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Jukai

Norman speaks on the Precepts and Jukai (lay ordination) ceremony at the Mar de Jade, Mexico, Sesshin

 

Jukai

By Zoketsu Norman Fischer | April 15, 2010
Norman speaks on the Precepts and Jukai ceremony (lay
ordination) at the Mar de Jade, Mexico, Sesshin

Abridged and edited by Ryūsen
Barbara Byrum

 

Buenos dias a todos. Tonight we conclude our retreat with a
ceremony for taking precepts. Roccio,
Chelo, and Luis are going to get new names and rakusus and lineage papers, and they are going to commit themselves
to the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts.

So I thought this morning I
would talk a little bit about this ceremony and the precepts. Although when we're in retreat we think
a lot about meditation practice, and that's our focus, in Zen the practice is fundamentally
not about meditation. It is really
about how we live our lives every single day. We read about this the other day in Dogen, in his great text
all about zazen. He says,
"Practice is a matter of everydayness."
This is why the name of the group that we practice in is called Everyday
Zen. It's not called "Peaceful
Ocean Zen," or "Dharma Eye Zen," or "Dragon Gate," or something like that,
although there are groups that have that kind of name. Our group is called Everyday Zen,
because I really believe that practice is a matter of every day. Of course, we value zazen very highly,
because zazen shows us the way to live every day – with kindness, with courage;
with clarity, with respect for the unknown, with whole-heartedness, and with a
dignified patience when things are tough.
If we practice zazen, we will learn all these things, all these qualities. But we'll just do zazen when it's time
to do zazen, and the rest of the time we'll forget about it, and we'll just go
forth in our lives in this way.

So that is where the precepts
come into it. Dogen says, "Zazen is the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts." I think that Rick was saying in his
talk that the precepts are not rules.
Like rules in school. Or sometimes
like training rules in a monastery or a retreat. Things we should not do. Things we should do.
The sixteen Bodhisattva precepts are just the description of the
spontaneous conduct of a Buddha.
The precepts are a way of trying to express, "This is how we live when
our hearts are full of kindness and joy."

When you consider our human
life, you could say that we actually have two lives going on at the same time:
the life of the body and the life of the vow. The body comes from our parents, it comes from the earth,
and it comes from God. So the body
is a miraculous thing. It is the
most amazing creation that we could ever imagine. And it is beyond what we could imagine. It's a shame that we take it so much
for granted.

But the body would have no
life without the vow, because the vow illuminates the body and moves the body
and motivates the body in its living.
Our vow is our sense of purpose and meaning in life. It is the basic spirit behind
everything we think, everything we choose, and everything we accomplish with
this body in this lifetime.

We actually all have a
vow. We wouldn't be in this life
if we didn't have a vow. It's a
little startling to think about that. "Oh, I didn't know I had a vow, that I was living by a vow." Most of us think, "I'm just living. I'm just trying to get along. I don't really have a vow. I am just an ordinary person." But, actually, nobody can get out of
bed in the morning and go through a day without some vow. You can tell that this is true, because
there are times in life – maybe it has never happened to you – when people lose
their vow. They lose it
completely. And then they cannot get out of bed. They're depressed. They're in despair. They actually can't figure out how to
go on living. And sometimes they
don't go on living. Or sometimes
they somehow manage to go through the motions of living, but really, inside,
there is no meaning.

So most of us do have our
vow. It keeps us going, and
somehow we are living based on our vow.
Even if we don't know we have a vow or don't know what that vow is,
somehow or other, we believe that our life makes sense. Our vow is formed in us in childhood,
and it develops as we grow older.
It comes from our parents and our family. It comes from our culture and our values. And it is there in us, even though we
don't know it. Usually we have not
really contemplated our vows, and we don't quite understand our vows. Most of the time our vows are very
mixed up with our wounds and our confusion, and so they actually need to be
clarified.

I think that any serious
spiritual practice involves clarifying our vows and our commitments, and it
involves having a strong sense of commitment beyond self-interest. If we don't have a vow to search for
the truth, if we don't have a vow to be of benefit to others, if we do not
commit ourselves to a path with some degree of discipline and support, probably
we will drift in our lives. Even
though we have the vow, it won't be clear, and we'll drift. And eventually we will feel – deep
inside – loneliness. And the
strength of our lives will eventually wear out. When you are young, this is not so much a problem, because
life is so exciting, and it remains interesting all the time – all kinds of
problems and passions and needs and desires. That can keep you going for quite a while. But after a while only a vow is enough
to sustain your life. Excitement
is simply not enough.

Of course, don't get me
wrong. I'm not making a pitch here
that everyone should take the Zen precepts. In fact, it's a lot of work for a poor priest when a lot of
people take precepts, so I am not trying to get more customers! That's not what I am talking
about. An official, organized,
church-sanctioned vow is not necessary.
An inner vow, if it is clear, can be very strong. If it is strong enough, it sometimes
can be stronger than an official vow taken in a ritual. A deep and serious inner vow can be
stronger than an official vow or a vow that we have taken because it is
expected of us, or we do it because everybody else is doing it and we don't
want to get left behind.

If we take this vow because
of our own experience – because our own suffering shows us that it is
absolutely necessary that we take it – and if we make this vow seriously and
from the heart, then we can find the support of the ritual and of the tradition
and of the community to be a big help.

Our ceremony tonight is a ceremony
of profound vowing. A vowing to
benefit others, to clarify our hearts, to go beyond old karma, and to act in
accord with kindness. We do the
ceremony as a member of Buddha's family.
We promise to do this not only in this life, but lifetime after lifetime,
and world after world.

So now, briefly, I will tell
you what the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts are. The first three are called the Triple

Refuges, or Refuge in the
Three Treasures. We have been
chanting this together every night – taking refuge in Buddha, which means the
awakened nature of our own heart.
Taking refuge in dharma, which means the way of life that comes from our
awakened heart. And taking refuge
in the sangha, which is the community of beings that makes life possible, and
with whom we share life.

That is the widest
explanation of the triple treasure.
The narrowest explanation is that we take refuge in Buddha as our
teacher. We take refuge in the
teachings of Buddha as they have been handed down to us. And we take refuge in the community of
people that are practicing these teachings, under the direction from Buddha, as
their teacher. So when we take the
Triple Refuge, the idea is that we are vowing to return to the kindness that is
the essence of the human heart and mind. In other words, to return to a basic sanity in this crazy
world, and to do this in concert with everyone, with the feeling that we will
receive support from everyone in this process.

Those are the first three
precepts. The next three are
called the Three Pure Precepts.
There have been various translations of these and ways of understanding
them through the generations. But
basically it is like this: The first one is not to do harmful things. To be committed to trying our best to
avoid harming – harming ourselves, harming others – not only with our body and
our speech, but also with our thoughts.
This is a precept of restraint.
It means we will hold ourselves in check when afflictions overcome our
minds. That we will refrain from
acting out of these afflictions, and we'll refrain even from validating these
afflictions in our minds.

The second Pure Precept is to
do everything good. Instead of a
precept that restrains, this is a precept of great expansiveness. We'll be extravagant in all of our efforts
of thought, speech, and mind, when those efforts are beneficial for self and
others.

The third precept is to vow
to benefit all beings. This is
understood in Zen very clearly as all
beings, not just the nice ones.
Not even just the human ones. Not even the living ones only. But even beings like rocks and tables and chairs. So we don't smash things up. We take care of things. We polish the furniture. We recognize that even material things
that are not living are sacred.

These precepts mean that we
practice restraint from bad conduct, and we practice expansive, joyful effort
of good conduct. And we do all of
this with the spirit of benefit and loving-kindness to others.

So we have six precepts so
far. Ten more. These are called the Ten Grave
Precepts. These are usually given
in a negative form, such as, "A disciple of Buddha does not kill. A disciple of Buddha does not steal." So it is a list of ten things that the
disciple of Buddha does not do.
But also we understand them – and practice them also – as positive. In other words, "A disciple of Buddha
does not kill. She nurtures and
nourishes life. A disciple of
Buddha does not steal. She
receives and offers gifts."

So I will tell you what the
Ten Grave Precepts are. You will
hear them again tonight in the ceremony.
First, the disciple of Buddha does not kill or take life. Second, a disciple of Buddha does not
take what is not freely given, and doesn't steal. Third, a disciple of Buddha does not misuse sexuality, which
means being unselfish and honorable, and appropriate in practicing restraint in
sexual matters. Number four, a
disciple of Buddha doesn't lie.
The fifth precept is a disciple of Buddha does not intoxicate, which
means not to become intoxicated with drugs or alcohol. But, also, it is explicitly understood
not to become intoxicated with teachers or teachings. Or with meditation.
Sixth, the disciple of Buddha does not slander. Seventh, a disciple of Buddha does not
praise self at the expense of others.

The seventh precept, like the
previous one and the fourth precept, is a speech precept, about how we
speak. Speech is a special,
magical power reserved for human beings.
We throw around our words as if they were cheap and didn't matter. We are more careful with our money than
we are with our words. But,
actually, we can do a lot of good and a lot of harm with our words. So it is part of our practice to
recognize that and to be careful with our speech. To speak always with honesty and truth, but also with
generosity and kindness, about ourselves and others. To be especially careful in our speech to and about
others. If sometimes we must be
critical, to be very generous and kind in our criticism, and as much as
possible, not to be critical of
others. We try to speak always
with a great humility, knowing, "This is the way I see it. It looks like this to me. But I know that others will see it very
differently." And also, never
promoting ourselves in our speech – even in subtle ways.

The eighth precept is that
the disciple of the Buddha is not possessive. This involves a deep understanding that we never can possess
anything anyway. It always amuses
me that in the United States people buy houses, and they think they own
houses. It looks to me like the
houses own them! The house says,
"Give me more money, and I want more money right now." And the person says, "But I don't have
any money." And the house says, "I
don't care. I gotta have money
now. You get money somehow." And the government, which is in
collusion with the house, comes and says, "Now you have to pay taxes. Lots of taxes." And then you're paying the taxes. And then you die. The house doesn't jump in the grave
with you. The house is still
there, laughing at you. [Laughter] "You thought you owned me, but now I am welcoming in the
next poor soul."

So in the case of houses,
this is all very obvious; but it is exactly the same with everything else. We don't own anything. We are the servants of all these
things. We are taking care of
these things for someone else, so we are not possessive. We are always generous, but not with
the feeling, "I have something now.
Look how generous I am. I'm
giving it to someone else." But
rather, "This thing that is temporarily in my keeping, whether it is money or
not, I now give back. It was never
mine." So that is the eighth
precept. It is very liberating to practice
this precept.

The ninth precept is the
disciple of the Buddha does not harbor ill will. This does not mean that we never get angry. It means that when we do get angry, we
don't justify the anger. We don't
say, "It's your fault. You made me
mad." We might feel like doing
that, but we notice that that is really stupid. And, certainly, we don't act in anger. Instead, we commit to the practice of
patience.

The tenth precept is that a
disciple of Buddha does not abuse or denigrate the Three Treasures, which means
that we respect and honor the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha.

Usually in our tradition, by
the time we take the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts in the ceremony, we have
practiced for awhile with our teacher, so we already have the feeling that the
precepts are not something outside of us, imposed on our lives. We sincerely feel that the precepts are
our own mind and our own heart – our own best mind, our own best heart. So it is not so hard to practice with
the precepts, because naturally we find that this is the way we want to live,
and we feel from our experience that living this way makes us happier. It strengthens our love. When we find ourselves violating the
precepts, and that happens, then – right away – we feel regret.

