TTwemrtg

BUDDHIST

Place
ESSAYS

Robert Aitken
U N T E R P O
 $22.00

There is a fine art to presenting complex

ideas with simplicity and insight in a man¬
ner that both guides and inspires. Robert
Aitken’s Original Dwelling Place: Zen Bud¬
dhist Essays h a model of that art, offering
twenty-three essays from America’s senior
Zen roshi and author of the bestselling,
groundbreaking primer Taking the Path of
Zen.
Just as Taking the Path of Zen is the
definitive handbook for Zen practice, the
essays gathered in Original Dwelling Place
are essential for the light they shed on
Aitken Roshi’s own journey and the effect
he has had on American Zen Buddhism.
Gathered here are essays about the Zen
texts Aitken has studied with avidity and
close attention throughout the years, texts
that were early and lasting influences. In an
opening section entitled “Ancestors,”
Aitken pays homage to the masters who
influenced his own development and Zen
Buddhism generally.
In other meditations, clearly and beau¬
tifully written, Robert Aitken writes on
political revolution and matters of ethics.
He helps illuminate the proper use of
money, power, and sexual love in a mod¬
ern world that is often tainted by material¬
ism and decadence. He reflects on death,
on marriage, and on Zen practice, always
pointing out the path to pleasure in the
everyday “dewdrop” world.
. Pv
Original
Dwelling
Place
 Also by Robert Aitken

The Dragon Who Never Sleeps

Encouraging Words

The Gateless Barrier

The Mind of Clover

The Practice of Perfection

Taking the Path of Zen

A Zen Wave

(with David Steindl-Rast)

The Ground We Share
Original

Dwelling
BUDDHIST

Place

Robert Aitken

COUNTERPOINT
WASHINGTON, D.C.
 Copyright © 1996 by Robert Aitken

Many of these essays have appeared, in slightly different form, in the following
journals: Blind Donkey, Buddhist-Christian Studies-, The Eastern Buddhist:
New Series-, Mind Moon Circle-, Tricycle: The Buddhist Review-, Turning Wheel-,
The Wallace Stevens Journal.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without
written permission from the Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PubUcation Data

Aitken, Robert, 1917-
Original dwelling place: Zen Buddhist essays / Robert Aitken.
I. Spiritual life—Zen Buddhism. 2. Zen Buddhism—Doctrines.
I. Title.
BQ9288.A356 1996
i94-3'9i7—dc20 95-51453
ISBN 1-887178-16-3 (alk. paper)

FIRST PRINTING

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper that meets

the American National Standards Institute Z39-48 Standard

Designer: David Bullen

Compositor: Wilsted & Taylor

COUNTERPOINT
p.o. Box 65793
Washington, D.C. 20035-5793

Distributed by Publishers Group West

 9

To the livingpresence of

R. H. Blyth
 Contents

Acknowledgments xi

ANCESTORS

Introduction S
Nyogen Senzaki 7
Remembering Soen Roshi /y
Remembering Blyth Sensei 25
Openness and Engagement 27
The Legacy of Dwight Goddard 52

THE CLASSICAL DISCOURSES

The Brahma Viharas 47

Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo $4
The Virtue of Abuse 67

PRACTICE

The Way of Dogen Zenj i 79

Ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana 86

vii
Ritual and Makyo y/
Koans and Their Study lo^
Marriage as Sangha /jj
Death: A Zen Buddhist Perspective up

ETHICS AND REVOLUTION

The Path Beyond No-Self 75/

Envisioning the Future 1^8
The Experience of Emptiness
Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations 160
About Money ijj

TAKING PLEASURE IN THE DHARMA

Herald Birds jyp

Wallace Stevens and Zen j88
Play
Uphill Downhill jpg

Notes 2op
A Glossary of Buddhist Names, Terms, and Usages 22p

via
Strip off the blinders, unload the saddlebags!
HSUEH-TOU Ch’uNG-HSIEN

Unscrew the locks from the doors!

Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs!
WALT WHITMAN
 t

Acknowledgments

In earlier drafts, many of these talks, essays, and prefaces were

machine-copied, bound, and distributed privately to libraries of Di¬
amond Sangha centers, and to prison libraries in the State of Ha¬
waii. David Steinkraus helped me to choose the pieces in that
collection and to arrange them. His work established the pattern of
the present volume. Jason Binford, Olyn Garfield, and Shakti Mur-
thy helped me to develop the collection. Ms. Murthy did subsequent
selecting and arranging, and provided me with especially useful edi¬
torial assistance.
“The Way of Dogen Zenji” is from Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist
by Hee-Jin Kim. Copyright © 1987 by University of Arizona Press.
Reprinted by permission.
“Nyogen Senzaki: An American Hotei” is from Buddhism and
Zen by Nyogen Senzaki and Ruth Strout McCandless. Copyright ©
1987 by North Point Press. Reprinted by permission of Farrar
Straus & Giroux.
The poem “People’s Abuse” by Muso Soseki is from Sun at Mid¬
night: Poems and Sermons by Mus6 Soseki, translated by W. S. Merwin
and Soiku Shigematsu. Copyright © 1989 by North Point Press. Re¬
printed by permission of Farrar Straus & Giroux.
The excerpt from the poem “Aubade” is from Philip Larkin: Col-
lectedPoems, edited by Anthony Thwaite. Copyright © 1988 by Far¬
rar Straus & Giroux and The Marvell Press. Reprinted by permission
of Farrar Straus & Giroux.

xt
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

The Story of the messenger and the samurai is from The Unborn:
The Life and Teaching of Zen Master Bankei, 1622—by Norman
Waddell. Copyright© 1984 by North Point Press. Reprinted by per¬
mission of Farrar Straus & Giroux.
“Remembering Blyth Sensei” first appeared in a Japanese version
in Kaiso no Buraisu [Recollecting Blyth], edited by Shinki Masano-
suke. Copyright © 1985 by Kaiso no Buraisu Kankokai Jimusho.
Rendered in English by permission.
“The Legacy of Dwight Goddard” is from A Buddhist Bible by
Dwight Goddard. Copyright © 1938 byE. P. Dutton &Co., Inc. Re¬
printed by permission of Beacon Press.
“Openness and Engagement: Memories of D. T. Suzuki” is from
A Zen Life: D. T Suzuki Remembered, photographs by Francis Haar,
edited by Masao Abe. Copyright © 1986 by John Weatherhill, Inc.
Reprinted by permission.
“this little bride & groom,” is reprinted from Complete Poems;
190S-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage, by per¬
mission of Liveright Publishing Corporation. Copyright © 1938,
1966,1991 by the Trustees of the E. E. Cummings Trust.
The poem “The Snow Man” is from Collected Poems by Wallace
Stevens. Copyright © 1923 and renewed 1951 by Wallace Stevens. Ex¬
cerpts from the poems “Tea at the Palaz of Hoon,” “Questions Are
Remarks,” “Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction,” and “Anecdote of
Men by the Thousand,” are from Collected Poems by Wallace Ste¬
vens. Copyright © 1954 by Wallace Stevens. Reprinted by permis¬
sion of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Over the years, I presented talks and essays in this collection in
Diamond Sangha classes and incorporated ideas emerging from the
discussions into the final drafts. I have also used suggestions sent in
by correspondents after they read some of these pieces in their earlier
published forms.
I am, as always, grateful to Jack Shoemaker, master editor, to Ca¬
role McCurdy and the staff of Counterpoint, and also to Nancy
Palmer Jones, for their steadfast and talented guidance.
R.A.

XU
Original
ZEN

Dwelling
BUDDHIST

Place
ANCESTORS
 t

Introduction

lAr HEN I first took up the Zen Buddhist way, I noticed that my
various teachers would pepper their talks with quotations from their
teachers. In subsequent reading, I found that masters of old times
would do the same. Now that I am a teacher, I find an intimate ratio¬
nale for this practice. All of my guides have passed away, but they are
alive in my mind and body.
By way of leading off this collection of essays, then, I present me¬
morials of my first two teachers: the monk Nyogen Senzaki, who in¬
troduced me to formal Zen Buddhist practice in 1947 and guided me
until his death eleven years later, and his friend and colleague Naka-
gawa Soen Roshi, who was my teacher from 1950 until 1957 and an
important adviser thereafter. It also includes memorials of two Zen
friends and mentors: Dr. R. H. Blyth, scholar ofjapanese poetry and
humor, with whom I was interned during part of World War II, and
who was an important guide until his death in 1964, and Dr. D. T.
Suzuki, my instructor at the University of Hawai‘i in 1949—50, who
was likewise a valued guide until his death in 1966.
These four teachers, together with my two later teachers, Yasu-
tani Haku’un Roshi and Yamada Koun Roshi, formed my character
and my teaching, and have, in one way or another, influenced the de¬
velopment of the Diamond Sangha as a stream of North and South
American, Australasian, and European Zen Buddhism.
Finally, I have included an essay on the Reverend Dwight God¬
dard, an American pilgrim in the fields of Asian Buddhism, and Zen

5
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

in particular, who broke stony ground for the rest of us. He was a
pioneer in Buddhist-Christian studies, and his collection of trans¬
lations,^ has had a profound influence on the devel¬
opment of Zen Buddhism in the English-speaking world. I feel a
special affinity for this Bodhisattva of Thetford, Vermont, who
knew the Dharma when he saw it, even in mangled translation and
garbled interpretation.
The linguistic and cultural barriers the Reverend Mr. Goddard
faced are still firmly in place, though perhaps they have become a
little porous. Still, Japan continues to be Japan; the Americas and
Europe are very much themselves. I am profoundly grateful to my
teachers who guided me to the place where I can, in a milieu very
different from theirs, at least begin to apply the essence of their
teaching, an essence that has no race or nation.

6
 t

Nyogen Senzaki

An American Hotei

G EN Senzaki was born on the Siberian peninsula of Kam¬

chatka in 1876 of a Japanese mother and an unknown father. He used
to joke that he was probably half Chinese, and indeed he looked
rather more Chinese than Japanese. But he himself did not know.
His mother died at his birth, and he was adopted by a Japanese
Tendai Buddhist priest who may have been ministering to expatriate
Japanese in Siberia. They moved to Japan where the boy grew up and
began medical studies, but his education was cut short and his life
was completely changed by his adoptive father s sudden death. At
this tragic loss, young Senzaki renounced the world and became a
Zen Buddhist monk, first in the Soto school, then in the Rinzai
monastery Enkakuji in Kitakamakura.
There was no mother figure in young Senzaki’s life. He told me
that as a boy he tried to visualize the mother who bore him but could
only summon up a vague outline. His adoptive father, he said, was
an important moral and religious influence:

My foster father began to teach me Chinese classics when I was

five years old. He was a Kegon [Hua-yen] scholar so he natu¬
rally gave me training in Buddhism. When I was eighteen
years old, I had finished reading the Chinese Tripitaka, but
now in this old age I do not remember what I read. Only his

7
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

influence remains: to live up to the Buddhist ideals outside of

name and fame and to avoid as far as possible the world of loss
and gain.'

Renouncing the world might have seemed the ultimate fulfill¬

ment of his father’s teaching, but the young monk found himself in
institutional religion, with a hierarchy of titles and authority that
was worldly indeed. He loved his teacher, but he came to reject what
he called “cathedral Zen.” Reminiscing with his American students
some thirty years later, he remarked:

When my master was alive, I asked him to excuse me from all

official ranks and titles of our church, and allow me to walk
freely in the streets of the world. I do not wish to be called
Reverend, Bishop, or by any other church title. To be a mem¬
ber of the great American people and walk any stage of life as
I please, is honorable enough for me. I want to be an American
Hotei, a happy Jap in the streets.^

Hotei is the so-called Laughing Buddha, a legendary figure who

wandered about begging for cakes and fruits and then giving them
to children. ^^Offien he met monks, he would challenge them on a
point of realization. He is my ideal Zen teacher,” Senzaki said.

I do not mean his stoutness, nor his life as a street wan¬

derer, nor his deeds as Santa Claus, but his anti-church idea.
Churches are all right as long as they carry the true teaching,
but when they start commercializing themselves, they spoil
the teaching more than anything else.^

Senzaki s Zen master was Shaku Soen,"^ who introduced Zen

Buddhism to the United States at the World Parliament of Religions
in Chicago in 1893 and who was teacher also of D. T. Suzuki. He gave
Senzaki permission to leave the monastery before his formal training
was completed, providing him with a remarkable “to whom it may
concern letter of approval, dated autumn 1901:

Monk Nyogen tries to live the Bhikkhu’s life according to the

teaching of Buddha, to be nonsectarian with no connection
to a temple or headquarters; therefore, he keeps no property

8
 ' Nyogen Senzaki

of his own, refuses to hold a position in the priesthood, and

conceals himself from noisy fame and glory. He has, how¬
ever, the Four Vows—greater than worldly ambition, with
Dharma treasures higher than any position, and loving¬
kindness more valuable than temple treasures.^

Senzaki’s wanderings took him to northern Japan, where he be¬

came priest of a little temple and director of its kindergarten. These
were perhaps his happiest days. Fifty years after he left Japan for his
life in the United States, he was offered a chance to return for a visit.
He accepted this invitation largely because he wanted to see the chil¬
dren he had played with in Aomori, some of whom were already
grandparents. Those former students who could be reached held a
reunion with him, and when he returned to Los Angeles he told us
of recognizing them and calling them by name.
His happy days with the children were also days that established
his way of teaching. When he set up a Zen center in San Francisco,
he called it the “Mentorgarten,” explaining:

I coined the word “Mentorgarten” as I thought the whole

world was a beautiful garden where all friends could associate
peacefully and be mentors of one another. I took the German
garten instead of “garden” in English, for I was fond of Froe-
bel’s theory of kindergarten and thought that we were all
children of the Buddha. ... As in a kindergarten we had no
teacher, but we encouraged one another and tried our best to
grow up naturally. And like a nurse of the kindergarten, I
sometimes presumed myself as a gardener to do all sorts of la¬
bor, but I never forgot that I myself was also a flower of the
garden, mingling with old and new friends. ... I was always
happy in this Mentorgarten, and why will I not be so in the
future? This is the . . . spirit of the Sangha in primitive Bud¬
dhism, nay, not only in primitive Buddhism but in modern
Buddhism, so far as it is true Buddhism.^

The Russo-Japanese War in 1905 interrupted Senzaki’s idyll in his

garden of children, and he spoke out against it strongly. This was a
time of national pride and jingoism, and word of Senzaki’s danger-

9
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

ous behavior reached his teacher. Shaku Soen had been invited to
San Francisco to give instruction in Zen practice by friends he had
made in Chicago in 1893, so he asked Senzaki to accompany him as
his attendant.^ They stayed several months, and when Shaku Soen
returned to Japan, Senzaki remained in San Francisco.
“Don’t try to teach for twenty years,” Shaku Soen advised his stu¬
dent. Senzaki therefore began his American career as a houseboy and
a cook, managing his own short-order restaurant for a while. Fie
studied English and Western philosophy diligently, particularly the
works of Immanuel Kant. “I like Kant,” he once said to me. “All he
needed was a good kick in the pants.”
* Senzaki also taught the Japanese language during this period, and
when he saved enough money, he would hire a hall and give a lecture
on Buddhism. He took part in various Japanese cultural events as
well, and thus gradually established a foundation for his career of
teaching Zen.
At last in 1925 he completed his long apprenticeship and began
teaching in his “floating zendo,” meeting in homes and apartments
of members. Later, in 1928, with help from friends in Japan as well
as in San Francisco, he rented an apartment on Bush Street and
founded his first center, which was also the first Zen center in the
United States.
Though he wanted his students to teach themselves and each
other as much as possible, he sought very soon to bring a teacher
from Japan to help with their guidance. He succeeded in bringing
Furukawa Gyodo Roshi to San Francisco for a visit, but this was, I
gather, a disastrous venture.
Gyodo Roshi had been his fellow monk and was now abbot of
Enkakuji—and from the beginning of his visit, he was not amused.
Senzaki told me of meeting his ship. There was the roshi at the rail,
resplendent in his robes, and there was Senzaki on the dock, dressed
in work pants and a shirt open at the neck. Running along the dock
and waving his arms, Senzaki shouted up to his old friend happily,
“Do San!” using the abbreviation of Gyodo Roshi’s name that he had
always used when they were monks together. It was not the formal
greeting that the distinguished roshi had learned to expect.

10
 ^ Nyogen Senzaki

There were other unpleasant surprises as well, we can be sure, and

before long, the roshi was on his way back to Japan. Senzaki then
moved to Los Angeles. I have the impression that his move was re¬
lated to the roshi’s visit, but I don’t know the details. In any case, by
1932, Senzaki was living on Turner Street in Los Angeles, alongside
the switching yard of the railroad station—the noisiest, dirtiest, and
of course the least expensive part of the city.
It was here, in the course of getting acquainted in the Japanese
community, that Senzaki met Mrs. Kin Tanahashi, who was to be¬
come perhaps his most important friend. Mrs. Tanahashi and her
husband had a small business, and she could not afford to hire some¬
one to look after her son Jimmy, who was mentally disabled. Senzaki
offered to care for the boy and refused any payment. Years later, he
told me how much he had enjoyed playing with the child and what
delight it gave him when Jimmy learned to hold his hands palm to
palm and say a few syllables of the Four Vows.
Mrs. Tanahashi was deeply impressed by Senzaki and began Zen
study with him. In time, as she prospered as a businesswoman, she
provided most of his support. The rest of us would leave contribu¬
tions on his bookshelves, and after the meetings he would go about
the room gathering what he called “fallen leaves.” If one of the leaves
was a twenty-dollar bill, he would carefully put it away “for Shubin
San,” Mrs. Tanahashi, to help repay her kindness.
It was Mrs. Tanahashi who read an account in a Japanese journal
of Nakagawa Soen, then a Zen monk in seclusion at Mount Daibo-
satsu in Yamanashi Prefecture of Japan. Senzaki was impressed by
the story of a monk who left “cathedral Zen” behind and sought his
own realization in a little hut in the mountains. He wrote to him, and
the two monks corresponded for several years. It was arranged that
Nakagawa would visit Los Angeles, but the war interfered with these
plans, delaying them until 1949.
Meantime, Senzaki, Mrs. Tanahashi, and others in the Japanese
community of Los Angeles were interned at the Heart Mountain
Relocation Camp in Wyoming. This was disruptive and demoraliz¬
ing for everyone, but the people who had by now gathered about
Senzaki made the best of their situation. They practiced zazen to¬

il
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

gether, recited sutras, and studied the Dharma. Senzaki s American

students were also supportive. Ruth Strout McCandless kept his li¬
brary, each Japanese volume numbered; when he needed a book, he
would request it by number, and she would mail it to him.
After the war Senzaki returned to Los Angeles and was given a
room rent free on the top floor of the Miyako Hotel by the owner, a
fellow internee. It was here that I met him in December 1947. At this
time he had perhaps thirty Tftnerican students and another thirty
followers who had been with him at Heart Mountain. Fifteen to
eighteen English-speaking students would crowd into his room for
zazen and a lecture two evenings a week. The Japanese students
would come for sutras and zazen on Sunday mornings. We sat on
folding chairs, and there was very little ceremony.
We had, moreover, no membership arrangement and no organi¬
zational structure. Ironically, this anarchistic arrangement meant
that our teacher made all the decisions in a benevolent but authori¬
tarian manner. We were content with this process. He was our wise,
gentle teacher, and we could only be followers.
A tolerant teacher as well: Senzaki was not only infinitely patient
with us, he welcomed visitors warmly, even Theosophists and spiri¬
tualists whose ideas he found ridiculous. I remember one day over¬
hearing his conversation with someone who was holding forth on
the occult mysteries of the Pyramids, and his part in the discussion
was to say respectfully at intervals, “Oh, really? I didn’t know that.”
He was especially tolerant of other forms of Buddhism. “Bud¬
dhism is a single stream,” he would say, and he deliberately used clas¬
sical terms in their Pali pronunciations, in keeping with Theravada
tradition, rather than in the Sanskrit of the Mahayana. For example,
he always said (and wrote) “Dhamma” rather than “Dharma.” He
was friendly with the only Theravada Buddhist teacher in Los Ange¬
les at that time and often invited him to speak to us.
I have never known a teacher more down to earth in his terminol¬
ogy. Once when I was cleaning the dojo, he was in the library speak¬
ing with visitors about his heritage. At one point he raised his voice
and said to me, “Please bring me the picture of that old fellow on the
table. The old fellow was Bodhidharma, and the table was his altar.
Of course Bodhidharma was his inspiration and the table was the de-

12
 ^yogen Senzaki

votional center of his practice, but for him these matters were bet¬
ter understated.
Senzaki was a calm and jovial man, at home in the New World,
who loved to visit the Sweet Shop in Japan Town with a few friends
for a waffle. He walked rapidly, always leading the way, posture very
erect for his rather stout figure, with a ready smile and a greeting for
his many friends. His clothing was tweedy and rumpled, and for Zen
meetings he would simply wear a robe over his street clothes.
In the meetings his talks were full of Zen stories, incomprehensi¬
ble but delightful. We lived in hopes that we would gradually come
to understand them, assured by his words, “Zen is not a puzzle; it
cannot be solved by wit. It is spiritual food for those who want to
learn what life is and what our mission is.”® He included personal in¬
terviews in the schedule of meetings in early years, but discontinued
this practice soon after I began attending.
Senzaki felt he was just introducing Zen practice to the United
States. “Some day the Mentorgarten will disappear,” he said to me,
“but Soen San will build a great temple in the United States and the
Dhammawill flourish.” Soen San, however, became Soen Roshi and
abbot of a monastery in Japan, and the best he could do was visit.
Like Hotei, however, Senzaki has many descendants. His friend
Soen Roshi encouraged Mentorgarten students to persevere, and in
turn influenced his friend, Yasutani Haku’un Roshi, to visit the
United States and lead retreats during the 1960s. Thus the two roshis
continued Senzaki’s work and in time inspired the development of a
number of American centers. The Diamond Sangha and its network
of centers, the Zen Center of Los Angeles, the Zen Studies Society
in New York, and the Rochester Zen Center—all can trace their her¬
itage through the gentle train of karma that Senzaki began. Mem¬
bers of the San Francisco Zen Center and other groups and many
individual Zen students feel an affinity with him as well.
After the Miyako Hotel was sold, Senzaki lived out his last years
in a flat rented for him by Mrs. Tanahashi in Boyle Heights in East
Los Angeles. He continued to meet with students almost to the end
and recorded his last words before he died in March 1958.1 vividly
remember sitting in the funeral parlor and listening to him speak for
the last time:

13
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Friends in Dhamma, be satisfied with your own heads. Do not

put any false heads above your own. Then minute after min¬
ute, watch your steps closely. Always keep your head cold and
your feet warm. These are my last words to you.

Then he added, “Thank you very much, everybody, for taking such
good care of me for so long. Bye-bye. ” And the record ended with his
little laugh.
I am pleased that Buddhism and Zen, the collection of his essays
that he assembled in collaboration with Ruth Strout McCandless, is
now being reissued. I feel his presence as I read his words:

America has had Zen students in the past, has them in the
present, and will have many of them in the future. They min¬
gle easily with so-called worldlings. They play with children,
respect kings and beggars, and handle gold and silver as peb¬
bles and stones.^

These are words of prophecy, and they are also vows. I make them
my own.

Foreword to Buddhism and Zen, by Nyogen Senzald and Ruth Strout McCandless
(San Francisco; North Point Press, 1987).

H
 e

Remembering Soen Roshi

WH EN I met the monk Nyogen Senzaki in the Miyako Hotel in

Los Angeles at the end of 1947, he told me about Nakagawa Soen
Osho, with whom he was corresponding, and showed me his pic¬
ture, a snapshot taken in a field in Manchuria some years before.
Though we were just getting acquainted, Senzaki confided in me
that he had wanted to bring Soen Osho to the United States before
the war, but the hostilities had prevented this. Now he was planning
again to bring him for a visit. It was clear that my new sensei (teacher)
was deeply invested in their friendship, and I got the impression,
confirmed many times subsequently, that he hoped Soen Osho
would eventually settle in the United States as his successor.
I studied with Senzaki Sensei for a few months and returned to
Hawai‘i before Soen Osho visited Los Angeles the following winter.
Then in 1950,1 received a fellowship to study haiku and Zen in Ja¬
pan. This involved settling in the Tokyo area, auditing courses at the
University of Tokyo, and living in Kitakamakura where I could do
zazen and attend sesshin at Enkakuji, the Rinzai monastery where
Senzaki Sensei, Professor D.T. Suzuki, and Professor R. H. Blyth
had connections. The practice at Enkakuji proved too difficult, so I
wrote to Soen Osho, explaining that I had been a student of Senzaki
Sensei and asking if I could visit him. I enclosed a haiku:

The train whistle in autumn

has the same tone
as the temple bell.

15
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

He responded by telegram with the haiku:

Under red maple leaves

at our mountain temple
I am awaiting you.

I found my way to Ryutakuji and recall vividly our meeting. The

monk who met me in the genkan (entryway) had me wait there
briefly, and then Soen Osho appeared, almost shyly, very young in
appearance, although he was then forty-three. “I am Soen,” he said.
I had the strong conviction: “This is my teacher.”
I tell about moving into Ryutakuji and practicing there in “Willy-
Nilly Zen,” published elsewhere,' so I will focus here on my memo¬
ries of Soen Osho himself during that period. He became roshi of
Ryutakuji while I was there, and the events of that spring of 1951
were, I can see now, a kind of forecast of what his life was to be
thereafter.
I was thirty-three at this time, full of anxieties about personal
matters and full of hopes that a realization experience would put
them all to rest. Soen Roshi did everything he could to help me to
settle down, and though my primary interest was in zazen, he en¬
couraged me to continue to write haiku. I wrote them in Japanese
and he offered corrections, and some were even published in a jour¬
nal. Looking back, I can see that he felt as Basho did, that haiku is a
practice. I did not understand this at the time and did not make full
use of him as a poetry teacher, though I wrote perhaps twenty poems
during the spring and summer of 1951 when I was in residence at
the monastery.
Soen Roshi’s own great creative period—the last years of the war
and the first years of the American occupation—had already passed,
but he still wrote occasionally. On one of our excursions together, he
composed the haiku:

The minomushi
has its established place
among the cherry blossoms.

The minomushi is the bagworm, a moth that gestates in little co¬

coons that hang in cherry trees, and is a favorite subject of Japanese

16
 Remembering Soen Roshi
r
poets. The niche of the bagworm is within the cherry trees, a rather
Platonic notion, as in Wallace Stevens’s “Anecdote of Men by the
Thousand”:

The dress of a woman of Lhasa,

In its place.
Is an invisible element of that place
Made visible.^

I remember how the roshi recited his poem over and over in his
magnificent voice—sang it, really:

Minomushi no
tokoro sademeshi
hana no naka

“Basho taught us,” he said, “ ‘When you write a poem, you must
recite it one hundred times.’ ” And he would again intone, “Mino¬
mushi no / tokoro sadameshi / hana no naka. "And he exclaimed, “Ah,
very good!”
Later on, I was to call Soen Roshi the Balanchine of Zen because
of the way he would choreograph his students and friends into ec¬
static bowing exercises or kinhin (walking meditation) through the
garden. Now that I understand Balanchine a little better, I realize
more than ever how true my words were. Balanchine was deeply con¬
scious of the religious wellsprings of his Russian Orthodox heritage,
and his dances were the fulfillment of his spiritual experiences. Soen
Roshi was intimately in touch with his Buddhist origins, and as an
artist of the body, his way was to act them out and to encourage oth¬
ers to act them out as well.
Once when I was visiting Ryutakuji, a class of perhaps forty ju¬
nior high school girls came to the temple on a field trip. They were
about thirteen years old, shy yet playful, bursting with nervous
laughter at the slightest provocation. He organized them into a za-
zenkai in a matter of minutes and had them doing zazen and kinhin
with serious demeanor. Then he let up and served informal tea and
answered questions. My impression is that later, they would always
look back on this experience as a milestone in their growing up.
I could also compare Soen Roshi to Black Elk. When Black Elk

17
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

had a vision, his people would act it out as a pageant. If there were
horses of a particular color and marking in his dream, horses of that
sort were found for the pageant. The costumes were the same, the
words were the same, all the movements were the same as in his
dream. His visions were thus confirmed in the world, just as Balan¬
chine's were. (I have always thought that the book Bluck Elk Spcuks
could be turned into a marvelous ballet.)
Soen Roshi was sometimes low key in the enactment of his
dreams—in tea ceremony, for example. Before I went to Ryutakuji
I had never seen a tea ceremony. I took tea with him almost every
morning, but it was not until we traveled to Kyoto together and I saw
what I knew to be tea ceremony that I realized I had been partici¬
pating in the same ceremony with him, there in his room as the birds
began singing in the early mornings. Those occasions were pro¬
foundly enjoyable, but I had no idea that we were following the pat¬
tern of an old ritual.
“Every act is a rite,” Thich Nhat Hanh has said. I am sorry the two
teachers never met, for they would know each other at first glance.
“When you sweep the garden, you are sweeping your own mind,”
the roshi said to me. I felt that he was repeating a rather obvious old
Zenish expression. I did not appreciate how it was possible to per¬
sonalize such a rite. I did not understand how samu (work practice),
as set forth by old Pai-chang and his predecessors, really is the act of
Shakyamuni Buddha turning the Dharma wheel.
I realize, however, that Soen Roshi accepted me the way he did be¬
cause he felt that I understood, to some small degree, his ritualistic
imperatives. When we visited Sen no Rikyu’s teahouse in Kyoto, he
threw back the covers protecting the precious old tatami and mimed
a tea ceremony with me. I entered into the game fully and could even
do a little mondo (Zen dialogue) with him.
I don’t pretend to know, across the cultural and language barriers
as well as the lay-clerical barrier I felt at Ryutakuji, just how his old
teacher, Yamamoto Gempo Roshi, and the monks at the monastery
felt about the powerful ceremonial urges that motivated everything
that Soen Roshi did from the moment he arose in the morning to his
act of lying down at night. I would guess that they did not under¬
stand him completely and that many of the monks simply humored
him, shrugging at what they considered to be strange behavior.

i8
 Remembering Soen Roshi

People in the wider Zen community also seemed to have doubts

about him. I remember Professor Suzuki cautioning me about Soen
Roshi in the summer of 1951. “You know,” he said, “he’s a rather pe¬
culiar fellow. After he was ordained, he went off and lived by himself
at Daibosatsu Yama in Yamanashi Prefecture for two years with very
little contact with his teacher or the other monks at Ryutakuji.” By
that time, I had visited the roshi’s old retreat at Daibosatsu Yama and
had seen some of the ceremonies he had held there by himself—for
example, building cairns while singing an old folk song about re¬
membering one’s parents. Yes, he was peculiar, in the first meaning
of the word: “distinctive, unique”—and Zen, in Japan at any rate, is
a religion with rather exacting conventions.
One of those conventions was the Shinzanshiki, the ceremony in
April 1951 that installed him as abbot of Ryutakuji. That spring he
was very busy preparing the many necessary details for the occasion.
Following his installation we had our first sesshin with him, while
Gempo Roshi set out to enjoy his retirement. I remember that our
new roshi gave teisho (a talk on the Dharma) on the RinzaiRoku, but
his voice was so soft and his manner so diffident that it did not seem
like teisho at all. He sat on a cushion facing the altar, rather than on
the high seat where Gempo Roshi had sat before.
Part of this was Japanese modesty, I suppose, not wishing to as¬
sume a new responsibility too quickly, but part was surely genuine
reluctance to take on the role of master. Perhaps some people might
have supposed that he felt he was not adequately prepared for the
role, not far enough along in his practice, but I would conjecture that
he simply considered himself quite unsuited, although his teacher
believed that he was just the right successor. And it was his loyalty to
his teacher that came first.
After the sesshin, he secluded himself at Daibosatsu Yama, and
Gempo Roshi had to return to lead the May sesshin. I recall that
Gempo Roshi devoted parts of each teisho at that time to excusing
Soen Roshi, explaining that he had tired himself out in preparation
for the Shinzanshiki and assuring us that our new roshi would be
all right.
Was his confidence misplaced? Soen Roshi told me many times
that he could not be my teacher, and I have been told by others that
he told them the same thing. He was a little like Krishnamurti, who

19
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

for very different reasons has had difficulty accepting his role as a
teacher. At the same time, he often said to me that it was the first duty
of a roshi to find a successor with clear eyes. “If he does not have two
clear eyes, at least he should have one clear eye. If not one eye, at least
half an eye.” I believe that he, in his great modesty, considered that
he might have half an eye and that it was his karma and his responsi¬
bility to accept his position as wholeheartedly as possible and to
maintain and pass on the teaching that he had received from the
Buddha through Bodhidharma, Hakuin, and Gempo.
He could not keep all his commitments. After the deaths of his
mother and of his old teacher, Gempo Roshi, he stopped coming to
the United States for sesshin with students of Senzaki Sensei, who
had died in 1958. In 1962, he referred those students to Yasutani
Haku’un Roshi, who continued trips for sesshin to this country until
1969. It was clear to us that Soen Roshi could not live up to Senzaki s
hopes that he would settle in the United States. It is apparent now
that he felt that the monk Eido Shimano would fulfill those expecta¬
tions in his place.
The other monks at Ryutakuji seemed to have doubts about Shi¬
mano. I remember my surprise when I visited the monastery in 1961,
a year after Shimano had come to Hawai'i as our resident leader. The
Ryutakuji monks were my old friends by then—we had known each
other long before they had known Shimano. I was struck by the fact
that none of them inquired about him, even though he had left the
monastery only the year before and I had j ust come from living with
him. I asked one of the monks about this and received a look and a
shake of the head that clearly informed me that Shimano was not one
they could accept.
I am sure that they found ways to communicate their doubts to
Soen Roshi. Why should he ignore the opinions of his students? Per¬
haps he felt that his own path was one that was more suited to the
United States, a fresh environment, than to the old tradition-bound
monastery setting in Japan. When Soen Roshi became convinced
that Shimano understood this particular path of Zen, then perhaps
the roshi was also convinced that he had found the successor he had
sought, one who could follow in the footsteps of Senzaki Sensei. Per¬
haps he also felt that the monks could not understand this, since they
had not understood him in other ways.

20
 Remembering Soen Roshi
r
When Shimano s social relationships got him into trouble at the
Koko An Zendo in Hawaih in 1964, he felt obliged to move to New
York. My own relationship with Soen Roshi fell apart at this point.
He could not believe that Shimano’s behavior was not just that of a
“young rascal.” Although we saw each other from time to time after
that and remained on fairly cordial terms, I always felt that Soen
Roshi blamed me to some extent for Shimano’s failure to keep his
commitments in Hawai‘i.
Soen Roshi continued to be faithful to Eido Shimano over the
years that followed. His initial belief that Shimano understood him
and his imperative to find a successor with at least half an eye appar¬
ently kept his confidence unshaken until the crisis created by allega¬
tions of sexual abuse at the New York Zen Studies Society erupted
in 1975. Moreover, his confidence seemed renewed to some limited
degree from time to time even after that, almost until the end of his
life. The reasons for this continued support have not always been
clear to Zen students in the New York sangha and elsewhere in this
country.
They are not completely clear to me either, but as best I can un¬
derstand them, it seems that three factors are involved. The first is
that Japanese social relationships are established on Conflician stan¬
dards of loyalty to the superior and responsibility for the inferior.
Translated into terms of teacher and student, this means that the Jap¬
anese Zen student and teacher support each other instinctively as
part of their cultural mores.
The second factor is that the student and teacher create a special
bond over the years of this intimate, one-on-one interaction in the
dokusan (interview) room and in their day-by-day association in life
together in the monastery. Their affection for each other is as deep as
can be found in any family.
Soen Roshi’s loyalty to his disciple under trying circumstances
can be compared with the action of his ancestor, Torei Zenji, who, I
have heard, disowned and defrocked his successor for a major viola¬
tion of trust in connection with the rebuilding of Ryutakuji after a
fire. I sense that Torei felt the monk had violated the Dharma and
that this betrayal was serious enough for him to set aside the tradition
of personal loyalty to one’s student. Otherwise, Torei’s own teaching
of accepting abuse could be called into question.^

21
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

The third factor is Soen Roshi’s own personality. He was pro¬

foundly faithful by nature. In his earliest days at Ryutakuji, he in¬
stalled his widowed mother in a cottage on the compound of the
monastery, where she remained until her death many years later. He
called upon her almost every day when he was in residence and read
her his mail and listened to her comments. His relationship with
Gempo Roshi was that of an adoring son, and when the old teacher
died, he mounted his life-sized photograph in the main hall of the
monastery. It dominated the room, while the Kanzeon figure on the
altar reposed behind its screen.
Once, Soen Roshi asked me, “What is the most important thing
in the world?” I did not dare to answer, so he replied for me, “I think
friends are the most important thing in the world.” Shimano was
much more than a friend, and I can only guess at the deep despair he
must have felt when he could finally acknowledge to himself that he
had been gravely mistaken about him.
From afar, I always wondered if Soen Roshi’s extended private re¬
treats in his later years were related to a sense of betrayal by Shimano.
His life and his commitments must have seemed to him to be unful¬
filled. All the time I knew him, zazen was the way he restored himself,
and he believed in the power of one’s own zazen to restore others. But
zazen in retreat cannot influence others unless they are open to in¬
fluence. I mourn our great teacher and the tragedy of those final
years.

1984

Z2
 e

Remembering Blyth Sensei

I WAS a civilian internee from Guam, held with forty-four other

men in what we called the “Marks House” (named after the former
British owner) in the foreign district of Kobe, near the Tor Hotel. By
the winter of 1942-43, we had been interned for one year in Japan. I
was not too well, suffering periodic bouts of bronchitis and asthma,
but I kept up with my reading from the library we had brought with
us ftom our first camp in Kobe, the Seaman’s Mission on Ito Machi.
I also had bought books with money supplied to us through the Swiss
consul by the United States government. These books included
works on haiku in English, a subject that had interested me before
the war.
One evening a guard came into my room, quite drunk, waving
a book in the air and saying in English, “This book, my English
teacher...” He had been a student of R. H. Blyth at Kanazawa, and
the book was Zfw in English Literature and Oriental Classics, then just
published.' I was in bed but jumped up to look at the book and was
immediately fascinated. I persuaded the guard to lend it to me, and
weeks later he bought another copy for me so that he could have his
own copy back.
I suppose I read the book ten or eleven times straight through. As
soon as I finished it, I would start it again. I had it almost memorized
and could turn immediately to any particular passage. It was my
“first book,” the way Walden was the “first book” for some of my
friends, the way The Kingdom of God Is Within You was the “first

23
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

book” for Gandhi. Now when I look at it, even the type looks differ¬
ent, far smaller in size, and the references to Zen seem less profound.
But it set my life on the course I still maintain, and I trace my orienta¬
tion to culture—to literature, rhetoric, art, and music—to that sin¬
gle book.
In May 1944, all the camps in Kobe were combined, and we were
housed in a former reform school called Rinkangaku, in Futatabi
Park near Nunobiki Falls in the hills above Kobe. Mr. Bly th had been
held in one of the other camps, and now at last we could meet. I think
he was rather overcome by my adulation, and he rejected it at first,
not wanting, as he said, a disciple. But we straightened out this initial
misunderstanding and soon established the intimate relationship we
were to maintain until his death in 1964, and which we still maintain
today, though he has been dead a long time.
Rinkangaku consisted of three large, connected buildings, con¬
taining dormitories, commons rooms, and classrooms. One hun¬
dred seventy-five men completely filled this complex, and Mr. Blyth
lived with six others in what had apparently been the commons
room for the teachers. He had his bed in the tokonoma, the alcove
usually reserved for scroll and flower arrangement in Japanese homes
and offices. His books teetered on shelves he himself had installed
above the bed. All day long he sat on his bed, sometimes cross-legged
and sometimes with his feet on the floor, writing on a lectern placed
on a bedside table, with his reference books and notebooks among
the bedcovers. It was during this time that he was working on his
four-volume Huiku and his Senryu, as well as Buddhist SeTtnonsjrom
Christian Texts'^ and other works. I recall that he wrote rapidly, with
his words connected, using two sets of pen and ink, black for his text
and red for his quotations.
With my interest in haiku and my new enthusiasm for Zen, we
agreed that I should learn Japanese, so he obtained some elementary
school texts from his Japanese wife (families were permitted a weekly
visit) and gave me a couple of dictionaries. He loaned me what Zen
texts he had; I remember particularly D. T. Suzuki s Essays in Zen
Buddhism: First Series in the original Luzac edition and Wong Mou-
1am s Sutra of Wei-lang in its original paperbound edition, from
Shanghai, I believe.^

^4
 Remembering Blyth Sensei

I would study and read during the day while he wrote at his lec¬
tern, and in the evening I would visit his room to read my lesson to
him, perhaps show him a new haiku I had written, and talk generally
with him and with his roommates, all of them old Japan hands, some
of them partly of Japanese ancestry.
Generally, Blyth Sensei was well liked by his fellow internees, and
though he was regarded as pro-Japanese by the Americans from
Guam, they respected his learning and his diligence and knew that
they could get straight talk from him and learn something in the pro¬
cess. They called him Mr. B., a nickname he rather liked. It seemed
to express the balance between familiarity and formality that he
sought.
With the part-Japanese internees, he seemed to have a more
uncertain relationship. Perhaps they regarded him as a kind of
Johnny-come-lately. They busied themselves with studies of Japa¬
nese politics, history, and economics, while he devoted himself to lit¬
erature and religion. He would always swing the talk from their
interests to his own, which he regarded as more fundamental. They
seemed to feel that his interests were quite outdated and irrelevant,
and there were many heated arguments in his crowded, smoky room.
If the American internees had known their Mr. B. more inti¬
mately, they would have understood that his attitude toward Japan
was realistic and not blindly supportive. He had begun the process
of applying for Japanese citizenship before the war, but he allowed
this process to lapse after the war began, saying that if Japan lost the
war, then he would renew his application. (It turned out that he died
a British subject.)
“Can you imagine people like these guards occupying your coun¬
try?” he once asked me. Somehow he sensed how badly the Japanese
were handling their responsibilities as occupation forces in South¬
east Asia, and he felt that a national defeat might be the salutary expe¬
rience the country would need for true maturity.
So my lessons from Blyth Sensei included political science, as
well as language, literature, and religion. He seemed to regard his un¬
derstanding of culture as the ground for making judgments. After
the war, while teaching and in residence at the Gakushuin (the Peers
School), he pointed to an encyclopedia in his bookcase and said, “I

25
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

would like to make a book of commentary that would follow the

main topics of that compendium of facts.”
Blyth Sensei often mentioned how as a boy he was inspired by
Matthew Arnold s ideal of developing one’s self to the fullest, to
be one’s own best linguist, musician, artist, and scholar. Thus he
learned Spanish in order to read Don Quixote, Italian to read Dante,
German to read Goethe, and he made a valiant effort to learn Russian
in order to read Dostoyevsky. And, of course, he was a deep student
of Ghinese, Korean, and Japanese.
As a musician, he loved the oboe particularly but played virtu¬
ally all the Western orchestral instruments. While he was at the
Gakushuin, he constructed an organ, a remarkable feat of technical
and musical skill. His words about Bach influenced my taste during
the war and directed me on the path of music appreciation I still fol¬
low. And somehow just his passing words on Turner, Sessha, and
other artists established my understanding of art.
There were flaws in this Renaissance man, however. He did not
go far enough in his Zen practice to justify his confidence in com¬
menting on the Mumonkan (The Gateless Barrier) and that book is
probably the weakest of his works.^ He loved v.mmen and scorned
them, his relations with those close to him were stormy, and his re¬
marks about women, particularly in the essays he published after the
war, infuriate readers and alienate them to this day.
I accept these flaws as I accept the flaws in my own father. The one
brought me into physical being and shaped my character, the other
put me in touch with myself and with this rich, wonderftrl world. If
we had not met, I might well have spent my life mundanely, saying
and doing trivial things. His words rise in my mind as I speak to my
own students, and his face still appears in my dreams.

