Dōgen threads practice and enlightenment so tightly together that pulling one loose unravels the other. In the Shōbōgenzō, sitting zazen isn’t a rehearsal for awakening—it’s awakening itself, played out moment by moment. The essay “Genjōkōan” drives this home: practice is already fully ripened realization, just as the oak is already an acorn’s destiny. There’s no practice “over there” to strive toward, nor a distant goal to pin all hopes on.

Early chapters like “Bendōwa” (Talk on Pursuing the Way) hit the nail on the head: genuine practice arises from right here, right now. Rather than chasing some grand mystic experience, Dōgen insists on embracing the mundane—breathing, posture, the sound of the wall-ripe cicadas outside the zendo. That very ordinariness is proof positive of enlightenment unfolding in each moment.

In “Uji” (Being-Time), time and being interweave so seamlessly that each posture, step, or breath is an entire cosmos expressing realization. This flips the usual map of “practice first, enlightenment later” on its head; practice-realization becomes a dance where both partners move as one.

Modern mindfulness movements, from meditation apps to corporate retreats during the pandemic, often echo this principle—even if unwittingly. By reminding people to simply sit and be present, they tap into Dōgen’s insistence that enlightenment isn’t stashed away but here, now, in each heartbeat.

Across the Shōbōgenzō, practice-realization emerges as more than doctrine: it’s a living thread binding every essay, poem, and koan. It invites slipping the rigid boundary between “doing” and “being,” revealing that every bow, every breath, is already the great awakening unfolding.