The Jewel in the Garment

 The jewel in the garment analogy is one of my favorites in Chan Buddhism. Master Boshan certainly does utilize it in his text when he notes, "In the midst of stillness, we must discover this precious thing hidden under the lining of the garment." (from Attaining the Way, p.8). What does this precious jewel mean, and why does Master Boshan jump to this discussion after he has already exhorted practitioners not to settle into quiescence?

   Perhaps what is being meant here is that the precious jewel is already with us in each and every moment, and all we need to do is realize it through a practice of dropping all attachments to whatever is happening now. This is a kind of radical acceptance, which is not to be confused with affirming or even "liking" what is happening in the present moment. The "silence" within the stillness refers to the fact that even in the midst of our busy lives, our mind is already in a state of stillness, meaning that it isn't really moving at all, any more than the substance of water itself is "moved" by the waves. Water is water, regardless of the size or magnitude of the waves. In the same respect, we cannot speak of moving mind when there is movement around us, because the mind is not actually moving with the phenomena. So, to discover the precious jewel is to be aware that the mind we use to see movement, busyness, vexations and all the changes around us is precisely the mind that is truly unmoving. 

What this means is that it is not necessary to run away from a busy life. We can engage it but in a relaxing way, knowing that this stirring is created by ourselves. When I realize this , my mind is able to be more with each moment rather than rushing to the next, knowing that in fact every single moment is the perfect, illuminating mind. There is no rush to "gain" or "grasp" something that is ever present, because we are no longer identified with some future self or image of an enlightened being.

What "True" Silence Is?

  True silence, what is it? To go back to my previous entry, I believe true silence is truly allowing. Allowing all the energies to come through the body, and not getting into any kind of state of conflict or resistance to what is happening. But this requires a certain skill in letting go, and it takes a long time to hone on it. In fact, it counters the tendency to see things as having solidity because of the habits we feed.

   Let's use a concrete example. Whenever I see something, a lot of thoughts come to my mind related to it. Some of these thoughts are pleasant, some are unpleasant, and when I interact with the object, I start to form an assessment regarding whether I like or dislike it. This then shapes how I interact with it in the future. It shapes my sense of wanting or avoiding, liking or disliking. And more importantly, I start to create a sense of a separate self or I from that.

   But let's reverse this situation and say: what if, instead of creating pockets of resistance or desire around those thoughts, I allowed the thoughts to be what they are, just as they are, like waves in the ocean? What if, instead of seeing those thoughts as relating to solid things, I simply held those thoughts gently in mind, the way we might hold a fragile bird when we are feeding it? Then, instead of believing that I interact with solid "forms" that are permanent, I can see that they are just impermanent waves. The wave of an ocean can be seen, but it cannot be held forever, and when we try to hold it, it becomes elusive.

  This way of seeing is quite different from what we are used to. We are used to seeing the people around us as separate "bodies", meaning that we project a three-dimensional reality onto them. Instead of seeing the mind, we get attached to the forms, and these forms become objects of desire or, conversely, resistance. Not only this, but we even strive to overcome the tendency to solidify things. But this, too, depends on a belief that thoughts are "solid" and "real" when they don't have such kind of reality. That is, even when I have the thought of solidity, this doesn't make it solid. Nothing is actually solid at all, so there is no need to separate our thoughts to the point where they are these aggregates. 

Dangers of Quietude

 In Attaining the Way, we read the following from Master Boshan: "the most fearful thing is to settle into a state of stagnation and attach to quiescence, becoming dry and lifeless, unknowing and ignorant, and detesting activity while taking pleasure in quietude". He then compares quietude with the dangers of "eating honey and candy". (p.8). I think the most crucial thing here is that we should not become attached to quiet to the point where we no longer function in the world. Quietude can be too easy, because we stop searching--stop wondering why we are really in the world, and who we are prior to all the cogitations and thoughts. 

  I have to say that this piece of advice works well when people are attached to quiet of solitary retreats, but there is the caveat that most people are living in a world of noise, in the form of everyday distractions, temptations, multimedia and the like. So I think the danger of most people nowadays is too many choices and way too many interruptions. The attraction of quietude may not be all that bad, because it encourages the mind to be simpler and to focus on the here and now. For this reason, I don't see why quietude cannot be pursued in some small measure at least in the beginning of practice. However, I can also see how quietude can become addictive, habitual, and a kind of shield from the busyness of life. In fact, we can find quietude in the midst of the everyday, because each moment is already unborn, unmade and does not die. When we are truly at peace with every moment, we don't need to wait for special times of quiet to become quiet. Things are already inherently quiet. 

Admiration, Respect, Envy

  During Fashi's discussion about FOMO (fear of missing out) today, a thought came to my mind. While the solution to FOMO is to replace arrogance with confidence, I wondered: what's the line between admiration and losing oneself to someone one admires? Too much admiration of and comparison with others can lead to negative attitudes: "I can't possibly be like this person" or "I am nothing without this person". These attitudes can lead to idolizing a person, or (on the negative side) resenting the other for their accomplishments. I did wonder how the theory of causes and conditions addresses this, as Fashi discussed in his talk.

