Graduation

As usual, it was good theater. John, TAS's co-founder, read a passage from the Dhammapada. Two students then "performed" John Cage's 4'33". I followed with some comments on silence (no one missed the irony). A graduate then read the poem that Zen Master Chang Sik Kim wrote for the occasion.
After we handed out the twelve diplomas some of the graduates took center stage to speak. They were wonderful and varied comments, lovely and funny. I am always so moved by this part of the ceremony.

Here is the text of my talk:

Why begin with a piece of music that is not a piece of music? We sat here in silence, or did we? We sat, or for some us today, stood, as we often have this year quiet and trying to be attentive. Why do we need John Cage’s 4’33” to help us do that? For one thing, a piece of music that isn’t one is kind of funny, kind of a practical joke. It was intended that way in part, in 1952, up in the Berkshire mountains at Tanglewood.

It was also a bit of diabolical Zen humor, a koan, a conundrum- tweaking the noses of a classical music crowd to get them to listen to themselves and what is around them and to ask “can’t everything be music? Amidst all the muttering and complaining a thunderstorm broke over the performance space. There is your answer: what the thunder said.

The answer is yes. Everything is music. And silence is the core. Architecture is an organization of space, of material around usable space. A cup is useful because it is empty and can hold something. A bowl, a glass, a window, a doorway, a tunnel all bind space into some purpose of ours. That is from the Dao De Ching, the book the school is giving to each of the graduates. Thanks to Emma and Julian, we have shaped our own little tunnel, this time of silence, to focus us on what we feel and who we are.

Silence is at the core. A good teacher listens- that is silence. A good parent watches and listens- that is silence. We can let a hurtful comment hang in the air, and not say anything back, and let one person’s words speak back to them, that is a function of silence. Reflection is possible with silence. It is the classical Zen image of an enlightened mind: a perfect mirror, no dust, no distortions.

If you try playing music, or writing poetry, or painting, or cooking there is a moment where one must just follow where the material takes you. It is the same with teaching or helping others, you’ve got to follow. Sometimes it is very mixed, very unclear what is the right thing to do, but silence can do the heavy lifting...

For instance, I received some advice a few years ago. It came from the old chinese book the I Ching. My interpretation of the passage was this: when going into a confused, difficult situation organize your mind around being quiet, observe things carefully, and let the situation unfold over time. You will know when and how to act. Then take responsibility for the conseqences for they are the will of heaven.

In this John Cage piece, he extends the idea of space into music. Great musicians use space, in music space is called a rest- and rests are what form rhythm. 4’33” is all rests; or, as it say in the musical score: “Tacet”, which is latin for “it is silent”. It takes the music and unbounds it: is it the sound in your head? Or those in the room? Is it the wind outside? or the weather, or the whole world? or the entire of creation? It all comes pouring into this wonderful, witty silence for a few minutes.

There is, of course, no true silence. We have a moment of silence every day at lunch. Most of the time I initiate it. For some reason the tradition has evolved that spontaneously one student or another ends it. He or she says: thank you. Sometimes it is such a sweet and perfect stretch of time, sometimes it closes too quick. Often we are just hungry. But all that impatience and desire and waiting just hangs in the air, as if to be understood. It is always, always a perfect reflection of the school at that moment.

Silence is necessary because some feelings are too complex for words, and some phenomena so fleeting and some sounds so faint they would be otherwise entirely lost to us. Those fleeting worlds are ourselves being revealed to ourselves in silence.

And this knowing self- which makes space and silence for the world and its many beings to pour into, is also a following self. It seeks to connect with everything: that is our nature, it follows where the world is going and joins in. This is where compassion comes from.

Here at Tinicum we do noise pretty well, we do silence pretty well. It is all just music.