Practicing with a Teacher - by Nonin Chowaney

A couple of weeks ago, I decided not to give a dharma talk on Sunday morning, as I usually do, but to ask if people had any questions and spend the time talking about whatever came up. The first question asked was, “Could you tell us what it was like practicing with your teacher?"

I had to think about that for a moment. The first Zen teacher I ever met was Dainin Katagiri. I decided to study with him and he became my ordination teacher. I also received dharma transmission from him years later. In between, he sent me to study Buddhist psychology (Abhidharma) with Tenshin Anderson in California, who became an important teacher for me, as did Sojun Weitsman, who was my teacher when I trained as head monk at Tassajara monastery. After my time at Tassajara, Dainin Katagiri sent me to Japan to study with Ikko Narasaki, who also became an important teacher.

So, when I think about it, I've had four main teachers, and many, many lesser ones along the way. I've been very fortunate.

When that question about practicing with my teacher came up, however, I thought about my time with Katagiri-roshi, who was my master. I was his disciple. That relationship is very special; it needs to be understood and acknowledged. Although others have been my teachers, my relationship with Katagiri-roshi was the deepest, the most complete. After meeting him, I made radical changes in my life.

What most impressed me about him during my early years of study were his daily commitment to Zen practice and his ability to stand (and sit) up straight through all the ups and downs of life. Over the long run, the most important lesson he taught me was to do the same.

Carrying on a daily practice is not easy, especially at first. It demands a refocusing of your life. When I first started, I usually walked to morning zazen in Minneapolis through the back alley, and when I passed through the gate, the first thing I'd look for was Katagiri-roshi's bedroom light. It was always on. He didn't travel much the first couple of years I practiced with him, and during that time, the light not being on was a rarity, a shock, for he was always up, getting ready for zazen. When it wasn't on, we'd buzz while taking off our shoes: "Is roshi sick? His light wasn't on." "He was coughing during zazen last night." Later on, I found out that while I was walking through the back gate looking at his light, he was taking a cold shower! When I heard that, I was really impressed.

From him, I learned not only the importance of a strong daily zazen practice but also the possibility of maintaining it and seeing it through moment-by-moment in our lives as they are. He taught this not through words but by example. There was never any question for me about what Soto Zen practice was. I looked at him and saw it. He got up in the morning, sat zazen, and did service. Afterwards, he went upstairs, did his personal service, ate breakfast, and then began carrying on the business of the day, seeing people, preparing his dharma talks, helping with the shopping, cleaning, etc. After supper, he went to the zendo to sit zazen or participate in whatever activity was going on. For over 40 years, he practiced in this way, which he had learned from his teachers and at Eiheiji monastery. He carried on this way of practice until he became too sick with cancer to do it any more, and then he carried it on in bed the best he could until he died.

From Katagiri-roshi's life, I learned the importance of "continuing" day-by-day, moment-by-moment, no matter what the ups and downs, the daily fluctuations, of our lives. Zen Master Dogen calls this gyoji, "continuous practice," meeting our lives moment-by-moment as our practice, and continuing endlessly.

After I left Minneapolis to study elsewhere, I learned that this is what our practice is -- living with our teachers, following the schedule they follow, and observing how they conduct their lives as Buddha. Zen Master Dogen said that when we meet a true teacher, we should enter the training place, inquire about the schedule, and then follow it, listening to the teacher's instruction and practicing as instructed. If we don't enter, we will never experience face-to-face transmission; if we don't listen and practice as instructed, we let our own ideas and opinions get in the way and cannot absorb the teaching.

I wish I had wholeheartedly listened and practiced as I was instructed all the time I lived in training places. Sometimes, my head was so full of my own ideas, nothing got in. But good teaching can have a delayed effect; it swishes around until there's room and then pours in. I'm still learning from teaching I resisted years ago, especially in Japan. Things come up and I remember, "Oh, that's what was going on." Why didn't I see it before? My cup was too full.

Katagiri-roshi was frequently disappointed and discouraged in his attempts to transmit the Buddhadharma to stubborn Americans. Students he had high hopes for drifted away (or sometimes bolted!). The "big donors" never came through. The monastic practice he deeply wanted to develop in Southern Minnesota never materialized. Yet through it all, he never quit; and he didn't leave, even though he sometimes wanted to. He sat through his disappointment and discouragement and continued the practice he'd learned from his teachers years before. His faith in the Way was boundless. He called it "spiritual security," and it manifested in his life as incredible depth and strength.

I lived in close proximity to Katagiri-roshi for less time than any of his closest disciples. After I'd studied with him a few years and had been priest-ordained a year, he sent me to study with other teachers so I could benefit from their strengths and weaknesses and broaden my experience. I left for California and then Japan. During the last five years of his life, I saw him for one day at Tassajara (the day of my Head-monk ceremony), two months in Japan when we practiced together at Shogo-ji, and for a month at dharma transmission time in Minneapolis. I was back in Japan when he died. He had asked me not to come back until I finished what he wanted me to finish, so I didn't.

During those last five years, he had turned my training over to other capable teachers, but he continued to teach me in many ways. The most important lesson was how to stand on my own two feet. He emphasized this by sending me away.

For the past few years, I've been on my own here in the Heartland, but my master is still teaching me. My situation now is similar to his in Minneapolis. Here I am, trying to continue the daily practice I learned from my teachers as best I can, right in the middle of the ups and downs of daily life. The dharma-stream of the Buddhas and Ancestors continues.