Choice

"Cut off all present thoughts

And do not follow successive thoughts.

This is sufficient.

There is no need to torment yourself over the past

Or concern yourself with the future."

-Da Hui (12th Century)

This essay was originally published to the True Nature community on September 8, 2024.

I dread and lightly resent the mandatory 3:30 a.m. Ashtanga yoga and outdoor yaza (late night sitting) at Daishu-in West. I don’t relax during meals; instead I’m vigilant about keeping my focus on the present moment, strongly motivated by an aversion to the inevitable corrections when my mind wanders. Temple training relies primarily on “sticks” rather than “carrots” to help meditators stay present, and I’ve found it to be much more effective at this point in my practice than externally offered rewards (like verbal acknowledgement or praise), or even intrinsic rewards. 

Maybe it follows, then, or maybe it doesn’t, that when I participated in a relatively easy training period at a local temple last year, it felt more agitating to my spirit than the rigorous training to which I’ve apparently grown accustomed. I almost laughed to realize I was completely distracted from my walking practice at the local temple by my swelling gratitude for the more demanding training at my home temple. 

Once again, I felt relieved to face how unreliable my ideas about what I want and need really are. In the context of intensive meditation practice, it turns out that I find something even less desirable than sleep deprivation and the pressure of being under the constant watchful eye of the abbot and the roshi: choice.

The concept of choice is bound to those of free-will and a sense of separate self so completely that it feels contrived to peel choice away from other concepts as though it can be considered without them. That said, I do want to limit myself for now, if only to make this single point: in the context of meditation practice and related insight, belief in choice may be the key factor in a curve that adheres to the law of diminishing returns. By all means, choose the technique, the company you keep, your perspective, and adjustments to your practice as long as that makes sense and seems to be productive. At some point, however, you may find that nothing works anymore to get back on track. Maybe it’s not the technique or the teacher or your stage of life. 

Maybe it’s choosing itself that doesn’t work anymore.

"Understanding nothing, I lost my way -

But now I see:

I too am one with the moon on the water, 

And the floating clouds"

-Mugai Nyodai (13th century)

“Choice” is one of those words that has a largely unexamined and arguably unearned status as something positive. More often than not, it’s assumed that it’s better to have a choice and even better to have many options from which to choose. From another angle, choosing is also presented as an action we have a responsibility to take regularly and skillfully: “Choose wisely.” “Choose kindness.” “Choose happiness.” 

I don’t mean to split hairs by pointing out the relatively obvious problems inherent in a belief that one should be able to choose everything from one’s mood to one’s efficacy in the world, nor do I mean to imply that choices are fabricated or to be avoided. What interests me is an effect of believing I have options and - critically - the agency to choose between them. With that belief comes assessment, negotiation, planning . . . all ways of mentally leaving the present in order to assure myself of a better future. 

Since there were more options about how to consume one’s meal at the local temple, and fewer corrections, l noticed that I had no stress at all about following protocol. In place of that stress though, I had options: should I use a spoon, or chopsticks? Should I mix the food from two bowls together to change the flavor? Should I pour tea into the bowls to clean them?

At every turn - the rest periods, the formal sitting, and the mindful walking, there were more choices available when I noticed how few corrections were given and what liberties the other meditators took: should I sit on the edge of the platform to rest my knees? Should I volunteer for more chores during the rest period? Should I leave yaza when the bugs keep biting, or after someone else leaves, or not go at all?

Each moment that I mulled over my options, unable to resist taking note of the choices others were making, was a moment I was less present. I was distracted by thinking and choosing, agitated by the assumption that a savvy choice could increase my mental or physical comfort, while a less astute choice risked pointlessly increasing my suffering. That kind of thinking is delusion itself: it requires layers of assumptions that don’t make sense, such as believing one can predict the future and know the conditions that influence it. Nonetheless, I was caught by the relentless weighing of my options, and the intrinsic reward of presence was unavailable.

Being present precludes assumptions, and belief in thoughts. One can only crave relief to the extent one is not fully present. When choices are seen through as nothing more than bait for  thinking, there is the possibility of real relief, absence of problems, and even joyfulness. Thought doesn’t have to completely stop, it just has to be seen for what it is: empty. 

The Great Way is not difficult

Just avoid picking and choosing.

– 3rd Patriarch of Zen 

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