‘No-Thought’ is Not the Definition, Nor the Goal
When I started the Mushin Zen blog, I made a list of more than ten ideas for pieces that I wanted to write and share. However, the behind-the-scenes, ad-hoc exchanges with readers have been a far more interesting and useful aspect of blogging – a process that has prompted new explorations and learnings. Some of this I’ve shared and tested in real-time through talks (see my most recent video from the Deep Resilience Summit), and some of it I’ll eventually write here. For now, I’ll share some recent conversations with colleagues and related explorations, which seemed like a more helpful place to start after a long pause.
One problem raised to me was around the dualism of words – specifically the problem of mushin being translated as “no mind” or “no thought.” The word “no” being commonly interpreted as “absence,” or the opposite of “presence,” which isn’t correct here. In Japanese, the word shin in mushin means “heart” as well as “mind.” So what do we do with that?
A few other discoveries helped add clarity: The word mushin comes from the phrase mushin no shin (無心の心), or “mind without mind,” which speaks to a reality beyond presence and absence. In the Manual of Zen Buddhism, D.T. Suzuki translated mushin as "being free from mind-attachment.” This definition points to what the real problem is – not the thoughts, but the self that gets stuck. These hints get us closer to mushin as a mind not fixed or occupied by thought or emotion, and thus capable of moving in all directions — infinite mobility. Someone in mushin is physically present, centered through breathing with the hara (lower abdomen), with a mind not localized anywhere — filling the whole being so it can be useful wherever needed. We may recognize this as fudoshin, or “immovable mind,” from one of our key texts, Fudochi Shimmyo Roku.
The second concern raised to me was that, like everything else, people can get attached to “no-thought” (i.e., as a comfy place they want to live). Am I saying thoughts are “bad?” Nope. We all have cognition as a sixth sense (in the Buddhist conceptual framework) to help us make sense of input from the five other senses. We use our brains to solve problems and communicate, and many of us need it to do our work. As described in the Lankavatara Sutra, our real issues are (1) attachment to thoughts, (2) lack of awareness around thoughts, e.g., when they’re happening and splitting our attention, and (3) confusing thoughts and feelings for “self” and “things,” each with their own existence. The Sutra says, we’re all like silkworms who in spinning our cocoons, wrap ourselves up and are charmed with the thread! D.T. Suzuki commented that from this vantage point, we “fail to realize the freedom we intrinsically possess, and are annoyed on all sides.” In other words, our mind becomes small. We become small, and our world becomes small. Like babies, we live in a constant cycle of happy-sad based getting the things we want, or not.
What is the alternative? Tapping into what we’ll call Big Mind that is both beyond thought and feeling and the source of all thoughts and feelings (and every-thing). When thoughts and feelings arise, no one’s there to get stuck. From this vantage point, “Everyday is a good day.” While relief may come from silencing small thoughts (or non-attachment), that’s not necessarily the point. The open space makes room for bigger experiences — the intuition of hara, the connection to humanity through heart, and under the right conditions, the lightning bolt-like wisdom from the inner-net (cosmic mind) which cracks open the nut.
The last bit of conversation I’ll share was with my teacher. We discussed some interesting work shared by a reader (I’ll share more about that later), which led to questions about how Zen works or why Zen is different from techniques that put people in samadhi (state of relaxed concentration of no self). The answers we surfaced led me to update my framework of tools for Zen practice. These principles are available to everyone and allow us to practice all the time, rather than the hour or so a day we “practice.” Since they’re available to everyone, I’ll call them “connected-human-being-tools,” rather than Zen tools. But understanding the fuller context is also important for their use.
Various frameworks are used by Zen teachers. Some use “breath and posture” only, or “breath and gravity.” My teacher used “breathing, posture, and concentration.” Here, I also previously described some instruction from Tanouye Roshi: “Do two things at once: (1) use your breath and posture to attain a level of samadhi, and (2) watch your frame of mind (observe samadhi).” My revision builds upon this last version by spelling out a third unstated component working in the background.
Connected-human-being tools:
Breath & posture. Fundamental is a long, slow breath from the lower abdomen (hara). We emphasize a special technique called hara breathing. Good posture supports a long breath and a clear mind. When the head is off-center or juts forward, thoughts can get trapped and not settle downward.
Concentration/awareness. This is a way of focusing and paying attention that brings “one-with-ness,” where thoughts and sense of self fall away (i.e., samadhi). It’s palpable when one is in this state or not. To keep focus, we can count breaths and use sensory cues, e.g., “see 180 degrees.’ You can switch cues as they lose potency, which seems to happen.
Sincere intention. This is the component I’ve added, though we can say it was here all along in the background. It’s the honest problem, or serious question you’re holding a personal relationship with (e.g., self/other, life/death). It’s not a transactional or ego-centered goal you’re trying to achieve. Intention works like a rudder steers a boat from underwater.
Importantly, these components are all alive, moment-by-moment processes, rather than end-states. They’re verbs (or ways to engage), rather than nouns. Note the wording of Tanouye Roshi’s guidance above (“do,” “use,” “watch”). So, what do you do when you notice you lose one component, or all three? Just reengage with the practice without judgment. In Zen, we train with all three components together, not individually in abstraction. The three processes interact in an ecosystem, such that the total is more than the sum of the parts — a true human being emerges.
I’ll say a bit more about sincere intention not attached to outcome. Intention is a bigger or deeper problem, question, or curiosity you’re holding and continue to connect with as being relevant. A sincere intention can be related to personal transformation or for the good of others or the universe, but not to satisfy your own ego. When we connect to deeper intentions related to life’s purpose, we find more energy. But, intention is not your will or volition, which often get inflicted on others.
When a student starts in Zen, the teacher asks, “Why do you want to train in Zen?” This is a starting point for grounding the student in their intention, which changes over time. Without it, why bother with the practice? Setting an intention gives our training focus, like an organizing principle – a seed that starts growth. It’s critical that the intention be grounded in “not knowing,” rather than “knowing.” Somehow showing up like that, even if not said aloud, leads to an experience of the universe bending to meet you in a wondrous act of co-creation.
Finally, be careful: Even if you start with a sincere intention, any perceived success or failure triggers the ego and results in goal-oriented or transactional thinking focused on giving/receiving. This is a common experience. But, it’s important to be honest with yourself when it happens. Say for example, you’ve developed a transactional relationship with “no-thought?” Just cut that and come back to breath and concentration, grounded in open and sincere intention (no judgment zone). Remember, Zen is a process, not a goal. The Fudochi says: “Establish a mind of intention having no dwelling place.”
To learn more, please see some recent videos from the Deep Resilience Summit:
