Chozen

TALK on the EARTHQUAKE and TSUNAMI in JAPAN
Sunday 3-13-11

This week everyone has been astonished by the scenes of devastation from the earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Some of you met a young Soto monk, Shinko-san, who was with us for a month. He left to return home on Wednesday afternoon, and probably arrived in Tokyo just about the time the earthquake occurred. His home temple is in Fukushima, the worst -hit area. Ejo Mc Mullen, our fellow Zen priest at Eugene Zendo, also has his home temple in Sendai, the same area. Communications are cut off. Many families have no news of their relatives in the disaster area. There is a plea on the web from a mother whose son is an exchange student in Sendai, for any information. She’s called the home phone of his teacher, but there’s no response.
We are all touched by this disaster, even if we don’t know people directly affected. We all have hearts that ache when we see the scenes that look like they are incredibly detailed special effects out of a horror movie. We see the tiny car, trying to escape the huge wave that roils across he landscape, carrying a jumble of hundreds of houses, trucks, boats, greenhouses, cars, bodies, piles of debris, trains . . and we see the tiny car finally engulfed.
We wonder, what was the mind state of the person in the car? We wonder, what would be my mind state if, on a sunny, ordinary day death suddenly loomed over me? We hear the stories about the possibility of a nuclear meltdown, at not just one but two nuclear reactors, and our old fears of nuclear winter suddenly arise from the dusty drawers of memory again.
Obvious evidence of climate change, many huge snow storms this winter. The earth’s magnetic pole shifting dramatically, 25 miles a year, and 8 cm just from this one earthquake. Earthquakes in China, Haiti, New Zealand, Japan. We’re told the Pacific Northwest could be next. We’re in a period of earthquake activity, in an active zone. What is our refuge in this time of apparent sudden change?  
When I was a child we sang a song, “On Christ the solid rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand, (repeat)” People often ask Buddhists, how can you be happy, what do you turn to, if you don’t have God or Christ to rely on?” This is a very good question. We have to ponder it carefully. What do Buddhists rely on, lean back into  in times of upheaval?
We rely upon the precepts. We rely upon virtue. We rely upon our promise not to kill, steal, or lie, even in the middle of a disaster. We rely upon our promise to share what we have, both material and spiritual aid, with those who need it. We send money to relief funds, we come to practice and console each other.  We rely upon our promise not to fall back on other refuges, refuges that just add to the world’s pot of suffering --- anger, alcohol, sex or drugs. It’s so tempting when things are unstable, to take our distress, which is so very uncomfortable to hold in our own heart/mind,  and NOT project it outward - finding someone to blame and attacking them. Attacking someone else — instead of doing the difficult spiritual work of holding our sorrow in our hearts, feeling it, using it to fuel our deep pondering – a deepening of our understanding and compassion.  
One of the blessings of a natural disaster is there is no one to blame. The earth gives a huge shrug, and this is the result. Huge amounts of water are displaced and it goes where it can. There is no one to blame. We don’t waste time blaming, we just move as one body to do what we can to help.
Compassion is aroused.
One of our chants says, “ Absorbing world sounds awakens a Buddha right here! “ This refers to Avalokitesvara (Kannon), the Bodhisattva who hears the cries of the world. Can we imagine having awareness vast enough, sensitive enough, to hear all the cries of all suffering beings, all over the world! How could we hold the sounds of so much anguish?
But Avalokitesvara does not just listen to the sounds, she responds. She weeps. Often you see Avalokitesvara pictured with a vase in her hand. In this vase she collects her tears. By the power of her practice they are transformed  – into amrita, the nectar of immortality, the elixir that enables us to experience for ourselves the Divine Mystery, the unconditioned, the eternal presence of God, our ground of being. This is the potential of our sitting together in the face of uncertainty,  that within the container of our practice, suffering can be transformed, into life-restoring medicine.
Our chant continues, “ This Buddha receives only compassion.” Our own petty worries disappear when we see suffering on this scale. What was I worried about yesterday? A cracked windshield? The grocery store out of my favorite cereal? This is the benefit of suffering. When we see it in others, our own suffering takes a back seat. Instead of our energy being bound up in worrying about what is wrong with me and my life, our energy flows out as we ask, What can I do to help? The compassion that exists within every heart is awakened.
