It took me years to commit formally to a practice. Something about me just thought that the whole idea of taking vows and committing to a way of living was merely window dressing to mask the seriousness of one’s practice. So I chose to sample a bit here, a bit there, read a little of this and a little of that, thus gaining vast amounts of experiential square footage. I had traveled to where the ancients had taught and sat with masters in different cultures and countries, but I hadn’t formally taken on the vows. It got to the point where people around the Zen Center were surprised to learn that I had not gone through the precept ceremony. I laughed it off and made some comment about how I simply was too much of a renegade to settle into the dogma of any tradition.
Preparing for the Jukai ceremony, as the Zen tradition calls it, is a pretty big deal. It’s like a bar mitzvah or confirmation for grownups, except your parents have no part in the decision-making process. To begin with, you have to decide whether or not you can abide by ten precepts. First, no killing. Second, no stealing. Third, no misuse of sexuality. Fourth, no lying. Fifth, no abuse of intoxicants. Sixth, no slander. Seventh, no praising self at the expense of another. Eighth, no attaching. Ninth, no harboring ill-will. And tenth, no abusing the Buddha, the Dharma, or the Sangha. Next, one has to decide on a teacher to act as one’s guide in the process. Finally, one has to hand stitch a bib-like replica of the Buddha’s patchwork robe called a rakesu. None of it held much appeal for me. I was more interested in getting to the meditation hall, thank you.
One day while scrubbing pots in the kitchen, one of the long-time bib-wearing monks asked me about my reasoning.
“So why aren’t you interested in taking on the precepts?” my friend Lynn asked.
For the longest time I silently continued scraping oatmeal out of the bottom of a giant pot. I wanted to answer her honestly since we had grown to be close friends, but there weren’t any words coming.
I stopped what I was doing and looked in her eyes. She returned my stare still smiling. There was something so disarming about her. Maybe it was that she had seen so much in her life. No doubt, she could fill a book with stories from her time as one of only a few female photojournalists in Southeast Asia during and after the Vietnam War and then barely escaped Phnom Penh as the Khmer Rouge rose to power shortly thereafter. She also had seen just about every single concert of merit in the 1960s. I especially loved hearing about her time at Monterey Pop and Woodstock.
“I don’t know,” I said in response to her question. “It just feels strange committing to the Path like that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Isn’t a vow just an attachment in spiritual clothing?”
She started to smile. I knew I wanted to be as skillful as possible in this conversation since she’d gone through her own Jukai ceremony some twenty years before. I didn’t want to offend her, but I wanted to be honest regarding my doubts.
“I think that formally committing to a practice could involve a lot of clinging,” she said. “But it hasn’t worked that way for me.”
All thoughts of oatmeal-caked pots had vanished at this point. I wanted to know what exactly she meant since I had so much respect for both the way she lived and the way she wore her Buddhism. She was authentic, grounded, funny, engaged, and kind. She was on her way home from the Mountain of Spirit while I was somewhere in the middle of my climb. This had become obvious in recent months, and I wondered if I was missing something that an honest and clear commitment might bring.
“I decided to take on the precepts,” she began with a note of seriousness, “because I wanted to go deeper. I knew that everything I had ever achieved in my life came out of fearless commitment. I wanted to see what fearless commitment might bring to my spiritual life.”
“But doesn’t living by these rules limit you?” I asked.
“Not in the slightest,” she said. “Then again, I have never looked at them as rules. They are my guides, my clues to living well. They remind me how to stay clear and focused on showing up to this life.”
I was all ears. This was the first time anyone had even come close to helping me see the value in taking on vows. She then started talking as she continued with the pots.
“I have a dresser on which there are a few objects that remind me of what is sacred. One is a picture I took of Jimi Hendrix burning his guitar. Another is a picture of an ex-girlfriend who became a nun and was later killed in Central America. Another is a piece of the Berlin Wall. And most important of all, is a downy feather I found at the beach when I was a kid.” She smiled.
“Why the feather?” I asked.
“Because throughout my life, it has reminded me not to rush. If I walk by it too fast, it gets caught in the current of air that this big body of mine stirs up, and it falls off my dresser. To be honest, I can’t believe I still have the little artifact. I kept it in my beat-up wallet for years and forgot about it. But my point is, for me the precepts have been like that feather. I now live in a way that doesn’t allow me to blow past the things that I should be paying close attention to.”
“So no more sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll?”
“I’m just more caring and mindful with all of that. Of course, I still enjoy my wine, women, and song. But I don’t cling to any of it. Nor do I avoid any of it.”
We finished our work together, and the signal for us to get back to the meditation hall sounded shortly thereafter. For the rest of the day I sat with her words.
The next morning I approached the senior Dharma teacher and asked to speak with him. He and I talked for some time about the conversation I’d had with Lynn and I soon realized that I was ready to take my practice to a new, more committed level. I began sewing my rakesu within days and within two months I took the vows. While deciding to formally commit to living according to the precepts is not a prerequisite for Awakening, doing so has made a significant difference for many people. Despite the fact that I don’t formally identify myself as a Zen Buddhist, the decision to jump fully into a particular practice certainly helped turn the heat up on my practice, making the Path at once more obvious and more available.