   Regarding cause and conditions, it seems that the idea of previous lives best addresses the problems of envy and excessive admiration. I encounter many people who are way smarter than myself, and I begin to wonder, "what's the magic strategy that allows them to be that way? Can I learn it from them?" It's perhaps better to say that their abilities are the combination of hard-won experience, inborn abilities, and   past life merits. Rather than wanting their abilities, I had better focus on what merits I can accumulate for myself, with focus on developing character traits such as the 6 paramitas.

What I have realized in working with people who are extremely talented is that there are some things we can certainly learn from them. However, perhaps it's not a good idea to think we can be that person just through imitating them. It might be better to evaluate how the other person's abilities is the result of many previous causes and conditions that may even extend beyond a single lifetime. In this way, I am taking a more realistic approach to figuring out what I am capable of learning from another, without going to the extreme of feeling I need to emulate them. Balance also plays an important role here. Just as I should see my encounters with others as opportunities to learn something new, so also I should recognize the abilities that I bring to the encounter. This avoids the dangers of being afraid of missing something that we feel we lack.

Who Feels Pain?

    The problem of pain, whether it's the simple physical exhaustion of  a workout, can always be resolved by deciding that there is no "person" who feels pain. It might even involve analyzing the pain to see if the sensation itself is truly permanent. However, I get the sense that, for people who suffer illness or chronic pain, the problem isn't simply one of noticing a pain and getting attached to it. Rather, it has more to do with a hidden expectation that we would function much more effectively and even be happier in the absence of this pain. Behind the fear and suffering of pain is the sense of shame, as in "I shouldn't be feeling this way", or "there is something wrong with me that I feel this way". So, again, the suffering of pain comes down to an attachment to the notion of a self who feels pain.

  If one doesn't have the courage to question who is feeling pain, it's likely that a certain kind of habitual reaction will kick in. And I think that by taking a more analytic approach to pain, one will see that there is not a single traceable subject who is identified with that pain. In fact, from the perspective of a primordial kind of awareness, there is no distinct subject who really feels pain. There is no I in it at all; one is merely attaching to words such as self, pain, etc.

   Jon Kabat Zinn has worked with a lot of chronic pain sufferers, which he recounts in the book Full Catastrophic Living. The gist of it is, as he remarks, nobody has it "all together", and so sometimes we have to turn toward what we are and what we can offer in the given moment, even if it may merely be one's presence, one's embodiment or the honest effort to face reality fully and plainly. This can certainly help those who are stigmatized for disabilities.

Grace in Buddhism

  In Christianity, there is a lot of talk about grace, but I wonder if this quality actually means anything in Buddhism. When we say "grace", we often think of feeling thankful for a provider, a giver or some creator being who has special powers to bless us. While there certainly are beings who provide us with blessings in Buddhism (Dharma protectors and the like), this is not considered to replace karma. In fact, nobody can ever replace another person's karma, so there is no such thing as "grace" or "gratuity" from this perspective.

   However, in Buddhism, we have the notion of emptiness--which, in my opinion, counts in a weird way as a form of grace. To be empty means that there is no final judgment or evaluation on what we do, or who we are, in any given moment, because good and bad actions are not forever. I may do something terrible one day, but then the next I am able to redeem myself through improved or corrected actions. The very fact that the mind is capable of improving on its previous mistakes is evidence that emptiness is a kind of grace in the world. Otherwise, a mistake we made ten years ago would still reverberate just like the day it was committed.

   Grace is not a free ticket by any means, but it helps to sometimes reflect that our thoughts--however dire they are--are only temporary phenomena, and what they relate to is bound to change. No matter how terribly bad something may seem, at the end of the day, it is but one of many thoughts we happen to have. So I think in this regard, it's important to reflect on how wonderful it is to live in an empty world where change is possible.

Great Doubt, Great Enlightenment

 "The ancient worthies said: "Great doubt, great enlightenment; small doubt, small enlightenment; no doubt, no enlightenment" (Master Boshan, from Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way, p.8)

What is great doubt? I think it's hard to achieve. One has to doubt the very foundation for how they make sense of the world. A good example, I believe, is how we look to objects to validate our awareness. Zen gardens play on this idea by presenting a few very minimal rocks positioned over sand. The minimalism reminds us; there is more to life than objects, in fact, there is something that points beyond all objects. But because objects confirm our sense of self, we cling to them and grasp them. 

What would it be like, then, to experience the world not from a subject-object view, but from the perspective of simple awareness? The important point here is allowing objects to arise into mind and then disappear in the same way that they arose. This leads to a state of ease that takes precedence over trying to solidify the world in terms of an absolute inner and outer. It also leads to a more porous state of being. There is really no distinct inner and outer after all.

The quest for certainty can often sabotage the doubt experience. I can easily get distracted by all the lists of things to do, rather than resting in the state of mind that is not dependent on any subject or object. But this does not mean suppress or deny the formation of objects. In fact, subject and object formation is the natural function of mind, same as when a mirror reflects images and light. The point is to be aware that the subject and object is a function of the mind, nothing more. It is not a reified self or other that actually exist independently of mind. 

