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CHAPTER TWO

IMAGININGS

There is a difference between a pilgrim and a wanderer. Buddhist teachings use ‘wanderer’ to refer to someone who is lost in the rounds of suffering existence, transmigrating through the six worlds… The difference between a pilgrim and a wanderer is to know the path and to set out on it.

Jizo Bodhisattva, Bays, p. 118

This place of dwelling, this home of the hearth and security, is also the place from which we view the open road. It is out the window, over the back fence, below the balcony. It rolls out before us literally and metaphorically, not simply as a road, somewhere to visit, but as a path and the Path, which can relieve us of the irritation of The Question. One teacher of mine used to call it “the only question worth asking, who is this?” It irritates like a stone in one’s hiking boot, suggests like an open door and calls like the roar of waves heard from the other side of a sand dune. We have to seek it out.

WALKING AS PRACTICE: SITTING, WALKING; WALKING, SITTING

It is often said that what distinguishes Buddhadharma from the Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Bahai) is that they are founded on a set of beliefs; Buddhism is founded on a set of practices. I am not so confident that this is a valid distinction; however, it does point to the Buddhist emphasis put on structured and guided contemplative methods – what we incessantly call practices.

For Buddhists, we perform ‘practices’ and we have a ‘practice’. We bring a certain disciplined attention to following a prescribed method of training, one which has been handed down to us by generations of previous practitioners as leading to deeper levels of insight.

It is important to recognize that practice methods are not a curriculum. Unlike many Western learning processes, where we move through beginner to junior to senior to master, Dharma practice is not a simple matter of working through a set of books or exercises. One individual can practice for decades and never penetrate much of anything. This is sometimes called ‘dead sitting’. Another can progress (if that is a proper description) rapidly. Buddhist practice is no mere technique either. There are those who suggest that mindfulness, meditation and other contemplative practices are simply neutral and neural techniques. The proposition is we just need to do certain things, regardless of what we believe or understand, and the effects will follow. One might call it ‘sleep-sitting’ or ‘sleep-walking’ practice, rather than sitting or walking practice. They deny the fundamental triad of wisdom-practice-morality taught by the Buddha in his Eight-fold Path. All practices engage the whole person and, to be effective, require our full psycho-physical engagement in the context of the moral challenges of our day-to-day life.

The famous story of Hui Neng, the Zen patriarch, is an example. He was a monastery worker who picked up wisdom by watching and listening. His own determination and sincerity brought him great insight. When it came time for the abbot of the monastery to name a successor, he asked a typical Zen question-puzzle, and invited anyone in the vicinity to answer. The best answer would inherit the abbotship and the leadership of the lineage. The reigning star monk publicly presented his answer, apparently a worthy and studied one. He was thought to be the new abbot. This lay worker, Hui Neng, came to the abbot in secret and offered his answer, one which demonstrated superior insight. Even though Hui Neng had none of the star monk’s learning or erudition, his greater insight was recognized by the abbot, who named Hui Neng as his successor. The authenticity of one’s insight is confirmed by the master, not merely granted by the completion of a course of learning, by reading the latest best-sellers or ego-driven claims of accomplishment.

Another way of seeing this is to compare two contrasting concepts. In Western learning there is a distinction drawn between theory and practice. They are seen to be contrasted areas of expertise. Someone can be called a great theoretician, an ideas man or, pejoratively, an egg-head or ivory tower dweller. They are contrasted with someone who excels in applications, getting things done. These people are mythologized, especially in the North American environment, as those who fly by the seat of their pants, who are solutions-guys, or rely on instinct or wits, the only thing they know is how to get things done. The contrast is abstract/idealistic versus practical/realistic. Rarely does one progress from one to the other, or excel in both. No doubt this duality has some roots in Western ideas of knowledge and American values; we’ll leave that to others to explain.

As one Sangha-leader likes to put it, Buddhists ‘hold to no views whatsoever’. There is more of an inclusiveness of wisdom and practice. Wisdom, in the western sense of abstract knowledge, is pointless without some expression in practice; practice methods likewise are hollow actions unless grounded in insight or wisdom. Practice and wisdom are more like two sides of a coin than two poles of a magnet – complement rather than opposition. Therefore, when we engage in any Buddhist practice, we do so from the perspective of wisdom-in-action, and with the intention of elaborating wisdom through practice.

