Oryoki, Oy!

Yesterday, during his morning talk, the Acharya mentioned that if you want to look at your previous lives (given one does indeed believe in re-incarnation) look at your body. So far pretty good. Everything, though creaky at times, works. After two weeks of morning Qi Gong, I find I am nearly able to fold into "Frog in Repose."

Then he said, "If you want to know about your future, look at your mind."

Uh oh.

One of the forms that is practiced during dathun is oryoki, a way to synchronize mind and body through an awareness of eating by following a strict order of precise movements. Oryoki is an opportunity to give and to receive, to serve and be served. There is a head server and a team; tasks are assigned in chalk on three blackboards with nearly as many arrows to designate movement as an NFL head coach's play book. Food is presented respectfully and received with boundless appreciation. The umdze (timekeeper) presides from the front of the room and orchestrates with the aid of a gong and timely smacks on a wooden gandi. It is a beautiful display, a soundless ballet, accompanied by voices chanting in harmony. Or can be.

I am assigned to Team B, position #1, which means entering the shrine room on cue with a heavy soup pot raised above my head, containing rice, soup, pasta, a veggie or meat stew, or scrambled eggs, etc., while positions #2 and #3 follow behind with their raised soup pots. (Also called bowls.) We pause at the shrine and excute a bow in unison, then I peel off, do an about face, walk three steps to the umdze, bow, place the bowl on the floor and extend my flat palm. The umdze places his bowl on my palm with two fingers and as I fill it he lets me know with a hand signal when he has received enough. Flat palm lifted means thank you, that's enough; a pinch of thumb and forefinger indicates a bit more, a closed pinch means no, thank you. Then I rise gracefully, lift the bowl above my head, bow again, and proceed to Quadrant 1. A server bows to each quadrant in each aisle, both before and after serving one bowl. Team A, meanwhile, serves other bowls; there is either a 2-bowl (breakfast and dinner) meal, or a 3-bowl meal at lunch.

Aisles are divided according to meat-eaters and non meat-eaters; there are quadrants in the vegetarian aisle for gluten-free people; vegans have their own quadrant. Occasionally, there might be 2 meat-eaters who are gluten-free at the end of the non-meat eater aisle. It can get dicey.

Servers deliver rolled washcloths on small plates for cleaning the small wooden tables upon which those eating have placed their oryoki sets; bring and remove condiments, return with seconds, run noiselessly to and from the kitchen, maneuver trolleys laden with food, pour water.

A blackboard, placed by the shrine room door for easy reference might read in part, like this:
A. washcloths
B. condiments
A. bowl 2
B. bowl 3
A. move condiments
B. seconds bowl 2
A. seconds bowl 3 - get water

Another blackboard gives helpful reminders:
washcloths - bow to first two members of a quadrant only
condiments - no bow, place on floor
keep offering bowl to higher being above eye level, don't look in bowl
offering bowl to lower beings is kept at waist height, avert eyes

If one is smart, one refers to the blackboards whenever one is not on the move; one also asks members of both Teams A & B for frequent reminders: Bow? Don't bow? Enter before the smack on the gandi or at the chanted word svasti?

At first, one is hyper-vigilant, but silent perfection is an aspiration that can never be achieved. The more one relaxes during dathun, the spa--c-ie-r one tends to get. The minute one carelessly thinks I got this, yeah yeah, bow, don't bow, no problem, disaster strikes.

For example, one forgets to bow, one drops the serving spoon on the floor, which necessitates an emergency hand-off of a clean serving spoon, one confuses which bowl holds gluten-free bread and has to be corrected; one mis-counts (having asked 7 times for clarification) the number of condiment bowls containing maple syup and has to race back to the kitchen for more; one goes to the kitchen for water, and misses one's turn serving seconds; or, sadly, when one is bowing to the umdze, who this unlucky day happens to be the Acharya himelf, one farts.

I'm fairly certain that in this server's next life, senmos and gyalgongs await, not to mention all manner of  malicious maras.