10/18 - Genjo Marinello

                Well . . . as it turns out, Shishin Wick was not my last interview.

                It had been suggested that my overview of Zen in North America needed more balance, needed to have at least one other example of a more formal and traditional Japanese practice. I’ve also been told that it should probably include the Vietnamese Zen tradition. So, I may try to visit one of Thich Nhat Hanh’s groups in the spring. In the meantime, I made contact with Genjo Marinello (the name attached to his email is  “Joe Marinello”) of Chobo-ji in Seattle.

                Genjo had just, within the last two weeks, ordained Eshu Martin as an Osho, putting to rest the questions that the Sasaki lineage had about Eshu’s credentials as a teacher. That alone would have been enough for me to be interested in him.

                One does not get the same feel for a person via skype as one does in person, but Genjo certainly struck me as having that settled self-confidence and ease which I’ve noted in previous posts about Taigen Henderson and Bodhin Kjolhede. In the image I receive via skype, he appears to be sitting at a desk in a study. There is an upright piano in the background, and western-style art on the walls (rather than the calligraphy and other Asian art works I’ve commonly seen elsewhere). Genjo’s head is shaved, and he wears a head-set during the interview.

       

         His entry to Zen began in a freshman English class in the ‘70s, when the teacher introduced him to the idea that there “was a way to experience, or penetrate, reality beyond the scientific method; that you could have something called insight, inspiration, or intuition. You could tap into some fundamental truths heuristically by investigating your own internal condition.” That led him to the practice of Zen. He was living in southern California at the time.

                Later, while serving as a Vista volunteer in Seattle, he practiced with a group established there by Glenn Webb, a professor at the University of Washington. In 1978, Dr. Webb invited a Rinzai teacher to Seattle from Japan. This was Genki Takabayahsi Roshi, who then founded Dai Bai Zen Cho Bo Zen Ji, or “The Listening to the Dharma Zen Temple on Great Plum Mountain.”

                Genjo was sitting with this group when he happened to attend a lecture given by the Dalai Lama. The talk was interrupted by a group of Maoist-students who heckled the Dalai Lama for failing to support the Chinese Communist regime in Tibet. Genjo was so impressed by the way the Dalai Lama handled the situation that he announced to Genki Roshi that he was ready to commit himself to Buddhist practice.

                He spent a short time in Japan, at Ryutakuji, where he met Soen Nakagawa Roshi among others. He was surprised to learn there that the Japanese students were only there because “it was their lot in life.” They were bewildered when he told them that he had chosen—that he wanted—to be there. “Who would want that?” they wondered. So eventually he just said he had been sent there.

                It was hard. And although his own training methods are considered traditional and a little strict in America, he makes it clear they are nothing like what he went through in Japan. “Nothing you ever did was right. And if you did do something to someone’s satisfaction, someone else would come along and undo it, telling you it was all wrong.” One day as he was sweeping a gravel path, he was reprimanded for whistling. Not something to be done while you work.

                For Genjo, Zen “points at our deep, true nature.” We don’t often tap into the deepest part of our nature, he explains, as a result of which we tend to have a fairly narrow and individualistic sense of ourselves “and who we are and our place in the universe.” Zen, then, provides a training that helps us to transcend “our ego identity and discover our deeper, seamless nature” with all other beings.

                He had his initial kensho experience on the third day of his first sesshin, and he had further openings while in Japan. I remark that it is significant that the training works well enough in Japan that even students who don’t want to undertake it—who are there only because it is their “lot”—still come to awakening. Conversely, students who want that type of training and awakening experience in America, sometimes never attain it. And I wonder if the strictness of the Japanese training isn’t a factor. Genjo agrees that it may be, and, for that  reason, maintains a stricter regime in Seattle than I’ve found at some other places I’ve been.

               He is careful, however, to put as much emphasis on the attainment of karuna (compassion) as of prajna (wisdom), and perhaps that has been the factor missing in the way Japanese Zen was transferred to the west.

Cypress Trees in the Garden:

Marinello, Genjo – 83-97, 111-12, 113, 115, 247-49

10/12 - Shishin Wick

                We leave Jaroso at dawn, just as the sun is hitting the peaks of the San Luis mountains. Some of these have become snow-covered since we arrived. The autumn colors are richer; yellows remain predominant, but there are russets and a tree which turns a deep burgundy.

