“Treat nothing like an object.”
Early in my Zen practice, I heard this phrase a lot. As we were cleaning the zendo and I was just about to toss a zafu (meditation cushion) onto a pile, a voice boomed out with that command. I was instructed that the appropriate way to do this was to carefully carry the zafu to the pile and place it down. Nothing like a reprimand to provoke the ego!
Or at least a perceived reprimand. Zen can seem harsh at first; full of rules and dictums that seem obsessive. That’s how it felt to me in the early days. It took time for the teachings embedded in these rules to fully land in my body and to understand that they are fundamentally about respect for the small details—and small details are what life is made of.
That phrase came up in my mind again as I recently read through Roshi Joan Halifax’s wonderful notes on “The Zafu in Zen Practice” that were recently sent to members of Upaya’s local sangha:
The zafu is not just a piece of furniture—it’s regarded with deep respect because it represents the seat of practice. How one relates to the zafu is an expression of how one relates to the Dharma itself. In Zen practice, stepping over your zafu is considered disrespectful because it represents a lack of care for the objects and space of practice. The zafu is not just a cushion—it’s viewed as a sacred object that supports meditation and spiritual development. In Zen tradition, practitioners are taught to treat all elements of the practice environment with care and attention. This includes bowing to your cushion before and after sitting, placing it properly, and turning on it rather than stepping over it.
And being the anthropologist that she is, Roshi Joan brings a cultural lens to the teaching:
The etiquette of not stepping over a zafu derives from centuries of monastic practice in China and Japan, where movements in the zendo express harmony, respect, and humility. These traditions shape even seemingly small gestures, making them part of the larger craft of the practice.
Full disclosure: I am not a model practitioner. I am probably a bit of a Zen failure in a way, and for reasons I’ve written about previously—being a primary caregiver to an elderly dog and living a distance from a practice center—in recent years I haven’t been able to consistently take part in formal meditation practice at a zendo or sesshins, the bread and butter of Zen practice. Yet that teaching of paying attention to the small details, with respect, continues to be deeply present in my life.
The dirty dishes sitting in my sink—a consequence of my own lack of follow-through, and simply having too many things to take care of—triggers a series of mental formations:
• You’re so lazy, how could you let that happen?
• Why can’t someone else clean up after me?!
• Maybe I should get a dishwasher?
• Oh my god, there are so many dishes, where do I even start?
Which gradually, through the frame of practice grounded in kindness, turns into:
• Okay, well this is what it is. Let me start with this small batch over here.
• One dish at a time, one glass at a time. Just start.
• Oh, this isn’t so bad. It actually feels really good to slow down, to feel the water and soap running over my skin, to clean each plate, each bowl, each pot and pan, every utensil.
When I extend that practice, an awareness grows of the resources that go into washing dishes and how I can practice respect for those resources and the beings who depend on them. In the high desert where water is precious, how can I make sure to waste as little as possible? How can I ensure that the dish soap I’m using isn’t made up of chemicals harmful to the Earth? How can I use less plastic by refilling the soap rather than buying new containers? Invitations to deepen our respect are everywhere when we look carefully.
One of my favorite books is Thich Nhat Hanh’s The Long Road Turns to Joy (Parallax Press 1996). This small volume is all about walking meditation, and Thay reminds us that the practice is to “walk not in order to arrive, but walk just for walking.” There’s something beautiful about imagining a very long journey, which can seem arduous, transforming into joyful steps as we relax into being present to one step at a time, one breath at a time.
Zen Buddhist teachings can be quite philosophical and complex. This is perhaps the simplest Zen teaching, but it’s profound.
Tend to the small details. Offer respect to everything. Treat nothing as an object.
As the saying goes, “The way we do one thing is the way we do everything.” In this world, which is in great need of healing and reconciliation, where the temptation is strong to take shortcuts and rush through everything, perhaps we can start with what is right in front of us: the pile of dirty dishes in our sink, the interaction with a stranger on the bus, the way we respond to someone on social media.
Everything exists in community with us, in sangha, if our eyes of practice are open. Everything deserves respect, including ourselves.
Related features from BDG
Thích Nhất Hạnh’s Teaching of Interbeing
Returning to the Basics: Buddhist Practice and the Joy of Clarity
Embracing Sangha, Meditation, and Love in Hard Times – Wisdom from Thich Nhat Hanh
Honoring the Legacy of Venerable Thich Nhat Hanh
Humility and Respect for the Buddha’s Word: Believing and Accepting the Teaching
Who Am I — Self-discovery in Japanese Zen Practice
