Buddha in the Classroom; Zen Wisdom to Inspire Teachers
Donna (Kaishu) Quesada

Chapter 6: The Math Major—Touchiness  (Excerpt)

Listen with your eyes, and see with your ears, Zen says.

It sounds like topsy-turvy Zen talk, until you consider how complex human beings are, and how important it is to listen—to really listen. Listen with your whole being. We are not the same as when we were children; our ten million life-experiences have sketched themselves onto our beings, leaving their traces as habits and tendencies, sculpting us into who we are, even as we continue to transform. We often don’t understand why we do certain things, so it is less likely still that others, even those close to us, will be able to fathom our behavior.

But, perhaps, if we could be more generous in our willingness to perceive, if we could see with our ears and listen with our eyes, it would reduce the misunderstandings that wedge us apart in a fog of suspicion and resentment.

When we feel criticized, our defense mechanisms spring into action. But it is the small mind, better known as the ego, that worries about approval. When this fearful little self starts to shout, compassion is impossible, since compassion requires a big-enough mind with which to see, and a big-enough heart with which to receive. Without this spirit of openness, there is no communication. There is only attachment to one’s perspective.

The great Indian yogi, Paramahansa Yogananda, once spoke about the problem of touchiness. It is the corollary of an untamed ego, resulting in an inferiority complex. It rightly mirrors the Buddhist teachings on the problem of the ego, as Buddha himself was a Raja yogi, steeped in the same timeless Indian wisdom that Paramahansa Yogananda, Gandhi’s spiritual teacher, brought to the West less than a century ago.

Touchiness is the tendency to be oversensitive and to feel easily offended. The wise yogi referred to it as a nervous habit that can only destroy peace, as we rise to defend ourselves in various ways each time we feel hurt. Some people brood silently, while others bite back with harsh words and counterattacks. This is the root of most arguments and misunderstandings between people, no matter what kind of relationship they share. Buddha was concerned with the problem of human suffering, and touchiness creates abundant suffering within oneself and in others. The touchy person, feeling wronged, suffers inner torment while making the supposed offender suffer in return.

Interview with Donna Kaishu Quesada, Author: Buddha in the Classroom; Zen Wisdom to Inspire Teachers 

HM: What inspired you to write the book?

DQ: My own declining spirit! My enthusiasm had already been waning and although I didn’t know it at the time, it would only get worse during the coming semester. But I came to see the events of that year as both a nightmare and a blessing. I began to reflect on the whole idea of burnout from the point of view of Zen, and gradually, what started as the musings of a burned out professor unfolded into a series of vignettes that would be more universal in scope. It was through the telling of these stories that my own sense of enjoyment returned, and now my hope is that they may serve as a source of encouragement to all teachers—which is all of us, really! 

HM: Did writing a book about Zen practice change your perspective on your own practice? Assuming it did, how?

DQ: It’s a constant reminder that a practice is only a practice when we practice! I gained a renewed appreciation for the power of something as simple as presence (although simple doesn’t mean easy). It was as if I was running my own experiment in the car; on my way to campus; on my way to the classroom, and during the very act of teaching, itself. And I experienced, as if for the first time, the vibrancy and the immediacy of staying awake and how it enables us to enter into the beauty that is all around us, the beauty that was hidden behind our own negative thoughts.

HM: You're a teacher writing about the relationship between practice and teaching, but I suspect the scope of the audience you had in mind when you were writing the book is wider. Whom do you address in your writing, and who will find the book useful?

DQ: In reality, we all are teachers in some way—as parents, as mentors and...as humans dealing with other humans. Teaching is serving, and the ability to serve is often said to be the most exalted form of spiritual practice. To me, as a teacher, it is to uplift others through our very presence, which is something so subtle—it’s beyond the words and the definitions and the explanations. Although I never thought of myself as an education expert, as someone who had the right to write a book for teachers, I have come to see that when I address other teachers, I am addressing myself, and vice versa. In the beginning, I only wanted to share this treasured Zen wisdom, alongside entertaining stories, but through the process I have begun to identify with all teachers more intimately than before. Thus, as I indicate in the book, when I address the reader, I am also addressing myself, so that, amid the daily muck and grind, we don’t forget the beauty of the positions we have been gifted with.

HM: Any feedback thus-far that has surprised / moved / inspired you?

DQ: I have gotten such lovely comments from my students. At first, I didn’t imagine them reading it because, well, it is about them and some stories are about the trouble-makers! But many of them, both former students and current ones—have come to my book-signing events and have bought copies for others. They said they can’t imagine that I was ever burned out. I tell them it’s because the practice really works!  

HM: Any advice for other writers or creative types who want to incorporate their experience of practice into their work?

DQ: I would remind them that their work is their practice. They are not separate. Just as presence makes the classroom feel magical, it makes life itself, feel magical. And it’s the same for any job we do, which is to say that the tools and tricks for working are the same as the tools and tricks for living. They are one and the same: To work with the situation as it is, rather than as you think it should be; to completely immerse yourself in experience until the superfluous chatter falls away; to admit to yourself that the things you thought were so wrong and intolerable are nothing other than your own personal aversions, and to shift your perspective to be able to see the previously hidden reasons behind the seemingly unfathomable things people do. If it can help in the classroom, it can help in the mailroom, and in the living room and in the boardroom.

You asked about creative types, and I can’t help but remember a passage in my book about the jazz improv artist: “Aside from whatever training they’ve done in advance, as soon as the curtain opens, they move into unknown territory together, creating something new each time by remaining in a state of undivided presence.” It all comes back to presence. Whenever we mess things up, we hit ourselves on the head because “we weren’t thinking.” But in reality, we were probably thinking too much!  

HM: What else has been valuable for you about the project? Anything else you'd like to touch on?

DQ: At some point, I became less concerned with my own burnout and more concerned with reaching and inspiring others. This process was both the cause and the result of my renewed joy in the classroom. I see my role as a teacher differently than I did when I was fresh out of college. It’s as Roshi often says, “you are the universe unfolding.” But only when we’re here to be a part of it! And that’s powerful! So much so that it’s impossible to take that charge for granted and equally impossible to be anything but grateful to teach. And that makes it impossible to be burned out.

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