S I X .

THE GROUND
OF FIRE AND BECOMING
T O S TA N D A PA R T, T O W O R K F R E E LY
TO CUT OFF THEIR HEADS IF NECESSARY

P ut in a vice where I can’t move, it’s not what my brain

would prefer. It’s not pleasant, but it is here where
character is formed. I’ve not yet seen a great mind come out
of idleness, or entitlement. It seems there’s always something
driving the adept. At best an undying concern for humanity,
but there are a multitude of reasons. Talking to the uniniti-
ated, there’s a certain wall where communication becomes im-
possible. The self–identity is too entrenched. There’s no view
outside securing the nest, playing whatever game they’ve man-
aged to throw together, like lashing together timbers before a
storm. The adept doesn’t hold the mind the same, has no fixed
abode, so moves easily from scene to scene, from teaching en-
vironment to solitary retreat, from blue–collar angst to radiant
Buddha — as Zen Master Seung Sahn would say, “Follow the
situation, not your idea.”
I have a number of ordinary people around me, of course.
I say ordinary, but I suppose they’re far from it: wealthy busi-
nessmen, drug–addicted failures, builders, breeders, and the
highly neurotic. We’ve become so complicated. Countless
things we’re at a loss for, and every piece of it causes us anxi-
ety, even if it’s only the next meal. Driven from one box to
the next, an endless parade of partners — if the dream can’t
be made real it often becomes a nightmare world of broken
homes, broken emotions. The drive itself is flawed, as an in-
dividual cannot be made whole externally. Maybe it’s the ob-
servation that’s the problem here, as most people aren’t going
into such details. Even so, there should be a base level of con-
tentment, instead of a need.
You come to a resolve, when working with several tools all
plugged into the same source, that the cords will become tan-
gled. Care must be taken to free everything before you crouch
among the timbers or whatever else, otherwise it’s a battle
scene from one job to the next, as much fighting back against
the avalanche as you can bear. It never works to your advan-
tage. There isn’t someone going before you to sort things out.
You have to learn how to conduct yourself.
Enmeshed in countless lives, I’m dead serious about where
the cords lay. It takes a good amount of threshing out — not
to interfere with anyone’s business, to hold no concerns, to let
whatever drama spill over into me and back out — but there’s
no choice. You can’t interact with others without bathing in
their troubles, so there must be something in you that isn’t
overwhelmed. The development of this core is the initial step
toward freedom. Things continue whether or not you bother
with them. The universe is yours to enjoy, to marvel at. There’s
no reason to become entangled. It won’t work to your advan-
tage, and will in fact rob you of all your resources — to the
limit of your endurance.
If you don’t fall under what I’ve struggled to paint as the
whole of it a free life is revealed, where there’s no more need
to collect things, to protect them. If you think this is a sort of
death, or near death, look to the example of the great saints
of history: Jesus, Buddha, Milarepa, Bodhidharma. Were they
in constant need, or free? Did they seek out partners? Were
friendships even necessary? Isn’t this something to emulate?
Why not set your own freedom as a goal? For myself, it’s what
I most desire, and with it the end of waiting. No need to cap-
ture any of it, as the whole is taken in and left where it is,
untouched.
Under the pine trees in Huntington Beach, the clouds and
fog obscure the sun. It’s better for walking, for enjoying the
roadside with all of the birds. The crows are very healthy here,
almost tame. The start of a long day. Time shifts when you’re
alone, to what matters to you, what’s draws you. Sometimes
nothing. At some point I’m motivated to plow back into the
work — what I’m a slave to. I give all my best moments to
bringing this matter forward — to the page or podcast, to
my interactions with others, to my expression of life. Always
between things, from limousine to shoe–leather, long hair to
crew cut, to Buddhist monk. Each new chapter as the last: no
fame or infamy, or clinging to traditions. I work with what’s
put in front of me, but if I would have one request, it would be
for more: more house parties, more long walks at night, more
loud mouths — about everything; more general confusion,
reasoned or not; more graphic novels — though I never read
them, more graffiti, piercings; more things flying through the
air; more explosions, more moonless nights where you find
yourself alone in this vast universe, and shout for joy.
The situation I find myself in today could be considered
grim, by some. Others would beg for some small piece of it.