So there is no resistance to
practicing with these precepts.
But I use the word on purpose: "Practice" with the precepts. Not keeping the precepts, or violating
the precepts, but practicing with the
precepts. From one point of view,
you could say that there is no way to keep these precepts. Since we are human beings, it means
that we are going to violate the precepts sometimes, and that is part of the
practice. We try not to do that,
but probably it happens sometimes.
And then we forgive ourselves and go on.

Another way to say this is
that it is absolutely impossible to
break the precepts. No matter what
our conduct is, it is included within the wide circle of Buddha's way. So the spirit of precept practice is
always one of gentleness and forgiveness.
As some of us have found out, perhaps, in our own lives, sometimes the
way to go right is to go wrong, for a long time, maybe, and to suffer the
bitter consequences of this.

So the ceremony that we will
do tonight is actually not a performance; it is a practice in itself. It is an empowered ritual that somehow
brings a turning of the heart. I
don't know how that works, but somehow it does.

Now I will describe very
briefly how the ceremony goes, so we can practice with it. It begins with bows and offerings. And then we will all chant together an
invocation, to summon the buddhas and bodhisattvas to come here and help us
out. It is kind of like what Adine
was saying last night: It is hard to do anything on your own. So you ask for help, and the
bodhisattvas all show up, and then with their help, you can do it. They give you courage, and then you can
do it.

So next we chant the verse of
confession to purify us of our old habits and our ancient karma. Then we will purify the physical space
and the body by sprinkling on some holy water, which is made sacred by certain
mantras and mudras. Just like the
Catholics, isn't it? Holy
water. Next we take the sixteen
Bodhisattva precepts. Then
everyone vows to practice these precepts forever and ever. Even after we become a Buddha, we are
going to keep going.

Next we give people their new
names and their rakusus. The
understanding is that this precept ceremony is like a re-birth. You are reborn into this new vow. So that is why we give a new name. A vow name. Each person receives a name that fits
his or her own character. This
time Rick and I worked together to choose names for Rocco and Luis and
Chemo. Very sweet for me to have
such a good partner to choose names with.
He actually did most of the work and provided the Spanish translation,
so that we could have names in Japanese, English, and Spanish.

The rakusu that we will give
is a sacred garment. We understand
it to be Buddha's own robe. We sew
it by hand, and with each stitch of sewing, we sew in refuge with Buddha. A rakusu is not considered a person's
personal possession. It belongs to
the Buddha and contains the Buddha.
So we always treat it with respect and dignity. Before we put it on, we put it on
top of our heads, and we chant a special verse, as we will do tonight in the
ceremony.

Then we receive a lineage
paper, which is a kind of birth certificate. So receive your name, your clothes, and your birth
certificate. On this paper it
actually has the ninety-two names of succession. Ninety-two priests from the Buddha through the twenty-seven
Indian ancestors, the six early ancestors of China, and all the rest through
China and Japan and America. The
names include Dogen and Suzuki Roshi, and my own teacher, Sojun Mel Weitsman,
and down to me, Zoketsu Rinsho – and you.
Your name is on the lineage paper.
So, ninety-three generations from the Buddha to you.

So that's it. That's the ceremony we will do
tonight. As I say, it is a kind of
birthday party, to celebrate this new vow-birth of these three good disciples
of Buddha. Since the actual life
of the Buddha is the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts, that's the life that flows
through the Buddha's veins – this great vow of awakening and compassion. Wherever you see this vow, you are
seeing the life of the Buddha. So,
since this ceremony celebrates the birthday of the Buddha, and April is the
month of Buddha's birthday, after it is over, we will go on the porch and
celebrate Buddha's birthday. We
will have a little statue of the Buddha inside a flowered pagoda. Starting with the three new baby
Buddhas, they will bathe the statue with sweet tea, like you do with a newborn
baby. Then the rest of us will
have a chance to do that, too. And
when you do it, hopefully you do it with a true spirit of peacefulness, and really
pay attention and do it with a vow in your heart.

So I would ask everybody:
Tonight, when you come to the ceremony, please do not be a spectator. As I say, the ceremony is not a
performance. It is an actual
practice, and we are all participants.
Even though you might have come to this retreat having no idea that this
was going to happen, it is a great blessing to be present at the time of such a
ritual. So when Rocco and Luis and
Chemo take the precepts, imagine also that you are sitting beside them taking
the precepts too. If you have
already taken them, imagine that you are taking them again. If you haven't taken them, receive them
tonight in whichever way you feel that you understand them. I am not saying that, in the narrow
sense, that you have to become a Buddhist or a disciple of Buddha. I am saying, rather, to commit yourself
to compassion and awakening, deeply within your heart. To see if you can say to yourself,
within yourself, "Yes" to compassion and awakening, and through that "Yes" to
find and strengthen your own vow.
If in the ceremony you discover that you cannot say "Yes" to that vow –
because that would be very possible – then just notice that. That will be something important for
you to understand. And that's
okay. Notice it and just go
forward with your life and your practice in whatever way you need to, trusting
that, one way or another, life is going to give you what you require for your
path.

I think that is all I have to
say, except to thank you for your kind attention, for your effort and practice,
for your faith, and for your beautiful hearts. It is always a joy for me, and an inspiration for me, to
come to Mexico and practice with all of you.

 

 

edz

Ritual 1 – Loon Lake 2007

First in a series of 2 talks on Ritual, given at the 2007 Loon Lake sesshin. There were five talks given in this sesshin.

Ritual 1 (talk 1 of 3)

By Zoketsu Norman Fischer | Mar 05, 2008

Transcribed and edited by Mary Wilson and Barbara Byrum

Many of you are familiar with the service, but some of you maybe aren’t, so I will say just a few things before we begin. When you take your place for service, what you do is bring your attention to your body and breath, just as you do in zazen. We stand in shashu: you grab the thumb of the left hand, put the right hand over it. We are standing in a dignified posture. The idea throughout the service is that you set aside your conditioned self and all your various hang-ups and inadequacies and troubles and problems. You temporarily put them down, and you put your body and mind into the position of being in a Buddha mandala. During the time of the service, you would actually be liberated – you would be free of whatever ongoing problems you had in your life. Rather than slouching in our usual ways, we now take a special posture, which expresses our Buddha nature.

Traditionally, you have an officiant at the service who takes the centre of the mandala. The centre of the mandala is the interaction between the Buddha on the altar and the Buddha who is acting the part of the Buddha in the ceremony, who is the priest. The priest is wearing the okesa (robe). I am not the person who is important; it’s the robe. I’m enacting the Buddha, and the statue on the altar is that same energy. I’m a proxy for all of you. So we are all enacting our own Buddha nature, our own Buddha heart.

Another way of looking at the service is that it is a re-enactment. In Mahayana Buddhism, the idea is that you are the Buddha – all of us are the Buddha – but we don’t know that. We are deeply convinced that we are not. So our practice is to awaken the reality of who we are by invoking buddhas, by giving devotion to the buddhas, by making offerings to buddhas, by making prostrations to buddhas. This is the way we awaken.

When I stand in front of the altar to do service, I try to orient myself in a very conscious way to this wide and deep world that is characteristic of life and of our practice. I try to bring my whole heart to the person I am – that is far more than the person that I think I am. And I try to enter that person with my body and mind, and to enter the ritual of the service as that person. And the same is true of everyone in the service. We stand in the dignified posture of a Buddha, entering with our body that person that is our self most deeply. Even though I can be standing there at the altar in various kinds of moods – tired or grumpy – when I stand there and take a breath and orient myself, I immediately come to that position. I have been doing ritual a long time, and it has that impact on me, no matter what kind of mood I’m in, or what I’m doing. Immediately, when I enter the space of the mandala of the service, this happens.

Esoterically, devotion is identity. If I am devoted to the Buddha, it means I am identified with the Buddha. Through the practice of devotion to the Buddha and making offerings, we become a Buddha. That’s the endlessly repeated trope in thousands and thousands of pages of Mahayana sutras. So in a way, when we have a service, we’re re-enacting those sutras. We’re making offerings of incense to the buddhas, and we’re offering flowers. One stick of incense stands for infinite fragrances of all kinds. Each flower stands for infinite flowers. So we offer incense, we offer flowers, we offer light, and then we make prostrations to the Buddha.

There are two reasons for chanting. One, we are conditioning our mind to the teaching. There’s a difference between chanting the teachings as a ritual – not as intellectual activity or trying to understand them – and intellectual study. There’s a sense that chanting the sutra conditions the heart in a more mysterious way than study or understanding does.

The second reason is that merit is generated. There’s a certain kind of spiritual power generated, because the sutras are wholesome. This is the theory and cosmology of Buddhism, that these texts are wholesome and beneficial. So chanting them generates benefit, and the benefit can then be dedicated. And what we usually do is dedicate the benefit to our friends who are ill or who have passed away.

[Question about bowing]

There is actually a verse that is recited when you make a prostration, which I always recite when I make prostrations. The translation from Japanese is, “Bower and what is bowed to are empty by nature. The bodies of oneself and other are not two.” So this is what I was saying earlier, that when you are making a prostration, the idea is you are bowing to yourself.

When I first started doing Zen, like a lot of Jewish boys, I thought, Why would you make prostrations? That seems completely un-kosher. So I went to my teacher. He brought me up to the front of the altar and showed me the image on the altar. The image was in gassho, bowing to me. So he said, “You bow to Buddha, and the Buddha bows to you. You are bowing to yourself.” And, in fact, that is exactly the orthodox understanding in Buddhism, that in venerating the Buddha, you are venerating your own real nature. The bodies of oneself and another are not two. They are empty. In emptiness, there is no separation. I vow with all beings to obtain liberation, to surpass the unsurpassable mind, and return to boundless truth.

So that’s the idea of making prostrations. You are recognizing the oneness of yourself with the Buddha, and in making a prostration, you are throwing away your worldly needs and desires and problems. You are saying, I am now returning to boundless truth. I vow with all beings to obtain liberation, to return to boundless truth. So it’s actually very profound to make prostrations.

Chanting that verse reminds me that what I really love about ritual is that most of the time – the vast majority of the time – it’s rote, routine. In other words, how many times when you recite a verse do you actually call forth the feeling that the verse expresses? Usually not that many. Because any ritual is repetition, and you do the ritual all the time. We do that chant every week. A Buddhist service is done every day, if you are living in a temple or a monastery. And you get used to it! You don’t think anything of it. You just go through the motions. That’s what people are always complaining about. Oh, the rituals – you’re just going through the motions. But I love that about ritual, that most of the time you’re going through the motions, but every now and then, often quite spontaneously and unintentionally, it hits you what it really is. It’s rare, but the rarity of it, in a way, makes it more powerful. The fact that the experience is coming out of many years of rote repetition only makes it that much stronger. So that’s another aspect of ritual that is really kind of wonderful.

We live in a world that is not interested in ritual. We’re not interested in venerating and devoting ourselves to buddhas. We’re interested in what works, what’s effective, what’s going to make a difference. Ritual seems like an extra thing. Very few people come to Buddhist practice and say, Oh, I love the Buddhist ritual, that’s why I want to go and study Buddhism. Very few people in the west have that point of view. We all come with a very practical point of view: this is going to help me. This is going to make a difference in my life somehow. We come as if it were a kind of medicine or psychology where you can go, and you pay your money, and you expect to be healed.

