During the group meditation retreat today, we had a sharing at the end of the period where each of us were asked what we would like to practice, or what our ideal practice of Chan would be. I thought that the question was very insightful and revealing, almost like the kind of question one could do a research study about. Each person in the group said something slightly different, even though an observer might find many different patterns across the people, particularly with regards to cultures and gender. But what struck me was the idea that people make complex choices as to how they invest their spiritual life and practice. There is no 'cookie cutter' when it comes to entering a meditation center and practicing as a group. People bring to the table very different backgrounds, so we often have to find the ways that work best for us and leave the others at least temporarily behind--at least until we find our bearings and can deepen our practice enough to include other methods.
I have recently come across the term "owning", particularly in psychology books, and it interests me how it's being used these days. Of course, most people know of the term 'ownership' in regards to material things and personal belongings, but nowadays, we are also said to 'own' our feelings, our judgments and our thoughts. Taking 'ownership' in this case means that we acknowledge our thoughts and feelings to belong strictly to ourselves, and nobody else is forcing us to believe otherwise. The REBT pioneer Albert Ellis would agree at least in part that one owns their own thoughts, and two people can see completely different things in the same environment, owing to their thought patterns.
I think there is a more subtle meaning to ownership which has to do with, as mentioned before, the idea of approaching a group dynamic with one's own unique styles and interests--not leaving these interests behind but using them to enrich the group dynamic. To own that experience entails many things. One is that whenever a practice seems too difficult or challenging to understand, it's up to the person to decide for her or himself whether they will take on that challenge (out of curiosity) or leave it alone for now. In Chan and Enlightenment, Master Sheng Yen says similar things, when he remarks, "if we realistically apply standards appropriate to ordinary human beings, if we use Dharma as our guide and strive to accomplish what ordinary humans can, this wisdom can lead us to the other shore" (p.155-156). This means that a practitioner has to really reflect deeply on how valuable a teaching or an approach is to their own life experience in the current moment.
I never have quite figured out the 'gauge' to know whether one has an affinity and gains benefits from a particular teaching or method. Sometimes teachings in spiritual traditions might not be of any value upon listening to it, but might start to click at a later time when one's practice has matured. Karma is one example of a concept that seemed alien to me when I first heard it, but has more recently become ingrained in how I see the workings of cause and effect in daily life. It's not a magical word anymore, and I started to incorporate the idea into explaining why some activities might entail heavy obstacles for one person, whereas the other approaches it with ease. In this particular example, one must be able to juggle between immersion in a spiritual concept and owning one's own encounter with the concept. If the hat is a size too big or small, it's sometimes best not to try to squeeze it to fit one's head, but rather to use a gentle approach to explore its meaning and figure out how it might potentially fit into the puzzle of one's life.
Sheng Yen (2014). Chan and Enlightenment. Elmhurst NY: Dharma Drum Publications
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