Shuso Letter from Sal Gessho Randolph

Dear Village Zendo Sangha and friends,

This summer at the Grail I was astonished when Roshi asked if I would be able to serve as shuso for the winter ango; I gave a sudden loud laugh like a child’s, a mix of surprise, excitement, and fear. I am humbled, honored, and grateful-in-advance for all the help I know I will need in the coming months.

Like some others I have spoken with, I read about Zen for many years before I sat down and really tried it. Then one summer, not so very long ago, I was re-reading Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, and came across these words: “In zazen what you are doing is not for the sake of anything. You may feel as if you are doing something special, but actually it is only the expression of your true nature; it is the activity which appeases your inmost desire. But as long as you think you are practicing zazen for the sake of something, that is not true practice.”

This idea of doing something for its own sake echoed what I had been seeking in my art-making. I was so struck by this connection that I went outside to the back deck where I was staying and sat right down.

Of course, I was doing everything wrong, but it didn’t seem to matter. I sat with the wind blowing in my face and my hair tickling my nose, with the thumping of tea dance echoing over the water, the chatter of vacationing neighbors, barking dogs, seagulls. I was impatient; it was uncomfortable and strange. Despite all this, I felt an instant and deep affinity, and sat down again the next day, and the next. When I returned to New York a few weeks later I walked through the door of the Village Zendo for the first time, where Howard greeted me for beginning instruction.

During winter ango, it is my hope that we will explore this quality of sitting zazen for its own sake, and, through that practice, experiment in engaging all aspects of our lives with the same spirit.

Ryokan, in our winter study text, Sky Above, Great Wind, gives expression to this quality in a small poem:

As long as I don’t aim,
I won’t miss.
With the catalpa bow,
I shoot an arrow
toward the open sky.

And again, differently, in this poem:

One thousand peaks merge with frozen clouds;
ten thousand paths have no human trace.
Day by day just facing the wall,
at times I hear snow drift over the window.

May we sit together in the deepening winter, just facing the wall, as snow drifts over the window.

In deep appreciation,
Gesshō


Image: Samurai archer, Toshikata Mizuno

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