Janslated in Kaiso no Buraisu [Recollecting Blyth], edited by Shinki Masanosuke

(lokyo: Kaiso no Buraisu Kankokai Jimusho, 1984).

26
 9

Openness and Engagement

Memories of Dr. D. T. Suzuki

I FIRST encountered Dr. Suzuki s name in R. H. Blyth’s Zen in

English Literature and Oriental Classics, which I read in an intern¬
ment camp in Kobe, Japan, in the winter of 1942-43. Later on when
our camps were combined, I met Professor Blyth in person, and he
told me about his first conversation with Suzuki Sensei:

BLYTH: I have just come from Korea, where I studied Zen

with Kayama Taigi Roshi of Myoshinji Betsuin.
SUZUKI: Is that so? Tell me, what is Zen?
blyth: As I understand it, there is no such thing.
SUZUKI: I can see you know something of Zen.

If there was challenge in Sensei’s words, it was of the mildest sort.

His fundamental purpose was to encourage. Many scholars and stu¬
dents of Zen can tell similar stories—I think especially of Richard
DeMartino, Philip Kapleau, and Chang Chung-ytian.
My own first meeting with Sensei was in 1949 at the Second East-
West Philosophers’ Conference at the University of Hawaii. That
was a wonderful summer. There were many stars at the conference,
particularly from India, but Sensei by his manner (for few could
understand him) stole the show. It was just after F. S. C. Northrop
had published The Meeting of East and West} Everyone was un¬
comfortable with the conceptual formulations in this work, but

27
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

only Sensei could pinpoint the problem. I remember the chuckles

of amusement among the scholars when he remarked, “The trou¬
ble with the ‘undifferentiated aesthetic continuum’ is that it’s too
differentiated.”
I was part of a clique of graduate students who attached them¬
selves to Sensei, and we attended (or crashed) many dinners and re¬
ceptions that were given for him by University of Hawai‘i dignitaries
and by Japanese American organizations in the Honolulu commu¬
nity. Richard DeMartino was his secretary and companion at that
time and had purchased a Model A Ford for their transportation.
Those were the days when the Model A was j ust an old car, not a pre¬
cious antique, and I remember the endearing sight of Sensei rattling
up to distinguished gatherings in that aged clunker, full of dignity
and good humor. I wanted to continue my study of Zen and asked
Sensei’s advice: “Should I return to Los Angeles and study with Nyo-
gen Senzaki, or should I go to Japan?” “Go to Japan,” he said, and he
wrote the letters I needed for my visa.
In the summer of 1951,1 called at the Matsugaoka Library in Kita-
kamakura, where Sensei had just returned from his two years in the
United States. I was ill from the rigors of monastic living, and Sensei
insisted that I stay with him and recuperate. I remained with him for
two weeks, as I recall. Sensei saw that I was well cared for by his staff,
and he included me in all of the gatherings at the library; I remember
particularly a memorial service for Beatrice Lane Suzuki, attended
by his old friends.
We had many conversations about religion in the United States.
Sensei had been inspired by his experiences at Columbia University,
and I wish now that I had kept a record of his words about the schol¬
ars he had met. I do recall him saying that he felt more affinity with
anthropologists than with Protestant theologians.
Thereafter, down through the years until his death, we kept in
touch. When he visited Hawai'i or when Anne Aitken and I visited
Japan, we always had tea or a meal together. Anne recalls a dinner
given for him by the Young Buddhist Association of Honolulu in
1959. We were standing around afterward, waiting for the dishes to
be cleared away, and she noticed Sensei browsing among the ta¬
bles, picking parsley off the plates and eating it. Catching her eye, he

28
 openness and Engagement

grinned like a little boy and said, “People don’t eat their parsley, and
it is so good for them.” She was moved by his sensitive expression of
responsibility for others, including the parsley that would otherwise
be sacrificed for nothing.
The most memorable of those later meetings took place during
his last trip to Hawai'i in the summer of 1964. He spoke to a packed
house at the Koko An Zendo, and in the question period, a student
asked, “Is zazen necessary?”
Sensei replied, “Zazen is absolutely not necessary.” This created
quite a stir among the Koko An members.
The next year. Professor Masao Abe visited the East-West Center,
where I was on the staff. We met on the steps of Jefferson Hall and
greeted each other.
“Mr. Aitken,” said Professor Abe, “I hear that Suzuki Sensei
spoke at Koko An last year. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said, “it is.”
“I hear,” continued Professor Abe, “that he said zazen is not nec¬
essary. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I replied, “he said zazen is absolutely not necessary.”
“Oh,” said Professor Abe, “he meant zazen is relatively nec¬
essary.”
Now that was very clever of Professor Abe, and it served to high¬
light Sensei’s unorthodoxy. He knew very well, but seldom said, that
zazen is relatively necessary. He was, however, critical of Alan Watts
and others who dismissed zazen as unimportant.
Comparing notes about our old teacher, Anne Aitken and I find
that we both asked him, at different times, about the interpretation
that Mr. Watts gave to a story about Nan-ytieh and Ma-tsu. Nan-
yiieh found Ma-tsu doing zazen and asked him what he was trying
to do. Ma-tsu said that he was trying to become a Buddha. Nan-yiieh
thereupon picked up a piece of roofing tile and began rubbing it
with a stone. When Ma-tsu asked him what he was doing, Nan-ytieh
said he was making a mirror out of the tile. “No matter how you rub
that tile,” said Ma-tsu, “it will never become a mirror.” Nan-yiieh re¬
plied, “No matter how much you do zazen, you will never become
a Buddha.”^
Mr. Watts remarks somewhere in his books that this dialogue

29
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

showed howT’ang period Zen people disapproved of zazen. Dr. Su¬

zuki said to both Anne and me, “I regret to say that Mr. Watts did not
understand that story.”
Still, Sensei hardly ever mentioned zazen in his writings. Even
The Training of the Zen Buddhist Monk barely touches on this funda¬
mental aspect of Zen life.^ Now that I am more intimately involved
in Zen practice, I would like to talk with him about zazen and other
matters. It would be a long conversation. I would want to take up the
nature of the koan, the place of prajiia and the mind, the function of
words, and the writings of Dogen Zenji.
He would listen—he always did. Once, in a class at the Univer¬
sity of Hawai'i, I asked him about a version of Chiyo-ni’s haiku,
“The Morning Glory,” that he had written on the blackboard. In
transliterated Japanese, this verse reads:

Asagao ni
tsurube torarete
morai mizu

It is usually translated:

The morning glory

has taken the well bucket;
I must ask elsewhere for water.^

However, Sensei had written 'Asagaoya. . .” on the blackboard.

The substitution oiya, a cutting word that might best be translated
with a colon or an exclamation mark, for ni, a postposition indi¬
cating an agent, would make the translation:

The morning glory!

It has taken the well bucket;
I must ask elsewhere for water.

This changes a rather precious poem about someone who finds

that the morning glory has entwined the bucket and does not want
to disturb it into a Zenlike poem about someone who is struck by the
beauty of the morning glory and can only exclaim, “The morning
glory! and then, as an afterthought, considers borrowing water
from the neighbors.

30
 openness and Engagement

Anyway, I knew the conventional version, and I suspected that

Sensei with his Zen attitude had inadvertendy imposed his own revi¬
sion. He listened to me, and wrote to scholars in Japan and learned
that indeed there was some speculation that was the original parti¬
cle in the first line. He did not stop there but went on to discuss the
matter in class and then to write his cogent essay, “The Morning
Glory.”^ Incidentally, this essay contains Sensei’s clearest presen¬
tation of a concern that preoccupied him during his later years—
world peace. Clearly, he felt that people are not sensitive to flowers
or to the sacrifice of parsley, and so we have nations threatening each
other with nuclear weapons.
The development of that essay is an example of Sensei’s creative
process generally—openness and engagement. He would listen or
read with an open mind, and then involve himself in considering the
matter, and finally come forth with his own unique response.
Openness and engagement show in his face in these sensitive por¬
traits by Francis Haar, the purity and wisdom of a very old man who
has devoted his life to the Tao. They evoke his inspiring presence and
remind me that I need not wait for some kind of miraculous logisti¬
cal arrangement for our conversation.
“Now, about the importance of zazen. Sensei. .

First published inyl Zen Life: D. T. Suzuki Remembered, photographs by Francis Haar,
edited by Masao Abe (Tokyo and New York: Weatherhill, 1986).

31
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

intellectuals can look back to a “first book” that gave co¬

herence to their interests and set them on their life’s course. Students
of Zen Buddhism come to me with a variety of “first books” in their
past, and among them, with some frequency, is Dwight Goddard’s
durable anthology of xxzxv&h-nons,, A Buddhist Bible, originally pub¬
lished in 1932 and then republished in its present enlarged form in
1938.
As the first book forJackKerouac,v45t<di{/^ir^5r^/ehadadirect
influence on the American Beat movement of the 1950s—and thus
on the New Age movement that followed, with its efflorescence of
Western Zen Buddhism, in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Allen
Ginsberg wrote of Kerouac:

He went to the library in San Jose, California, and read a book

called A Buddhist Bible, edited by Dwight Goddard—a very
good anthology of Buddhist texts. Kerouac read them very
deeply, memorized many of them, and then went on to do
other reading and other research and actually became a bril¬
liant, intuitive Buddhist scholar. . . . He introduced me to
[Buddhism] in the form of letters reminding me that suffering
was the basis of existence, which is the first Noble Truth in
Buddhism.^

In Jack’s Book, Barry Gifford and Lawrence Lee expanded on the

importance of A Buddhist Bible for Kerouac:

32
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

In its 700-odd pages he found concepts of historical cycles so

gigantic that they dwarfed Spengler’s. He found, as well, the
notion of dharma, the same self-regulating principle of the
universe that he had proposed in the closing pages of Doctor
Sax. . . . Using his sketching technique Jack converted the
texts in^ Buddhist Bible into his own words.^

This “translation” began a creative process of Americanizing

Buddhism that was manifested first in Kerouac’s San Francisco Blues
and flowered in The Dharma Bums,^ which itself became a “first
book” for people growing up during the 1960s. In that era, I met
many people whose ruminations echoed those of Ray (Kerouac
himself) and Japhy (Gary Snyder). Here is Ray, looking around at
his friends sleeping in the early morning, for all the world like the
young Gautama viewing his sleeping retainers before he set out on
his lifetime pilgrimage.

I suddenly had the most tremendous feeling of the pitifulness

of human beings, whatever they were, their faces, pained
mouths, personalities, attempts to be gay, little petulances,
feelings of loss, their dull and empty witticisms so soon for¬
gotten. Ah, for what? I knew that the sound of silence was
everywhere and therefore everywhere was silence. Suppose we
suddenly wake up and see what we thought to be this and that
ain’t this or that at all? I staggered up the hill, greeted by birds,
and looked at the huddled sleeping figures on the floor. Who
were all these strange ghosts rooted to the silly little adventure
of earth with me? and who was I? Poor Japhy, at eight a.m. he
got up and banged on his frying pan and chanted the “Gac-
chami” chant and called everybody to pancakes.^

Jack Kerouac, cross-fertilizing with Snyder, Ginsberg, Philip

Whalen, and others who are still engaged in Americanizing Bud¬
dhism in their own ways, helped to establish a culture in which the
San Francisco Zen Center could grow and flourish in the mid 1960s.
A number of Zen Buddhist centers in San Francisco and Berkeley
have emerged in the generation that has followed. When I visit and
give a public talk in one of those cities today, I find that I can, without

33
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

watering anything down, use the same Sanskrit and Japanese terms
and Buddhist concepts that I do in classes with my own students.
Everyone is following along and even getting ahead of me. The Bay
Area is Buddha Land, and there are similar Buddha Lands, less obvi¬
ous perhaps, across the country and across the Western Hemisphere.
A Buddhist Bible was an important seed in this acculturation. The
book was composed, as Goddard states in his preface to the 1932 edi¬
tion, to record adaptations of the original teachings of the Buddha,
from the rise of the Mahayana to the development of Dhyana Bud¬
dhism to the Platform Sutra of Hui-neng, the Sixth Ancestor of
Ch’an or Zen Buddhism. Goddard remarks that Buddhism “is the
most promising of all the great religions to meet the problems of
European civilization which to thinking people are increasingly
foreboding.” He felt that Japanese Zen was “the purest form of Bud¬
dhism and the closest to the teachings of Gautama Buddha, its
founder.”^ This was a privately expressed view, however, for A Bud¬
dhist Bible is a broadly inclusive anthology that serves Buddhist read¬
ers generally. It brings together a collection of sacred texts that are
available in more up-to-date translations elsewhere, perhaps, but are
scattered in various publications, some of them out of print.
It is tempting to compare A Buddhist Bible with D. T. Suzuki’s
Manual of Zen Buddhism, published in the same decade.^ Indeed,
the two books overlap to some extent, for both contain the Heart Su¬
tra and selections from the Diamond, Shurangama, Lankavatara,
and Platform Sutras. Suzuki and Goddard selected different sections
from the original texts, however, and their translations vary. The
Manual ofZen Buddhism is quite sectarian, whereas^ Buddhist Bible
includes a broad selection of Mahayana texts as well as selections
from the Pali and Tibetan canons.
Goddard honored the traditional Chinese classification of Ma¬
hayana Buddhist texts, which places their origins in India for the
most part. Research into the origins of Buddhist literature is ongo¬
ing today, but even in Goddard s time it was clear to Western scholars
that many texts attributed by the Chinese to Sanskrit sources were in
fact probably written in China in the fourth through seventh centu¬
ries. In Goddard’s “Selections from Sanskrit Sources,” the Shuran-

34
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

gama Sutra, The Awakening of Faith, and probably the Lankavatara

Sutra fall into this uncertain category.
In other respects, however, Goddard felt free of tradition. In his
preface to the 1938 edition he discusses his rationale for cutting “a
great deal of matter not bearing on the theme of the particular Scrip¬
ture” and also his readiness to interpret “where it seemed necessary
and advisable.” He also was quite willing to edit the English of his
translators, including D. T. Suzuki, and to move paragraphs and
sections around within a traditional text—thus showing the confi¬
dence and courage of a talented autodidact unhampered by schol¬
arly constraints.
The Diamond Sutra section is a prime example of his editing.
When Goddard spoke of texts that “are often overloaded with inter¬
polations and extensions... in places confused and obscure,” he was
surely referring to the Diamond Sutra in particular. Working from
the translation provided by his associate, the monk Wai-tao, he
forthrightly rearranged this stitra by the Six Paramitas—the tradi¬
tional “perfections” of giving, morality, patience, zeal, focused med¬
itation, and wisdom. On examining the original, I find references to
“giving,” for example, scattered in six of the Diamond Sutra's thirty-
two short chapters. Goddard assembled these widely separated ref¬
erences into a single section entitled “The Practice of Charity.” He
followed the same process when assembling the other five sections of
the sutra by the paramitas, giving it a kind of coherence it lacks in
more faithful translations.
It is a problematic coherence, of course. Scholarly constraints
keep translations as true as possible to the original intentions of a
text. As early as the fourth century, Vasubandhu and other Indian
Buddhist philosophers suggested various thematic orderings of the
Diamond Sutra, but they did not try to rearrange it accordingly.^ In
deference to tradition, Goddard noted the original locations of the
paragraphs. Then, by cutting the repetitions and what he considered
to be superfluous material, he produced a version that is about two-
thirds the length of other English translations. It is not, however, the
Diamond Sutra studied, memorized, and chanted by fifty genera¬
tions of Mahayana Buddhists.

35
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

In “Selections from Chinese Sources,” Goddard included the

Tao-te-ching, the central book of Taoism, as a text that contributed
to Ch’an. It is “not strictly a Buddhist text,” he confesses. Indeed.
But it is a text that profoundly influenced the development of
Chinese Buddhism and has been studied from the beginning by
Chinese Buddhist monks. In fact, David Chappell, professor of Chi¬
nese Buddhism at the University of Hawai'i, remarked to me that
the original classical pieces that are translated invl Buddhist Bible ac¬
tually form the syllabus studied by Chinese Buddhist monks over a
period of 1,500 years.
Goddard also included a translation from the T’ien-t’ai (Japa¬
nese: Tendai) tradition, tvhich he titles “Dhyana for Beginners,” a
work ascribed to Chih-chi (Chih-i, 538-97), the founder of T’ien-
t’ai. This is a tradition that is little known among Western Bud¬
dhists, though it was the mother of the sects and subsects that
emerged in the Kamakura period of Japanese history (1186-1333):
Pure Land, Zen, and Nichiren. It has served as a bridge between The-
ravada and Mahayana schools as well. Its central term, chih-kuan
(Japanese: shikari) derives etymologically from the two qualities of
Theravada practice, samatha and vipassana, “stillness” and “in¬
sight.” Goddard explicates the term chih-kuan as “dhyana” and
translates it “serenity and wisdom.”
The meditation practice of dhyana is carried on to this day in all
Zen Buddhist centers. East and West. It is an oral tradition, however.
Aside from Dogen Kigen’s Fukan Zazengi, a work probably un¬
known to Goddard, the practice itself is not set forth in much detail
in Buddhist literature. It seems that Goddard intended “Dhyana for
Beginners” to fill that gap.
In addition, dhyana traditionally meant far more than stillness
and insight. It included personal discipline in daily life and precepts
of ethical and harmonious living, topics that underlie Zen Buddhist
texts but again are not spelled out discursively. It is interesting to
compare words of “Dhyana for Beginners” with koans of Zen. Here
is Chih-chi:

Our body is very sensitive to softness, smoothness, warmth in

winter, coolness in summer, etc. We are so ignorant as to the

36
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

true nature of these sensations that our minds become upset

and foolish by the touch of pleasant things, and our effort to
attain enlightenment is obstructed and hindered.®

And here is Tung-shan (807—69), venerated as the founder of the

Ts’ao-tung (Soto) school of Zen:

A monk asked, “How does one escape hot and cold?”

“Why not go where there is neither hot nor cold?” said
the Master.
“What sort of place is neither hot nor cold?” asked the
monk.
“When it is cold, you freeze to death. When it is hot, you
swelter to death.”^

Chih-chi discourses on ignoring comfort and discomfort, Tung-

shan announces the way to do it. Chih-chi points to a step-by-step
practice toward forgetting the self; Tung-shan points to the expe¬
rience. “Dhyana for Beginners,” then, offers the first of many
steps. And though it was originally composed for monks and might
be considered moralistic by Western readers, it nonetheless presents
ideals of personal purity that we can translate for our own in¬
struction.
Also in “Selections from Chinese Sources” is the “Sutra Spoken
by the Sixth Patriarch” (The Platform Sutra). This text is familiar to
Western students of Zen Buddhism, for it is part of The Sutra of Hui-
neng, published with A. F. Price’s The Diamond Sutra.^^ Even the
translator is the same, Wong Mou-lam, a colleague and friend of
Dwight Goddard. This is, of course, the Sung-period edition of the
sutra, not the much earlier version discovered in the Tun-huang
caves, which was translated in 1967 with a long historical commen¬
tary by Philip B. Yampolsky in his The Platform Sutra of the Sixth Pa¬
triarch. Again, Goddard’s cutting and rearranging give the sutra a
certain coherence that it lacks in the original.
Goddard did not intends Buddhist Bible to be a sourcebook for
critical and literary study. In a letter to Ruth Everett he said about an¬
other of his publications, “Whatever I do will inevitably be done in
an amateurish way and will have to be redone later by abler minds.

37
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

but I feel that because of the present situation I must do the best I
can, and remain willing to be forgotten by the greater writers who are
to follow.”’^
Goddards “best” remains a building block of Western Buddhist
practice, while he himself, though a prolific writer and pamphleteer,
is almost forgotten. In Charles S. Prebish’s biographical sketch of
GoAAzTAior\i\ition\\comm^AmericanNationalBiography (Oxford
University Press), Prebish remarks at the outset, “The details of his
family background and early life are rather obscure.” The story of
his career is also incomplete. A few letters were kept in the family. His
sister, the family genealogist of her time, began a chronology of his
life, and this was extended with brief comments by a niece, Alice M.
Brannon, who kept house for him for lengthy periods. In addition,
Goddard s publications themselves provide some biographical in¬
formation, a few articles have been written about him, and the First
Zen Institute of New York has kept his letters to Ruth Everett and
Shigetsu Sasaki. Still, the record is meager and there are many gaps.
Dwight Goddard was born July 5, 1861, in Worcester, Massa¬
chusetts. After graduating with honors from Y^orcester Polytechnic
Institute, he began a career in industry. In 1889, when he was twenty-
cight, he married Harriet Webber. It was a happy marriage, ac¬
cording to Alice Brannon, but Harriet died just the next year. This
tragedy, one can assume, brought Goddard face-to-face with the
deepest human questions. The following year, in 1891, he entered
Hartford Theological Seminary, where he was graduated in 1894, at
the age of thirty-three.
Ordained and posted to China as a Congregational missionary,
Goddard attained some status when he was chosen to write the Re¬
port of the Jubilee Year of the Foochow Mission of American Board of
Commissioners for Foreign Missions in 1897. He married Dr. Frances
Nieberg, a fellow missionary, and their first son was born in
Foochow.
On the basis of interviews conducted late in Goddard s life, Da¬
vid Starry wrote of Goddard’s dissatisfaction during those early years
in China. During his initial years as a .. . missionary in southern
China, he became increasingly frustrated at the failure of the Chris¬
tian missions to accomplish their spiritual goals. He was convinced

38
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

that although the Christian propaganda had been successful in in¬

fluencing educational and social conditions it had failed in its purely
religious aspects.”^^ He prowled around with an open mind, visiting
Buddhist temples—alert for spiritual nourishment.
Returning with his wife and child to the United States about
1899, Goddard accepted pastoral positions in Lancaster, Massachu¬
setts, and in Chicago. A second son was born. Then abruptly he
changed course again, returning to industry as a mechanical engi¬
neer. In his spare time he set about writing a series of biographical es¬
says that were collected and published in 1906 as Eminent Engineers.
In the course of his engineering enterprise, Goddard sold an in¬
vention to the U.S. government that was later used during World
War I. This brought him a fortune that supported his family and al¬
lowed him to retire from industry in 1913 and resume his religious
quest. It was not a simple transition. He lived alone for a while and
suffered a nervous breakdown. David Starry conjectures that he was
burdened by the thought of his invention being used for purposes
of war. In any case, during the next few years “Uncle Dwight was a
wanderer,” as Brannon noted in her chronology. He lived for periods
of a few years inThetford, Vermont, and in Ann Arbor, Michigan—
more briefly in Lancaster and in Los Gatos, California. He became
interested in Taoism during this time, while he was also reading and
writing in the field of Christian mysticism.
He made several trips back to China. In 1921 he learned about
Karl Ludwig Reichelt, a Lutheran pastor who had established a mon¬
astery in Nanking that was devoted to Christian-Buddhist under¬
standing. He spent some time in Reichelt s monastery in 1923 and
again in 1925.
One is not surprised to learn that with all this wandering, he and
his wife were divorced in 1926. He married for a third time a year
later, at age sixty-six, and this marriage ended fairly soon afterward
in a separation.
In 1928, at the age of sixty-seven, Goddard encountered Japanese
Zen Buddhism for the first time through Junsaburo Iwami of New
York City. Iwami was at the time attending lectures by Shigetsu Sa¬
saki (later Sokei-an Osho) at the Orientalia Bookshop. Sasaki re¬
called that Iwami “got one of Goddard’s circulars he was always

39
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

sending around and wrote to him about Zen Buddhism. Goddard

was terribly moved that he never knew Zen Buddhism.”'^ After he
and Iwami met, Goddard went forthwith to Japan, where he con¬
sulted with D. T. Suzuki and studied eight months with Yamazaki
Taiko Roshi of Shokoku Monastery in Kyoto, living apart from the
monastery but visiting for zazen and personal interviews. He dedi¬
cated the first edition of A Buddhist Bible to Suzuki and Yamazaki as
his teachers.
In letters to Ruth Everett, Goddard reported on his difficulties
with Zen practice. His mind wandered uncontrollably. His legs gave
him trouble, as one can imagine they would for a sedentary man his
age. He also had a hard time understanding the roshi s broken En¬
glish. His perseverance shows poignantly in a photograph in Rick
Fields s How the Swans Came to the Lake: an elderly figure in a Japa¬
nese robe over a white shirt with bow tie, sitting rather awkwardly
in zazen.
In earlier letters to Mrs. Everett, Goddard urged her to meet Shi-
getsu Sasaki. This began a train of karma that has not slowed up a bit,
for she became a key figure in the First Zen Institute that developed
around Sasaki, a center that continues to be important in Western
Zen Buddhism. Ultimately, Everett married SasaJci Osho shortly be¬
fore he died. Her books, particularly The Recorded Sayings ofLin-chi
Hui-chao of Chen Prefecture, edited from Sasaki’s notes, and Zen
Dust: The History of the Koan andKoan Study in Lin-chi (Rinzai)Zen,
which she compiled with Isshu Miura, are essential references for se¬
rious Zen students.^"*
Though Goddard was one of five people to sign the original letter
that requested that Shigetsu Sasaki be sent to the United States as a
teacher, he was not convinced that Sasaki Osho’s method of teaching
was correct. With his experience in Chinese and Japanese monaster¬
ies, he felt that lay religious practice was vulnerable to worldly dis¬
traction and could not survive. He therefore endeavored to establish
a monastic movement, the “Followers of Buddha.” It was an ambi¬
tious project, set on forty acres in southern California adjacent to the
Santa Barbara National Forest and also on a large parcel of rural land
in Fhetford. The religious brothers (no sisters) participating in the
fellowship were to commute back and forth between the centers in a

40
 The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

van, spending winters in California, summers in Vermont. The en¬

terprise folded for lack of members. Rick Fields surmises—cor¬
rectly, I think—that Goddards strict monastic style went against
the American grain, and his inability to persuade Wong Mou-lam or
Wai-tao to head the movement left it without enlightened leader¬
ship.^^ It is ironic that despite his conviction that monasticism was
the only possible path, his writings became an inspiration to Ker-
ouac at the other end of the spectrum of lay and clerical practice and
that his work fertilized the lay Zen Buddhist movement that flour¬
ishes today.
After immersing myself for several weeks in the project of piecing
Goddard’s life together, I find myself in the presence of a talented
Yankee gentleman fired with bodhichitta, the aspiration for Bud-
dhahood—who bewildered his conventional family and friends and
worked a very lonely row quite single-mindedly. He knew that
“Buddhahood” is not a sectarian matter, and one finds throughout
his writings an aspiration to find the ultimate ground of religion—
of whatever name.
The epigraph of his booklet The Diamond Sutra, privately pub¬
lished in Thetford in 1935, is an adoration of the Three Bodies of the
Buddha: the Dharmakaya (the pure and clear body), the Sambhoga-
kaya (the full and complete body), and the Nirmanakaya (the
infinitely varied body). The final section reads, “Adoration to Nir¬
manakaya: Buddhahood in its many bodies of manifestation—
Shakyamuni Buddha, the perfectly Enlightened One; Jesus, the Na-
zarean and Saint Francis of Assisi; all the Bodhisattvas, Saints, and
Sages of the past, present, and future; and Maitreya, the Coming
Buddha.”
This is not, as it might seem at first glance, a sentimental mixture
of religions but a statement of devotion to the sacred perennial,
which is manifested in many marvelous teachers. Goddard was a
man of his time, the century that produced prophets of the peren¬
nial: Thoreau, Emerson, Whitman, Mary Baker Eddy, H. B. Blavat-
sky.*^ The World’s Parliament of Religions at the Columbian
Exposition in Chicago in 1893 was in some ways a fulfillment of their
aspirations. John Henry Barrows, the leader of the parliament, wrote
in “The History of the Parliament”:

41
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Religion, the white light of Heaven, has been broken into

many-colored fragments by the prisms of men. One of the ob¬
jects of the Parliament of Religions has been to change this
many-colored radiance back into the white light of heavenly
truth.

Barrows goes on to quote lines from Tennyson about the many-

colored fragments:

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be.
They are but broken lights of thee.
And thou, O Lord, are more than they.

Many thinkers that late in the century could, however, skip over
Tennyson, honor the many colors, and search for the pure light with¬
out giving it an immutable name and form.
Goddard sought the light in his own unique way. As Sasaki Osho
said, he distributed circulars. Writing was his Tao, his way of think¬
ing through his changes, for himself and for others. His long task of
compiling the biographies of Eminent Engineers surely gave him a
sense of completion once his engineering career was over. He contin¬
ued to write after he retired and during the years of working through
the dark night of his earnest religious quest. In 1917, at the age of
fifty-six, he published lectures he had given to students of the Chi¬
cago Theological Seminary under the title The Divine Urge for Mis¬
sionary Service. Other works during this period include The Good
News of a Spiritual Realm (a paraphrase of the Gospds), Jesus and the
Problem of Human Life, and Love in Creation and Redemption: A
Study in the Teachings of Jesus Compared with Modem Thought. He
edited and published a journal. The Good News of a Spiritual Life,
from 1918 to 1922.
After his exposure to Dr. Reichelt’s views, Goddard explored the
possibility that Buddhism might serve to inform Christianity. In
1924 he published the booklet^ Vision of Christian and Buddhist
Eellowship in the Search for Light and Reality, and in 1925, the eclec¬
tic metaphysical novel A Nature Mystics Clue. These publications
marked a development his former colleagues could not tolerate.

42
 9

The Legacy of Dwight Goddard

Alice Brannon noted in her chronology for 1924: “Rufus M. Jones

forsakes him,” and “Dr. Cadman of American Board disagrees.” He
was not swayed. He returned to Nanking for a second stay at Dr. Rei-
chelt s monastery. In 1927, he published his inquiry: Was Jesus Influ¬
enced by Buddhism? A Comparative Study of the Lives and Thoughts of
Guatama andJesus.
Then, in 1928, Goddard made his pivotal trip to Japan where he
studied with Suzuki and Yamazaki Roshi. In 1930 Luzac of London
published the book that emerged from these encounters, the first of
his exclusively Buddhist works: The Buddha’s Golden Path: A Manual
of Practical Buddhism Based on the Teachings and Practices of the Zen
Sect, But Interpreted and Adapted to Meet Modern Conditions. His
journal, Zen: A Magazine of Self Realization, later subtitled^ Bud¬
dhist Magazine, appeared in a few issues, and the first edition of
A Buddhist Bible was published in 1932. Then Buddha, Truth, and
Brotherhood: An Epitome of Many Buddhist Scriptures, Translated
from the Japanese, was published in 1934. During these years God¬
dard was also bringing out translations from Buddhist texts that were
later incorporated in the second, enlarged edition ofvl Buddhist Bi¬
ble. The journal of Goddard s monastic movement. Fellowship Fol¬
lowing Buddha, was published for a while. A total of twelve books
and booklets appeared in the last fifteen years of his life. A few were
commercially published; the rest were done at Goddard’s expense,
bearing prices of fifty cents or a dollar.
In hindsight one can trace the way his writing projects bore God¬
dard inexorably from applied science to Ghristianity to Buddhism
and ultimately to Zen Buddhism. Though he settled on Zen as the
prism that seemed least opaque, he remained true to his past. Ker-
ouac heard that Goddard actually returned to Ghristianity in his
final days.‘^ In any case, as his outlook evolved, he became more in¬
clusive. He did not fall into the error of isolating Zen from Bud¬
dhism or Buddhism from ethics and principles of kinship, and these
principles were surely colored by his early Ghristian convictions.
WhileZ Buddhist Bible is true to the theme of the Diamond Sutra—
the Buddha cannot be known by any particular feature—at the
same time, the various teachings of this collection clearly show that
such a pure, profound understanding can be attained by the practice

43
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

of Buddhism—the way of wisdom and compassion that Goddard

sought to make his own. In a letter to Mrs. Everett he proclaimed,
“ [Zen Buddhism] is first, last, and always the practice of the Noble
Path”^®—that is, the Buddhas classical Eightfold Path of Right
Views, Right Thoughts, Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Live¬
lihood, Right Effort or Lifestyle, Right Recollection, and Right Ab¬
sorption or Concentration.
In 1937 and 1938 Goddard was deeply involved in matters relat¬
ing to the publication of the second edition of A Buddhist Bible,
which Alice Brannon noted was “his great contribution to the
worlds learning.” He died on his seventy-eighth birthday in 1939.
In a memoir published in the June 1940 issue of The Vermonter,
Charles R. Cummings wrote of Goddard’s dislike of the telephone,
his preference for plain food and secondhand clothing, his choice of
a bus rather than a train for cross-country travel, and his opposition
to hunting and fishing. He had a shrine room in his home, where he
practiced zazen daily. “He developed a reputation as an eccentric, to
say the least,” one of my correspondents in Thetford wrote to me re¬
cently. As a fellow eccentric and fellow late-bloomer, I bow in venera¬
tion to the Sage of Vermont and to the life he devoted to religious
understanding.

Foreword 10 A Buddhist Bible, by Dwight Goddard (Boston; Beacon Press, 1994).

44
THE CLASSICAL DISCOURSES
 St*
<

Vi' -

• w

* A
- ; •■•K

.r
I
A

f
 r

The Brahma Viharas

TX HE classical vihara, or ancient Buddhist temple, was built of red

sandalwood. It had thirty-two chambers and was eight tala trees in
height. The tala tree is the palmyra palm, seventy or eighty feet tall,
so the classical vihara would have been as high as 640 feet. It was sur¬
rounded by beautiful landscaping with a bathing pool and had
promenades for walking meditation. All creature comforts were pro¬
vided in the furnishings, including stores of food, clothing, bedding,
and medicine.
Though the classical viharas were splendid temples, the Brahma
Viharas are far higher and richer. “Brahma” means “pure,” and the
Pure Viharas can be understood as the Buddha realms of the noblest
attitudes and conduct. The first of these Viharas is maitrt, boundless
kindliness; the second is karund, boundless compassion; the third is
mudita, boundless delight in the liberation of others; and the fourth
is upekshd, boundless equanimity.'
Notice that “boundless” is the operant qualifier of these noble
abodes. “Boundless” has come to mean “infinite,” but its primary
meaning is “without constraints.” Boundless kindliness, compas¬
sion, goodwill, and equanimity are the noble qualities of the one
who is no longer caged by individuality and has entered the spacious,
multicentered universe.
Most of us, however, cannot readily find that open, inclusive
space. We live without giving love easily, because openness and giv¬
ing seem to endanger the precious self we cultivated as children. The

47
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Buddha assures us, “We are all in this together. Let’s trust one an¬
other, work through our fears, and build our Viharas together.”
It might seem to you that before you build your Brahma Viharas,
you should prepare your foundation—that is, sit hard, experience
no-self—and then go on to apply your experience in daily life. But
these are not ordinary temples. You prepare the ground at the same
time that you build. Building is preparing; preparing is building.
When you practice kindliness, you are also practicing no-self.
Kindliness is an attitude of pleasantness, interest in the other, en¬
couragement. The kindly person is not worried about giving away
personal power. In fact, when you are kindly, you are cultivating
Buddha power, the power of decency that brings your interrelation¬
ship with all beings into clear focus.
A step beyond kindliness, compassion is the personal experience
and practice of interbeing. We live our short lives not merely in in¬
terdependence but as a single great organism of many dynamic el¬
ements. What happens to you happens to me; what happens to
me happens to you—at the same moment with the same intensity.
If your behavior seems strange, it is because I am not yet well ac¬
quainted with your side of my psyche. I hear painful bondage in your
angry words. I want to understand how it could have developed. I
want you to hear my story too. Let’s get together and share, and your
part of me will become more clear—my part of you will become
more clear.
Delight in the joy of others is still another step, more difficult to
realize even than compassion. Each of us has a seed of personal po¬
tential, formed by a mysterious process of cause and affinity with an¬
cestors and environment extending to unknown reaches of time and
space. We visualize that seed maturing and bearing fruit, and when
someone’s attainment, however small, steals our thunder, we find
ways to violate the Seventh Precept by praising ourselves and abusing
theother.^ Can the runner-up wholeheartedly congratulate the win¬
ner? That is the great test.
The final abode, equanimity, contains all the others, of course.
Kindliness, compassion, and goodwill all rest and come forth here.
Is it all right to be mortal? Is it all right to be homely? Is it all right to
be weak in mathematics or grammar? Is it all right to be deaf to good

48
 The Brahma Viharas

music or blind to good art? Is it all right to be neurotic? Is it all right

for others to have such egregious faults? Really all right—to the very
bottom? Well, if so, then congratulations! “Golden-haired lion!” as
Yiin-men would exclaim. Please take my seat and be my teacher—
be the Buddha’s teacher.
I suspect, rather, that no one can answer in the affirmative and
rightfully claim such broad, serene acceptance of self and others.
The abode of equanimity stands vacant; nobody lives there, though
some live right next door—the Buddha, Kuan-yin, the Dalai Lama
(who stresses equanimity in his teaching and personifies it in his life).
Yet in your practice the Buddha is sitting on your cushions and
counting your breaths. Kuan-yin hears the sounds of suffering with
no one’s ears but your own and reaches out to help. These are not ab¬
stract figures but names and forms of yourself In your own Brahma
Vihara, just as it is, you restore your equanimity and find energy to
engage in the world with its beings.
The self is still present—but it is not self-preoccupied. It washes
the dishes and puts them away. Even the ego is there, with a clear un¬
derstanding of who this Buddha is and how she or he is engaged: cry¬
ing the wail of others, laughing their laugh, and doing their work
with them. You as your own Buddha can do this, quite short of any
deep realization, as if yon were doing it from your heart, for your
heart is not just the little organ beating in your chest.
Thich Nhat Hanh has said that you are like a TV. If you want a
peaceful channel, you can turn to a peaceful channel. If you want
some other kind of channel, you can turn to that. Easier said than
done, perhaps. My suggestion thatyou simply be compassionate and
peaceful is also easier said than done sometimes. Perhaps you will
need to search out conventional psychotherapy or to practice Thera-
vada or Vajrayana exercises of self-assurance and loving-kindness.
Treat these needs as you would your needs for the right food and
plenty of exercise for good health.
A healthful regimen should not be regarded simply as a path to
well-being, though one may become fit. The way of kindliness as if
you were kindly is likewise not merely self-development, though the
self does become more decent as you persevere. These skillful means
are practice, but “practice” also is becoming a worn-out expression.

49
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

It is not merely practice to prepare oneself through study, zazen, and

therapy to help others by suffering with them, delighting in them,
and finding peace with them. At every step, at every point in your
breath-by-breath return to your task, you are pursuing the Buddha’s
own noble, completely fulfilling work.

As the World-Honored One was walking with his followers,

he pointed to the ground and said, “This spot is good for
building a sanctuary.”
Indra, the Emperor of the Gods, took a blade of grass,
stuck it in the ground, and said, “The sanctuary is built.”
The World-Honored One smiled.^

Simple for Indra, and thus simple for us. But just as Indra estab¬
lished a sanctuary in present place and time—just as the lotus flower
blooms in the mud—so Brahma Viharas rise in the midst of pain,
anguish, affliction, and distress; of greed, hatred, and ignorance.
Mara, the destroyer, usually considered to be the Buddha’s opposite
number, dwells there in the four ignoble abodes of suspicion, antipa¬
thy, jealousy, and restlessness. Mara is not, of course, merely an out¬
side influence. He js really quite ordinary looking, tall, getting a little
soft around the tummy, with tather unkempt hair and a white goa¬
tee. However, I vow to cut off the Three Poisons of greed, hatred, and
ignorance; that is, I vow to follow my Buddha tendencies of kindli¬
ness, compassion, goodwill, and peace, rather than to follow my
Mara tendencies.
It is, as Indra showed, quite easy. It is also quite difficult. You must
cut off the mind road, as Wu-men says. Otherwise, “You are like a
ghost, clinging to bushes and grasses. Yet you and I know from ex¬
perience that the mind road cant be cut off by even the strongest,
sharpest power of the will. In fact, the more energy you devote to
confronting your mental chatter, the noisier it becomes.
Don’t misdirect yourself Attend scrupulously to your task, and
respond as appropriately as you can to its demands. Though your
thoughts are importunate, on your cushions your task is the koan
Mu, and its tequirements are devotion and the utmost spirit of in¬
quiry. When you doubt that you are giving Mu enough devotion and

50
 The Brahma Vihdras

inquiry, then indeed you are not. Settle into Mu and forget about
your inadequacies. If the Buddha had been adequate in his zazen, he
would not have had to practice so long. Inadequacy, like the Three
Poisons, is your field of noble endeavor. Without inadequacy, there
is no Buddha Way.
In daily life, your noble endeavor is likewise attention and re¬
sponse. Listening to the sounds of the world, you find that your very
skin is a sensory organ rather than some kind of outer bulwark. “In¬
side and outside become one, and you are like a mute person who has
had a dream.”^ It is then that the thrush sings and the earth is shaken.
You find yourself an organ of interbeing, and turning the wheel of
the Dharma becomes a matter of waving hello to your neighbor
when you pick up the morning paper. Your concern about an illness
in your neighbor s family is in that wave. Your pleasure at her pur¬
chase of a cabin in the country is in that wave. Your peace of mind is
in that wave.
This is the great peace of equanimity. Once you see into the vast
and fathomless emptiness of the universe, you find there is no mind
road to cut oflF and no abiding self to protect. The Three Poisons are
wiped away, and although they can appear again, at least you have
learned how to turn the switch. You know clearly for yourself the
royal ease of Kuan-yin.
Kuan-yin must nonetheless be served with food, clothing, bed¬
ding, medicine, and love. Otherwise he or she cannot lift a hand to
wave. Mara too demands service; otherwise he or she cannot be sus¬
picious, antagonistic, jealous, and restless. The Buddha, Kuan-yin,
and Mara are useful archetypes, but I am the one who must take re¬
sponsibility. If I meet most of my needs and allow others to help me
to meet them, then I can be of service. If I meet most of my self-
centered desires and allow others to help me to meet them, then I will
get bloated and everybody else had better watch out.
Ordinary law is at work here. If you follow this law as Buddha,
then it is clearly the Buddhas law. If you follow it as Mira, it is still
the Buddhas law but not so evidently, for it is misused. The law is, of
course, karma. This happens because that happens. This is because
that is.