It’s often more than I can handle: the incessant demand that
I perform, the lack of sleep, short funds, the solitude — it in-
vigorates me. There’s a certain disaster always within reach.
It’s my choice to endure, to put on a good show. One day I
may choose otherwise, if it would ring true — either toward
more freedom, or a greater challenge. The thing beats on its
own, in its own time. When your true nature is revealed, how-
ever much you are capable of discerning, the game changes; to
the amount the degree. The question should be, “How do you
prepare for it?” The spirit doesn’t respond to languor. It doesn’t
need to be embellished, or celebrated. It requires a flame, a
near constant burning, and most of us spend our entire lives
running from it! Because of this, what I’ve gained from it, I’m
more likely to nestle in to trouble, to work twice as hard. Do
you see? We take everything so seriously, but it is mere hyper-
bole. We won’t allow the flames to touch us, we won’t burn.
Ahhhh…. If I’d received a teaching post, I would press only
this point — to go into the blood and bones of your existence
and there make the ramparts, build your walls — to contain
heat. Don’t allow anything to escape the conflagration — all
of it. Don’t attempt to escape, don’t turn away, don’t hesitate,
but everything aflame.
There are many of us. A lot have gone pro and are at-
tempting to hold the line. We talk about it often, how it will
survive. Of course it’s absurd and hopeless, but it’s not about
the dogma alone, more a fostering of an enlightened society
— for all of the suffering masses to turn to when the turmoil
on the surface is no longer sufficient. Unfortunately, enlight-
enment isn’t easily grasped — no matter what you’ve heard
— the societies imperfect, challenged by unrealized teachers
corrupted by power. The linear hierarchy of these communi-
ties is its own undoing, as time and again the ruling class sees
the rambunctious youth as a threat, and renders them impo-
tent, throws them out. There are many casualties. Because of
these difficulties the lineage may soon collapse, may already be
irrelevant. I’m sure there are few Zen masters or teachers who
agree, even as their memberships dwindle in front of their
eyes. It’s that we’re not good enough. We can’t take the heat.
Well, you know what? It works anyway. It doesn’t require that
you fall to your knees in front of Zen royalty to achieve it. Life
provides its own cure. The press forward continues regard-
less, as its impeccable nature demands. The perfect unfolding
of dharma can’t be regulated, doled out like C–rations by the
shoddy examples of authority we have today. Forget them, use
them, for your own progress — then burn them, surpass them,
prove them wrong.
But neither is it about you. Life revolves around, what?
Your appointments? The important thing that dominates your
thoughts? Well, maybe… this certainly appears to be the case,
yet things always go awry. It’s as if we have a stake in the pro-
gression of events, our own self–identity projected through
the events themselves. But this is misleading. All of it is the
self. If you could be catapulted at once to the primordial, the
constant, the source, and from there observe the goings on,
you would be in awe. Every piece of it — precious life in its
movements, its trials and tribulations, triumphs, like one long
poem of existence.
***
But it’s not so easy to cross the plane of existence. Most
doubt that it even exists. Those that are driven to cross it often
don’t live long enough to see it through — not because it’s so
far, the distance is negligible, but that the ego doesn’t know
how to negotiate without constantly creating new ground.
The fire of practice is the method we use to circumvent
this, but it is cumbersome at best. Because of this, many insti-
tutions have sprang up who indoctrinate unwary students with
yet more ground that must be trammeled over — and there is
no word that the thing may become a hindrance, a quagmire.
“Stay with the group! Be wary of the heretics out there.”
It should be generally understood that the practice take on
a life of its own, outside the institution — that it be allowed to
go dormant, if necessary, to avoid becoming dull, jaded; that
the stream provide its own teaching, in the flow of it, directly,
not through this or that interpretation. Once the mind has
honed in to the underlying truth, it will not stop until the sub-
tle ground is revealed. It will, however, when confounded by
the machinations of the institution. Dead words, and politics,
do nothing to liberate the soul. It is the discipline, the support
of your peers, being encouraged to stick with it long enough
that it seeps into your pores. That is the role of the institution.
After a certain point it becomes a hindrance. No one from in-
side’s going to tell you, that’s my work.