Treat every moment as your last. It is not preparation for something else.

I found an old copy of Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind in my possession in the heart of the pandemic. My father had given it to me some time ago, likely when I was in the throes of some existential malaise. I had kept the well worn copy, it’s spine partially broken with some pages loose, until I rediscovered it in lockdown. As I carefully read through it, against the backdrop of a huge upset in civilization, it had a sharp and immediate impact on me.

If your mind is empty, it is always ready for anything, it is open to everything. In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s mind there are few.

In the year 2020, after 33 years on this earth, I felt worn and tired. Perhaps I had a bit of the presumption of an expert on life, foreclosing possibilities as a result of my own limited experiences. It took Suzuki’s simple and direct words to shake loose this weariness. As I read more of his statements, his advice, and his encouragement I felt my narrow view coming into focus. This expert’s mind was not serving me, and it was time to reset with the sense of being a true beginner again.

Nothing we see or hear is perfect. But right there in the imperfection is perfect reality.

In the ground of our experiences is a sense of fullness if we can bring our awareness to meet it directly. Even though I had been practicing meditation for nearly 15 years at that point I still had a tendency to be very hard on myself. My judgements on the fruits of my labor were harsh and premature conclusions, discouraging me and closing off avenues to growth. It was hard to separate this sense of judgement from a persistent fear that what I was doing wasn’t enough. That I was seeking something like a destination, where I could finally rest in some sense of peace.

When you do something, you should do it with your whole body and mind; you should be concentrated on what you do. You should do it completely, like a good bonfire. You should not be a smoky fire. You should burn yourself completely. If you do not burn yourself completely, a trace of yourself will be left in what you do.

I had the tendrils of my expectations hanging around all of my efforts, leaving only part of my mind to commit to the experience of each moment. I had been living in a split state of being; one part of me trying earnestly, and another evaluating that effort in a continuous narrative. The practice of meditation had helped me become aware of my subterranean thoughts, the aliveness of my body, and cultivated an openness to my experience but Suzuki gave me a glimpse of what it’d be like to turn these pieces into a steady way of life. A vision of these drops of practice turning into a flowing river.

You should be rather grateful for the weeds, because eventually they will enrich your practice.

It is hard to be grateful for our ugliness, which makes it hard to see in the first place. If we can be kind with ourselves, appreciating our virtues as well as our imperfections we can more fully relax as we are. It is not that we don’t exert effort, but this effort too is impure if it is tinged with the weight of ambition. Even reading these simple words was a sort of awareness practice, and I felt the old knots in my mind loosening. My mind felt lighter and more ready for whatever was to come next.

Waves are the practice of the water.

The waters of our being are constantly turning over, the tide pulling back whatever was once born. Practice is dancing with the impermanence; the winds of fortune and misfortune not gripping us with a sense of deathly seriousness. I was curious what experiences had made Suzuki come to utter these words, what kind of mind he had cultivated during his rich and difficult life. I was grateful to have discovered him when I had, when the status quo was wildly upset and life was again seen to be precarious and uncertain. I aspire to embody his teachings in my life even as I struggle to realize them in each moment of this precious life.