Why Practice?

by Taizan Maezumi Roshi

 This Dharma, the subtle Dharma that has been transmitted by all Buddha-Tathagatas, is abundantly inherent in each individual; yet without practice it will not be manifested, and without enlightenment it will not be perceived. Since it is the practice of enlightenment, the practice has no beginning, and since it is enlightenment within the practice, that realization has no end.

— Eihei Dogen, from “Bendowa” in “Shobogenzo”

People practice Zen for many reasons. For some, it is a means to establish better physical and emotional health; for others, it leads into deeper realization of their own non-Buddhist religion or philosophy, and for yet others, Zen practice is the direct, living experience of what Shakyamuni Buddha realized over 2,500 years ago.

People who come to Zen practice are looking for more than mere words or concepts. Words and concepts by themselves are inadequate to help us most fully with the greatest possible awareness, and to enable us to grow spiritually.

In one sense, Zen practice is like regular exercise: if done regularly, it builds strength, gracefulness, and self-confidence, and helps us more effectively respond to the situations we all face every day. And Zen practice is also like a laboratory: Through practice we can continuously test our understanding to see if it is adequate or not. If we never test our beliefs through actual practice, we cannot find out whether they are true or false.

When Shakyamuni Buddha first realized his true nature and, in so doing, realized the true nature of all beings —he said that from the beginning, all beings are intrinsically perfect, sharing the virtues and wisdom of the awakened Buddha. But, he said, we remain unaware of this simply because our understanding is topsy-turvy. The Buddha spent the remainder of his life after his awakening expanding upon this statement, and teaching how each of us can realize this truth for ourselves through practice.

But before we have realized it for ourselves, this truth is like an uncut diamond. We could not really say that it is worthless, nor could we say it is something other than a diamond. But until it is skilfully cut and meticulously polished, its sparkling diamond-nature might not be visible. The beautiful color and clarity that make it so highly prized would remain only in the realm of potential.

Of course, we might sincerely believe it to be a diamond. We might even tell others, "This is a diamond and is therefore worth a great deal." Yet it would seem peculiar to say, "I don't need to cut and polish this diamond; I know that it is a diamond, and that's good enough for me." Rather, we must cut that diamond and polish its many facets carefully so that its lovely nature can be shared and enjoyed by all who see it.

And so it is with our practice. We don't wish to make diamonds out of mud—we wish to properly appreciate what we already have, what is inherent in us.

So Zen practice must be done physically—not just through belief.

Our whole practice rests upon a physical base, just as our lives begin physically. First we learn to bring our bodies into harmony—we learn how to physically sit in the proper fashion. Then, sitting properly, our breathing settles into a harmonious cycle on its own—we stop panting and gasping and start to breathe easily, smoothly, and naturally. And as body and breath begin to settle down and no longer create disturbances for us, we find that the mind too is given the opportunity to settle into its own smooth and natural functioning. The racket and babble of our noisy minds give way to the clarity and naturalness of our true selves.

In this way we come to know who we really are, and we come to understand the true nature of our life and death.

Finally, once we begin to establish this direct physical harmony between body, breath, and mind, we have a chance to extend the benefits of our practice to one another. We can learn to live together in a way that leads to the realization of everyone's true nature not only on an individual level but also as a community, as a Sangha.

This kind of group practice, such as takes place at a Zen center, can be of real benefit to our world—a world in which harmony is scarcer even than diamonds, and in which the realization of Truth is often regarded as an impossible dream.

In fact, we can say that the Three Treasures of Buddhism—Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha —are altogether nothing more or less than practice.

The Buddha is the one who realizes. The Dharma is what is realized. And the Sangha is the harmony of realization and practice, both communal and individual, in accord with the Buddha Way. Hence, all relationships teach us even as we appreciate and polish each other, endlessly.

From “On Zen Practice”