Hi. I’m a Buddhist who might possibly identify as a Zen Buddhist. About eight years ago I decided Zen Buddhism was my preferred brand of Buddhism because not only is it wildly irreverent, but because neither dogma nor the concept of guilt have a place on the meditation cushion.
I haven’t meditated in a long time (hence the caveat). When I did, I practiced shikanataza meditation, which means ‘‘just sitting.’’ Some people do lovingkindness or breathing meditation, but shikantaza really just means you sit your ass down for no specific purpose whatsoever and pay attention to what comes up.
The purpose of Zen is to cut through the mental bullshit and experience life directly. We all within us have this sense of Who We Are, this mental narrative that defines our experience, and Zen teaches that this narrative is ultimately what causes us to suffer. Zen practice is about learning to observe your thoughts and environment without judging them, becoming overly attached to them, or convinced they have special meaning.
I feel very strongly that Zen is not mystical. In fact I think viewing Zen as mystical is to miss the point entirely.
An illustrative story. Back when I was a regular meditation practitioner, I was walking down the street when I had a very powerful vision completely out of the blue. I imagined going into a temple and speaking with a monk who exhibited nothing but pure compassion. I was so overwhelmed by the monk’s compassion that I could not speak; instead I only wept. And I mean I wept right there as I walked down the street.
I later went to an online sangha (that’s the Buddhist community) and described my experience – what could it mean?
Every person who replied said the same thing. This is a common experience for Zen practitioners… it even had a name which I forget. Everyone in the sangha agreed that it doesn’t mean anything significant and should be treated like everything else in Zen – just an observed experience. So after having one of the most (I thought) profound experiences of my life, the overwhelming consensus by the board (some of whom were Zen teachers) was that it was basically an unimportant by-product of meditation that was best ignored.
This is not mysticism. This is rather a radical grounding in reality. There is a reason people get hit with sticks so many times in traditional Zen tales. A student is feeling all mystical and invincible until his master helpfully reminds him with a well-aimed thwack! that life is full of suffering, and suddenly the student is back to square one. Zen holds nothing sacred; it is the great equalizer.
I don’t know what your background is on Buddhism, but to understand Zen it helps to understand Buddhism, more generally. Two key concepts in Buddhism (and heavily emphasized in Zen IME) are impermanence and equanimity. Impermanence meaning the ever-changing nature of all things and equanimity its logical counterpoint – the interconnectedness of all beings.
If every moment reality changes, if every moment your body’s cells die and come to life, if every moment you have an experience that alters your perception of the world, then it becomes clear that this sense of ‘‘you,’’ this person you perceive yourself to be, is actually just a narrow misconception. Buddhism means to put you in touch with the fullness of your being, not just this empty and limited sense of ‘‘me’’ that you obsess over day and night. You might be currently manifesting as a person, but in a few hundred years parts of you will be manifesting as dirt and trees and whatever else happens when bodies decompose. In No Death, No Fear, Thich Nhat Hahn emphasizes this point nicely when he describes all the universe as a vast ocean. Right now you are manifest as a wave. You look at yourself in the mirror and you say, ‘‘I am me. I am a wave,’’ but in doing so you negate the larger truth – you are the ocean. We are all the ocean.
That means when we show compassion for other beings, we’re showing compassion for our Self. It’s not compassion in the traditional sense but really the ultimate form of Self interest. Killing things is discouraged in part because it perpetuates the delusion that the thing you’re killing is separate from you. Alcohol is discouraged because it’s harder to pay attention when we’re drunk. These rules are really just common sense extensions of these basic tenets, but as Weedy mentions, there isn’t exactly a '‘more Buddhist than thou’ concept driving these ideas.
This is getting long so I’ll add more later.