A Rock in the Surf

What does it mean to be a Zen teacher? Sometimes I’m a rock in the surf. The New England coast. I see it from above, the spray rising from the rock. I hear the roar. I try to find the spot where the student’s waves break and roar. 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 that Freud called “resistance.” Sometimes, I suggest something, and 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. Sometimes, my suggestion falls flat. Nothing happens, but sometimes there’s real energy, real passion in the student’s dislike 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. Allow the student to struggle: “Will the teacher 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?” 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.”

It’s hard to be a rock in the surf, but if I stay still, sometimes something happens. Not always. Maybe we found a spot, but maybe this wasn’t the right time. Or maybe I wasn’t a good enough rock. When I thought I was still, did I twitch? 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.