                It is a six hour drive to Berthoud, north of Denver. This is farmland and horse ranches. Shishin (Lion Heart) Wick has a couple of horses, as well as goats, and chickens (“Fresh eggs every day”). The “Abbey” is his home, where he has added a zendo and  sleeping quarters for retreat participants. Hand painted signs, statuary, a coy pond, and Tibetan prayer flags identify the site. The colors of the house are more Tibetan than Japanese, bright primary colors—green, yellow, red. There is an invocation by the outside entrance to the Zendo: “Enlightened ones of the universe, Bodhisattvas, Protectors of the Dharma, together with planets, stars, and all sentient ones. We open our hearts to transform the five poisons of ignorance, attachment, pride, envy and anger. May healing love and peace prevail throughout the whole Earth and entire universe. Maha prajna paramita.”

                There is a feminine ambiance here. Statues, banners, and paintings of Kwan Yin prevail. There is a large Kwan Yin on the altar in the zendo. There is also a shrine to the Virgin Mary in the yard. Shishin informs me that this reflects his wife’s interest in rediscovering the feminine side of Buddhism. The art is hers as well. Her Dharma name, Shinko, means “Body of Light.” Occasionally as Shishin and I speak, a woman passes by but doesn't join us.

                The full name of the center is Great Mountain Zen Center at Maitreya Abbey. There are no residents, however. “Are you the abbot?” I ask. “Is that the title you use?” No. Shinko is the abbess. “And you are?”

                “The consort,” he laughs. When I persist, he concedes that he is the “Spiritual Director.” He punctuates his speech with brief, bright smiles.

                Shishin was trained as an atomic physicist and is an oceanographer. He is one of Taizan (Great Mountain) Maezumi’s Dharma heirs, although he received inka—the final authorization as a teacher—from Bernie Glassman, the only person to whom Maezumi had given inka. He first came to Colorado when a group of students in Boulder asked him to do so. From there he moved to Lafayette and finally—four years ago—to Berthoud. He admits that the community with which he works has gotten smaller with each move.

                He and Shinko have held both art retreats and retreats in what they call “Great Heart Practice.” Their web site describes this as “a program that combines traditional Zen meditation with intensive workshops aimed at uncovering how personal conditioning obstructs our experience of oneness.” Their first traditional sesshin was held only one month ago; it had eleven participants. Berthoud is out of the way. There is no local community; the participants all came from elsewhere.
                It is a lay sangha. “Maezumi was basically interested in the people who were going to be his heirs”—in other words, people who were going to become Zen clergy and teachers. Shishin’s focus is lay practitioners. For him, the purpose of Zen is to “disseminate the essential teachings of the Buddha in a way that can be digested by a non-Buddhist public, in order to build a strong enough base of interest in meditation.” Meditation is valuable in itself. Not everyone who comes to Zen will become “awakened,” but they can still benefit from the practice. Hopefully, as well, there will be people who “go deep enough into it that they have realizations which will preserve the original intent of the teachings, to carry it forward.” But those individuals will always remain a minority.
                This is my final interview. Tomorrow we fly back to Fredericton. Perhaps, in some ways, this an appropriate place to end. Maitreya Abbey demonstrates some of the changes which are occurring throughout North American Zen. There is as much  emphasis on compassion as there is on wisdom. There is a stronger focus on the feminine, in contrast to the Samurai Zen of the ‘60s and ‘70s. The discipline is still strict, but the kyosaku is only used when requested, and one can ask for a shoulder massage instead.
                There remain “traditional” centers, but perhaps the most significant discovery of these visits has been the number of alternate gates to practice. One can still undertake formal Zen training, much as it would have occurred at Rochester under Philip Kapleau or in San Francisco under Shunryu Suzuki, but there are other entry points as well.
                Shishin Wick does not seem to fear that Zen is dangling by a thread, as Joan Sutherland has suggested (she being an example of those varied contemporary approaches to practice), but he admits he doesn’t know what Zen will be like in the future. It will be very different from what it was when the pioneers brought it here. It will be more accommodating. But it will always need those who go deep enough to “preserve the original intent of the teachings.”
                Awakened or not, we all have enough to do dealing with the five poisons.

