Zen And The Garden Of Eden

Zen and the Garden of Eden

Wisdom from the Ancestors

Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild animal that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, ‘Did God say, “You shall not eat from any tree in the garden”?’ The woman said to the serpent, ‘We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden; but God said, “You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the middle of the garden, nor shall you touch it, or you shall die.” ’ But the serpent said to the woman, ‘You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.’ So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate. Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves.

Genesis 3:1-7

Most of us are aware somewhere deep in our bodies that something is wrong. With us. With the world. It’s not clear. But the intimation is strong. It sours the best of moments. And it lingers in our dreams.

It is a sense of dislocation, of dis-ease. Elsewhere I’ve called it the buzz. But that’s out of a Zen understanding. Here I’m thinking of how others find their way to considering the lacuna of our hearts. And, and I believe I can be categorical here, all religions deal with the problem of some ancient wound in the human heart.

Although it can be missed by our choices of naming the wound. Religious scholar Stephen Prothero suggests how in Judaism the problem is framed as exile. In Islam the problem pride. And for Christianity the problem is sin. Prothero also notes how the problem is framed in Confucianism as chaos. And he says the problem in Buddhism is suffering, which makes some sense, although I think might better be framed that the Buddhist take on the problem is ignorance, and suffering follows as the consequence.

Both Judaism and Christianity tell a story in their attempt to capture the why of this heart problem. In that story God, the source of all things, after separating light and dark and spinning the worlds into existence, creates humanity as Adam and Eve, and places them in a garden at the center of the cosmos. In that garden are two trees. One produces a fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. The other offers immortality.

When, as perhaps was inevitable the humans eat the fruit of one of the trees everything goes sour.

A wonderful story. It sings of the mysteries of the human heart.

The traditional Jewish commentary focuses on a story of exile. While Christianity focus on sin that forever after pervades the human condition. Elsewhere I reflected on the terrible problems that arise in making this about humans literally subject to the consequences of a literal sin that demands eternal punishment. There are also problems with naming this wound “exile.” Summarizing the problem appears always to be problematic in one way or another.

But there is one mistake that seems to be worse than any of the others we might or might not tumble into. In my observation much ill and often evil follows the literalization of cultural foundation stories. This becomes especially terrible in the Christian narrative.

If one sets that unfortunate choice of engagement with this ancestral story aside. And instead see it as a pointer to our nature as human beings opportunities open. Not mere metaphor. But our ancestor’s singing some deep truth to us. Something amazing. We engage it respectfully as something powerful, we open our hearts, and allow it to be the lens with which we amplify our condition, and these stories of the buzz in our being opens us as we live here in this world. Here, where we find the wound and the possibility of the healing of the wound.

Found as we let go of a death grip on the story, on our egos, on our knowing what’s what; all of a sudden we find our ancestors great wisdom.

For instance.

In the story of the Garden there is an important point. It turns on that part in the story of humans, Adam and Even you and me, taking a bite from the fruit.

What was it that made people “like God,” or in other translations, “like gods?” here we see the secret of human domination of the planet, of all our many successes in a worldly sense. That ability to see good and evil is the ability to divide the cosmos. This power, our ability to discern on and off, up and down, light and dark, good and ill, weaves together into a world, and plays out endlessly as the inquisitive mind. Some animals are strong. Some animals are fast. We are smart.

So, somewhere along the line, and this is as good a story as any for how, we ate the fruit that allowed us to divide the world. And it in fact has made us like gods. And with that and quicker than a heartbeat that very knowing threw us out of the garden, out of our original home.

And now here we are. Somewhere deep in our being each of us longs for that long lost home. So, questions bubble from the depths to consciousness. How can we return home?

Lost on the dark paths, wandering among the poor, accosted by pain and loss.

Something sometimes happens. It happens among adherents of every religion. It happens to people who hold no religion.

Somewhere a voice whispers in our hearts. Sometimes our shoulders are grabbed and we’re given a stiff shake. Sometimes we just notice. A child. A bird. Maybe it’s when eating dinner.

Heaven and hell are present in the moment. Both the divided world and the reconciled world.

Right here.

Just happens.

But religions offer ways to help us notice when the miracles happen. Look with a curious heart. Notice with a curious heart. Each thing in this divided world.

Here, here, among the snares and tares. The question. Where is Eden?

The question takes the shape of a koan. One of those magical questions that open doors. Where is Eden? Bringing the curious heart. Bringing the ancient question of longing. And. Of that equal invitation to finding.

Eden. Where the tree of the knowledge of good and evil grows. Where the tree of immortality grows.

Where is Eden?

Okay. To cut to the chase. I’l tell you. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.

Here. Here, at this moment. Can you see it?

Not one. Not two. The play of the universe and the way of heaven. Not one. Not two.

Just this.

And so that koan. Reaching up, taking the apple, and biting.

This world is heaven. This world is hell. This world is where we see that everything is wildly open and everything is intimately connected.

So…

Come home. To that feast which has been set before us all.

In the taste of an apple.

Here.