Chop Wood, Listen to Water
The are few things more satisfying than chopping wood. The swing of the axe, the feel of the strike, the sound and smell of the split. It is an ancient task, and one that requires presence. Considerations of bodily safety, the accuracy and force of the strike, the surrounding environment, and how much wood of what size is needed demand clarity of focus.
There are few things more insightful than taking the time to listen to a mountain stream. In cultivating a stillness, quieting the mind, and allowing the ears to open, we can start to hear what the natural world is saying. This is one way that Nature can teach patience and presence, and remind us that we are not separate from, but a part of the world.
There is a well-known Zen proverb that acknowledges that both before and after Enlightenment we must “chop wood and carry water.” I believe it is meant as a metaphor, reminding us that the true practice comes in performing daily tasks with mindfulness.
I also believe it is essential to sometimes literally go out and chop wood and to take the time to listen to water. In this way, we can cultivate presence in both action and stillness, and remind ourselves of the need for both.
Shifting Gears
For the majority of my first year in Portland, I rode a single speed bike. More accurately, I rode a bike that had gears, but it was old, had not been not maintained, and did not like to shift, so I kept it in a gear that worked. When it came time for me to look at a new bike, I didn’t have any experience shifting gears. I knew of the tremendous mechanical advantage they gave riders and I had heard words like “derailleur” and “dual control lever,” but these were not things I had ever considered before.
After quite a few miles of trial and error on my new bike, I decided to check back in at the shop and ask some fundamental questions. My dad taught me to ride a bike in the driveway when I was a little kid, common sense informed me to abide by the same rules as other vehicles on the road, but I had no idea how gears worked. Toggle a switch, the chain moves, it’s easier or harder to pedal. Sure, it’s simple as a concept, but I wanted to know how to engage with this machine purposefully.
So often, irrational fear inhibits us from asking questions about things “we think we should know.” It seems better to play it cool or Google it later instead of looking silly by asking another human being what we perceive to be rudimentary questions. This, however, is when it is most important to ask. As Aristotle tells us,
the beginning is thought to be more than half of the whole, and many of the questions we ask are cleared up by it.
I was able to learn more from a 5 minute conversation approached from a beginner’s mind than a year of fighting hills, trial and error, and stubbornness.
Shunryu Suzuki reminds us, “the goal of [zazen] practice is to always keep our beginner’s mind” while acknowledging it is the most difficult thing to do. The beginner’s mind is the point from which we can really learn something, if we allow ourselves to shift from the self-imposed rigidity of fear, resistance, and ego.
May the Fourth
On this auspicious day, I have found it timely to revisit two of my most grounding philosophies.
Perhaps my favorite teaching from Jedi Master Yoda comes when he is training young Luke in the ways of the Force. He says,
“For my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere, yes.”
I believe that part of the reason Star Wars was and continues to be so captivating is its ability to weave some of the oldest and deepest notions we have about life into a galactic narrative. By framing the story “a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away” George Lucas gave us the opportunity to relax the critical chatter of our mind and to listen with our heart.
In my traditional chiropractic philosophy, principles similar to the ones expressed by Yoda are evident. In 1927, R.W. Stevenson codified 33 Principles in The Chiropractic Textbook. In it, he writes,
“The function of force is to unite intelligence and matter” and that
“the expression of intelligence through matter is the chiropractic meaning of life.”
For me, it is philosophy that serves as the foundation upon which the art and science of my craft can be firmly rooted. It is not a dogmatic belief in doctrine, but an examined lens that supports and is supported by the evidence of practice.
And so on this day and all days, may the Force (and the 4th) be with you.
