I am continuing this blog with Part IV, Chapter 4, in The Surangama Sutra. After the lengthy
discourse on Yajnadata, Buddha brings up a second parable. This parable is also
found in The Lotus Sutra, and it
concerns a beggar who has a pearl sewn into this jacket. I will quote in full
here, based on the English text:
Consider, for example, a person who does not know that a wish-fulfilling pearl is sewn into his coat. Destitute and homeless, wandering from place to place as he begs for his food, he is indeed poor, but his wish fulfilling pearl is still with him. Then it so happens that someone wise points out his pearl to him, and now it can fulfill his every wish. He becomes very rich, and he realizes that his magical pearl can only have come from within himself. (p.161)
There is a deep paradox which we had explored with the Surangama Sutra Study Group today. The paradox is that I have something quite valuable, but it is only evident when it is revealed to me that I have it. If I only say “I have it” and don’t acknowledge how precious it is, I am not exploring it at all. It becomes like the fabric of my jacket, or something I ignore or take as scenery. In that case, I own the pearl, but that ownership doesn’t really shine through me. It is hidden in the fabric of my being, or ‘sewn’ into it. Does this mean that this pearl is not mine? On the contrary, it is deeply mine. But because I don’t explore its quality of being mine, it remains hidden. And I consider myself to be a poor beggar.
If I tie this parable into the parable of Yajnadata, I see some interesting connections. Like the beggar with the pearl, Yajnadata thinks that he needs to gain something outside of himself. He needs his head, and he thinks that the head is detached from his body when he sees it in the mirror. Little does he realize that his head is on his shoulders all along. But if only Yajnadata had stopped to wonder, “who is seeing the image of the head?”, he might have seen the error of chasing after what is basically his.
In a way, I too am like Yajnadata, because I try to find my being and mind in something I see, such as a relationship or a course, or a field of study. I keep thinking that knowledge or experience of some kind will unveil something that I already am. In fact, the fascination I have with knowledge is getting in the way of truly appreciating what is already, fundamentally me. But there is no reason for this other than insanity. What sane person would see a reflection in the mirror of themselves, then chase after it thinking that it has gotten away from them? But then, this is how the world works! We keep chasing after our image, such as through self-improvement manuals. Self-improvement promises to make me into a better ‘me’. But does simply knowing “I am it” resolve Yajnadata’s dilemma? Here is where the beggar analogy comes into play. While the beggar has the pearl, it is not revealed to him until a wise person points it out to him. Wisdom has to reveal one’s own inherent wisdom. But why does it have to be that way? Why can’t the beggar simply see his own pearl and know he is rich?
I think there is something interesting about the dynamic of revealing. To reveal is to see truth unfolding, but it also entails that something is hidden from view. In order to really see something, it almost has to move out from the previous shadows. Otherwise, we will not see it at all. For example, when a clue is revealed to me, I experience the revelation as something surprising and something in a process of unveiling. Does the true mind always have to be ‘revealed’ in this way? My answer is that perhaps true mind is a continuous ‘revelation’. Rather than establishing true mind as a ‘given’, it might be more helpful to say that true mind continuously unfolds. True mind is always existing in a plenum of impermanence. This is still not quite right, of course, because that would entail that mind disappears and reappears somewhere else, which is not how the mind is. So why does ‘reveal’ seem an apt metaphor to describe the experience of mind?
I believe that at least part of the answer is: “I Already Have It, But I Still Don’t Quite Know What It Is”. When we say we already have something, we are acknowledging the still presence of the mind that always is. There is a timeless aspect to mind, because mind is not subject to time or causality. Mind is just mind. As soon as I attribute cause, there is a presumed mind. But cause cannot ‘create’ mind itself. Yajnadata’s error is that he confuses a floating image with the true head on his shoulders. He doesn’t realize that he already has a head on his shoulders. Otherwise, how could he see anything to begin with? He loses that ability to see his own mind, in his enthrallment with the image.
The result is that mind is a
continual exploration, with a faith that what is explored is inherent and basic
to being. With the confidence that we never lost it to begin with, one can
explore what cannot be defined. We don’t need to have Yajnadata’s anxiety about
losing his own head. At the same time, we can learn to experience the
revelation that the beggar has, upon ‘discovering’ what he had all along. And
this discovery is never- ending. But if the exploration leads me to think that
I will never ‘gain’ an understanding of the mind, I have already strayed into
thinking that the mind is an objective knowledge to be ‘gained’. So mind is
both ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’. It is both ‘me’ and ‘given to me’.
The Surangama Sutra: With Excerpts from the Commentary by the Venerable
Master Hssuan Hua. A New Translation
(2009) Buddhist Text Translation Society.
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