Then I sat down on the cushion opposite him, crossed my legs, and adjusted my posture. I didn't know what to expect, or what was expected of me, so I just sat there quietly facing him. The world turned. I don't think he had the slightest thought about my attainment or lack thereof. He seemed contained, quiet, and alert in repose. I began to relax. Finally after a few minutes, he inquired, "how's your meditation?"
"Not so good," I replied.
"What's not so good?" He asked.
"I can't stop thinking," I lamented.
"Is there some problem with taking?" he questioned, and right at that moment when I looked directly for the problem, I couldn't actually find it. I felt relieved and lightening, but I wasn't ready to admit I couldn't the problem. Besides, didn't he and the other teachers keep instructing us to follow the breath rather than think?
"When you sit zazen, you are not supposed to think," I explained.
"It's pretty normal to think," he sated, "don't you think?" His way of speaking was so innocent of attack: not contradicting, not belittling, not finding fault b
I had to admit that thinking was pretty normal, "but we're not supposed to think, are we?"
"The nature of mind is to think," Roshi explained. "The point of our practice is to not be caught by our thinking. If you continue to practice, your thinking will naturally change. Sometimes it will stop. Your thinking will take care of itself. "
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