Ritual also is fraught with difficulties and problems. For one thing, most people who come to a Zen place find it extremely alienating and troubling. They’re not used to it, and we all want to feel included and comfortable. You walk in to a place where they’re doing all these things, and right away you feel uncomfortable! You don’t feel included. It’s weird, it’s strange. And maybe some people are used to it, and you’re not, so it makes you feel kind of bad. You feel like an outsider. And then it goes both ways, because once you do get used to it, then you feel more included than otherwise, which makes the people who feel less included even more out of it. Right? So now we have an in-group and an out-group. We have the people who look like they know what they’re doing; they’re wearing their rakusus. We can tell they’re pretty experienced and used to all this, and we don’t know it. We don’t have rakusus. And we really don’t like that. None of us had that intention to begin with, and yet here it is. In other words, ritual seems to foster that kind of division.

The other problem with ritual is that the more ritual you have, the more chances you have to make mistakes, right? Oh, I’m supposed to be standing that way, and I’m standing this way! Oh, I should be facing that way! Oh my God! Everybody’s bowing facing this way, and I was just bowing facing that way. It’s humiliating. It’s terrible. I mean, you always thought before that you knew how to walk, and how to stand, and sit, and eat, and then you realize, I’m not walking correctly. I’m not standing correctly. I’m not eating correctly. Because we have a whole eating ritual called oryoki practice in the zendo. It’s very complicated, and you think, I don’t know how to eat! I can’t eat a meal! I’m like a child! So we don’t like that at all. So we blame the ritual: I hate ritual. You don’t need the ritual. It’s extra. You don’t need it. I’m going to go do this other kind of practice where they don’t have this ritual, because they realize it’s just Asian tradition.

But there’s something good about ritual. When we do get used to it, and when we do it together and move harmoniously, there’s a wonderful feeling. And there’s a way in which we really feel close to the other people, who also know how to move in that ritual space with us. There’s a kind of intimacy that that we didn’t have before.

Actually, I think that our whole practice is nothing but ritual. It’s all ritual. Zazen is ritual. Dharma talk is ritual. Walking into the zendo is ritual. We come because of our human life, our human needs, and that’s the only way that we’ll ever come. So we need that. But after a while of practice, it dawns on us that our practice, our life, is not about us. We realize that we’ve been given this life – this particular life – for some reason. Not that we know the reason, but we feel, There’s some reason why I am here as this person in this life.

So we’re not really meditating to clarify our minds, or to improve our emotional or mental health; although, we hope so. We are – as we say in in the Full Moon Ceremony – immersing body and mind deeply in the Way, in order to redeem the whole of the past, and to provide benefit for the whole of the future. I think whether we think about it this way or not, we feel, through the process of the ritual, this dimension to what we’re doing and what our lives are.

And then we do feel a sense of gratitude. When you have a day like today, on this planet earth, just so lovely, you know? Here, when you see all the plum trees scattered over the hillsides, you think, There must bea genius gardener! Perfect! When you see that, you realize how grateful you are for this life. And ritual gives us a way to express that. There’s nowhere else to put that. But you can offer incense to the Buddha; you can make prostrations, surrendering the whole body and mind. You can bow to this huge dimension of our own lives, to this immense possibility that is within each of us. Then we really feel, All my gratitude is met. There’s a form for it.

This is one of the main dimensions of the service, to Zen ritual, and to all Buddhist rituals. It’s an expression of gratitude. We’re offering thanks and expressing our gratitude by making these offerings and these prostrations. We chant the sutras to train our heart-mind in the teachings, but also out of gratitude and offering.

edz

Zen and Ethics

Using the important case of Momonkan case 14, Nanchuan cutting the cat, Zoketsu brings up the Zen ethical precepts. What does it mean to live ethically in the world? How can we respond practically and with compassion?
The Case:
Nanchuan saw the monks of the eastern and western halls fighting over a cat. He seized the cat and told the monks: 'If any of you can a word of zen, you can save the cat.' No one answered. So Nanchuan cut the cat in two pieces. That evening Zhaozhou returned and Nanchuan told him about this. Zhaozhou removed his sandals and, placing them on his head, walked out. Nanchuan said: 'If you had been there, you could have saved the cat.'

Mumon's comment:
Why did Zhaozhou put his sandals on his head? If you can answer this question, you will understand exactly that Nanchuan’s action was not in vain. If not, danger!

Had Zhaozhou been there, He would have taken charge. Zhaozhou snatches the sword And Nanchuan begs for his life.

This story involves Nanchuan and Zhaozho, two of the most important figures in all of zen- seminal teachers who set the style for the tradition. Zhaozhou came to Nanchuan when he was only about twenty years old. Nanchuan was lying down taking a nap and he asked the young monk, as they often do in zen, where are you from? And Zhaozhou said, I come from Standing Buddha Temple. Nanchuan said, Are there any standing Buddhas there? And Zhaozhou said, Here I see a reclining Buddha. Zhaozhou loved Nanchuan very much and remained with him for forty years- they were very close, as this story shows, and they collaborated together to create a good environment for the monks to learn the Dharma. Both Nanchuan and Zhaozhou figure in many stories in the koan collections. The dialog from which we get the name of our practice group, Everyday Zen, comes for a conversation they had early on in the time when Zhaozhou came to study with Nanchuan. Zhaozhou said, What is the way? And Nanchan replied, Everyday mind is the way. Zhaozho: If everyday mind is the way how can I aim for it? Nanchuan: If you aim for it you will be going in the opposite direction. Then how can I know it? It isn't a matter of knowing or not knowing. The way is vast and indefinable- how could you reduce it to knowing or not knowing?

The present case is probably the most well known – and disturbing- case in all of zen. We could compare it to a quite similar story that appears in the bible- the one involving the wise king Solomon and a baby.Two women are arguing over a baby, both claiming to be the mother. Like Nanchuan, Solomon says he will solve the dispute by cutting the baby in two, and giving half to each of the women- a very fair solution. One of the women speaks up immediately and says no don’t do it, I am not the mother. And this is how Solomon discovers which of the two is the real mother.

This story is a tidier and nicer story than the story of Nanchuan and the cat. People get very confused when you say to them, Say a true word of zen. They can’t help but think there is something to this, and it paralyzes them- they can’t say anything. They think about it. They look at themselves and say do I understand zen- no, I do not so I can’t say a true word of zen, and they become suddenly mute. A zen monk is not half as smart as a mother. A mother knows about love and devotion so she is never speechless when it comes to the welfare of her child. But the monks are speechless and a cat gets killed. If Solomon’s mother had been there she just would have said please don’t kill the cat- you are a zen priest you should not kill a cat because it is against the precepts and this would have been a very good zen word and would have saved the cat I am sure. If the monks had been reasonable ordinary human beings instead of stupid monks with zen gold dust in their eyes they would have just spoken up or grabbed the cat. But they couldn’t do it. Dogen in commenting on this case said, if i were Nanchuan I would say, if you cannot say a true word of zen i will cut the cat and if you can say a true word I will also cut the cat. This would be a less misleading challenge than the one posed by Nanchuan. If I were the monks I would say we can’t answer, please Master cut the cat in two if you can. Or I would say, Nanchuan you know how to cut the cat in two but can you show us how to cut the cat in one? And again Dogen says if I were Nanchuan and the monks could not answer I would say too bad you cannot answer and release the cat. This is what Dogen said. I myself would say, Master, the cat is already cut in two and then I would grab the cat and say to master Nanchuan, now you are cut in two. When Zhaozhou comes back later and puts a sandal on his head, this is the sense of it. Putting a sandal on your head was a sign of mourning in ancient China. so Zhaozhou is expressing, teacher do not fool me with your pantomime. You and I both know that the cat is already dead. You and I are already dead. All disputes are already settled. All things are empty of coming and going. Everyday mind is vast and wide, every gesture is complete, nothing is at we think it is- this is the reality we are living in all the time.

This same story appears in the Blue Cliff Record and the Book of Serenity, and the commentaries to the case in those collections say that probably Nanchuan did not cut the cat in two but only pantomimed doing it. Zen teachers do not commit murder, the commentaries say, even to make an important point.

In Zen precepts study it is always noted that there are three level of precept practice- the literal, the compassionate, and the ultimate. On the literal level we just follow the precept according to its explicit meaning- not to kill means not to kill, not even a bug. But on the compassion level we recognize the complexity of living- sometimes not to kill one thing is to kill something else. The network of causality is vast and wide and our human ideas do not encompass it. We recognize that precepts will be broken and we affirm that our guide will be compassion- to follow precepts not only literally but with a strong spirit of compassion as our guide, with unselfishness as our guide. So sometimes we break precepts in order to be compassionate and loving. On the ultimate level we recognize that there is no breaking precepts. This case involves this ultimate level of precept practice- the recognition that Nanchuan and Zhaozhou have, but that the monks lack, that there is no killing, that life can never be killed- or is already dead.

This is a point I am always making- our death is not later on. It is now- the now of each moment’s passing. And our death also never comes- when we die the we that we think we are just melts away but the we that we always were we always will be – this we remains, as ever, unmoving. The precepts and not therefore simply rules of ethical conduct- like laws to be obeyed. The precepts- our everyday conduct- take us to the root of what it means to be alive, take us to the center of the human problem of meaning. Nor is it the case that there’s a hierarchy of importance in the three levels of precept practice- with ultimate being the most important. In reality the three levels must be appreciated equally- and seen as they actually are, as all one level. We are always faced with the question whose depths we will never be able to fathom: what do I do?

But we should back up a little bit from all this: the monks in the east and west hall were having an argument about a cat. There is no further explanation about this but this part is very important. In most monasteries in old China the community was divided – some monks lived in the meditation hall, devoting full time to formal practice, while others were working monks- they did the support work to take care of the meditation hall monks- kitchen work, taking care of the grounds and other necessary business. These two kinds of monks were probably housed in different halls- the east hall and the west hall.

As soon as there are two halls and two functions it seems to be human nature that there will be differences in viewpoint and then we will fight over these differences. In Zen Center this exact thing used to happen all the time: I am sure it still does. The monks who specialize in work think the monks who meditate a lot are just lazy and unrealistic and the ones who meditate think the workers are just worldly and are not really doing the practice. This kind of thing happens in all monasteries and there is sometimes great strife. The Catholics had this conflict between the choir monks and the lay brothers that went on for centuries until after Vatican II they abolished the tradition of lay brothers.

The same thing happens of course, and much more tragically, in the world at large. Jews think Israel is their place, and their customs and traditions should prevail, and the Palestinians think it is their place, and their customs and traditions should prevail. On both sides there is a firm belief- not in their preferences, but in what they take to be the absolute truth and rightness of their views.In Nanchuan's monastery it may be that the working monks thought the cat would very very good in the kitchen as a mouser, maybe the meditating monks, whose minds were very subtle and tender and compassionate, could not bear the thought of a cat killing mice, so they were fighting over this. When there is difference and the true essence of difference is not understood and appreciated, there will always be fighting. None of us are free from being blinded by our own karma, our own view. So how do you handle this kind of situation? Which side are you on? What do you do? Nanchuan demonstrates in this case. What does he do?

