Watering the field with compassion

Over the last few weeks Jane and I have been clearing away the debris of winter in our garden. We determined long ago not to use weed killer. We had heard that, besides killing weeds, chemicals kill much else beside, including the bugs that are so essential for balance. The soil becomes sterile. We have come to see pristine green lawns as plateaus of death. We also don't touch the leaves that the fall delivers in wagon loads (literally). We allow the leaves to stay, to mulch, to protect during the cold winter months. We clean up in the spring, over-seed, and lovingly care for the earth as best we can. It means our lawns are always a hotchpotch. There is always something for the rabbits and woodchuck to eat. But our lawns wouldn't pass muster at Wimbledon. As I write I'm looking out on wet grass as, following April showers, the brown grass has sprung newly green.
Chan Buddhism—Chan, in China, and Zen, in Japan, are the same Buddhist family—speaks of the "mind field," or "the field of consciousness." It's a helpful metaphor suggesting that our consciousness need the tender and loving care we give to our garden. We remove the stones, softening our hearts, protect the earth in winter, water the field in spring, enjoy summer's luxuriance, and prune in the fall. 
In China, Chan Buddhists supported themselves through agriculture around their monasteries. "A day without work, is a day without food,"  they said. Chan continued the work ethic of Chinese culture. Agriculture is hard, disciplined  daily work, getting hands dirty, close to the earth. (Says a scholar whose only agriculture is his garden, whose hands are soft, and whose work is mostly cerebral!)
Chan Buddhist became vegetarian. They took seriously the vow of great compassion, bodhicitta, saving all sentient beings, recognizing the connection of all to all, the mystery of interrelatedness, compassion for our animal friends.
Chan Master Guo Jun comments:

These monks also practiced meditation while they were farming. In Chan, your life is your practice. They meditated while they broke ground and sowed seeds. They meditated weeding and watering and tending their crops.

For many years we have explored what we came to term "secular monasticism," taking insights from the monastic traditions East and West, and embodying these insights in our everyday lives. "You life is your practice," says Master Jun. I have taken that to mean whatever your life is, there you find your practice. At home, in the workplace of any and every kind, among friends, with your spouse and children, among strangers. There you water the field with compassion.
In Chan, Zen, the primary practice is to "return to the breath." To follow the breath is the simplest of meditation practices. It is to be aware of your breath, to use breath as a focus of attention. Yet, it is, too, a disciplined meditation. It doesn't "just happen." When new to the practice, it requires finding time and space to sit, to be comfortable and alert, and to simply breathe. Five minute sessions are a good start. In time you can lengthen the time you sit. When sitting becomes natural, you translate your sitting practice to all activities. Thus you water your field with compassion. 
Be well in the watering,

Ab. +Andy

Citation from Guo Jun Essential Chan: The Character and Spirit of Chinese Zen, Rhinebeck: Monkish Book Publishing Company, 2013.