Time for the New Year

672ae5b8cb64a1402bcfa4dc4b863d7f1Time, time, time, see what’s become of me.
Paul Simon

Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast/but what a shame if all we’ve shared can’t last.
Bob Dylan

The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.
Albert Einstein (and a fortune cookie I got once)

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
Shakespeare, Sonnet 116

Happy New Year! I know many people say New Year’s celebration, and a year’s measure itself, are merely an abitrary construct. But on the other hand, there is in it the reality of cycles, of planets and suns and season.  So there is usefulness in it.

As I think about the holiday, the natural topic or questions I hear everywhere right now are about resolutions, changes, intentions for the coming year. But rather than stepping into that question of practice as the great improvement project, the other topic we human beings are focusing on right now is time itself. We have that image of the old year, a hunched and tottering oldster walking off the stage to make room for the fresh-faced baby wearing a sash emblazoned with “2018.” Though I have to say I picture it more this year as a newborn fawn, licked clean by its mother and struggling to stand on shaky legs. And unaware of the hunters just beyond the clearing, all drawing time’s arrow in readiness for it. Deer in the headlights, indeed.

And when I think of time, and Buddhist theory, my first thought is of Dogen’s Uji, or Being-Time, one of the most analyzed and least understood of his writings. I say least understood not from a place of understanding, just from the fact that otherwise it would not be endlessly commented upon. When I think of it, my next thought is: there must be some other writing or sutra I can look to? I mean, just reading the firewood and ash section about time and cause and effect in his Genjokoan gives me a headache, so you can imagine what an entire piece of his on time does to me. Still, it’s dense and beautiful and lyrical and confounding, like all the best of Dogen’s writing. If you’d like to look at a translation of it, here is one.

“For the time being” here means time itself is being, and all being is

Time is being, Dogen seems to be saying. And all beings are time. And perhaps time is a being. In considering it I can’t think of time any longer without the awareness from teachings and practice, that somehow wrapped up in there too is the fact that all things are impermanent. There is the continuous cycle of arising and falling away, like the beginning and ending of years. All good stories have a beginning and also have an ending.

My relationship to impermanence changed not long ago, the first time I bought a mattress with a 30 year guarantee and realized, ok, even if I’m very fortunate to have a long life, I likely won’t be buying another one of these. Not just a vague sense that, yes, all things end, but that this particular thing I experience as myself will end. And that end is not off in some imagined future far away any longer.

Dogen says we don’t understand what time really is.

Because the signs of time’s coming and
going are obvious, people do not doubt it. Although they do not doubt it,
they do not understand it.

I’m not sure how it was seen in his time, but most of us now, even in spite of the scientific understand of how time and space are entangled, still see time as something separate.

People only see time’s coming and going, and do not thoroughly
understand that the time-being abides in each moment.

Most often when I’m dealing with time in an unthinking way , I treat it as a thing that can be quantified, saved, and made use of…. or wasted and lost. And that it’s limited. So, my understanding is something of a cross between the ancient mythological story of the three fates spinning out a thread, and the notice on my laptop of the amount of charge in my battery, which interestingly is also converted into “time remaining.”

Do not think that time merely flies away. Do not see flying away as the only
function of time. If time merely flies away, you would be separated from
time. The reason you do not clearly understand the time-being is that you
think of time only as passing.

To think of time as a being opens it up in a way that mechanistic view doesn’t. I can interact with time, I enter into a relationship with it. I can take care of it, and let it support me. If I see others as time, I feel kindlier and more tender to all those beings—myself included, and time itself included.

Time is not separate from you, and as you
are present, time does not go away.

Maybe there’s just something about solstice or this particular time of year that encourages pondering these things…I notice on rereading Uji that at the end it states”On the first day of winter, first year of Ninji [1240], this was written at Kosho Horin Monastery.”

Perhaps rather than focusing on resolutions and change, you can explore how you relate to time? Does it change if you see it as a being? And ok, to get a little bit of reflection on what you’d like to do in the coming year, how would you like to dance with time in 2018?

See each
thing in this entire world as a moment of time.
Things do not hinder one another, just as moments do not hinder one

Wishing you all an unhindered year–



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We began the 6th week of the practice period yesterday.  Today is the 37th day of the 100 day training period.  As I thought of those numbers I was all set to break that down into the smaller fractions, but damn!  It’s a prime number.  The percentage is easy enough….37%.

It used to drive my dad crazy when I’d mow our one-acre yard.  I’d break it into numerous little sections, doing one, then the next: the area at the bottom of the hill.  The parallelogram between the pine trees and the road.  The nice flat square on top of the front yard, a perfect croquet pitch.  He was a trigonometry and calculus teacher, he actually carried pencils and a slide rule in a pocket protector in his white shirt.  Like most of us in the 60’s who didn’t want to be like our fathers in any way, at the age of 14 I quit taking any more math once I’d completed geometry and didn’t need to do any more required classes.

But as I find in so many ways, no matter how fast I run from it, one day we all become our parents.  And though I left off with math in 8th grade, I still inherited his head for figures.  I can do equations in my head.  I can figure fractions and percentages without much effort.  (As I’m writing this I thought of an article I just read that gave the advice that the first 10% of any written piece is all “throat-clearing,” and should be deleted so that we get to the meat of the story.  And I’m already wondering if I’ve reached the 10% point and can delete this yet.)

For years when I’d sit zazen by myself and didn’t have a good timer, I’d have to keep checking the clock to know how much longer I had to sit.  And in the same way a watched pot never boils, when I kept checking the time it never seemed to arrive at the end.  In fact it was something like Zeno’s paradox, posited by a Greek philosopher, where an individual wants to go from point a to point b.  The person must first travel half the distance, then half of that distance, then half of that, with the outcome being one never arrives at the end.  And in the same way when I keep checking the time, each time I’d look, half of the time remaining from when I’d checked before was always gone.  So it seemed too I’d never get to the end.

I’ve also always had an ability to know what time it is, within 5 minutes or so.  Which doesn’t help me in long sitting periods.  Even when losing track of time, I find it’s easy to start figuring based on “my legs are just starting to get numb which usually happens about 20 minutes in…” Times when I was the doan for sitting periods at the zendo, I’d keep glancing over at the clock incessantly.  Fearing always that I’d go over the time period.  Because when someone else was keeping time, I’d be certain some periods they had gone over and in my frustration, become incensed at him or her for making us all sit longer.  Ok, just for making me and my aching knees sit longer.   So if i was the timekeeper I’d not want to incur the silent wrath in all the minds of the people who I was forcing to sit longer than scheduled, and keep looking every few minutes.

I think I broke the task of mowing up because I didn’t like it all that much, and it let me keep feeling I was making progress.  And accomplishing small tasks each time I’d finish up the little area.  Oddly enough, we’re told that is the way to tackle big tasks, to break them down into smaller parts so they’re not so overwhelming.

But for me it’s not even about doing what I don’t like.  I do the same thing when I’m doing something I enjoy, thinking, “oh this movie is wonderful, and it’s already half over!”  Which seems to me to be part of what is the dukkha in even pleasurable things that Buddha spoke of.

And though I’m to the point of settling in to the practice period now, and really enjoying it, I still do that figuring in my head….”37%, already more than 1/3 of the way done, only 73 days left…”  Like the figure in zeno’s paradox, I never arrive at the goal.  The goal for me is this present moment, and I’m always only halfway there when I’m counting.

I’ve been reading “The Flowing Bridge” by Elaine MacInnes, a book on mu and the miscellaneous koans. And I’m struck as I think about my discursive mind’s obsession with measuring and counting, that there are quite a few koans that deal with that very thing.  “Count the stars in the sky.”  Another speaks of “one who can count the grains of sand in the sea.”  Yet another of “the one who can survey land.”  Another version of the last one has it, “Why is it one who fences off land can’t leave that enclosure?”  I laugh as I think of how I fenced off land in my own mind as I mowed.

At the same time I’m on the section in Genjokoan on wood, fire, and ash.  And I don’t think that what Dogen is aiming at is not for me to try to figure when the wood is halfway on the way to being ash.   Letting things be fully what they are at the moment they are existent in is what we aim for.  When I can put the clock aside during my zazen (thank god for the timer apps now, so I can put that aside and forget about it.) I am able to more fully enter into what is in front of me and around me.  When I am always counting or figuring, I seem to be keeping the ten thousand things (there’s that counting again) at arm’s length (and measuring again!)  When I fence off things, I am fencing myself off.  I keep on dividing what can’t be divided.  Counting what can’t be counted.

Perhaps the teaching of my father can serve me well here.  When he mowed, he simply started at the edge, and worked either back and forth, or in concentric circles growing smaller and smaller until the last blade of grass was cut.  No dividing what is indivisible.  No measuring, no figuring, no looking to the end–just him, the mower, and the lawn, until there was nothing left.  Just the fullness of the moment, and the smell of the sweet grass.