The Art of Simple Living: 100 Daily Practices from a Zen Buddhist Monk for a Lifetime of Calm and Joy

by Shunmyō Masuno

Let’s consider a sumi-e ink painting of Bodhidharma done by a famous Japanese painter. No matter how splendid a painting it might be, we would not call it a Zen painting. What I mean to say is that both Zen gardens and Zen paintings adhere to a specific form. They are definitive expressions of the creator’s mastery of a Zen state, which is also called Buddha mind. One trains in Zen Buddhism for a long time before one achieves Buddha mind. In that Zen state, the unique beauty of one’s imagined landscape can be expressed in a Zen garden or painting. It conveys an ease that can heal the mind. Instead of just seeing the superficial beauty of a Zen garden, try to experience the Zen mind that it is imbued with. Once you feel integrated into the garden, you will not even notice the passage of time. The more you appreciate the concepts that permeate the garden, the more it can heal your mind.

A state of utter clarity, uncomplicated by desire or any attachments—that is the state of “nothingness,” which Zen emphasizes above all else.

The Buddha teaches that human suffering occurs when we lack awareness of this impermanence and insubstantiality. In other words, our confusion and worry stem from an inability to accept that the world is constantly changing, from a belief—or an unconscious hope—that our selves and our possessions, as well as the people who surround us, will never change. It is precisely when we are betrayed by such a hope that we experience distress.

In Buddhism, there are what we call the “three poisons.” These are not the kind of poisons that you can ingest; the teachings refer to them as passions or worldly desires. They are the root of human suffering, and they prevent us from attaining enlightenment. The three poisons are greed, anger, and ignorance.

“Spiritual awakening is transmitted outside of the sutras. It cannot be experienced through words or letters.”

The whole garden is composed in a way that makes the most of each element’s particular features, such as the shape of a rock or how a certain tree bends.

There is a saying that originates in Zen: ichi-go ichi-e, or “once in a lifetime.” It means that we should treasure each and every encounter, because we may meet a person only once in our lifetime.

There is a saying in Japanese, sottaku doji, which means, literally, “pecking simultaneously from the inside and out.” It is used to describe what happens when a chick is hatching from its egg: The first part refers to the chick and its pecking from inside the shell; the second part, to the response of the parent bird when it hears the chick and it pecks to help the chick emerge.

When a flower blooms, the butterfly naturally finds it. When trees have blossomed, birds flock to the branches on their own, and when the leaves wither and fall, the birds scatter.

The Japanese concept of honji suijaku holds that Shinto gods are manifestations of Buddhist deities, and together they form an indivisible whole sanctified at local Shinto shrines in what is called gongen.

Muso Kokushi, who is known as “the father of Zen gardens,” once said the following: “The central benefit of Zen, in the context of the ordinary ups and downs of life, is not in preventing the minus and promoting the plus but in directing people to the fundamental reality that is not under the sway of ups and downs.”

In other words, both misfortune and good fortune share the same origin.

The Zen mind is said to be “unmoved even when the eight winds blow.” We strive to remain unperturbed, no matter the situation—and even to be calm and good-humored.

There is a Zen saying, Nenge misho. This refers to a riddle about the Buddha, known as a koan. From his dharma seat before his many disciples, the Buddha is said to have not uttered a word, but merely twirled a single flower in his hand and given a subtle smile. The disciples were mystified, and among those present, Mahakashyapa was the only one who returned the Buddha’s smile. Mahakashyapa understood the Buddha’s wordless gesture and, having received this dharma transmission, was designated as his successor. It is still important, of course, to try to express our feelings in words. And conversely, we must pay close attention to what other people say.

A Zen monk will go into the mountains to devote himself to Buddhist training. While engaged in his practice, deep in the mountains and far from any village, he might receive a visitor. “I sincerely regret bringing you all the way here, to the middle of nowhere,” he might apologize to the visitor. This apology—in Japanese, wabi—is the first component of the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi. The second part—the sabi—refers to a similar sentiment: “Thank you for coming all the way to such a lonely and remote place.” Sabi is also a homonym that connotes patina or rust—the beauty that comes with age—and likely reflects the monk’s humble abode. It evokes the monk’s loneliness, or, in Japanese, sabishii. All of which is to say that the spirit of wabi-sabi is grounded in a consideration for others. This sentiment is also to be found in Zen gardens.

Above all, the Japanese prize cuisine that demonstrates an awareness of the season.