It's truly hard to rest in this state of mind due to habitual identification with things as things. This is why we must continually practice doubting the sense of "I" and uprooting it through questioning, "who thinks?" "Who feels?" Is this self something substantial and, if so, where is it? How does it arise? Yet, there is no need to suppress the objects of the mind to see how this functions or works.

Mind's Garbage

 One day you will suddenly shatter this mass of doubt and realize that the term birth and death is useless garbage! (Master Boshan, in  Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way, p.7-8)

Why, after so much inquiry into this great doubt, would birth and death suddenly seem useless or even powerless? It's one thing to see these terms "birth" and "death" in terms of a definitional meaning, but it's another to see their real significance. When something is "born" it means that something distinguishes itself from the rest of the world--it comes into being and then it disappears again into death. But from the perspective of mind, because all phenomena are of the mind, nothing is separate, and everything is only different by convention. We need names, words, and definitions to navigate the world, but when we understand the world as having a literal "substance" separate from our awareness, we imagine all kinds of things that aren't so real. Our story is what we hang onto the world to keep it coherent, but when we believe our stories exist independently of ourselves, we create all kinds of notions of birth and death. 

We think something comes into the world, then disappears. If it's something we like, we don't want it to disappear, so grasping and clinging arise. If it's something we dislike, we hasten its exit, giving rise to vexation, anger, and aversion. We can't see that the good and bad are just labels we affix to all the events, and shadows start to take on solid appearances, giving rise to even more anxiety and vexation. When we interact with others, we take the other person's body to be themselves, and we can't separate the person from the body. The body becomes an object of craving and desire. Both are marks or phenomena, but what's the mind that originates the phenomena? This is happening all the time, whether conscious or not.  Unless we see the root cause, we only substitute one object for another, as when I take coffee in order to reduce my addiction to something else.

Perhaps we can contemplate, in what way are these projections merely conventional, and when do they become "garbage" of the mind?  When do they block up the system and prevent us from seeing clearly?

Great Tolerance

   Ven ChangYun talked about tolerance during our group meditation practice tonight. What is tolerance, I wonder? The term reminds me of when I was very young and I was forced to swallow food that I didn't like, such as really stale sandwiches. I was learning "tolerance" mentally, but physically I think I rejected the food. So where does tolerance come from?

   When I reflect deeply on tolerance, I think that most of the time, I have subconscious vexations: thoughts in my mind that are so hidden or embedded that they create pressure without me realizing it. This is almost like wearing tight clothing for all of one's life, only to realize how tight they were when one wears the clothes appropriate to one's body size. Tolerance can become thin if one's thoughts are oppressive. But another enemy of tolerance is having too many wants. If I want to travel and find I have only certain number of days' vacation, I find myself trying to save vacation here and there, and I feel constrained. With fewer desires for something better, I can take one step at a time and treat each of my day to day tasks with a sense of earnestness. In this way, there is so little that I need to do in the moment. I believe that when there is less mental pressure, there is much more room for tolerance. But I need to think on this topic a little more to fully understand and appreciate it.

Perplexity

  Here is what Master Boshan says about the great doubt of birth and death: "Your inability to shatter this barrier of birth and death will suddenly arouse the doubt--like a curled knot on our eyelashes, which you are unable to untangle or get rid of" (Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way, p.7). I am reminded of those math problems in school that are so frustrating to solve, yet we spend hours engaged on it in the hope of finally breaking through to resolve it. Is the doubt like this? What drives that urgent desire to resolve this great doubt?

  I would have to say that one must respect the process here, over and above the actual solution. What good is the solution, for instance, if it comes from a textbook or is somehow given to us? The important part is not solving the problem but of how this process opens up and softens us to a place where there are no neat solutions, and everything is in a constant state of unfolding and constant flux. Wanting to know and have the answer prematurely is perhaps the sign that we associate not knowing with a sense of threat--that feeling we get when we haven't properly prepared for an important test or exam, for example. 

What can doubt do to us? Maybe this doubt is about realizing that there was no real ground for my being after all, since my true nature is impermanent. By exposing myself to the continual doubt of the everyday world (not getting caught in habitual thoughts, being vulnerable to present moment confusion, yet being grounded in the body), I am exploring a different aspect that is neither born nor dies. It is just in a constant state of leaving! Well, this would be how to see the huatou as a practical tool for living.

Waves and Iterations

 If we knew we were only waves, and merely versions of one great big ocean, how would that change the way we are? I keep hearkening back to Olaf Stapleton's early science fiction novel First and Last Men, where he talks about legions of galaxies and histories of different alien races, all experimenting with different modes of society. Iterations. Versions. "Experiments". Then whatever we are doing here is a mere echo of a deeper truth, something that by nature is intertwined with everything.

   Master Boshan remarks, "Oblivious to where you will go after you die, how can you not question where you will end up?" (p.7 from Master Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way). Suddenly, the wave knows that it's only a wave and will disappear soon, but before it does, it generates that burning question: who am I really? What part of "me" will leave, and what part of me will stay here after I leave? Some say that it's karma that will stay after our death. While this may be true, we may continue to ask where even karma comes from and whether or not it too is permanent.