We also have to ask-what is the cat, what is the knife, what is cutting? In zen the knife is always Manjushri’s sword, the sword of wisdom that takes life and gives life. It’s the sword that slices through emptiness- this means it cuts through duality- it sees that life and death and intertwined, good and bad are intertwined, Israelis and Palestinians depend on each other. It just cuts right through attachment to view, attachment to difference, and shows that difference and sameness interpenetrate and all views are compatible. The truth is beyond views- it is just life at is really is.

So Nanchuan does a little nonviolent street theater- he brings the monks up short and gets them to take their dispute to another level. Never mind the cat, he says to them- what is life, what is death, why are we here? And the cat- well maybe the cat is the monks themselves, or maybe the cat is the world. You monks are arguing, Nanchuan says, and look- the world is about to be cut in half right in front of your eyes. Wake up! Don’t waste time! Frankly, I felt this this way many times when I saw the monks of our temple fighting over a cat. I would think, the world is burning up, the situation is quite urgent: why are you wasting time arguing over a cat. I find it difficult when dharma students cannot just get together and work for the good. I have a hard time understanding it. But it happens; good people can’t get along and there is nothing anyone can do about it. I really feel that all the problems of the world are fairly easy to solve- it’s just that people can’t get along, can't work together, can’t harmonize their views. That’s the worst problem in the world. Cut the cat in twoliterally is :"one knife two cutting." This refers to the nature of thinking, the nature of discrimination, and the unity of consciousness in love that underlies all discrimination , if only we could see it. Everything is different: but also everything has one taste, one source, one substance. To find out how this is so is why we are sitting.

I think this case strikes to the heart of what it means to be a monk in the world, which is, I think, our challenge as Dharma students: to be fully committed to our practice, to make it the only thing in our lives, and yet to honor our daily lives in the world as our practice.How do we do that? We are all monks of the east hall; and the west hall. We are all activists and quietists. What do we do?

Thomas Merton had some very developed ideas about what it means to be a monk. There is a special function for the monk, he felt. The monk is a radical- she is apart from the world, does not go the worldly way. Monks are unusual people, They are and must be outsiders. This means they are not on any one side. Their commitment is not to one side or another side, but to truth, which means love. Monks can’t hate. They can’t justify their views as right. They always must come back to the center, to zero, to the present moment, the in between moment, beyond views.So although monks may live harmoniously in the midst of society, and may look, as we look, no different from anyone else, they are actually subversives- working internally and externally against the dominant modes of greed hate and delusion that make the world go round. Monks are living examples of an alternative to the self centered ways of the world. They are secret agents of a foreign power- the power of selfless love. Not that they have a superior attitude- in fact the most important part of being a monk is that one practice humility, is aware of one’s own mind and all the selfishness that arises in it continually- but monks see things clearly and are committed to higher and deeper ideals, and encourage others in this. Monks are the ones who are always there, holding up this great human possibility for all who would want to remember it. Monks receive suffering, witness it, and see the emptiness of suffering, desire, and all forms of winning. Their life is committed to the cultivation and encouragement and sharing of clarity and goodness.

I know a Christian hermit whose lifetimes has been devoted to the study of the writings of Simone Weil. Weil was an extraordinary person- a Jew who was Catholic mystic. Her life was a testament to this union within renunciation of the opposites of activism and quietism. She was a mystic through and through, and yet most of her life was spent in extreme political activism. She was a witness for peace in the Spanish Civil War, a Marxist who wrote for a workers’ newspaper and joined and was active in workers’ parties. She worked in a car factory and picked grapes in a vineyard in order to live the life of ordinary working people. She died of starvation during World War II because she fell ill and despite her illness refused to eat any more than the French resistance fighters, who were living underground, ate, and whom she fervently wished she could join.Some people think she was a little crazy and call her death a suicide. Some think she was anorexic and deranged in various ways and needed treatment. This might be true. Certainly her life was one of extremes. She did, in her Christian enthusiasm, seem to have a strong desire, as some Christian mystics do, to die a martyred death, as Christ did. Personally I do not understand such things. I think it is important to live as long as you are alive and then die when there is no other choice. I do not think it is good to choose to die, though I can imagine conditions in which one would choose that. Anyway, who knows whether many people diagnosed as anorexic or alcoholic or narcissistic or psychotic aren’t underneath or as a function of their disorders actually true monks if they could only get in touch with it. They do not need to be embarrassed by their ailments or overcome them- they need to clarify them, raise them up.

Weil always discussed her activism not in terms of justice or in political terms at all, but in terms of attention. This idea of attention was a key notion of hers. She defined attention as "a point of eternity in the soul." At one point in her short life (she died in her thirties) she was a teacher- which she undertook because she thought she might be able to help children develop attention. She wrote a very important essay on attention for school children. If you can pay attention closely enough, she thought, you will get in touch with the transhuman, the posthuman the suprahuman that is at the center of the human. Attention inevitably leads to love and love leads to union, she said. If you practice paying attention you will see that cutting the cat in two is cutting the cat in one- because the cat is already cut in two, because we are all different, we are all already one. So you do not want to be a politician, you do not want to take sides and engage in disputes. You want to appreciate and understand and you want to weep with the suffering of the world. You want to put yourself right in the middle of disputes- not with the solution or the right line- but just to say to everyone, wake up, take a look, lets take a look together, lets see what we are really all about as human beings. How to say this is not obvious sometimes. But as we work on our practice on the cushion it becomes clear that we must get up from the cushion and become involved in our world, in the spirit of oneness and renunciation. Although we do not know what to do we know we have to try to do what we can.

My old teacher Bernie Glassman has founded an ecumenical order of monks without a monastery called peacemaker monks. 3 core tenets and 4 core commitments:

1) not knowing-giving up fixed ideas about self and universe
2) bearing witness -to the joys and sorrows of the world
3) healing ourselves and others

1) i commit myself to a culture of nonviolence and reverence for life
2) of solidarity and a just economic order
3) of tolerance and a life based on truthfulness
4) equal rights and partnership between men and women

edz

Four Jhanic States

Zoketsu describes the four jnanic states of meditation.

Talk on Concentration in Zazen and the Four Jhanic StatesTalk given October 2006 Sesshin at Dorothy’s Rest

(Edited and abridged by Barbara Byrum)

This morning I would like to talk more technically about meditation practice. In our tradition there is resistance to seeing meditation as a technique. Our sense is that meditation is a religious act, not so different from prayer or ritual. Dogen sees zazen as prayer or ritual, and since we are influenced by Dogen, we also see our zazen in that way. This is good because we don’t have to worry so much whether we are doing zazen in the right way. All we have to do is be sincere and try our best and trust that however our zazen is now, it is just right. It is the same with prayer. The important thing in prayer is that you try to pray with your whole heart and with faith that God will hear your prayers. You don’t worry so much if you got a word wrong. You just do your best with faith and trust, and that, I think, is how we look at our zazen practice. So we don’t have to worry so much. And that is the most important thing.

On the other hand, it is a good idea to think about how we are practicing, because by thinking of our practice, and by making an intelligent effort, we give our practice more respect. To increase our attention and to brighten the quality of our effort is to give the Buddha and ourselves more respect.

In our dharma seminar a few months ago, we studied the five hindrances in terms of a wider daily life practice, but today I would like to talk about the five hindrances again, but this time specifically in relation to meditation practice. The five hindrances are sloth and torpor (these are really good ones, very common); doubt (also an excellent hindrance, which we all know intimately); ill will (which includes annoyance and irritation); restlessness and worry; and sense desire. We are actually experts in the five hindrances and know them all very well.

When any one, or combination of these hindrances, is part of our mental state, then it has the effect of removing us slightly from the immediacy of our experience. Each of the hindrances is a way of stepping back from experience. We might think, “No, I don’t want to experience this, I’ll have some sloth and torpor….I really don’t want to experience that, so how about a little restlessness and worry?” So the hindrances remove us from our lives, and the exile and gap that we feel by removing ourselves causes pain and suffering. And then we interpret that painful gap in all sorts of ways, usually thinking that there is something wrong with us or with other people or with the world. And we feel that we are defective. The world is in a ruin and how are we going to bear it? We feel that there is nothing we can do about it, and we are miserable.

None of these things are true. There is nothing wrong with us. There is nothing wrong with the world and nothing wrong with life. It is just that we have become extremely entangled and we can’t figure out how to get out of it. There is sloth and torpor, doubt, sense desire, ill will, and restlessness and worry…and we’re stuck. What can we do about this? One thing we can do is to practice meditation. It will actually untangle the knots of sloth and torpor, ill will, and so on. If we can focus and concentrate our minds, it will make a big difference, because the unfocused and unconcentrated mind is easily bamboozled and tricked. But the focused mind will naturally be more free and get out from under the hindrances. When the mind is pure and focused, it automatically becomes free. A purified mind, by its very nature, is free.

In classical Buddhism, the practice of settling the mind is called samatha, translated as calming or stopping the mind. The early Buddhists talked about eight jhanic states of calming the mind: the four fine materials states, and the four immaterial states. Jhāna in Pali means calming or meditation. The Sanskrit word is dhyāna. It is a problem to translate from Sanskrit to Chinese, because the Chinese language has no alphabet. The Chinese transliterated “dhyāna” to Chinese characters that sounded like the word “chan,” and the Japanese transliterated the Chinese to become the word “zen.” So our school is the dhyana or meditation school, which is ironic since Dogen is adamant that zazen is not meditation. He says that “zazen is the dharma gate of repose and bliss.” Dogen talks about “being Buddha without trying to be Buddha,” and so it is odd that our school is the dhyanic school, when Dogen almost never talks about the jhanic states.

However, I do want to talk about the first four jhanic states and how they relate to the five hindrances. These states are described as if they were distinctly different, as if the first state were like a Ford Explorer, and you drove that for awhile, and then you got out of that, and then you got into the second state, which was like a Volkswagon. The jhanic states are described as if they were totally different, which is misleading because, as we all know from our own experience on the cushion, states of mind do not move in a linear or progressive fashion. The mind does not go through the stages of: “Not calm…a little calm…a little more calm…very calm.” I don’t think it usually goes exactly that way. It usually goes more like: “Calm…not too calm…really not calm… very calm…not too calm.” Still, when you are trying to explain something in writing, you have to pretend that it is more organized than it is in life.

The first jhana is the most important because this is where we first truly enter into meditation practice. We have embarked upon the inner journey. When the first jhana arises, you have the sense that something extraordinary has entered into your life. You feel peaceful and happy. This is the great thing about meditation practice in our time: you don’t have to have faith in Buddha and you don’t have to be religious. All you have to do is to be willing to be with your breath and your body. You sit down on the cushion, breathe, and you embark. It is wonderful and you feel it immediately. You feel engaged and the mind feels settled. Love spontaneously arises in your heart, and when you enter the first jhanic state, you might feel, right away, as if all the problems of your life no longer exist. Things that you were so worried about just evaporate and disappear. The world seems beautiful and fine exactly the way it is. We feel easy and light and everything flows with an easy perfection.

The early suttas tell us that in this first jhanic state there are five factors. The first factor is called vitarka, which is usually translated as “application.” We are applying the mind to an object, rather than letting the mind churn according to its past conditioning. The mind is always churning. Even when we are sleeping, the mind is going, going, going. Virtually the only time that this does not happen is in meditation, when we intentionally apply the mind to a meditation object and interrupt its ordinary karmic habits. So vitarka is applying the mind to the object of meditation, and in our case, it is applying the mind to the body and the breath. With intention, we “place” the mind there, and when the mind wanders, we place it there again. When we can intentionally place the mind on the object of body and breath, even though it glances off many times, sloth and torpor are eliminated.