51
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

The misuse of karma is not its denial. The most hardened crimi¬
nal knows that one thing leads to another. Misuse lies in the attempt
to manipulate and exploit karma for self-centered purposes. When
parents are too preoccupied to care for their children, then the chil¬
dren tend to neglect themselves and their responsibilities in turn.
Schools are disrupted, hospitals are filled with victims of accidents
and addictions, and prisons are crowded with violators of progres¬
sively more severe laws.
On the world stage, when agricultural syndicates buy up the land
of peasants for sugarcane or bananas, then the restless peasants will
have to be neutralized somehow, and the insects and diseases that
come with specializing in a single crop will have to be dealt with. The
problems that inevitably come with neutralizing the peasants and
with dealing with insects and plant diseases will have to be addressed
in turn, using ever more draconian measures.
The synergy of draconian misuse becomes overwhelming and
can only be dealt with by the radical transformation of the individual
self from an isolated being to a multicentered being and by leader¬
ship from that position, which speaks to the needs of the family,
community, and the universal organism. Gary Snyder wrote an arti¬
cle more than twenty years ago entitled “Buddhism and the Coming
Revolution. It was based on the Hua-yen model of the Net of Indra
and showed clearly how the Mahayana Buddhist, faithful to the inti¬
mate interdependence of all beings, resists the ordinary self-
aggrandizing tendencies of states, institutions, and individuals. It
was a seminal essay, and we are challenged to bring its thought into
reality in our practice.
This practice is all of a piece. The tendencies of some govern¬
ments to torture political dissidents and destroy the rain forests are
my own tendencies and yours—to neglect our children, say, or to
squander our physical health. The results are felt all of a piece too.
My Mara permeates the world, and world Mara permeates me. Like¬
wise when I conduct myself with kindliness, compassion, goodwill,
and equanimity, all beings are enlightened.
The path is practical, not metaphysical, though archetypes show
through the mist to guide us. I cannot be content just to seek peace
of mind with concepts. After all, the Buddhas teachings were con-
 Tl^e Brahma Vihdras

cerned with noble conduct, and the ancient sanghas were organized
as noble social structures. How should we as modern Buddhists
apply the teaching and sangha models in the context of pervasive sys¬
tems that are ignoble and destructive? It is up to us, it seems to me,
to conspire with our families and friends and establish practical alter¬
natives that are true to our understanding, here in our own time.
1990

53
 EmmeiJikku Kannon Gyo

The Ten-Verse Kannon Sutra of Timeless Life

Kanzeon Kanzeon!
namu butsu I bow before the Buddha,
yo butsu u in with the Buddha I have my source,
yo butsu u en with the Buddha I have affinity—
buppo so en affinity with Buddha, Dharma, Sangha,
jo rakugajo constancy, ease, assurance, purity.
cho nen kanzeon Mornings my thought is Kanzeon,
bo nen kanzeon evenings my thought is Kanzeon,
nen nen ju shin ki rapidly thoughts arise in the mind,
nen nen fu ri shin. thought after thought is not separate
from mind.

In the Diamond Sangha we recite the Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo in

Sino-Japanese,' though we tried out an English translation in the
early days of the Maui Zendo. That experiment lasted two days as I
recall and was firmly put down.
Yamada Koun Roshi once remarked that the Emmei Jikku Kan¬
non Gyo is really a kind of dharani, or invocation of praise. I think he
was right, offering a clue, perhaps, to the reason my English transla¬
tion didn’t work. Far Eastern dharanis are not translations but trans¬
literations of Sanskrit. Original texts are lost for the most part.^

54
 Emmet Jikku Kannon Gyo

Their rhythmic forms have been recited for 1,500 years, and we sense
how they have been empowered with the devotions of thousands of
monks, nuns, and laypeople over the centuries.
The Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo was, however, composed in Chi¬
nese, not in Sanskrit. It has the rhythm and the empowerment of a
dharani, but its rational meaning becomes evident.
To begin at the beginning: the original title was simply Jikku Kan¬
non Gyo, “The Ten-Verse Kannon [Kuan-yin] Sutra.”^ Jikku (or
jukku) means “ten verses” or “ten lines.” Gyo (or kyd) is “sutra.” The
term emmei (technically enmei—but the n is elided to m) was added
to the title sometime after the sutra was composed and is usually in¬
terpreted to mean “prolonging life.” Zen teachers including Hakuin
Ekaku Zenji are fond of recounting folk stories about the miraculous
effects of the sutra as a lifesaver."*
It is important, however, to see into other implications of emmei
and such related terms as kotobuki (long life) and Jurui (ancient).
The ultimately ancient is the timeless, a reference to the essential na¬
ture that is not born and does not die. It is timeless—not eternal and
not ephemeral. The Morning Star presented the timeless to the Bud¬
dha Shakyamuni, and distant peach blossoms presented the timeless
to Ling-yiin.^ The Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo extends life for the be¬
liever, and it brings the Buddhas own experience of timelessness in
this moment to the rest of us.
The first line evokes Kanzeon (Kuan-shih-yin), the full name of
Kannon, “The One Who Perceives the Sounds of the World.” Kan¬
zeon evolved from the male figure Avalokiteshvara in the earlier
Indian Buddhist pantheon and is worshiped as the “Goddess of
Mercy” in Far Eastern folk religion.
As the Goddess of Mercy, Kanzeon saves people from drowning,
injury, injustice, evil spirits, and bandits. She releases prisoners
whether they are innocent or guilty, and gives pregnant women their
choice of a male or a female child. If you fall off a cliff and call out
Kanzeon’s name, you will be suspended in the air like the sun—or so
we are assured by the Lotus Sutra J"
I honor this deep faith. It is a comforting bulwark that sustains
countless people who might otherwise be miserable and hopeless.

55
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

You will even find Kanzeon worshipers among Zen students. But
Harada Dai’un Roshi would ask, “How old is Kanzeon?” If the stu¬
dent replied, “Ageless,” the roshi would ring his little bell. “Back to
your cushions for more work!” Kanzeon may be a goddess in the sky
who manipulates karma for the true believer, but she can also be he—
looking out through very ordinary eyes, hearing'with very ordinary
ears, using very ordinary tools like a wok or a word processor.
Indeed, sometimes Kanzeon is represented holding a thousand
tools in a thousand hands. Sometimes she stands with a compassion¬
ate expression, holding a jar of ambrosia and a lotus. Sometimes she
is just sitting there, altogether comfortable in her mudra of royal
ease, with one arm over her upraised knee. Her presence alone serves
as a teaching. With many mudras, she teaches in many ways—for
example: “Time for supper!”
When Mother or Father calls from the kitchen, “Time for sup¬
per!” the children cry out, “Time for supper!” This echo is not just
Kanzeons announcement bouncing about but the childrens con¬
firmation that they have internalized the message and have made it
their own.
Wu-men, hearing the sound of the drum announcing the noon
meal, found himself to be the Peak of Wonder, dancing at the center
of paradise.^ He then announced himself in a great career of teaching
that set generations of subsequent teachers dancing. This is the func¬
tion of Kanzeon.
“Ripeness is all,” so of course the function of Kanzeon is also to
study and practice—to prepare for the drum or the Morning Star.
The drum and the Morning Star also had to prepare for their an¬
nouncements. This is not a pathetic fallacy. The timpanist plays
upon a living being. The stars are bursting with their messages. Turn
to a child for the star’s announcement.
Enlightening, being enlightened, calling and responding, the
birds and stars as Kanzeon save us, just as they themselves save us and
as Kanzeon the figure up there in the sky” saves us. At the same time,
it is important to heed Yun-men’s cautions:

Yun-men addressed his assembly and said, “To realize the Way
through hearing voices; to enlighten the mind through seeing

56
 Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo

colors—that is as if the Bodhisattva Kuan-shih-yin [Kan-

zeon] bought cheap cakes with her penny. If she throws them
away, she gets man-t’ou instead.”®

Man-t’ou (Japanese: manju) is elegant steamed pastry. Yiin-men

is reminding us that we mustn’t cling to the realization we find on
hearing or observing something, as profound as it might be. Realiza¬
tion in the course of Zen practice is important, but it is just a prelimi¬
nary experience. Stopping there is as though Kanzeon were to deny
herself her fulfillment.
It is also important not to cling to man-t’ou—that is, to the more
complete experiences that come later—or even to the archetype
“Kanzeon” herself Individuation on the Buddha Way is the triumph
of selfless practice—and the unspoken, unacknowledged triumph
of forgetting triumph, and forgetting that you have forgotten. It is
an endless process of realizing more and more fully the wisdom of
Yun-men’s caution, “It is better to have nothing than to have some¬
thing good.”^
Kanzeon is not the one who perceives the sounds of the world, as
the Diamond Sutra might say if it addressed the matter—therefore
we call her “Kanzeon.” Therefore we begin the Emmei Jikku Kannon
Gyo free of concepts by calling her name: “Kanzeon!”
This is an evocation, it seems to me, like old Western poets calling
upon their muse to inspire their lyrics. We call upon Kanzeon to in¬
spire our surra and our lives. We call upon ourselves as Kanzeon. We
call upon ourselves to inspire Kanzeon.
With this evocation, the sutra sets forth the foundation of Kan-
zeon’s being: namu butsu. Butsu is Buddha—“the Enlightened
One,” Shakyamuni, and each of his wise and compassionate succes¬
sors—a name empowered even more than the sutra itself with the
devotions of countless disciples. The Buddha is also the wisdom and
compassion that comes forth as I and you. It is the name we give to
enlightenment and its potential and to the mystery that brings forth
beings and their universe.
Namu is transliterated from the Sanskrit namah and means liter¬
ally “to submit to,” “to make obeisance to.” With our understanding
of obeisance we can translate it, “I cast everything away in the pres-

57
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

ence of the Buddha.” As Dogen Zenji says, the ocean of essential na¬
ture is the most important matter. “It is beyond explanation. We can
only accept it with respect and gratitude.”'®
Acceptance is Kanzeon, hearing the sounds of the world. She
perceives the distress and pain everywhere and is realized by the
announcements of geckos and children. The compassionate action
of Kanzeon arises from the empty place of grateful receiving.
With namu butsu I venerate the great power for the Way that is gen¬
erated by this profound act of opening myself: “I bow before the
Buddha.”
Yo butsu u in /yo butsu u en. These two lines present my relation¬
ship with the Buddha, and yours—our relationship with this great
power for the Way. An incomplete translation of the two lines would
be “With the Buddha we have/ with the Buddha we have e«.”/«
and en are specifically Buddhist terms that mean “direct or inner
cause” and “indirect or environmental cause.”
Every action occurs in the harmony of in and en, and the two
terms are often combined to reflect this unity as innen. The tree
grows from its seed—the direct cause—and with the influences of
earth, water, air, and sun—the indirect causes.
Like Kanzeon, as Kanzeon—you and I have in, direct cause,
with the Buddha. We form the cause of Buddha. “This very body
is the Buddha. " This transitory, imperfect frame is the Tatha-
gata, the Buddha who comes forth thus, no less than Shakyamuni
himself
How to translate in is the question. I choose source, the best I can
do, but it is a tautological rendering. It is like saying the body is the
source of the body. The Buddha is the source of the Buddha. But
sometimes tautology can be instructive as an agent of emphasis, to
bring the matter home.
You and I also have en, indirect cause, with the Buddha. En is a
very important word in the Japanese language. Fushigi na en, “mys¬
terious affinity, is an intimate expression frequently used to confirm
a relationship between teacher and student or between friends or lov¬
ers. Affinity is a word we can use to describe how molecules come
together to form a cell, how cells come together to form the organs

58
 Emme^ Jikku Kannon Gyo

of a fetus. The dynamics of the plenum are the dance of affinity and
separation. It is affinity with the Buddha that brings the affinity of
the Sangha. Sangha affinity realizes the Buddha.
Buppo so en—affinity with Buddha, Dharma, Sangha, the Three
Treasures. Affinity with the Buddha is repeated here—it cannot be
repeated too often.
Dharma has many meanings, more than forty, I am told, but for
our purposes there are two: “teachings” and “practice.”
The teachings have three aspects:

I. The universe and its beings have no identifiable substance,

either in form or in essence.
z. Each being is in intimate communication with all other
beings, for indeed each is a constituent of all others.
3. Each being is unique and stands forth alone in its contain¬
ment of the infinite variety in the plenum.

The practice too has three main elements:

1. Following the guidance of a good teacher and the writings

and examples of good teachers of the past.
2. Following the guidance of friends, family members, and all
beings.
3. Following the guidance of personal inspiration.

The teaching without sound practice is abstract and ultimately

meaningless. Practice that is not based on sound teaching can be self-
centered and capricious. Bracing the union of teaching and practice
is the clear sense of responsibility that we inherit directly from the
Buddha, and bracing this sense of responsibility is bodhichitta, the
imperative for realization and compassion. Without this organic
chain of inner directives, the Dharma is neglected and society and its
habitat slide into corruption.
Finally, we have affinity with the Sangha. Sangha comes from the
Sanskrit root meaning “aggregate” and has been used traditionally to
refer to the Buddhist priesthood. In the Mahayana, however, it refers
to all beings and their symbiosis—their interbeing. In the sutra,
Sangha is the “Buddha Sangha,” the kinship of students who prac-

59
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

tice together, the only mode of realizing the Buddha Way. There
are Buddhist hermits, of course, but these are men and women
who choose solitude after long years of practicing with sisters
and brothers. They are firmly grounded in their realization of inti¬
macy and containment. Note also that Sangha is, the harmony of the
Buddha and the Dharma, the practice and realization of evanes¬
cence, intimacy, and diversity in my life and yours, and in our lives
together.
We have our source in and our affinity with the Buddha, we find
affinity with the Three Treasures of Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha,
and—like Kanzeon, as Kanzeon—with this affinity we have^o raku
gajo, “constancy, ease, assurance, purity.” These are the four attri¬
butes of nirvana—freedom from time, distress, bondage, and de¬
lusion.*^
Nirvana is freedom, but not anything antinomian. Freedom is
play. By “play,” I mean enjoyment, of course, but also scope for
movement—flexibility. You and I are not irrevocably linked to a re¬
lentless sequence of events, and therefore we can find timelessness in
the moment. We do not feel doomed, and therefore “every day is a
good day.”*^ We must feed, clothe, shelter, and medicate ourselves,
but we can also devote ourselves selflessly to family, community, and
the world. We can enj oy the world without exploiting it, and we need
not isolate ourselves. I am fond of the line from the Tsai-ken-t’an:
“Water which is too pure has no fish.”*'*
Jo, the first of the four attributes of nirvana, is a translation of a
Sanskrit term meaning “constant” or “eternal,” but it also means
“normal” or “ordinary.” The timeless is the ordinary. The changeless
is the everyday.

Chao-chou asked Nan-ch’iian: “What is the Tao?”

Nan-ch’iian said, “Ordinary mind is the Tao.”

After further conversation, Nan-ch’uan goes on to say, “If you have

truly realized the Tao beyond doubt, you will find it is as vast and
boundless as outer space.”*^ Just like the sky! How ordinary! How
everyday!
Vast as outer space—the Tao is not created and not extinguished.
It is the unmoving void, charged with inconceivably dynamic poten-

60
 9

Emmet Jikku Kannon Gyo

tial, bursting through with Chao-chou’s realization—or standing up

when guests enter the room, making greetings in the most cordial
and hospitable manner. Jo is Kanzeon, like smoke that is neither
empty nor substantial—timeless essential nature passing around
the cookies and juice.
Raku, the second attribute, is comfort or ease, as in Kanzeon’s
mudra of royal ease. I am always quoting Nakagawa Soen Roshi:
“Enjoy your Mu.” This seems difficult when legs hurt and anxiety
comes up, but the roshi is reminding us that practice is enlighten¬
ment—the nature of training is the nature of realization. At the be¬
ginning, zazen is commonly stressful, but it mellows into something
quite comfortable before realization appears. Practice before and af¬
ter that experience is Kanzeon herself, comfortably sitting there,
with mind and body at rest. This is not, of course, to encourage in¬
dulgence. Have a look at Hakuin’s portrait of Kanzeon sitting com¬
fortably in zazen. She is not neglectful.
I translate the third attribute, as “assurance,” but literally the
ideograph means “self” As the Dalai Lama is always saying, assur¬
ance and equanimity are the same thing. Equanimity is the quality
of mind that comes with realizing to the very bottom that everything
is empty and that emptiness is truly all right.
In terms of karma and science, selves are made up of the Five
Skandhas, perceptions and things perceived, which in turn arise
from genes and early influences that are ultimately untraceable.
Metaphysics once again leads to a dead end, perhaps leaving one
ready for understanding that the skandhas are themselves empty and
that the genes and environmental influences are reducible to form¬
less, ultimately unidentifiable tendencies of the void.
Nonetheless, here 1 am! Here is the Buddha! Here are the many
beings! The equitable self is the presentation of the equitable uni¬
verse, potent with confidence as the plenum itself is confident.
We are creatures of the great forest of the cosmos. We are born,
grow through childhood and youth into maturity, and pass through
old age and death, leaving our remains to compost the vitality that
continues to pulse and burgeon. My role and yours are one: to pro¬
duce the richest compost we can, not only for the future but as an on¬
going product of the many small deaths of our lives.

6i
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Small deaths, the Great Death of realization, and physical death

—these are all a matter of relinquishment, of forgetting the self It is
the self forgotten that is equitable, assured, realized.

Tao-hsin made his bows before Seng-ts’an and said, “I beg the
compassion of Your Reverence. Please teach me the Dharma
way of emancipation.”
Seng-ts’an said, “Who is binding you?”
Tao-hsin said, “No one is binding me.”
Seng-ts’an said, “Then why should you search for emanci¬
pation?” Hearing this, Tao-hsin had great realization.'®

The delusion that he was bound was the bondage of Tao-hsin.

Freedom from that bondage was Tao-hsin realized. It sounds simple,
but better men and women than any of us have sweat blood to make
this great transition from the self center to the multicenter, from the
me world to the compassionate world of Kanzeon.
Jo, the final attribute of nirvana, is different from jo, the first
word. (There are scores of words pronouncedyo in Japanese, all of
them with different graphs.) This^o means “purity,” including the
ordinary sense of “clean.”
Some people are preoccupied with purity, and this is their de¬
filement. In the old days of the New Age, I met many of them, dying
of fruitarianism, breaking out in boils they regarded as drains for
their impurities. Thank heaven we are past that phase!
Hui-k’o, Bodhidharma’s successor, helped Seng-ts’an through
his preoccupation with purity:

Seng-ts’an said, “Your disciple is suffering from a fatal illness

[probably leprosy]. I beg Your Reverence to release me from
my sins.”
Hui-k’o said, “Bring me your sins and I will release them
for you.”
Seng-ts’an said, “I cannot find my sins, in spite of all my
efforts.”
Hui-k’o said, “I have already released your sins for you.
From now on, live by the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha.”'^

W^ith this, Seng-ts an found liberation, perhaps not from his

physical symptoms but from his tenacious preoccupations, and in

62
 Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyd

turn he was able to help Tao-hsin to find freedom from his—in the
remarkably similar exchange quoted earlier. Leprosy was, and still is,
widely believed to be the result of bad karma, and Seng-ts’an shared
this impure idea. Actually, however, karma is not some kind of judge
out there waiting to condemn us. When Seng-ts’an looked closely,
he couldn’t find his bad karma. Hui-k’o confirmed his freedom from
such delusions and cautioned him to practice his realization in daily
life by maintaining the Buddha Way.
All this is not to deny the effects of one’s conduct. If Seng-ts’an
had lived in poverty in a district where leprosy was prevalent, then he
was probably more vulnerable to the disease than other people might
have been. It would, however, be a crude oversimplification to sup¬
pose that he contracted the disease because, say, he threw a stone at a
leper when he was a little boy in an earlier incarnation.
Of course, an act of throwing a stone at a leper becomes part of
the subtly complex network of affinities relating to leprosy that per¬
vades the universe. But to draw a direct causal connection from
throwing the stone to catching the disease is like other deterministic
ideas about karma—for example, that a little white thing escapes
from the body at death and goes cruising around looking for a couple
making love where it can find its rebirth. Such notions reduce to
crude materialism the untraceable, infinitely dynamic streams that
come together to form the infant, and so we say they are super¬
stitions.
At the same time, Seng-ts’an and you and I are responsible for
our cruel conduct. When people get hurt, our atonement will not
mend broken bones, but it can transmute anger, revenge, and self-
condemnation. At the beginning of our sutra service in the Dia¬
mond Sangha, we recite:

All the evil karma ever created by me since of old,

on account of my beginningless greed, hatred, and ignorance,
born of my conduct, speech, and thought,
I now confess, openly and fully.'®

Cho nen kanzeon / bo nen kanzeon. Chd is morning and bo is eve¬

ning. “Mornings my thought is Kanzeon, evenings my thought is
Kanzeon.” (English is such a discursive language! See how succinctly
the lines read in Sino-Japanese: “Morning thought Kanzeon, eve-

63
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

ning thought Kanzeon.”) Of course, “thought” doesn’t mean “mus¬

ing on.” If the line were rendered, “Mornings I think of Kanzeon,”
that would place Kanzeon back on the altar. It is rather, “Mornings
my thought is no other than Kanzeon herself or himself”
The graph for nen, “thought,” is made up of two parts: the top is
“present” or “now”; the bottom is “mind.” Together they are the vast
mind coming forth in this moment, framed by this particular per¬
sonality and situation.
The “vast mind” is a discovery of the Mahayana and does not ap¬
pear in Classical Buddhism, where “mind,” however subtle and
powerful, is the human mind and nothing more.’^ The Mahayana
vision is a paradigm shift, a discernment of mind as void of attributes
or fixed nature yet the source and nature of everything, “whether as
sentient beings or as Buddhas, as rivers and mountains of the
world”^°—and, of course as nen, as thoughts.
Coming forth, the nen is a pulse or a frame, and the topic is sup¬
plied by past circumstances, often immediately past. Here the sutra
says that every moment, morning and night, my thought is itself the
Bodhisattva enlightened, enlightening the self and enlightening all
beings.
Like our vows, the Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo sets forth a light for
our path. My best person is Kanzeon—each moment of perceiving
a bulbul, of listening to complaints about my failings, of speaking
out against injustice and cruelty, of breathing Mu on my cushions.
Nen nenju shin ki / nen nen fu rishin. “Rapidly thoughts arise in
the mind; / thought after thought is not separate from mind.” This
final couplet sets forth the human talent of thinking and its function
as an expression of mind.
There are two dictionary meanings for nen nen. The first is “one
sixty-fifth of a second. Once I experienced this rapidity of thought
as I sat in zazen. I found myself facing a large, very soft, organic-
looking mass that was pulsing with life. There was a little aperture in
this mass like a mouth or a vagina, and tiny beings were escaping
from the aperture one after another in very rapid succession. I knew
these tiny beings were my thoughts, and somehow this vision helped
me to deepen my practice.
In the first line of the final couplet of the sutra, the second char-

64
 EmmA Jikku Kannon GyO

acter for nen is not simply the first one repeated but a graph that
functions like our ditto mark. Thus the two words would be lit¬
erally translated “thought-thought,” implying “thought-thought-
thought-thought . .ad infinitum. This is how thoughts arise in
the mind.
The second dictionary meaning of nen nen is “thought after
thought.” Here the focus is on the particular thoughts as they appear,
rather than upon their rapidity. Thus in the second line of the cou¬
plet the repeat sign is not used, but the graph for nen is itself repeated.
The implication is that each thought as it arises is the mind itself, and
in this instance, conveying Kanzeon herself or himself. So I translate
nen nen in the first line to indicate their rapidity in emerging in the
individual mind, and in the second line to reflect their nature as par¬
ticular expressions of something infinitely larger.
These two lines of the final couplet can be traced to TheAwaken-
ingof Faith in theMahayana, a succinct summation of doctrine that
probably originated in China in the sixth century. In Yoshito S.
Hakeda’s translation we read:

Though it is said that there is [an inception of] the rising of

[deluded] thoughts in the mind, there is no inception as such
that can be known [as being independent of Mind]

The interpolations are those of the translator, and in the setting

of the text, I would judge them to be accurate. The notion of a uni¬
versal yet empty mind arose with the Mahayana and by the sixth cen¬
tury it could be formulated quite clearly in The Awakening ofFaith
Thoughts were earlier considered to be irrevocably delusive, but now
they could be seen as being the mind itself Still later this formula¬
tion was internalized by Zen Buddhist monks. Bassui Tokusho, a
fourteenth-century Japanese Zen master, addressed his assembly
and said:

The mind is intrinsically pure. When we are born it is not cre¬

ated, and when we die it does not perish. It has no distinction
of male or female, nor has it coloration of any kind. ... Yet
countless thoughts issue from this.. . nature as waves arise in
the ocean.^^

65
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

If thoughts arise like waves in the ocean, they also follow the same
path as light, in particles of waves—in waves of particles. Thoughts
are the photons of the mind. They rise and fall endlessly, but if we
focus only upon the flow, the continuum becomes simply a time line,
ending finally for us when interventions in the hospital fail. Too bad.
In the experience set forth by this sutra, each thought, ever so
brief, is Kanzeon herself, turning the Dharma wheel. I am reminded
of the image of Kuya Shonin at Rokuharamitsuji in Kyoto. Kuya
was an early Pure Land teacher who went about the country railing
out the mantra of his faith, “Namu amida butsu," “Veneration to
Amitabha Buddha.” The sculptor renders him as a young pilgrim
walking slightly bent over, with a row of little Amitabha Buddhas
coming out of his mouth on a wire.
All those little Buddhas coming from Kuya’s mouth look exactly
the same, but the many Kanzeon thoughts that emerge as the mind
are different. Some are full of praise, some are critical; some are jolly,
some are sad. Some say, “Let me help you.” Some say, “You must do
it yourself.” Moreover, as William James makes clear, each thought
qualifies one’s previous thought and also qualifies one’s environment
and personality and worldview as well as the environment as it is
changing with the thoughts expressed by others.^^
In my vision of thoughts appearing from a little aperture, I could
identify the large, living mass as my own mind. I have had other vi¬
sions I could identify as my mind, particularly as a structure of cells
greatly enlarged and distantly removed like very high clouds, as
though I were viewing them from the inside, as the transparent ceil¬
ing of the world. These visions help to verify the message of the
sutra—the mind is the source of thoughts, and the brain of the indi¬
vidual human being is not the only reference. George Meredith said
that stars are the brain of heaven.^^ people and birds be the
brain of Earth? To respond, one must begin with fundamentals:

P an-shan said. In the Three Worlds there is no dharma.

Where shall we search for the mind?”^^

Dharma, with a small d, is phenomena. I understand P’an-shan to

be suggesting that in the Three Worlds of past, present, future and
all dimensions, there is nothing at all to be called mind or anything

66
 Emmet Jikku Kannon Gyo

else. The old teachers said the same kind of thing about one’s per¬
sonal mind. In The Zen Forest we read, “The nature of my mind is
the empty sky.”^^ Then where do thoughts come from? Where do
people and birds come from?
Frankly, I don’t know, but beneath the airy ceiling of my great
skull I find many thoughts that sing of speckled eggs and ropes and
things, not to mention Robert Louis Stevenson. The tiny beings
I saw emerging from the unknown aperture of my living flesh
re-present trees, towers, animals, and people of a landscape that
changes from Australia to Hawai'i to California, though it is always
intimately familiar.
Yamada Koun Roshi used to say, “The mind is empty infinity, in¬
finite emptiness, full of possibilities.” For human beings these possi¬
bilities can be ignorant or imbued with song, but it is the singing nen
that changes the world. Children understand this in their own way
very well and resonate to Stevenson’s “Singing”:

Of speckled eggs the birdie sings

And nests among the trees;
The sailor sings of ropes and things
In ships upon the sea.

The children sing in far Japan,

The children sing in Spain;
The organ with the organ man
Is singing in the rain.^®

Hui-neng says that with an enlightened thought, you compen¬

sate for a thousand years of evil and destruction.^^ This is the potency
of what we call provisionally the Great Mind, brought forth in a sin¬
gle pulse. Wu-men says the one-moment nen perceives eternity,^”
but the Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo finally does away with perception.
One tiny thought is itself the mind of the mountains, the rivers, the
great Earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars^'—the mind of all
beings.
Realizing this is cow-passion—living, suffering, and dealing
with exigencies together with everyone and everything. It is Kan-
zeon’s realization, her light on my path, and though there is no way

67
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

I can consistently be the Kanzeon as drawn by Hakuin or carved by

Mokujiki or set forth in the EmmeiJikku Kannon Gyo, I can find her
as myself in peak moments, as you can, and otherwise we can be our
own best Kanzeon, open to songs and flowers, showing peace in a
troubled world.
Kanzeon! Namu Butsu!
1989

68
 #

The Virtue of Abuse

Torei Zenji’s “Bodhisattva’s Vow”

TRANSLATION AND COMMENTARY

Wantonly a simple disciple, but I offer these respectful words:

When I regard the true nature of the many dharmas,' I find
them all to be sacred forms of the Tathagata’s never-failing es¬
sence. Each particle of matter, each moment, is indeed no
other than the Tathagata’s inexpressible radiance.
With this realization, and with compassionate minds and
hearts, our virtuous ancestors gave tender care to beasts and
birds. Among us, in our own daily lives, who is not reverently
grateful for the protections of life: food, drink, and clothing!
Though they are inanimate things, they are nonetheless the
warm flesh and blood, the merciful incarnations of Buddha.
All the more, we can be especially sympathetic and affec¬
tionate with foolish people, particularly with someone who
becomes a sworn enemy and persecutes us with abusive
language. That very abuse conveys the Buddha’s boundless
loving-kindness. It is a compassionate device to liberate us en¬
tirely from the mean-spirited delusions we have built up with
our wrongful conduct from the beginningless past.
With our open response to such abuse we completely relin¬
quish ourselves, and the most profound and pure faith arises.
At the peak of each thought a lotus flower opens, and on each

69
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

flower there is revealed a Buddha. Everywhere is the Pure Land

in its beauty. We see fully the Tathagata’s radiant light right
where we stand.
May we retain this mind and extend it throughout the
world so that we and all beings become mature in Buddhas
wisdom.^

Torei Zenji is Torei Enji (1621-92), disciple of Hakuin Ekaku and

de facto founder of Ryutaku Monastery in Mishima, Japan.^ His
Bodhisattvds Vow is part of the traditional Rinzai sutra collection,"*
but among the various Rinzai temples it is included in daily services
only at those that are associated with him, so far as I know. Both Ka-
tsuki Sekida, our first Diamond Sangha teacher, and I practiced at
Ryutakuji, and thus it was natural for us to include the piece in our
own services, using Mr. Sekida’s translation. Recently I composed
this new version, with the help of Yamaguchi Ryozo Osho, priest of
the Myoshinji branch temple on Maui.^
The theme of Torei s homily is the sacred nature of all phenom¬
ena, the particular effectiveness of abusive words in bringing one to
a realization of the Buddha Dharma, and a vow that all beings share
this realization. One can distinguish five phases of his theme:
1. The deceptive modesty of Torei’s introductory words is remi¬
niscent of the complete absence of ego found in the utterances of so
many teachers in Zen literature. They are not merely expressions
of self-effacement but of complete vacancy: the Dharmakaya, vast
emptiness. There is nothing at all from the very beginning. Purity of
the mind is not a single thing.” When all forms are abandoned,
there is the Buddha, but even the Buddha can in no way be identi¬
fied. If the mind depends on anything, it has no sure haven.^
2. “Each particle of matter, each moment, is indeed no other
than the Tathagatas inexpressible radiance.” It is from the brilliant
void, as the brilliant void, Torei Zenji says, that phenomena appear
as the sacred forms of the Tathagatas essence. “Tathagata” is a syn¬
onym for “Buddha,” but it is an altogether neutral term, meaning
simply, “Thus come,” or “The one who thus comes.” As the one, it
is at rest, but when it appears as each form, each particle of matter,
each sense experience, in each moment—it reveals itself, where we
stand, as inexpressibly radiant light. Ikkyu Zenji wrote:

70
 t

The Virtue of Abuse

Striking bamboo one morning he forgot all he knew.

Hearing the bell at fifth watch, his many doubts vanished.
The ancients all became Buddhas right where they stood.
T’ao Yiian-ming alone just knit his brows.

Ikkyti is citing stories that were well known in his time about old
teachers who found that all voices are the voices of the Buddha. Also,
he is suggesting that readiness is all, and some, even the great poet
T’ao Yiian-ming, aren’t ready.^
Be clear about this. Fo-yen Ch’ing-yiian, a Sung period master,
remarked:

Ancient Zen teachers were so compassionate that they said,

“Activity is Buddha activity, sitting is Buddha sitting, all
things are Buddha teachings, all sounds are Buddha voices.”
It is, however, a misunderstanding to think that this means all
sounds are actually the voice of enlightenment, or that all
forms are actually forms of enlightenment.®

This means, I think, that all sounds are actually the voices of the
Buddha, but only when we ourselves are actual. I cite again the well-
known story of T’ou-tzu and his importunate monk:

A monk said to T’ou-tzu, “ All sounds are the sounds of Bud¬

dha’—is that correct or not?”
T’ou-tzu said, “Correct.”
The monk said, “Doesn’t your asshole make farting
sounds?” T’ou-tzu hit him.
The monk said, “ ‘Coarse words and gentle phrases all have
their source in essential nature’—is that correct or not?
T’ou-tzu said, “Correct.”
The monk said, “Then may I call Your Reverence a don¬
key?” T’ou-tzu hit him.^

Yuan-wu says, “Too bad for this monk, he had a head but no
tail.”'® In other words, he had intellectual understanding but no vis¬
ceral realization. If you presume to denounce someone as a donkey,
you had better be confident of your salvific power.
3. “With this realization, and with compassionate minds and
hearts, our virtuous ancestors gave tender care to beasts and birds.”

71
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Back through the ages to the Buddha Shakyamuni himself, the old
teachers were receptive to the many dharmas, and they moved sensi¬
tively in nature, nurturing animals and plants, seeing, hearing, feel¬
ing the Tathagata everywhere.' ‘ And sensing the possibilities of such
experiences, surely all of us are profoundly grateful for our food,
drink, clothing, and medicine, as the warm flesh and blood of the
Buddha. Torei Zenjis text uses the term raihaigassho—deep bows,
hands held reverently palm to palm, to describe the thankful spirit
that we maintain. Pots and pans are Buddha’s body.
4. “All the more, we can be especially sympathetic and aflFec-
tionate with foolish people, particularly with someone who becomes
a sworn enemy and persecutes us with abusive language.” This is not
merely Torei Zenji’s challenge but a perennial summons—to be
so wise and compassionate as to “suffer fools gladly,” as Paul urged.
This can be bitter medicine. Bergen Evans, a profound student of
Western culture through its popular sayings, remarks that today we
not only don’t accept Paul’s injunction but quite the contrary, con¬
sider it a mark of wisdom not to suffer fools gladly at all.
Sad to say, Evans is correct; we have strayed from the ancient. Yet
Torei Zenji does not merely urge us to tolerate fools but points out
incisively that their “very abuse conveys the Buddha’s boundless
loving-kindness. It is a compassionate device to liberate us entirely
from the mean-spirited delusions we have built up with our wrong¬
ful conduct from the beginningless past.” This carries us into the
profound depths of the Diamond Sutra:

If you are scornfully reviled by others, this misery is the result

of your harmful acts in previous ages. But with this scorn and
vilification from others, your evil karma from previous ages
is extinguished.'^

Again and again, from earliest times, we find this rigorous guid¬
ance repeated in our tradition. In Buddhist metaphysics, k’ung-jen
is the patience that is based on the realization that everything is
empty.But not only are the Buddha’s trials insubstantial, they are
joyous. In the Parinirvdna Brief Admonitions Sutra, the Buddha cau¬
tions his monks to practice the ultimate patience that transforms the
poison of abuse to the nectar of the gods.'^
Early in the eighth century Yung-chia wrote:

72
 9

The Virtue of Abuse

Let the abusive words of others pass;

they try to set fire to the heavens, and will only exhaust
themselves.
I hear their abuse as though I were drinking ambrosia;
everything melts, and I enter the place beyond thought and
words.

Yung-chia echoes the Buddhas theme of abuse as ambrosia, and

Muso Soseki echoes Yung-chia’s metaphor of melting with the
abuse:

People’s abuse
has melted what was golden
and it has gone from the world
Fortune and misfortune
both belong to the land
of dreams'^

Even that which is golden melts away, and Muso enters the place
beyond fortune and misfortune. Thus it is the abuse itself, as a sacred
particular, that clearly and incisively comes forth as the very point of
the Tathagata—and like Tung-shan Shou-ch’u, you slap your knees
and cry out, “That’s it!”

YUn-men said to Tung-shan, “Oh, you rice bag! Do you go

about in such a way, now west of the river, now south of the
lake!” Tung-shan was deeply enlightened.'®

In one of his talks to lay followers, the Japanese master Bankei

Yotaku, an exact contemporary of Torei Zenji, tells an interesting
story of response to abuse that brings fine talk down to everyday
practicality:

I have a temple in Edo, located in Azabu on the outskirts of the

city. We once had a man there who worked around the temple.
He had an interest in religious matters to begin with, I think,
for he was always observing the daily lives of the monks. From
this, a genuine religious aspiration must have developed in
him naturally. In any case, one evening some of the monks
sent him on an errand that took him to the outer fringes of the
city where houses were few and far between. It was an area

73
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

where from time to time a samurai wanting to try the edge of

his blade on a human body had been appearing and cutting
down passing travelers. The monks were concerned for his
safety because it was getting dark and he would have to pass
through this dangerous area. But he told them not to worry,
and he set right out, saying that he would be back soon. As
the messenger returned in the growing darkness, however,
sure enough the samurai stepped out at his usual haunt and
brushed past him.
“You brushed your sleeve against me on purpose,” he
growled, drawing his sword.
“But my sleeve didn’t even touch you,” replied the mes¬
senger. Then, for some reason, he prostrated himself before
the samurai three times. The samurai, who had raised his
sword and was on the point of striking, now unaccountably
lowered it.
“You’re a strange one,” he said. “Well, go on. I’ll let you
pass.” And the messenger escaped unharmed.
Now a tradesman had seen all this take place. He had fled
to the safety of a nearby roadside teahouse and had witnessed
the events from his place of hiding.
When he saw the sword about to fall, he turned his eyes
away and waited fearfully for the inevitable to happen. When
he finally looked up again, he saw to his surprise that the mes¬
senger was standing right before him.
“You certainly got out of that by the skin of your teeth!” he
said. He then asked the messenger what had made him think
to give the three bows.
The messenger answered that all the people where he
worked bowed three times. “My mind was completely empty.
I just thought, if you’re going to strike me with that sword,
then do it. I made those bows without thinking. The man told
me I was a strange fellow and said he would spare me. Then he
allowed me to go past.”
So, having barely escaped death, the messenger returned
safely to the temple. I told him that I thought this was be¬
cause of the depth of his religious mind, which enabled

74
 9

The Virtue of Abuse

him to reach the heart of such a lawless samurai. It goes to

show that nothing is more trustworthy than the Buddhist
Dharma.*^

Indeed—although as Yang-shan remarks in effect to Kuei-shan,

even the Buddha Dharma itself is untrustworthy, and there is noth¬
ing whatever to rely upon.^° The messenger s mind was truly deep,
and he had relinquished himself with his humble response. There
with his pure faith a lotus flower opened, and the Buddha appeared.
The Pure Land was displayed in the village that evening.
The messenger’s particular response to the threat of violence fit¬
ted the circumstances like the lid to the box, but it was for a particular
box and wouldn’t necessarily fit another one. Sometimes expedient
resistance to violence can reveal the way of the Buddha. Sometimes
neither resistance nor relinquishment will prevent a dreadful crime.
I am sure, for example, that twelve years ago, when three Maryknoll
nuns and a lay missioner were faced with rape and death, they drew
passionately on all their religious resources. But they were not
spared. The Pure Land by whatever name was nonetheless displayed
in the countryside and in every country, as it was once on Calvary.
Perhaps after the crime they reached the hearts of their assassins.^'
5. “May we retain this mind and extend it throughout the world,
so that we and all beings can become mature in Buddha’s wisdom.”
Here the Bodhisattva reaches the place of total trust in nothing at all
and finds there the glorious light of the Pure Land, and vows that this
light may shine brilliantly in the conscious mind of all beings. May
the light of Torei Zenji’s mind illumine our own minds—across the
sea and across the centuries. May his great power in turning the
wheel of the Dharma give spirited energy to our own resolve.
1992

75
I

■I " i - f
>» ■>
»yJ' .>c ;
Vr z-.vt'' i
'>'Vf ■ I V 'i -4-\
l^ *JL^' <

^ ‘ ' r'^ ■ ■ ^
m ■■■■ ■ ti" ► '.’(**• ‘"l' ’ ■A'if'
..^-*.\'i'
.1' :
■i\.- / t*' ■' • • '• , jViiii* ^ihS^io t

'V' • * i .'ti’jQi ,• ■» ’•^1 .'■/>

<3^' ' , - ‘

A ■ -i ’-.ir

f -yi '.:^ i« i . '^

f’.^•%-- f/-
.- <, .>.i ,
r <1 J 1*IV*I ‘ '.. ./ti'^!'* ’ *-.H' t
i.
Iff ‘Cl#
i--i
«i# n-
"■■-Vi.r,:- -r4 ^ v-i <0^ .U

• •Hi
'* ^ ' ■ * ■' ^ * I It VTi.
Ml
’ A!
J
^ X.
PRACTICE
 0

The Way of Dogen Zenji

X Zee -Jin Kim’s Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist was the first com¬
prehensive study in English of Dogen Zenji’s writings, and for the
past twelve years it has served as the principal English-language refer¬
ence for those Dogen scholars who work from his thirteenth-
century Japanese and for Western Zen students reading translations
of his writings. This new edition appears in a scholarly setting that
now includes many new translations and studies of Dogen, and thus
it is most welcome.
Dogen wrote at the outermost edge of human communication,
touching with every sentence such mysteries as self and other, self
and no-self, meditation and realization, the temporal and the time¬
less, forms and the void. He moved freely from the acceptance of a
particular mode as complete in itself to an acknowledgment of its
complementarity with others, to a presentation of its unity with all
things—and back again. He wrote of the attitude necessary for un¬
derstanding, of the practice required, of the various insights that
emerge, and of the many pitfalls. He did not generally write for be¬
ginners—most of his points require very careful study, and a few of
them elude almost everybody. These challenges are compounded by
his creative use of the Japanese language of his time. It has been said
that he wrote in “Dogenese,” for he made verbs of nouns, nouns of
verbs, created new metaphors, and manipulated old sayings to pre¬
sent his particular understanding.
Thus the writings of Dogen are an immense challenge to anyone

79
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

seeking to explicate them in English, but Kim does a masterful job.