  Can our creations--those things that keep us alive and interested-- sustain us? Only, I am afraid, if we see creativity as one wave in the ocean. If I build an elaborate sandcastle and tell the world to take a look and be enthralled, I ought to remember that the castle will not survive as a phenomena. But as an expression of mind, it is the supreme sign. We can say the same about anything we marvel at. The mind creates the elaborate image, then names it, then classifies it by the name. All this elaborate creation, but who is the creator? This is the question that Master Boshan seems to be asking. 

When we look into that mind, does the sandcastle itself not seem all the more precious? Or do we resignedly throw up our hands and say, "Well, I spent so many hours on that beautiful sandcastle, only to find it's so unreal, so destroyed by the coming waves"? I believe that, based on my understanding of Buddha's teachings, the latter reflects nihilism and the belief in a sense of self that stands to gain and lose. The former, on the other hand, reflects an awakening compassion that comes about through a refined awareness of emptiness. In the former case, the creation is so fleeting, yet it is miraculous. What a freely granted gift I have been given to see these things albeit for a brief moment. 

But what does it mean that I am seeing these things? Who is seeing them? This is to be discovered!

Sustaining Doubt

 Master Boshang remarks on page 7 of Master Sheng Yen's Attaining the Way, "Not knowing where you came from prior to your birth, you have no choice but to wonder where you are from" (italics mine). I wonder, is it true that we have no choice but to wonder, or is this "having no choice" also created by the mind? What happens if we choose not to arouse the doubt sensation or even be curious about the question of our birth and death? I believe that some secular thinkers or skeptics even doubt that there was anything before birth or after death. There must be something special about this expression "having no choice", similar to the concept of choiceless awareness that I have read in other Buddhist texts.

I think that conviction in the question has to come from a certain urgency: either resolve the question now or perhaps never, or even when it's too late to even ponder it. To do so, one must put aside even the concept of choice, because choice entails a subject who chooses. In a sense, "having no choice" here likely means that awareness comes from a place of not choosing at all. This doesn't mean we are "forced" to ponder the question, but rather, the question is so embedded in our experience of life and mind that we can't help but wonder deep within our hearts "who came before me?" It is the one question that is responsible for the sense of unease that we experience that we aren't necessarily conscious of, but is nonetheless there.

What is There to Doubt?

 In the course of practice, the most crucial thing is to arouse the "doubt" sensation. What is this doubt? Not knowing where you came from prior to your birth, you have know choice but to wonder where you are from -Master Boshan, p.7 from Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way

The first part of Master Boshan's exhortation relates to birth and where we came from "prior" to our birth. This seems a bit strange, perhaps, because most people don't remember what happened to them before they were born or even how they got to the world. So, what does this "prior to your birth" really entail? To get to this point is really to question what exactly does it mean for anything to be born, for that matter. Is our own sense of existence truly who we are, or is it nothing more than a series of thoughts, ideas and inklings ? How do we know that the "sense" of who we are is truly who we are at the base? I believe that these are the questions that may give rise to doubt.

While on the bus back from the medical clinic, I had this thought: each person on the bus is a universe unto themselves. There is something infinite about everyone's experience on the bus, where we can't even compare one experience to the other. I can try to imagine "empathically" what it might feel like to be someone else based on my imaginative construction of what is means to "wear their clothes", adopt their mannerisms, or take on their expressions, but at the end of the day, there is something irreducible about experience itself. I cannot just take my current "experience" and plant it into someone's body or brain. At the same time, however, I can tell that somehow everyone on the bus must be aware. They must have awareness in order to be able to do what they're doing. This "awareness" seems to be the basis for any kind of experience in general. It's like the movie screen through which all the images are being projected to create a sense of time and space. But I cannot "take on" the awareness of someone else. Awareness can't be broken up into parts, switched and swapped, or treated as an object. Awareness just somehow is, and as such, is not locatable. 

This ground of experience (awareness?) is perhaps what Boshan means by the great doubt, in the sense that we are looking for this fundamental being that came prior to the birth of anything. Even "birth", now that I think of it, is nothing more than a concept to me, because I don't even remember the event of being born. Did mind suddenly come about through birth, or is it just the basis for any birth? These are the kinds of questions that can make us wonder who we really are and what we were before things came into being. 

Another way of putting it is: prior to subject or object formation, who creates the subject? Who creates the object? But where does the urgency to know this come from? It must come from an insight (to go to my previous entry) that birth and death are like a raging fire of suffering from which there is no escape except to get to the root, to go beyond birth and death themselves.

A "No Concern" Mind

 At this point, throw away your concerns about the raging fire, your very life, your anticipation of others' help; with no other thoughts and refusing to halt, just directly dash forward. If you can break out [of the raging fire], then you're a person of [great] abilities! Master Boshan, "What Beginning Practitioners Should Know", from Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way, p.7

As I am reading this statement, I feel that it contradicts everything I "think" about the goals of practice. Isn't practice about being prudent, observing precepts, and remaining humble in the face of death? Where does the "directly dashing forward" come into it? And, does this act of dashing forward mean abandoning thought altogether? 