The second factor of mind which is present in the first jhanic state is called vichara, and is usually translated as “sustained application.” The object of meditation becomes more real, more attractive, and more vivid as the mind stays with it. What happens is that the breath as the object becomes just as real and moving and compelling as the various thoughts that are coming up in the mind; therefore, the mind can more easily be sustained on the breath. When there is sustained application with the object, doubt is dispelled. The mind goes beyond its normal skepticism and self defeating viewpoints and becomes engaged with a sense of aliveness in the object. There is no doubt at this point about our selves, about our life, or about our practice.

The third factor in the first jhanic state occurs when there is full engagement with the object. As a consequence of this sustained application and engagement, pitti arises, which is a sense of physical joy, zest, and delight in the body. Even the aches and pains of the body go away! The breath becomes delicious and smooth, with no labor in the breathing. You can feel the catlike elegance of the body. Even an elderly body can feel this way! It is a kind of sensual pleasure, and so that is why these first four states are called the “fine material” states. They are in this material world of body and breath, but are more refined. The state of pitti is different from ordinary sensual delight in that it is more refined and actually more delightful.

The jhanic states are not the opposite of the hindrances. It is just that when they arise, the hindrances can’t be there also. I cannot be standing up and lying down at the same time. Similarly, when these states arise, the hindrances can’t be there. When pitti arises, there cannot be irritation or ill will or crabbiness. How can you be crabby when you are feeling so delightful?

The fourth factor in the first jhanic state is called sukha, which means happiness. Sukha is the psychological analogue of pitti. You feel happy and have a tremendous sense of well being and gratitude. You feel fullness and satisfaction. You do not need anything more than what is going on in this moment. When sukha is present in your mind and heart, there is no restlessness and worry. Restlessness only comes when you are not satisfied with what is here now. It is the feeling that you aren’t really getting something that you want. And worry is the feeling that you might lose something later. When you feel delight and happiness with what is here now, how could you be restless or worried?

The fifth factor is one pointedness of mind, or samadhi. The mind is steady and stable with the object. If there is some thinking or sensation in the body, or even if something negative arises in the mind, it doesn’t make much difference. The mind just lets it come and go. The mind is so focused with a sense of well being on its object that whatever arises would be like a passing cloud. We might even see the thought or sensation as beautiful. When the mind is one pointed in this way, the hindrance of sense desire falls away. There is no desire for anything. There is just this moment.

So the first jhanic state is the most important one. In the second, third, and fourth jhanic states, these wonderful states of mind becomes more refined and more stable. It becomes second nature to us. In the second jhanic state, according to the classical description, vitarka and vichara fall away. Application and sustained effort on the object simply disappear. In the second jhanic state you don’t have to try to meditate. Zazen does itself. You don’t have to do zazen; you can let zazen do you. At this point your practice has a power of its own, and you don’t need to exercise your will or intention. The practice becomes easy and automatic, but also very alive and very vivid.

Being settled is a characteristic of the second jhana. You are more settled, and there is more self confidence and faith in the practice. There is a beautiful sense of inner dignity in the body. The body and mind are that of the Buddha. The Zen forms are an expression of the second jhana. They are the way we would express ourselves when we are in the second jhana. There is a rising sense of confidence in ourselves as being Buddha’s life. Imagine what it would be like if the forms just arose out of your body as an expression of what we are feeling inside! So the second jhana is a beautiful sense of inner dignity, the inner feeling that the body and mind is the body and mind of the Buddha.

In the third jhanic state, the delight disappears and there is just a sense of contentment and peace. In the fourth jhanic state, as described in the classical texts, the world disappears. You do not necessarily hear or see things. The breath becomes so refined that you do not notice it at all. We practice the first three jhanic states. One could practice the fourth, but we are not so much interested in developing it, because it is a little too peaceful for us! The thing about peacefulness is that it is leaving behind all stimulation. You may be totally withdrawn. In our practice, we want to be peaceful, but we want to engage continually with the world around us.

Here is what is important: entering the jhanic states does not really change anything. You think the states sound great because you think somehow you will be changed forever. But nothing really changes, because after you get up from the jhanic states and go back to ordinary life, you still have the same problems that you had before. We wonder why we can’t always feel this joy and delight and Buddha dignity. The states are good, though, because they are encouraging: you want to continue to practice. Overall, though, they don’t really shift anything in an important way.

Why would anyone want to practice the jhanic states if they don’t really make a difference? Because, according to classic Buddhist meditation practice, you have to calm the mind with samatha if you want to have vipassana, or insight. You can’t really have insight if the mind is full of sloth and torpor and ill will. As long as the mind is in that state, there is no insight. First you have to bring real peace to the mind, and then you can actually see something that’s true about your life. It is the wisdom or insight that does change our lives. During meditation, without any effort, your mind will produce insights. You may have experienced this many times. You are not trying to figure anything out, but all of a sudden you will realize something that is deeply true. It could be about your life or your relationships, or you see something that is really true about the dharma. These insights will change your life, especially if you make them an object of training. As a result of insight, you decide to work with your mind and work with your life. With insight, we really change our lives and we become beacons for the world.

edz

Zen Forms

We do the practice of Zen forms to promote and extend awareness. When we de-emphasize the outer person through practicing the Forms, we can allow the true inner person, the person that Suzuki Roshi was always on the lookout for, to emerge.

(Transcribed and Abridged by Barbara Byrum)

Somebody asked me to say something about Forms in practice. Why do we have Forms? We have talked about it over the years, but it would be good to talk about it today because we are in sesshin and there are so many Forms.

Now days when there are other dharma groups, and other forms of Buddhism that don’t have so many Forms, it begs the question, “Why do you guys go to all these lengths? It is so funny, almost ridiculous. Why do you do all this? Why is there so much detail: the way that you bow, the way that you stand, the way that you turn? Should you have one hit of the clappers or two hits of the clappers? Hit the bell this way but not that way?” In other words, we have created a million ways to go wrong, and it always feels bad when we make a mistake. So why do we have all this?Wouldn’t it be simpler to forget about it all and just sit, because, after all, isn’t that the point?

Well, now that I think about it, I am almost persuaded by that thinking! There are reasons that why we might want to keep the Forms to a minimum, and when we do the Forms, to present them with an easygoing spirit, so that it is clear to everybody that mistakes are no problem. The way we do things is not the absolute truth. It is just the way we do things, and there are other ways of doing things too. Still, we wouldn’t do the Forms if we didn’t understand that there is a point to them.

Many of you have read passages in Zen Mind Beginner’s Mind, in which Suzuki Roshi speaks about the importance of the Forms. His words about the Forms have become the basic understanding of our School on Forms. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring his book and look up what he said, so you are stuck with my view of it for today!

We use the forms to promote awareness and to extend awareness. Our practice is primarily the practice of everyday life. That’s true not only in Everyday Zen Foundation practice places, but I think that it is basic Zen. In Soto Zen especially, the practice is really everyday life, but everyday life lived with awareness and fullness of presence. In our everyday life we don’t have so much awareness, and we don’t have so much fullness of presence.

If our primary focus of awareness practice were just awareness on our cushions, then we might get the idea that awareness is an “inside” matter.In other words, something that had to do with meditation, with states of mind, or with our inner condition. But if we extend our awareness not only to what is going on inside of us, but also to how we are walking, how we are standing, how we are holding our hands, how we are eating our food, and how we are chanting or striking a bell…if we extend awareness into all those other places in our living, we begin to get the idea that meditation is not just something that happens on our cushions. It is not just an inside job. Awareness should be extended into all the times and places of our living. Our life is a totality and not just about what is going on inside of us. It is about our whole lives, where we meet one another, as well as where each one of us is separate. The price of this, which is all the mistakes that we make, actually turns out to be worthwhile in itself, because every time that we make a mistake, we learn something about ourselves. It is a challenge and we grow from those miscues. So that is the first reason why I would say that the Forms are important: so that we can develop and extend our awareness.

The second reason why the Forms are important is that they connect us to our Ancestors in the dharma, and we are honoring a particular set of Forms that we receive. We could just make up a bunch of Forms to extend awareness. We could do a variety of things. But we don’t do other things to promote awareness. We do these particular Forms that have been passed on to us by our Ancestors.

I think that we mostly look at our practice as being about ourselves: about our lives, about our own happiness, about our well being. Maybe this includes compassion, but it is still primarily about our life and the lives of those around us. Of course, our practice is about that, but if you think too much about your own life, your own well being and happiness, and the lives of those around you, it is counter productive. It actually does not produce more happiness and well being; it makes you very self concerned. Self concern makes you very unhappy, nervous, and upset. The way to be happy is to have less self concern and less worry about how you are doing. If you have less self concern, whatever is happening, you have more self ease and you actually do have more concern for others. You get it that the way to be liberated is to see that you are part of the bigger picture, and not to worry so much about how you are doing and how the people around you are doing.

So, if we did our own Forms, if we walked and stood and struck bells and beat on drums the way we wanted to, and not according to Forms, it would really feel odd.It would feel odd to the person doing it, and we would all see the oddness of it. But when we walk or stand or strike bells or hit drums, not the way we want to, but the way that practitioners throughout the ages would do it, we are liberated from ourselves. We will see a self here in front of us that need not be limited by our circumstances or conditioning. We feel like we are joining with others across the centuries who have also practiced in this way. There is something really important about that. It is something that is not just a theory, but that you can feel, as you bring the Forms into your own body. Eventually you feel joined in a wide circle of support that goes back through the ages and across cultures. It is very inspiring and liberating.

The third reason why I think the Forms are important is that when we are creating the Forms, we are creating something really beautiful. A Zen meditation hall is beautiful. The feeling in the hall – the way people practice together and move and stand – is beautiful. It is more beautiful than if we all came in and plopped down and had our different sets of pillows and purses and water bottles and computers to measure our heart rate. I think that if we had all that, the zendo would be a lot less beautiful. The way it is, the Forms create the possibility of our harmonizing together.There is a beauty in the zendo. If we all walked our own way, it wouldn’t be so beautiful. When we have a way to harmonize with one another, we feel the beauty of our inner connectedness, and we feel the rhythm and shape of our being together as one body of practice. This beauty really inspires us all.

Even though we don’t have a beautiful temple or a big altar, somehow in all the different places where we practice, we create beauty. Here, we have this beautiful place. I am always moved when I come to the sesshin. This time I see that there are lots of different Buddhas all over the place.There are beautiful flowers and trees outside. All of this, and the way we move and practice together, is something beautiful and uplifting. In the midst of this beauty we discover how much we appreciate one another. We begin to feel within ourselves, each one of us, and all together, as if we are all dignified Buddhas. Because of the Forms, we move as if we were Buddhas. We share together one Buddha life.

Suzuki Roshi said, I think, in Zen Mind Beginners Mind, that because of the Forms and everybody doing everything in the same way and more or less dressing in the same way, he could see each student in his or her individuality more clearly. This is very counter intuitive. He said that we when we all stand or walk or sit or chant in exactly the same way, our true individuality comes out, and it is very clear. On the other hand, when we each stand or walk or chant in the way that we like, as we do in our ordinary daily lives, we become hidden in our seeming uniqueness. Very counter intuitive.

