A Songbird’s Kusen

Based partly on a kusen presented in 2019 at the Jackson Zen Dojo, this addresses the value of questions in Zen practice.

A while back, I had the opportunity to spend time with my grandchildren. And as anyone who has been around children for any length of time knows, they ask many questions. The most common question they ask is why, often out of simple curiosity about the world around them. But the question of why does not always originate from the child's innocent desire for understanding. Children, on occasion, try to avoid doing things such as taking a bath or picking up their toys. They ask why essentially as a stalling technique, hoping to push the parent to the point of surrender. Alternatively, they may be seeking a reward for their behavior, a transactional move, nothing more than a quid pro quo. Put another way; children are known to ask questions as a means of debate or negotiation. Even so, children mainly want explanations for how the world works, and our answers to their questions help form the myths and beliefs by which they navigate life.

Adults ask questions too, and from a practical standpoint questioning the nature of things has served humankind well. For example, when the ancient Greeks asked questions, modern mathematics, science, and western philosophy emerged. For some, inquiry gives purpose and meaning to their lives. For others, it can be the spark that launches a worthwhile career, adding value to those around them. Over the years, questions have been the catalyst for extraordinary discoveries and, on occasion, resulted in Nobel Prizes. But what exactly is the relationship between questions and Zen practice?

When people first come to the dojo, they naturally have questions, mainly about the form of our practice. Why do you bow toward the altar, why do you sit facing the wall, and why don't you chant the Heart Sutra in English are common questions from students new to Zen. Asking questions is undoubtedly an essential part of one's practice. Questions form the basis for what is often referred to in Zen as beginner's mind, that view of the world open to many possibilities. Indeed, Siddhartha, when encountering old age, sickness, and death for the first time, asked, "Why is there suffering?" But questions like why we do things a particular way in the dojo may or may not be so helpful. Questions of this nature tend to seek an answer based on intellectual or philosophical ideas often steeped in tradition or dogma. And this has the potential to take away from the direct experience of the moment. There are also the hidden dangers of asking why. Does it come from the perspective of curiosity, or is it an avoidance technique or a way to gain profit in return? Is it the inquisitive mind or the egocentric mind that is asking why?

Perhaps more helpful in Zen is the question of how. Siddhartha asked the question, "How can we decrease the suffering of this world?" This question served as a call to action and initiated a spiritual journey in which he exchanged the comforts of his palace life for that of a wandering ascetic monk. His quest for an answer to this conundrum of suffering and the end of suffering eventually led him to the Bodhi tree, where he sat in the posture of zazen, and as the morning star rose in the East, he became the Buddha, the Awakened One. Of course, that is not to imply that asking the question of "how" will result in personal satori. But questions, like how to gassho when entering the dojo, how to sit in zazen, and how to chant the Hannya Shingyo, can be valuable to the Zen student—answering the question of how unites the mind and body in the present moment while bringing awareness to the task at hand. Thus, the question of how, with its inherent quality of curiosity linked to a specific action, expands beyond the concept of the intellectual why and brings one to the gate of experiential practice, a threshold through which one can find a path to a more authentic Zen practice.

Moving beyond the experiential gate of how, the question of what naturally arises, or more precisely, the question of "What is this?" With deeper exploration, one inevitably confronts the question, "What is the reality of this that is right here and now?" A question of this magnitude can only begin to be answered by honestly noticing the sensations of the body, the fervor of the mind, and the intimacy of one's environment. The simple question, "What is this?" can be powerful in developing one's practice. It brings to mind the Sanskrit word Tathata, often translated in English as thusness or suchness. This term has been used in Mahayana Buddhism to convey the ineffable essence of how things are or the true nature of reality. This understanding and clarity of mind are what the Buddha most likely came to realize on the night of his awakening.

Answers to questions help shape one's view and have always been a part of Zen practice. Indeed, Zen students have been asking their teachers questions since the time of Mahakasyapa. Many well-recognized koans come from exchanges between the student and his master, and much is there to be gleaned. In our Soto Zen tradition, there is mondo, a formal question and answer session between the teacher and a group of his students, often given during a sesshin.

Too much emphasis, however, on questions and seeking answers can be tricky. When searching for answers, there is a natural inclination to call upon the logical mind, that part of the intellect that forms an opinion and categorizes the solution in terms of either this or that. It is also relatively easy to become attached to the language of the question, which by its very nature is dualistic. Moreover, this "seeking" of an answer implies that something exists to be grasped or gained.

Kodo Sawaki said zazen is good for nothing. Are questions not of equal value? The Zen approach to questions is one of circumspection. Though a valuable tool for gaining knowledge and understanding, questions and answers should not be the primary means of deepening one's practice. With a dangerous tendency toward distraction, questions masquerading as true Zen can quickly develop into stumbling blocks along the path. Concentrating on essential Zen practice like zazen while listening to a songbird give kusen through an open dojo window is best. No questions asked.

"In Zen, we don't find the answers; we lose the question.”