I do not presume to explicate Kim’s words but to offer a personal per¬
spective of Dogen in hopes that it might serve as access to Kim’s inci¬
sive scholarship.
I choose as my theme a key passage in the “Genjo Koan,” the essay
that Dogen placed at the head of his great collection of talks and es¬
says, the Shobogenzo, and I use Kim’s translation here:

To study the Way is to study the self To study the self is to for¬
get the self To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things
of the universe. To be enlightened by all things of the universe
is to cast off the body and mind of the self as well as those of
others. Even the traces of enlightenment are wiped out, and
life with traceless enlightenment is continued forever and
ever.'

To study the Way is to study the self. Asian languages offer the same
options as English for the meaning of the verb “study.” To para¬
phrase dictionary definitions, it is “to examine with the intention of
learning.” Thus I would interpret Dogen’s words: “To come to un¬
derstand the Way is to come to understand the self”
The term “Way” is a translation of Do in Japanese, Tao in Chi¬
nese. It is the ideograph used to identify the central doctrine of Tao¬
ism and its basic text, the Tao-te ching. Kumarajiva and his colleagues
in the early fifth century selected Tao as a translation of Dharma, a
key Sanskrit Buddhist term meaning “law,” or “way of the universe
and its phenomena,” or simply “phenomena.” In Dogen’s view, all
phenomena are the Buddha Dharma—the way of the universe as
understood through Buddhist practice.
Indeed, for Dogen, to study and understand the Buddha Way is
to practice the Buddha Way, and to practice the Buddha Way is to
have the self practice. It is important to understand that practice is
both action and attainment. Modes of practice—zazen, realization,
and the careful work beyond realization—all these are complete in
themselves, and they are also means for further completion. They are
acts of particular moments, and they are also stages in the course of
time.
As to the self it has no abiding nature and, in Blake’s words,
“kisses the Joy as it flies.” It is the Buddha coming forth now as a

8o
 9

The Way of Dogen Zenji

woman, now as a youth, now as a child, now as an old man, now as an

animal, a plant, or a cloud. However, animals and plants and clouds
cannot “study” in Dogen’s sense, so in this context, Dogen refers to
the human being that can focus the self and make personal the vast
and fathomless void, the infinitely varied beings, and their marvel¬
ous harmony.
To study the self is to forget the self Here Dogen sets forth the na¬
ture of practice. My teacher, Yamada Koun Roshi, has said, “Zen
practice is a matter of forgetting the self in the act of uniting
with something.” To unite with something is to find it altogether
vivid—like the thrush, say, singing in the guava grove. There is just
that song, a point of no dimension—of cosmic dimension. The
“sole self” is forgotten. This is something like the athlete who is
completely involved in catching the ball, freed of self-doubt and
thoughts of attainment, at the same time aware of the other play¬
ers and their positions. Using this same human ability on one’s
meditation cushions is the great Way of realization. It must be distin¬
guished from thinking about something. When you are occupied in
thinking, you are shrouded by your thoughts, and the universe is
shut out.
There are other analogies for gathering oneself in a single act of
religious practice, freeing oneself of doubt and attainment. Simone
Weil sets forth the academic analogy: contemplating an object
fixedly with the mind, asking myself “What is it?” without thinking
of any other object relating to it or to anything else, for hours on
end.^
Dogen often uses the phrase “mustering the body and mind” to
understand oneself and the world. Using Kim’s translation of a later
passage in the “Genjo Koan”:

Mustering our bodies and minds we see things, and mustering

our bodies and minds we hear sounds, thereby we understand
them intimately. However, it is not like a reflection dwelling
in the mirror, nor is it like the moon and the water. As one side
is illumined, the other is darkened.^

This mustering is zazen—and also the activity of the Zen student

who is grounded in zazen. Kim quotes Dogen writing elsewhere in
the Shobogenzo:

8i
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

The Buddhas and Tathagatas have an ancient way—un¬

equaled and natural—to transmit the wondrous Dharma
through personal encounter and to realize supreme enlight¬
enment. As it is imparted impeccably from Buddha to Bud¬
dha, its criterion is the samadhi of self-fulfilling activity.
For playing joyfully in such a samadhi, the upright sitting
in meditation is the right gate."^

With the practice of zazen, mustering body and mind, we un¬

derstand a thing intimately by seeing or hearing, and the self is
forgotten. This kind of understanding is not by simile, it is not a rep¬
resentation, like the moon reflected in the water, but is a brilliant pre¬
sentation of the thing itself and is a complete personal acceptance.
One side is illumined. There is only that thrush. At the same time,
the universe is present in the shadow. The other players are still there.
To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things of the universe.
The term “enlightened” is sho, the same sho found in inka shomei,
the document given to a senior student by a master confirming him
or her as a teacher. The thrush confirms you, enlightens you, but be
careful not to give “enlightenment” anything more than provisional
status. It is likely to be j ust a peep into the nature of things. Nonethe¬
less, “one impulse from a vernal wood” or the Morning Star shining
over the Bodhi tree is a communication. The communication works
the other way, from the self to the object, but the result is different,
as Dogen makes clear earlier in the “Genjo Koan”:

That the self advances and confirms the myriad things is called
delusion; that the myriad things advance and confirm the self
is enlightenment;^

The way of research and analysis is “called” delusion. Don’t

condemn it, Dogen is saying. By advancing and confirming and
throwing light on all things of the universe, you reach intellectual
understanding. However, when you forget yourself in mustering
body and mind in the act of practice, there is only that particular act,
in that particular breath-moment. Then, as Kim says, the whole uni¬
verse is created in and through that act. With this you experience the
things of the universe. They are your confirmation, your enlight¬
enment.

82
 The Way of Dogen Zenji

To be enlightened by all things of the universe is to cast off the body

and mind ofthe self as well as those of others. Focusing body and mind
with all one’s inquiring spirit on a single matter, the self is forgotten.
The myriad things communicate their wisdom with their forms and
sounds, and the emptiness, harmony, and uniqueness of the ephem¬
eral self and the world are understood clearly. This is reminiscent of
Paul’s “putting off the old man”—not merely forgetting but dying
to the self
Casting off body and mind should not be confused with self-
denial. Many people suppose that they must get rid of the self The
Buddha too went through a phase of asceticism, avoiding food and
sleep in an effort to overcome his desires. Such a path has a dead end,
as the Buddha and others have found. We need food and sleep in or¬
der to cast off body and mind. The Way is gnostic rather than ascetic.
Finally, as Dogen says, when you cast off body and mind, all other
beings have the same experience. One version of the Buddha’s excla¬
mation under the Bodhi tree reads, “I and all beings have at this mo¬
ment entered the Way!” This does not mean “All beings can now
come along.” Rather, at the Buddha’s experience, all beings simulta¬
neously cast off body and mind.

When Fisueh-feng and Yen-t’ou were on pilgrimage together,

they became snowbound in the village of Wushantien. This
gave them time for an extended dialogue, during which
Hsiieh-feng recounted his various spiritual experiences.
Yen-t’ou exclaimed, “Fiaven’tyou heard the old saying. What
enters from the gate [that is, by intellection] cannot be the
family treasure?’ ” Fdsueh-feng suddenly had deep realization
and exclaimed, “At this moment, Wushantien has become en¬
lightened!”^

With his exclamation, Yen-t’ou cast off body and mind. Simulta¬
neously, Fisiieh-feng did the same. Personalizing Bell’s theorem a
thousand years and more before Bell, the whole village was likewise
affected.
Even the traces of enlightenment are wiped out, and life with traceless
enlightenment is continuedforever and ever. Wiping away the intima¬
tions of pride that come with a realization experience are the ulti¬
mate steps of Zen practice, steps that never end. They form the Way

83
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

of the Bodhisattva, polishing the mind of compassion, engaging

in the travail of the vv^orld, “entering the marketplace -with bliss-
bestowing hands.” Over and over in koan practice, the Zen student
works through the lesson of casting off, casting off.

A monk said to Chao-chou, “I have just entered this monas¬

tery. Please teach me.”
Chao-chou said, “Have you eaten your rice gruel?”
The monk said, “Yes, I have.”
Chao-chou said, “Wash your bowl.”^

“Have you eaten your essential food?” “Yes, I have.” “If so, wipe
that idea of attainment away!” For our present limited purposes this
would be an explication of Chao-chou’s meaning. What is left after
body and mind are cast off? Endlessly casting off—ongoing prac¬
tice. The “Genjo Koan” ends with the story:

When the Zen teacher Pao-che of Ma-ku was fanning him¬

self, a monk asked him, “The nature of wind is constant, and
there is no place it does not reach. Why then do you fan
yourself?”
Pao-che said, “You only know that the nature of wind is
constant. You dont yet know the meaning of its reaching
every place.”
The monk asked, “What is the meaning of its reaching
every place?”
Pao-che only fanned himself The monk bowed deeply.

The nature of the wind is Buddha Nature, “pervading the whole uni¬
verse.” The monk’s question is an old one. If all beings by nature are
Buddha, why should one strive for enlightenment? Dogen himself
asked such a question in his youth, and his doubts fueled his search
for a true teacher. Pao-che takes the monk’s words, “reaching every
place,” as a figure of speech for Zen Buddhist practice that brings
forth what is already there. As Dogen says in his comment to this
story—the final words of the “Genjo Koan”:

Confirmation of the Buddha Dharma, the correct transmis¬

sion of the vital Way, is like this. Ifyou say that one should not

84
 The Way of Dogen Zenji

use a fan because the wind is constant, that there will be a wind
even when one does not use a fan, then you fail to understand
either constancy or the nature of the wind. It is because the na¬
ture of the wind is constant that the wind of the Buddha
House brings forth the gold of the earth and ripens the kefir of
the long river.

The wind of the Buddha House—the practice of zazen, realiza¬

tion, and going beyond realization—is altogether in accord with the
wind of the universe, the Buddha Mind. As Dogen says elsewhere,
“The Dharma wheel turns from the beginning. There is neither sur¬
plus nor lack. The whole universe is moistened with nectar, and the
truth is ready to harvest.”® The harvesting of truth, the practice of
forgetting the self, the practice of realizing forms and sounds inti¬
mately, the practice of polishing our mind of compassion—this is
our joyous task.

Foreword to Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist, by Hee-Jin Kim (Tucson; University of

Arizona Press, 1987).

85
 ultimate Reality and
the Experience of Nirvana
Satori and Shunyata

A
Jl\.s a teacher of Zen Buddhism, I confess that I feel a little uneasy
with my assigned topic. I find such terms as “ultimate reality” and
“nirvana” to be abstract and unreal—absolutes that fit philosophical
schemes, perhaps, but not the requirements of Zen students who
face the challenge of maturing as human beings in their practice.
“Satori,” now an English word, thanks to its introduction by
D. T. Suzuki, has come to imply omniscient wisdom. I much prefer
the term kensho (Chinese: chien-sheng), which holds the more mod¬
erate meaning of “seeing into (essential) nature. ” Shunyata, the void,
expresses deepest experience, but I find that all too readily it becomes
something abstract called “nothing.”
1 spend time with inquirers disabusing them about absolutes.
When someone who has read a little in Zen Buddhism asks me if I
am enlightened, I respond without hesitation that I most certainly
am not. When someone asks me how many koans I have passed, I re¬
spond that 1 am still working on my very first koan and haven’t passed
it yet. This is not false modesty but is true to the very bottom. There
is enlightenment beyond enlightenment, passing beyond passing.
Each milestone on the path may seem a be-all and end-all experi-

86
 9

Ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana

ence. Everything falls away. The everyday self disappears. Yet the
path continues to open out.
Experience is the moment; the path is endless practice. They are
like the frame and the narrative of a movie. The student glimpses the
timeless in the frame, but the movie continues. Frame and movie are
like the complementary principles of light: without the photon,
there is no wave of light. Without the frame, there is no movie.
“Movie” can be a helpful metaphor, but it is limited. The comple¬
mentarity realized in Zen Buddhist practice is not confined just to
time with no time but includes form with emptiness, the mundane
with the spiritual, the particular with the universal, and the dimen¬
sion of birth and death with the dimension of no-birth and no¬
death.
The Buddha Shakyamuni taught this apparently complex yet
actually very simple complementarity more than 2,500 years ago.
With the passage of his teaching through many cultures and lan¬
guages, the original manner and expression of his Way have evolved
significantly in a variety of directions. Yet the archetypal message
is the same: “Human beings tend to be miserable because they are
preoccupied with themselves. When they are free of their self-
centeredness they can find happiness.”
That is to say, you and I tend to get absorbed in patterns. We tend
to become fixated on the temporal, the mundane, the particular, and
the world of being born and dying. When we see into the nature ol
things and make intimate the formless, the timeless, the spiritual,
the universal, the world of no-birth and no-death, then we are
evolving on the path to full and complete lives. We can see for our¬
selves how our previous views were correct, yet only so far as they
went. We once saw the world of forms and time but not their essen¬
tial qualities of no-form and no-time. We gave meaning to the many
people, animals, plants, and things in our richly varied world, but
now those many beings give meaning to us. Thus we can be liberated
from constrictions that bind us to an atomized existence.
This liberation brings happiness—not simply self-contained
happiness but the joy of work in the world. It is not mere adjustment
to the needs of others but an extinction of the acquisitive self, a peak

87
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

experience that must then be processed. This new practice is not

merely a kind of cognitive realignment but a dynamic engagement
in consequential possibilities.
The Buddhas basic teaching is usually and rightfully summed up
with reference to the Four Noble Truths, traditionally considered to
be the content of his first sermon: (i) anguish is everywhere, (2) there
is a source of anguish, (3) anguish can be rooted out completely, and
(4) the path of this liberation is eightfold: Right Views, Right Think¬
ing, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort or
Lifestyle, Right Recollection, and Right Meditation. The term
right should be understood to mean “in accord with the essentially
vacant, interdependent, and richly varied nature of things.”
Anguish, the Buddha said, has its root in clinging to the notion
of a permanent and independent self or soul. When it becomes clear
that the self and indeed all things are not only evanescent but illusory
and that everyone and everything come into being interdepen-
dently, then one is liberated from the misery that comes with a preoc¬
cupation with “me and mine.”
The entire corpus of Buddhism can be seen as practice and real¬
ization of this simple formula of the Four Noble Truths. My purpose
here h to show how Zen Buddhism is one of its many particular de¬
velopments, how it is being applied today, and what applications
might be appropriate in the future.
To begin with, the Pali term dukkha (Sanskrit, duhkha), rendered
here as “anguish,” is not well served by its usual translation: “suffer-
^ igree with V^alpola Rahula that suffering is an ambiguous
English word that is not an appropriate translation, for it can mean
enduring and allowing” as well as “experiencing pain.” The word
anguish, it seems to me, sums up the Buddhas allusion to the pro¬
found sense of dissatisfaction felt by human beings about their
dependence on others and about the transitory nature of their lives
and of everything around them, particularly their possessions and
structures.' '
Liberation from this profound dissatisfaction does not, of course,
come by waving a wand. The Eightfold Path is a rigorous way to lib¬
eration, with a scrupulous and exacting formation of views, speech,

88
 Ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana

conduct, and practice. It is the perfection of character, with “perfec¬

tion” understood as a process rather than a state. The realizations
along the way are profound and transformative, but the end is not
yet.
Zen Buddhists have mined the Four Noble Truths and the Eight¬
fold Path for treasure, and the outcome is twofold: (i) a particular
practice of meditation that leads to Right Views of the world and its
beings as evanescent and essentially harmonious and (2) a daily-life
practice that brings essential harmony into worldly reality. Compas¬
sionate modes of attitude, speech, and conduct lead to Right Medi¬
tation, and Right Meditation leads to further compassionate modes
of attitude, speech, and conduct.
In the meditation hall, the Zen Buddhist student is encouraged
to muster body and mind and focus on single points, one at a time.
The preliminary practice, by no means an easy one, is to count the
breaths. The breath is the spirit, as traditional peoples across the
world understand. VTiile Buddhists will not isolate the spirit as
an entity, the metaphor is nonetheless useful. With counting the
breaths, one links body, brain, spirit, and will.
The exercise is to count inhalations and exhalations both, or just
the exhalations, from “one” to “ten.” If we return to the metaphor of
a movie, then each number in this counting is the individual frame
in the epic of counting breaths. The end of all epics is expiration,
once and for all. Thus, in Zen Buddhist practice, and indeed in any
religious practice worthy of the name, one’s attention is not particu¬
larly devoted to sequence. The object is not to reach ten so much
as it is to become intimate with each point as it comes up with just
that point “one,” just that point'two, just that point three, in the
whole world. Everything else in the mind is quiet. “Intimacy and
“realization” are synonyms in traditional Zen Buddhist texts. The
point has no dimension, no magnitude. There is the timeless itself
There is the universal; there is the dimension of no-birth and no¬
death.
With some sense of the possibilities of meditation, the student
can move on to other exercises. In the Soto school of Zen Buddhism,
usually this will be the rigorous practice of facing the timeless void.

89
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

In the Rinzai school, the student will be given cases from the litera¬
ture to face in meditation—not to analyze but to confront and make
intimate. In both options the way is one of understanding, of tak¬
ing upon oneself There is no abstraction here, no philosophy of re¬
ligion.
Take, for example again, the seminal story of Chao-chous dog:

A monk asked Chao-chou, “Has the dog Buddha Nature or

not?”
Chao-chou said,

Probably Chao-chou said, “Mu.” It is thought that the word was

pronounced in such a way in his time. In any case, it is modern Japa¬
nese pronunciation and has passed in that way into use at North
American and European Zen Buddhist centers. The word means
“No,” or “Does not have.”
Clear enough, but if does not have” were the sole meaning of
Chao-chou’s response, the entire practice of Mahayana Buddhism
would be thrown into confusion, for the literature plainly states that
all beings have, or indeed are, Buddha Nature. The monk really is
asking. What is Buddha Nature?” So if Chao-chou is not denying
Buddha Nature, then he is either temporizing or he is somehow
affirming it.
It is clear from the many commentaries on this case that Chao-
chou is not merely temporizing. He is saying in effect, “You are really
asking what Buddha Nature is. Well, I’ll tell you: Mu.”^
So the question is, then, “What is Mu?” This is the point to which
the student musters body and mind. In his comment on Mu, Wu-
men urges his students to carry the word day and night, concen¬
trating on it with their “360 bones and joints and their 84,000 hair
follicles, with all their inquiring spirit. With earnest, one-pointed
practice, Wu-men promises, you will find your own ground, and
even the Buddha and his great successors had better stay out of
your way."*
There is a risk, however, of getting stuck in Buddha Nature_
that is, in the void that is simply potent with all things. The well-
known story of the hundred-foot pole is a cautionary tale in this
respect:

90
 Ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana

Ch’ang-sha had a monk ask Master Hui, “How was it before

you met Nan-ch’iian?”
Hui just sat there silently.^

Ch’ang-sha and Hui were once brother monks in Nan-ch’iian’s

assembly. Ch’ang-sha became the teacher at a large monastery, while
Hui secluded himself in a mountain hut. Ch’ang-sha wondered how
his old friend was getting along, so he sent a monk to see him, after
priming the monk with a leading question. Hui responded to the
question by not responding. The dialogue continued:

The monk asked, “How was it after you met Nan-ch’uan?”

Hui said, “There couldn’t be anything different.”

In other words, before his experience with his teacher, Hui found
himself in empty silence, and after his experience, he still found him¬
self in empty silence. The monk returned and told Ch’ang-sha about
this conversation. Ch’ang-sha came forth with a poem by way of
comment:

You who sit on the top of a hundred-foot pole,

although you have entered the way, it is not yet genuine.
Take a step from the top of the pole
and worlds of the ten directions will be your entire body.

The top of the hundred-foot pole is the isolation of Hui in a

selfless condition. He has experienced one side of the complemen¬
tarity of form and emptiness, but he has not integrated the two as¬
pects of reality for himself, as himself Even after meeting the great
Nan-ch’uan, he is still stuck in the void.
“Take a step from the top of the pole.” This is the test point of the
case, which students through the centuries since Ch’ang-sha have
presented to their teachers. For our purposes, we can see how
Ch’ang-sha is emphasizing the importance of moving on from sim¬
ple awareness of the insubstantial nature of the self and all things.
With that step, “worlds of the ten directions will be your entire
body.” That is, you will find mountains, rivers, the great Earth itself,
the sun, the moon, the stars, people, animals, plants, streets,
and towers to be your own great self The monk then challenges
Ch’ang-sha:

91
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

“How can I step from the top of a hundred-foot pole?”

Ch’ang-sha said, “Mountains of Lang, rivers of Li.”
The monk said, “I don’t understand.”
Ch’ang-sha said, “The four seas and the five lakes are all un¬
der imperial rule.”

“The mountains of Lang, the rivers of Li, the four seas and five
lakes” are specifics of worlds of the ten directions. Who is the em¬
peror here? At another time, Ch’ang-sha enlarged on his principal
point:

The entire universe is your eye; the entire universe is your

complete body; the entire universe is your own luminance.
The entire universe is within your own luminance. In the en¬
tire universe there is no one who is not your own self.^

Not only is there no one who is not myself or yourself, there is

nothing at all that is not each of us. No leaf, no stone, no gecko that
is not I myself, you yourself Thus the self arises—not merely inter-
dependently with all things but as all things. It is all things—inter¬
being, to use Thich Nhat Hanh’s expression.
The photon and the wave theories are just preliminary and con¬
flicting insights into the reality of light. Likewise form and emp¬
tiness, however profoundly experienced, can be seen as steps to
realizing the interbeing that gives them relevance. Interbeing, the
uniqueness of form, and the void are the three-part complementar¬
ity that has been and continues to be explored to the depths by Zen
teachers:

A monk asked Ta-lung, “The body of form perishes. What is

the eternal body?”^

Perhaps the monk is thinking that the eternal body is something

absolutely empty or something absolutely solid. Like Ch’ang-sha,
Ta-lung responded with a verse:

The mountain flowers bloom like brocade;

the river between the hills runs blue as indigo.

92
 Ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana

When it is clear that the absolute is none other than this lovely,
rich world in its many forms—when the world and its animals and
plants and people are found to be one’s own body—then we walk
with everybody and everything on a common path. This is compas¬
sion, suffering with others. “Suffering” is here an appropriate word.
We endure, we allow pain and sorrow, we welcome gray hair, weak¬
ened powers, and death itself with our friends and family members.
Compassion is thus the liberation from self-preoccupation. The
joy of this release and the simultaneous experience of inclusion bring
forth a vow to work with the world with one’s own hands—not im¬
posing from above, not missionizing to redeem nonbelievers, but
like Gandhi, weaving cloth for clothing with the village women. Or
like Whitman, sitting with the wounded in a Washington hospital.
Walking a common path we realize more and more intimately
how closely dependent we are on all people, animals, and plants, and
how closely dependent they are on us. Like Hui’s experience of emp¬
tiness, however, this cannot be simply a static disclosure—we can¬
not remain stuck there in a blancmange of oneness. Engagement the
noun is engagement the verb—the practice. This is the Way of the
Bodhisattva, who vows to postpone full and complete enlighten¬
ment for herself until all beings are enlightened. Turning the wheel
of the Dharma, she feels in her bones and marrow the sounds
of agony that William Blake heard and expressed so vividly in his
poem “London”;

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry

Every black’ning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear

How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear.
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

The Bodhisattva Kuan-yin, who by her very name discerns the

sounds of the world, is here the poet, experiencing inner-city cries
as outer-city torment, then taking the most appropriate action—to

93
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

write a timeless poem about human anguish and, by clear impli¬

cation, human responsibility. Such Bodhisattvas are rare. East and
West.
In Asia, cultural influences have in the past generally confined the
Bodhisattva ideal and imperative to doctrine and to the sangha and
the surrounding lay community. Exceptions can be readily cited,
from the Buddhist King Ashoka, who set forth decrees of human ci¬
vility once he had carved out his kingdom, to the monk Gyogi Bo-
satsu, who traveled around medieval Japan building waterworks for
the peasants. While Buddhists in general, including Zen Buddhists,
could from very early times rightfully be honored for their study of
many constructs of morality and for their practice of morality in rit¬
ual, meditation, and interaction with lay supporters, they could also
be criticized for avoiding social analysis and any application of their
understanding much beyond their temples and paths of pilgrimage.
Today such criticism is still valid to a certain degree. However,
many of the monastery walls are down, and where they are intact,
they have become quite porous. The superstition that Buddhists do
not get involved in politics is likewise disappearing, and across the
Buddhist world we find broad applications of the Buddhas teaching.
Some North American Zen Buddhist centers sponsor programs of
peace, justice, social and medical care, community organization,
bioregional organization, and the protection of nature. Participants
in these programs find inner guidance from their own experience of
dynamic unity with all beings and inspiration from such outstand¬
ing thinkers and leaders as Joanna Macy and Gary Snyder. The
members also look for leadership to geniuses of engaged Buddhism
in South and Southeast Asia, whose names may not be familiar to the
average American or European.
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, for example, the late Siamese Buddhist
master, has challenged monks, nuns, and lay followers to restructure
society to be in keeping with natural balance and fundamental Bud¬
dhist teaching. Other key Southern Buddhist leaders who apply
their religious understanding in the world include Maha Gosha-
nanda, the leader of Cambodian Buddhists, who leads peace walks
in his own country along roads made dangerous with land mines, as
well as beyond his country, to show the way of peace to the world;

94
 ultimate Reality and the Experience of Nirvana

Aung San Suu Kyi, the elected president of Myanmar and a Bud¬
dhist, who has remained steadfast in her insistence on democracy in
the face of arrest and imprisonment; A. T. Ariyaratne, who founded
and inspires the Sarvodaya Shramadana movement of village self-
help in Sri Lanka; Sulak Sivaraksa, who founded and perseveres in
the face of government prosecution to guide the International Net¬
work of Engaged Buddhists and a number of other progressive asso¬
ciations in Siam; Thich Nhat Hanh, who coined the term “engaged
Buddhism” and was a prominent figure in the peace process during
the war in Vietnam, and who continues to maintain effective sup¬
port for sufferers in his homeland. The one Asian Mahayana figure
who serves as a wonderful model of engaged Buddhism for Zen Bud¬
dhists and Buddhists generally is the Dalai Lama, who lectures on
loving-kindness without using a single Buddhist buzzword and who
resolutely supports movements for human rights and the protection
of nature—a prophet for everyone, regardless of their religion.®
It should be noted that the engaged Buddhism that is advanced
by most of these North American and Asian figures is not mere ser¬
vice, though certainly service is an important element of their work,
from the protection of refugees to the rescue of prostitutes. The
teachings and writings of Buddhadasa Bhikkhu on Dhammic So¬
cialism” have inspired the development of cooperative Buddhist
communities in Siam, which Tavivat Puntarigvivat relates to the
Base Communities of liberation theology in Latin America.^ Study¬
ing Dr. Puntarigvivat’s account of these Siamese Buddhist commu¬
nities, I am struck by their reformative nature and at the same time
their conservatism, for like the villages of the Sarvodaya Shramadana
movement in Sri Lanka, they flourish from the root of traditional
teachings.
The Buddhist Peace Fellowship (BPF) in North America, whose
leadership is largely (though by no means completely) Zen Bud¬
dhist, has established a program called the Buddhist Alliance for
Social Engagement, whose acronym (BASE) is clearly an echo of lib¬
eration theology and whose policy arises from the Buddhist teaching
of dana, or giving. Young volunteers live together with a schedule of
sharing and religious practice while serving as apprentice workers in
social welfare and medical agencies. At the same time, however.

95
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Buddhist Peace Fellowship members are beginning to examine the

futility of an engaged Buddhism that is limited to hospice and other
medical and social welfare work. Speakers at a recent BPF institute
challenged the leadership to consider how they might be function¬
ing as no more than Band-Aids to the acquisitive system and that
they might even be perpetuating its evils by helping it to work better.
The world is in a terrible mess. Great self-perpetuating economic
and governmental institutions, fueled by the Three Poisons of greed,
hatred, and ignorance, are contaminating vast populations of peo¬
ple, animals, andplants.Almostahundredyears ago, William Butler
Yeats in his Second Coming” asked the foreboding question:

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last.

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

We already know the answer. The monster has been born, and we
read of his foul depredations across the world in our daily papers. As
a final point in this discussion of Zen Buddhist experience and its ap¬
plication, I suggest that Zen Buddhists, Buddhists generally, and
men and women of all religions—and those of simple goodwill with
perhaps no formal religion—face the task of finding a way, perhaps
like the folks in self-reliant villages and ashrams of South and South¬
east Asia, to live in this society but not of it and to network like Bud¬
dhist sanghas of classical times to create a new way of life that is at the
same time as old as the world, a way that is grounded in gracious gen¬
erosity.

Revised from a paper read at the colloquium: “Buddhism and Christianity: Conver¬
gence and Divergence.” Pontifical Council for Ecumenical and Interreligious Affairs,
Fo Kuang Shan, Kaohsiung, Taiwan, R.O.C., July 31—August 4,1995.

96
 0

Ritual and Makyo

I HAVE not emphasized ritual and ceremony in my teaching very

much. I suppose the reason for this lies partly in my own humanist
and Protestant heritage, partly in the nature of my training under the
monlcNyogen Senzald, Yasutani Haku’un Roshi, and Yamada Koun
Roshi, and partly in my interpretation of Western culture and my
assumptions about what might be suitable for Western students.
In my childhood and youth in Honolulu, I attended Sunday
school and adult services at Central Union Church, the Congrega¬
tional church that descendants of New England missionaries estab¬
lished in early days. I was fairly content about attending because I
met my friends there, and I didn’t imagine any other options. My re¬
sponse to the classes and services was about the same as my response
to school at that time—boredom—and again, I didnt imagine that
any other response might be possible. My mother was secretary to a
succession of ministers of the church, and my father was a member
of the standing committee—equivalent to a board of directors. Nei¬
ther was particularly religious, and I can recall my father remarking
that the chief function of religion was to maintain the social fabric of
the community. I didn’t know any other religion, and probably “our
way” of avoiding anything ritualistic was established in my mind in
opposition to “their way” of kneeling and reciting “Hail Mary,”
which I heard about vaguely from my classmates in school.
My first encounter with Buddhism was R. H. Blyths Zen in En¬
glish Literature and Oriental Classics, and Dr. Blyth was my first

97
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

teacher, there in the internment camp we shared. He tended to make

fun of ritual, and I sensed that he put up with it in order to get what
he considered to be the essential teaching.
After the war, I met the monk Nyogen Senzaki, who came to the
United States in 1905 and worked in a variety of jobs before establish¬
ing himself as a teacher of Zen Buddhism in 1925. During those
twenty years he learned a lot about American culture and was con¬
vinced that ritual was not very suitable for American Zen students.
Accordingly, our only ceremony besides the basic arrangement for
doing zazen together was reciting the “Four Vows” in Sino-Japanese
at the end of the meeting and then taking tea together.
Later I visited Japan again and studied with Nakagawa Soen
Roshi, and after Senzaki Sensei s death, Anne Aitken and I both
became Soen Roshi’s disciples. With regard to ritual, his path was
completely different from that of Senzaki, for his entire life was ritu¬
alized, from his act of looking at the sky the first thing in the morning
to the way he placed his hands on his stomach when going to sleep at
night. Anne and I enjoyed his ritual as play; we retain some of it in
our lives, but we have not been able to accept most of it very well.
It was not possible for us to live as a couple at Soen Roshi s temple,
so he referred us to his friend Yasutani Haku’un Roshi, and we found
ourselves once again with a teacher who did not pay much attention
to ritual. He was ordained as a child but lived for the early part of his
adult life as a schoolteacher and principal before he began the Zen
practice that led him ultimately to become a roshi. I can remember
him saying that zazen is the important thing and that he just went
along with ritual because his students wanted it.
When Yasutani Roshi retired, Anne and I, together with the Dia¬
mond Sangha, became disciples of his successor, Yamada Koun
ROshi. He too is not especially concerned with ritual. Generally, he
leaves the dojO procedures up to his senior disciples, who consult
S6to priests whom they trust in order to do things in the proper way.
I recall that when I was elevated ix:om junshike to shoshike—that
is, from associate roshi to roshi”—the ceremony was ultimately
simple. I helped Yamada Roshi bring his suitcases from our car to the
guest quarters at Koko An after his arrival from the airport. He asked

98
 e

Ritual and Makyo

me to wait a moment and opened a bag, saying, “Here,” as he handed

me a piece of paper. I unfolded the paper, and he translated the words
announcing my promotion, and then he said, “Congratulations!”
The ritual and ceremony we have in Diamond Sangha derives
from our period of study with Soen Roshi, rather than from our
other teachers, and has been quasi-monastic in its style. This was ap¬
propriate for the spirit of the early days, from 1959 to 1965. Many of
our first students had been followers of occult paths, such as Theoso¬
phy and the teachings of Joel Goldsmith, and were concerned about
finding a related practice.
It was also appropriate for the New Age, from 1965 to 1974, when
many people joined us who wished to be full-time students of reli¬
gion. The Maui Zendo flourished during these ten years in a kind of
continuous training period. Since then, however, we have been in a
more settled mode, and our membership has included families. We
are concerned about practice for people who must necessarily spend
only short periods each week at the zendo. The imperative to meet
membership needs has led me to discuss lay practice and Buddhist
ethics and to publish on this subject.' The Kahawai collective, with
its focus on women’s concerns, developed within our sangha. We
have had communications workshops, and we are experimenting
with making business decisions by consensus.
All of this is in keeping with Senzaki Sensei’s conviction that
American Zen must be American. However, my experiences as a
teacher have prompted me to look again at ritual and ceremony as
something perennial and human, rather than as an Asian import. So
I began by considering the nature of makyo (uncanny realm). The
Western world was introduced to the makyo phenomenon by Yasu-
tani Roshi in his “Introductory Lectures on Zen Practice,” included
in Philip Kapleau’s The Three Pillars of Zen, first published in 1965.
Yasutani Roshi explained the term as “devil world” and quoted from
the Chinese Shurangama Sutra, Keizanjokin’s Zizzew Yojinki, and his
own experiences as a teacher to show how makyo are delusions,
mainly visual, that arise during zazen and sometimes at other occa¬
sions during periods of intense practice. They can be obstructions if
they are dwelt upon, but they are also signs that the student is at a cru-

99
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

dal point in the zazen process. Yasutani Roshi concluded his remarks
on makyo by saying, “Whenever makyo appear, simply ignore them
and continue sitting with all your might.
When I began teaching, I soon discovered that “devil world” is
justifiable as a translation etymologically, for as a term makyo relates
to Mara, the incarnation of all that is evil and misleading. The expe¬
rience itself, however, can be quite revealing and encouraging. I went
back to the Chinese ideographs and found that “mysterious,” “oc¬
cult,” and “uncanny” were possible translations for the ma of makyo.
Thus I began using the translation “uncanny realm.”
I then began looking at the content of the delusive visions that
students reported and determining what they had in common. I re¬
turned to Keizan Zenji’s cautions in his Zazen YojinkP and con¬
sulted the “Fifty False States Caused by the Five Aggregates” in the
Chinese Shurangama Sutra.^ It dawned on me that while the broad
classifications of delusions found in these works were useful, such
psychophysiological distortions as finding the wall disappearing
were listed indiscriminately with deep dreams. On listening to stu¬
dents, I found that some delusions were discouraging, and some
were encouraging. Clearly, it was important to be more exacting
about them.
My own makyo had appeared shortly before my most important
realization. Seated in sesshin, working on the koan Mu, I found my¬
self on the stone floor of an enormous hall that had stout stone pillars
extending up to an infinitely high ceiling. A line of very tall monks
robed in black walked in single file around me, reciting sutras. There
was an atmosphere of remote antiquity and holiness in this dream,
and I emerged from it with a strong feeling of confirmation.
Listening to students report their makyo, I recalled my own and
began to understand that a lot of what Zen teachers call makyo are
really inconsequential mental phenomena. I began to narrow my use
ofthe term to the deep dream that has three characteristics: (i) asense
of the ancient, (2) a religious drama in which the dreamer is chosen
or confirmed as a disciple, and (3) a sense of encouragement. The
pantheon of Zen Buddhism, with its many Buddhas and Bodhisatt-
vas, forms the storehouse for such makyo experiences. Three Dia¬
mond Sangha students—all of them women, it happens—found

100
 e

Ritual and Makyo

themselves to be Shakyamuni Buddha. One of them was covered

with gold leaf; one was covered with shimmering golden light; the
third was an image that was incalculably ancient. Transcending their
everyday sexual identity, they found themselves at one with the
deepest archetype of their religion, and all three went on to have real¬
ization at a later time.
Other students, men and women, have identified with or found
themselves interacting with Bodhisattvas or old teachers, either spe¬
cific figures like Kuan-yin or Chao-chou or less identifiable figures
that nonetheless had Buddhist archetypal power. Still other students
experienced more unspecific dramas set in ancient times but always
with themselves as central actors in a deeply moving ritual.
The profound sense that “something important is happening to
me,” which accompanies makyo, and the fact that realization seems
to be made possible by the experience combine to convince me that
it is important for us as Zen students to cultivate the dimension of
makyo through ritual and ceremony. Or, to take this notion a step
further, to identify ritual and ceremony as enacted makyo. An even
further step would be to experience our rituals and ceremonies as
those of Shakyamuni and his disciples and those of all his succeeding
masters and their disciples.
Thus our ceremonies can establish our zendo as the Bodhi-
manda, the sacred dojo of the Buddha, in which Maudgalyayana,
Mahakashyapa, Shariputra, Ananda, and the other ancient worthies
dance in attendance. Make no mistake—they dance and sit and
walk with us here. Just as the experience of makyo seems to be a pre¬
cursor of realization, so the ancient scene of sutras and bows enacted
in our zendo can set the scene for the Buddha’s own experience as
our own.
Notice that Wu-men describes how you walk hand in hand with
all the ancestral teachers in our lineage, “the hair of your eyebrows
entangled with theirs, seeing with the same eyes, hearing with the
same ears.”^ This is makyo, it seems to me, and these words precede
his description of realization.
There are makyo in our koan study as well. Have a look at the
story of Yang-shan visiting the hall of Maitreya in Case Twenty-five
of The Gateless Barrier or Wu-cho conversing with Manjushrl in

lOI
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Case Thirty-five of The Blue Cliff Record. These are real, historical
people interacting in an uncanny realm with mythological arche¬
types. The story of Yang-shan at Maitreya’s hall begins, “Yang-shan
dreamed he went to Maitreya’s place.” Yiian-wu, in his comment on
Wu-cho’s extended discourse with Manjushrl and later with his boy
attendant, describes the scene as illusory.^ We take up the makyo of
Yang-shan and Wu-cho as koans.
I believe that while the old teachers are right, we should not dwell
on makyo or any other delusions. Still, we can use them, even en¬
courage them as upaya (skillful means). In the Buddha’s own dojo we
offer flowers, water, candles, incense. This is our temple of the Bud¬
dha, this building, this sangha, this body. The Buddha can perceive
the Morning Star from here.
1985

102
 9

Koans and Their Study

I^OANS are tiny doors that open to great vistas, inviting us to

wander through endless gardens. They are the folk stories of Zen.
Like folk stories, their expression is presentational, rather than dis¬
cursive, to use Susanne hanger’s terminology.' They are poetical—
and sometimes, though not usually, they can be nonverbal. In any
case, they are not explanatory.
R. H. Blyth said many times that Zen is poetry.^ Poetry too—
and I distinguish Shakespeare from Joyce Kilmer here^—has end¬
less scope. Like Chii-ti’s finger, upraised in response to every ques¬
tion, it can never be used up.'' In the realm of haiku, seventeen
syllables have profound implications. Basho wrote:

The little horse ambles clop-clop

across the summer moor—
I find myself in a picture.^

Basho’s disciple Sampu painted a picture of Basho nodding along

on his little horse, completely absorbed—subjective and objective
fallen away, the inside world enlarged to fill the summer moor; the
summer moor filling the inside wo rid. We fall away with Sampu fall¬
ing away with Basho, who fell away with the rhythmic clop-clop and
the warm summer vista. Everything vanishes in a single, unified,
subtle experience of many dimensions.
Like haiku, the brief koan opens to broad prospects. Moreover,
both haiku and the koan evoke the perennial, for in many cultures
and times we find the same fascination with the tiny sound, scent.

