For now, let's not waste a precious moment. This is the time for zazen."

   A bell rings out. The lights grow dimmer and the students adjust themselves on their cushions and return their attention to their breathing. Each breath as it is given. Nothing else.

   After that sitting period, a monk in a black robe and shaved head steps out from his seat in the front and stands powerfully in the middle of the room. His voice is strong and resonant. Rivkah's heart starts pounding hard.

   "Thank you for coming and joining us here this evening."

That's him, she thinks. Taisan the monk. She can't look up. She only listens.

   "You are welcome to come back any Thursday night, Tuesday afternoons, and any morning at five a.m. Practice hard. Join us if you care to. And, please, take good care of yourselves."

   Then he turns in a flash and walks out of the zendo, his robes waving behind him in the dim light.

   Little sparks of electricity flash in front of Rivkah's eyes. The sound of his voice remains powerfully within her. A gong rings out and the evening is done.

   "I saw Taisan the monk," Rivkah says to Matthew when she gets back to the apartment.

  "Who?" Matthew is waiting up for her, sitting in the living room, watching TV.

"Taisan the monk."

Matthew seems alarmed.

 But Rivkah laughs happily. "I went to the zendo tonight. It was strange. Beautiful too. My legs hurt. And then at the end of the evening, I heard a few words from Taisan the monk."

   Then from out of nowhere, Rivkah suddenly feels cheerful, clear, solid even, planted on her own two feet. "And now," Rivkah chimes out, "I'm going to get you a cup of tea."

   First one cup and then another. Let us boil the water, steep the tea leaves, find the tea cups and learn how to sit simply together, to receive and appreciate. Let us learn to receive love. Receive wisdom. Receive pain. Receive pleasure. Learn to say yes to everything.

Above all in the zendo we learn how to receive. Whatever comes, we learn how to receive it. Whatever goes, we learn how to let it go. Rivkah gets into bed that night, and without a moment's hesitation falls into a sound sleep.

   At four in the morning she awakes with a start, bolts upright in bed and stares out into the darkness. She cannot wait to get back to the zendo again. Cannot wait!

   The morning sitting is at 5 a.m. She jumps out of bed, gets dressed and rushes back to the zendo through the dark, lonely streets.  The streets are empty and still. A few taxis are passing here and there. She takes one fast to the zendo. When she arrives there, it is almost five. A young man is waiting outside. He has a small wool hat on and is leaning against the building, waiting for someone to open the door.

   The young man looks over at her, half nods and says, "They'll be opening the door in five minutes exactly."

   "Thanks."

   "It's nothing. Welcome to my world."

   Rivkah smiles.

   "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes."

   "Be patient," he says. "That's all I can say. All of this takes a very long time."

   The door opens in exactly five minutes and the two of them quickly scurry inside. She takes off her shoes, walks into the main zendo, down the aisle, and then stops at a cushion that is waiting and empty near the front. She sits down on it and faces the wall.

Here, Rivkah thinks to herself, this is the place I have been deprived of. This is the moment I have been longing for. All her years of reading, thinking and dreaming of Zen come together in the silence she enters as she sits, erects her spine and faces the wall. 

After a few moments there are strong, silent footsteps walking slowly, definitively, with great presence along the floor. The footsteps go past her and then stop at the cushion besides her, to her right.

Taisan the monk, wrapped in his black robes, sits down completely besides her. There is no space left to think. Her mind turns to silence. Later her mind surfaces and words appear again. Who is he? So familiar? East and West, two corners of the earth meeting, colliding and joining together. Why do we feel exactly the same?

What brought him, all the way from Japan, and me from Borough Park, Brooklyn to share this  moment now? 

   "Stop thinking!" Taisan calls out. "Words are lies. They will get you nowhere. Breathe only breathe."

  Rivkah's mind grows silent once again. Then thoughts return. Then silence. Then chatter. When the thoughts return they are strong and demanding.  Rivkah, Rivkah, can it be possible, they are asking, that this monk sitting beside you has come all this way to help the exile come to an end?

   Sitting still besides Taisan, she feels strength, compassion, life itself returning. A deep gong rings out in the silent morning. 

Another voice calls out, "Turn Around."

   Rivkah turns around on her cushion. Taisan the monk sits motionless besides her. In his vast silence, there is no place he does not extend to. From the depths of his sitting, Rivkah feels him connected to all time, all place, and all people, no matter who, what or where they are from.

Rabbis, Rabbis, Rivkah's thoughts are in an uproar, time is passing. I am floating, turning, returning through the ages. What is happening? Are you here with me too? But in the deep silence the only answer is the heartfelt chanting that rings out.

   "HEART SUTRA! Form is emptiness. Emptiness is form. This teaching ends all suffering. This is the truth. Not a lie."

Everyone chants in unison together. The deep chanting stills the body and mind. Rivkah listens with every pore of her being and feels Taisan besides her, as a real force for oneness and unification.

   But these are foreign teachings. Is a Jew permitted to be here?  Are the teachings really foreign? Is it even possible, Rivkah dares to wonder, that she has discovered the true Torah at last? 

Over and over, like the waves at sea, these questions arise with pain and subside with sorrow.During the next two and a half hours in the zendo, they alternate sitting and walking. Pain comes and goes during the sitting. Rivkah's legs ache and her heart is full of fear. Occasionally pain and thoughts melt away and just the feel of the breath remains, like an empty reed. A reed of sweetness. And compassion. For all forms of life.

After the morning sitting is over, they all get up once again, and silently walk, one behind the other, out of the zendo. Some students go upstairs with Taisan for breakfast, work and tea.

   Rivkah goes to the shoe rack, takes out her shoes and lets herself out the thick, front, wooden door.

Out on the street it is morning. People are going back and forth. Cars are running. Buses are honking. But everything looks new, washed and clean. What has happened? Rivkah feels steady and real. She stands on the street as if she belongs there. From deep inside she wants to laugh, and laugh and laugh.

A moment later the young man who had gone in with her comes out too. He goes over to his bicycle that was tied to a post and starts to unlock it. They look at each other and smile.

   "Some trip, huh?" he says.

   Rivkah likes him. He is short, slender and very nice looking with a sad face, green eyes and a full mouth. He shakes his head a little. "What a life."

"Have you been coming here long?" she asks.

   "Not long enough," he says, "but it's all right. Everything's fine. Just practice, practice. You'll see someday. It's wonderful."