My sense is that that the passage doesn't suggest that one be rash, only that one not be clouded and deluded about the nature of thoughts themselves. Thoughts don't really connect with each other; they are transient, and it is only past habits that joins thoughts into concrete wholes. When I see the desk and associate it with a memory of "past desk", I immediately assume that the desk is permanent in nature, not realizing that this desk I am seeing is not the same desk as the past. Different thought, completely different conditions arising from each of these thoughts, yet the mind falsely concludes that it's the same desk because the appearance is the same. Little are we aware that even seemingly solid objects are the result of temporary conditions in the present--the quantum collapse of energy fields based on both form and perceptions.

If my actions are reactions to thought formations, then I fail to see the nature of thought, and it's easy for me to get ensnarled in likes and dislikes, as well as the identity formation of self. By questioning what is the original mind before the birth and death of identity (ego, others, things, "me" and so on), we get to the point where thoughts no longer give rise to the delusion of permanence. Suddenly the mind becomes calm and more clear, more able to work with the illusory thoughts with flow and finesse. Perhaps this is part of what Master Boshan means when comparing the practitioner to a someone running from a burning house.

But I think the most crucial aspect of the burning house metaphor is the sense of urgency it evokes. If we don't act NOW, we forever hold the possibility of liberation indefinitely into the future. This is not because we feel we have lots of time to spend, but because we have no faith in our buddha nature. We think we have to participate in some great meditative experience to arrive at the mind that is already beyond likes and dislikes, change and stasis, arising and falling, birth and death. All we need really do is examine all these polarities and, one by one, question whether the any one of these polarities represents the true you, the true mind you are using to take in these words.

The immediacy of the fire is representative of the sense of urgency needed to stop creating a sense of time and stop thinking buddhahood is some distant future goal. It can only happen when we investigate deeply what is happening now, deep within, in this present moment, without second thought or discursive thinking.

Help of Others

  Master Boshan writes, "Give rise to no other thoughts and don't count on the help of others" (from Sheng Yen, Attaining the Way, p.7). What does this mean, "don't count on the help of others"? Who are the "others" that Master Boshan refers to, and why don't we count on others? During the group sharing today, someone had asked the question of what we do when someone has a strong smell due to smoking, and Chang Yuan Fashi had shared a story of how he sent compassion outward toward ants that were occupying his place of solitary retreat. 

As I listened to these anecdotes, I reflected: sometimes we take this story to mean that the best way to get things the way we want them to be is to send compassion! But this is another strategy that the ego uses to try to gain control of a situation. The point is: when I stop trying to make things right for myself and simply have the confidence in myself to handle any situation with compassion, then there is no more grasping mindset, and things tend to go more smoothly and harmoniously.

   If we rely too much on the help from others, an expectation may come to mind, which involves a mind of grasping. This ironically blocks things from flowing. It's like a person trying to get help by running into a line of traffic and holding up a big sign. The act of seeking help paradoxically blocks help from actually arising. So, I think that when Master Boshan says "don't count on the help of others", he isn't saying that other people are cold or unkind, or cannot be relied upon. Instead, he is suggesting to drop all attachment or grasping at the phenomena of others, so that the real interconnectedness of things can flow more freely , like a kind of cosmic dance.

    When we give rise to no other thoughts (except the huatou, or that which is beyond birth and death), we are allowing all thoughts to appear. Having thoughts is not the enemy; it's the grasping that is. If you have ever seen something desirable or undesirable and tried simply yielding to its presence without a mind of grasping, you will know how difficult it is to see something with all its power for what it is, not for how we want to control it.

Neither Rushing Nor Still

 Just take tis single thought of shattering the mind of birth and death like a tile that knocks [down] a gate. [You should be like someone] sitting in the midst of a raging fire, wanting to escape. Do not step haphazardly; do not stand still (What Beginning Chan Practitioners Should Know, Master Boshan, from Attaining the Way,p.7)

As I am reading this passage from Master Boshan, I am thinking of a gazelle or even a mountain goat, a chamois, or some other graceful creature that survives through a mincing pace. Such kind of animals require a lithe body and movement that allows them to step over the crags of the narrowest of steppes, while still being able to avoid detection by predators. The combination of "not standing still" yet "not stepping haphazardly" perhaps best embodies this picture.

What do the raging fires represent? Perhaps they represent our ideas. As I was walking today, I thought about how the terms "idea" and "ideation" (as well as "ideal") have a similar root word of "Id", which also connects with identity (the sense of I) and even the mind of the Freudian id which is thought to be the seat of one's primordial wishes and desires. The one thing that is common to all these terms is the fact that they relate to half-formed, relatively fixed thoughts that obsessively recur over and over again. In contrast to unfolding events, ideas are often replays of the same event as a memory in our mind, something that lacks fluidity and might even represent unprocessed trauma or a stale, beaten path. The raging fires, in fact, represent the distracting influence of desirable impressions or ideas that cloud us from seeing the emptiness of all reality, or its unfolding constant nature.

In fact, people often get it backward, assuming that ideas are the only assurance of reality, whereas emptiness signals a kind of "void" or "lack". But its' the fixity of ideas that perhaps Boshan is cautioning us about. If I hold to a comforting idea about where I will be in ten years, or even hold the hopeful impression that I will be promoted tomorrow, little do I realize that I am attaching to a static concept that doesn't reflect the ceaseless nature of things. Instead of realizing that things are in continuous flux, I get stuck on ideas of who I am, a reality "out there" and this becomes a kind of mental prison to me. The only way to break out, says Boshan, is to "shatter the mind of birth and death like a kind of random "tile that knocks down a gate". We can only imagine that such a tile is accidental, because we hardly see such an event happen in everyday life, unless there is a passing wind or a storm.