103
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

taste, sensation, thought, or thing that is potent with expansive pos¬

sibilities. Robert Pinsky, for example, comments quite topically,
“Successful computer entertainments in language have tended to be
about the way something quite small and unitary—the chip, the mi¬
croelectronic impulse, the bytes, the little gray box on ones desk—
opens up into something very large and elaborate. This opening up,
the discovery of much in little, seems to be a fundamental resonance
of human intelligence.”^
Everywhere this resonance appears. As I step outdoors, suddenly
a thrush bursts into song in the little milo tree by our front porch.
House, garden, memories, and plans completely disappear, and in
the incredible silence, she evokes from my heart her lovely voice
again and then again. This is the “entry into the inconceivable” of
song within song, life within life. It is the experience described meta¬
physically in the Hua-yen Sutra, where the little door to Maitreya’s
tower opens for Sudhana to a vast panorama of other towers that in
turn hold inner panoramas of innumerably more towers.®
Each koan is a single experience like Sudhana’s, a door that opens
to the myriad things in their dynamic interaction—to the myriad
things as all things—to the myriad things as nothing at all—but
from just a single vantage. Yiin-men said, “This staff has become a
dragon. It has swallowed up the whole universe.”^ This passage is but
a part of one case in The Blue Cliff Record, a book of one hundred
koans, giving one hundred vantages. When they are enriched with
insightful comments and poems, then you have ten thousand
vantages.
Though it may seem complete, the experience of a single koan is
simply a new beginning.When Yamada Koun Roshi experienced
the mouth of the universe opening to laugh with his own great
laugh, he realized the mind is truly “the mountains, the rivers, and
the great Earth, the sun, the moon, and the stars. ” “But then he took
up checking questions in Yasutani Roshi’s room, the introductory
koans, and the ensuing hundreds of koans of formal study in the
Sanbo Kyodan. After that he deepened his insight, on and on, as we
found, sometimes to our surprise, in his koan review seminars.
Yuan-wu likened Yiin-men, holding forth his staff before his as¬
sembly, to the Buddha earlier twirling a flower before his disciples. “

104
 Koans and Their Study

With Yiin-men’s staff and the Buddha’s flower, the tao of the koan is
revealed, among other things. Mahakashyapas smile in response to
the twirling flower initiated a transmission that has not yet come to
an end. Thus the process of enrichment goes on and on.
“Do you understand this specially transmitted mind?” Yiian-wu
asks. A tiny particular encloses everything in its own way. Unless you
enter such a particular, unless a particular enters you, you are lost in
sights, sounds, tastes, scents, and sensations, with the end of their se¬
quence looming like darkness that gradually subdues the daylight.
Everybody knows about this darkness. Everybody knows you
can’t take sights and sounds and sensations with you when it de¬
scends. With this understanding comes anguish, which, as the Bud¬
dha said, is everywhere. Under the Bodhi tree the Buddha found his
compassionate imperative confirmed, and he was ready to show the
way out of anguish.
All our great ancestors were motivated in this way. From the
beginning their vow was to enable beings to cross to the other shore.
Their path is only clear in the vast silence of no-space and no-time
that opens with a glimpse of the Morning Star, with the master
holding up a staff, or with the song of the thrush under the overcast
sky.
The Heart Sutra says that Avalokiteshvara, practicing the deepest
spiritual wisdom, clearly saw that all perceptions and things per¬
ceived are essentially empty and that this kind of realization trans¬
forms anguish and distress. The emptiness of the Heart Sutra is the
universal—the absolute, if you will—full of possibilities but void of
any characteristic.
Once you uncover this void, where feelings and thoughts and
their objects are without substance, you experience enormous relief.
“It” doesn’t matter anymore. One such realization is the beginning
of koan study. It is one fragment of the holographic plate. Many
fragments must be put together in a lifetime of practice.
The step-by-step process through one’s own ox-herding pictures
begins with the star or the staff or the birdsong in emptiness, as emp¬
tiness itself—the fundamental complementarity of our universe.
This complementarity is confirmed at every step of the way.
There are many kinds of complementarity facing the human be-

105
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

ing: male and female, for example, or giving and taking. However,
the most intractably separate double stars of the mind are the partic¬
ular and the universal, form and emptiness. This is the realm of the
koan. We sense the dynamic unity of the distinctly different ele¬
ments, but with our inherent, either-or patterns of thinking we find
no connection.
Something has to give. Either koan study must go, or the path of
reason. Thus, early on, the student who elects to pursue the path of
Zen Buddhism gives up history and philosophy as basic tools and
takes up the way of poetry. The way of poetry is the way of staring at
the word or words with only the question “What is it?” occupying
the mind. The point either emerges or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, one’s
only recourse is to go on staring. A sound practice of zazen, of Zen
meditation, is essential. It is essential also to have a good teacher to
light the path.
The temptation to philosophize is very strong, however. Some
old teachers gathered koans into types: the Dharmakaya type, the
Nan to type, and so on, which you can study in Zen Dust}^ I don’t
find these categories especially useful, except as hints of the variety
that can be found in the practice. The teacher who dwells upon these
categories is like the one who dwells upon samadhi power. At two
ends of the same spectrum that ranges from the brain to the large in¬
testine, these teachers of reason or physical coordination do not
dream of the Buddha’s world or of Yiin-men’s world. They cannot
bring our great ancestors to life. They expose their limitations
clearly, particularly in their mondo, their formal public encounters
with their students.
The mondo tells all. One gets the impression on reading some
studies of Zen that the mondo is a kind of give-and-take, a way of
striking sparks. I myself have suggested as much in the past. Not in¬
correct, but now I find the mondo better described as a drama or a
dance in which the players or dancers bring forth the dynamic being
of the Dharma. “Give-and-take” is a static kind of description for the
joyous movement and the unexpected sally that the enlightened
mondo can provide. See, for example in The Blue Cliff Record, Wu-
chiu dancing with a monk, swapping blows of the staff and the staff
itself, all the while bantering back and forth about giving and re¬
ceiving.

io6
 Koans and Their Study

A monk came to Wu-chiu from the assembly of Ting-chou.

Wu-chiu asked, “How does the Dharma of Ting-chou differ
from ours?”
The monk said, “It does not differ.”
Wu-chiu said, “If it does not differ, then go back there,”
and gave him a blow with his stick.
The monk said, “Your stick has eyes. You shouldn’t hit a fel¬
low wantonly.”
Wu-chiu said, “Today I’ve hit one,” and gave him three
more blows. The monk went out.
Wu-chiu called after him, saying, “All along, there was
someone receiving it.”
The monk turned and said, “What can I do? Your Rever¬
ence is holding the stick.”
Wu-chiu said, “If you like. I’ll hand it over.”
The monk came nearer and snatched the stick from Wu-
chiu’s hands and gave him three blows. Wu-chiu said, “Blind
stick! Blind stick!”
The monk said, “There’s someone receiving it.”
Wu-chiu, “It’s a pity to beat a fellow wantonly.”
The monk bowed. Wu-chiu said, “Yet you act this way.”
The monk laughed loudly and went out. Wu-chiu said,
“That’s all it comes to; that’s all it comes to.”'^

Only the well-trained can dance; only the inspired can inspire
others; only the realized ones can see through each other.
Hinduism provides us with the image of Shiva dancing. His one
foot is raised—when he lowers it, the world ends. This is the dance
of life, which includes death. We dance creation and annihilation
too, but our dance also includes the not-born and not-destroyed
with the life that continually passes away.
Mahayana Buddhism provides the model of the Net of Indra,
where each point perfectly reflects and contains every other point.
While the Net of Indra might seem a rather static model, our Shiva
gracefully dances and chants reflection and containment with each
“Good morning, how are you?”
Recently I have been going through Case Forty-eight of The
GateUss Barrier with a student. It goes like this:

107
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

A monk asked the priest Kan-feng, “ ‘Bhagavats [Buddhas] in

the ten directions; one straight road to nirvana.’ I wonder
where that road is.”
Kan-feng lifted up his staff, drew a line in the air, and said,
“Here it is.”
Later the monk asked Yun-men about this. Yun-men held
up his fan and said, “This fan jumps up to the Heaven of the
Thirty-three and strikes the nose of the deity Shakradevendra.
Give a carp of the Eastern Sea one blow, and the rain comes
down in torrents.”'®

There are three dancers here: the monk, Kan-feng, and Yun-men.
Yun-men has two parts; the first his response to the monk and the
second his final comment. Kan-feng and Yun-men were good
friends whose interactions appear elsewhere in our study. Wu-men
adds choreography of his own:

One goes deep, deep to the bottom of the sea, and winnows
the mud and pumps up the sand. The other goes high, high to
the top of the mountain, and raises foaming waves that spread
over the entire sky. Maintaining, releasing, each using but one
hand, they safeguard the vehicle of the Tao. They are like two
children, running from different directions, who collide with
each other.

Notice that Kan-feng presents the road to nirvana; he does not

merely point to it. Yun-men presents the road too, in a delightfully
childlike way. How do you dance these presentations?
More than thirty years ago, when I was a leader at the Koko An
Zendo but not yet started on my koan study, we had annual sesshins
with Yasutani Haku’un Roshi. With his inspiration, several people
began to move in their practice. I was the monitor of the interview
line, among other things, and during the interviews I sat in the alcove
of the Zen hall with the front door open, keeping track of the coming
and going of students. The roshi met with them in the cottage in the
front garden, and I could see through the screens. Sometimes, there
before the roshi, students would stand up and seem to walk around.
“What’s going on?” I wondered. Well, they were dancing, win¬
nowing the mud, raising foaming waves.

io8
 Koans and Their Study

Yun-men remarks finally, “Give the carp of the Eastern Sea one
blow, and the rain comes down in torrents.” This is how the dance
works in the natural world. How would you show Yun-men’s inten¬
tion here?
In response to this question, you are not necessarily called on to
present an elegant metaphor; in fact, elegance can be a pitfall. In the
Sung period, Ta-hui was so alarmed by the tendency to dwell on the
beautiful phrases of The Blue Cliff Record that he burned its printing
blocks, almost destroying the book forever.^* I think his message is
that the experience of Mu itself, for example, is not affective or cog¬
nitive or aesthetic. However, if it is true and clear, then it can be
danced. It can be felt and expressed.
Another pitfall is to use koans superficially to skip through the
dark side of human nature. If you are truly engaged in the study, you
will find that the way of Zen is not merely a metaphysical exercise
and not merely sweetness and light. The analogy of koans and folk
stories is once again instructive. Folk stories, as Heinrich Zimmer
tells us, can open their tiny doors to evil and the arduous path to con¬
quer it.^^ You will find classical Zen Buddhist cases that take you
along on this same difficult but rewarding path. See, for example,
Yiin-men’s words, “Every day is a good day.”^^ Yun-men leads us
through self-betrayal, through the malice of others, through the
karma created by awful events that are tied intimately with our past,
and finally through a Pollyanna kind of denial—until at last we find
the original dwelling place of our wise yet playful master, right here
in our polluted world.
I think of a friend, a school counselor who has never practiced za-
zen. He jives with his students and they love him for it, but his jiving
is different from theirs. It is always elevated just a bit. They come up
to his level, and then he elevates just a bit more. This is the perennial
way of teaching, the counselor among public school children, Chao-
chou among all of us.
I think of another Bodhisattva friend, a copy editor of a metro¬
politan newspaper. Casting about for ways to apply his Zen Bud¬
dhist practice in his daily life, he decided, “I’m going to bring
harmony to my workplace.” This was no casual undertaking. The
usual newspaper office is loaded with jousting egos. Yet with perse¬
verance, he could acknowledge in his modest way, after a year or so.

109
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

that he had been effective. The office was much more harmonious,
simply because he practiced keeping cool in crises, silent in the midst
of gossip, agreeable in the heat of conflict. By his simple presence,
and perhaps with just a word here and there, he elevated the jiving.
By his simple presence, and with just a single world', Chao-chou ele¬
vated generations of gossipy monks and laypeople.
Recall the people who influenced your life in a positive way. Prob¬
ably they were ones who could say, “Yes, I see your point,” even when
they occupied a very different ground. With this you felt included,
and there was space for discussion and reconciliation. In Japan, you
hear the word “yes” a hundred times more often than you will hear
the word “no.” You will hear “Is that so!” again and again when it
clearly isn’t.
Thus Japan is a nation of mediation and consensus. Sometimes
this mediation becomes self-centered manipulation—that’s the
dark side. From time to time in the sangha too, we can see how a sham
kind of inclusion can be exploitative. Interest in others is confined
to scandal and manipulation. The teachings of Chao-chou and his
kinfolk are forgotten. Common decency is forgotten.
Those old teachings and ideals of common decency can devolve
into rules and regulations, but shining through commandments and
precepts is the conscious or unconscious knowledge of inclusion.
The family is the model. The sangha is the model. We are clearly re¬
sponsible for taking care of each other.
In the dojo of the individual self are many students on one path,
within one Dharma. When this becomes clear, then by tone and
manner, or perhaps in a personal story, the next stepping-stone is re¬
vealed.
I think of Patrick Hawk, my Dharma heir in Amarillo, as one
who teaches by manner. I once found myself in his quarters, awaiting
his return from an errand. He had just two rooms—an outer recep¬
tion room and an inner bedroom. He kept his reception room like
a little temple. What was his bedroom like? I peeked, and there was
another little temple. I had to look closely to see the bed, folded up
neatly and unobtrusively in a corner.
Yet I don’t think I have ever heard Pat Hawk cite the Japanese
proverb “Clean as a Zen temple.” He doesn’t need to. Living with his

no
 Koans and Their Study

students, his teaching is his person. I sometimes cite the proverb, but
I’m afraid that my words are hollow. I am saying, in effect, “Do as I
say, not as I do,” for my own quarters tend to be pretty messy. “Do as
I say” doesn’t include anybody. Neither does the response “Practice
what you preach.”
In a recent conversation, Maha Goshananda remarked to me,
“We are forest monks, but there are no more trees in Cambodia.” He
was saying this as the supreme patriarch of Cambodia, so his words
were not only potent with pathos but also with determination to find
the way of monks bereft of their traditional habitat. So he leads peace
walks along roads littered with land mines, through villages and
fields that are daily torn by civil war, calmly and serenely serving as
the model and archetype of the Buddha’s way of infinite com¬
passion.
Maha Goshananda casts light on the way of inclusion and com¬
passion, Patrick Hawk casts light, my friends the counselor and the
editor cast light. Inclusion is compassion, suffering with others, and
with compassion teaching and guidance arise. Koan study can be a
door to this kind of work. A single koan illumines many kinds of in¬
clusion. The single word of Chao-chou shines forth most instruc¬
tively. When we make that light our own, we ourselves shine forth.
My first teisho (Dharma talk) in each sesshin is devoted to the
koan Mu.

A monk asked Chao-chou, “Has the dog Buddha Nature, or

not?”
Chao-chou said,

Chao-chou, in his venerable age and profound wisdom, comes

forth as the Tathagata, as Buddha Nature itself, all of a piece with his
Mu. He shows the very point of the question. He is the point and
shows it as himself He also includes the monk in his presentation,
confirming the doubts the monk had implied about Buddha Nature.
By responding “Mu—no, does not have,” he is saying, “You are
right. For sure, the dog doesn’t have Buddha Nature. ’ You and I are
on the same ferryboat here. We are moving along in the dynamic
space of sangha, an organic being in which each of us is a body part.
I confirm your words as my own.

Ill
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Nonetheless, this agreement points to another step. “By the way,”

he is implying, “what is this ‘does not have’? What is Mu?”
Chao-chou’s Mu is, of course, not discursive at all, but it is open
to discursive explication: Buddha Nature is essential nature, some¬
times rendered shunyata, or the void. Yamada Koun Roshi used the
model of a fraction to symbolize reality, with the Greek letter alpha
(a), representing all phenomena, as the numerator and the mathe¬
matical symbol for infinity (°o), surrounded by a circle, representing
empty infinity, as the denominator. Phenomena are denominated
by empty infinity—infinite emptiness.
Any fraction equals a number, so what is on the other side of the
“equals” mark? The fraction of phenomena over emptiness is equal
to our reality, of course—people, animals, trees, towers, streets—
things as they are. The roshi’s fraction is useful in clarifying the infi¬
nite emptiness of the plenum and of each of its elements. The Heart
Sutra, too, clarifies the identity of emptiness and the world of
form.^^
Old grandmothers like Yamada Roshi and tattered texts like the
Heart Sutra can set the tone and weave the backdrop for students in
the lecture hall, but in the dokusan room you meet the same master
squatting like a dragon in his lair, the texts long since ripped to
smithereens. This is the cave where reason is suicide, and the baker
simply announces the price of muffins, with no exegesis.
Here is the illumination of Hsiang-lin:

A monk asked Hsiang-lin, “What is the meaning of Bodhi-

dharma’s coming from the West?”
Hsiang-lin said, “I’m stiff from sitting so long.”^^

Students of Zen Buddhism can relate to Hsiang-lin’s stiffness. Af¬

ter long days of zazen in sesshin, people rise slowly, even painfully,
for kinhin, the formal walk between periods of sitting. But how
many can make any connection between their stiffness and pain and
the essential teachings of Bodhidharma? That is the edge of Hsiang-
lin’s response—the elevation. After all, Bodhidharma is to blame for
this “jungle of monks at sixes and sevens,”^^ this confusion of bow¬
ing and squatting and reciting old sutras that we call a training

II2
 Koans and Their Study

When people come to me with a response to their koan—for ex¬

ample, Hsiang-lin’s answer to a monk’s question about Bodhi-
dharma’s imperative—commonly they begin by saying, “Well, I
think he ” and that’s where I intervene. “Well, I think he ... ”
puts Hsiang-lin or whomever halfway across the world and back in
time some thousand years. Not very intimate. Not very inclusive.
History and geography have their uses, sometimes even in the
dokusan room, when the teacher might comment on a cultural as¬
pect of a case once the case itself is resolved. Such cultural overtones
are, however, relatively uncommon. Most cases deal with basic hu¬
man matters that are pretty much the same for old Chinese and mod¬
ern North Americans, Australasians, andEuropeans. Everybody can
relate to Hsiang-lin, grimacing as he lifts his feet from his lap.
Over and over we experience such intimacy in our daily lives.
Around the water fountain we hear about somebody’s mother who
has Alzheimer’s disease. We feel an upwelling of empathy. Though it
is the kind of encounter that happens frequently, it can each time be
an enlarging experience. It can be transformational to the degree that
we are open to experience it and willing to be guided by it.
Taken by themselves, Hsiang-lin’s words are far more casual than
agonized sharing around the water fountain. In context, however,
like Chao-chou’s Mu, they bring together in dynamic unity the past,
present, and future, near and far, seen and unseen, the void itself with
the riches of the world. We add our own notes to this resonance in
the profound intimacy of even longer ago and farther away and, in¬
deed, of no-time and no-space. It is the chance for truly profound
transformation, again depending on how willing we are to be guided
by such experiences.
In our daily lives, the family, the sangha, the workplace are the
laboratories of intimacy. In our dojo even etymology can be one of
our teachers. It is interesting to note that the suffix meaning “monk”
in Japanese is so, which means sangha. It is used in the compound
Zenso, “Zen monk.” The individual monk is the sangha, and the
same is true for each of us. The individual student is the Sangha Trea¬
sure, and though as laywomen and laymen we have other identities,
as students of Zen Buddhism it becomes clear that we are the constit¬
uents of one body that is beyond any sectarian designation.
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

It is easy to forget the penetrating truths of Chao-chou and

Hsiang-lin. It is easy to forget how they include us in their wisdom,
how we include them and indeed all beings. We fall into gossip. We
triangulate, divide off into exclusive subgroups, or just forget to say
hello. Sometimes severe misunderstandings burst forth and people
pick up and leave in anger. If we cant get along in our little practice
center, how can we expect global society to make it?
We are in it together, this ferry to the other shore. If I take my role
seriously as an oarsman—if I am steady and dont move around a
lot—then others will surely pull their oars and be steady as well, and
we’ll get there as an organic community.
1995

114
 Marriage as Sangha

A Talk

this little bride & groom are

standing) in a kind
of crown he dressed
in black candy she

veiled in candy white

carrying a bouquet of
pretend flowers this
candy crown with this candy

little bride & little

groom in it kind of stands on
a thin ring which stands on a much
less thin very much more

big & kinder of ring & which

kinder of stands on a
much more than very much
biggest & thickest & kindest

of ring & all one two three rings

are cake & everything is protected by
cellophane against anything (because
nothing really exists*
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

“Nothing really exists.” Here the poet, e. e. cummings, presents

the fundamental, perennial human problem, which the Buddha de¬
fined as duhkha, the anguish we experience when we glimpse our
nonbeing. Duhkha is also the way we disguise our anguish and pro¬
tect our disguise—in cummingss metaphor, with ideals made of
candy and cake, wrapped in airtight cellophane.
The “nothing” that cummings faced with such good humor is the
emptiness set forth in Buddhism—the vacancy that is your nature
and mine and the nature of the universe. It is not vacuum, for it con¬
tains all things, as the sky contains the stars. It is not chaos, and yet
it is shot through with unreliable, dangerous asteroids. It is har¬
mony—not merely the harmony of candy with cake but of death
with life, of the unknown with the known. And the dynamics of har¬
mony involve the particularity of each being and the infinite variety
of all beings.
The Buddha and his successors saw clearly into the interaction of
the many beings as they made their way through the unknown. To
fulfill our potential as human beings, he said in effect, we strive for
nobility, and further, we establish our path of nobility with our vows.
We give our word that we will be decent to one another and give each
other support. In this way we turn the wheel of the Dharma for har¬
mony and enlightenment in the world.
We give our word in the wedding ceremony, but we Buddhists in
the West who inherit the Dharma from Japan find that such a cere¬
mony is not a central part of our tradition. Most of our Japanese
Buddhist ancestors were married in Shinto services, and what Bud¬
dhist wedding ceremonies there are tend to be buried in archives
somewhere. Western Buddhist leaders have consulted those old
transcripts, but since they were so seldom used, they haven’t felt
bound by them. Thus, Western Buddhist wedding services are a rela¬
tively new tradition, and there are marked variations from sect to
sect. However, all of them—without exception, I am sure—use an¬
cient elements of other Buddhist rituals in their forms.
The wedding ceremony we use in the Diamond Sangha is based
on a manuscript I developed with the Venerable Eijo Ikenaga, priest
of the Honolulu Myohoji Mission. Early in his ministry, he was
called upon to do a ceremony in English, so he wrote one out in Japa¬
nese, and the two of us translated it. Working with many couples

Ii6
 Marriage as Sangha

since then, I have revised this manuscript dozens of times, but the ba¬
sic form is the same: vows by the bride and groom to follow the Five
Precepts of the lay Buddhist.
This set of precepts, called the Pancha Shlla, is surely among the
most ancient of vows; they are based on the pre-Buddhist ideal of
ahimsa, or nonharming. In the Mahayana context, the Pancha Shlla
is not merely a set of five promises to avoid negative conduct but it is
also a positive affirmation of the path of nobility. So in the Diamond
Sangha wedding ceremony, the vow not to kill becomes your prom¬
ise to help and encourage your spouse in a most generous way; the
vow not to ste^ becomes your promise to respect the unique
thoughts of your spouse as expressions of someone on the path of
maturity; the vow not to misuse sex becomes your promise to give of
yourself fully in your love; the vow not to lie becomes your promise
to be faithful and true; and the vownot to indulge in intoxicants be¬
comes your promise to keep your mind and all the circumstances of
your marriage clear.
Some couples also want to include promises from the Book of
Common Prayer to take each other through joys and sorrows, sick¬
ness and health, and so on, until they are parted by death. This is fine
with me. Give your word that you will encourage your spouse and be
faithful, and your wedding ceremony will be a beacon for your pil¬
grimage together, and your pilgrimage in turn will be a beacon for
the paths of others.
Wendell Berry says in his essay “Poetry and Marriage”;

The meaning of marriage begins in the giving of words. We

cannot join ourselves to one another without giving our word.
And this must be an unconditional giving, for in joining our¬
selves to one another, we join ourselves to the unknown. We
can join one another only by joining the unknown. We must
not be misled by the procedures of experimental thought: in
life, in the world, we are never given two known results to
choose between, but only one result that we choose without
knowing what it is.^

This is the Way of Marriage through the shadows of doubt. We

are not given two known results to choose between; for example, we
are not given divorce and marriage as two options, but just the one
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

result that is constantly unfolding. If this unfolding leads irrevocably

to divorce, then that is the result that could not have been foreseen.
Our commitment is to making our way through the unknown to¬
gether, whatever happens.
The candy bride and groom wrapped in cellophane disguise the
noble path of making our way through the unknown. We are not
only creating a family and making it possible to have children and to
bring them up safely, we are walking the path of personal growth to¬
gether.^ Facing the unknown, treading the unknown, we encourage
each other through the dark night that inevitably sets in. If we try to
dismiss this dark night as a “midlife crisis,” we find it cannot be dis¬
missed and must be lived through. Perhaps our path will be Bud¬
dhist, perhaps Christian, perhaps Judaic, perhaps humanistic with
no religious name. In any case, in the perennial sense, it is a religious
path. It is the way of wholeness and wellness we choose to take to¬
gether.
There is another point. In creating a marriage, the bride and
groom create a new being. As wife and husband, and then possibly
with children, the family is a sangha with its own needs, its own de¬
lights and suffering. It is a tangible entity, separate and yet inclusive,
in which the family members take part and within which they fulfill
their individual lives.
Thus our wedding vows, the words we stand by in our marriage,
are not only promises to one another but to our marriage itself, the
tender being we bring into existence and which we nurture with our
honorable conduct and love. In our promises to be true to each other,
the words we use are the ancestral jewels of our parents, our grand¬
parents, our great-grandparents, and so on back into the misty past.
Keeping those jewels faithfully, we nurture the being of marriage
through its own natural life.
When it is done, and the husband or wife has passed on, the other
will linger for a while, savoring a marriage that still continues, the life
that turned the cosmic Dharma wheel a little and brought the innate
harmony of all beings a little closer to fulfillment.
1986

118
 Death: A Zen Buddhist Perspective

Death is treated as a teaching in Zen Buddhism. It reveals and

enriches the truths of impermanence, compassion, and interdepen¬
dence. As a metaphor it reveals the nature of step-by-step practice
and of realization.
Zen teachers of the past w^ere commonly able to foresee their own
deaths, to prepare for them, and to find a dignified and appropriate
way of dying. Daio Kokushi, the de facto founder of Rinzai Zen in
Japan, announced the date of his death a year in advance to the day.'
His grandson in the Dharma, Kanzan Kokushi, made his own dying
a ritual:

On the day of his death Kanzan entrusted his affairs to his sole
Dharma heir and dressed himself in his traveling clothes.
Then he went out from the abbots quarters and, standing
alone beside the “Wind and Water Pond” at the front gate of
the temple, he passed away.^

Hung-chih, editor of the Book of Serenity, traveled around saying

good-bye:

One day in the autumn of 1157, when he was in his sixty-

seventh year, Hung-chih put on his traveling garb and jour¬
neyed down the mountain for the first time in nearly thirty
years. He visited the commander of the army, the government
officials in the district, and the patrons of the temple, thank-
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

ing them all for their kindness during the years and saying
good-bye. On the tenth of November, the master returned to
the temple. The following morning, after bathing and chang¬
ing his robes, he sat down in the formal position and gave a
farewell talk to his assembled disciples.

Then he asked his attendant to bring him writing materials. He com¬

posed his death poem and passed away with his brush in his hand.^
There is implicit teaching in all of this, but the old teachers also
used death explicitly to guide their disciples and the rest of us. Yiieh-
shan called out in a loud voice one day, “The Dharma hail is falling
down! The Dharma hall is falling down!” The monks rushed to hold
up the pillars. He clapped his hands and laughed loudly, saying, “You
don’t understand.” He then passed away.”*
There are many such stories of death used as an upaya, a skillful
means ofturningthe Dharma wheel. Death poems were upaya. Here
is Hung-chih’s composition:

Illusory dreams, phantom flowers—

sixty-seven years.
A white bird vanishes in the mist,
autumn waters merge with the sky.^

Bassui advises a dying man:

If you think of nothing, wish for nothing, want to understand

nothing, cling to nothing, and only ask yourself, “What is the
true substance of the Mind of this one who is now suffering?”
Ending your days like clouds fading in the sky, you will even¬
tually be freed from your painful bondage to endless change.^

Bassui is advising his student to persist quietly and calmly with

his koan to the end, promising him liberation. But what happens
when the white bird vanishes and the clouds fade? We turn to ety-
mology, that wise educator, and find that the word senge in Japanese,
the term used for a death of a Buddhist master, means “to pass into
transformation.” Wftile Bassui and Hung-chih could speak of van¬
ishing or fading, death can also be considered a becoming.
Ill The Guteless Buvviev, I quote Yamada Koun Roshi asking a stu-

120
 Death: A Zen Buddhist Perspective

dent, “What do you think of death?” The student replied, “Why, it’s
like when a bus stops before you—you get on and go. ^ This student
was my wife Anne, who took her name out of the story when she
helped to edit the book. Her death many years after that dialogue
made clear how deeply committed she was to the truth of her words.
Anne had suffered a massive heart attack and was breathing
heavily. The doctor had come into her hospital room and was ques¬
tioning me about her living will. Did I agree that there should be
no intervention to prolong her life artificially? I agreed that I wanted
the process to be natural. I was watching her as I spoke. Her breath
became quieter and a look of the utmost determination came over
her face. She pressed her lips together, her pulse subsided, and she
passed away.
It seems that she could hear me speak and that she took my words
supportively. The bus had come, so she took the appropriate action.
She stepped aboard and sat down with Kanzan, Hung-chih, and so
many other ancestors who died showing the rest of us the Way.
I am resolved to learn from Anne’s readiness, which is all, as the
duke says in Measure for Measure. This is a matter of preparing one¬
self Tou-shuai said, “When you are freed from birth and death, you
will know where to go. WTien your elements scatter, where do you
go?”® This is an ultimate kind of koan. Understanding it involves
cutting your bondage to the endless fluctuation—cutting your at¬
tachment to the sequence of your movie and finding your home in
its particular frames.
In each frame, the metaphor of death offers a handle to the prac¬
tice. Dogen Kigen Zenji places death among the countless acts of
dana (giving) that make up our daily work:

When one learns well, being born and dying are both giving.
All productive labor is fundamentally giving. Entrusting
flowers to the wind, birds to the season, also must be meritori¬
ous acts of giving.^

In this passage, Dogen Zenji implies that death (and birth too, in
a different way) is more than relinquishment, even more than giving.
It is entrusting. Wflien we are practicing—when we are turning the
Dharma wheel—all our acts are those of entrusting. At the Pdolo

IZI
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Zen Center we entrust our cat to keep rats from the premises, but we
also entrust him to keep birds away. Entrusting makes the world go
around. Kanzan entrusted his work to his sole Dharma heir. On his
deathbed, Lin-chi entrusted his Dharma to San-sheng. Along with
the mystery of death comes entrusting one’s work to the world.
This means entrusting to the future, of course. I once asked
Yamada Roshi about life after death, and he replied, “Well, there
is always the karmic side.” Indeed. Karma is action. There is indi¬
vidual karma, social karma, world karma, universal karma. The
specifics of these karmas go on and on, impelled from the past, ab¬
sorbing influences from each other, unfolding into the future. What
would be my specific and what would be yours, going on and on,
ever changing?
I don’t know, and I take my cue from the Buddha’s unwillingness
to conjecture about such things. I dont even know about my speci¬
fic in this life very well. Coming to terms with it is my lifetime
task and involves facing perennial questions. “Who am I?” This is
the basic query, and while in so many words it might have worked
as a koan for Ramana Maharshi, it tends to take the rest of us around
and around in our cortex. “Who is hearing that sound?” asked
Bassui Tokusho Zenji.'' That works better for most people, for the
self dies in the process. What is my task?” is a useful prompt that
helps to clarify dying as daily practice. You forget everything as you
greet friends or water the plants. In the nonce of dying, you forget
everything, bequeathing your concerns to family, friends, and all
beings.
If you can t visualize this kind of release, then you have two op¬
tions: (i) a religion that promises eternal life or (2) no religion, which
can be the condition of despair. Here is Philip Larkin’s despair in his
poem “Aubade”:

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now.
Making all thought impossible but how

122
 0

Death: A Zen Buddhist Perspective

And where and when I shall myself die.

Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.'^

In our heart of hearts, we all know about this horror. Katsuki

Sekida, our first resident teacher at the Diamond Sangha, used to tell
us that when he was a child, falling asleep in the comfort of his bed
in his happy home, he would suddenly hear his own voice, crying out
in terrible tones, “You must die!” He would call to his parents and
sob in their arms, unable to explain his anguish, his duhkha. As a
child he was not asking for help to carry him through the night but
for assurance that the night was not there. As an adult, however, he
and all other worthy students of religion have sought their way right
through their terror, not around it. They shun the teachers who de¬
vise ways to avoid terror. As Simone Weil warned, “Religion, insofar
as it is consolation, is a hindrance to true faith.”'^
The Heart Sutra assures us, “Bodhisattvas live by Prajna Paramita
with no hindrance in the mind; no hindrance, therefore no fear.”'^
The word we translate as “fear” is really “terror”—Larkins terror, lit¬
tle Katsuki’s terror, human terror. The English word “fear” is easier
to chant in that context, but we mustn’t neglect the true meaning.
Hakuin Ekaku Zenji asks, “From dark path to dark path we wander;
when shall we be freed from birth and death?”^^ When shall we be
freed from our terror?
Dogen Zenji’s father died when he was two years old, and when
he was seven his mother died. He recalled how watching the smoke
from the funeral pyre at his mother’s funeral impressed him deeply
and sorrowfully with the transience of life.^^ Throughout his career
of teaching he linked this awareness of transiency with bodhi-
chitta—the desire for realization, the desire for enlightenment, the
imperative for realizing the Buddha.
Bodhichitta is what distinguishes Buddhism and Zen from world
religions generally. The pilgrim looks directly into the fact of death,
into the fact of impermanence, and finds there the solace that others
find in the notion of heaven and eternal life. What is that solace? Ha-
ha! How truly beautiful everything is!

123
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

We find maturity on this path in the death poems of Buddhist

teachers and haiku poets, collected in a recent anthology. Here is one
of them, by the nineteenth-century poet Bokkei:

Oh, cuckoo,
«

I too spit blood—

my thoughts.

The cuckoo shows its red mouth when it sings. My thoughts are
red like blood, Bokkei is saying. My dying is like the welling up of
thoughts, the song of birds—an extraordinary expression of inter¬
being.
Compare Bokkei’s presentation with the famous haiku by Issa, on
the death of his baby daughter:

The dewdrop world

is the dewdrop world,
and yet—and yet.'®

“It is true that this world is transitory,” Issa is saying. “All beings are
ephemeral. I know this, but when I am faced with the death of my
baby girl, I look desperately for something to give me hope and com¬
fort.” This is the natural, human way of dealing with anguish, to
treat it as an event that was brought forth by implacable exterior cir¬
cumstances.

Natural—but, Issa, you are not addressing death squarely. There

in your grief itself is your emancipation. Your tears are the blood of
the universe, coming forth elsewhere in the song of the cuckoo and
the darting of geckos. Each breath is truly inspiration and then expi¬
ration, life and death. Every day really is a good day.
Yet “anguish is everywhere,” as the Buddha said. The source of
that anguish is clinging. What is clinging? What is the object of
clinging? It is cherishing the notion of permanence for this old fellow
sitting here. It is cherishing the notion of independence from others.
Clinging is the heart of my anguish and of human anguish. There
is a release from this anguish, however, that Bokkei, for one, found
for himself

This release comes with practice, the Middle, or Eightfold, Path,

124
 Death: A Zen Btiddhist Perspective

from Right Views to Right Zazen. Right Zazen is, for example,
counting the breaths—facing this point “one,” this point “two,” this
point “three.” The point of no magnitude is the marvelous void
charged with brilliant light. The circular path leads round again
from Right Zazen to Right Views, Right Thought, Right Speech,
and the rest, to form our practice in daily life. On this Noble Path we
find true human happiness that is far removed from the ordinary
conspiracy of make-believe. It is a matter of finding ourselves tem¬
porarily all here together, resolving to take good care of each other—
and doing it.
The Eightfold Path does not, however, directly address the grief
that one experiences with letting go. My first inkling of the real na¬
ture of grief was something my Zen friend R. H. Ely th said to me one
day: “I love my sister-in-law much more than I did when she was
alive.” I thought to myself, “How strange!”
Then many years later, Anne’s mother died. We flew up to San
Francisco for the funeral. She had lived in a large house in the Presi¬
dio district of San Francisco, all by herself after her husband died.
The close relatives gathered on one side of the living room. The
coffin was there on the other side. We stood around enjoying, as the
occasion would allow, our reunion with each other. But there was a
little too much chatter, so Anne and I went and knelt by the coffin
and quietly recited the Emmei Jikku Kannon Gyo, the “Ten-Verse
Kuan-yin Sutra of Timeless Life.” In those moments I felt her moth¬
er’s presence far more intimately and vividly than I ever did when she
was alive.
This is, it seems to me, the nature of grief Beyond tears, beyond
self-blame, it is the experience of the person, the presence of the per¬
son, and it is very poignant. For me, kneeling by her coffin, it was the
pure grace of my mother-in-law.
One hears elderly people who have lost a spouse speak of “my an¬
gel husband” or “my saintly wife.” I have tended to dismiss these al¬
lusions as sentimental, or even as denial. Now I understand their
reality. After thirty-seven years of marriage, I knew Anne’s inadequa¬
cies as she knew mine, as any family member knows the dark side of
a sibling, parent, or spouse. But when she died, all her shortcomings

125
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

abruptly vanished into thin air, just as her body vanished. Anne’s
shortcomings were her body, the physical barriers of her aspiration,
just as my neuroses and foibles get in my own way.
I relate through flawed materials, and so does everyone else. With
her death, however, Anne stands forth as the Nirmanakaya, the mys¬
terious and joyous Buddha who is individually unique and pristine
as herself This is her gift, her dana, which she entrusted to me and
to her relatives and friends by dying. The bereaved old folks whose
words I had dismissed as sticky sentiment and denial realized in their
own ways a perennial mystery—the gift by death of the rare, singu¬
lar person—and I know now that they spoke in genuine awe. Thus
I take issue with Mark Antony when he declaims that the evil that we
do lives after us, while the good often lies interred with our bones. It’s
surely the other way around.
Recently one of my middle-aged friends shared with me his un-
happiness about his father. His mother had died a year before, and
his father had fallen into depression. He then had a stroke and then
another stroke. Of course,” my friend observed unexpectedly,
“they loved each other, but they argued a lot.” To quote Issa again,
this time with sympathy:

In the dewdrop
of this dewdrop world,
such quarrels!^®

When my friend linked his father’s strokes to his mother’s death

and to the arguments his mother and father used to have, I heard the
possibility that his father had at last experienced the true nature of
his deceased wife and was consumed with regret that his realization
had come too late. He fell into despair, and his decline began. One
of my early Japanese friends, widowed for many years, said sadly to
me, I realize that I thought of my wife as a broom.”
With ones own human failings, it is probably not possible to
summon up full appreciation for the rare Buddha who is one’s spouse
or family member or friend. We can, however, practice abiding, pa¬
tiently and lovingly, with the failings of the other, while acknowledg¬
ing our own weaknesses and inadequacies.
I am resolved to learn from my bereavement and exercise loving

126
 Death: A Zen Buddhist Perspective

patience more carefully with my other family members, sangha

members, and friends—with the clerk at the post office, the cat, the
dog, the hibiscus. These, too, I now know much more clearly, are also
the Nirmanakaya. Each being is the Tathagata, as the Buddha
Shakyamuni said—the living Buddha who comes purely forth, a sis¬
ter or a brother to protect and nourish.
1994

127
 ,.n r . I

I't

! ii 7
■ ''.. *TV' •
W illiiiflf*.V-'
'=' hTj il-- /o^;N|'fc||t*j(^
: k>v* i .
^ 1 ’.V,tlf^V''4’^'V •kc.

‘ % 'y^.-.vvs^
' Jif' '-.wVvi *^~ '
i■t^\ •>' ' . > i .-*■ "-iapti^

» '■-• ■ i;4- ■ «> . ., V >■'4^' '^*'

■'■ r* ^ •■'/i-* ■ ’* <r ^ ».
'Km*,*:-''* .* i. >,-T
.. '
4 ' aLF »•* ■•••>.•■,!-^ >1-.- .-'ilf* • ^ ..
t . * I • '

»*’_ r'\-* - ^>-4^.. , f,-, -rfrA,*. ‘'

,• i.w »
■ **•'••• ii» \ '■- m. .