This is not to say that practice is abandoned once insight is attained. Its not that you’ve got your PhD and don’t need to ever crack a book again. The connection between wisdom and practice continues without end. Wisdom would be false or incomplete if it weren’t expressed in one’s daily practice. One’s practice may change and evolve, but remains the manifestation of wisdom.

Sitting and Walking

Buddhist practices take many forms. The saying is “there are 84,000 kinds of practice” – the Buddhist way of saying there are many, many forms. Different schools emphasize some over others, some schools see the different forms as identical leaves on a tree or different roads to the same destination. Modern Chinese Dharma teacher Chen Hua follows this direction:

…the Buddhadharma is one in essence, though it has many manifestations. In the first stage, you should gain broad understanding by reading everything you can. Later you can enter deeply into the door of knowledge which you choose according to your individual predisposition and preference…it is imperative that your studies embrace many facets, lest you someday be drawn into a sectarian mentality. Each Buddhist school has its good points, and each can contribute to the perfection of the others… The boundaries between them are never very strict… There is only one Buddhist religion, but it was divided into schools in order to suit the innate capabilities of different people. In studying Buddhism, the first thing is to ‘vow to learn the gateways to the Dharma, though they be innumerable’.

In Search of the Dharma, Chen-hua, p. 250

Thus, walking practices are one of many such gateways to the Dharma. We have already touched on the question of whether walking practice is a coherent whole, in the way that sitting or chanting have been seen. For now, we will assume walking practices do form such a coherent whole. If so, how are we to relate them to other kinds of practices, especially the much-vaunted sitting?

Posture

The question of proper posture first struck me only years after I had been sitting zazen in a Zen Sangha. We eager ‘zennies’ were taught, as generations of practitioners were and are taught, that the king of postures, the one Bodhidharma held for years in his cave, which Shakyamuni struck under his Bo Tree, is the full lotus, padma-asana. Hour after hour, I squirmed under the silent sneers of seniors who could hold it with ease, while my disobedient knees and ankles refused to conform. One sensei looked at me and barked, “if you’re going to sit like that, you may as well go home!”

A few years later, when I visited the Land of Serendip, as Sri Lanka was once known, my first non-Western Buddhist environment, I was severally invited to join in with group meditation lead by a senior lay person or a monk. To my astonishment, no one even tried to effect a lotus posture, full, half or otherwise. People sat in what ever seated posture they could manage. Heads might be down, spines might be arched. No one cruised through the crowd with a kyosaku (stick of compassion) to adjust posture. The important thing was that you brought the mind to a state of attention. I smugly assumed my very sharpest half-lotus.

At my present level of practice maturity, I would recommend a standard somewhere between these extremes. I know that bullying my body into impossible (for me) poses, offers little strength for insight. I also have confirmed repeatedly that a certain formality and structure of posture proves much more potent for my sitting practice. What I have learned about sitting has also come with a maturing in walking practices, so I tend to see the two practice postures as inter-related. We only have one body, after all. This echoes the advice of one teacher who would describe simple indoor walking practice as identical to sitting in purpose and posture, with the exception of the movement of the legs. Holding that description gently for now, let’s explore postures, walking and sitting. Apart from the arrangement of the legs, what are the key elements of the sitting posture?

• The spine is relaxed and uses its natural curvature for support;

• The balance tends to be slightly back-leaning;

• The chest is open, the shoulders back, to facilitate fullest breathing;

• The chin is tucked in, with the tip of the tongue resting on the upper palette;

• The spine is lightly stretched to relieve any compression in its bones;

• The gaze is straight ahead, eyes closed or in ‘soft focus’;

• There is no rigidity, the body will float gently with the flow of breath, adjusting its centre and balance with the changes in the upper chest;

• There is little other movement, no swaying other than this floating with the breath;

• Breath flows naturally, the belly swelling and collapsing;

• Hands and arms are stabilized in a supportive posture.

For most walking practice, the posture is the same. A good way to experience or establish the posture is to remove shoes and back up to a wall, with heels close to the baseboard. Stand with arms to the side, chin tucked in and follow all the other forms of sitting posture. Fall backward (as it were), into the wall, imagining yourself to be lying horizontally on the floor. Without changing anything above the hips, take a step forward. This is your walking posture.