If I practice with urgency, I know that each time I reinforce the concept of subject and object, self or other, I get deeper into my own delusion of what the world is. I don't go to the source of all being and thinking, which is beyond thought yet contains it at the same time. I suffer from this because I fail to realize how changing the reality actually is. It's like trying to catch water with a sieve. So this idea of not stepping haphazardly, not staying still, requires a kind of hyper alertness: knowing the dreamlike mind, and trying to avoid the reification of mind into objects and subjects.

Birds in the Sky etc.

 In Master Boshan's  "What Beginning Chan Practitioners Should Know", we read: "If you cannot discover the Original Great Principle that is within you, the mind of birth and death will never be shattered" (p.7). What is the Original Great Principle? According to the footnote in Master Sheng Yen's Attaining the Way, it's, "buddha nature, self nature, or the truth of emptiness" (p.7). And how do we discover this? By not using discrimination to cut up the world into self, other, me, other, this that--a kind of world of blocks, when in fact the world is not this way at all. I could now stop and say "the world is interdependence", but when I think of this, I am still thinking using consciousness. I might imagine a kind of swirling vortex where "things" are dancing together and then separating, then dancing again--but this too is based on the illusory notion that there are "things" independent of mind. So this too won't work. I am still creating a world and then assuming "this is the way it is out there", as if I am the onlooker standing over it. What then is this "interdependence" anyway? 

    Who is asking?

   I recall the concept that the flag neither stands still nor moves. "Moving" and "standing still" are all relative concepts, and from the perspective of mind, they don't ultimately exist. But we also know that the nature of emptiness is to be continually in flux. One moment can't be compared to the other. What I experience in this moment is all mind. Next moment is also mind; even if something has changed since the previous moment, nothing has changed from the perspective of mind (the clear primordial mind). So why do we say the mind is emptiness? Isn't it then a static mirror? This is the tricky part where I am getting stuck. I feel almost like there is relative emptiness (the impermanence and conditioned arising of all phenomena) and then ultimate emptiness (nothing really arises or disappears), but I have trouble connecting these together. 

    To use an example: we see the bird flying in the sky. From a relative perspective, the bird is only a temporary phenomena, because one minute, it's flying and the next, it's gone from our view. But consider from the perspective of ultimate mind. From the ultimate perspective, the bird is an image in our mind. But the image is only conditioned arising of elements. In fact, it (the image) has no independent reality from mind so it does not carry a "trace" with it into the next image of the bird. This is like the image on a tv screen. The image A only appears to be moving to image B, when in fact, each image is different. One doesn't actually move into another. So from the view of absolute emptiness, there is no connection between A and B. How then are they considered empty? I think it's because A and B appear without any interference. Because they don't really connect, there is no actual merging or "conflict": one doesn't disappear in order for the other to disappear. They are able to appear without any interference, in perfect harmony. That is because mind is identical with both images. Mind does not move from one image to the other. The image simply appears in mind. This is the principle of non-interference, non interaction, or total harmony. (Which is also a dream!) Perhaps this is an ultimate view of emptiness, whereas the relative view of emptiness still holds that things are born, change, die, transform into something else.  

    The important thing is maybe not what happens to phenomena under this view, but to keep looking for the mind that allows things to arise without interference. Then the nature of life really reveals itself.

Sharing My May 4 Lecture Notes

 On Saturday March 4, Venerable Chang Yuan began a series of Summer Dharma talks that are to take place every Saturday at DDM Toronto Center from May to August 2024. Ven. Chang Yuan provided a solid historical foray into the Dharma Drum lineage of Chan, describing the two major Chan Schools of Caodong (Soto) and Linji  and how Master Sheng Yen combined strands from these schools to form the methods that we now commonly refer to as Silent Illumination and Huatou. Master Sheng Yen’s book Attaining the Way by Master Sheng Yen is the principal text upon which these summer talks will be based.[i]

The first talk focused on excerpts from Master Boshan’s “What Beginning Practitioners Should Know” (from Attaining the Way, pp.7-22), with special emphasis on the meaning behind  his expression “break through the mind of birth and death”, as well as the importance of cultivating  a strong vow in one’s practice. What is birth and death after all? Before my birth, where did I come from? What is emptiness, and how can I discover it through practice and contemplation? Ven Chang Yuan remarked about how having a strong determination to answer a “great question” or great matter of life—such as who we are prior to birth and after death, or how to escape from attachment to birth and death—is one way to reduce the tendency to magnify small vexations in life. To treat Chan practice as a strong resolve to solve a deep problem that concerns our existence is one of the best ways that we can ensure that we are focusing on the things that matter the most in practice, and in life as a whole. Ven. Chang Yuan reminded us of how deep investigation of Chan can be a powerful way of setting the right priority. He also mentioned how some practitioners only practice Chan on the cushion, only to practice making money off the cushion. In fact, Dharma practice needs to soak into all of our experiences in order to reap the full benefits and find true peace in life, rather than relying on provisional things to make us feel secure.