♦it

1»iV «/ (f i(. • - •
'■■ , 1 ■ . *- *"■' ^ I '■ »*. -1 - , ' • '‘k *F*.
i/.. ■ ' *1' 1 .-■ ' . ^I t •/'■* •■ .
■■: ■■ ’•r: ■',
• vSn t ■' "•’. " ■• ' *o(^
’ ' ■■• ■.••>*, '.‘Xt -

.4
1 I • . -

XJj

i',^'- V*. f u t ■ •■' •

- ' A*’ ■J'l
^■.•',UV,|^ rw v I ’ .. #'

sSBE..r'V
ETHICS AND REVOLUTION
 The Path Beyond No-Self

Western Perspectives

u D D HI s T writings caution endlessly against concepts. The Di¬

amond Sutra, the inspiration of Zen students, is devoted to destroy¬
ing all concepts, even the concept that concepts must be destroyed.
In the Diamond Sutra we find the Buddha advising his interlocutor
Subuti and the rest of us not to be captivated by names and desig¬
nated qualities like “Buddha Lands,” “molecules,” “galaxies,” “en¬
lightenment,” “Tathagata,” and even such notions as “ego entity,”
“personality,” and “exclusive individuality.” The person who is not
bound in such a way can be called one who abides joyously in peace.'
Moreover, while it is possible to be free of concepts—and this
freedom can be joyous—the moment we dwell on the words “free¬
dom” and “joy” we are trapped again. It is in no-freedom that we find
freedom, in no-joy that we find joy. This is the Way of Zen or of free¬
dom even from Zen.
Yet we must use words like “Zen,” “self,” “Buddha Lands” “galax¬
ies,” “molecules,” in order to function socially. Naming is the pri¬
mary human act. In the book of Genesis, Adam named the beasts of
the field and the fowls of the air before he did anything else. Each in¬
fant creates the world in this way. The first two words my son strung
together were “What’s that?” Let me name that thing! This impera¬
tive has brought forth human civilization from the inchoate void.
The Buddha realized that the potential form of this inchoate void
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

is harmony and conveyed his realization to us. Walking the dusty

roads of the Ganges Valley, he turned the Dharma wheel of realiza¬
tion and accord right there in the untidy and unreliable context of
coming and going, of dying and being born. As sons and daughters
of the Buddha we turn that same wheel within our communities and
in the home, the workplace, in social gatherings, and public meet¬
ings.
Just as the Buddha and his successors warn us about concepts
from their Asian viewpoints. Western thinkers have also been con¬
cerned about the snare of words. Fritz Mauthner, a late-nineteenth-
century philosopher and linguist, takes a position very close to that
of the Buddha in the Diamond Sutra. Mauthner points out that
words cannot fully express reality; they are j ust categories into which
sense impressions are sorted and stored and with which they are
structured in the human memory.^
Human senses themselves are limited, Mauthner declares, and
can only give us an anthropomorphic view of the world. Under
different circumstances, our senses might have evolved differently,
perhaps to include a better navigational sense—like that of birds, for
example. We see that most birds have a navigational sense that is su¬
perior to ours. If we had such a sense, the structure of our memory
would be different, and our vocabulary and grammar would express
reality accordingly.
Our sorting and storing process can lead to further limitations
and distortions, for our words take on a life of their own and influ¬
ence each other, creating generalized ideas. We tend to “understand”
new sense data by warping reality to fit these mental abstractions.
(Since Mauthner’s time, of course, scientists have come to under¬
stand how the observation is the observer and to regard their formu¬
lations not as law but as metaphor.)
Mauthner followed his line of argument to the ultimate position
of “no-self,” suggesting that our feeling of individuality is an illusion
created by our unreliable senses and seemingly confirmed by the
generalizations we can make from them. At the same time, he ob¬
served, this is the process that makes us human. Sense data and its
language are the repositories of our tradition. The human self is a re¬
currence of tradition and a step in its continuation. When language
is metaphorical and poetical, then it too is a renewal, though

132
 e

The Path Beyond No-Self

Mauthner seems hesitant at this point, expressing only the hope that
poetical language can present some valid contact with reality. The
Zen master is far more positive:

Yiin-men addressed his students and said, “The old Buddhas

and the pillar merge—on what level of mental activity is
this?”
Answering for them he said, “Clouds gather over North
Mountain; rain falls on South Mountain.”^

These are metaphors of one who has died completely to the world
of abstractions—even such abstractions as time, form, space, and
cause—and who seeks to present the vitality of such a death in a na¬
ked human encounter with the world. Mauthner could have shown
Yiin-men a thing or two about the nature of memory, but Yiin-men
was the master of words as the medium of all that is.
Fritz Mauthner was an important figure in the intellectual circles
of fin-de-siecle Berlin, and he profoundly influenced Gustav Lan-
dauer, a younger contemporary who carried Mauthner’s thought
into realms that his biographer Charles B. Maurer calls “mystical an¬
archism.” Both men understood the self to be simply a product of
memory, including human racial memory, but Landauer had an in¬
kling of the essential point of Zen Buddhism: that the whole world
is a single psyche of countless difl^erentiations and the individual self
is an embodiment of all that is—the universe incarnate. It is not sur¬
prising that Landauer venerated Whitman and translated his work
into German.^
Though the vision of both Landauer and Whitman contained
multitudes, neither man could show how elements of the environ¬
ment not merely are the self but make the self and that there is no
other source of self Compare Yiin-men again:

Yiin-men addressed his disciples and said, “Each of you has

your own light. If you try to see it, you cannot. The darkness
is dark, dark. Now, what is your light?”
Answering for them, he said, “The pantry, the gate.”^

When you reflect upon yourself, you find nothing there at all. Try
it. Take a moment. When you just breathe in and out quietly, what

133
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

is your source? Your light? Really, there is nothing there. Then what is
your source, your light? There it is! The pantry! There it is! The gate!
Our language is formed in turn by the pantry and the gate, by the
rose and the lily, the dog and the fish and the tiger, the clouds and the
stones. There is no language that is not the wording of our habitat,
and no self whatever, except a temporary formation of the total envi¬
ronment. Nothing is absolute, and at this point Landauer seems
closer to Hinduism than to Buddhism, postulating reality for the
universal psyche, separate from its mortal qualities. For him, the
psyche was something that does not die. This is the Senika heresy,
named for a monk in the Buddha’s time, and condemned by the
Buddha in the Mahdparinirvdna Sutra as a concept of an absolute
that stands apart from the relative. The Senika heresy is also criti¬
cized in careful detail by Dogen Zenji in his “Bendowa.”^
Nonetheless, Landauer s thought and indeed his life are pro¬
foundly instructive. “It is time,” he wrote:

for the insight that there is no individual, but only unities

and communities.... Individuals are only manifestations and
points of reference, electric sparks of something grand and
whole.7

Landauer does not linger on sparks as metaphors for humanity

but moves quickly to the flesh-and-blood reality of human beings
as avatars of something grand and whole. This is where he is most
instructive for Buddhists. He saw clearly the implications of self¬
lessness, understood “consciousness” for what the word means_
“consensual experience”—and knew “compassion” to be “suffering
with others. Unlike our Buddhist ancestors, he was free to apply his
metaphysics to the realms of sociology, politics, and economics. He
wrote vividly of human suffering in words that might be written to¬
day, almost a hundred years later:

The great mass of people is separated from the earth and its
products, from the earth and the means of labor. People live in
poverty and insecurity. They have no j oy and meaning in their
lives. They work in a way that makes them dull and joyless.
Entire masses of people often have no roof over their head.
They freeze, starve, and die miserably.®

134
 9

The Path Beyond No-Self

It is Geist that is missing, Landauer says—communal spirit, the

volksseele, or folk soul, the larger self of people in a particular region,
culture, or nation. It dwells in the hearts of individuals who give
themselves over to the unfolding of this spirit as they work together
in communal units that interpenetrate to form a “society of societ¬
ies.” Geist can be compared with Plato’s philia, the friendship of
high-minded individuals who are drawn together by their affinity
for noble conduct and their rejection of self-centered materialism.
For VX-axa, philia was a universal law that human beings cultivate
for their fulfillment in society:

Partnership and friendship, orderliness and self-control, and

justice hold together heaven and earth, and that is why they
call this universe a world order.

For Landauer, Geist too had its ground in natural order, the total¬
ity of independent units found in the Middle Ages of Europe, the
clan structure of traditional societies. Martin Buber, a disciple of
Landauer, quotes his mentor and comments:

“Such is the task of the socialists and of the movements they

have started among the peoples: to loosen the hardening of
hearts so that what lies buried may rise to the surface: so that
what truly lives yet now seems dead may emerge and grow into
the light.” Men who are renewed in this way can renew society,
and since they know from experience that there is an imme¬
morial stock of community that has declared itself in them as
something new, they will build into the new structure every¬
thing that is left of community-form.*®

Deeper even than the clan structure of human racial memory lies
the omnipresent tendency to unify, found throughout the universe
in crystals and insects and stellar systems. In human terms, it is the
way of organizing in small groups that cooperate in turn with other
groups, coming into being, going out of being, encouraging the ful¬
fillment of each individual avatar of the whole. Landauer looked
back at the Middle Ages:

A level of great culture is reached when manifold, exclusive,

and independent communal organizations exist contempora-

135
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

neously, all impregnated with a uniform Geist, which does not

reside in the organizations or arise from them, but which
holds sway over them as an independent and self-evident
force. ‘'

This is the society of societies,” layered and contiguous in a net¬

work of agriculture, small industry, and cooperative finance, with
support for and delight in art, music, and poetry. There was plenty
of exploitation and suffering in the Middle Ages, of course, but there
was also communal spirit, and Christianity was its medium.
Christianity, however, has lost its power. “Enough of that,” Lan-
dauer says, of those misunderstood remnants of a symbolism that
once made sense. Yet as Christianity loses its meaning, industrial¬
ism and mercantilism become our modern imperatives and Geist it¬
self is suppressed, as Landauer observes;

Even when [managers] know that the market can absorb their
commodities only with difficulty or not at all, or at least not at
the desired price, they must continue to bombard it with their
products: for their production plants and enterprises are not
guided by the needs of a coherent organic class of people of
a community . . . , but by the demands of their production
machinery, to which thousands of workers are harnessed like
Ixionon the wheel.

This intolerable situation is not inexorable fate, Landauer be¬

lieved. With trust in one another, we can awaken our Geist and fulfill
our potential as human beings. He organized the Socialist Bund As¬
sociation in 1908, intended as the beginning of an alternate socioeco¬
nomic network, inspiring the formation of twenty small groups by
1911 in Berlin, Zurich, and other German and Swiss cities and even
one in Paris. “We must return,” he said,

to rural living and to a unification of industry, craftsmanship,

and agriculture, to save ourselves and learn justice and com¬
munity. What Peter Kropotkin taught us about the methods
of intensive soil cultivation and unification of intellectual and
manual labor in his important and now famous book The

136
 The Path Beyond No-Self

Field, the Factory, the Workshop, as well as the new form of

credit and monetary cooperative, must all be tested now in
our most drastic need and with creative pleasured^

Like Landauer, we can find inspiration in the thought of the

nineteenth-century anarchists—Kropotkin, Proudhon, and oth¬
ers—but it is Landauer, inspired by Mauthner, who understands
most clearly that we should not literally “follow” the old teachers but
use their words to remind ourselves of what we already know, evok¬
ing our long-frozen memory of community forms.
As Buddhists, our memory of community forms is embedded in
the sangha, though the sanghahas not always been organized in units
as small as Landauer felt was ideal. It has not always been willing to
form networks and has not always been free of worldly entangle¬
ments. Nonetheless, its aspirations in these respects have always
been clear.
I propose that we form informal groups within our larger sanghas
and examine what is going on in our world. The great multicentered
self is being overwhelmed, at least on this Earth, by people who are
impelled as individuals, corporations, and states to prove their per¬
sonal authority and enhance their accumulation of wealth. We can
bypass all this and empower ourselves in small, self-reliant groups of
like-minded friends. We can work with socially relevant financial as¬
sociations, worker-owned industries and farms, cooperative mar¬
kets, little theaters, small presses and galleries—and we can create
our own.
Our practice gives us unique readiness to realize, with Landauer,
that while each of us is unique, we are not separate. We are organic
elements of something far grander—and ready to put our under¬
standing into practice. I trust, however, that we will not be working
for some millennium of the future. As we labor together, using the
most skillful and compassionate means we can find, our engagement
itself will turn out to be our goal, the Way itself will turn out to be
peace, and the milestones we reach, one after the next, will fulfill the
Buddhas vows more and more fully and intimately.

Revised from a paper read at the conference “Toward an American Vinaya,” Green
Gulch Zen Center, Muir Beach, California, June 3-8,1990.

137
 Envisioning the Future

vJmall is beautiful,” E. F. Schumacher said, but it was not merely

size that concerned him. “Buddhist economics must be very differ¬
ent from the economics of modern materialism,” he said. “The Bud¬
dhist sees the essence of civilization not in a multiplication of wants
but in the purification of human character.”'
Schumacher evokes the etymology of “civilization” as the process
of civilizing, of becoming and making civil. Many neglect this an¬
cient wisdom of words in their pursuit of acquisition and consump¬
tion, and those with some civility of mind find themselves caught in
the dominant order by requirements of time and energy to feed their
families. As the acquisitive system burgeons, its collapse is foreshad¬
owed by epidemics, famine, war, and the despoliation of the earth
and its forests, waters, and air.
I envision a growing crisis across the world as managers and their
multinational systems continue to deplete finite human and natural
resources. Great corporations, underwritten by equally great finan¬
cial institutions, flush away the human habitat and the habitat of
thousands of other species far more ruthlessly and on a far greater
scale than the gold miners who once hosed down mountains in Cali¬
fornia. International consortia rule sovereign over all other political
authority. Presidents and parliaments and the United Nations itself
are delegated decision-making powers that simply carry out previ¬
ously established agreements.
Citizens of goodwill everywhere despair of the political process.

138
 9

Envisioning the Future

The old enthusiasm to turn out on election day has drastically

waned. In the United States, commonly fewer than 50 percent of
those eligible cast a ballot. It has become clear that political parties
are ineffectual—whether Republican or Democrat, Conservative or
Labor—and that practical alternatives must be found.
We can begin our task of developing such alternatives by meeting
in informal groups within our larger sanghas to examine politics and
economics from a Buddhist perspective. It will be apparent that tra¬
ditional teachings of interdependence bring into direct question the
rationale of accumulating wealth and of governing by hierarchical
authority. What, then, is to be done?
Something, certainly. Our practice of the Brahma Viharas—
kindliness, compassion, goodwill, and equanimity—would be
meaningless if it excluded people, animals, and plants outside our
formal sangha. Nothing in the teachings justifies us as a cult that ig¬
nores the world. We are not survivalists. On the contrary, it is clear
that were in it together with all beings.
The time has surely come when we must speak out as Buddhists,
with firm views of harmony as the Tao. I suggest that it is also time for
us to take ourselves in hand. We ourselves can establish and engage in
the very policies and programs of social and ecological protection
and respect that we have heretofore so futilely demanded from au¬
thorities. This would be engaged Buddhism, where the sangha is not
merely parallel to the forms of conventional society and not merely
metaphysical in its universality.
This greater sangha is, moreover, not merely Buddhist. It is possi¬
ble to identify an eclectic religious evolution that is already under
way, one to which we can lend our energies. It can be traced to the
beginning of this century, when Tolstoy, Ruskin, Thoreau, and the
New Testament fertilized the Bhagavad Gita and other Indian texts
in the mind and life of M. K. Gandhi. The Southern Buddhist lead¬
ers A. T. Ariyaratne and Sulak Sivaraksa and their followers in Sri
Lanka and Thailand have adapted Gandhi’s “Independence for the
Masses” to their own national needs and established programs of
self-help and community self-reliance that offer regenerative cells of
fulfilling life within their materialist societies.^
Mahayana has lagged behind these developments in South and

139
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Southeast Asia. In the past, a few Far Eastern monks like Gyogi Bo-
satsu devoted themselves to good works, another few like Hakuin
Zenji raised their voices to the lords of their provinces about the
poverty of common people, and still others in Korea and China
organized peasant rebellions, but today we do not see widespread
movements in traditional Mahayana countries akin to the village
self-help programs of Ariyaratne in Sri Lanka, or empowerment net¬
works similar to those established by Sulak in Thailand.
“Self-help” is an inadequate translation of swaraj, the term Gan¬
dhi used to designate his program of personal and village indepen¬
dence. He was a great social thinker who identified profound human
imperatives and natural social potentials. He discerned how signifi¬
cant changes arise from people themselves, rather than from efforts
on the part of governments to fine-tune the system.
South Africa and Eastern Europe are two modern examples of
change from the bottom up. Perceptions shift, the old notions can¬
not hold—and down come the state and its ideology. Similar
changes are brewing, despite repressions, in Central America. In the
United States, the economy appears to be holding up by force of
habit and inertia m the face of unimaginable debt, while city govern¬
ments break down and thousands of families sleep in makeshift
shelters.
Not without protest. In the United States, the tireless voices of
Ralph Nader, Noam Chomsky, Jerry Brown, and other cogent dissi¬
dents remind us and our legislators and judges that our so-called civi¬
lization is using up the world. Such spokespeople for conservation,
social justice, and peace help to organize opposition to benighted
powers and their policies and thus divert the most outrageous pro¬
grams to less flagrant alternatives.
Like Ariyaratne and Sulak in their social contexts, we as Western
Buddhists would also modify the activist role to reflect our culture as
well as our spiritual heritage. But surely the Dharmic fundamentals
would remain.3 Right Action is part of the Eightfold Path that begins
and ends with Right Meditation. Formal practice could also involve
study, reciting the ancient texts together, Dharma discussion, reli¬
gious festivals, and sharing for mutual support.
In our workaday lives, practice would be less formal and could

140
 Envisioning the Future

include farming and protecting forests. In the United States, some

of our leading intellectuals cultivate the ground. The distinguished
poet W. S. Merwin has through his own labor created an arboretum
of native Hawaiian plants at his home on Maui. He is thus restoring
an important aspect of Hawaiian culture, in gentle opposition to the
monocultures of pineapple, sugar, and macadamia nut trees around
him. Another progressive intellectual, Wendell Berry, author of
some thirty books of poetry, essays, and fiction, is also a small farmer.
Still another reformative intellectual and prominent essayist, Wes
Jackson, conducts a successful institute for small farmers. Net¬
working is an important feature of Jackson’s teaching. He follows the
Amish adage that at least seven cooperating families must live near
each other in order for their small individual farms to succeed.^
All such enterprise takes hard work and character practice. The
two go together. Character, Schumacher says, “is formed primarily
by a man’s work. And work, properly conducted in conditions of hu¬
man dignity and freedom, blesses ourselves and equally our prod¬
ucts.”^ With dignity and freedom we can collaborate, labor together,
on small farms and in cooperatives of all kinds—savings and loan
societies, social agencies, clinics, galleries, theaters, markets, and
schools—forming networks of decent and dignified modes of life
alongside and even within the frames of conventional power. I vis¬
ualize our humane network having more and more appeal as the
power structure continues to fall apart.
This collaboration in networks of mutual aid would follow from
our experience ofpaticca-samuppada, interdependent co-arising. All
beings arise in systems of biological affinity, whether or not they are
even “alive” in a narrow sense. We are born in a world in which all
things nurture us. As we mature in our understanding of the
Dhamma, we take responsibility for paticca-samuppada and con¬
tinually divert our infantile expectations of being nurtured to an
adult responsibility for nurturing others.
Buddhadasa Bhikkhu says:

The entire cosmos is a cooperative. The sun, the moon, and

the stars live together as a cooperative. The same is true for hu¬
mans and animals, trees and soil. Our bodily parts function as
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

a cooperative. When we realize that the world is a mutual, in¬

terdependent, cooperative enterprise, that human beings are
all mutual friends in the process of birth, old age, suffering,
and death, then we can build a noble, even heavenly environ¬
ment. If our lives are not based in this truth, then we shall all
perish.^

Returning to this original track is the path of individuation that

transforms childish self-centeredness to mature views and conduct.
With careful, constant discipline on the Eightfold Noble Path of the
Dharma, greed becomes dana, exploitation becomes networking.
The root-brain of the newborn becomes the compassionate, reli¬
gious mind of the elder. Outwardly the elder does not differ from
other members; her or his needs for food, clothing, shelter, medi¬
cine, sleep, and affection are the same as anyone else’s. But the elder s
smile is startlingly generous.
It is a smile that rises from the Buddha’s own experience. Paticca-
samuppada is not just a theory but the profound realization that I
arise with all beings and all beings arise with me. I suffer with all be¬
ings; all beings suffer with me. The path to this fulfillment is long and
sometimes hard; it involves restraint and disengagement from ordi¬
nary concerns. It is a path that advances over plateaus on its way, and
it is important not to camp too long on any one plateau. That plateau
is not yet your true home.
Dharmic society begins and prevails with individuals walking
this path of compassionate understanding, discerning the noble op¬
tion at each moment and allowing the other options to drop away. It
is a society that looks familiar, with cash registers and merchandise,
firefighters and police, theaters and festivals, but the inner flavor is
completely different. Like a Chinese restaurant in Madras: the decor
is familiar, but the curry is surprising.
In the United States of America, the notion of compassion as the
touchstone of conduct and livelihood is discouraged by the culture.
Yet here and there one can find Catholic Workers feeding the poor,
religious builders creating housing for the homeless, traditional
people returning to their old ways of agriculture.
Small is the watchword. Huge is ugly, as James Hillman has

142
 Envisioning the Future

pointed out/ Huge welfare goes awry, huge housing projects be¬
come slums worse than the ones they replace, huge environmental
organizations compromise their own principles in order to sur¬
vive, huge sovereignty movements fail apart with internal dissen¬
sion. The point is that huge anything collapses, including govern¬
ments, banks, multinational corporations, and the global economy
itself—because all things collapse. Small can be fluid, ready to
change.
The problem is that the huge might not collapse until it brings
everything else down with it. Time may not be on the side of the
small. Our awareness of this unprecedented danger impels us to take
stock and do what we can with our vision of a Dharmic society.
The traditional sangha serves as a model for enterprise in this
vision. A like-minded group of five can be a sangha. It can grow
to a modest size, split into autonomous groups, and then network.
As autonomous lay Buddhist associations, these little communities
will not be sanghas in the traditional sense but will be inheritors
of the name and of many of the original intentions. They will
also be inheritors of the Base Community movements in Latin
America and the Philippines—Catholic networks that are inspired
by traditional religion and also by nineteenth-century anarchism.®
Catholic Base Communities serve primarily as worship groups,
study groups, moral support societies, and nuclei for social action.
They can also form the staff and support structure of small enter¬
prises.
The Catholic Base Community is grounded in Bible study and
discussions. In these meetings, one realizes for oneself that God is an
ally of those who would liberate the poor and oppressed. This is lib¬
eration theology of the heart and gut. It is an internal transformation
that releases one’s power to labor intimately with others to do
God’s work.^
The Buddhist counterpart of Bible study would be the contem¬
plation and realization of paticca-samuppada, of the unity of such
intellectual opposites as the one and the many found in Zen practice,
and the interdependence presented in the sacred texts, such as the
Hua-yen ching.Without a literal God as an ally, one is thrown back
on one’s own resources to find the original track, and there one finds

143
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

the ever-shifting universe with its recurrent metaphors of interbeing

to be the constant ally.
There are other lessons from liberation theology. We learn that
we need not quit our jobs to form autonomous lay sanghas. Most
Base Communities in Latin America and the Philippines are simply
groups that have weekly meetings. In Buddhist countries, coworkers
in the same institution can come together for mutual aid and reli¬
gious practice. In the largest American corporations, such as IBM,
there will surely be a number of Buddhists who could form similar
groups. Or we can organize co-housing arrangements that provide
for the sharing of home maintenance, child care, and transportation
and thus free up individuals for their turns at meditation, study, and
social action. Buddhist Peace Fellowship chapters might consider
how the Base Community design and ideal could help to define and
enhance their purposes and programs.^*
Thus it wouldn’t be necessary for the people who work in corpo¬
rations or government agencies to resign when they start to meet in
Buddhist Base Communities. They can remain within their corpo¬
ration or government agency and encourage the evolution and net¬
working of communities, not necessarily Buddhist, among other
corporations and agencies. Of course, the future is obscure, but I
find myself relating to the mythology of the Industrial Workers of
the World—that as the old forms collapse, the new networks can
flourish.
Of course, the collapse, if any, is not going to happen tomorrow.
We must not underestimate the staying power of capitalism. More¬
over, the complex, dynamic process of networking cannot be put
abruptly into place. In studying Mondragon, the prototype of large,
dynamic cooperative enterprise in the three Basque counties of
northern Spain, William and Kathleen Whyte counted more than
a hundred worker cooperatives and supporting organizations with
19,500 workers in 1988. These are small—even tiny—enterprises,
linked by very little more than simple goodwill and a profound sense
of the common good. Together they form a vast complex of bank¬
ing, industry, and education that evolved slowly, if steadily, from a
single class for technical training set up in 1943.^^

144
 Envisioning the Future

We must begin with our own training classes. Mondragon is

worth our study, as are the worker-owned industries closer to
home—for example, the plywood companies in the Pacific North¬
west. In 1972 Carl Bellas studied twenty-one such companies whose
inner structures consisted of motivated committees devoted to the
many aspects of production and whose managers were responsible
to a general assembly.
In the course of our training classes, it is also essential that we
examine the mechanism of the dominant economy. Usury and its
engines have built our civilization. The word “usury” has an old
meaning and a modern one. In the spirit of the old meaning of
usury—lending money at interest—the banks of the world, large
and small, have provided a way for masses of people for many genera¬
tions across the world to own homes and to operate farms and busi¬
nesses. In the spirit of the modern meaning of usury, however—the
lending of money at excessive interest—a number of these banks
have become gigantic, ultimately enabling corporations almost as
huge to squeeze small farmers from their lands, small shopkeepers
from their stores, and to burden homeowners with car and appliance
payments and lifetime mortgages.
For over 1,800 years, the Catholic church had a clear and consis¬
tent doctrine on the sin of usury in the old sense of simply lending
money at interest. Nearly thirty official church documents were
published over the centuries to condemn it.
Out of the other side of the Vatican, however, came an unspoken
tolerance for usury so long as it was practiced by Jews. The church
blossomed as the Medici family of bankers underwrote the Renais¬
sance, but at the same time, pogroms were all but sanctioned. The
moral integrity of the church was compromised. Finally, early in the
nineteenth century, this kind of hypocrisy was abandoned—too
late in some ways, for the seeds of the Holocaust had already been
planted. Today the pope apologizes to the Jews, and even the Vatican
has its bank.'"^ Usury in both old and modern implications is stan¬
dard operating procedure in contemporary world culture.
Like the Medicis, however, modern bankers can be philan¬
thropic. In almost every city in the United States, bankers and their

H5
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

institutions are active in support of museums, symphony orchestras,

clinics, and schools. Banks have almost the same social function as
traditional Asian temples: looking after the poor and promoting cul¬
tural activities. This is genuine beneficence, and it is also very good
public relations.
In the subdivisions of some American cities, such as the West-
wood suburb of Los Angeles, the banks even look like temples. They
are indeed the temples of our socioeconomic system. The banker s
manner is friendly yet his interest in us is, on the bottom line, limited
to the interest he extracts from us.
One of the banks in Hawai'i has the motto “We say ‘Yes’ to you,”
meaning “We are eager for your money.” Their motto is sung inter¬
minably on the radio and TV, and when it appears in newspapers
\ and magazines we find ourselves humming the tune. Similar light¬
weight yet insidious persuasions are used with Third World govern¬
ments for the construction of freeways and hydroelectric dams and
administrative skyscrapers.
Governments and developers in the Third World are, in fact, the
dupes of the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund
(IMF):

It is important to note that IMF programs are not designed to

increase the welfare of the population. They are designed to
bring the external payments account into balance. . . . The
IMF is the ultimate guardian of the interests of capitalists and
bankers doing international business.*^

These are observations of the economist Kari Polyani Levitt,

quoted as the epigraph of a study entitled Banking on Poverty. The
editor of this work concludes that policies of the IMF and the World
Bank make severe intrusions upon the sovereign responsibilities of
many governments of the Third World. These policies not only
often entail major additional cuts in the living standards of the poor¬
est sectors of Third World societies but are also unlikely to produce
the economic results claimed on their behalf”'^
Grand apartment buildings along the Bay of Bombay show that
the First World with its wealth and leisure is alive and well among the
prosperous classes of the old Third World. The Third World with its

146
 Envisioning the Future

poverty and disease flares up in cities and farms of the old First
World. In The Prosperous Few and the Restless Many, Noam Chom¬
sky writes:

In 1971, Nixon dismantled the Bretton Woods system,

thereby deregulating currencies.That, and a number of
other changes, tremendously expanded the amount of unreg¬
ulated capital in the world and accelerated what’s called the
globalization of the economy.
That’s a fancy way of saying that you can export jobs to
high-repression, low-wage areas.

Factories in South Central Los Angeles moved to Eastern Europe,

Mexico, and Indonesia, attracting workers from farms. Meantime,
victims in South Central Los Angeles and other depressed areas of
the United States, including desolate rural towns, turn in large
numbers to crime and drugs to relieve their seemingly hopeless pov¬
erty. One million American citizens are currently in prison, with an¬
other two million or so on parole or probation. More than half of
these have been convicted of drug-related offenses. It’s going to get
worse. Just as the citizens of Germany elected Hitler chancellor in
1932, opening the door to fascism quite voluntarily, so the citizens of
the United States have elected a Congress that seems bent on creating
a permanent underclass, with prison expansion to provide much of
its housing.
Is there no hope? If big banks, multinational corporations, and
cooperating governments maintain their strategy to keep the few
prosperous and the many in poverty, then where can small farmers
and shopkeepers and managers of clinics and social agencies turn for
the money they need to start up their enterprises and to meet emer¬
gencies? In the United States, government aid to small businesses
and farms, like grants to clinics and social agencies, is being cut back.
Such aid is meager or nonexistent in other parts of the world, with
notable exceptions in northern Europe.
Revolving credit associations called hui in China, kye in Korea,
and tanamoshi in Japan have for generations down to the present
provided start-up money for farmers and owners of small businesses,
as well as short-term loans for weddings, funerals, and tuition. In

147
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Siam there are rice banks and buffalo banks designed for sharing re¬
sources and production among the working poor.^° The Grameen
banks of Bangladesh are established for the poor by the poor. Shares
are very tiny amounts, amounting to the equivalent of j ust a few dol¬
lars, but in quantity they are adequate for loans at very low interest
to farmers and shopkeepers.^'
Similar traditional cooperatives exist in most other cultures. Such
associations are made up of like-minded relatives, friends, neigh¬
bors, coworkers, or alumnae. VVrrangements for borrowing and re¬
payment among these associations differ, even within the particular
cultures.In the United States, cooperatives have been set up out¬
side the system, using scrip and labor credits—most notably, Ithaca
Hours, involving 1,200 enterprises. The basic currency in the latter
arrangement is equal to ten dollars, considered to be the hourly
wage. It is guaranteed by the promise of work by members of the
system.^^
We can utilize such models and develop our own projects to fit
our particular requirements and circumstances. We can stand on our
own feet and help one another in systems that are designed to serve
the many, rather than to aggrandize the wealth of the few.
Again, small is beautiful. Whereas large can be beautiful too, if it
is a network of autonomous units, monolithic structures are prob¬
lematic even when fueled by religious idealism. Islamic economists
theorize about a national banking system that functions by invest¬
ment rather than by a system of interest. However, they point out
that such a structure can only work in a country where laws forbid
lending at interest and where administrators follow up violations
with prosecution.^^ So for those of us who do not dwell in certain Is¬
lamic countries that seek to take the Koran literally, such as Pakistan
and some of the Gulf states, the macrocosmic concept of interest-
free banking is probably not practical.
Of course, revolving credit associations have problems, as do all
societies of human beings. There are defaults, but peer pressure
among friends and relatives keep these to a minimum. The disci¬
pline of Dharma practice would further minimize such problems in
a Buddhist loan society. The meetings could be structured with rit¬
ual and Dharma talks to remind the members that they are practic-

148
 Envisioning the Future

ing the virtues of the Buddha Dharma and bringing paticca-

samuppada into play in their workaday lives. They are practicing
trust, for all beings are the Buddha, as Hakuin Zenji and countless
other teachers remind us.^^ Surely only serious emergencies would
occasion a delinquency, and contingency planning could allow for
such situations.
Dharma practice could also play a role in the small Buddhist farm
or business enterprise. In the 1970s, under the influence of Bud¬
dhists, the Honest Business movement arose in San Francisco. This
was a network of small shops whose proprietors and assistants met
from time to time to encourage one another. Their policy was to
serve the public and to accept enough in return from their sales to
support themselves, sustain their enterprises, and pay the rent. Their
account books were on the sales counters, open to their customers.^^
The movement itself did not survive, though progressive busi¬
nesses here and there continue the practice of opening their account
books to customers.^^ Apparently the Honest Business network was
not well enough established to endure the change in culture from the
New Age of the 1970s to the pervasive greed of the 1980s. I suspect
there was not a critical mass in the total number of shops involved,
and many of them might have been only marginal in their commer¬
cial appeal. Perhaps religious commitment was not particularly well
rooted. Perhaps also there was not the urgency for alternatives that
might be felt in the Third World—an urgency that will surely be felt
in all worlds as the dominant system continues to use up natural re¬
sources.^® In any case, we can probably learn from the Honest Busi¬
ness movement and avoid its mistakes.
In establishing small enterprises—including clinics and social
agencies and their networks—it is again important not to be content
with a plateau. The ordinary entrepreneur, motivated by the need to
support a family and plan for tuition and retirement, scrutinizes
every option and searches out every niche for possible gain. The
manager of an Honest Business must be equally diligent, albeit mo¬
tivated by service to the community as well as by the family’s needs.
Those organizing to lobby for political and economic reforms
must also be diligent in following through. The Base Communities
throughout the archipelago that forms the Philippines brought

149
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

down the despot Ferdinand Marcos, but the new society wasn’t ready
to fly and was put down at once. The plateau was not the peak, and
euphoria gave way to feelings of betrayal. However, you can be sure
that many of those little communities are still intact. Their members
have learned from their immediate history and continue to struggle
for justice.
A. J. Muste, the great Quaker organizer of the mid twentieth cen¬
tury, is said to have remarked, “There is no way to peace; peace is the
way.” For our purposes, I would reword his pronouncement; “There
is no way to a just society; our just societies are the way.” Moreover,
there is no plateau to rest on, only the inner rest we feel in our work
and in our formal practice.
This inner rest is so important. In the short history of the United
States, there are many accounts of utopian societies. Almost all of
them are gone—some of them lasted only a few weeks. Looking
closely, I think we can find that many of them fell apart because they
were never firmly established as religious communities. They were
content to organize before they were truly organized.
Families fall apart almost as readily as intentional communities
these days, and Dharma practice can play a role in the household as
well as in the sangha. As Sulak Sivaraksa has said, “When even one
member of the household meditates, the entire family benefits.”^^
Competition is channeled into the development of talents and skills;
greed is channeled into the satisfaction of fulfillment in work. New
things and new technology are used appropriately and are not al¬
lowed to divert time and energy from the path of individuation
and compassion.
New things and new technology are very seductive. When I was
a little boy, I lived for a time with my grandparents. These were the
days before refrigerators, and we were too far from the city to obtain
ice. So under an oak tree outside the kitchen door we had a cooler_
a kind of cupboard made mostly of screen, covered with burlap that
trailed into a pan ofwater. The burlap soaked up the water, and evap¬
oration kept the contents of the cupboard cool, the milk fresh, and
the butter firm. We didn t need a refrigerator. I can only assume that
the reason my grandparents ultimately purchased one in later years

150
 Envisioning the Future

was because they were persuaded by advertisements and by their

friends.
We too can have coolers just outside the kitchen door or on the
apartment veranda, saving the money the refrigerator would cost to
help pay for the education of our children. Like our ancestors, we too
can walk or take public transportation. We can come together like
the Amish and build houses for one another. We can join with our
friends and offer rites of passage to sons and daughters in their phase
of experimenting and testing the limits of convention.
Our ancestors planned for their descendants; otherwise we might
not be here. Our small lay Buddhist societies can provide a structure
for Dharma practice, as well as precedent and flexible structures for
our descendants to practice the Dharma in turn, for the next ten
thousand years.
In formally sustaining the Dharma, we can also practice sustain¬
able agriculture, sustainable tree farming, sustainable enterprise of
all kinds. Our ancestors sustain us; we sustain our descendants. Our
family members and fellow workers nurture us, and we nurture
them—even as dana was circulated in ancient times.
Circulating the gift, the Buddhist monk traditionally offers the
Dharma, as we offer him food, clothing, shelter, and medicine. But
he also is a bachelor. Most of us cannot be itinerant mendicants. Yet
as one who has left home, the monk challenges us to leave home as
well—without leaving home. There are two meanings of “home”
here. One could be the home of the family, but with the distractions
that obscure the Dharma. The other may involve the family but is
also the inner place of peace and rest, where devotion to the Buddha
Way of selflessness and affection is paramount. The monks and their
system of dana are, in fact, excellent metaphorical models for us. The
gift is circulated, enhancing character and dignity with each round.
Festivals to celebrate the rounds bring joy to the children and satis¬
faction to the elders.
I don’t suggest that the practice of circulating the gift will be all
sweetness and light. The practice would also involve dealing with
mean-spirited imperatives, in oneself and in others. The Buddha
and his elder leaders made entries in their code of vinaya (moral
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

teachings) after instances of conduct that were viewed as inappropri¬

ate. Whether the Buddhist Base Community is simply a gathering of
like-minded followers of the Dharma that meets for mutual support
and study, whether it has organized to lobby for justice, or whether
It conducts a business, manages a small farm, or operates a clinic, the
guidelines must be clear. General agreements about what constitutes
generous conduct and procedure will be valuable as references.
Then, as seems appropriate, compassionate kinds of censure for de¬
parting from those standards could gradually be set into place.
Guidelines should be set for conducting meetings, for carrying out
the work, and for networking. There must be teaching, ritual, and
sharing. All this comes with trial and error, with precedent as a guide
but not a dictator.
Goodwill and perseverance can prevail. The rounds of circulat-
ing the gift are as long as ten thousand years, as brief as a moment.
Each meeting of the little sangha can be a renewal of practice, each
workday a renewal of practice, each encounter, each thought-flash.
At each step of the way we remember that people and indeed the
many beings of the world are more important than goods.

Revised from a paper read at the conference “Dhammic Society: Toward an INEB
Vision, International Network of Engaged Buddhists, Wongsanit Ashram, Ong-
kharakNakhomNayok, Thailand, February 20-24,1995-

152
 The Experience of Emptiness

Use and Misuse

N Buddhism is by definidon indefinable, and in the context of

its study, nothing—not even nothing—can be defined. In the Dia¬
mond Siitra, we are told that there is no formulation of consummate
truth. The Buddha himself, herself, or itself cannot be distinguished
by any characteristic whatever.' Huang-po says:

This spiritually enlightening nature is without beginning, as

ancient as the Void, subject neither to birth nor to destruc¬
tion, neither existing nor not existing, neither impure nor
pure, neither clamorous nor silent, neither old nor young,
occupying no space, having neither inside nor outside, size
nor form, color nor sound. It cannot be looked for or sought,
comprehended by wisdom or knowledge, explained in words,
contacted materially or reached by meritorious achievement.
All the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas, with all wriggling things
possessed of life, share in this great Nirvanic nature.^

Despite such vivid cautions, some students understand this

empty nature conceptually, and risk getting stuck in an undiffer¬
entiated place where correct and incorrect are the same, where male
and female are the same—where all configurations disappear into a
kind of pudding. The great teachers of the past addressed this risk di¬
rectly:

153
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

The venerable Yen-yang asked Chao-chou, “When one has

brought not a single thing, vv^hat then?”
Chao-chou said, “Put it down.”^

When you cling to nothing as something, then you yourself are

not truly empty, and the emptiness you cherish is no more than an
idea. With this notion of emptiness, you can be persuaded that the
homeless are an illusion, the rain forests are not being destroyed,
there are no traditional peoples who are dying out, there is no one
freezing or starving or dying from shrapnel in the former Yugoslavia.
When you run over a child with your car, there is no child, after all.
Put down that not a single thing” or your successors will use it to en¬
hance and support brutality and imperialism.
Indeed, for some of our ancestors and contemporaries, the men¬
tal discipline of Zen can be divorced from the compassion and wis¬
dom of Buddhism. The Dharma becomes like a potted plant. So
long as it is not hindered, it can be moved around and allowed to
flower and bear fruit anywhere. The eminent scholar D. T. Suzuki is
open to criticism on this point, where he writes:

Zen has no special doctrine or philosophy, no set of concepts

or intellectual formulas, except that it tries to release one from
the bondage of birth and death by means of certain intuitive
modes of understanding peculiar to itself It is, therefore, ex¬
tremely flexible in adapting itself to almost any philosophy
and social doctrine as long as its intuitive teaching is not inter¬
fered with. It may be found wedded to anarchism or fascism,
communism or democracy, atheism, or idealism, or any po¬
litical or economic dogmatism. It is, however, generally ani¬
mated with a certain revolutionary spirit, and when things
come to a deadlock—as they do when we are overloaded with
conventionalism, formalism, and other cognate isms_Zen
asserts itself and proves to be a destructive force. The spirit of
the Kamakura era was in this respect in harmony with the vir¬
ile spirit of Zen.

