Soto Zen and Plum Village Buddhist Practice
Soto Zen and Plum Village Buddhist Practice
What kind of Buddhist am I?
What kind of Buddhist am I?
I was hesitant in exploring Zen, at first, because of my misunderstanding of it. I was unsure about their practices and did not know that there were also three variations of Zen Buddhism. Moreover, I was afraid of becoming yet another white American that would culturally appropriate and possibly fetishize and romanticize a Japanese or eastern school of thought. The aesthetics of Zen Buddhism as a whole are also incredibly appealing, but I am distrustful of aesthetics; they can often manipulate the ability to see clearly what exists and what is illusion.
However, the more I learned of Soto Zen’s distrust of language, thinking, and reality, the more I connected it with Derrida, a key thinker for deconstructionism. Deconstruction has always captivated my mind, but Soto Zen’s origins are far more spiritual, less intellectual, and far more developed. I am distrustful of any intellectual or spiritual practice that doesn’t have a fundamental distrust of language at its core, as language itself is so fundamentally unstable. After all, how many times do we use words (signifiers) only to find that a person is thinking of completely different ideas (signifieds)? Thus, how could ‘God’ of ‘Buddha’ or ‘Dharma’ be possibly communicated clearly through words and words alone? Soto Zen’s acknowledgement of this instability was moving to my spirit and mind precisely for this reason.
From here, I began reading Moon in a Dew Drop by Zen Master Dogen (copy edited by Kazuaki Tanahashi). His emphasis on the instability of language, the instability of thought and ideas, and the importance of presence in the moment began to frame some of the core of my current beliefs. It felt authentic, lasting, and it encouraged me to practice within myself, by myself, until I was ready to reach out and find a teacher. Then, when I found a teacher, I knew what to look for and how emphasis on the paramitas, which he reduced from 6 to the 4 methods of guidance, helped frame my behavior going forward.
Like anyone that has walked by the Buddhist section at a bookstore, I have found Thich Nhat Hanh’s name plastered on about a dozen different books. However, it wasn’t until No Mud, No Lotus that I latched onto something that really spoke to my soul. Thich Nhat Hanh’s continued emphasis on the present moment and detachment from the future built upon my Soto Zen beliefs. However, he offered practical guidance, meditation methods, and a mantra that would help continue to shape my practice: ‘No mud, no lotus.’
While I am a notice in all religious texts, I have been incredibly active in the study of Christian texts within the context of literary study. Specifically, Paradise Lost is one of my favorite books ever written, and I would be lying if I were to say that I didn’t ‘believe’ in the ideas in that poem. Specifically, Milton asserts that the more something is perfect, the more it feels pain. Furthermore, he offers an explanation of sin that, should it have been given to me as a teenager, I would have been more likely to believe in the Christian faith: all sin inevitably leads to virtue. This latter belief is particularly aligned with my love of Viktor Frankl’s Logotherapy, where people’s meaning is shaped by their response to their environment, not the environment itself; we cannot change our environment but we can change our response to it. If you are dismissive of this last idea, remember that Frankl’s ideas were formed in the crucible of holocaust camps; if he can find meaning there, I’m sure we can find meaning and happiness in our lives.
‘No mud, no lotus’ cannot be said around me without these associations: Christian, psychological, and now Buddhist. While practical techniques and other jewels found in that text will continue to shape my behavior and practice, this saying alone will be found at the core of my being.
I am on the continued hunt for source texts and have been compiling translated versions of sutras to continue my practice. I do this in order to ensure my practice is as authentic as possible, and to ensure that I am learning from the masters the way I know how: reading.
Currently, I am reading and enjoying the Lalitavistara. I look forward to reading more about Avalocatishvara, and more about Mara, the Taras, and other significant figures in Buddhist cosmology and lore. To me, these are not literal stories, but more figurative and instructive. I find the contradictions within these texts to be amusing, but I approach these contradictions with love, admiration, and acceptance.
Moreover, I am aware of the binary of literal and non-literal, and I do not necessarily want to say that these sutras are purely figurative or symbolic to me. While they carry that strong weight in my soul, I remember a key detail from Paradise Lost that is once again shaping my understanding of these texts: when Raphael told the battle of Michael, Jesus, and Satan, he acknowledged that he was placing into form something that is effectively formless. Just like in Paradise Lost, there is a clear acknowledgement from all of the Buddhist masters that I have studied so far that there are things in language that are inexpressible. Thus, the consistent materialism and jewels found in the Lalitavistara, the existence of Buddha as an elephant within the womb, Buddha walking at birth, and more are not literal to me, but they are not figurative either; they exist as something in between.
This is where an important text comes into being: The Diamond Sutra. I read the one translated by Thich Nhat Hanh and I laugh at how frequently I return to the phrasing. This sutra, in particular, resonated with my beliefs in deconstruction and my academic inclination to challenge language. It is, effectively, deconstruction, but over a thousand years before Derrida even existed. As a result, I fell in more love with this aspect of Buddhism because it resonated with the truths that Dogen proclaimed, and the ones that Hanh proclaimed as well: all existence is dependent on the entire binary; binaries don’t really exist. That is exactly why they do exist.
This awareness of binaries, their contradictions, and the instability of language only drew more closeness between me and Buddhism, and is the foundation of my blended practice and spirituality.
Written July 8, 2025
Last Edited July 8, 2025