Zen (Chan)

The meditation (dhyana) school originating in China that emphasizes "mind-to-mind transmission"
  • Tricycle Community 7 comments

    The Time is Now Paid Member

    All the “spills” we create—not just with our hands but in the ocean of personal relationships as well—begin in our own mind. Distracted by the many things we have to do in a brief time, our attention wanders away from taking care of the activity in front of it, becoming concerned instead for finishing the task as quickly as it can so it can move on to another item on its list of priorities. Giving in to distraction, we give up caring about the activity we are doing. And in a subtle but real way, when we do that we also give up caring about our self, about the value of the effort we are making with our life. More »
  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    Masatoshi Nagatomi Remembered Paid Member

    "You bow like a Japanese," Masatoshi Nagatomi told me with his characteristic giggle. Thus began nine years of mentoring in Buddhist studies until his passing last year. He assured my worried Japanese mother that I would be safe in America and that he and his wife would look after me. His grandfatherly kindness extended co invitations for dinners at Thanksgiving, gifts of Japanese pickles, and the officiating of my Buddhist wedding. I am sure that during the course of his almost forry years at Harvard, every student of Mas Nagatomi similarly felt his bodhisattvic kindness and his dedication to nurturing his students not only in scholarly life, but also in life more broadly. More »
  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    Two in Relation Paid Member

    To view the Oxherding portfolio, as featured in the Spring 2011 issue of Tricycle, click here. Lewis Hyde is a poet, essayist, translator, and culture critic. Of his 1983 book, The Gift, David Foster Wallace said, “No one who is invested in any kind of art can read The Gift and remain unchanged.” A MacArthur Fellow and former director of undergraduate creative writing at Harvard University, Hyde teaches during the fall semesters at Kenyon College, where he is the Richard L. Thomas Professor of Creative Writing. During the rest of the year he lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he is a Fellow at Harvard’s Berkman Center for Internet and Society. More »
  • Tricycle Community 22 comments

    Right Lying Paid Member

  • Tricycle Community 30 comments

    No Mean Preacher Paid Member

    I step from my taxi onto the driveway of the Koko-an Zendo in Honolulu, three hours early for my interview with the eminent Zen master Robert Aitken. I had planned to use the time for extra research; instead, I’m hijacked by another visitor. Kobutsu Malone is a Zen priest, visiting from Maine. Portly, bald as a pink bowling ball, with wild white eyebrows that jut from his face like jagged tumbleweeds or lightning bolts, he wears green-brown Zen robes and steps slowly down the center’s lawn to meet me. Hands in a thoughtful posture behind his back, he resembles a medieval European monk, a character out of Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Taking him first as the sangha’s manager, through whom I’ve arranged the interview, I thank him for coming out to meet me and ask for a place to keep reading. Malone’s first words are a threat—namely, to chain me to the radiator so I won’t get into trouble. He pauses for the joke to sink in, erupting in a hoarse roar of laughter. More »
  • Tricycle Community 0 comments

    Remembering Aitken Roshi Paid Member

    In late summer of 1972, Robert Aitken was 55 and lived in Hawaii with his wife, Ann, at the Maui Zendo. He had taken a hotel room in Honolulu for the duration of the conferences of the Association for Humanistic Psychology and the Association for Transpersonal Psychology, where he was speaking as a leading Western Zen Buddhist.It was near the end of the Vietnam War. Robert—or Bob, as he liked to be called—and the other conference attendees, myself included, had been forced out of our original hotel because General Ky and Henry Kissinger were meeting there, and our group was considered a security risk. Some of us from the conference staged a die-in at the hotel, adorning ourselves with red paint and collapsing in the grand foyer. More »