Is the social responsibility of Zen limited to the destruction of

convention? Of course, it is important not to get locked into formal
propriety, but is ^r^’d^z■«^oM^our only function? Is there really some-

154
 The Experience of Emptiness

thing to be called Zen that can accommodate itself to fascism? Surely

there are conventional social standards and political and economic
structures that are in keeping with the Buddha’s vision of harmony.
With all respect to my dear old Sensei, I would step down from my
podium, abandon my heritage and my sangha, and wander as a root¬
less pilgrim if I agreed with the perspective of Zen Buddhism that he
sets forth here.
Compare Dr. Suzuki’s words with those of the Dalai Lama, who
understands very well how all forms are empty of substance and how
at the same time they come forth, precious in themselves. In his pub¬
lic talks he declares again and again, like Torei Zenji, that even our
so-called enemies can be our teachers.
This is the true teaching of the Buddha. All beings come forth sa¬
cred in their suchness, and it is my responsibility and yours to make
this clear. Adversaries, enemies—as metaphors and as folks out there
in opposition to us—are not merely empty. They are the Buddha.
When I experience myself as an empty Buddha, I am large, a bound¬
less container of multitudes. The challenge is to forget myself, to let
my body and mind drop away and to encourage the body and tnind
of others to drop away, and to continue this dropping away endlessly,
as Dogen Zenji has said.^ Then my practice of including more and
more others will be endless too.
Dr. Suzuki was not the first to declare Zen to be something that
can be used for authoritarian ends. The Kamakura shogunate was
very impressed by the Zen teachers who had taken refuge in Japan
from the turmoil in China at the end of the Sung dynasty, and en¬
couraged these teachers and their immediate Japanese successors to
adapt the teachings to needs of the samurai. Addressing one of these
samurai in his sangha, Takuan Soho Zenji used Zen terminology to
sanitize bloodshed:

The uplifted sword has no will of its own, it is all of empti¬

ness. . . . The man who is about to be struck down is also of
emptiness, as is the one who wields the sword.^

Emptiness indeed! What about the blood? What about the wails
of the widow and her children? Empty too, I suppose. It must be said
that this is Buddhist antinomianism.
To be fair to Takuan Zenji, he offered his advice within the con-

155
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

text of Japanese Buddhism, which was founded by Shotoku Taishi

in the seventh century as a means of maintaining the political struc¬
ture of the country/ Moreover, he was not the first to declare deadly
violence to be empty and therefore acceptable. In the Hindu scrip¬
tures, we find Krishna advising Arjuna that there is no killer and no
one to be killed.® We also find such ideas flowering in the words and
deeds of samurai after Takuan’s time—for example, in those of
Miyamoto Musashi and YamaokaTesshu, and today in the teachings
and practice found in the International Zen Dojo movement in Ja¬
pan and in the West.^
It is our task, it seems to me, to take up Buddhism as a religion of
infinite compassion, which Dr. Suzuki at his best realized very
clearly.As an accomplished Zen student said to me recently, “The
experience of profound emptiness is at once the experience of great
compassion.” That’s right, and the samurai Zen people are wrong!
Do you say there is no right or wrong? Wrong!
On the traditional Zen Buddhist altar, Shakyamuni occupies the
center seat; Manjushrl, the incarnation of great wisdom, sits on one
side; Samantabhadra, the incarnation of great action, sits on the
other. These archetypes and their positions can be profoundly
meaningful for the Buddhist pilgrim.
The great wisdom of Manjushrl is the realization that everything
is totally empty, vacant, void. Nothing abides: not the body, not the
self, not the soul. With this realization one finds vast and joyous lib¬
eration, as we learn in the Four Noble Truths.
In her great action, Samantabhadra wields skillful means of de¬
meanor, words, and deeds to turn the Dharma wheel with all beings.
We devote ourselves to uncovering her talent as our own and to en¬
couraging others to liberate themselves.
The position of these images on the Zen Buddhist altar recalls the
Buddha Shakyamuni beneath the Bodhi tree, realizing the true na¬
ture of all things and arising to seek out his old friends. My teacher,
Yasutani Haku un Roshi, used to begin his orientation to Zen prac¬
tice with the Buddhas great realization: “Wonderful, wonderful!
Now I see that all beings are the Tathagata”—that is, all beings come
forth as the Buddha himself, herself, itself. “Only their delusions and
preoccupations keep them from testifying to that fact.”“

156
 The Experience of Emptiness

If all beings are inherently Buddha and if we follow the way of

Shakyamuni and encourage others to realize and testify to this fact,
then surely the next step is to take positions of compassionate resis¬
tance to fascism and other repressive systems and to search out alter¬
nate structures for the application of the Buddhas experience—of
our experience.
The Buddhas teachings include the Brahma Viharas, the Noble
Abodes of loving-kindness, compassion, joy in the liberation of oth¬
ers, and equanimity or impartiality. These four modes of selfless
practice form part of the Dhyana Paramita, the Perfection of Settled,
Focused Meditation. Monks and nuns in ancient times absorbed
themselves in these four ideals as practice on their cushions.
As Buddhism evolves and our understanding matures, however,
I think we can see that dhyana is not just temple practice. Everything
in the world is in dhyana. Even people in a mental hospital are
absorbed—not on a productive track, maybe, but still they are im¬
mersed in their crazy ways. The dog is absorbed in being a dog, the
stone in being a stone.
We can also see that loving-kindness and the other Brahma Viha¬
ras are more than just meditation themes. When we devote ourselves
to the Buddha Way, we practice loving-kindness, compassion, sym¬
pathetic joy, and equanimity in the market and in our households.
These ancient ideals inspire us as we write to our friends and as we
greet Mormons when they come to the door to missionize. We inter¬
nalize these ideals and extend tender care, as Torei Zenji advises us,
to beasts and birds—and indeed to plants, pancakes, orange juice,
and undershirt. The haiku poet Issa wrote:

Don’t kill it!

The fly wrings its hands;
It wrings its feet.

Samantabhadra, busy turning her wheel of wisdom and compas¬

sion, would be disappointed with the folks who veer off into philo¬
sophical nihilism or political expedience. I believe she would want
to step beyond even Torei Zenji and Kobayashi Issa in our modern
times, for we as citizens of the world face serious, socially systemic
problems.

157
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

If we are to find peace in emptiness, if we are to take responsibility

for our lives, then what is to be done? Great action, certainly, to the
limits of our talent and beyond. But what action? It seems to me that
the way of the future for Buddhists and their friends lies at three lev¬
els of reempowerment: the personal, the communal, and the global.
First, at the personal level, you and I must put aside any depen¬
dence we might have on others to do our religious work for us and
take responsibility for the practice of emptying ourselves—so that
we may fill ourselves with all beings. Moreover we can encourage this
ancient, authentic practice among others. This is rigorous, exacting
work and requires the guidance of someone who has traveled the
path before.
I wrote once that the Buddha was a great autodidact, but really he
wasn’t. He lived with the best teachers of his time before he experi¬
mented with asceticism and meditation. Then when he could stand
on his own feet, he did not speak from a vacuum. The wisdom of his
old teachers, however transformed and transmuted, informed his
words, we can be sure.
The good teacher is necessary for two reasons. She or he will en¬
courage you and offer you guidance. She or he will also deny you the
complacency of a plateau and urge you on to the peak of your poten¬
tial and even beyond. Too often I meet people who have the confi¬
dence that comes with a spontaneous spiritual experience outside
any discipline or practice. When I check them and tell them, “Not
enough,” they tend to become angry and to argue. Sometimes they
disappear, which is too bad. So faith in the teacher is important. If
she is worth her salt, she knows, and you must swallow hard and ac¬
cept the fact that you probably don’t have it yet.
The human tendency is to be satisfied with a milestone. But there
are milestones after milestones without end. One of the great contri¬
butions of Zen Buddhism to world religion can be summed up with
the words “Not yet, not enough, not yet enough!”
Second, at the communal level we can turn to the Buddhist san-
gha for our reempowerment. It is clear that the Buddha considered
the sangha to be the only possible mode of universal realization. In
his day, and in his tradition down to modern times, the lay commu¬
nity has supported the sangha of ordained monks and thus encour-

158
 The Experience of Emptiness

aged the growth and spread of the Dharma. But here we appear as
Mahayana students in modern times. The lay community is the san-
gha, including spouses and children. We can encourage each other
as parents, sangha members, and citizens to stand together and resist
the benighted forces that are destroying cultures and ruining the
planet.
Finally, at the global level of reempowerment, we can take re¬
sponsibility as citizens of the world by finding within ourselves the
seeds of other religions and cultures—then nurturing those seeds
and encouraging them to grow and bear fruit. The mullahs and the
patriarchs in the former Yugoslavia do not generally speak to each
other, and this exclusive kind of silence is surely one cause of the ter¬
rible civil war that rages there, on and on. With interreligious en¬
counter and dialogue, and with interethnic and intercultural
encounter and dialogue—and with follow-up by mail, telephone,
fax, and modem—we will surely find ways to create peace together
across formerly impenetrable frontiers.
Compassion is our guide. The mental discipline of Zen is really
spiritual and cannot be divorced from its Buddhist roots. We must
see clearly when others attempt to use the experience of emptiness
inconsistently with the Buddha’s teachings. At such times, we must
remember our heritage and the rationale of discipline. Back to A. J.
Muste: “Peace is the Way!”

Revised from a paper read at the conference “Buddhists and Christians for Justice,
Peace, and the Integrity of the Earth,” Lassalle Haus, Bad Shonbrunn, Edilbach/
Zug, Switzerland, July 17-22,1994.

159
 Brahmadanda, Intervention,
and Related Considerations
A Think Piece^

In July 1964, our resident monk departed under a cloud from the
Koko An Zendo, leaving two women students in the mental health
ward of the Queens Medical Center. In the ensuing thirty and more
years, I have been musing—and occasionally spealdng out—on the
subject of sexual exploitation of students by Buddhist teachers,
searching for an appropriate role for myself in confronting it. The
subject is difficult because, as John Bradford remarked as he watched
criminals being led to the executioner, “There but for the grace of
GodgoI.”2
Occasionally a woman comes to the interview room wearing a
particularly low-cut dress, so that when she bows before me, she
might partially expose her breasts. In the early days, I would shut my
eyes for the crucial moment, then open them again before she made
eye contact. A fellow teacher said, “Why don’t you keep your eyes
open? Are you so susceptible?”
“No,” I thought to myself, “surely I’m immune by now.” So I
tried keeping my eyes open and found that I was indeed vulnerable
after all. I noticed that the sexual charge I got from that glimpse of
pretty breasts would color my attitude and give the interaction an

160
 Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations

undesirable personal tug. So I returned to my old custom of closing

my eyes.
I’m seventy-eight years old now, the fires are banked, but inci¬
dents almost every day remind me that under the ashes the coals are
still glowing. I hug students by way of greeting them at po tluck sup¬
pers and other informal occasions at our zendo. Do I hug the men
the way I hug the women? Do I hug the old ladies the way I do their
daughters or their nubile granddaughters? I can’t be sure, but I do
practice uniformity in hugging as best I can. Sometimes my best is
none too good, and I exchange a rueful glance with my student. No
need for words. The message is clear: “Sure, it’s there, and that’s
where we’ll leave it!”
The late-twelfth-century Lin-chi master Sung-ytian asked,
“Why is it that someone of great satori does not cut off the vermilion
thread?”^ Vermilion was a color associated with women’s undergar¬
ments in old China and thus with sexual energy. Sung-yiian’s ques¬
tion is intimate, and as a koan it requires an intimate response. As a
comment, I would add that it is possible to cut the thread, but if I
take such a drastic step, or even try to take it, then I’m dead, whether
or not I am still walking around. That sexy vermilion, those hot en¬
capsulations of vitality that glow under the ashes of decades, nurture
and enrich my body, speech, and thought. They are my id, my alliga¬
tor mind, my passion. Keep the home fires burning!
It would seem that the problem is not with the fire itself but with
the fireplace, the container, the character. The welder’s torch regu¬
lates its own fire and builds the human habitat, but the conflagration
that destroys a city building has run wild. Lives and careers are rav¬
aged.
We build character to contain the fire in our practice. Then the
fire empowers body, speech, and thought. With the container in
place, human passion saves the many beings.
One thing leads to another, as my grandmother used to say. Natu¬
ral, healthy sexual attraction can lead to courtship in other circum¬
stances, but for the Buddhist teacher working with students, I am
sure that the practice must be to “leave it alone.” Let it glow in peace,
transmuting into bows, smiles, and words that encourage and in-
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

spire. Otherwise, the attraction becomes a grotesque mirror of

courtship, leading step by step to tragedy.
It is possible to distinguish the case of a teacher who falls in love
with a student and has an affair with her from that of a teacher with
a record of seductions that reflects an obsession with sexual domina¬
tion. However, many questions remain. Will the consent of the stu¬
dent be meaningful? Or will she simply have allowed herself to be
persuaded by her transference to the teacher?
The honorable therapist who falls in love with his client will de¬
termine first if an affair would bring harm and then will terminate
the therapy before entering into a love relationship. Termination is
not an option for the Buddhist teacher, however, for in effect it in¬
volves expelling the student from the sangha. This has happened
more than once, but the ensuing uproars have created enduring
harm.
I am convinced (though a well-known marriage between a Zen
Buddhist teacher and his student would seem an exception to prove
the rule) that unless the teacher is ready to resign, he should be strict
with himself and rigorously avoid the little preliminary steps that
could lead to an affair, however deep the feelings involved might be.
No private tea, no walk in the park. The bottom line is the health and
practice of the student and of the Buddha sangha. The dynamics of
transference can create havoc when they are disturbed.
On the other hand, I can visualize that as a one-time incident, the
disruption created by a love affair between the Buddhist teacher and
student could be taken up in reconciliation programs, with everyone
learning and maturing in the process. It could lead to guidelines that
set forth ways to avoid such exigencies. I don’t seek to minimize the
distress the love affair could cause, but it would, I think, be more
moderate on the scale of human suffering than the widespread an¬
guish created by willful actions that stand in for love but that are ac¬
tually ruthlessly exploitative.
These problems are by no means unique to the Buddha sangha;
sexual harassment is far-reaching in North America, and indeed
across the world. Talk to any school counselor, any pediatrician,
any social worker or psychologist. The same dynamics are at work
in the home, academic seminar, science lab, doctor’s office, or

162
 9

Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations

sanctuary. Moreover, the depressed position of women in the

merging streams of Asian and European cultural history forms
a precedent that contributes to sexual abuse in the Buddhist tem¬
ple. However, the particular kind of transference that the unscru¬
pulous Buddhist teacher exploits is especially anguishing for his
victims.
Fortunately, victims now have places to turn. Networks have
been set up by survivors of sexual abuse who offer support and
suggestions. A prime resource is Survivor Connections, which
publishes the journal The Survivor Activist, in which sexual abuse
survivors tell their stories. Many articles tell of abuse by religious
leaders, and over a hundred agencies and collectives devoted to the
problems of sexual abuse are listed with addresses.^
The Buddhist community as a whole and Buddhist teachers es¬
pecially have a particular role to play in dealing with the problem. As
teachers or senior students, we can use our positions to effect change
within the community and bring to the resolution process our in¬
sights into the dynamics of the teacher-student relationship. Re¬
cently I heard a talk by Bhante Henepola Gunaratana that helped
me to focus my musings on a method of confronting sexual abuse.
Bhante spoke of brahmadanda or shunning. He explained that
brahmadanda literally means “noble staff” and that metaphorically
it means “noble penalty.”^ In xke. Mahdparinibbdna Sutta, the Bud¬
dha says,

“After my passing, the monk Channa is to receive the

B rahma-penalty. ”
“But Lord, what is the Brahma-penalty?”
“Whatever the monk Channa wants or says, he is not to be
spoken to, admonished, or instructed by the monks.”*"

Bhante explained, “Channa had played a role in the earliest part

of the Buddhas career as the charioteer who drove him around his
fathers compound, where he saw old age, sickness, death, and a
monk. Later, as a monk himself, Channa took credit for establish¬
ing the Buddha’s career. He was arrogant about it, making himself
obnoxious. After the Buddha gave instruction that he be shunned,
Channa appealed to the Buddha to reverse his verdict and the Bud-

163
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

dha refused. Channa saw the light, became repentant, and after a
probationary period was readmitted to the order.”
When I heard this story from Bhante, it occurred to me that
shunning might be an option today in the cases of teachers who
abuse their students sexually. This is a think piece, so let me think.
First of all, can we presume to uproot brahmadanda from a tradi¬
tional text and transform it into a modern tool? We would have to
rally around in an unprecedented manner to make it work in our cir¬
cumstances. The world community of Buddhists is not a sangha or
a network of sanghas of the sort that the Buddha established in his
lifetime. We are not cohesive, we do not even have a cohesive com¬
munity of elders, and we don’t have a figure with the moral and spiri¬
tual authority of the Buddha Shakyamuni. Even the Dalai Lama
doesn’t say, “OK, Rinpoche, you’re busted.”
Second, sexual abuse is more complex than the empty boasts of a
charioteer. Yamada Koun Roshi used to say, “The practice of Zen is
the perfection of character.” I understand his words to mean that the
function of Zen Buddhist practice, and by extension all Buddhist
practice, is to personify the Dharma. Students are drawn to Zen
practice specifically to attain this perfection for themselves, and they
idealize the teacher as one who has attained it— or at least as one who
seeks to practice it. When the paragon turns out to be a sham and de¬
clares that he is above the Dharma—that you must venerate him
separately from the Dharma—then the student can fall with Satan
to the bottom of hell.
“I take up the way of not misusing sex.” This is the third of the
Pancha Shlla, the Five Precepts that Buddhists vow to follow-
all Buddhists: Theravada, Vajrayana, Mahayana, lay and ordained.
These five vows are not original with Buddhism but have their
roots in Hinduism and in Zoroastrianism. They are perennial
guidelines. The I-hsin chieh-wen, an ancient commentary associ¬
ated with the T’ien-t’ai school and used in the Zen Buddhist cere¬
mony of accepting the precepts, has this to say about not misusing
sex:

Self-nature is subtle and mysterious. In the realm of the un¬

gilded Dharma, not creating a veneer of attachment is called
the Precept of Not Misusing Sex.^

164
 9

Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations

The Buddhist priest, with his neatly pressed robes and his cleanly
shaved head, is the embodiment of the ungilded Dharma. As a sexual
abuser he not only displays a veneer of attachment but has concealed
the Dharma completely with his ignoble exploitation. Buddhist pre¬
cepts are not commandments, but as guidelines they reveal the Tao.
The Buddhist teacher who is also a sexual abuser reveals what the Tao
most certainly is not.
Furthermore, the sexual abuser learns to manipulate transference
to create an ultimate kind of loyalty. If one of his senior students or
board members becomes disaffected—bingo!—she or he is disap¬
peared, and a new, more faithful disciple is slipped into place.
However, this latter problem could be addressed by starting with
an expanded kind of brahmadanda. If those who run the teacher’s
center are blind in their loyalty, then colleagues from other centers
and from academia could agree to practice brahmadanda. The col¬
leagues would have less to lose by taking such a position than deeply
invested students. At the same time, they are important to the
teacher. Without interaction with colleagues, I, for one, would lack
some of the inspiration that helps me to grow. Cut off from such sup¬
port, the teacher in question might begin to face some very unpleas¬
ant facts.
This shunning, like that of Channa, should be initiated with
open communication. The malefactor should be reached and told,
in effect, “Because we are old friends, because I respect your work,
and because I can’t stand seeing you ruin your life and the lives of oth¬
ers, I have to take a stand. Ordinarily, I would invite you to take part
in this conference, but I can’t play the role of codependent anymore.
Convince me that you have changed your ways, and we can take up
where we left: off.”
If just a few colleagues shun the abusive teacher in this way, stu¬
dents in the sangha might ask why their teacher no longer appears so
frequently at conferences of teachers and at academic symposia in
the field of his supposed expertise. This kind of open query, along
with private expressions of concern through private channels of
friendship with senior members, could start a train of cohesive ac¬
tion. The matter could come up in board meetings, a professional in¬
terventionist could be invited in, and a process begun to help the
teacher to face his depredations squarely.

165
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

There are other options. One would be for fellow teachers to

direct a letter to senior members or board members. These would
be teachers who have interviewed former students of the abusive
teacher and have gained a clear picture of his condition. The letter
could be worded as a communication that would be made public if
a positive response is not forthcoming. This too could lead to the
board taking action.
Another option would be for disaffected senior members to
gather and exert pressure from an informed, stable position. Still an¬
other (in the works now, I understand) would be for senior teachers
to come together as a commission to gather evidence and then to
convey the objective findings of fact to the concerned board or se¬
nior members.
The ensuing process in the concerned sangha could be like inter¬
vention in the case of a substance abuser. Through private counsel¬
ing, the family, friends, colleagues, and employer learn to say to the
addict. We are your family, your friends, your colleagues, your em¬
ployer—but until you enter a program for treatment and then get
regular professional help to maintain a way of sober conduct, we will
suspend this relationship. ® This is, of course, a last resort, when it is
clear that the drive to indulge in drink or drugs overrides good sense
and decency. It is the end of the road, after a long history of denial,
evasiveness, and broken promises.
In the case of the substance abuser, family and friends must stick
together in the treatment process. If someone wavers, then the pro¬
cess doesn’t work. In the sangha of the sexually abusive teacher, it is
likewise important for the senior members and/or the board to be
united. This could be especially difficult. The teacher is likely to be
defensive to the bitter end. Senior people who understand the need
for action might have to labor with companions who want to cleave
to their guru. Perhaps some members might have to resign to make
consensus possible.
Implicit and explicit in this process should be an acknowledg¬
ment on the part of the sangha that this is a teacher who has simply
let the fire get away from him. There is nothing wrong with the fire
itself Can it be diverted, admittedly with painful work, to save the
teacher, his victims, and the rest of us? One can but try.

i66
 Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations

This saving, by whatever name, is our first vow. The purpose of

the intervention would be the same as Buddha’s in dealing with
Channa: to encourage the liberation of the teacher, as well as those
for whom he has caused trouble. For the teacher especially but also
for the sangha, this liberation would be freedom from self-centered
constraints to allow full confession and repentance. The truth is con¬
fessed, the past is repented, and all beings are liberated. Everything
else is extraneous and should be allowed to drop away. Hang the con¬
sequences. If being open and honest all around means no more
zendo, then no more zendo. “The truth shall make you free.”
The confession and repentance process could involve so much
personal pain that the teacher might become quite immobilized.
This could be a plateau on the upward path, and the teacher should
be encouraged not to tarry there. With the help of the sangha and
with someone skilled in helping people who suffer from self¬
betrayal, he can move on. On the other hand, the teacher might not
be able to bring himself to consider confession. In such a case, maybe
the best solution would be to encourage him simply to retire and to
invite in some talented person to help bring the Dharma to life.
If, however, with the support of his students and the interven¬
tionist, the teacher can manage to turn himself around, then the
sangha can turn around too. Secrets will be brought into the open,
conspiracy will become harmony, and years of earnest practice can
be salvaged—not only salvaged but made meaningful as never be¬
fore. There will be no place for codependency. If the teacher must
leave, then he will leave with aloha, as we say in our islands. If he can
stay, he will simply be, as Senzaki Sensei used to say of himself, an el¬
der brother in the Dharma. The new openness and well-grounded
harmony will surely enrich and enhance the practice of all members.
The risk, of course, is that the process could fail. The teacher
might simply become more careful, or he might take a position of
denial, split off with devoted followers, and set up another center. In¬
tervention is thus a calculated risk and needs to be coordinated with
the utmost patience, love, and wisdom.
It may be that nothing will get the full attention of the abuser ex¬
cept a lawsuit. The legal system is increasingly receptive to claims
based on sexual harassment in the workplace, and it seems only a

167
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

matter of time until other types of sexual harassment are given equal
recognition. The extremity of a lawsuit could be a remedy in cases
where it is clear that the teacher has left the teachings so far behind
that no appeal to compassion and ordinary decency will make a dent,
and “tough love” is the only option. The traditional Buddhist dis¬
trust of the adversarial approach to conflict would thus be set aside.
Whatever the remedy, it must, of course, run in conjunction with
therapy for the victims who have been so badly burned. This can be
one-on-one treatment but should include group sessions as well. It
seems to me that the sangha should support all such treatment fi¬
nancially and stand ready to help in every other possible way. I am
always surprised and disappointed when I hear people blame the vic¬
tim. “She should not have put herself in such a vulnerable position,”
they say. Come on! If one is not vulnerable, no teaching or learning
is possible.
Occasionally I meet a student who doubts every word I say. I don’t
take this personally—people walked away from Chao-chou, even
from the Buddha himself. But such invulnerable students are inca¬
pable of entering the stream, at least for now. To be vulnerable, to be
naive—that is the Tao.
Still, the people in charge of orienting new students on this path
should caution them to listen to their feelings. They should assure
the inquirers that it is all right to reflect on their reaction to the words
or conduct of the teacher and to feel free to say, for example, “Hey,
I’m feeling manipulated.” If the teacher doesn’t listen and respond
appropriately, then they should walk away.
It is also important for the senior people to schedule regular shar¬
ing meetings, where new and old students alike feel safe to disclose
anything about their lives, including any betrayal they might be ex¬
periencing. A skilled facilitator can set a tone of safety in just a few
sessions, sometimes in just a few minutes.
Of course, this kind of openness won’t happen in the centers that
concern us. The sexually abusive teacher will do everything he can
to prevent anyone from suggesting that the teachers be questioned
or from scheduling a sharing meeting. There will be all kinds of doc¬
trinal justification for these taboos. The Devil can cite scripture he
can use precedent and the teachings to j ustify the pernicious conduct

i68
 Brahmadanda, Intervention, and Related Considerations

itself: “This is the crazy wisdom of our tradition.” “There is no right

or wrong.” “Everything is empty anyway.”
Thus, openness and sharing are modes that should be in place
when the new teacher is installed. Once an abusive teacher is in con¬
trol, then intervention is likely to be the only viable way to proceed.
Some students are likely to find that their practice becomes flat in
the extended strain of the intervention process. Many will probably
drift away. “There are things time passing can never make come
true,” as William Staflrord has written.® One can just do what one
can.
There remains the question of how the situation arises in the first
place: how is it that the old teacher could be persuaded to convey
transmission to an aspirant whose character is fundamentally unde¬
veloped? The answer may lie in the fact that formal leadership posi¬
tions in Zen have only recently opened to women and, even now, just
barely. Male Zen leaders of the past appear to have shut their eyes to
the disturbing power of sexuality by failing to address the subject
both in Zen literature and in the process of checking the character of
their successors.
A look at the literature confirms this. Taking Chinese culture
first, among the fifty-five hundred cases listed in my directory of
Chinese koans, I have found just two that acknowledge sexuality,
one of them Sung-yiian’s question about the vermilion thread,
cited earlier.^®
In Japanese Buddhism, by contrast, sex is acknowledged but triv¬
ialized. Our resident monk at Koko An thirty years ago was mildly
admonished by his teacher as a “rascal.” That teacher was my teacher
as well, but I was unable to communicate my sense that his monk
might be suffering from an obsession.
Sexual hypocrisy, rather than exploitation, is seen as the primary
evil in Japan. Thus the Japanese master who has an affair is criticized,
but much stronger disapproval is directed to the teacher who
preaches celibacy while keeping a mistress.''
The problems are not limited to teachers from Japan. In recent
times, we find Korean, Tibetan, and Vietnamese teachers accused of
abusing their students. Sanghas with American and European teach¬
ers have had to face the issue.

169
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

I have heard people try to excuse Far Eastern teachers by suggest¬

ing that their monastic training did not permit much interaction
with women, and they were not prepared to work with them as stu¬
dents. I find that to be a specious argument. What happened to the
basic experience of the “other” as no other than myself? It doesn’t
matter that the other is superficially different. Without at least a
glimpse of the Buddha Shakyamuni’s realization that all beings are
the Tathagata, without continuing practice to clarify that glimpse
and make it personal, a teacher cannot lead others on the path of wis¬
dom and compassion. He is not grounded—not a teacher in the
first place.
The Buddha said, “It is hard to be born a human being. It is hard
to meet the true Dharma.” So it seems, even in a long-established
center, even with earnest practice. It is my hope that we can bring
ourselves forth anew from the conflagrations that are still burning
people. We know enough. Let’s take ourselves in hand, and share.
This is my contribution to the sharing. I look forward to continu¬
ing the discussion.

1995

170
 About Money

IN the Buddhist tradition, money is both clean and dirty. It is dana,

the gift, which supports the temple and its monks and nuns. But it is
handled very ritualistically, enclosed in white paper, often conveyed
on a tray. It must be purified somehow.
Money is the fodder of Mara, the destroyer, who becomes fatter
and fatter with each financial deal at the expense of the many beings.
However, money can also be a device for Kuan-yin, the incarnation
of mercy, whose thousand hands hold a thousand tools for rescuing
those same beings.
Both Kuan-yin and Mara function as the Net of Indra. Each
point of the net perfectly reflects each other point. Each point is a ho¬
logram. Mara says, “All of you are me.” Kuan-yin says, “I am all of
you.” Its the very same thing, except in attitude. Attitude poisons or
nurtures the interbeing.
Ta-sui announced that you and I perish along with the universe
in the kalpa fire at the end of our eon.' Joyous news! Joyous news!
Money disappears. Suffering disappears. Even Mara and Kuan-yin
disappear in the laughter of Ta-sui. How to find Ta-sui’s joy is the
question. The path is eightfold, the Buddha said: Right Views, Right
Thinking, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right
Effort, Right Recollection, and Right Samadhi.
Mara hates Ta-sui, for he confirms the demons worst fears and
seems to exult in them. How can he joke about the ultimate end!
How can he threaten the structure of power and the system of ac-

171
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

quisition! Mara hates the Eightfold Path because it undermines the

ramparts of his firehouse. The firehouse becomes a hospice and his
champion firefighters become nurses. Who will put out the kalpa
fire?
Meanwhile Kuan-yin reposes on her comfortable rock by the wa¬
terfall, shaded by a willow tree. People say they don’t like bowing to
Kuan-yin because she is just an icon or an idol. Of course it’s non¬
sense to bow to an idol. Kuan-yin doesn’t think of herself as an idol.
Her idol is her ideal; her ideal is her Right Views; her Right Views are
her blood and guts.
Kuan-yin’s practice is elemental too. It is embodied everywhere
—as the Earth, for example, exchanging energy with Uranus and
Jupiter and Mercury and the others together with the sun as they
plunge on course through the plenum. It is embodied as the ple¬
num itself with its incredible dynamics of nebulae and measureless,
empty spaces. You will find the dana of Kuan-yin in tiny systems of
mutual support, as well—the termite, for example, nurturing para¬
sites who digest our foundations in exchange for a dark wet place to
live.
Primal society also embodies the dana of Kuan-yin, circulating
the gift that nurtures its families and clans. At a single festival, a neck¬
lace of precious shells becomes two dozen precious pendants. At a
single market holiday, a knife becomes salt and salt becomes a colt.
The honor of a new chief is spread by blankets far and wide.
Of course, Mara blows his smoke through these exchanges. Did
the primal peoples know Mara from Kuan-yin? They never heard of
either, of course, but they knew greed when they saw it and so do we.
Mara isn’t an icon either, and he is bowing to himself all day long.
He hates the notion of circulating the gift. Instead he circulates the
folb. He maneuvers them, lines them up before his machinery, then
offers them their products for their money. He circulates the animals
and their products, the grasses and their products, the trees and their
products. Broken glass set in cement on the tops of high stone walls
protects his treasure from those whose diligence produces it. Gates
and armed guards and police dogs protect his children, and judges
protect his bookkeepers. With his ardent practice, the poot get so
poor that he must give a little back to keep the arrangement func-

172
 About Money

tioning. Then he is ennobled, and great institutions of benevolence

bear his name. Bits of nature are conserved. Peruvian musicians are
recorded. Yet wealth can save all beings. Its karma can be inspired by
Kuan-yin. The wealthy are stewards named Kuan-yin.
All the while Kuan-yin herself sustains the poor. They are her
teacher. She doesn’t circulate the folks or their products; she leaves
them be. She leaves the birds and the fish and the animals be, the
stones and trees and clouds—and does not move them around. The
walls with their broken glass and guarded gates hold her in her place,
outside. Out there, if she keeps the folks entertained, she might even
get a grant. You can have a grant and do your thing, or you can go to
jail. It’s up to you, Kuan-yin.
It isn’t easy for Mara to manipulate people and things. He prac¬
tices so diligently that he forgoes golf and the theater sometimes.
Kuan-yin forgoes golf and the theater too as she sits in royal ease, de¬
lighting in the birds as they dip in and out of the spray. But Mara
never finds ease of any kind, not even in the middle of the night. His
prostate gives him hell, and he sweats with fear.
This is the uneasy, primordial mind, arising from the muck, as
reptilian as any dinosaur. It is much older than Kuan-yin. How old
is Kuan-yin? Don’t say ageless. You are just letting Mara do his dirty
work unchallenged. Don’t say she is the moment. That is Mara’s view
as well, pouring out the drinks at his villa on Majorca.
Mara can be your fallback mind and mine as well, always there.
Kuan-yin, on the other hand, is eternally fresh and new. She can
come into our time and go out of it freely, a trick Mara never learned.
We cannot fall back on Kuan-yin; we have to remember her. With
a single Mara thought we are in his reins—giddiyap, horsie! With a
single Kuan-yin thought, we are laughing at the puppies. Namo Ava-
lokiteshvara Mahasattva! Namu Kanzeon Makasatsu! Veneration to
the Great Being Who Perceives the Sounds of the World!
Mara and Kuan-yin create and cultivate many nets within the
Net of Indra. Like the stars, the points in these lesser nets survive by
exchanging energy, called money by Mara, called money by Kuan-
yin sometimes. There are industries and collectives, golf clubs and
base communities. In the lesser nets, Mara dominates, Kuan-yin
subverts. Mara co-opts the subversion. Kuan-yin chooses to counter

173
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

with her money sometimes, if it will keep the waterfall abundant and
the birds happy. Sometimes Kuan-yin runs an industry. Sometimes
Mara runs a collective. Sometimes there are base communities
within golf clubs. Sometimes there are golf clubs within base com¬
munities.
It is possible to play endlessly with archetypes and metaphors.
Mara as the reptile mind can be called the id. Kuan-yin can be called
the superego. When the id is boss, the forests burn in Armageddon’s
self-fulfilling prophecy. When the superego is boss, the fires of love
are extinguished. But Mara and Kuan-yin are not Mara and Kuan-
yin; therefore we give them such names. Wipe away the terminology!
Wipe away the archetypes! Let Mara and Kuan-yin disappear!
The anguish of nations and families arises from an anxiety to
prove oneself—or oneself together with kin and compatriots. The
vow to save everybody and everything can bring fun to the dinner
table and to international festivals. Proving yourself is the Way of the
Buddha, bringing forth your latent pantheon of Maiijushrl, Saman-
tabhadra, and the others as the self. (The archetypes keep popping
up anyway!) But remember that the vow to save everybody and
everything can be the imperative to bring Mother Hubbards to
clothe naked Hawaiians.
Checks, bills, bonds—the tokens of power—transport solu¬
tions of sugar and salt to rescue infants from dysentery. They prime
the pump of life and order eggplant Parmesan at Auntie Pasto’s Res¬
taurant. They build the dam of energy. Moose and beavers and pri¬
mal people die. Checks, bills, and bonds dance to the music of
attitude. Mara has his music, Kuan-yin hers.
We’re all in this great mess together. You can’t hide out and drink
from streams and eat from trees. Or if you do, you are languishing at
the top of a hundred-foot pole. Ch’ang-sha will kick you oflF.^ The
culture we treasure does not exist apart. The municipal symphony,
museums, galleries, theaters, bookshops, even our practice centers
are intimately integrated into the acquisitive system. We have to
work with this fact somehow. It is not clear to me, as it may not be
clear to you, how to go about this. As you go along, the qualms can
get worse. You can find yourself in a truly dark night, with many mis¬
givings about the Way and doubts about how to deal with the terrible

174
 About Money

ethical problems that confront everyone—teachers, social workers,

managers, homemakers, plumbers, receptionists.
I suggest that the way to deal with a lack of clarity is to accept it.
It’s all right not to be clear. The practice is to clarify. Moreover, you’re
working always with your ego. You never get rid of your ego. Your
ego is just your self-image. Burnish your ego down to its basic con¬
figurations. Then it will shine forth. You can forget yourself as your
vows take over your practice, like the birds in the spray of the wa¬
terfall.
1993

175
 ! ' 'a ('■ X.

i ,
t.S. *»2P
, s..'
i ’5^'

, ' **• -, -r-

,«fj ,5.' •,'■.»
I • c*.
I ■ *0»
■' ii
■ ■■■ .*■"'
>v %T' ''I -v - >

> ■ : ^ i! W«
A.
■ r r'^i <^1-

•^iTi'

';«

>' »“.' •'''.*, , '•' '.") ■ ‘*' »'V. I

. • rV.' ■'•»>' \ ‘

>'■
■i'.

■ V’ ’
»•-, I i- «» -v'

i ■

r M-
V.
■'•It:
,; -v '■ ■ < ■ V. ■. ' ' ■ . .

’•#
- >*“ , •. •* -tr ‘
/J. i " f i ' * 4. ? t A -

v;,'
‘ ' • 3
■ :*' •'
J ’.V
.•<
j’-'T' \ - ■ <•.

*. V* . .
'If *♦
"■®. ■■ , /..J
t^^jr t'!. // ■‘■■fi
.■i •'

_JkSiL_. .
./ * STT. - ■; ■ !(-'
TAKING PLEASURE

IN THE DHARMA
 9

Herald Birds

The chattering of birds and the humming of insects

are secrets imparted to the heart-mind.
ts’ai ken tan^

IN Western folklore, the ultimate secrets are imparted by angels,

winged messengers who have no memory, as Dante says. They come
forth as their communiques. Natural phenomena convey secrets to
primal people—birds, animals, plants, waters, mountains, mete¬
orological incidents. In Mahayana Buddhist folklore, it was the
Morning Star that conveyed realization to the Buddha—a beacon
“from the abode where the Eternal are.” For Japanese, the uguisu, the
bush warbler, is a holy messenger. Here is Lafcadio Hearn’s experi¬
ence of that herald bird, which he recorded almost a hundred years
ago;

“Ho—ke-kyo!”
My uguisu ... is awake at last, and utters his morning
prayer. You do not know what an uguisu is? An uguisu is a holy
little bird that professes Buddhism. All uguisu have professed
Buddhism from time immemorial; all uguisu preach alike to
men the excellence of the divine Sutra.
“Ho—ke-kyo!”
In the Japanese tongue, it is Ho-ke-kyo-, in Sanskrit,
Saddharma-Pundarika: “The Lotus of the Good Law” the di-

179
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

vine book of the Nichiren sect. Very brief, indeed, is my little

feathered Buddhist’s confession of faith—only the sacred
name reiterated over and over again like a litany, with liquid
bursts of twittering between.
“Ho—ke-kyo!”
Only this one phrase, but how deliciously he utters it! With
what slow amorous ecstasy he dwells upon its golden syllables!
It hath been written: “He who shall keep, read, teach, or
write this Sutra shall obtain eight hundred good qualities of
the Eye. He shall see the whole Triple Universe down to the
great Hell Aviki, and up to the extremity of existence. He shall
obtain twelve hundred qualities of the Ear. He shall hear all
sounds in the Triple Universe,—sounds of gods, goblins, de¬
mons, and beings not human.”
“Ho—ke-kyo!”
A single word only. But it is also written, “He who shall joy¬
fully accept but a single word from this Sutra, incalculably
greater shall be his merit than the one who shall supply all be¬
ings in the four hundred thousand Asankhyeyas of worlds
with all the necessaries for happiness.”
“Ho—ke-kyo!”
Always he makes a reverent little pause after uttering it and
before shrilling out his ecstatic warble,—his bird-hymn of
praise. First the warble; then a pause of about five seconds,
then a slow, sweet solemn utterance of the holy name in a tone
as of meditative wonder; then another pause, then another
wild, rich, passionate warble. Could you see him, you would
marvel how so powerful and penetrating a soprano could rip¬
ple from so minute a throat, for he is one of the tiniest of all
feathered singers, yet his chant can be heard far across the
broad river, and children going to school pause daily on the
bridge, a whole cho away, to listen to his song.^

From time immemorial, from time aeons before the Buddha ap¬
peared in the world, the uguisu has been chanting the praise of the
Lotus of the Good Law, the SaddharmaPundarika Sutra. What is the
Good Law? The Buddha received it from a living point in the early

i8o
 Herald Birds

morning sky and decoded it for the rest of us: “All beings are the Ta-
thagata; only their delusions and preoccupations keep them from
testifying to that fact.”
Western culture too can be porous enough sometimes for winged
messengers to impart their secrets. Here is part of a letter from B. N.,
a student of Zen Buddhism in Sydney, Australia, who was visited by
a tiny herald that prepared her for an experience of liberation:

I’d also like to tell you about an experience I had on Christmas

Day. I was sitting on the verandah with S. [her young daugh¬
ter] when a rainbow lorikeet came down and walked along
inspecting the crumbs we offered it and checking out S.’s feet.
This was really unusual—they are treetop birds, and I had
never seen one at our place before. It was really a Christmas gift
to have that contact.
After S. wandered off, I continued sitting here reading
Joko’s book. I finished reading an essay that ended with some¬
thing like “no past, no present, no future,” and then I wanted
to cry. I plunged into alternate crying and laughing—over¬
whelming and very strong—in which I was aware of the gum
trees in the gully in a way I hadn’t seen them before. They
seemed somehow freed of the past and future I usually see in
them. Out of this came words to the effect, “Nothing and no¬
body needs me, and I’ll never stop looking after any of them.”
This came back to me on and off during the day as some sort
of divine joke, and also as a commitment for the rest of my life.
I have lost the immediacy of it now, but it is one of the lights
that will sometimes gleam through the fog for me. That eve¬
ning I went up to the lookout in the dark, and remember
laughing and crying with the kookaburras. I also saw the bats
flying over—the first time for ages that I have seen them, and
also a gift, like the lorikeet.

After the lorikeet prepared the way, B. N. came upon a passage in

Charlotte Joko Beck’s Everyday Zen and found herself in a single
moment freed of past, present, and future. In the same cosmic turn,
the eucalyptus trees too were liberated, and she found herself in the

i8i
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

sacred community. She laughed and cried with the kookaburras and
was gifted by the bats.
This was a renewal of ancient experience. A winged messenger
linked with Dharma teaching brought Pai-chang profound realiza¬
tion in the following well-known story:

Ma-tsu and Pai-chang were taking a walk. Suddenly a wild

duck flew up. Ma-tsu asked, “What was that?”
Pai-chang said, “A wild duck.”
Ma-tsu asked, “Where did it go?”
Pai-chang said, “It flew away.”
Ma-tsu laid hold of Pai-chang’s nose and gave it a sharp
twist. Pai-chang cried out in pain.
Ma-tsu said, “Why! When did it ever fly away!”^

When indeed! Ma-tsu’s bulletin of interbeing and Pai-chang’s

realization could only have occurred with the wild duck appearing
from nowhere, at that particular juncture of holy opportunity. The
story continues:

After the two worthies returned to their temple, a monk found

Pai-chang weeping in his room. “Why are you weeping?” he
asked.
“Go and ask the teacher,” replied Pai-chang.
The monk asked Ma-tsu about it, and Ma-tsu said, “Go
back and ask Pai-chang.”
The monk returned to Pai-chang and found him laughing.
Awhile agoyou were weeping, said the monk, “and now you
are laughing. Why is that?”
Pai-chang said, “A while ago I was weeping and now I am
laughing.”'*

Pai-chang’s final words form one point. Another is, I suspect, that
when Pai-chang seemed to be weeping, he was really laughing, and
when he seemed to be laughing, he was really weeping, like B. N.
who laughed and cried in authentic response with all beings.
Here is another account of a bird and its sacred gift, set forth by
C. D., a student living in Honolulu, who titles his piece “Meeting
Pueo.”

