A Rock in the Surf

What does it mean to be a Zen teacher? I am a rock in the surf. I love the image. I imagine a rock in the surf off the New England coast. I see it from above, the spray rising from the rock. I can hear the roar.

The hard part for me as a teacher is to find the spot where the student’s waves break and roar. Bernie was a master at creating such spots. He called them upayas, skillful means. He took us on to the streets of Manhattan and to Auschwitz, putting us in places where we would come up against our rocks.

I am no Upaya master. I don’t have Bernie’s skills. I stumble along with students, trying this and that, sometimes koans, sometimes not, looking for a place where that particular student’s surf crashes. When we find the place, I can feel it. There is a tension. Freud called it “resistance.”

Bernie loved his street retreat Upaya because almost all of us would find our points of resistance there. I never know where a student will find her rock. Sometimes, I suggest that a student try something, and the student takes easily to the suggestion, jumps right into the water, and starts to swim. No resistance. No rocks. “Go on to the next koan.” Or try something else. Is it the Marines who say, “No pain, no gain”?

Sometimes, my suggestion falls flat. Nothing happens, but sometimes there’s real energy, real passion in the student’s rejection of my proposal. That’s the energy of resistance. We’ve found a rock.

My job then is to just stay there. Don’t move, a rock in the surf. The surf roars and soars. Will the rock judge me and find me wanting? Will the rock reject me? Will the rock comfort me and tell me everything is okay? Will the rock tell me it was all a mistake, that I can get out of the water if I want? Is it hours? Is it weeks? Could it be years? We’ve discovered a moment. We’re up against a demon. The surf is roaring, “You’re not my teacher.” “Zen is not for me.” “This is all bullshit.”

All I have to do is sit still, a rock in the surf. It’s hard, but if I stay still, sometimes something happens. Not always. Sometimes the student, confronting a rock in the surf decides that I am not their teacher. It’s sad for me. Maybe we’d found the spot, but maybe this wasn’t the right time. Maybe, one way or another, the student wasn’t ready. If the student leaves, I wonder if they will return. Or maybe I wasn’t a good enough rock. When I thought I was still, did I twitch?

If the rock sits still in the surf, sometimes transformation happens. It’s the student’s transformation. Whatever change occurs comes from the student. But it is a great gift to be the witnessing rock, to be present at the birth of a student transformed.