The Train to Lo Wu - Jess Row [19]
Filling his mug with weak barley tea, he turns to the window, and his eyes become reflecting pools; the blank, paper-white sky, the warm porcelain cradled in his hands.
Twice a week, during afternoon sitting, he descends the stairs and joins a line of students kneeling on mats outside the teacher’s room, waiting for interviews. The hallway is not heated; he draws his robe tightly about him and tries to focus on his breathing, ignoring the murmur of voices through the wall, the slap of an open palm against the floor.
When the bell rings Lewis opens the door, bows three times, and arranges himself on a cushion in front of the teacher, trying not to wince as he twists his knees into the proper position. The teacher watches him silently, sipping from a cup of tea. He is an American monk, a New Yorker, dark-skinned, with watery green eyes and a boxer’s nose, twisted slightly to one side. According to Hae Wol he’s lived in Korea for twenty years, longer than any other foreigner in the monastery, but he still speaks with traces of a Bronx accent.
Do you have any questions? he asks.
Not exactly.
But there’s something you want to say.
I think I may need to leave, Lewis says. I don’t think any of this is helping me.
The teacher stares straight into his eyes for so long he stiffens his head to keep from looking away.
Your karma’s got a tight hold on you, the teacher says. Like this. He makes a fist and holds it up to the light from the window. Each finger is your situation. Your parents. Your wife. Your job. Your friends. Things that happened to you, things you’ve done. This is how we travel through life, all of us. He punches the air. Karma is your shell.
And now?
He spreads his fingers wide.
You’re sitting still, he says. The hand relaxes. It doesn’t know what to do with itself. The fingers get in the way. All of your natural responses are gone.
That’s a kind of insanity, isn’t it?
Hold on to your center, he says. Pay attention to your breathing. Follow the situation around you. So tell me, what is Zen?
Lewis strikes the floor as hard as he can.
Only that?
Sitting here talking to you.
Keep that mind and you won’t make any new karma for yourself.
It’s not that easy, Lewis says. I came here to make a decision.
The teacher adjusts his robe and takes a sip of tea. I remember, he says. You’re considering getting divorced.
I’m not sure this was the best choice. Coming here, I mean.
Why not?
Well, Lewis says, I’m not supposed to be thinking about anything, am I?
Haven’t you already tried thinking about it? Has that worked?
It hasn’t. Does that mean I should stop?
Sometimes you can’t solve your problems that way, the teacher says. Your thinking-mind pulls you in one direction, then the other. There are too many variables involved. The most important decisions we make are always like that, aren’t they? Should I get married? Should I move to California? You try and try to see all the dimensions of the question, but there’s always something you can’t grasp.
So you’re saying that there’s no way to solve these problems rationally.
Not at all. Your rational mind is very important, but it also has limitations. Ultimately you have to ask yourself, what is my true direction in life? Logic won’t help you answer that question. Any kind of concept or metaphor will fall short. The only way is to try to keep a clear mind. And be patient.
Aren’t you going to tell me that I have to become a monk?
The teacher grins