Completed on December 27, 2009
Darlene Su Rei Cohen was a Soto Zen priest in the lineage of Shunryu Suzuki-roshi who began Zen practice at the San Francisco Zen Center in 1970. She co-led Russian River Zendo with Tony Patchell, her husband, in California. She and her husband had practiced at all of the SFZC locations: City Center, Tassajara and Green Gulch Farm. Much of Darlene’s teaching career centered around helping others cope with chronic pain and catastrophic illness, herself having suffered a debilitating form of rheumatoid arthritis and surviving a bout with cancer, before succumbing to a return of the cancer on January 12, 2011. A Dharma heir of Dairyu Michael Wenger, she gave dharma transmission to Susan Ji-On Postal, Horyu Ryotan Cynthia Kear and Sarita Tamayo-Moraga.
SZ: What drew you to Zen practice?
DC: I was miserable. I’d always felt, no matter what I was involved in, that I was separate from it—locked out—leaving me alone and frantic. I smoked two packs a day and couldn’t even sit through a movie. This was true of romances, jobs, social activism (in my case, anti-war work and draft counseling), all relationships and all situations. Nothing could claim my wholehearted interest. I used to joke that if I could stay interested in a boyfriend through the first laundry of our relationship that he was the ONE! Laundry, to me, represented coming back down to earth after soaring in the heavens that came with falling in love. Of course, no love could sustain me through that most mundane task. Through most of my searching for satisfaction I thought it was HIS fault, whoever that might be at the moment. Finally, after five engagements and many love affairs, I began to slowly accept the awkward notion that it may just be me. My latest boyfriend had saved enough money from dealing dope and was on his way to Tassajara, the San Francisco Zen Center’s monastery in Big Sur. He told me that Zen was about becoming one with one’s life—no barriers. So, without hesitation, I packed my bag and went with him.
SZ: A cornerstone of your own practice has been helping to show others how to deal with chronic illness, yourself having developed a disabling form of rheumatoid arthritis and also having survived cancer. I wonder if you could tell us about your own journey and how one can work through the chronic pain and stress associated with chronic and catastrophic illness?
DC: Seven years I’d sat on a black cushion pursuing enlightenment. Seven years, thousands of hours in zazen, as many as thirty sesshins (long sitting periods over several days)—all to no apparent avail. When I became crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, I’d become completely overcome by unremitting pain, terror and despair. Unable to walk or too weak to lift the phone, I would think back bitterly on all the time I’d wasted in zazen pursuing everlasting peace of mind on occasions such as these. But I was wrong about the failure of practice. Within a couple of months, I knew that.
First of all, although it was ravaged by pain and disease, my body was deeply settled. While my mind had been off plotting my rise to power at the San Francisco Zen Center, my body was developing a tremendous stability associated with a regular sitting practice. I found that, though swept up by the power of pain and being overwhelmed and consumed by it, I was able to surrender to the physicality of my existence, moment after moment. Left alone to explore my consciousness without distraction, I discovered that there were experiences to be noted besides the pain—over here there is bending, here is breath, here is sun warming, here is unbearable fire, here is tightness; something different was to be found wherever I looked—everything was fresh and exciting.
The consciousness that a sitting practice cultivates is open to many kinds of experience, not all of which are necessarily pleasant. I mean to say that if at any given moment I am aware of ten different elements—my bottom on the chair, the sound of cars passing outside, the thought of laundry I must do, the hum of the air-conditioner, an unpleasant stab of sharp knee pain, cool air going in to my nostrils, warm air going out of my nostrils, etc.—that’s too much pain, one out of ten. But if in this moment I am aware of one hundred elements, perhaps more subtle than the ten I’d noted before—like noting the animal presence of others sitting quietly in the room, the shadow of the lamp against the wall, the brush of my hair against my ear, the pressure of my clothes against my skin—then although I have pain along with all these other elements I am noticing, it is only one of one hundred elements of my consciousness at that moment. That is a pain I can live with, merely one of a multitude of sensations in my life.
To such a mind, life becomes richly textured. Consciously placing a cup on a table, feeling the flat surfaces meet, becomes a rare and satisfying “just-right” experience. Washing the dishes is not just about getting the dishes clean; it’s feeling the warm, soapy water soothing my arthritic fingers. Folding the laundry, I can its cleanness—I can luxuriate in the simple movements as a counterpoint to my complex life.
For those in pain, tapping in to this wisdom beyond wisdom is a means by which we may survive. When we’ve nothing left to hold on to, we can find comfort and support in the mundane details of our everyday life—except that, they’re really not so mundane when they’re the reason you’re willing to stay alive. This is the upside of impermanence: the shining uniqueness of beings and objects when you notice their comforting presence. When preferences for particular experiences fade, the myriad things then come forward to play, shimmering with their suchness. Obviously flowers and trees do this—but so too do beer cans and microwave ovens. Each is waiting for our embrace. It is enormously empowering to inhabit a world so vibrant with singularity.
