Zen, Cycling and Everyday Life Zen, Bicicletta e Vita quotidiana

Fudō Myōō

This is the transcript of a talk I gave to the Zenways community in July 2023, following our trip to Japan.

During our recent Zenways trip to Japan, we spent some time at Ikoma, where we took part in a sesshin.

While we were there, we visited Hōzan-ji, a Buddhist temple on Mount Ikoma. One of the figures that particularly caught my attention was Fudō Myōō.

Fudō is difficult to ignore.

He is often depicted sitting or standing on a rock, surrounded by flames, with a fierce expression on his face. In one hand he holds a sword, and in the other a rope.

His name is also interesting.

“Fu” means “not” and “dō” means “move.”

Fudō: the Immovable One.

I found this image particularly powerful just before beginning the sesshin.

Sitting there looking at Fudō, I began thinking about what immovability might mean in practice.

Obviously it does not mean that nothing happens. Thoughts appear. Emotions appear. Memories, sensations, sounds and reactions appear. During a sesshin, plenty of things appear.

For me, the interesting question was whether I could remain present without immediately being carried away by everything that arose.

That became an intention for the sesshin.

Intention is an important part of Buddhist practice. In the Noble Eightfold Path we find Right Intention alongside Right View, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration.

These elements are not necessarily separate stages that we complete one after another. They interact with each other. Our intentions influence how we speak and act, how we practise and how we respond to what happens.

So I entered the sesshin with this image of Fudō.

Immovable.

Sitting on the rock.

Holding the sword.

The sword is traditionally said to cut through ignorance and delusion. I liked that image too. Something appears, the mind begins constructing a story around it, and perhaps the sword can remind us to look again.

Then the sesshin began.

And I was tired.

Very tired.

Japan is a long way from the UK, and jet lag is not particularly interested in Buddhist philosophy.

So there I was, sitting in meditation with my wonderful intention of being like Fudō Myōō, while a large part of me simply wanted to sleep.

This became the practice.

Daizan sometimes says:

“The solution is in the problem.”

I began wondering what that might mean in this situation.

The obvious response to tiredness is resistance.

I don’t want to be tired.

I want to feel awake.

I want this sensation to disappear.

But the tiredness was already there.

So instead of spending the whole time fighting it, I tried something different.

Be fully tired.

That sounds slightly ridiculous, but it became useful.

What does tiredness actually feel like when I am not constantly wishing it were something else?

Heavy eyes.

A heavy body.

Thoughts slowing down.

The impulse to move.

The desire for the next bell to ring.

All of this could be noticed.

And perhaps Fudō’s immovability did not require me to become some heroic meditator who could defeat jet lag through spiritual determination.

Perhaps I could simply remain with what was happening.

The sword does not have to destroy the tiredness.

Maybe it can cut through some of the story surrounding it.

“I shouldn’t be tired.”

“This meditation is going badly.”

“I can’t practise like this.”

“This needs to change.”

Cut.

And then what is actually here?

Tiredness.

Breathing.

Sitting.

The next moment.

During practice, many other things can arise.

A thought.

An emotion.

An uncomfortable sensation.

A memory.

A sound.

The desire to move.

The desire for something to stop.

We do not necessarily need to chase these things away, and we do not have to follow them wherever they lead.

We can notice them.

And remain.

In a moment we are going to practise walking and sitting meditation together.

Perhaps we can take something of Fudō with us.

Not his fierce expression. You don’t have to frighten the person sitting next to you.

But perhaps his immovability.

Something arises.

Notice it.

Notice the impulse to follow it, escape from it, change it or push it away.

And for a moment, remain.

Fudō sits on the rock.

The flames are burning.

The sword is in his hand.

And he does not move.