Cypress Trees in the Garden:

Wick, Gerry Shishin – 19, 19-20, 125, 289-302, 472

             

10/8 - Mitra Bishop

                South from the High Road to Taos, we follow a winding road through the Sangre de Cristos,  a section of the Kit Carson National Forest which appears to be largely pine. The sharply curving road is marked by frequent flower-decorated crosses memorializing fatal accidents; we keep our speed down.  

                Mountain Gate (just Mountain Gate, not Mountain Gate Zen Center) is in Ojo Sarco, a community so small it isn’t on our road map. “Sarco” is an archaic Spanish word that means something like turquoise—so Turquoise Spring. I don’t see much of a spring anywhere. There is no sign marking the long drive that brings you to the Center. This is not a place one comes to by accident; there are no street drop-ins. People have to want to come here. And they do—from New Jersey, from Canada, from Mexico—to study and work with a diminutive, energetic great-grandmother of two, Mitra Bishop Roshi. She is one of Philip Kapleau’s Dharma heirs, and she is also a continuing student of Shodo Harada.

                The center is a small adobe building surrounded by desert. Just within the entrance is the zendo. A calligraphy by Shodo Harada on the door of the zendo reads: “Great effort without fail will produce great light.” The zendo is small, with seating for fourteen, although another five can be squeezed in for sesshin. The room has large windows at one end, and rich desert sunlight warms the room. Mitra tells me that on moonlit nights, they can sit without need for any indoor lighting.

                She lives here between sesshin, although she also spends a week a month at the Hidden Valley Zen Center in southern California, where she is also the teacher. We meet in her study. There is a Kannon statue in a niche on one wall; another wall is filled with books and a few family photos. Like the zendo, the sun provides both light and warmth.

                She originally came to New Mexico with Philip Kapleau when he hoped to set up a Zen Center in Santa Fe, to which he could retire. He had left Toni Packer in charge in Rochester, and when Packer decided she could no longer continue as a Buddhist, he had to return to New York. Mitra remained in Santa Fe with a small group—including Will Brennan who would eventually recruit Henry Shukman to be the teacher there. After she had completed her training—travelling back and forth between Santa Fe and Rochester—Kapleau told her he was going to authorize her as a teacher. She didn’t feel ready and, with his approval, she went to work with Shodo Harada at Sogenji in Japan. The Rochester Zen Center had been noted for its strictness. Sogenji was stricter still, but she immediately felt at home.

                I had actually begun my interview with Mitra Roshi last June by Skype, but the transmission kept breaking up, so we decided to put it off until I could visit her here. And I’m happy that we did. It was a delight to meet her. She speaks freely, volubly, and frankly. Three hours pass quickly. I was unaware of the time until my wife, sister, and brother-in-law (who had been waiting in the parking area for an hour) called the cell phone they’d loaned me. They join us as Mitra shows me the Kannon-do, a separate building in which a shrine to Kannon is kept.

                It turns out that the Kannon statue had been bought in Toronto and brought back here. As the five of us chat, we also discover Mitra went to grade school in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario (where she learned Canadian spelling), and to high school in Crown Point, Indiana—less than an hour away from LaPorte, Indiana, where my sister and I grew up. She then attended IU, as did my sister. I begin to wonder if there’s a karmic connection between us.

                During our thwarted Skype interview, when I asked Mitra what the function of Zen was, she told me it was “total liberation.” “By which I mean liberation from your hang-ups, liberation from places where you’re stuck.” She then added: “Total liberation means that your behaviour naturally accords with the precepts.” This results in “an incredible sense of freedom and joy that runs like a quiet river within.”

                If that is the case, I asked, why have there been so many cases where teachers failed to manifest the precepts in their lives? She tells me what Shodo Harada had told her—that they simply hadn’t spent enough time in the monastery; their training had not been sufficient. And maybe it was as simple as that.

                Henry Shukman had expressed the opinion that teachers who considered themselves autonomous were leaving themselves open to difficulties. Chozen Bays had stressed the importance of teachers having a teacher.

                Mitra Bishop is a woman of integrity: an authorized teacher who retains the humility to continue to work with a teacher herself. She tells me that no matter how far along the road one is, there is still room for growth.

                Probably for most of us, that's something hard to keep in mind.

Cypress Trees in the Garden:

Bishop, Mitra – 54-55, 117, 146, 369-83, 389, 470

10/6 - Seiju Mammoser

                The sky is filled with hot air balloons, bright and colorful against the background of the Sandia (“Watermelon”) Mountains (another name which works better in Spanish than in English). Our visit to Albuquerque happens to coincide with the annual balloon festival. We’re told that as many as 800 will be launched today.

