Leaving Home, Returning Home: Teshuvah and the True Person of No Rank (part 2)

(This post is based on a Dharma Talk given on the Zen Retreat [Zazenkai] held on September 5, 2026: "Firewood, Ash, and Atonement: Dōgen Zenji's Genjōkōan and the Jewish High Holidays".)

While he was not a Rabbi, I take great inspiration from Dōgen Zenji, the great Rebbe of Eiheiji. In what is probably his most famous fascicle in the Shōbōgenzō, the Genjōkōan, Dōgen writes that studying the Way is studying ourself.

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

The words Eihei Dōgen Zenji used were "To study the Buddha way is to study the self." But do not mistake his writing the Buddha way as being exclusive to Buddhists. To study the Buddha way is to study Christ's way, to study Allah's way, to study God's way, to study the Way is to study the self.

Just a few lines down—and mind you, I am literally skipping over Dōgen's most famous two lines throughout his entire corpus in the process—he writes, "When you first seek dharma, you imagine you are far away from its environs." I am a native English speaker and even have my High School diploma, but does anyone know what the heck that means?

After sitting with this line the past month, and checking it against a dictionary of Japanese kanji characters, I'd like to translate from Dōgen to Adam: At the moment you advertise and place a wanted ad for the truth, you turn your back on the truth and become exiled.

Yes, exile is a state we all experience, common to all of humanity, yet as Jews, we know a thing or two about exile. The entire Hebrew Bible—the whole love letter God writes us each time we open its pages and, more significantly, open our hearts to others—is a story of exile and return, homeleaving and homecoming.

Living life and being ourself is a lifetime’s vocation, a full time passion, and can be a full time job all at once. We have no other choice. Just being ourselves can be the damn hardest thing. Especially the best version of it!

As a Rabbi and Zen priest, as a Jew and Buddhist, and simply a human being born from this red dust, I strive to live a life where I hold myself to certain standards. I may fail miserably with some of those, and while I hope not, this is my vow; this is my intention. I vow to try again, to maintain hope, to err with grace, and still return to wherever I am.

Homeleaving, Homecoming

In the Jewish tradition, the word for repentance is teshuvah. This word literally means returning. When we make right with ourselves, others, and This Place, we return complete, whole, perfect, in peace.

The 12th century Rabbi Maimonides teaches there are four components of teshuvah, four aspects of returning to here and now:

• Leaving the sin (Azivat HaChet) - Loosen the grip and put it all down

  
  

• Regret (Charatah) - Feel the consequences and change your direction

  
  

• Confession (Viddui) - Acknowledge the pain, admit the misstep, and express gratitude

  
  

• Resolution for the future (Kabbalah Le'atid) - Remain open to the future and resolve to do differently

Maimonides reminds us that we are always in a process of forgiveness and reconciliation with both God and others, and that we must explicitly ask for forgiveness. In Hilkhot Teshuvah, he discusses the importance of making amends with real people and that making amends to God is not enough.

Sin is everywhere, not because the world is evil. Because the Hebrew word for "sin" actually means to miss the mark. We constantly miss the mark! It isn't about being moralistic; it is about returning to our humanity. From This Place of letting go, true regret, honest confession, and an open future naturally unfold.

We all fall down.

"Eyes to See, Ears to Hear"

For those with eyes to see and ears to hear, the world is completely alive. The world is entirely breathtaking yet heartbreaking. The world celebrates if you see it. The world cries if you hear it. When I see someone, can I see their joys and their pain? When I hear someone, can I hear their triumphs and regrets? The world is always living and dying, burning up and burning away.

Firewood becomes ash, and it does not become firewood again... They are like winter and spring. You do not call winter the beginning of spring, nor summer the end of spring. — Dōgen Zenji, Shōbōgenzō: Genjōkōan, 1233

As human beings, we are often consumed by something: being right, being first, feeling happy, feeling secure. Yet, we don't get to be or feel these ways all of the time. While we have legitimate needs, our nature is to want. "If only, I can... If only, you would... If only, they will..." We add more and more firewood to the fire.

This isn't something to shun or feel ashamed of; it makes us human. But perhaps not always the best versions of ourselves. All of our lives can be frantic and busy, bursting in flames, falling down in ash. There is no going back.

Yet, when we sit in meditation on the cushion or on the chair—no different from living this ordinary life day to day—we return to this very moment. We take what Dōgen Zenji calls "the backward step."

We may literally take the backward step like the Zen monk sitting down on the zafu and turning around to face the wall. Or we may take the backward step and face the walls of our very life as it unfolds at home, at work, in our relationships, and day to day busy-ness.

When we live our life in this way, we perform penitence. We loosen the grip of who we think we are and allow it to fall down. We burn from the cool winter and feel remorse for how our embers burn hot. We melt in pain and somehow spring to relief and gratitude. We rise with the new summer light, open to doing things differently in the future. When we take the backward step, we perform teshuvah—we return to This Place.

"Who is the true man of no rank?"

When you find your place where you are, practice occurs, actualizing the fundamental point. When you find your way at this moment, practice occurs, actualizing the fundamental point; for the place, the way, is neither large nor small, neither yours nor others'. The place, the way, has not carried over from the past, and it is not merely arising now. ... Here is the place; here the way unfolds.... Its appearance is beyond our knowledge. — Dōgen Zenji, Shōbōgenzō: Genjōkōan, 1233

Our place is everywhere, and is nowhere. Our place is wherever we are. We are always somewhere and with someone. We are never alone.

There is only me. There is only you. There is only we.

I can only speak for myself. There are so many times I want to be someone different, want someone else to be different, and want the world to be different. This is true in my life. And maybe some of our lives?

This busyness of being human is an interesting thing. It can feel like a mixed blessing and curse, a burden and a privilege.

There is a phrase I often use: to make square. I don't know where I picked it up, but it is a kind of an Adam-ism. We all need to make square with ourself, others, and with God—all right here in this moment at This Place.

But where I sometimes err is thinking that making square—or Atonement—is about fixing someone or something. "Ash does not become firewood again."

You cannot fix yourself, because you are already okay. You cannot fix others, let alone God. Who or what is there to fix? "Its appearance is beyond our knowledge." Yet, if and when we use our tongues to lash out at others, we are still bound to be punched in the face.

What a burden and privilege it is to be in relationship—with ourself, others, and God—"at this moment" today in This Place.

When you misstep with yourself, make atonement to yourself. When you misstep with others, make atonement with others. When you misstep with God, make atonement with God. "Here is the place; here the way unfolds."

"And God created the man from the dust of the earth and breathed the breath of life into his nostrils. The man thus became a living soul... For dust you are and to dust you shall return" — Genesis 2:7; 3:19

Life has a way of teaching us about death. And death has a way of teaching us about life. In life, we return; and in death, we return. We always find our place. Here. Now. This Place.

The world is entirely heartbreaking yet breathtaking. The world cries if you hear it. The world celebrates if you see it.

HaMakom. This Place. This very self. This very body. These very emotions. These very pains in the knees and tight shoulders. Even the very pains in the ass in our lives! Ourself especially.

Already peace; already whole; already complete. Step forward; step backward. Already me; already you; already we. Ashes fall; smoke rises up. Already square; already imperfect.

How do I make teshuvah? How do I return to just This Place? Where am I missing my mark? What is my relationship with my Creator? What is my relationship with myself? What is my relationship with others?

(Note: This is Part 2 of a two-part series on Leaving Home, Returning Home: Teshuvah and the True Person of No Rank. Catch up with Part 1 before reading this post.)