My Practice

I have always found the question "What is my practice?" somewhat disturbing. The fact is I have no idea. It seems so insignificant to say that I just sit there and try to label my thoughts. So today I would like to talk about what my practice is like and what it has been like in preparation for this talk today.
Over the past year my Zen practice has changed. Gradually I started to notice that my thoughts and concerns and all the myriad, unnamable things that fill my conscience had changed form. Sometimes my mind is quiet and other times my mind is very noisy. But what started to happen is that instead of my thoughts having an opaque and obsessive quality they began to take-on a more transparent character. There was no more or less activity going on in my brain but the "picture" and consequently the "feeling" associated with those ideas were different. The "transparent" quality that I am referring to is elusive and a bit hard to describe. What I mean is that I am no longer the director of my own, personal film. The content of the lucid, random thoughts in my head is no longer the primary trait but simply a trail of silent images playing behind my eyes. I do not do anything to steer one thought or another in any particular direction.
After the attack last September I was filled with fear. Fear of what our government would do or not do, fear of another attack, fear of anthrax, you name it. My imagination was going wild and I was filled with anxiety. Our Zendo was a refuge for me as I am sure it was for many of you. Over the subsequent weeks and months when I calmed down I was still filled with hundreds of images of the aftermath and naturally all I wanted was for them to go away. Even though it was the last thing that I wished to think about I decided that there was nothing I could do about my obsessive repetition of events and I just allowed the images to play Ð over and over without censorship or opinion. What happened was interesting. The pictures very quickly went away and what I was left with was a feeling, a sad, sunken feeling near my heart. I sat with that for a long-time and sometimes I still do.
My point in telling you this is that I no longer consciously decide to dwell or not dwell or any particular thing. There is only what presents itself at any given moment. No opinion, no should not, no cannot. That's where I learn what is really on my mind! That's where I find out what is important or new. This is what it means for zazen to be the "endless expression of who we are."
Some of you know that I am a painter. I have practiced this activity much longer than I have practiced zazen. The two processes are very similar Ð focus, concentration, desire and best when done with "no mind." Painting is my visual expression of myself. It may sound strange to tell you that I do not think about anything when I paint, but it's true, I don't. I make dozens of decisions about shapes, lines, light, color, texture, etc. - all the formal aspects of painting - but the experience is more of "it" painting me rather than "me" painting a picture. At best there is no self-consciousness involved and I experience silence, stillness and beauty in two-dimensions.
Preparing this talk has been an interesting process. The last time I did this, for my jikido ceremony, I had weeks to prepare, this time I had a few days. This was hard because I feel there is so much to say! I didn't know where to start. So, I decided to start with this, what we do here, and what this experience means to me and what it is like. I still don't know the answer to the question "what is my practice?" but one thing I do know. Whatever it is it has seeped and blended into every aspect of my being. There's zazen, the terrorist attack, there's art and there's me sitting here talking to all of you. All in the big container called my life.

Catherine Newman
27 April 2002

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