There is a well-known Zen saying:
“The Great Way is not difficult for those who have no preferences.”
It sounds simple enough.
Then somebody offers us chocolate or vanilla ice cream.
Tonight I would like to explore wisdom, and particularly what cultivating wisdom might mean in our practice.
We usually associate wisdom with knowledge and experience. Someone who has lived for many years, encountered many situations and learned from them may be described as wise. But the wisdom we explore in Zen practice is not necessarily about accumulating more knowledge or finding better answers.
Perhaps it begins with looking more carefully at what we already assume to be true.
We can think about this in three simple ways: reflecting, practising and seeing.
Reflection allows us to question some of our assumptions. Practice gives us an opportunity to observe them directly. And sometimes, through that observation, we may see something differently.
Take something very ordinary: a chair.
We all agree that it is a chair. This is useful. If somebody asks me to bring them a chair, I don’t need to begin a philosophical investigation into the nature of furniture.
But if we look more closely, the chair becomes slightly more interesting.
What makes it a chair?
Is it the wood or metal from which it is made? Its shape? Its function? The person who designed it? The people who made it? The materials, tools and processes that allowed it to exist?
We call it a chair, and conventionally that is perfectly true. But the more closely we look, the harder it becomes to find a chair existing entirely by itself, independent of everything else.
The same kind of observation can be applied to things that are less solid than furniture.
An opinion appears.
“This is right.”
“That is wrong.”
“I am this kind of person.”
“That person is always like that.”
These thoughts can feel extremely solid when they appear. Sometimes we hold them so tightly that we stop noticing that we are holding them at all.
Practice can give us an opportunity to look at this.
During zazen, thoughts appear constantly. Opinions, memories, plans, judgements and emotions come and go. We do not have to prevent them from appearing, and we do not necessarily need to decide whether they are right or wrong.
We can notice them.
And perhaps we can notice the moment when we begin to grasp them.
What happens if, for a moment, we don’t?
The thought may remain.
It may disappear.
Another thought may immediately replace it.
We don’t know.
So we notice.
Notice the thought.
Notice the judgement.
Notice the desire to hold on.
Notice the desire to push something away.
Notice, notice, notice.
Perhaps cultivating wisdom has something to do with becoming curious about the things we usually take for granted. Not replacing one fixed answer with another, but becoming a little less certain that the first thing the mind tells us must be the whole story.
We can reflect.
We can practise.
And we can see what happens.
Then, of course, somebody asks whether we would like chocolate or vanilla ice cream.
Having no preferences does not mean that we have to stand there until the ice cream melts.
Choose one.
Eat it.
And notice.