At first it will seem awkward, but probably no more than what you felt the first few times you sat properly in meditation. The best way to introduce this posture is to use it for formal indoor walking or kinhin. As you come to understand the posture and the way the body balances and adjusts in walking, you will be able to employ the same principles for either indoor or outdoor walking.

These are the general principles of walking posture. When we examine other practice forms, we will need to make adjustments or allowances in this posture. For example, extended distance walking outdoors will abandon structured hand positions entirely, in favour of the use of some kind of walking support, such as a pole. Any practice which entails carrying some object, such as a mokugyo or maktok (the hollow wooden fish-instrument held with one hand and struck with a wooden striker in the other, and used for walking recitation), will require some variation. As with sitting practice, we are guided by the essential dignity of our posture. However and wherever we walk, we are each the companions of countless Bodhisattvas, and our practice, as with theirs, is the practice of liberating all beings. Our practice is the noblest of endeavours and calls for us to represent that nobility and dignity in how we stand and move.

The Hand Position

Hand position is just another element of posture. As with all the elements of posture, the hands influence or at least contribute to the overall posture. For example, the infamous urban text-walking posture illustrates a posture ill-suited to mindful walking (not to mention the inherent risks in traffic!). In this posture, the hands are extended at about chest height, cupped and cradling the mini-screen. The balance is forward, immersed in the changing display of the device. Awareness of the environment of the walk, of the feel of the step, of the flow of the breath is minimal or non-existent. As a 21^st century Shakespeare might have said, “The screen’s the thing!” Nothing could be further at odds with proper walking practice.

As we will see begin to see in Chapter 5 and following, there are several variations for each of the types of walking practice. The primary considerations of all hand positions are that they complement the overall balance of the walking posture and movement; they do not contribute distractions to the centering of awareness and the attention to the dynamic flow of body-awareness; and as much as possible, they sustain the strongest and most complete cycling of bodily energies, so the practice is invigorating, not tiring.

Different practices necessitate carrying appropriate objects, be that a shakujo-staff, a percussion instrument like a mokugyo, or a mala (beads for recitation). Circumstance may suggest an umbrella, a map, water bottle or identification guide at the ready. As much as possible these need to be portable without involving the hands, so as not to interfere with engaging the hands and arms in the broader posture of the practice. Various hooks, straps and packs are recommended in these cases. Master Thay is renowned for recommending walkers hold the hands of a child. The child will:

…receive your concentration and stability and you will receive her freshness and innocence…a child is a bell of mindfulness, reminding us how wonderful life is.

The Long Road to Joy, THN, p. 36

There may be times when this hand-in-hand walking is of value, as Thay recommends. I would suggest that these instances are the exception, best reserved for more casual, short walks. In general, hands need to be free and arranged to support body posture, balance and stride.

Breathing and Walking

The action of breathing is not separate from the taking of a step. The lifting, swinging and placing of the foot necessarily involves the flow of in-breath and out-breath. A synchronicity between breath and step will support a smooth stride, which, in turn, will permit deep levels of concentration while engaging in walking. Conversely, a hurried, erratic or stop-and-start pace will interfere with relaxed breathing and the attention we bring to it and the activity of mind. Later on, we will examine more closely the performance of a synchronized breath-step and using counting or recitation to harmonize walking. For now, it is important to acknowledge the relationship and need to attend to breath with the first step, and to prepare body and breath for walking.

In his Warrior Walking, Josh Halzer suggest establishing the proper breath even before we begin. He describes ‘embracing the tree’, a simple chi-kung practice. Chi-kung is a set of affiliated, mostly standing, body-breath practices which are often used to build up concentration and body strength which one can use in preparation for a satisfying walk. He recommends we first assume the standing posture known to martial arts enthusiasts as the ‘horse stance’ (because you look like a rider whose horse has disappeared). The feet are set shoulder-width apart, arms are curved in and palms are facing and slightly curled inward. We squat slightly, with spine upright, we gaze straight ahead. This can be done sitting as well. From this stance we perform a dozen relaxed and deep breaths, attending to the in and out of each breath.

Some may recognize this as somewhat similar to the first few movements in Thich Nhat Hahn’s Ten Mindful Movements. This set of very-easy-to-perform standing or sitting movements accomplishes the same pre-walk relaxation and breath awareness.

