In the closing line of his poem “Sandstone Keepsake,” the Irish poet and Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney describes himself as “one of the venerators.” That line is striking, not only because the verb venerate has largely disappeared from everyday discourse but also because the spirit of veneration itself, like water in certain parts of the world, is becoming as scarce as it is precious.
Veneration derives from the Latin root veneratio¸which means “reverence or profound respect.” In his poem, which was written during the Troubles, Heaney depicts himself wading on a beach on the Inishowen Peninsula, at the border between the Irish Republic and Northern Ireland. There he finds a “chalky, russet” chunk of sandstone, which he subsequently likens to the “long venerated” heart of a 13th-century martyr. And he portrays himself as a humble countryman, out for an evening walk and no threat to the wary British authorities of Northern Ireland, who may well be watching him with binoculars.
Humility is an essential component of veneration. It can be expressed physically through the acts of bowing, kneeling, or prostration. No less important than these outer forms, however, is a mental attitude of selfless regard. In Zen parlance, this attitude is sometimes described as “lowering the mast of the self.” Often it is accompanied by silence, stillness, and a profound sense of gratitude.
In formal religion, the objects of veneration have most often been spiritual leaders, saints, martyrs, texts, statues, and sites regarded as sacred. A short list might include the Cross, the Shroud of Turin, the Torah, the Koran, Bodh Gaya, Mecca, and Bethlehem. Informally, however, those unaffiliated with organized religion can elect to venerate an art such as painting, sculpture, or poetry; an institution, such as higher education, medicine, or law; a trade, vocation, or profession; the wild natural world; blood or spiritual ancestors; or, not least, the person or persons standing before them. In traditional Asian cultures, an attitude of veneration may be expressed by pressing the palms of one’s two hands together and making a nod or bow. More subtly, it can be expressed by offering a friend a gift with both hands.
In the Zen monastic tradition, a sense of veneration extends to the familiar objects of everyday life, such as one’s cushion, eating bowls, garments, and utensils. Beyond that, it also encompasses such tasks as cooking, cleaning, gardening, and temple maintenance. And in Japanese Zen, it is closely associated with two specific practices.
The first of those practices is known as ma, which roughly translates as “giving [an object] appropriate space.” Whether the activity be the tea ceremony, flower arranging, calligraphy, or one of the martial arts, this principle enjoins the practitioner to honor both the objects of attention and the space around them. In his notebooks the writer and Zen practitioner Peter Matthiessen spoke of the “fierce cleanliness” of Dai Bosatsu Zendo, the monastery where he learned the practice of Zen. Having trained there myself, and having washed its windows, vacuumed its tatami mats, and washed its floors by assuming a deep crouch and running down its Tasmanian oak floors with a wet cloth, I can attest to the cleanliness of its interiors. But equally important were the austerity and minimalism of its décor. The objects to be dusted and meticulously arranged were few and far between, and the spaces between them felt as present as the objects themselves. Both their presence and the space between them embodied the “Way” of ma.
As the conscientious, if temporary, steward of those objects, I learned to embody the second principle of veneration, known in Zen as menmitsu-no-kafu. Derived from roots meaning “interwoven” and “family,” menmitsu refers to a warm, wholehearted, and intimate quality of attention to the objects in one’s care. However humble or precious, those objects are to be treated with what is sometimes called “grandmother mind,” as though they were members of one’s family. Whether the items in question be the three bowls used in oryoki (formal Zen meals), the towels folded and placed on the beds of incoming guests, the exact, woodpecker-like striking of the han (wooden block) to initiate a sitting, or the placement of one’s hands when engaged in zazen (seated meditation), the Way of menmitsu may be understood as a form of kinetic, daily veneration.
John Daido Loori Roshi, an American Zen master, once noted that it was impossible to bow in gratitude and complain at the same time. Analogously, it is difficult, if not impossible, to nurture the spirit of veneration while in pursuit of riches, importance, power, and conquest. The two sets of values are incompatible. But even at a time when our cultural ethos has sharply veered toward the latter way of being, it is still possible to become, like Seamus Heaney, one of the venerators. At any given moment, it is still possible to choose.
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To read the full text of “Sandstone Keepsake,” see https://voetica.com/poem/7555.
Photo: Dai Bosatsu Zendo