pity the swiftest horse

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Take pity on the swiftest horse.

In "Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind," Suzuki Roshi uses the image of four sorts of horses -- the horse that runs without the whip, the horse that runs at the shadow of the whip, the horse that runs at the sight of the whip and the horse that requires the whip in order to run. (I haven't got that quite right, but you get the drift.) And Suzuki asks, on which horse does the Buddha take most pity ... isn't it the one that requires the whip?

But I wonder this morning about the swiftest horse, our own most competent and fleet abilities and understandings. Isn't this too a time for deep patience and kindness and encouragement? Isn't this a realm in which to take pity?

The pointer arises in my mind: "Having some attainment is the jackal's yelp. Having no attainment is the lion's roar." And of course everyone would like to be a lion ... sort of.

I guess all this comes up in my mind because I am aware of how a gradual disinterest has asserted itself in my head: I am more drawn to those whose steps are the steps of early childhood, all wobbly and delighted and prone to falls. Those who have learned to walk, well, there's no need to speak to them of walking. That would be preaching to the choir. Those in the choir know they want to sing, know they love music, and practice what they love. They are the swift horses, the assured walkers ... sort of.

In Zen Buddhism, someone once summed things up this way: "Begin. Continue." And for anyone who has given it a shot, who has put their money where their mouth is, it is the 'continue' part that is tough. Moment after moment, day after day, week after week, year after year ... continue. Sing, sing and sing again. Continue.

It is a thorny realm because in continuing, there is a natural tendency to rest, to nest, to become part of the choir, to create some imaginative lion who is nothing more than a jackal. Oh shit! -- another religion! It is hard to continue. It is as wearing as driving cross-country ... who wouldn't want to find a rest stop, a place to be at home, a place in which there is the bliss of taking a much-needed piss. I can sing now -- even the hard things like "The Star Spangled Banner" or Beethoven's Ninth Symphony or "Jerusalem."

Continue.

Even the swiftest horse is never swift enough. Is this not a realm for kindness and for pity? No whip, no rider, no horse, no jackal, no lion, no choir, no rest stop ... and yet no lack of whip or rider or horse or jackal or lion or choir or rest stop ... who will continue here?

Others have more energy than I to encourage those who continue. These encouragers will raise the whip and offer a profound kindness. And yet in the end, who can raise the perfect whip? I am happy for those who encourage and those who would be encouraged, for those who continue and makes such wondrous efforts. But preaching to the choir is off my energy charts, despite all these words.

Sing! Isn't that enough? Isn't that kindness and pity enough?

Sing! -- and in that singing know that there is no other lion.
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