I found myself gravitating to Ven Chang Yuan’s accounts of Master Boshan’s early education in Dharma. Wuyi Yuanlai (1575-1630) ---who was later named Master Boshan after Mount Bo where he taught Dharma-- was ordained at the age of 16, and experienced enlightenment at age 27. Although Yuanlai was a very studious monk and tried very hard to achieve realization through methods such as vipassana and samatha, he could only progress in his practice when he went beyond language and was able to see the reality of his mind directly. Ven. Chang Yuan used this story to remind the retreat participants how essential intensive Chan practice is, as an aid to directly experiencing what we have read in sutras. Truly investigating the method, as the Venerable reminded us, involves the process of knowing your method without giving it any second thought, until it becomes a part of you, and therefore can be used at all times, in every single moment. This is the difference between practicing on the cushion and being able to practice in every situation of one’s daily life.

Throughout this talk, Venerable Chang Yuan stressed the importance of having a great vow and using the vow to put in our earnest efforts in practice. Without a great vow or even a great question like Master Boshan’s, our practice will lack the continuity needed to strengthen our practice and apply it smoothly across different situations we face. Furthermore, without the truly strong vow, our life will be lead more by one’s karma than by insight or understanding. Ven. Chang Yuan also stressed the importance of the precepts as a means of protecting our practice, ensuring that, at the end of our life, we have enough positive merits that we can create a strong momentum to face death peacefully, without fear. Only with a positive perspective of looking back on our good deeds and intentions can one look forward to a favorable rebirth and face death openly and courageously.

One statement that most struck me during the talk was Ven. Chang Yuan’s reminder to be humble in our practice. He warned that it’s easy for practitioners to become arrogant when their practice experiences are quite smooth and they have started to develop a strong practice or flow with their method. In the Lotus Sutra, the Buddha waited for 500 arhats to leave the space where he was preaching before he started to deliver Dharma. The arhats left because they couldn’t accept the idea that all sentient beings possess the seed of buddha nature, that Buddha lies within all minds. This story emphasizes the importance of having an open and soft mind when listening to the Dharma—a mind that admits to not knowing the profound nature of emptiness, yet is not discouraged from wondering and trying to investigate under the guidance of sangha and teachers.

How can we apply the method of investigation in daily life? This was a question that one participant had raised during the Q and A. Ven. Chang Yuan responded that we should use apply method lightly but consistently in daily life without trying to suppress thoughts or emotions. Trying to use the method to suppress thoughts will only lead to tiredness and tenseness, not to mention a more distracted mind. On the other hand, when we experience strong anger in daily life, rather than suppressing angry thoughts and emotions, we can go to the heart of it by asking “who is it that is angry?” This would be one way of using the method of huatou to address daily life phenomena, without the side-effects of an intense approach or mindset.

Finally, when Ven. Chang Yuan was asked the question “what is ignorance?” he exhorted the participants to “talk less, listen more” when they go home. That is, if we don’t know what is wisdom and what is ignorance, it’s best to keep our minds clear and simple, and practice rather than speaking of what we don’t know. I believe that taking Ven. Chang Yuan’s advice slowed me down and allowed me to be more present when others are talking. It also reminded me that Dharma is not something we learn through words or memorization. It’s something we put into our heart through faith, vows and determination to apply the method to remain present with ourselves at all times.

Keith B. May 5, 2024

 

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[i] And the good news is, this book can be found and purchased on amazon.ca

Wisdom in Ignorance?

 Seeking wisdom outside of ignorance (and vexations, for that matter) is incorrect from a Chan perspective. But what does this mean? In Sword of Wisdom, Master Sheng Yen remarks, "In making the transition from ignorance to Buddha-nature, you will realize that ignorance does not really exist. If it did, we would all be bound to it forever. Anyone practicing who understands this principle will not strive to get rid of ignorance or seek after Buddha-nature."

Another way of saying this is that there is no need to seek beyond this world, this life, and the experiences around us to be able to see how the Buddha nature is, since Buddha nature is simply taking the temporary form of ignorance. This is the same way that a water will take on various forms depending on the container in which it is presented, but this water is not any different in its essential nature. 

Making mistakes stems from the fact that we live in a world where we are using consciousness to distinguish "I" from others, and even assuming that things aren't interrelated and interconnected, when in fact, they are. I believe that knowing this will help us to practice in a way that is more practical and about present day life, rather than trying to achieve some otherworldly experience.

Boshan's Exhortations

 At the very outset of practice, arouse the aspiration to break through the mind of birth and death. With determined resolve, see through the universe, body and mind, and realize that everything is [the coming together of] provisional conditions--without a substantial self - Master Boshan, Exhortations on Investigating Chan from Sheng Yen (2006) Attaining the Way: A Guide to the Practice of Chan Buddhism, (p.7)

What exactly does it mean to "break through the mind of birth and death"? Perhaps it means a literal birth and death, but it could also mean the view of birth and death that keeps people in a cycle of bondage. When I continue to believe that I am bound to a cycle of coming into being, I am using my mind to connect the previous experiences with the present, adding to this the concept of a self that experiences and "travels" from past to present to future.

