A Good Heart

For some reason I've been thinking about an episode that occurred many years ago while I was a Zen Buddhism practitioner in New York.

I used to attend a Zendo where we would all sit in meditation, and every once in a while we'd consult with one of the teachers in a process called dokusan. Either the roshi, the Zendo's spiritual leader, or one of the junior teachers would be sitting in meditation in a closed room. You'd enter the room, bow to the teacher and seat yourself on a cushion facing them, and then have a talk about your practice. The subject of the talk could be anything, really, and although dokusan was formal, it wasn't stiff -- you could laugh or cry or reveal anything you felt pertinent to your practice.

One day, while we were on a weeklong summer retreat, I was asked to be the attendant for one of the teachers during dokusan. That meant I lined up the waiting students on a row of cushions outside the door, and I sat with them, signaling to each one in turn when they could go in -- normally when the teacher rang a little bell.

Now, dokusan is supposed to be confidential, between the student and teacher. But as the attendant, I was sitting right outside the door -- and on this particular day it was very quiet. There wasn't much ambient noise. The bell rang, and I signaled to the first waiting student -- a Zendo member who was senior to me -- to go in.

When he began speaking to the teacher, I realized I could hear them both. I tried not to listen, because that violates the spirit of dokusan, but try as I might I couldn't block out the conversation. And what I heard him say shocked me.

My dharma name -- the name I used in the Zendo, bestowed on me by the roshi -- was Junryu. The student in dokusan told the teacher, "I don't think Junryu has a good heart." He sounded emotional, perhaps even tearful, when he said it.

The teacher questioned him and I don't remember what else was said, if I even heard it. As I said I was trying not to listen and at the same time I was stunned. Why didn't I have a good heart?!

Now here's a piece of essential backstory: Part of my job as attendant was to announce dokusan to the rest of the Zendo, all sitting in meditation. At the very beginning I'd stand and say, "Dokusan with (teacher's name) is now available," and line up those who wanted to attend. On this particular day, when I did that, I apparently mispronounced the teacher's name. It was a mispronunciation so minor that to me it barely qualified -- as I recall, I said "tan" to rhyme with the color tan, when I should have said "tan" to rhyme with swan.

The student now sitting in dokusan had softly corrected me, and I'd rolled my eyes and smiled at him. I'd meant it in a friendly way. What does Bart Simpson always say? "Don't have a cow, man!"

Apparently he did not appreciate my response. Still, I was shocked that he would take it so seriously that he'd tell someone (a teacher, no less!) that I didn't have a good heart.

Now, this left me in a predicament. I wasn't supposed to be hearing what was going on in that room. How could I address this situation?

First, I got an electric fan and set it up outside the dokusan room, using its white noise to drown out any future conversations so they wouldn't be overheard by me or the other waiting students. And that night, I spoke to the student who'd made the comment about my heart -- I didn't come out and say I'd heard him in dokusan, though I'm sure he must have suspected it. But I said I was sorry for the eye-roll, that it was a defensive mechanism because I felt insecure being the dokusan attendant. (Which was probably true.)

The entire episode subsided after that, but I have never forgotten that remark -- that I don't have a good heart. Every time I get annoyed at anything or anyone -- like the mob of rambunctious 10th grade boys I'm constantly trying to corral in my current library job -- I think, "Oh my God, that guy was right! I really don't have a good heart!"

Anyway, please don't assure me I have a good heart. That's not what I'm looking for here. I just wanted to relate the story and the impact it had on me. If anything it's provided an opportunity for self-reflection over the years. For the record, I do think I have a good heart, to the extent that phrase means anything -- but I can accept that there are those who don't appreciate my occasionally flippant sense of humor.

(Photos: More images of our sunflowers, which are definitely the most interesting thing happening in the garden at the moment, and they're on their way out already. In the Zen spirit of transience, we'd better enjoy them while we can!)