11 Jun Back to the source

I find myself in an empty in-between space of time. I am walking in the forest on the hill opposite the Zen temple. Today was the last day of the spring retreat, which lasted three and a half days. Tomorrow begins the Shiho ceremony, which lasts five days and through which I will become a Zen Master. We have just received instructions and will spend these days shielded from view. The rite itself is partly secret.
I take a walk.
To my left and right, the pine trees peak high into the sky. At the top of the hill, I look back. There lies the spring that supplies the temple with water, hidden in the grounds. I step over branches and stumps and make my way to this walled pool. It is a hidden part of the temple. That is also symbolic at the same time, because Zen leads you back to the source, yet this source itself cannot be named in words.
What does that mean for me, becoming a Zen Master? I have asked myself that question more often lately.

Riddle
I remember my first steps in Zen, which felt like coming home, but into an empty house where there is nothing to gain. The practice is mysticism in its purest form. To an observer, Zen practice feels like a contradiction. At first glance, it seems so simple: you sit still and attentively in a very precise, harmonious posture called the Buddha pose. You let everything pass and are striving for nothing. You let go of every goal. And that is less simple. You can actually only practice zazen if you are seized by this riddle.

And now, after so many years in which my motivation was essentially nothing other than to practice this extensively and intensively, I am becoming a Zen Master. Master of what?

Just like Zen itself, which you practice but do not define, I feel that this is also the best approach to this mastery: I do not need to define it. It is better to leave it open and project nothing.

*This post has been automatically translated from Dutch