A Zen Master Cries
by Matthew Daniell
(Published in the Newburyport Daily News newspaper, January 28, 2022)
My mentor and close friend, Larry Rosenberg, told me this story from the time when he was practicing meditation at a Zen monastery in Korea. He attended the funeral of a nun who had died. Larry was seated next to a famous Zen master, who had been a friend of the nun. As the ceremony progressed the Zen master cried. Larry felt embarrassed sitting next to this man, who many held in great esteem for his meditative depth. Wasn’t an accomplished Zen master supposed to be equanimous in the face of life and death? Shouldn’t this man have transcended the difficult emotions that can come with loss? His behavior didn't make sense and Larry, who was relatively new to practice at the time, asked to meet with him.
As they sat together the next day, Larry posed the question as to why the Zen master had shown such emotion at the funeral. The Zen master became still, and then suddenly laughed heartily at the question. He responded, with deep feeling, “she was my good friend, and I will miss her”. It was as simple and natural as that.
For some, the ideal in spiritual practice would be not to cry, but in my own experience and in what I value after many years of meditation practice and teaching, is the ability to both give space to experience and be deeply intimate with it. How does this work?
By being mindful of selected aspects of present moment experience, such as the breath, we temporarily get away from what was bothering us and find some calm. We can do this as a formal meditation practice and in the midst of daily life. This basic kind of mindfulness is a form of stress reduction. It is an inner act of kindness, and what most people practice for. This is a good thing.
As mindfulness practice matures, awareness becomes more open and flexible. We begin to see more clearly the changing nature of all of our experiences, giving us greater perspective and the freedom found in letting go.
A few years ago my mother died, bringing on many waves of emotion. We had a deep supportive connection and although it wasn’t always easy, I clearly felt a lack in my heart and knew that someone I valued immensely was just gone, and I couldn’t get her back.
As I grieved, sometimes the breath or the quality of light or sensations would give me a place to rest, even as emotions washed through me. At times there was simply a quality of open awareness in which emotions were felt as if in space. At other times the emotions were so deep and intimate that they just filled my being and tears flowed. Unresolved issues and emotions can still arise, sometimes as things I wish I had said and no longer can.
The approach to living presented here is about being authentic and aware. It is natural to feel overwhelmed sometimes, so we do the best we can to feel grounded or get some space through our mindfulness practice. Finally, though it's not the separation of our present moment awareness from emotions but a deep intimacy with them that empowers our life in a simple and direct way.
This is essentially the teaching I received from the story of the Zen master crying at the funeral: When crying just cry, when laughing just laugh. But this lesson isn't just about emotions, it’s about everything that makes up our life. It’s to bring full care and attention into whatever we meet. When this experience is gone, another one is here.
Even if we can sense the value in living this way it can be difficult, especially in times of loss, uncertainty and fear. The power of present moment awareness is that it is always here, inviting us to live in the fullness of being human.