Doing the Forms certainly seems like literally “to conform.” That is what “conform” is, to do forms together. How could conformity produce true individuality? It is true that on one level we give up our individuality in doing Forms. But on another level, the level that Suzuki Roshi is talking about, something else is going on. Each of us has a unique and unrepeatable person within us. This person is not necessarily expressed by our clothing, by our choices, by our conditioned styles of speech, our attitudes, or by our movements. This unique and unrepeatable person actually may be quite unexpressed in our ordinary lives. It might even be quite unknown to us. We may be suffering or unhappy for lack of relationship to this person. When we temporarily de-emphasize the usual outer person, which we have been so conditioned to see as ourselves, our inner selves emerge. When we de-emphasize the outer person through practicing the Forms, we can allow the true inner person, the person that Suzuki Roshi was always on the lookout for, to emerge. When that person emerges and interacts with others, it is always a thing of beauty. It is that way in the zendo and it is that way in the rest of our lives too.

I say all this because in sesshin we practice a lot more formally. Usually we do zazen everyday, but often without any form at all. There is a difference between the zazen that we practice daily and the zazen that we practice in sesshin. The difference is simply that in sesshin we have the chance to strengthen and deepen our zazen experience. Because we set aside many continuous days for sitting, and because we leave home and become like monastics, leaving the dust of the world entirely behind for awhile, naturally we try a little bit harder. We concentrate a little bit deeper. Then we enter, through our zazen, little by little, into a deeper and fuller sense of our lives.

So in sesshin, we give up our outer selves. We give up our outer lives, and we allow an imaginative life, an imaginative self to emerge. This is not something that we can produce or make happen. We have to allow it to happen. We have to allow it to emerge on its own. The more we can allow it, the more confidence and faith we will have in it. That confidence and faith will be there for us as a wellspring in our daily zazen and in our daily living. That is why the practice is everyday life, but to make the practice of everyday life real, we have to sit zazen everyday. In order to sit zazen everyday and have that be a well spring for our lives, we need to sit long, so that the strong sitting spills over into our everyday practice, even though our everyday life does not feel like a sesshin.

To be clear, when he talks about giving up views and interpretations, he doesn’t mean that we would go around in life like idiots, not having any views about anything. We could not do that, and even if we could, it would not be worth doing. He means can you know the experience of being free of your views and their becoming the center of your living? Can you not be the victim of your views and interpretations, but rather use your views and interpretations in the service of your real life, instead of having them take over your life to the point where you are always in conflict, and you never know this world. To know this world is to see something with appreciation, without views and interpretations. To hear something with full appreciation. Just to see and just to hear without interpretations. Just to feel. Just to taste.

When we quiet our minds in sesshin, we can have those experiences. We can know what it is like to have simple joy in living in the body, in the senses. We need that as a foundation for what we will do in our lives when we get up from our cushions and leave sesshin. That’s our touchstone, that’s our basis. We need to see that and to experience it and to hold it behind all of our views, all of our interpretations, and all of our activities.

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Ruiyan Calls the Master

Talking to yourself as Zen practice and other suggestions for daily life practice.The Case:

Every day Ruiyan would call to himself, "Master, Master!"
And every day he would respond, "Yes, yes."
Then he would say, "Be awake! Be alert!"
"Yes!"
"From now on, don't be fooled by anything."
"No, I won't be!"

Wumen's comment:

Old Ruiyan sells himself and buys himself, playing out so many spirit heads and ghost faces. Why? Listen: one who calls, one who answers, one who is alert, one who is not fooled by others: If you cling to recognition as before you are not sound. And if you imitate another, everything is wild foxy interpretation.

Wumen's verse:

Those who search for the way do not realize truth They only know their old discriminating consciousness This is the cause of the endless cycle of birth and death Yet stupid people take it for Original Self

This is one of my favorite Zen stories, and I love it because it is so straightforward and user-friendly. I have often used it as a practice myself and I would recommend it to all of you: any time, during meditation or not, call out to yourself. Then when you have heard yourself, answer, yes! Here I am! That's a beautiful moment: to just drop everything and say to yourself, feel for yourself, here I am. It's collecting yourself, recollecting yourself, recalling yourself from whatever it is you have been lost in. Here I am. Then you can say to yourself, be alert, be aware, and you can acknowledge: yes, I will be. Then you can tell yourself, don't be fooled by anything. No no, I won't be.

Zen is simple practice, stripped down practice. It is, you might say, Buddhism in slang: reducing something that can be and is very elaborate and detailed, some high culture, into something very simple and pithy, streetwise and without pretense. So if you could practice like that, returning all the time to "here I am" and letting go of all your complications and pretensions, then I think all of Buddhism would be included in that. The rest would be extra. They say that Master Ruiyan used to practice like this all day long in meditation. I suppose he'd sit up straight, establish his breath in his belly, concentrate his mind on his breath strongly, and then begin this process of calling out and responding, of being present with the situation he was in with a strong degree of alertness and critical intelligence. This kind of intent emphasis on being here with inquiry and alertness- assuming nothing, releasing everything, and asking deeply, where am I, what am I, what is this, until the whole world crystallizes into this very place and time, this very moment of consciousness- this is the Zen way. The radical dwelling within the present moment as the eternal moment, the ineffable moment. So this was Master Ruiyan's practice and it is ours too.

They say also that the master would practice this way publicly, as a form of instruction. When it was time for him to give a talk, he'd take the high seat and go through this ritual: Master! Yes. Be awake, be alert, and so on. He'd enact this little play. Anyway, in Zen a talk isn't a usual talk. It's not called a lecture or a talk, it's called "presenting the shout," in other words demonstrating rather than explaining the teaching. So a Zen talk is more a play or a ritual than a talk. Master Ruiyan must have really done practiced it that way. On the other hand, the koans do certainly exaggerate a bit for effect. They mythologize on purpose. You can see this if you study some of the cases as they originally appear in the biographies of the masters and then get recycled into other texts and koan collections. There is a tendency to make things more dramatic and elliptical. So I would say that probably Master Ruiyan did go through this dialog with himself many many times in his talks, but he probably said other things as well. In any case, I am sure that his students got a strong dose of it, and that they all practiced it.

The interesting question, though, is, who is meant here by "himself" and by "The Master." When you read the case and think about it it sounds obviously as if Master Ruiyan is calling himself, his ordinary conventional self, his ego self. Ego calling out to ego. When we think about ourself we usually don't go very far with it. Myself, sure. Yes, me, that's who I am. Me. My history, my feelings, my character, my personality. But who I actually am is something not so simple and not so easily discerned. That's another good koan: who is it, or who am I, a very old and very fruitful koan. Am I my body? Am I my mind? Am I my history, my habits, my dreams, my aspirations, my vows, my relationships? And when all of that is gone, who am I then? The story is told of one of Master Ruiyan's students who went to Master Gensha for instruction. Gensha asked him where he'd studied before and what method had been used. So the monk told him about Master Ruiyan and how the practice went. Gensha said, why didn't you remain with Ruiyan, and the monk said, he died. Gensha said, "well if you called out to him now, Master, Master, don't be fooled by anything, would he answer?"

So the person who is calling out and the person who is answering is not exactly the ordinary me and you. This is such an interesting and important point. It is probably the only point. It's like Buddha standing up when he is born and pointing to the heavens and to the earth and saying, "In the heavens above and the earth below I alone am the world honored one!" My me is all inclusive and inconceivable. Really, whatever problems I have don't matter much, because they are all problems of the limitation I have imposed on myself, shrinking down my vastness into something six feet tall with a nose and thoughts. But what's truly marvelous is that that vastness can't appear in any other way than through my little life and your little life and through all the things of this little world. So we need to think of our lives and take care of them and think of the lives of others and take care of them also, but not as something small and limited. Each life, each moment of each life, is everything. It alone is the world honored one.

So when the Master calls the Master answers. The Master is the unnameable immeasurable vastness, and also it is an ordinary Chinese Zen monk named Ruiyan who was born, grew up, ate meals, practiced meditation, spoke, and died. It's the same for us too, but oh how easily we forget. A million times a day we forget. So really practice is no mystery, it's nothing difficult. It is just a matter of remembering to practice, of remembering who we are. Master Ruiyan's way of reminding himself of who was actually in charge was very effective, I think. I recommend it.

In his commentary to this case Aitken roshi talks about a number of way to remind yourself, on a daily and on a moment by moment basis, of who you really are and what you are really about. This is something necessary, an intimate training of body mind and spirit, so that we can transform our lives, lift them up, so to speak, to the level of dignity and reality that they deserve and need. It's lack of that lifting that ultimately makes us feel dissatisfied and causes our own and others' suffering.

So in Zen monasteries almost every daily action is taken as a practice: we use, in a sense, the power of the human imagination to lift up each small action, to make it into a cosmic action. Ordinary, yes, but at the same time cosmic. And by cosmic I mean, quite simply, resistant to definition. Because definition is what limits us and makes us small- our habitual definition and conceptualization of what our life is. In fact, it is so much more. Actually we and everything else are undefinable. So in the monastery before we take a bath we recite a verse that imagines the washing of the body as the purification of everything inside and out. When we brush our teeth we recite a verse imagining that we are preparing our teeth for the purposing of gnashing down on all delusions and confusions of the world. When we eat our meals we say a verse of appreciation and dedication, making it clear that we are eating but not just eating- we are eating for an exalted reason. In other words we use all our actions all day long as cues for our practice, as mnemonic devices.

One of my favorites is using doorways, entrances, and thresholds. If you think about the very words, entrance, which has the word trance in it, or the word threshold, you see how profound it is or could be to simply enter a room. Threshold comes from the word thresh, as in threshing grain, which transforms the grain from an ordinary plant into something precious, food. In the old days threshing was often done with the feet, treading on it, so the word tread is related, and the threshold is the stone you tread on leading into the house. In ancient times the threshold was a sacred space, that's why the bride was carried across it, and the bones of the ancestors would be buried underneath that stone- as you find in European churches, not necessarily now at the threshold, but under a stone elsewhere in the church. So to enter the room was to enter a sacred, transformative space, passing over a sacred marker. And it's really true that whenever you leave a room or a building or enter a room or a building you are beginning your life over again fresh. You are letting go completely of what has happened where you were and entering a new place in which anything could happen. So it's good to pause there, at least in your mind, and note the transition. So I try to do that, to use the entering into a doorway, as a moment of profound meditation. This practice was given to me many years ago by one of my teachers.

In the Jewish tradition this practice is highly developed: there's something called a mezzuzah, a small box, that is placed to the right of the doorway. Inside the box is a prayer handwritten by a scribe, that speaks about the oneness of God, and the prayer actually says that you should take these words and put them on your doorpost and wear them on your forehead and on your arm. So when an observant Jew enters a room he or she is supposed to touch a kiss this mezzuzah to acknowledge and remember that the moment of entering the doorway is a covenantial moment, a God moment.

Another reminder I use a lot is walking. Over a long time of practicing walking meditation I have developed the feeling in my body of how profound walking is. When you take steps you are being supported by the earth and by gravity, held by them onto the earth. The earth of course is spinning around fairly rapidly and we really should all be having a hard time hanging on but we don't, we easily stay put because the earth keeps us that way. So every step is really a miracle, and then we take several steps, and there's a marvelous rhythm to that as we take steps calmly and with awareness and we can feel our breathing as we walk. So whenever I walk, whether it is down the street a ways or just to the bathroom, I try to feel this feeling in my body of how profound it is just to walk, the rhythm and connection there is in simply walking.

