Run With Mu

Hello, body. What were you telling me last Thursday evening as I sat in zazen, minding my own business? You said that you were thirsty for a longer run, to go back up in the hilly neighborhoods around the lake and see things I hadn’t seen in awhile.

My mind didn’t agree with you, did it? On the calendar for Saturday: a brief hour’s run out my door and through my immediate neighborhood. That was what the schedule dictated. That was what my mind said to do, laid out weeks before in the chart it had carefully created. And it argued about this sudden rebellion against the plan. No time, too far, too much, what about the schedule?

But I listened to you, body. I trusted that thirst in you, rather than follow the preconceived plan my mind had created. And I went long, longer than I had gone in many weeks. I saw mating mallards, squadrons of refugee green parrots, old familiar houses undergoing fresh transformations. I leaned into the breeze and listened to the water slap against the shoreline, and I continued past the hour my mind had planned and kept going, going, until I reached my car again in a little over two hours.

And you felt so satisfied, body, if a little more tired than perhaps my mind had intended. And I had certainly gone farther, much farther, than the plans my mind had made.

But we had experienced so much that was good, and your satisfaction told me listening to you was the right thing to do. I promise to listen to you more often, when you want to go longer. And yes, I promise to listen when you hurt or are tired, and want to go shorter — or even stop altogether, which is sometimes the hardest thing for me to hear you say, even when you say it as loud as you can.

It’s not that my mind isn’t helpful, body; we both know that. As we go about our business, we owe it a great deal. But I can let it rule the roost sometimes, can’t I? You have a lot of helpful things to tell me, too. But instead of feeling like a full and equal partner, you feel perhaps a little like a servant — right, body? Or even a slave.

It’s like the great Rinzai Zen master Yamamoto Gempo said in a commentary on the koan Mu: “Our minds are continually running.” I promise to let my mind run less, and let you run more.

The advantages of an off-season for runners brought to mind what, if any, would be the advantages of an off-season for Zen practitioners. After all, if easing back on the gas pedal for an extended period of time can refresh and renew our perspective on running, why couldn’t the same principle apply to our Zen practice?

Perhaps the most important difference is the physical aspect of both practices. The training schedule for a series of, say, 3-4 ultra marathons or more over the course of a year is pretty grueling, and to continue to train at that level for a number of years without a real break would eventually break anyone down. Of course, sitting zazen can also be extremely physically demanding, especially over the course of a week-long (or longer) sesshin. Based on my experience, I’d have to say training for ultras is tougher on the body over the long haul — although I’m not discounting the physical effort required to sit perfectly still, without back support and with good posture, for days on end, and with little sleep.

But it’s the mind aspect of Zen that makes year-round practice necessary. Part of Zen is learning how to sit (and live) with everything: the days you feel really tired or mildly sick, or burned out or bored, or very busy with a dozen other things, or wondering what the point of sitting really is and if it’s worth it. In fact, it’s the same days that often serve as a warning sign of overtraining for many runners that are the most fertile ground for Zen practice to flourish.

For runners, our bodies need a physical break to avoid burnout, excessive fatigue, or injury. For Zen practitioners, our minds need as much training in as many varying conditions as possible. I can’t say I sit every day — there are days that, for one self-imposed reason or another, I miss out. And I can’t deny that often when I miss a day, I return to sitting the next day feeling more thirsty for it, and drink more deeply.

But the longer I practice, the more I realize the value of sitting every day. We’re all works in progress, and the world is the laboratory where we are being tested. To get the best possible results, however each of us defines “best results,” we need to conduct our self experiments regularly, daily, and in all possible test conditions, just like any good scientist would do. Otherwise, our data collection will be forever biased toward our good moods. And our Zen practice devolves into just sitting by ourselves when we feel like it.

Their small eyes slowly widen, a secretive grin of anticipation … suddenly they take off, tiny legs pumping unsteadily like pistons misfiring, feet slapping the floor in drunken rhythm, breath coming in excited gasps and hoots until smiling adults come up quickly behind them — “Gonna getcha!” — and swoop them up to wild shrieks of infant joy. Run like toddlers in airports: always running from everything and toward everything, each step and breath filled with full awareness of the simple joy of motion, the thrill of an unknown journey.

For Zen Buddhists, New Year’s resolutions should never be difficult to write out, the list of intentions never long: our starting line, our journey, our finish line is our meditation cushion and mat. All of our best life practices, all possible outcomes stem from our time on the cushion. The cushion is our resolution. It is where we begin and where we return, day after day, without fear or expectation of ever crossing a finish line. It is what it is, and we are where we are. And where do we go from here? Back to the cushion. Beyond the cushion is not a journey we worry about; that journey will take very excellent care of itself – but only if we learn our long, silent lessons on the cushion. The cushion is teacher, coach, confidante, consoler, cajoler. We will sit and listen to ourselves without judgment or hope of whiter teeth, a better job, a faster marathon time, less stressful relationships. We will sit and listen to ourselves, and the quality of our lives will depend on one thing and one thing only: how closely we’re listening. It’s 2011: sit without hoping and run without measuring; sit, run, and live right where you are. It’s never over, and you’ve always just begun. On your mark. Get set. Go.