In times of crisis, we also rely upon the three treasures. We take refuge in them over and over, on a daily basis,  so that we are prepared for this kind of horrific event. They are called treasures or three jewels, because, like jewels, they are valuable in all places, times, all cultures. Refugees fleeing war zones often sew jewels into their clothing. Jewels are currency everywhere, valuable to everyone.
We rely upon the Sangha jewel, upon each other. The web makes us all witnesses to these events. We can’t ignore what has happened. The entire world becomes a sangha, people coming together to rescue, to donate, to mourn, to talk, to comfort each other, to ponder what is best to do.   
We rely upon the Dharma, the teachings of fundamental truth.  When the Buddha was dying his cousin and personal attendant,  Ananda, began weeping. The Buddha called him over to where he lay dying and asked, “Ananda, why are you weeping. Haven’t I told you, over and over, for 35 years, all compounded things will disperse?”
It seems like a very bizarre thing, to take refuge in impermanence. But it is true. We can see its truth on our screens. Things we thought were permanent. Cars and boats crushed like toys. Houses after house crumbling, an entire University – gone. Whole villages gone. Ten thousand people unaccounted for – maybe just gone – swept out to sea.
Right now – how are you aware of impermanence?
(Two minutes to meditate upon impermanence.)
If we practice being aware of impermanence, really attentive to it, it doesn’t make us depressed. It makes us truly alive! This moment and then the next, and the next. Moment after moment, everything comes alive ! When we experience impermanence intimately, it becomes a foundation. An odd foundation, a foundation on something that is an ever shifting foundation, a foundation of appreciation.
The Japanese love cherry blossoms, not just because they are beautiful when they bloom, but because they fade and fall so quickly. Their beauty is poignant, sweet and brief. We seldom see this, but our life is the same. In the scale of eons of time, our birth, life and death are a tiny blip. A brief bloom. We should treasure it as we live it.
In Japan they have the custom of standing outside and waving good bye when someone departs, not turning away and going inside until the person is out of sight. This custom acknowledges the fragility of life, that this might be the last time we see this person. When someone dies quickly, it comforts us to remember our last moments together, if they were good ones. Too often we brush by each other as we part, rushing out the door. This kind of sudden tragedy makes us fully aware, at least for a while, that each parting could be the last.  
We take refuge in Buddha – what does that mean in this case?  The Heart Sutra tells us.
“Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva when coursing deep in Prajna Paramita, clearly saw the emptiness of all beings. Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” This emptiness included impermanence. All things constantly change and ultimately decay. But then where then do they go? They return to the vast pool of potential energy. This infinitely creative and creating potential is another aspect of emptiness.
Energy is not created or destroyed. It can be converted into mass or into other kinds of energy. The calcium and hydrogen and nitrogen and carbon in our bodies originated at the birth of this Universe. We are that old. How many bodies have those elements  passed through before they became part of our body? Millions. And how many will they pass through before this Universe dies? Millions. Trees, earthworms, birds, possums, and countless other people. Energy accumulates into a body, then it decays and returns to emptiness. Not a cold emptiness, a void, but a huge engine of potential energy. Form, emptiness, form, emptiness.
If we imagine being able to look at the ball of earth from space, what do we see? A spinning ball, blue, green, brown, and white. Here and there, the earth splits under a plow, and a garden grows. Or the earth splits in a giant heaves. It spits out lava, it destroys cities in a huge earthquake. From space we can see  the water on earth. In some of its waves a child plays happily. Other waves surge up high and wipe out villages.
Zen practice asks us to hold the tension of opposites, contradictory things that are simultaneously true. This unfolding disaster helps us see with the wisdom of a clear mind. No eye, no ear, no nose , no tongue, no body, no mind . . . and countless eyes, ears, noses .
No birth and no death, and . . . countless births and deaths. This is the truth, exactly how IT IS.
As we look from space we also see people fighting, killing each other in dusty deserts. We see people sharing food and sorrow in villages reduced to mud flats and rubble. This unfolding disaster helps us feel the compassion that emerge from an open heart. Ten thousand people swept away by an indifferent sea, perhaps never to be found. One old man rescued eight miles out at sea, floating on a piece of his roof. A baby found alive after raging water washed her out of her mother’s arms. Each life, lost or saved, is precious.   This is the truth, exactly how IT IS.
Can we make our minds and hearts big enough to hold it all? This is what our practice asks of us.