Tesshin Roshi opened his talk by inviting us to consider the term “Garage-ism.” He suggested that American culture has been shaped in part by the post–World War II suburban garage. Not every culture has such a space, but in the United States the garage became a place where creativity and innovation could flourish.

Teenagers might gather to form a garage band and experiment with new kinds of music. Some of those groups would go on to transform the musical landscape. Likewise, many famous technology companies began with a handful of friends working together in a garage, exploring new ideas and building something that did not yet exist.

Roshi then posed an intriguing question: What would Dogen have done with a garage? Would he have created a new form of Zen?

Of course, Dogen had no suburban house, garage, or automobile. What he did have were companions and students who questioned him, debated with him, and challenged his understanding of practice. Roshi focused particularly on Ejo, who first met Dogen in 1227 CE and formally became his student in 1234 CE. The early exchanges between Dogen and Ejo—their spiritual “jam sessions”—were eventually recorded in the Shobogenzo Zuimonki. Roshi humorously described this text as Dogen’s “garage band tape,” preserving some of his earliest reflections on practice.

Roshi next explained that he will be exploring the Zuimonki with us over the coming weeks. The first topic was the distinction between ambition and aspiration.

He wondered aloud whether there is really a difference between these two words. Like many things, ambition can be either beneficial or harmful depending on its motivation. Most often, however, ambition concerns one’s own status, achievement, or position. Thoughts such as:

• “I want to make more money.”
• “I want a better job.”
• “I want to pass more koans than anyone else in the sangha.”

Such ambitions are not inherently bad. They can provide energy and help overcome laziness. Yet they also have limitations.

Aspiration, by contrast, concerns what one wishes reality itself to become. It is less self-centered and more oriented toward service and purpose. Examples include:

• “I aspire to deepen my practice so that I can make a positive difference in the world.”
• “I aspire to advance in my career so that I can better support my family.”

Dogen addresses aspiration in Zuimonki, Book 2, Section 20:

The distinction between being brilliant or dull applies only when thorough aspiration has not yet been aroused. When a person falls from a horse various thoughts arise before he hits the ground. When something occurs which is so serious that one’s body may be damaged or one’s life may be lost, no one will fail to put all his intellect to work. On such occasions, whether they are brilliant or dull, anyone will think and try to figure out what is best to do.

Therefore, if you think you will die tonight or tomorrow, or that you are confronting a dreadful situation, encourage your aspiration and you will not fail to attain enlightenment, more quickly than one who is clever in a worldly sense. Although he could not recite even a single verse, Cudapanthaka, one of the disciples of the Buddha, gained enlightenment during one summer practice period, because he had earnest aspiration.

We are only alive now. Only if we learn the buddha-dharma, earnestly wishing to attain enlightenment before dying, will we be able to do so.

Roshi emphasized that Dogen is teaching that aspiration matters more than intellectual brilliance. Dogen compares aspiration to falling from a horse. In that instant there is only you and gravity. The mind becomes completely focused. People often report that time seems to slow down in moments of great danger. Life is experienced directly and vividly. One thing is certain: while falling from a horse, you are not calculating your acceleration using Newton’s equations.

Dogen illustrates this point through the example of Cudapanthaka, a disciple in the Buddha’s sangha. According to the traditional story, Cudapanthaka was considered so dull that he struggled to memorize even a single verse of teaching. As a result, he was assigned humble tasks such as cleaning shoes and other forms of service. Yet he approached every task with complete dedication and unwavering attention. Through that wholehearted engagement, he attained enlightenment. His awakening did not arise from intellectual brilliance. It arose from his ability to give himself fully to the present moment.

Roshi suggested that modern practitioners should take Cudapanthaka’s example seriously. We do not transcend samsara by thinking our way out of it.

Roshi wrapped up by reflecting on the Four Bodhisattva Vows, perhaps the most aspirational expressions in all of Zen practice. We vow to save all beings throughout space and time. Intellect alone cannot make sense of such a vow. We vow to end all delusions, even though new delusions continue to arise throughout our lives. We vow to enter all dharma gates and study the entirety of reality. The intellect immediately protests that this is impossible for any one person. The rational mind wants to give up. Yet, like Cudapanthaka, we continue. We return again and again to wholehearted attention in this very moment.

Roshi encouraged us not to move mechanically through life, merely going through the motions. Instead, we are called to meet each moment as if it were our last—with complete sincerity, attention, and aspiration. Only then can we transcend samsara and awaken.