There are many many ways like this. The telephone. When it rings it is a little disconcerting because maybe you weren't expecting it. When you pick it up you really have no idea who it will be, and even if you have a machine that tells you who it will be you don't know what they will say. So the phone's ringing is a call to us to the unknown, to the unexpected. Why not take a moment to breathe before you answer, a moment to remember yourself, your real self, and to reaffirm that you will be alert and awake, that you won't be fooled by anyone, especially yourself.

When you wash your face, why not take a moment to center yourself first and then splash the water onto your face, warm or cold, with strong attention, feeling the miracle of sensation, how beautiful the water is, refreshing and cleansing. Gently massage your face and treat it with lovingkindness, as if it were a heavenly field you were preparing for the advent of angels.

I could go on in this way but I think you get the picture. You can invent your own practices to help you remember yourself, your true self, throughout the day, so that you can cleanse your spirit of the build up of unawareness that gets crusted onto it during the day. I think we need to do these kinds of practices long enough until they become second nature. Then there's no special practice, there's just doing whatever you are doing. And the doing is deeply satisfying and profound, although you don't think of it that way.

We have to be careful about this though because it could be something very stupid, especially if we begin to identify our spiritual practice with a particular kind of feeling or experience. Practice is just a matter of being present with our lives, whatever they are, deep or shallow, interesting or boring. It's a great mistake to think that something, and not something else, marks our practice. The reason for this is that as soon as we define and identify we are creating the conditions for nostalgia- for holding onto the moment that we want and running away from the moment that we don't want. And that's death to practice.

Master Wumen talks about this in his commentary to the case: "Old Ruiyan sells himself and buys himself, playing out so many spirit heads and ghost faces. Why? Listen: one who calls, one who answers, one who is alert, one who is not fooled by others: If you cling to recognition as before you are not sound. And if you imitate another, everything is wild foxy interpretation."

Old Ruiyan sells himself and buys himself, playing so many spirit heads and ghost faces. one who calls, one who answers, one who is alert, one who is not fooled by others: If you cling to recognition as before you are not sound. These lines are pointing out that one has to be very careful with such practices. The one who calls and the one who answers are both limitations- ghosts and spirits buying and selling reality. To be fooled or not to be fooled, to be alert or not to be alert- it makes no difference. If you cling to recognition, Wumen warns us, you are sunk. In other words, if you cling to definitions and distinctions you are sunk. Just remember where you are and what you are doing, that's all. Don't make up standards of good or bad. Don't think you're anyone when you call yourself. Recognize your you as who it is and let go right there. As I said before, the limitless self, the original self, and the limited self, the discriminated self, are not different yet they are also not the same. You appreciate your discriminated self as it is, recognizing it as the only way the limitless self can appear where you are: so you honor it, you cherish it, you take care of it, but you don't overestimate it or mistake it.

Gertrude Stein said, "I am I because my little dog knows me. " And I am I because you know me and my wife knows me and my little dog knows me. Because I was born at such and such a place and was educated in such and such a way and read such and such books and lived in such and such temples so on. I am a wide network of relationships and events swirling around and recreating me every moment. If I look for anything in that that is mine, that I can have and hoard and clearly define I'll never find it. My me is something fluid and ungraspable. It is unique in all the world. You could never be me- and I could never be you. So you better not try to imitate me, and neither of us should try to imitate Master Ruiyan. If we want to do the practice he does we had better do it as our own, from our own ground, not his. Each one of us has to make our practice real, reinventing it again and again.

Those who search for the way do not realize truth They only know their old discriminating consciousness This is the cause of the endless cycle of birth and death Yet stupid people take it for Original Self

All we will ever actually know is our old discriminating consciousness. That's because our knowing is only through discrimination, through separation. We long for unity, all of us do, we know in our hearts that we are in exile, lost in the endless round of birth and death, and we long to come home. We can come home and we do come home, but not in the way we'd like to. Once we grow up our mommy will never be able to hold us in her arms again as when we were children. But if we work with our practice we can be touched by oneness, we can have a real sense of it not only in our exalted transcendent moments but in our ordinary moments too. The issue is not that we only know ordinary discriminating consciousness and we want to know something else. It's that we take that discriminating consciousness for all that we are, not recognizing that the original self both is that and is much more than that: without any boundary at all. Once we appreciate this- not as a thought or a belief but as a daily felt experience, something we can absolutely rely on, without defining it or possessing it, then we understand and embrace this practice of calling and answering that dear old Master Ruiyan teaches.

® 2002, Norman Fischer

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Hearing the Sounds of the World

In this excerpt from a talk by Zoketsu Norman Fischer, he retells a number of the stories from the Shurangama Sutra. The story of the Guan Yin Bodhisattva offers a beautiful and profound teaching on the nature of listening and its consequences in the world.The last of the twenty five stories in the Shurangama Sutra is the most important one. The best of all. The most ultimate of ultimate stories. Guan Yin Bodhisattva [also known as Kuan Yin or Avalokitesvara – ed.] rises from her seat, bows before Buddha, and says "World Honored One, I remember, when as many kalpas ago as there are sands in the Ganges, there was a Buddha in the world named Hearing the World's Sounds."

"It was under that Buddha that I brought forward my resolve to practice. That Buddha taught me to enter Samadhi through a process of hearing and listening. Initially, I entered the flow through hearing and forgot objective states. In other words, I entered through hearing and I let go of the idea of objects. I didn't experience objects anymore. Since sense objects require motion, my sense organs were quiet. So two characteristics of movement and stillness crystallized and did not arise. The whole world became quiet. After that, gradually advancing, hearing and what was heard both disappeared. Once hearing was ended, there was nothing to rely on and awareness and the objects of awareness became open. When the emptiness of awareness reached ultimate perfection, emptiness and what was being emptied then also ceased. Since production and extinction were gone, still extinction, in other words, complete total extinction that was not the opposite of production, arose.

"Suddenly, I transcended the mundane, and transcended all worlds. And throughout the ten directions, a perfect brightness prevailed. I obtained two supreme states. First, I was united with the fundamental, wonderful enlightened mind of all the Buddhas in the ten directions, and I gained the strength of compassion equal to that of all the Buddhas, the Thus Come Ones.

"Second, I was united below with all living beings on the six paths. There were even beings in terrible suffering in hell realms with whom I united. In all the realms, I was united with them and I gained a kind regard for all living beings, equally. World Honored One, because I served and made offerings to the Thus Come One, Guan Yin, who I am also, I received the transmission of the Vajra Samadhi as one becomes permeated with hearing and cultivates hearing. Because I gained a power of compassion equal with that of all Buddhas, the Thus Come Ones, I became accomplished in thirty two response bodies and entered all realms."

Guan Yin goes on to describe all of the powers and accomplishments and all the ways she has to help sentient beings. Just calling out the name of Guan Yin can avert disasters and bring help in all kinds of ways. Because Guan Yin has these powers through perfection of the meditation of hearing, as described here. You call and she hears. And as soon as she hears, there is help.

You see that this practice of listening, deeply listening, Guan Yin's practice is deep and profound. Who would have imagined that the fountainhead of compassion comes from simply listening deeply to the profundity of the world? That the best way of untying the knots of the senses and seeing that the world of confusion really is the world of liberation is listening? The best way to be enlightened is to hear the sounds of the world, to listen with receptivity to the world's sounds and to the cries of suffering in the world.

In the end, this is what compassion really is; just that deep, deep, open listening. Without outflows, without grasping. When you listen, really deeply listen, in the sense that Guan Yin speaks of in the sutra, then compassion and activity follow from this very naturally. Really, you can't point out something as compassion and something that's not compassion. Based on this practice of listening, you see that the unfolding of life itself is just compassion. The whole drama of the universe in all of its color and tragedy is just a drama of compassion. Life itself is compassion.

I hope that you have already found and will continue to find that the practice of listening to the world, of finely listening to the world without outflows, without grabbiness, without running away, is a true, true practice. To listen to yourself with that same kind of spaciousness and to listen to others, with that same kind of spaciousness. And if you can listen with a sympathetic, loving presence to yourself and to others, knowing that everything is compassion, that everything, however negative it may seem, has the power to heal. If you can listen with that sense, even in impossible situations, and goodness knows, there are impossible situations in this life, there can be some sense of peace and healing.

One example may be where you yourself or someone else is ill, or on their deathbed or in deep despair or confusion. We think right away, "We can fix that, we can run around. Let's do something and make that better. What can we do here?"

If you can, stop fussing. Stop trying to make things better. Just listen with a sympathetic loving presence. Be willing to be there without outflows, accepting conditions as they are, and you may transform the conditions, deepen them, and then something may happen. It's not about doing something. Just listen – really listen. This is Guan Yin slipping in to offer her aid. This practice of listening is wide and broad and has that capacity. You can find that dimension not only on the meditation cushion. Maybe if you can develop that listening heart, it could really help you in your own life in many ways.

Here's my poetic commentary to the sutra passage:

This world,
So natural,
Disguised by sadness and desire –
A transcendence built of light
Within the surrounding darkness.
Water, earth and sky
Hold each other atilt
The world is grey
And islands proliferate
This seems rhetorical
Cut and spliced
Into a breathtaking panorama
That denies pretense
But admits artifice

Almost requires it
So that contemplation allows it for a moment to be self-forgotten and free

Till a moment later
The calculator,
Inspired by clock notions
Schemes its way towards intersecting establishments –
Borders and bridges abound.

This talk transcribed by Susan Elbe, edited by Susan Elbe & Kate McCandless, and proof-read by Tim Burnett.

® 2002, Norman Fischer

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Zen Precepts (Talk 1 of 3)

General description of the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts and a Bodhisattva. Description of the three levels of precepts: the literal, the compassionate, and the koan level.

Zen PreceptsTalk One

(Transcribed and Abridged by RyusenBarbara Byrum)

I am feeling a little overwhelmed because sometime ago I casually said that I would speak about the sixteen Boddhisattva precepts at the sesshin, and it was so long ago, but now here it is, and I am thinking what an enormous task this is! During zazen this morning a thought crossed my mind: how deep and wide the precepts are and how much has been thought and spoken and taught about them over the generations. So how am I going to say anything useful in three short talks? It is an awesome and daunting assignment. But as is the case with life, one goes cheerfully on and does the best one can do in the circumstances.

 

Last night in our period of zazen, I asked all of you to do your best, to sit diligently and with a strong seriousness of purpose and with heart. Our practice isn’t really about doing it right or even about some technique about being alert or aware. Rather, it is about embracing and being embraced by our life, completely entering our life, completely immersing ourselves, occupying fully our lives. When you fully embrace your life, fully occupy the life that you have been given, it is very clear that your life isn’t just your life. The small life that we all think that we have – I was born here, I did such and such a thing, I married or did not marry – all of that does not cover the life that you are really living when you are living your life. If you will sit with full intensity, intimately being body and mind, you will come to recognize what your life actually is. It is just this and being just is. Really it is ungraspable and is all mixed up with the timelessness of time and the spacelessness of space and with the everywhere effective love which is the force that allows life to be life.