And there are two other elements: a trace of something that is just past its season, evoking the departing moment, and something that is just now coming into season, suggesting an impending arrival.

In other words, the meal includes the last of the previous season, the height of the current season, and the first of the coming season. These three things conjure the flow of time—the past, the present, and the future—for the guest’s enjoyment.

Zen Buddhists like to say, “Dwell in the three worlds.” These three worlds are the past, the present, and the future. In Zen Buddhism, you often hear the names Amida, Shaka (Shakyamuni), and Miroku; these represent the Buddha in each of the three worlds.

When something bad happens and you are feeling down, try clapping your hands in front of you—in an instant you can feel better, having been put in a new frame of mind.

The greatest happiness is in the natural order of things.

There is no certainty in a promise to ourselves—which is why we make a promise to the Buddha. By doing so, we empower our belief exponentially.

Your mind has the power to decide whether or not you are happy.

In Buddhism we say, “All days are good days,” meaning that whether good things happen or bad, each day is precious because it will never come about again. The goodness of every day is determined not by what happens or by whom you meet, but by your own mind. Any event can be interpreted in multiple ways; what matters is how you respond to it. You may not have any control over what happens or any power to change things, but your reaction is entirely under your control. Let us make today and every precious day a good day.

In Buddhism we say Chisoku, which means “Be satisfied.” Knowing how much is enough is about finding satisfaction in what you already have.

If you find yourself swept up in feelings of dissatisfaction, take a step back and examine what you hope for and desire. And then ask yourself, “Is that something I truly need?”

There is no particular secret to mastering something. Just repeat the same practice every day. Adopt a sober, steady, continuous routine.

By fixating solely on the end point, you will forgo the pleasures of the journey. When you are caught up in producing results, you are unable to devote yourself to the here and now.

By the same token, do not place a value judgment on what you are doing in the moment. Take, for example, breathing: You cannot deem your breathing to be good or bad. Just as you draw one breath after another, perform the routine habitually.

Why do we practice Zen question-and-answering? These ideas represent the basis of the Buddha’s enlightenment: Our essential self is pure and clean, perfect in its clarity. The search for that essential self is the search for enlightenment, or satori.

When we encounter our pure and true self, that is enlightenment—satori.

The Rinzai school of Zen Buddhism maintains a rigorous practice of mondo—Zen question-and-answering, or the study of Zen koans—in order to attain enlightenment. Koans use language to provoke and test the mind.

Whereas the Rinzai school of Zen Buddhism practices koan study to attain enlightenment, the Soto Zen school focuses on zazen and nothing else.

Shikantaza is the Japanese translation of a Chinese colloquialism for zazen, which in English means “single-minded sitting.” In shikantaza, you forget even that you are sitting, and your mind enters a state of nothingness. You are not seeking enlightenment, you are not strengthening your will, you are not doing this for good health—you aren’t actively thinking of anything. In Soto Zen, you simply sit, without striving.

The strange thing about money is this: The more attached we become to it, the more it eludes our grasp.

Instead of thinking about money, we should concern ourselves with our higher purpose. How can I contribute to society? What can I do to be useful in the world? By contemplating these questions and taking action, you’ll find that the money you need will ultimately find you.

Herein lies the only truth in the world. However much the world changes, there are some things that remain the same. Namely, spring will arrive and the buds will sprout, and then autumn will descend and the leaves will fall. In other words, things will take their natural course. This is exactly what is meant by the character for the Buddha in Buddhism—仏—which signifies bliss, or the “Buddha nature” of things.

A Chinese poet from the Northern Song dynasty named Su Shi was struck by the beauty of the spring landscape and said, “The willows in their green, the flowers in their crimson, reveal their true nature.”

With an open mind, notice the truth in the everyday—in the Buddha nature of things.

You might even think of what you’re cultivating as a stand-in for yourself. When that happens, not a drop of the affection you give goes to waste.

It is through the act of nurturing something that we develop a mind that cares for things, a mind that feels affection for others.

It might have the words Shoji jidai written on it in ink. Have you ever seen this? The words mean “Life is full of fortune and misfortune, but cherish being alive, every single day. Life will pass you by.”

We are enlivened—we are given life. And for that reason, we must not waste it. We must see our true selves with an open mind, and when we think of things—when there are things we want to do—we must do them as if our lives depend on it. Time spent out of character is empty time. Come now, open your eyes. What kind of day should we make today?