Depending on when and where and how far one plans to walk, one can turn to any sitting meditative practice, be that zazen, vipassana or mantra recitation. This is not the place to provide instructions in those disciplines, only to encourage walkers to use a brief period of sitting as preparation. Once again, we are reminded that walking and sitting practice have commonalities as practices. It is mostly the introduction of motion in the lower body and the stimulation of the energies in those regions that make the difference.

WALKING WITH JIZO

There is no greater model or exemplar for our walking practice than the Bodhisattva Jizo. Known elsewhere as Kshiti-garbha (Earth-Storehouse) or Ti-Tsang, this Bodhisattva is the eternal pilgrim, the walker par excellence. He is often portrayed carrying the shakujo or pilgrim staff and dressed either as a wandering monk or in the traditional white attire of a Japanese pilgrim. His path takes him through all of the Six Realms of Existence. His purpose is to bring the Dharma to those who cannot otherwise receive it or to share the merit of his efforts to lighten the karma burden of beings in dire circumstances. As told in the text known as The Original Vows and the Attainment of Merits of Kshitigarbha Bodhisattva, Jizo describes how he is dedicated to visiting all suffering beings, even in the worst of the lowest Hell-realms, and relieving their suffering. The sutra describes the many transformations, a king, a grieving girl and so on, that he assumes to fulfill his vow. He properly attributes this to the even greater vow and compassion of the Buddhas:

Only through your transcendental powers am I then able to have transformations throughout millions and millions of universes to enlighten suffering beings to real liberation… I solemnly promise to fulfill your instruction to continue to relieve beings.

Kishitgarbha Sutra, ch. 4

Though not clearly part of the sutra’s imagery, the form of Jizo developed, over time, into that of the eternal pilgrim. Statues large and small, intricate and crude, appear at roadway intersections, in numbers at the front of temples and, in miniature, as medallions or portraits accompanying travellers. Chozen Bays identifies several ways that Jizo acts as the pilgrim-teacher:

• As a living presence, inspiring and guiding our footsteps on the literal and metaphoric Path;

• As a companion, walking each step along with us, encouraging and reminding us that we too are walking as and towards Buddhahood, we are never alone on our way;

• As a protector, transforming himself into whatever form is required to be of benefit to us on our journey;

• As the path-clearer, the one whose preceding efforts allow smoother passage for us.

In the journey we walk in these pages, we have borrowed Tweed’s metaphor of religions as ‘dwelling and crossing’. Our religious journey, the pilgrimage we walk, in search of a spiritual home or as the means of discovery itself, will take us through all of the Six Realms. At times we will make our way through self-indulgence, jealousy, instinct, desperate craving, utter agony and our very own humanity. Jizo demonstrates that this walking is our practice. Through it we can unfold the Way. On it we can express the Way. Sharing it we can fulfill and realize the Way. He reminds that we too are empowered through the energies and dedication of all the Buddhas.

DHARMA MASTERS GO ON FOOT

As we imagine ourselves pulling on our pack and crossing that threshold, we can hear the voices of our Dharma grandparents recounting the importance of their own journeys and urging us out onto the sunlit path.

Do not ask me where I am going.

As I travel this limitless world,

Every step I take is my home

Dogen Zenji, quoted in Bays, p. 141

It is obvious that they walked. Bodhidharma came from the West and spent years walking and preaching in China. Milarepa walked the treacherous mountain roads of Tibet. Saicho, Honen and the larger-than-life Kobo Daishi travelled up and down the mountain paths of Japan and into China. In fact, the mythology attached to the imposing pilgrimage around the island of Shikoku comforts all pilgrims with the assurance that, even though his pilgrimage took place centuries ago, Kobo Daishi continues to accompany each and every pilgrim who dares to set their feet on its rocky, wind-blown pathways.

Bankei was a Japanese Zen teacher in the 1600’s. In Bankei – Seventeenth Century Japanese Social Worker?, English practitioner and mental health professional David Brandon writes a short biography of this unusual man. In a manner more resonant with the myokonin ideal (kindhearted, unsophisticated teacher) of Shin Buddhism, Bankei would rather help out in his community than study sutras in a temple. Brandon describes him:

Bankei had little time for the formal trappings of religious practice – the temples, the incense, the long hours of austere meditation. Bankei not only expressed compassion, he was compassion.

