Let's Practice Giving Everything

We cannot borrow someone else’s awakening and wear it like a coat.

It was Memorial Day this past weekend and I have been sitting with what this day is actually about.

Somewhere along the way, the holiday became associated with barbecues and the unofficial start of summer. And there is nothing wrong with barbecues. But underneath all of this, Memorial Day is a day of honoring those who gave everything, including their very lives, in service of something they perceived to be larger than themselves.

That is not a small thing.

I have been moved by the sheer fact that hundreds of thousands of people, imperfect and complicated people, chose to give their all. To give themselves completely. And this reflection has led me, as it often does, back to practice.

How much am I giving of myself to practice? How much are you?

There is a teaching from Ajahn Chah that I return to often. He said, ‘If you give a little bit, you will be a little bit free. If you give a medium amount, you will be a medium amount free. But if you want to be totally free, give everything.’

So simple. And yet so hard to do.

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Closing the Gap is a Place of Practice.

I had a long, wonderful lunch recently with a dear friend who is also a Zen teacher. We were talking about how he has been caring for his health in ways he had not always done, and he said something that stopped me: “I am in my 70’s and I feel spry. I feel better than I ever have.” He was stretching, moving, paying careful attention each day to what his body needed. And he laughed and said, “It is kind of like Zen practice, actually.”

He is right. When we pay that quality of attention throughout our day, when we realize that every moment is a moment of practice, how could anything be stagnant or boring? How could there be a plateau?

The confusion comes when we approach practice as a transaction. ‘If I sit zazen, I will get something. If I show up, I will be rewarded.’ But that is not what practice is. Practice is giving ourselves to something larger than our small self, not because we will receive a prize, but because the giving itself is the freedom.

I have been spending time lately with Dogen Zenji’s fascicle on Dotoku, which is sometimes translated as “true expression” or “sayings.” Dogen writes. “The Buddhas and ancestors are their sayings.”

What a sentence.

The Buddhas and ancestors are their sayings. What they say they are going to do, they do. There is no real gap. They are reliable, steadfast, consistent. And he goes on to say that when the Buddhas and ancestors pass on the dharma, they ask whether or not their students can say something. They are not asking whether they can talk. They are asking: Are you living what you are saying?

Dogen says they ask this question with their minds, with their bodies, with their staffs and whisks, with the pillars and lanterns. They are watching how we function, how we hold things, how we show up, how we pay attention. The teaching is in all of it.

Are my words and my actions together? Are they intimate?

This is such a dynamic invitation. Not a weapon, but a focus. Something to keep returning to.

He says these sayings cannot be paraphrased. We cannot borrow someone else’s awakening and wear it like a coat. It has to come from the thorough investigation of our own lives. When we truly do that investigation, sayings naturally arise. Three years, eight years, thirty years of concentrated effort.

Sometimes people push back on me when I talk about making effort. ‘Koshin, you are always talking about effort. Why so much effort?’ Because our Buddhas and ancestors are constantly talking about making the effort. And in my experience, it is so worth it.

I was speaking recently with Chodo and our dear Dharma brother who serves as the Abbot of Dharma Rain Zen Center in Portland. We were talking about training people, about the joy of it, and also about how many of us want to be further along than we are. We want to be seen. See me, see me, see me. It is so normal and so human. And it does not feel particularly great, does it?

What I have come to understand is that when we indulge our doubts, our distractions, our excuses, we create a gap. And living in that gap is uncomfortable. Tight. Dispiriting. Whereas when we close that gap, when what we say and what we do begin to actually touch, something opens.

Our dedication chant at the beginning of practice is itself a teaching in this. It honors Shakyamuni Buddha because without his complete giving of himself, we would not even be able to practice together. It names his mother, without whom he would not have been born. It names Dogen Zenji and Kei San Zenji, who founded the Soto school as we know it in Japan. It honors Taizan Maezumi Roshi, without whom so many of us in America would never have encountered this practice.

All of these people, imperfect and human, gave everything. And because they did, we can chant. We can practice. We can be together right now.

The dedication itself is dana paramita, the first perfection: generosity. It is acknowledging the generosity of people who gave everything so that they could be free, and so others could be free.

How do we receive that gift? What do we do with it?

Dogen writes: “Amidst those sayings, they practice and fully verify in the past. They concentrate and pursue the way in the present.”

To practice and fully verify in the past means that what I was doing before, I was doing completely. And what I am doing now, I am doing completely. There is no gap, no halfway in. To concentrate and pursue the way in the present means right now. Not deterred by old stories. Not waiting for better conditions.

How do you want to live? What is your life for? And how much of yourself are you willing to give to it?

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Let’s Practice Together.

During this week of memorial, I invite you to sit quietly for a few moments. Settle your body. Take a few slow breaths.

Consider the people in our life, known or unknown, who gave of themselves fully so that we could have what we have. Who showed up, imperfectly and consistently, for something larger than their small self?

Now ask yourself honestly: where is the gap between what I say and what I do? Not as a weapon against yourself, but as genuine inquiry. Where am I holding back? What would it mean to close that gap, just a little, today?

Is there a practice you have been giving a little bit to, when you might give more?

Concentration and pursuit of the way in the present is not grand or heroic. It is sitting when we said we would sit. It is looking someone in the eye when we would rather look away. It is showing up without waiting for conditions to be perfect.

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Let’s Have a Dialogue.

I am curious.

What are you giving everything to right now? And where do you notice yourself holding back? When was a time that you truly gave yourself completely to something, and what did that feel like? Please share your experiences and reflections in the comments below for the benefit of us all.

With Memorial Day on my mind, I am grateful for all who gave what they had. May we honor that gift by giving everything we have, too.

May we close the gap. May we give everything. May we be free.

Koshin

P.S. A few ways to begin closing the gap

Commit To Sit Summer 2026 ~ For new and advanced participants alike, Commit to Sit is a guided 90-day practice period designed to support your Zen meditation journey through structured community, daily teachings, and contemplative exploration.

Wholehearted Sesshin ~ This summer silent retreat runs from August 2nd - 9th at the Garrison Institute. Seven days of Noble Silence, sitting and walking meditation, dharma talks, and dokusan.

An Introduction to Zen Meditation ~ A 3+ hour video course on the fundamentals of practice: how to pause, see clearly, and complete each thing with your whole heart.

Untangled and Wholehearted ~ Books I’ve written reflecting on how the Four Noble Truths and Buddhist precepts inform our everyday lives and relationships.