In the Zen tradition, we often speak of the beginner’s mind. The beginner’s mind is something very beautiful. It is like our first love. It should be protected and nourished.
I was ordained as a novice at the age of sixteen. I loved living in the monastery. There wasn’t much thinking, only a feeling that something there was very good and true. In the mind of the young person, something beautiful must be true at the same time, and something true must also be beautiful. You don’t analyze; you just sense if something is beautiful and try following in that direction. You are falling in love with what is good. That kind of love is the beginner’s mind.
The beginner’s mind is like a young plant, and it needs good conditions in order to grow strong. If the conditions aren’t supportive, then you lose your beginner’s mind. That is a pity. To have supportive conditions doesn’t mean that everything must go well on the path of practice. You don’t have to have everyone’s encouragement. In fact, on every path of practice there are many obstacles to discourage you. Every time you overcome an obstacle, your beginner’s mind gets stronger. So these obstacles are not really obstacles; they are there to help you get stronger.
“We are made of flowers and compost at the same time, because we are a garden.”
Every one of us has a beginner’s mind. In each of us, there is that capacity to recognize what is good, what is beautiful, what is true. We should find any means, every kind of occasion, every kind of opportunity, and every kind of factor that can help nourish our beginner’s mind. Our person is like a garden, filled with many flowering plants. But in the garden there are things other than flowers and plants. If we neglect the garden, it will be overrun with weeds, and our flowers will wither and die.
Suppose you live with someone you appreciate very much. That person has goodness, talent, and kindness, and you feel very lucky to be able to live with such a person. You recognize him or her as someone wonderful. And yet sometimes you don’t cherish her presence or his presence. Sometimes you say something rude or impatient. And sometimes you want to be alone, far away from this person. And yet deep inside you, you know that if that person died or went away, you would suffer tremendously. We all have that tendency to neglect and forget.
Every time I turn on the water tap, I practice mindfulness and I see that the water that flows through my fingers is a miracle. It has come from deep down in the earth or high in the mountains, and it has arrived in my bathroom. And because of mindfulness I know that there are areas on earth where water is very rare, and families have to travel three or five kilometers to get a bucket of water to bring home so they can cook and wash.
Although part of us recognizes that the water is precious, another part of us tends to neglect that. We call it forgetfulness, the opposite of mindfulness. Forgetfulness is the other side of ourselves. We have both mindfulness and forgetfulness at the same time. And sometimes forgetfulness gets the upper hand and you lose your happiness. You are capable of being grateful, and when you feel grateful, you’re happy. But sometimes you just forget, you don’t feel grateful anymore, and every time you don’t feel grateful, you suffer. We all have that tendency to be ungrateful, just as we all have gratefulness within. We are made of these conflicts. We are made of flowers and compost at the same time, because we are a garden.
When we are learning something for the first time, before our mind is filled with preconceptions, we pay full attention. We are in our beginner’s mind and we have our full mindfulness available. If we practice diligently and creatively, we can keep our practice fresh and our beginner’s mind intact.
© Unified Buddhist Church. Used with permission of Parallax Press.