 I wonder if this is what Master Boshan means by "break through the mind of birth and death". At the same time, when he says "break through", it makes me think of how sometimes the only way to see past a brick wall is to shatter it, rather than trying to carve a neat little door into it. Chan Buddhism tends to use a lot of aggressive metaphors such as "break through" or "shatter" to describe an act of sudden awakening that has to transcends the barrier of self and other.

"Breaking through", for sure, may involve some kind of superhuman strength: a resolve, a kind of willpower that pushes past distractions and discriminations. The importance of "determined resolve" here should not be underemphasized, since it entails that we should use a determined effort to counterbalance the tendency to divide the world between self and other (subject/object), which gives rise to all kinds of grasping mentalities and vexations. Wanting very much to "stay afloat" on the raft of life, we fail to realize that we are creating the sense of desperation and conflict by giving rise to (and  reinforcing, for that matter) the separation of self and other. But more to the point, breaking through requires completely letting go of the safety raft of words and concepts; it entails a clean break, rather than trying to use words as crutches to support that subtle sense of self and grasping.

The concept of a clean break if followed by the notion of seeing through as in see through the universe, body and mind. What is seeing through? Does it mean to have x-ray glasses that see through everything magically? I think not. It means to be able to see all phenomena as having an empty, dependently originating nature. It is to see that body, universe, mind--all the things we distinguish as separate entities--are in act interconnected parts. The notion of separation is only a conceptual one and is not based on the real experience of things interconnected. Does this insight or this seeing through really require superhuman strength? Well, it requires a determination not to act from a place of routine dualism and habits.

Finally, one realizes the crux of the matter: realize that everything is [the coming together of] provisional conditions--without a substantial self . This hinges upon the three Dharma seals of emptiness, impermanence, and no-self. When we stop acting from the idea that everything is a discrete identity, then where is the sense of opposition? Let's break this down if we can:

Without a separate substantial self, is there any room for grasping the other as someone who can be possessed? Rejecting the other as someone worthy of disdain? Praising the self as something precious and immortal? Seeing success as great, failure as small? Comparing myself to others? Without a separate self, everything is seen in its fluidity. Our role becomes that of temporary players in the stream of life, rather than permanent stations. And then we can let go of the grave seriousness of having to be a complete, whole, integrated player who has everything "all together". By nature, we come into the game as passerbys: identities that are in constant learning, flux and shaping. With this full realization, we naturally will experience less grasping, comparison, desire, envy, greed, self-preservation, etc.

The Butterfly's Meal

  When I looked at the butterfly in the park today, I thought about the simplicity of this creature's life, and how it eats the simplest things from the flowers, mates and dies. There is something about this kind of life that is touching and makes me reflect on how the mind overcomplicates things indeed. To live, is it not just to breathe, to have companions, to eat, and to pass onto another form altogether? Although this seems quite fleeting and meaningless, the fact that we are here to observe it means there is something deeper within that never dies. It is still, it is quiet, and it is capable of seeing the subtlest beauty in all things. 

    The mind that is deep within us does not need an image of itself to confirm its being, and nor does it require the support of stimulants or other kinds of things we use to keep ourselves awake. It is purely being without an object, a deep sense of connection that goes beyond self. It is the flow that I sometimes feel when I am able to do something purely guided by exploration rather than being distracted by so man events. And often I have these everyday reminders to confirm what I feel about that.

   If we forget, we only need think: what is the one social role, the one fabricated sense of "I", the one image of the self, that has stayed with me from the day of birth? Life goes on being in spite of all these changing images of the self and its numerous desires.

Parenting Our Children

 I have recently been reflecting on the relationship between parenting and 'childing" or the act of being a child. I often see myself as a child, mainly because I never was a parent, and it seems that my roles as a teacher and facilitator position me closest to that of a parent--not to mention my roles in training at work. Many modern psychologists focus on the wounding that people received as children, in addition to how we can heal those wounds before we can be fully available to others. We can characterize such psychologies as "child-centered" in the sense that they locate the pain in the world back in the child, rather than looking at the ways adults and parents have their own unique burdens and sufferings. But I wonder if it's precisely our wounds that become gifts to others, in the sense that they help us develop compassion and the ability to heal others.

   Buddhism emphasizes how we should meditate on those who have benefited us. Our giving can come from a sense of honoring those who have given to us, from this perspective. But honoring requires slowing down to see that we were always standing on the shoulders of others, and this is not easy. If we are always picturing ourselves as in battle or competition with others, the idea of having depended on others seems belittling or even demeaning to our sense of personal identity.

 I think the most apt metaphor to describe benefiting others is that of a kind of wounded healer. We are negatively impacted by the ways we may have been dropped or abandoned in the past, yet we use all the emotion that accumulates from that to raise others up. The principle, at the end of the day, is that everybody is really doing their best. If there were things that our benefactors didn't do for us, then those gaps are the things that we can fill for others, since our recognition of those gaps means we have a seed within ourselves that can fill them. Suffering can complete us; it can help us to become more three dimensional, if we practice non-resistance to it, but also try to get as much help as possible to support our frailties.