Thirty years have passed since being devastated by pain. To this day I never enter a room without noticing what sources of comfort and ease will sustain me there—not only the recliner chair and the pillow, but also the light streaming in through the window, the handmade vase on the table, even the muffled drone of the air-conditioner; each of these are there for the pleasure of human beings. By bringing my toothbrush, my dishes, my spoon, and my car in to my conscious life as objects that offer their kind companionship, I feel their tangible support and sometimes charming idiosyncrasies. Awareness of this support sometimes occurs amid my railing against the pain and searching for ways to stop it. These tracks do not hinder each other; they are both active, engaged encounters in life. [Adapted from an excerpt that appeared in Buddhadharma: The Practitioner’s Quarterly]
SZ: I believe you’re originally from Dayton, Ohio—which is my neck of the woods. As you may know, there aren’t many practice centers in this area for someone to sit regularly with a sangha. What advice might you give to individuals living in such locations?
DC: I’m actually from Columbus originally—born in Dayton but taken to Columbus within a few months. What I did to practice was travel across country to find a sangha and teacher. I do not recommend sitting alone indefinitely. This creates a disciplined yet rigid practitioner who has yet to bump up against the notions of other people on what practice is. One might have to sit alone daily if there’s no one else around, though I have heard of websites that are available where you can sit with another person in real time. If faced with this situation, I would recommend doing that. At least you are absorbing another person’s body, no matter how remotely. Having said that, I strongly recommend planning to travel regularly to the nearest Dharma center for sesshins or, if they are close enough, for one day sits or special events in which you may encounter a teacher. It is very helpful to be accountable to someone for your practice and to feel that someone else is affected by the practice choices you make.
SZ: You co-lead the Russian River Zendo with your husband Tony, who is also an ordained priest. Tell us a bit about your group and its relations with other groups in your area.
DC: Most dharma centers in the vicinity are led by friends of ours, so we’re on good terms and sometimes go to each others’ ordinations or special ceremonies. Our 2 local groups [one in Guerneville at Russian River Zendo and the other in Healdsburg at a yoga studio (See russianriverzendo.org)] meet once a week for zazen and dharma talk and periodically for one-day sittings or 3- or 5-day sesshins. I lead or co-lead w/Tony 6 sanghas, 2 for people in pain called “Suffering & Delight.” S&D meets monthly for 3 hrs; participants do formal and informal practices pertaining to their pain and isolation. I also have a mentor’s group—a group of people who have been in my S&D groups for many years and whom I now consider to be capable of teaching. This is like a dharma transmission group of students, only these are specifically studying pain. My other sanghas are located in San Francisco.
Unique to Russian River Zendo is that students can come for residential practice for one, two, three or more days. It is like a little monastery w/the student, myself and Tony present. We sit together, eat together, study (usually a sutra) together, prepare meals, work and walk to downtown Guerneville together. Sometimes two or three students come at once, and we all have a good time. We follow the classic schedule of American Zen centers modeled on the schedule of Japanese monasteries in ancient times. This kind of practice showcases my own base teaching: body-to-body intimacy and living together closely for several days, mostly in silence. One becomes attuned to fundamental relationship.
RRZ also offers classes in various topics, including a year-long precepts study leading to jukai. I myself offer two 6-week practice periods a year which includes sitting, classes, teas and sesshin. Please see www.russianriverzendo.org for RRZ’s Mission Statement: See www.darlenecohen.net for groups, practice periods and special events.
SZ: Darlene, thank you for giving us the opportunity to talk with you. In closing, what books might you recommend to someone who is interested in Zen and any of the topics we’ve explored today?
DC: My own books:
- Arthritis: Everyday Exercises for Body and Mind
- Turning Suffering Inside Out
- One Who Is Not Busy, The: Connecting with Work in a Deeply Satisfying Way
- Opening the Hand of Thought by Kosho Uchiyama
- Ed Brown’s editing of Suzuki-roshi: Not Always So: Practicing the True Spirit of Zen
- Edward Conze’s Buddhist Thought in India: Three Phases of Buddhist Philosophy (Ann Arbor Paperbacks)
- Edward Conze’s Buddhism: Its Essence And Development
- Andrew Ferguson’s Zen’s Chinese Heritage – The Masters & Their Teachings
- Kazuaki Tanahashi’s Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen Master Dogen
- Kaz Tanahashi’s Beyond Thinking: A Guide to Zen Meditation