A Tenth of an Inch: Put Down the Shovel

Welcome to The Tree of Serendipity and Wisdom from the Branches… I’m so happy you are here.

This morning I picked up Everyday Zen: Love and Work by Charlotte Joko Beck, and the book fell open to page 183.

My eyes landed on her discussion of T. S. Eliot and what Beck calls the “still point”—that place from which we can meet the movement of life without being so completely swept away by our thoughts about it.

Something in me knew immediately: Today is a good day to share.

It has been a while.

So on the mountain I spontaneously recorded this episode on my little podcast and then here I am sharing here…

And somewhere amid the wind, the crunch of my footsteps, my breath, and a surprising amount of giggling, I began recording again. This time I wasn't reading a script or trying to make a point. I was simply walking and talking about what this teaching had awakened in me.

Which, in retrospect, is rather funny.

Because that is essentially what the teaching was about.

What is a tenth of an inch?

Beck refers to an old Zen saying:

“A tenth of an inch of difference, and heaven and earth are set apart.”

A tenth of an inch.

Almost nothing.

And yet I've been thinking about how quickly that tiny distance can appear in our lives.

Something happens.

Then we step outside the immediacy of what is happening and turn it into an object—a problem.

We begin circling it.

Analyzing it.

Imagining it differently.

Trying to solve it.

And sometimes the thinking is useful. There are decisions to make and practical things to do.

But Beck points toward something I've been discovering more deeply through practice: when we sit quietly enough to experience what is actually here—including the contraction, discomfort, uncertainty or resistance—something begins to change.

The problem may begin to look more like a decision.

And sometimes the next step simply becomes apparent.

Beck writes:

“The knowledge of what needs to be done slowly clarifies with practice.”

I love that.

Practice opens the gate of remembering

I've been growing increasingly fond of sitting in a simple zazen style.

There is something about the relaxed nature of it that speaks to me—the uprightness, the breathing, the simplicity, the invitation to sit and experience this moment rather than manufacture another one.

I'm particularly interested in enjoying the sitting.

Enjoying breathing.

Enjoying being here.

Practice, for me, opens a gate of remembering and reconnecting with the spirit of Life. And in that remembering, there is freedom.

The doing becomes an allowing.

First there is listening.

And then, often, an answer or direction becomes clear. Sometimes it's stranger and more beautiful than that: I discover that the movement toward something has already begun.

My task isn't necessarily to make it happen.

I can listen.

Allow.

Align.

Participate.

The breath continually teaches me this.

I can consciously breathe. I can deepen my breath, soften it, sing with it, run with it, follow it.

And beneath all of that:

I am being breathed.

Life is already happening.

Perhaps agency isn't always about making something happen.

Perhaps sometimes agency is our willingness to consciously participate in what is already moving.

“So… what do you do?”

This has become especially interesting for me around vocation.

When I'm quietly living my life, things can feel quite clear. I'm creating. Writing. Building an app I care deeply about. Making art. Practicing. Paying my bills. Taking care of my responsibilities. Listening for the next step.

And then someone asks:

“So… what do you do?”

And there it is.

A tenth of an inch. 😂

Suddenly I am standing outside my own life, looking back at it and trying to explain it.

Well, you see…

And out comes the shovel.

Have you ever known something perfectly well until you tried very hard to make somebody else understand it?

You explain.

Then explain the explanation.

Clarify the clarification.

Add supporting evidence.

Defend a point nobody was necessarily attacking.

And before long you've dug such an impressive hole trying to prove the existence of the solid ground you were standing on that you can barely see the ground anymore.

😂

There is a remarkably sophisticated spiritual teaching for this situation:

Put down the shovel.

And climb back onto solid ground.

I've been thinking:

Where there is clarity, there is brevity.

Maybe I can say what is true for me and leave enough space for another person to discover what is true for them.

How much effort does this actually require?

This also makes me curious about all the energy we spend that isn't actually participating in what we're doing.

Typing requires effort.

My face doesn't need to help.

Hiking requires effort.

My jaw doesn't need to hike.

There is a natural amount of tension required for movement. Muscles engage. Attention gathers. Decisions are made. Things get done.

And then there is the additional effort we bring through trying, bracing, anticipating, proving and controlling.

What would happen if I became more interested in noticing the difference?

What energy could become available for creativity, love, work, play, friendship, healing—or simply enjoying being alive?

Perhaps this too is practice.

Noticing the tenth of an inch.

Returning.

Breathing.

Listening.

Why today?

I don't have a grand answer for why, after a long podcast sabbatical, I suddenly wanted to record an episode.

Today seemed like a good day.

That's really it.

A book fell open.

Something caught my attention.

I listened.

I turned on the microphone.

Then I listened again, went to the mountain, and let the episode become something different.

There was wind.

There were footsteps.

There was breath.

There was quite a lot of laughter.

And there was the pleasure of being outside, walking and sharing something I love with you again.

Maybe that's enough.

So I'll leave you with the questions I'm carrying:

What is already moving in your life?

Where might you be adding effort that the moment isn't asking for?

And if you discover yourself standing at the bottom of a beautifully constructed hole with a shovel in your hands…

Well.

You know what to do. 😂

Put down the shovel.

Find the solid ground.

And perhaps enjoy a breath or two while you're there.