 

This is why it is natural to talk about precepts during sesshin, because it is only through immersion in our zazen practice that we can really appreciate the essence and meaning of the sixteen great Boddhisattva precepts. For Zen practitioners of our way, all of us are bodhisattvas in training. Bodhisattvas mean “enlightening beings”, those beings who work enthusiastically, naively, innocently for the enlightenment of all sentient beings, no matter how long it takes or the difficulty, cheerfully going forward with this impossible project, like the man of La Mancha in the impossible dream.

 

Bodhisattvas, as you also no doubt know, are inspired by the sudden flash of inspiration that bursts into their lives, which in Buddhism is called bodhicitta, the sudden flash of awakening, the opening of the door of enthusiasm and effort. With bodhicitta lighting up our lives, we make effort everyday to be in solidarity with and in communion with all sentient beings. All of our everyday activity is in solidarity and communion with all sentient beings, even brushing our teeth and going to the toilet. When we are brushing our teeth, we are cleaning all the teeth that ever were. That is our vision and understanding of a bodhisattva’s activity.

 

 

Traditionally it is said that there are three kinds of bodhisattvas: the kings, the boatmen, and the shepherds. Kings are the bodhisattvas who work for enlightenment so that after their own enlightenment they can help all sentient beings. The boatman bodhisattvas get all sentient beings into a boat, and together with them, ferry across the ocean of suffering and pain to the other side. The shepherd bodhisattvas first make sure that all the flock is safe, and then they go last. So that is our practice, the shepherd bodhisattva practice. It is the spirit of the shepherd, guiding others across, and then going last, that is the main spirit of the sixteen bodhisattva precepts, the spirit of humility and loving-kindness for others.

 

Our tradition of Soto Zen is actually very esoteric. At the same time, it is also very ordinary. On the one hand, the sixteen bodhisattva precepts are simply the way to live – an ordinary, common sense code of conduct, just the way we take care of each other and ourselves on a daily basis. Any person would understand that it is common sense not to lie, to steal, or to speak unkindly of others. The sixteen bodhisattva precepts are human common sense to be kind to others and to live a life that is sane and peaceful. But also in Soto Zen, the sixteen bodhisattva precepts are simultaneously understood as the deepest mystery of the Buddha’s heart. The sixteen bodhisattva precepts are understood as the ultimate, ineffable truth. In our tradition, the most profound of all esoteric rituals is the dharma transmission ceremony, which occurs after many, many years of study and training, in secret and private, in the abbot’s room, literally in the middle of the night. What is transmitted in that ceremony is the secret, ineffable essence of the sixteen bodhisattva precepts. At that time the disciple learns the secret truths which I will now tell you (since it is not really that secret): the life blood that runs through the veins of the Buddhas and ancestors is the lifeblood of sixteen bodhisattva precepts. This is the essence that flows through the bodies of these Buddhas, and is passed down, one to another, to the present. So the precepts are the actual blood lineage of the Buddhas.

 

Precepts transcend space and time and are beyond our capacity to understand them. We spend a lifetime, maybe even many lifetimes, and still we are unable to exhaust their wonderful meaning. And yet the mystery is that at the same time they are also a manifestation of ordinary acts of human kindness that light up our lives. That is the wonderful mystery of our tradition.

The sixteen bodhisattva precepts are more than rules to live by. They really are the essence of the practice. Our practice is not about meditation or insight. It is about conduct, how we live. How do we conduct ourselves on a moment-by-moment basis? How do we conduct ourselves in relation to our own precious life and to the lives of those around us?

 

There is a Zen saying, “Pick up a speck of dust and the whole world comes with it.” And that is how we approach our conduct. Each of our acts, even an act such as brushing our teeth or going to the toilet, has immense dimensions and immense repercussions. So we approach all the moments of our lives with respect and reverence, doing our best.

We ask, “How can we know what to do in the great scope of things? How could we ever know the effects of our actions?” But eventually we do know through our sitting practice, day by day, retreat by retreat. For those of you new to our practice, I am sorry to say it is not a short term arrangement. I wish I could say, “Weekend retreat, no problem. After that, everything will be okay.” It isn’t like that. Life isn’t like that. If there were something like that other than our practice, I would be there before you! I am always ready to find such a thing, but so far I haven’t seen anything. I haven’t seen any way other than effort over time.

 

 

When you do make effort over time, you find, little by little, there is a rock solid sense of confidence in our life as Buddha’s life, in Buddha’s life welling up through our life. We do know that good actions lead to good results and bad actions will bring bad results. We have an unshakeable confidence in this, and a commitment to doing good and letting go of bad actions of body, speech, and mind; because we know that they will bring suffering. We know that in this process the precepts are a good guide and inspiration.

 

 

The older you get, it is clearer to see how hard it is to know what is good and what is bad. When you are young, you know exactly what is good and bad! But we have a commitment to understand in the present moment what is good and to trust that things will work out at they need to. Sometimes, something that seemed to be good in the short run turns out to be an utter disaster. Sometimes, something that seemed utterly disastrous turns out to be good. (This is especially good to remember when you are thinking about politics.)

 

We know that certainly we will break the precepts. Despite our intentions, we won’t be able to do good all the time. We may break them in small or big ways, but our commitment is to recognize this, and to let go of our sense of righteousness of our conduct, and to try to do better. There is never any need in working with the precepts to feel guilty, worried, uptight, or upset. Each moment we ask what is the best way to conduct ourselves. Because we know how difficult it is to live the life of the bodhisattva precepts, we are tolerant of ourselves and especially tolerant of others. The sixteen bodhisattva precepts are not external rules. They are not something objective or outside of us. They are human words and concepts to describe the shape of Buddha’s mind, which is formless.

 

 

So we don’t ever look at someone else and see if they are breaking any precepts. From the standpoint of the sixteen bodhisattva precepts, this is the most outlandish idea. It is unthinkably ridiculous! Sometimes within ourselves we may feel that we are breaking precepts. But there is no condemning others. And there is no condemning oneself. Sometimes it may be necessary to be strict with yourself or maybe even with others, but the strictness is motivated by loving kindness. There isn’t any sense of righteousness. It is like the mother of a little child. The child may run into a busy street thinking how fun it is, but the mother becomes very fierce and strict. She doesn’t say, “Do you mind not going in the street?” She is grabbing the child, pulling the child back almost violently, not because she is angry and condemning the child, but because she understands from her wider view that this is a matter of real danger. We are always like little children doing things in acts of body, speech, and mind that are dangerous and harmful. So we have to be a child and also our own mother to help ourselves and others.

 

There are three levels of understanding or approaching the sixteen precepts. The first is the literal or everyday understanding of the precept. So, for instance, the first precept, “Don’t kill”, literally means don’t kill anything, not even a bug. This also means in the psychological sense, don’t diminish anyone, don’t take away anyone’s confidence. Be harmless. Have a spirit of nurturing life.

 

 

The second of the three levels is compassion. We recognize that the network of causality in this world is wide and subtle. Nothing is linear or one dimensional. So sometimes not to kill one thing is to kill something else. Not to break a precept this way is to break a precept that way. So we are stuck because of this network of causality. There is no way that we can be pure. For instance, we all have to eat in order to live, and we have to kill something in order to eat. If we decided to kill nothing, we would be killing ourselves. You may think if you don’t eat living creatures, such as fowl or flesh, that you aren’t killing anything, and that’s its okay to kill a vegetable because they don’t mind, but there is no production of vegetables without killing. A senior student who worked on the organic farm at our temple in Green Gulch once gave a talk about the precept of not killing. He described the things that he had inadvertently killed that morning, like crushing birds’ nests, while doing his work. So if you eat, you cannot escape breaking a precept.

 

So the motivation when we have to break precepts is always compassion. Some of you may think that we have too many rules: stand this way, move that way. But the purpose of the rules is to harmonize our activity together, so after we practice together, our lives flow together as if we were one person: sitting, standing, walking, eating. Kindness and compassion in the unity of our being together is the purpose of these rules. Since the purpose of the rules, as with the sixteen precepts, is to manifest kindness, it would be more important to be kind to one another than to enforce a precept. To practice perfect conduct without kindness is to break the precept of compassion. So it doesn’t matter how you do the practices, as long as your spirit is good. We allow people to break any of the rules out of kindness.

 

So compassion is the second level of the precepts: breaking the precepts in kindness for the purpose of kindness.

When you really get down to it, as close and intimate as a human beings can, you see that life and death are truly indivisible. Life and death is one word, one thing. There isn’t any life without death. Time passes. Every moment we die to that moment. There is no death at the end of a lifetime when we enter what is conventionally called death. We are entering timeless time, beyond time. We are entering the everlasting life which is never distant from us. This is the ultimate understanding of our life. This is the ultimate flavor of every moment of our conduct.

 

The third level of precepts is the mysterious, ineffable level: the koan level. In his commentary to the first great precept, Banjan says,

“Living and dying are not before or after. Just not taking life is manifesting the whole works. When we understand that life is the manifestation of the whole works, the words ‘to kill’ and ‘not to kill’ are used as they are understood in the world. When the three worlds are only mind, all things have true marks, and to kill and not to kill are beyond their literal meaning. This is what is meant by just one vehicle, or one indestructible, brilliant, precious precept. In all versions of the Mahayana precepts, not killing is found. Each instance of not to kill is not with reference to beginning and end, but is just not to kill. Not to kill is mind only. Not to kill is the three worlds. Not to kill is sentient beings. Not to kill is not to kill. Not to kill is one precept. Not to kill is ten precepts. This understanding in the meaning of maintaining Buddha’s precepts. Besides this, do not expect any other result.”

 

That is the kind of understanding that is expressed on the ultimate level. What this means is to see that life and death are truly indivisible. Life and death is one thing. There isn’t any life without death. This means that time passes. Every moment we die to that moment. At the end of life, we do not enter what is conventionally called death; we enter time beyond time, the everlasting life. And ultimately this everlasting life is never distant from us. This is the ultimate understanding of our life. This is the ultimate flavor of every moment of our conduct.

 

 

At this ultimate level the sixteen Bodhisattva precepts disappear. Buddha’s life shining everywhere is all there is. On the ultimate level we are following the precepts without any sense of constraint. There is no sense of following precepts. We are easily and joyfully living our life as Buddha’s life, unimpeded, with kindness welling up.

Talking about levels is unfortunate because it sounds like these three levels are different things. When you say levels, it sounds like the low, medium, and high level, and the ultimate level is bigger and better than the other levels. We are all striving to get to the ultimate level, and it sounds like we are all just fooling around at the literal level to get there. But looking at it like that is not only incorrect, it is also terribly dangerous. There are not three levels. The literal level is the ultimate level. We just have different ways of talking about it. The only way that the ultimate level could manifest in the world in which we live is in the literal, everyday level. The ultimate level is here, not far away. If you think the ultimate level is something over and beyond the literal level, this does not mean you are seeing the ultimate level. It means you are stuck in your head. You are stuck in concepts. So, please don’t mistake this. It is a very important point.


So we never go beyond the literal, everyday level. There are no advanced students here. No one goes beyond the simple daily acts. No one goes beyond the literal level of non killing, non stealing, and non intoxication. We are always paying loving attention to all the moments of our lives. So it is not that the ultimate level is beyond the literal level, it simply helps us to see the depth involved in the literal everyday moments of our lives. Each moment of our conduct cuts through this world into the endless realms beyond.