I think that just about everyone can relate to the sentiment of “Now what?” After a significant life event or milestone or whatever. A graduation, a marriage, a funeral, or a natural disaster. Whether the event is joyful or calamitous, we tend to come out the other side thinking, “Okay, that happened. Now what?”
I am kind of in that spot, or I was last Sunday. After 16 years of self-directed meditation practice—with on-again, off-again involvement with Zen centers or groups—I finally became ordained in the Zen tradition. All along, it made sense. I am a secular person, and Zen is not a “religion” as much as a practice and way of life that goes hand in hand with martial arts, creativity, and the ideal of a balanced, ethical way of living. It is a simple practice; not easy and not hard, as my teacher says.
Taking ordination or jukai in Zen essentially just means making a formal, public commitment to the life that I have tried and quite often failed to live for much of my adulthood. The Japanese-style ceremony was powerful and moving, with its invocation of samurai rituals and wisdom.
My teacher also nodded to my BJJ and judo practice by giving me the moniker Sokū (組空), which he translated as "Grappling Emptiness." I was puzzled by the phrase initially, but now I appreciate the potential depth of interpretation.
While I enjoyed the ceremony, it was not a hugely emotional event for me. I first came into contact with the practice in this lineage as a clueless high school student. I found my way to the palatial old New Orleans Zen Temple in downtown New Orleans, after first learning about Eastern thought and meditation via Shaolin Kung Fu.
I suppose I knew back then that I had found a home, even if my life took a lot of twists and turns. The experience was similar to my first encounter with grappling in Temple Gym, the home of NOLA BJJ on Magazine Street. I knew right away that this jiu jitsu stuff suited me somehow.
Anyway, last Sunday, I reaffirmed values that I have always held to some extent. So now what? Now, the work continues. Or you could say it begins. Each day is a beginning, a chance to learn, to screw up, and to learn more, as my teacher said on the morning of the ordination ceremony. Increasingly, teaching is part of my learning, as I have stepped into the role of a jiu jitsu teacher and coach; this newsletter is also a form of learning via teaching.
Perhaps I will try to teach a course on filmmaking at some point, although I do not believe that creativity can be taught. Maybe one day, I will even try to teach Zen, although you could argue that Zen practice cannot be taught either. My teacher’s teacher liked to say that “Zen is a do-it-yourself project.” The same is very much true of filmmaking, jiu jitsu, and any worthwhile endeavor. The teacher can point at the door, but you have to walk through it.
The doors or gates are endless. I once became offended when a filmmaking collaborator cast doubt on how well the first day of our shoot would go. He predicted that there would be chaos, especially since I was still new to directing. I believe his exact words were: “You know you’ll fuck up.” I did not take that statement well.
However, he was right. There were indeed fuck-ups during the shoot, and at one point I wanted to simply walk away and go hide somewhere. But I did not; instead, I forged through the difficulties with my cast and crew—and that is the point. After we adapted to those challenges, the remaining days were significantly easier. Not easy or without challenges. But also not overly difficult. We just stayed present and did the work. This is the kind of effort that martial arts and Zen practice also demand.
Circling back to “Now what?” Now, I am no different than I was before last Sunday—except that I have publicly declared myself to be all in on the Path. The path of Zen is about making the most of the precious, short amount of time that we have on Earth. It is not about worshipping or praying to gods, buddhas, or spirits or preparing oneself for an afterlife. We only have this life to work with. Hence, every day is life-or-death; that may sound dramatic, but it should be our basic mindset.
While we take our work and our lives seriously, we should probably not take ourselves too seriously. As Miyamoto Musashi wrote in the Dokkodo (21 precepts that he penned a few days before his death):
“Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.”