Bankei, Brandon, p. 240

We get the image of a busy community-worker, less a priest or monk. In one story, Brandon describes a walking practice not otherwise described nor endorsed by this writer! It concerns Bankei’s reaction to being tricked out of a ferry transport by his jealous and spiteful brother:

When Bankei was refused entry to the boat, he said ‘The ground must continue under the water’, strode right into the river and struggled to the other side.

Bankei, Brandon, p. 237

Also in the 17^th century, the poet-monk-teacher, Basho, like no one else, characterizes the wandering way. His many writings, especially The Narrow Road to the Deep North, carry us along with him on his many walks across the Japanese landscape. He acknowledges the power of his wanderings to free him of the turbulence of his mind. It connects him with fellow walkers, like the priest, Gyoki, who so integrated his walking practice into his life that his walking staff did double duty as the main support for his home. Crossing and dwelling seamlessly blend into ‘this one moment’. Basho writes:

After many days of solitary wandering, I came at last to the barrier-gate of Shirikawa, which marks the entrance to the northern regions. Here, for the first time, my mind was able to gain a certain balance and composure, no longer a victim to pestering anxiety, so it was with a mild sense of detachment that I thought about the ancient traveller who had passed through this gate…(which) was counted among the three largest checking stations, and many poets had passed through, each leaving a poem of his own making. I myself walked between trees laden with thick foliage, with the distant sound of autumn wind in my ears and the vision of autumn tints before my eyes… Gyoki is said to have used a [chestnut branch] for his walking stick and the chief support of his house.

Narrow Road, Penguin ed., pp. 105-107

Today, Vietnamese-French Dharma master, Thich Nhat Hahn (THN) is one of the few Dharma teachers to give anything more than a cursory mention of walking practice. He has produced another of his little gems in a multi-media product called Walking Meditation. In it he outlines his approach to walking, which is built on three fundamentals – the step, breathing and counting the breath.

The most important element of walking practice for him is coordinating the breath with the step. He recommends a counting method of three steps for in-breath, three steps for out-breath. One can count the numbers or use a phrase, like ‘lotus flower blooms’ or ‘the green planet’. One can increase the number of steps for a longer breath. He comments:

Walk leisurely, peacefully,

Your feet touch the earth deeply.

Don’t let your thoughts carry you away,

Come back to the path every moment.

The path is your dear friend.

She will transmit to you

her solidity and her peace.

Walking Meditation, THN, p. 5

THN does not distinguish indoor from outdoor, nor does he mention any other types of walking practice. We’ll return to his advice in later chapters.

John Cianciosi, a disciple of the late Ajahn Chah, reminds us that some traditions, particularly the Thai Theravadin, have strongly stressed walking practice.

He writes:

…in the area around each [monk’s] hut you always find a well-worn meditation path. At various times of the day or night, monks can be seen pacing up and down these paths, mindfully striving to realize the same liberation of heart attained by the Buddha. Many monks walk for long hours and actually prefer it to sitting meditation. The late Ajahn Singtong, a much admired meditation master, sometimes practiced walking meditation for 10 to 15 hours a day.

From Mindful Nature Walking (One Step at a Time), John Cianciosi

NON-BUDDHIST ADVICE

We are well instructed by several non-Buddhist practitioners who promote walking practices based in other faith-traditions. The first of these is labyrinthist, Lauren Artress. Artress is an American writer, walker and Christian who has re-kindled the ancient Christian and Pagan practices associated with the labyrinth. She writes:

My lack of success with sitting meditation motivated me to find a more effective way to handle my chaotic mind. Walking – moving my body – drains of a great deal of excess energy. I can begin to slow down my thought process, become conscious of my breath and allow my awareness to rest in my body.

The Sacred Path Companion, Artress, p. 5

She found walking in the highly structured environment of ancient labyrinth patterns was the key for her. For her it is ‘a physical portal’ into a symbolic realm and a psychological space. It is ‘a watering hole for the spirit’. She lists the benefits of labyrinth walking as:

…quieting the mind…nurturing the capacity to reflect… engendering inner spaciousness…enlivening the body… integrating mind/body/spirit…and the realization that we all share the planet.

Companion, Artress, p. 25

Her recommendations for preparing and practicing have noticeable deviations from advice here; however, her explanation of this unique practice, suggestions for meditative exercises and generous welcoming of all, make her worth reading. We will return to her and labyrinth walking in Chapter 9 – New Walking Forms.