Kaizan Doug Jacobson began practicing Zen in 1974 with Dainin Katagiri Roshi in Minneapolis; he had Jukai in 1977. A householder, father, contractor, and civil/tunnel engineer, following his retirement, he became a full-time resident at Jikoji Zen Center* near Los Gatos. He received priest ordination in 2010 and Dharma transmission from Shoho Michael Newhall in 2015. He has led many sesshins, monthly zazenkais, periodic seasonal nature sesshins, and weekly dharma discussion groups. He also helps to maintain and develop infrastructure at Jikoji, getting his hands dirty as a form of Zen practice. In addition, he assists prisoners with Buddhist practice.

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Good morning again. I am speaking, of course, here from Jikoji, a temple founded by Kobun Chino Otogawa Roshi with the Bodhi Sangha 40 years ago this year. It was created to help spiritually sensitive folks find a safe and stable place to practice connected with nature and to cultivate a deeper understanding of self and the world through practice and study.

Jikoji is also blessed with three larger precepts that Kobun gave us: that all beings are members of the Sangha; that teachers, board members, Sangha members, and caretakers serve and do not govern the organization; and thirdly, that there is no hierarchy of the organization. These three group precepts are deeply meaningful in this place, in this valley, where we are the current caretakers preceded by the Ohlone tribe and other tribes before us that were caretakers in this valley. We are surrounded by public lands and a public highway and public dirt road that we share with others and do not own. So we are required to accept whomever shows up, and whomever shows up seems to find peace and a welcome spirit in this place irrespective of who is here.

We have rules as the need arises, yet there is a spaciousness around the rules that allows for flexibility in the moment. Rules are like fences, and fences are for certain shapes and sizes of bodies and minds that can keep some critters out. Like a barbed wire fence may keep cattle and horses in and may keep people out, but are useless for pocket gophers and rabbits and mice and snakes, for flies and birds and for the wind and the clouds. And they can be stepped over, climbed over by monkeys or deer, or jumped over by deer or climbed through by humans going horizontally. So fences and rules are really selective and are usually designed for a small set of conditions. And holding to fixity of rules is like keeping our minds set on limited conditions of circumstance.

Our Native American ancestors were known to practice egalitarian ways where ownership of land was not fixed. There were no fences, no fortresses were constructed. The boundaries were porous and flexible, and where group decisions were made, chiefs and leaders and spiritual leaders were selected by the group. The chiefs kept their jobs if they did their jobs of providing wise counsel and taking care of the needs of the group, extending to the needs of the neediest. A chief's job was to keep the resources fairly well distributed so no one was hungry or cold or thirsty.

When met by the European explorers, they came to find people who were adept at conversation, at discussion, and they were able to guide their path. This notion of personal freedom was something that was embodied by the Native Americans, yet what the European explorers brought were the rules of the world. They brought a sense of structure and hierarchy. They brought people who followed the orders of captains and their king and where the rules were handed down by some god or by the king who had absolute authority.

The first explorers were Jesuits and were surprised to find the Americans on this land questioning their queer ways of obedience to a king or an absolute power and to a god with so many rules. It seems like the two cultures, when they met, one had a sense of property ownership and the other did not. The chiefs were there to spread the resources, and kings, on the other hand, collected resources as their own with an absolute authority until they were overthrown, and they distributed to their friends and friendlies and kept from those who were foes.

So in a way, the three precepts, the group precepts that Kobun gave us of having no hierarchy, of having all beings as members of the Sangha, and that whoever is in leadership here serves and does not govern, is a reflection of the ancient ways of the native peoples of the Americas.

Today I would also like to talk about our Zazen and ways that we explore and hold ourselves in that place. But first, I would like to share case 12 from Tongxin's writings where Yunyan addressed the assembly and said, "A son exists in a certain household who always answers whatever is asked." And Tongxin came forward and asked, "How big a library does he have in his room?" And Yunyan said, "Not a single word." Tongxin then said, "How does he know so much?" And Yunyan replied, "Day or night he never sleeps." "Is it all right to ask him a question?" asked Tongxin, and Yunyan replied, "He could answer but he won't."

In this practice of Zazen and in extended retreats like we just finished, I overheard a conversation yesterday where one of the participants, a young priest from Minneapolis, mentioned how after practicing extensive Zazen, when he goes to study Dogen's Shobogenzo, he starts to read and he can't stay focused on the words. He's stuck maybe in the spaces between the words after sitting so long silently. I wonder if any of you have had this experience of extensive meditation and then returning to reading and needing to adjust how the mind functions because it has not been in a place of linearity or conceptual thinking for extended time and it takes time to readjust.

But I want to speak to this place of stillness. During sesshin, it is suggested to people that they practice noble silence, and it's usually meant that they don't talk during sesshin to others. They maintain a noble silence. I want to speak also to a noble silence that occurs in Zazen, within Zazen itself. Initially, when we begin our meditation, we're concentrated on our breath, where our concentration, our willful intention is to pay attention to the air coming in our nostrils, through the air channels down into the lower abdomen and the hara. And then watching and feeling the air return. This concentration of attention with continuous intention of paying attention, of observation, is a deliberate process that allows this meditative state to begin to settle our mind.

When thoughts arise, when thoughts enter our mind, we're often distracted from our breath. But it is possible to, at the same time that we watch our breath, also watch what thoughts enter our mind. That is a useful place and space to exist, to simultaneously continue the willful intention of paying continuous attention to breath and also watching what passes through the mind. It turns out that it is difficult to be in this place when we don't live an ethical life or that we're not looking at our thoughts as they enter in terms of wholesomeness. And we can be easily derailed. But once we have worked at this for some time, there's a wholesome quality to the attention that we're paying and to the observation of what passes through the mind.

Pretty soon, the muscles and the muscle structure and the muscle memory, the mind memory becomes developed in this way where eventually even the thoughts settle. In this settling of thoughts and just being absorbed in the concentration of this, our sitting for long durations of maybe moments, a long duration being a moment and maybe a minute, it may be three minutes, it may be 10 minutes, there is a sense of peace that is part of this mind-body practice. And in that peace is found the manifestation of this noble silence.

So back to Yunyan speaking to this son who exists, who can answer what is asked. When asked, he could answer but he won't. And when asked, "How does he know so much?" Yunyan said, "Day or night, he never sleeps." To me, this implies that there was a continuous attention, a continuity of paying attention, of a mindful attention day or night. And perhaps he never slept, but perhaps the mindful attention was also part of his sleep. So in a way, you could say he never slept. That's how I see this case 12 of Tongxin's teachings.

So I'm going to stop here. I know I covered a couple different areas. What I would like to hear, maybe what thoughts, what has come up for any of you. Thank you.