                There is nothing light or airy about Seiju Mammoser. I have some difficulty determining what his attitude to the interview is. Suspicious? Skeptical? At the very least, cautious and reserved. He is the abbot and founder of the Albuquerque Zen Center. The web site identifies him as the “resident osho”—or priest. He does not use the term “teacher.” As we’re walking the grounds, he pulls a few weeds from before the front wall. “Are you the groundskeeper as well?” I ask.

                “I’m everything: groundskeeper, office manager, janitor.” That’s as chatty as he gets. This is not a man with a lot of small talk, and one feels he does not suffer fools lightly.

                He’s casually dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and a quilted vest, accompanied by his dog, Jemez. “Just like the mountains to the north. There’s a Zen Center there too—the Bodhi Manda Center.” He denies he’s being coy when it later comes out he failed to mention that his former wife was its “resident osho.”

                Jemez, he assures me, is the real teacher. Jemez, of course, is just busy being a dog.

                Both Bodhi Manda and the Albuquerque Zen Center are affiliates of Rinzai-Ji, Joshu Sasaki’s temple in Los Angeles, and Sasaki is the only “teacher” they recognize. The last couple of years have been tough on Rinzai-ji, and that may explain Seiju’s manner.

                I cautiously pose my opening question somewhat differently than usual. “If I were a young person from the neighborhood who came by one day, knocked at the door, and asked, ‘What’s this all about? What’s Zen do?’ What would you say to me?”

                “I would laugh.”

                I wait to see if anything more is coming, then prod a little: “Okay, so now I’m probably embarrassed, but I don’t run off. And I keep asking, ‘What’s the purpose of Zen?’”

                “Basically you have to sit down and be still. When you’re clear about where ‘here’ is, then we can talk about other things. If you’re not clear about what ‘here’ is, what are we talking about?”

                The interview does not get easier as we proceed.

                No doubt the emphasis here is on practice. Other things are extraneous. Though, oddly, there is a large library on two walls just behind me, and Seiju tells me it’s the best on Buddhism in the South West—better than the collection at UNM. I resist the temptation to see if my first book is on the shelf.

                Although he founded the Albuquerque Center, Seiju was working at Rinzai-Ji in Los Angeles when the stories about Sasaki’s inappropriate behaviour gained notoriety. The wife of the monk who was then heading things up in Albuquerque was a journalist, and two articles came out in the local paper highly critical of Sasaki. The monk decided he should disaffiliate the center from Rinzai-ji. Seiju came back to prevent that, and the monk set up shop elsewhere in the city taking some members with him. Seiju was faced with rebuilding the Center, a task made more difficult by the fact that the only source of income was from donations and membership fees. With membership down, those revenues were also down.

                When I ask how many people practice at the Center, his answer is vague. Maybe twenty people will show up on Saturday. During the week, sometimes no one shows. When I push him for a number, he tells me, “Somewhere between 20 and 50.”

                Membership may be down, but he’s not about to compromise his approach: “You want teaching? Show me where ‘here’ is.”

                He is, however, frank and forthcoming about Sasaki’s problems. It has been a challenge to all the centers associated with Rinzai-ji, and a lot of people have left. Still, like Myokyo in Montreal, Seiju has no doubt about Sasaki’s qualifications as a teacher. “He was always putting more effort on the table on your behalf than you were.”

                As we head towards the zendo, he calls my attention to a sheet of paper on the bulletin board by the door. It’s a quotation from a talk Sasaki gave at Bodhi Manda in 1982:

                “The standpoint of this Zen Center is our own practice of Dharma Activity. Therefore we accept those who want to study Dharma Activity. Those who are not interested in Dharma Activity should leave immediately.”

                Seiju states it bluntly: “Teaching is doing. Words are words, but teaching is doing.” It all comes back to sitting down, being still, and breathing. If you’re not up to that, have a nice drive home.

                The sky is empty as I head back to the friends’ house where we are staying. The balloons have landed, been located by their chase vehicles, and are packed up, ready for tomorrow’s flight.

Cypress Trees in the Garden:

Mammoer, Seiju Bob – 45-55, 56-57, 66, 99, 121