182
 Herald Birds

This was my eighth or ninth trip up Mauna Loa volcano. I

usually go once a year, in the late summer. The sparse cover of
ohelo bushes, fountain grass, and ohia trees gives way to bar¬
ren lava as the trail gains in altitude. Just before the eight-
thousand-foot marker there is an ohia tree, about twelve or
fifteen feet tall, growing up out of an old pahoehoe flow. There
is no other vegetation within a mile or so that is even close to
the size of this tree; its spare but graceful form is a natural land¬
mark on the trail. There are no trees upslope. We nicknamed
it “Last Tree.”
On our return from the summit my hiking companions
and I decided to take a break at Last Tree. Someone noticed a
pueo [Hawaiian owl] coming our way. It fluttered up the slope
like a large butterfly, pumping up toward us from down below
in the clear morning air, then stalling, hovering, then continu¬
ing, then hovering. At one point it spied us, stopped in midair
as if to size us up, then turned and flew away. The three of us
were rapt under the ‘ohia tree. Eventually, my companions
loaded up and headed down the trail.
When they were gone I had a chat with the tree, saying
thanks, telling it that I would be back again next year, and then
gave it a good firm embrace. As I shouldered my pack I
thought about making a sketch of Last Tree. I had carried a
sketchbook with me up the mountain but here it was the
fifth—and last—day of the hike and I had not yet used it. We
were making good time down the mountain and it was hard
to break the momentum but I stopped and unshouldered my
pack to the side of the trail below the tree and fished out my
sketchbook. ‘Ohia blossoms spread out like outstretched
fingers into the crisp blue sky, the volcano s mass pushing up
the broad curve of the far horizon.
Suddenly I heard a quick WHUFF-WHUFF-WHUFF
and saw a shadow on the rocks just in front of where I was
kneeling. A small surge of adrenaline rushed through my
veins, nerves wide open from five days of mountain solitude.
I tilted my head back and saw the pueo hovering a dozen feet
above me—two black eyes set into a white downy visage. The

183
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

owl was close: I could feel the wingbeat, see the feathers. Then
pueo angled into a breeze that carried it swiftly downslope and
it was gone.
I felt a strange sense of power and elation, that something
fortunate had transpired, and that the best way to accept the
gift was to keep acting as if nothing much had happened. I
finished the sketch and hiked a couple hours to cold beers at
the trailhead brought by the friend who came to pick us up.
It is since meeting pueo that I have noticed something
different in my circumstance and bearing, a sense of confi¬
dence and trust. Before this meeting with pueo it was some¬
how easier to indulge in doubt and despair; now I don’t feel as
prone to those states. In place of doubt or the feeling of a gen¬
eral absence of toku [Japanese: “power, virtue”], I feel trust
and calm, that there is a spirit companion that will help with
whatever it is that needs to get done.
This sense is not entirely new; I’ve had these feelings be¬
fore. They seemed to come and go in some sort of cycle, as do
human relationships. Now, however, I have a better handle on
the coming and going. If I’m worried or doubting, an image
of pueo might flash through my mind, or I will “hear” a bird
sound and it will seem as though pueo is close, and I get a feel¬
ing of fearlessness. It is as though I have a friend who is looking
out for me in some way that I only dimly perceive. The rather
dreamlike image that concocts itself in zazen orwhen I’m just
thinking about pueo is that of pueo (the totem) gliding over
the broad expanses of lava on the flanks of Mauna Loa (empti¬
ness, the empty universe). Pueo flies away, over the lava,
deeper and deeper into emptiness; that is the image I’ve had
since the encounter that is most compelling.

C. D. s mysterious and heartening communication with the

pueo IS validated in Hawaiian folklore, where it is a bird of guidance.
It IS also validated generally in Mahayana teaching. The Sambho-
gakaya for the traditional Buddhist is the Body of Bliss, the bliss of
harmony and the most intimate communication. What is that com¬
munication? It cannot be expressed in words, but it verifies what it is
to be a being among beings.

184
 Herald Birds

Finally, here is the account of T. L., born and raised on the Big Is¬
land of Hawai'i, of his communication from herald birds:

The Volcano House perches on the rim of the vast Kilauea

Caldera on the island of Hawai‘i. Within Kilauea, the circular
Halemaumau Crater sinks away from the floor like a mysteri¬
ous Hawaiian cenote. Here, Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of fire
and the volcano, is said to make her home, receptive to oflFer-
ings of gin and other more traditional sacrifices.
More than just a rustic lodge, the place of the Volcano
House as the chief repository of Pele lore was ensured by its
longtime owner, the colorful Greek, George Lycurgus. “Un¬
cle” George, who was reputed to be Pele’s lover, lived to be over
one hundred years old. During his long tenure he entertained
famous guests from all over the world, and could often be seen
playing his favorite game of cribbage in the hotel lobby.
The volcano region is encompassed within the district of
Ka‘u, a wild windswept place whose people are stoic, proud,
and uncommonly rooted in their land and traditions. I was
born in the town of Pahala in the middle of Ka‘u. My family
moved to Hilo, a small city fifty miles away, when I was very
young, but my affinity for Ka‘u remains very close—some¬
thing I cannot explain.
In the course of becoming an adult I moved to Los Angeles
and lived there for nearly ten years. I then returned to Hawai'i
and got a job as night auditor of the Volcano House. “Uncle”
George had already died. When I finished with my duties as
auditor, I would sit before the fire made famous in Ripley’s
“Believe It or Not” as never having gone out in a hundred
years. As the only person on duty for much of the night, it was
my job to see that the fire kept burning. Several times, after
having dozed off, I would awaken to find the fire reduced to
glowing embers and I would urgently stoke it back to life, add¬
ing more logs until it was a roaring blaze again. It was during
these early morning hours that I had my first encounter with
a mute winged messenger whose message, if there was one, re¬
mains a mystery to me.
The koa‘e kea (white-tailed tropic bird) is a large white oce-

185
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

anic bird with two very long tail feathers that because of their
length, flutter like paper streamers when the bird is in flight.
The wingspan of the mature bird is almost three feet.
I saw koa e kea on the island of Kaua‘i where there are
many tall cliffs with rocky ledges for nesting, and I knew also
that they nested within the Kilauea Caldera. Though far in¬
land, Halemaumau Crater with its vertical sides and rocky
ledges also provides good nesting sites. The koa'e kea is not a
kino lau (alternate form) of Pele, but in my mind they are in¬
extricably mixed.
One dark morning, instead of sitting before the fire as I
usually did, I sat next to the window facing the caldera. Sud¬
denly a koa'e kea crashed into the glass. It fluttered against the
glass for a few moments, then abruptly flew away. Though I
reasoned that it was probably attracted to the light, I felt an
immediate connection, as though it were trying to communi¬
cate something to me.
I worked at the Volcano House for five years, commuting
nightly from Hilo. I then decided to go back to school to earn
a teaching certificate. Often I went down to the beach for a
swim. One day, I was sunning on the rocks and saw a large
white bird flying toward me. As it got closer, I recognized it as
a koa'e kea with its unmistakable long tail feathers fluttering
behind. I was startled to see it so far from Kilauea. It flew di¬
rectly overhead, circled three times and flew off. In thinking
back on the event, I recall that I wished that it would return
and come closer. It did, close enough for eye contact, and I felt
a definite unspoken communication between us.
A couple of years later, when I had already started teaching,
I returned home from work one day and drove into the garage.
(My home is on Halai Hill, a place associated in mythol¬
ogy with Hina Keahi, another goddess in the Hawaiian pan¬
theon.) As I walked from the garage, I turned the corner of the
house to get to the front door when I saw four koa'e kea flying
around the front lawn, which is smaller than a tennis court.
The sight of these large, snow-white birds flying before me
was so startling that I thought I was dreaming. They flew

i86
 e

Herald Birds

higher and higher, frolicking in the air, for several minutes be¬
fore they flew off.
At first I interpreted these unusual encounters as portents,
but no unexpected events occurred within a reasonable time
for a connection to be made. Perhaps the desire to read mean¬
ing into these encounters is an unwarranted intrusion by the
rational mind. However, I do not believe that the awe, the
sense of mystery, and communion I felt during those trans¬
figured moments have been diminished as a result.

I have told somewhere about a little fox that played with me in the
hills above La Crescenta, California. Years later, sitting quietly in the
forest at San Juan Ridge, day after day in the same place, I found that
animals and birds would show themselves to me and even bring their
children. Such occasions, to useT. L.’s terms, were transfigured mo¬
ments when the ordinary sequence of thoughts falls away. Readied
by practice and certainly nurtured by a naive spirit, then the lorikeet,
the wild duck, the pueo, and the koa‘e kea will have a chance to con¬
vey their messages, cutting the loop for all time and transforming
the thinker.
1993

187
 Wallace Stevens and Zen

I THINK it would be fair to say that certain Asian vapors were

part of Stevens’s Hartford, but they were faint. He had a Bud¬
dhist image in his room, sent by a friend from Ceylon, which he
liked because it was “so simple and explicit” (L., 328).' He admit¬
ted to influence by Chinese and Japanese lyrics” in one letter
and denied the importance of such influence in another (L., 813
and note). Buddhism itself is not mentioned once in his letters,
unless we count a passing reference to “Buddha and Christ”
(L., 632).
Nonetheless, there is a profound relationship between Stevens’s
work and the teachings of Zen Buddhism. The ground of this rela¬
tionship is a mind of winter,” where there is no intellectual overlay
to obscure things as they are:

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice.
And spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind.
In the sound of a few leaves.

188
 Wallace Stevens and Zen

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind
that is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

and, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is. (9)

The title of this poem, “The Snow Man,” refers not to a construc¬
tion of snow with two pieces of coal for eyes but rather to a person
who has become snow. A snowman is a child’s construction; a Snow
Man is a unique human being with “a mind of winter,” or, as Yasu-
tani Haku’un Roshi used to say, “a mind of white paper.” Look again
at Tung-shan for this mind:

A monk asked Tung-shan, “When cold and heat visit us, how
can we avoid them?”
Tung-shan said, “Why not go where there is neither cold
nor heat?”
The monk asked, “Where is there neither cold nor heat?”
Tung-shan said, “When there is cold, let the cold kill you.
When it is hot, let the heat kill you.”^

“Killed with cold” is to “have been cold a long time.” That is the
place where there is neither cold nor heat as a concept. When it is
cold, one shivers. When it is hot, one sweats. There is just cold or just
heat, with no mental or emotional associations “in the sound of the
wind, / In the sound of a few leaves.”
The ultimate experience of perception of “pine-trees crusted
with snow” or of “the sound of the wind” is the explicit sense that
there is only that phenomenon in the whole universe; as Stevens ex¬
presses it, “the sound of the wind... is the sound of the land.” This
is the nature of seeing or hearing for the Snow Man, perception by
the self that has been killed with cold. It is the mind of white paper
that is confirmed by that sight, that sound. Dogen wrote, “That the
ten thousand things advance and confirm the self is enlighten¬
ment.”^ In other words, it is that form, that sound, which make up

189
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

my substance. “I am what is around me” (86). Look again at Yiin-

men’s words about the self:

Yiin-men said to his assembly, “Each of you has your own

light. If you try to see it, you cannot. The darkness is dark,
dark. Now, what is your light?”
Answering for his listeners, he said, “The pantry, the
”4
gate.

In maintaining a mind of winter, Yun-men finds his light. There

is nothing to be called the self except its experience of the pantry, the
gate, and “the junipers shagged with ice.” ‘“The soul,’ he said, ‘is
composed / Of the external world’ ” (51).
But when the mind is sicklied over with concepts of the wind
as a howling human voice, then also clouds are faces, “oak leaves
are hands (272), and the self perversely advances and confirms the
ten thousand things. This is projection, the opposite of true percep¬
tion, and is, as Dogen says, delusion^—the fantasy of Lady Lowzen,
“for whom what is was other things” (272). As Ching Ch’ing says,
“Ordinary people are upside down, falling into delusion about
themselves, and pursuing outside objects. ’^ Presuming that our
emotional concerns are the center, we project ourselves onto the
wind and the leaves, smearing them with our feelings. We have not
yet reached the place where there is neither cold nor heat. We fall into
delusion about ourselves and seek to enlarge that delusion by the pa¬
thetic fallacy. Stevens had great fun mocking such self-centered
fantasy:

In the weed of summer comes this green sprout why.

The sun aches and ails and then returns halloo
Upon the horizon amid adult enfantillages. (462)

“Enfantillage” means child’s play or childishness. “Adult enfan¬

tillages I would understand to refer to the ascription of human
qualities to nonhuman things, beginning with “why,” the concep¬
tual weed that takes us furthest from realization of things as they are,
and continuing with the projection of aches and other silly business
on the sun. This is the imagination that is not grounded in a mind of
winter and is thus infantile.

190
 Wallace Stevens and Zen

Vital imagination has its roots in the bare place outside, which is
“the same bare place / For the listener”—a generative, not a nihilis¬
tic, place. Yamada Koun Roshi says, “The common denominator of
all things is empty infinity, infinite emptiness. But this infinite emp¬
tiness is full of possibilities.”
Empty infinity and great potential, the nature of all things as real¬
ized by the mature Zen Buddhist—this is also the vision of the Snow
Man, with his mind of winter and his capacity to perceive phenom¬
ena vividly. Indeed, the final line of “The Snow Man,” “nothing that
is not there and the nothing that is,” precisely evokes the heart of
Zen teaching:

Form is no other than emptiness.

Emptiness no other than form.^

This emptiness of all phenomena, including the self, is being uncov¬

ered in modern physics. What appears paradoxical emerges as the
complementarity of the suchness and emptiness of all things. This
the mind of winter perceives.
Dogen expressed this complementarity in experiential terms:

Body and mind fall away!

The fallen-away body and mind!®

When body and mind fall away, the self is zero. The listener is “noth¬
ing himself” and thus experiences the “nothing that is not there,”
which is all things just as they are, with no associations—just “the
junipers shagged with ice.” With this perception, the great potential
is fulfilled, and all things are the self: “The fallen-away body and
mind!” That is the self as white paper filled with the sound of the
wind and the sound of a few leaves.
Bodhidharma, who brought Dhyana Buddhism from India to
China and is revered as the founding teacher of Zen, conveyed this
same teaching:

Emperor Wu of Liang asked Bodhidharma, “What is the first

principle of the holy teaching?”
Bodhidharma said, “Vast emptiness, nothing holy.”^
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

“Vast emptiness” is not only the common denominator of all

things, it is itself all things, all space, all time together. As Wu-men
wrote:

Before a step is taken, the goal is reached;

Before the tongue is moved, the speech is finished.'®

Stevens wrote, in “Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction”:

There was a muddy centre before we breathed.

There was a myth before the myth began.
Venerable and articulate and complete. (383)

This is as far as one can trace Stevens’s credo as set forth in “The
Snow Man, but Tea at the Palaz of Hoon,” the companion of
“The Snow Man” at their first publication, is, I feel, its completion
(65). Hoons descent in purple,” with its connotations of royalty,
represents the kinglike nature of one who emerges from emptiness,
like the Buddha rising from his profound experience under the Bo-
dhi tree.

I was the world in which I walked, and what I saw

Or heard or felt came not but from myself;
And there I found myself more truly and more strange. (65)

When I was a young lay student in a Japanese Zen monastery, I

was surprised at the way the monks would seem to equate confidence
with religious realization. Their dignity was regal when genuine,
merely arrogant when false, but in both instances, it was quite con¬
trary to the humble attitude I had previously associated with re¬
ligion.
Stevens knew better. He would have appreciated D. T. Suzuki’s
translation of a line by Wu-men: “In royal solitude you walk the uni¬
verse. Professor Suzuki took liberties in using “royal’’ in this in¬
stance, for it does not appear in Wu-men’s original Chinese.I feel
sure that he was projecting his own experience of empty potency
here and that he shared the vision of “mountain-minded Hoon”
(121). Fully personalizing “the junipers shagged with ice” is to realize
those junipers are none other than myself. “I was the world in which
I walked” (65). Confirmed by all things, Hoon walked the universe

192
 Wallace Stevens and Zen

in royal aloneness, “And there I found myself more truly and more
strange” (65). One is reminded of words attributed to the baby Bud¬
dha immediately after his birth, which Zen teachers are fond of
quoting:

Above the heavens, below the heavens.

Only I, alone and revered.

Thus in different epochs and in different cultures, Wallace Ste¬

vens and Bodhidharma and his successors present the potent empti¬
ness. I do not know how this could be, but there it is, perhaps no
more remarkable than that they had the same number of sense or¬
gans. As Nakagawa Soen Roshi once said, “we are all members of the
same nose-hole society.”
But I think we have here something far more significant than hu¬
man beings expressing common humanity. We are touching the
connection between a certain kind of poet and a certain kind of reli¬
gion. Zen teachers from the very beginning peppered their dis¬
courses with quotations from such poets as Tu Fu and Basho, poets
who had little or no formal connection with Zen. Of course, Zen was
a part of the cultural atmosphere of T’ang China or Tokugawa Ja¬
pan, but Tu Fu and Basho were no more “Zen poets” than Stevens
was. It is here that “the green sprout why” would take over our culti¬
vation if we let it. I am content to acknowledge Stevens as one of the
very few great poets who will be a source of endless inspiration for
future generations of Western Zen teachers.
1980

193
 Play

I_/iN-CHi asked Huang-po: “What is the clearly mani¬

fested essence of the Buddha Dharma?” Huang-po hit him.
This happened three times.
Lin-chi then went to Ta-yu. Ta-yu asked, “Where did you
come from?”
Lin-chi said, “From Huang-po.”
Ta-yii said. What does Huang-po have to say?”
Lin-chi said, I asked him three times, “What is the clearly
manifested essence of the Buddha Dharma?’ and he hit me
three times. I don’t know whether I was at fault or not.”
Ta-yii said, Huang-po is such an old grandmother. He
completely exhausted himself for your sake. And you come
here asking whether or not you were at fault!
With this Lin-chi had great realization, and exclaimed,
“Ah, there is not so much to Huang-po’s Buddha Dharma!”
Ta-yu grabbed hold of Lin-chi and said, “You bed-wetting
little devil! You just finished asking whether you were at
fault or not, and now you say, ‘There isn’t so much to Huang-
po’s Buddha Dharma.’ What did you just realize? Speak,
speak!”
Lin-chi jabbed Ta-yii in the side three times. Shoving him
away, Ta-yii said, “Huang-po is your teacher. It’s not my
business.”^

194
 #

Play

A lot can be said about this case, but I just want to take up a single
point. How much is “not so much”? How is it that “not so much”
gave rise to such a vigorous tradition that thrives to this very day?
Of course, Lin-chi was not the only teacher in our lineage who
talked about the poverty of the Buddha Dharma. The literal mean¬
ing of Chao-chou’s “Mu” points to the same fact,^ yet according to
the Book of Serenity, the monk went on to ask Chao-chou, “All be¬
ings have Buddha Nature, how is it that the dog has none?” Chao-
chou said, “Because of its inherent karma.”^
Karma and Buddha Nature, the substantial teaching of all the
Buddhas and its empty content—these sets of relative and absolute,
the universe and the void, are one in our play as Zen students, thanks
to our marvelous heritage.
Huang-po, Ta-yii, Chao-chou, and all the other great ones fooled
with themes of essence and phenomena to enlighten us. One of my
early Japanese teachers and I used to argue about “play.” His under¬
standing of English may have been a factor in our disagreements. For
him, play was limited to children, baseball, and theater. I understood
play as the nature of interaction—not only human interaction but
all of it. Puppies are more frisky than dogs, but even an old dog
knows it’s a game.
Interaction is play because it doesn’t amount to much, or even to
little. On your cushions in the meditation hall, nothing impedes
your interaction with thoughts. You view one thought-frame after
another. When your thoughts wander and you notice what has hap¬
pened, then easily and smoothly you return to focusing on Mu.
When the bell rings for the end of the period, you bring your hands
together, rock back and forth, swing around on your cushion, and
stand up.
In the workaday world, again, interaction is play. Nothing im¬
pedes your response to your child’s demands. When the telephone
rings, you type “save” on your computer, pick up the receiver, and
say, “Hello.” When the bus reaches your station, you get off
promptly.

Farmers sing in the fields

Merchants dance at the market.^

195
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

Layman P’ang wrote:

How wonderful, how miraculous!

I draw water, I carry kindling!*"

When Joanna Macy and I spoke at a Buddhist Peace Fellowship

meeting in Sydney recently, we were challenged from the back of the
hall by a group of evangelical Buddhists. Are you surprised that there
could be evangelical Buddhists? Evangelism is a character trait and is
not limited to any particular religion. These people were born-again
Buddhists, firmly convinced that “Dharma” and “karma” are enti¬
ties with certain fixed qualities and tendencies. Joanna and I told
them, each in our own way, that no concept is solid or absolute and
that even “Buddha” self-destructs. Their Dharma was not ours.
They became angry because they didn’t know our interaction was
play, an inning in the joyous game of time and space, giving and tak¬
ing with empty universal nature.
All the world s a stage.” We play roles: Zen teacher, Zen student,
parent, spouse, friend, worker, pedestrian, andso on. We play “as if,”
to use the Hindu term, as if we were Zen teacher, student, parent,
and so on. The child plays house, as if she were a mother. The mother
plays house in exactly the same way.

He himself took the jar

and bought wine in the village;
now he dons a robe
and makes himself the host.^

And when the play doesn t make you laugh, that doesn’t mean it isn’t
play anymore. Tragedy is play too—tragic to the very bottom, per¬
haps, but still play.
The Knight ofthe Burning Pestle, by Francis Beaumont, taught me
that the audience creates the play, and the play is not confined to the
stage. A druggist and his wife are patrons of the theater, and she
doesn’t like the way the play begins. She stands up in the audience
and starts directing things. Her paramour, the druggist’s apprentice,
is introduced as a new character, the Knight of the Burning Pestle,
with a pestle in flames inscribed as a crest on his shield. We then have
a new play, and the separation between audience and actors is broken

196
 0

Play

down. The inner fantasy of the druggist’s wife is acted out onstage,
and thus inner and outer too lose their barrier.® This is only possible
because matter is insubstantial, and there is not a speck of anything
to interfere with our complete interpenetration.
In the world of play, a druggist’s apprentice becomes a knight, a
child becomes a father, a dog becomes a baby, and the insurance
agent, throwing off his worries about declining sales, transforms
himself into a prince and seduces his tired wife and the mother of his
brood, who in turn becomes a ravishing, masked beauty at a mum¬
mers’ ball.

In a well that has not been dug,

water from a spring that does not flow is rippling;
someone with no shadow or form
is drawing the water.®

This is Zen play. Where is the person with no shadow or form? On

the stage of the interview room, you dance your response.
That person with no shadow or form inhabits a dream world that
is no other than this world. Traditional people confirmed their
dreams in this world with ceremonies and then reentered the dream
world again by reenacting their ceremonies. We do the same with our
ceremonies. We dedicate the merit of reciting our surras to our an¬
cestors in the Dharma and to our parents and grandparents who have
died. Are they listening? Of course they are. Nakagawa Soen Roshi
once exclaimed, “Of course there are Bodhisattvas and angels living
up in the sky!”
This is all possible because there is not much to Huang-po’s Bud¬
dha Dharma, or to anyone else’s for that matter. And as to the Bud¬
dha Nature of the dog, or of you or me: “Mu!”
1986

197
 uphill Downhill
Nonverbal Presentations in Zen Buddhist Practice

DOGEN Kigen Zenji often said that in Zen Buddhism, practice

and realization are the samed This may not be immediately clear.
Looking at such representations of the practice as the Ten Ox-
herding Pictures, the sequence to realization is plain enough. What,
then, is the unity of practice and its goal?
The point is that you practice the goal, just as you might practice
the goal in law or medicine or music. It is your realization to practice
searching for the ox, then get a glimpse of it, lasso it, tame it, ride it,
turn it loose, and forget about it. You find there is nothing at all, then
enjoy again the beauty of the world, and ultimately enter the market¬
place as the Bodhisattva Pu-tai (Hotei) to the delight of everybody.^
This progression sets forth the temporal path of practice, which
has no shortcut. In the final ox-herding picture, Pu-tai carries a great
sack filled with goodies for children. He mingles with publicans and
prostitutes and enlightens them all. Yet Pu-tai’s realization is full and
complete throughout the sequence, just as yours and mine are, even
on entering the dojo for the first time. It is Pu-tai who begins the
search in the first picture, glimpses traces in the second, and catches
sight of the ox in the third. Zen practice is not a matter of becoming
somebody else.
You are not limited to yourself, however, nor is Pu-tai. In Chinese
Buddhism, Pu-tai is identified as Maitreya, the future Buddha. Mai-

198
 uphill Downhill

treya is doing zazen there in the Tusita Heavens, waiting to be born

in this world. Some early Chinese Buddhists worshiped Maitreya,
and even today you can find their descendants. We can, however,
also understand Maitreya to be you and me being born at every mo¬
ment, all the while in Tusita. As Pu-tai, Maitreya manifests his real¬
ization in this world of time and suffering. He brings gifts to all
children, all people, all animals, plants, and things. And not just in a
single incident or on a single time line but in the spread of the Bud¬
dha Way—the turning of the Dharma wheel through the whole
universe in every dimension. In Buddhist iconography, Maitreya
can hardly be distinguished from Pu-tai, the fat, jolly “Laughing
Buddha.”
Still, Pu-tai in the first of the ox-herding pictures is having a
hard time:

Exhausted and in despair, he knows not where to go.

He only hears the evening cicadas, singing in the maple-
woods.^

It’s an uphill trek, but after long practice through many phases,
the herder—“she” as well as “he”—reaches the downhill path into
the city. Thus, “uphill” can refer to mustering the self and practicing
earnestly in the context of private and social obstacles. “Downhill,”
on the other hand, can refer to the world mustering with the self to
turn the wheel of the Dharma together with all beings. “Downhill”
may seem more comfortable than “uphill,” but both are practice.
Bodhidharma, facing the wall of his cave in zazen until his eye¬
lids fell off and he lost the use of his legs, is the herder, searching
with single-minded discipline for deepest realization.'^ However,
Bodhidharma is, of course, also the kindly patron of successful en¬
terprise. Bodhidharma and Pu-tai in their various incarnations min¬
gle their attributes, yet they are distinctive fellows, offering differing
kinds of inspiration in their particular ways.
There are other archetypes for “uphill” and “downhill” in Zen
Buddhist teaching. The two ways of inscribing the enso, the circle,
would be an example. Most masters inscribe it from the bottom,
around clockwise, in the apparent direction of the sun—seemingly
the natural way—together with everyone and everything. Some,

199
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

notably Suzuki Shunryu Roshi, begin at the top and inscribe the cir¬
cle around to the left, against the grain, “uphill,” in the face of the
many obstacles of greed, hatred, and ignorance.
The circle is also found in Zen literature. Our ancestors in the
Dharma drew circles on the ground and in the air and circumambu¬
lated their teachers.

When the brother monks Nan-ch’iian, Kuei-tsung, and Ma-

ku were on their way to pay their respects to the National
Teacher Chung, Nan-ch’iian drew a circle on the ground as a
challenge to the others. Kuei-tsung seated himself in the cen¬
ter of the circle, and Ma-ku bowed to him.^

Nan-ch’uan laid out the temple with his circle, and Kuei-tsung
then erected it to the last detail. Ma-ku then bowed with village wor¬
shipers and with the rest of us as well. ^Jt^ith no one to witness and
everyone to remember, these old brothers danced primordial con¬
figurations as their own.^
The circle is also the path of circumambulation, a practice found
in many ancient cultures. In both Asia and Europe, the usual path is
clockwise, as in kinhin, our walkingsutra around the dojo between
periods of zazen. The counterclockwise way is unnatural, and in
Christian countries is akin to the Black Mass, in which the Latin
words are recited backward. The devil is evoked, and you are on dan¬
gerous ground. The Scottish term for contrary circumambulation is
withershins or widdershins—literally, “against the way.”
I remember that in the early days of Koko An, we used to keep
the Royal Palm to our left when we walked to the cottage in the front
garden. This permitted us to pass each other without eye contact
while going to and from dokusan. William Merwin pointed out to
us that we were walking widdershins, and considering the life-and-
death nature of our practice, we might be monkeying with forces be¬
yond our control. It was just as easy to keep the tree on the right, so
we changed the ritual accordingly. There were, it must be confessed,
a few mummers of “Rank superstition!” But where does primordial
orientation come to an end and superstition begin? I am not sure,
and I’m not taking any chances.
A symbol as old as the circle is the swastika. It is like Suzuki

zoo
 9

Uphill Downhill

Roshi s circle, a kind of wheel that turns against the conventional

way of things. Though its opposite, the sauvastika, which turns to
the right, downhill, is the form most usually found in Buddhist art,
you can find both in Soto lineage documents and probably elsewhere
in Buddhist metaphysical representations.^ Both are Chinese ideo¬
graphs meaning ten thousand—by extension, “complete” or “full,”
implying all the virtues. In India the sauvastika was sometimes writ¬
ten in a form said to resemble a curl, as Vishnu’s (and then the Bud¬
dha’s) breast curl. It is also one of the auspicious signs in the footprint
of the Buddha.
In Europe, both the sauvastika and the swastika are called the
gammadion (“guh-^w^j/-dee-un”), a word of Greek origin that refers
to their forms as combinations of the capital letter gamma (F). In
English they are also called the fylfot, which may simply refer to the
use of the symbols to fill the foot of a painted glass window. The sau¬
vastika in particular is found in Celtic and other ancient stone re¬
mains across the world—Europe, Asia, and the Americas, some
dating back perhaps ten thousand years.
I read somewhere that Adolph Hitler was warned that the reverse
of the sauvastika—the swastika—was very bad luck, but he decided
for his own reasons to adopt it as a Nazi symbol anyway. Today, spiky
variations are displayed by neo-Nazis in Idaho and in South Africa.
However, such association can only be temporary and can be passed
over in our research into the fundamental meanings.
In Zen Buddhism the fundamental meaning of the swastika
would be found in the decision of Bodhidharma to abandon the
court of South China. He made his way to the northwest, where he
took up rigorous practice in a cave behind an abandoned temple. He
paid no attention to anybody until an earnest monk cut off his own
hand by way of expressing his sincere desire to become a disciple.
Both took a pretty steep path.
The sauvastika has its meaning with Pu-tai. He is like a Chinese
Santa Claus, but not only is his bag full of candy and toys, his great
belly contains the whole universe, as Yamamoto Gempo Roshi used
to say.
If, however, you were to inscribe the sauvastika on a piece of rice
paper and then turn the paper over, the swastika would appear—the

201
 ORIGINAL DWELLING PLACE

mirror image of the sauvastika showing through. The two presenta¬

tions are the same and express the same practice, uphill and down.
Turning against the ordinary current of greed, hatred, and ignorance
is theway ofthe Bodhisattva, takingjoy in songs of birds and human
beings—and responding with compassion to the sounds of their an¬
guish. Our task as laypeople is to live by this piece of rice paper with
its single symbol of the Buddha Way, and to leave the world without
leaving it. This is the attainment of the Way, the highest reach of
practice.
Yang-shan and a brilliant monk danced this attainment—the
enso both ways, and then the sauvastika, to the delight of the assem¬
bly and generations of Zen students to our present time:

A monk asked Yang-shan, “Do you know ideographs?”

Yang-shan said, “Enough.”
The monk circled Yang-shan to the right and asked,
“What ideograph is this?”
Yang-shan drew the graph for “lo” in the air [in Chinese
this is like the mathematical /)/«r-mark, and implies “com¬
plete”] .
The monk circled his teacher to the left and asked, “What
ideograph is this?”
Yang-shan modified the “lo” to make a sauvastika.
The monk then drew a circle in the air, and lifted his arms
like a titan, as though holding the sun and moon, and asked,
“What ideograph is this?”
Yang-shan drew a circle around the sauvastika.
The monk then posed as a guardian deity.
Yang-shan said, “Right, right. Guard it with care.”®

These marvelous teachers are like Nan-ch’iian dancing with his

brother monks while on pilgrimage, presenting primordial orienta¬
tions as themselves within the boundless, formless, universal circle.
It is said that in the early days of Ch’an, or Zen Buddhism, there was
a system of circular presentations that might be compared to Tung-
shan’s scheme of Five Modes of the Particular and the Universal.^ It
was passed by the National Teacher Chung through his disciple Tan-
yiian to Yang-shan. Thomas and J. C. Cleary tell how Yang-shan

202
 t

uphill Downhill
read the text and then burned it. It was the only copy, and Tan-yuan
was upset when he heard about its destruction. Yang-shan then re¬
wrote the work from memory and sent it back to Tan-ytian. How¬
ever, in the course of the generations, the book was lost again.
Never mind. The dances of the old teachers are its best explica¬
tion. Yang-shan and his monk, Nan-ch’uan and his brothers, and our
many other ancestors play out their circles and gammadions to the
ultimate, and perhaps that’s enough symbolism for now. It’s time to
step forth from the dojo with Yang-shan’s timeless injunction ring¬
ing in our ears, “Guard it with care!”
1983

203
 : 'r^

I ■
'* I • {'
_ ;
•. .■•^. 'Vi.
^•i)’, ■_ ^ . ■i','*';aM*,-^^jF»--T.r f- i/r ''V*r»^j.*UL*».'-

* r ■■*•! i'* mt-•■

Him ■ ■
^ 4
• • -■>’H I •'“ ■. '* ■
■.'kf .’;.' ■'-.-•ill'
" ■ • r» ■'11'-
■^A'- .I>lji>; ; >' :■ i4L -. ' ^}0.f 41* • ■',■"■ ',5’<

«i.
- 4*.' A l♦-♦..<. -

VS ,>»rr . SivnA: 3

t »' .!
* • ' '■'■ ‘c »• f ■ A^'i "*
-.v^.
'I. !«iJ;* ‘I’- .® "
s*. 41
■Vl ■ % iiv’.

' ■<’ ''I - N

* .' i'i' l!f|*« .. i2 <5^

i #»
t* ♦ ^
;••. »• I •V

' - ^ .«V ., V ^
« = 'v*'
j. *v.?‘ ’’fl
«
“I* ‘n . ' V- . *• tr
W.

I,.. »

*■' \
<- * 1

, -m

q ;_;.; %-i, ■ • 1.!.. ■■■|^::-<I^J, , ' ; V"*

* ^' . %•

'i
.f J
’■ 3
A,
' - . . 'V / '

e‘'’(
 9

Notes

NYOGEN SENZAKI
1. Nyogen Senzaki, “An Autobiographical Sketch,” in The Iron Flute,
trans. and ed. by Nyogen Senzaki and Ruth Strout McCandless
(Rutland, Vt.: Charles E. Tuttle, 1961), 161.
2. Senzaki, “On Buddha’s Images,” in On Zen Meditation (Kyoto: Buk-
kasha, 1936), 99.
3. Senzaki, “On Buddha’s Images,” 99.
4. In these essays I use the Japanese order in rendering surnames first, ex¬
cept for D. T. Suzuki, Nyogen Senzaki, and others whose names are
known in the Western style of surname last.
5. “Soen Shaku on Nyogen Senzaki” (excerpt), in Senzaki and McCand¬
less, The Iron Flute, 1'^')—60.
6. Senzaki, “Sangha,” in On Zen Meditation, 69. See Friedrich Froebel,
Pedagogics of the Kindergarten, trans. by Josephine Jarvis (New York:
D. Appleton, 1932).
7. I have also heard that Senzaki simply showed up uninvited.
8. Senzaki, “Realization,” in Namu Dai Bosa: A Transmission of Zen to
America, ed. by Louis Nordstrom (New York: Theatre Arts Books,
1976), 31.
9. Nyogen Senzaki and Ruth Strout McCandless, Buddhism and Zen
(San Francisco: North Point Press, 1987), 26.

REMEMBERING SOEN ROSHI

I. Robert Aitken, Taking the Path of Zen (San Francisco: North Point
Press, 1982), 115.

205
 Notes

2. Wallace Stevens, The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (New York:

Random House, 1982), 52.
3. See “The Virtue of Abuse” in this volume.

REMEMBERING BLYTH SENSEI

1. R. H. Blyth, Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics (Tokyo:

The Hokuseido Press, 1942,1958,1993).
2. R. H. Blyth, Haiku, vol. i (Tokyo: Kamakura Bunko, 1949); vols. 2-4
(Tokyo: The Hokuseido Press, 1950—52,1966). Senryu: Japanese Satiri¬
cal Verses (Tokyo: The Hokuseido Press, 1949). Buddhist Sermons on
Christian Texts (Tokyo: Kokudosha, 1952; South San Francisco: Heian
International Publishing Co., 1976).
3. D. T. Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism: First Series (London: Luzac,
1928). Wei-lang is the Cantonese pronunciation of Hui-neng. See
Wong Mou-lam, trans., The Sutra of Hui-neng, published with A. F.
Price, trans.. The Diamond Sutra (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1974).
4. R. H. Blyth, Zen andZen Classics, vol. 4, Mumonkan (Tokyo: The Ho¬
kuseido Press, 1966).

OPENNESS AND ENGAGEMENT

1. Filmer S. C. Northrop, The Meeting of East and West: An Inquiry Con¬

cerning World Understanding (New York: The Macmillan Company,
1946).
2. Thomas Cleary andj. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record {Boston:
Shambhala, 1992), •)66—6j.
3. DaisetzTeitaro Suzuki, The Trainingofthe Zen Buddhist Monk (Kyoto:
The Eastern Buddhist Society, 1934; Rutland, Vt.: Charles Tuttle,
1994)-
4. Cf Asataro Miyamori, trans.. An Anthology of Haiku, Ancient and
Modern (Tokyo: Maruzen, 1932), 425.
5. DaisetzT. Suzuki, The Morning Glory,” The Way 2, no. 6 (Novem¬
ber1950): 3; and3, no. i (January 1951): 10. Published by The Los Ange¬
les Higashi Hongwanji Young Buddhist Association.

THE LEGACY OF DWIGHT GODDARD

I. Allen Ginsberg, “Negative Capability: Kerouac’s Buddhist Ethic,”

Tricycle: The Buddhist Review 2, no. i (fall 1992): 8.

206
 9

Notes

2. Barry Gifford and Lawrence Lee,Oral Bio^aphy of Jack

Kerouac (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1978), 186.
3. San Francisco Blues was composed in 1954 but not published until
much later. See Jack Kerouac, Book of Blues (New York: Penguin Books
USA, 1995), 2-81.
4. JackKerouac, 7)('eZ)A^zmiz5«»2r(NewYork:VikingPress,i958),i99.
5. David Starry, “Dwight Goddard: The Yankee Buddhist,” Zen Notes
27, no. 7 (July 1980): 5. Published by the First Zen Institute of America.
6. DaisetzTeitaro Manual of Zen Buddhism (Kyoto: The Eastern
Buddhist Society, 1935; New York: Grove Press, i960).
7. For Vasubandhu’s seven themes of the Diamond Sutra, see Giuseppe
Tucci, Minor Buddhist Texts, vol. i. Series Orientale Roma IX (Rome,
Italy: Is.M.E.O., 1956), 24.
8. Dwight Goddard, ed.,A Buddhist Bible (Boston: Beacon Press, 1994),
447-
9. WilliamF. Powell, trans.. The Record of Tung-shan (Honolulu: Univer¬
sity of Hawaii Press, 1986), 49.
10. A. F. Price, trans., 7’AeZ)M»zoW5«rraandWongMou-lam, trans.. The
Sutra of Hui-neng (Boulder, Colo.: Shambhala, 1974).
11. “Inside the FZI, 2: A Buddhist Bible,” Zen Notes 28, nos. 2-3 (Febru-
ary-March 1981): 4.
12. Starry, “Dwight Goddard,” 4.
13. “Inside the FZI, Zen Notes 28, no. 7 (July 1981): 2.
14. Ruth Sasaki, trans.. The Recorded Sayings of Lin-chi Hui-chao of Chen
Prefecture (Kyoto: Institute of Zen Studies, 1975); Zen Dust: The His¬
tory of the Koan and Koan Studies in Lin-chi (Rinzai) Zen, trans. with
Isshti Miura (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1966).
15. Rick Fields, How the Swans Came to the Lake (Boston: Shambhala,
1986), 185.
16. At one point Goddard sought to persuade Christian Science authori¬
ties to include some of his translations of Buddhist texts in Mary Baker
Eddy’s Science and Health, but he was refused. See Zen Notes 27, no.
7:5-
17. John Henry Barrows, ed.. The World’s Parliament of Religion: The Co¬
lumbian Exposition of 189^, vol. i (Chicago: Parliament Publishing
Company, 1893), 3.
18. Goddard did not speak Japanese and was not knowledgeable enough
in Chinese to be able to translate Buddhist texts. Thus he was depen¬
dent on native scholars for the primary translation work, notably the

207
 Notes

monk Wai-tao, whom he supported financially for many years, and

Dr. Suzuki. Much of the time he spent in Asia during the later years was
devoted to consulting with his resource people about their transla¬
tions.
19. Y^troMnc, TheDharma Bums, lox.
20. “Inside the FZI, 3,” Zen Notes 28, no. 4 (April 1981): 2.

THE BRAHMA VIHARAS

1. Walpola Rahula, What the Buddha Taught (New York: Grove Press,
1959). 75-
2. Robert Aitken, The Practice of Perfection: The Pdramitds from a Zen
Buddhist Perspective (New York and San Francisco: Pantheon Books,
1994). 31-

3. Cf Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Fiudson, N.Y.: Lindis-

farne Press, 1990), 17.
4. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
7-
5. Aitken.,The Gateless Barrier,^.
6. Gary Snyder, Earth House Hold (New York: New Directions, 1969),
90-93.

EMMEI JIKKU KANNON GYO

1. In this essay I use the familiar Sino-Japanese with reference to the stitra
and the Chinese with reference to Chinese names.
2. Japanese scholars have attempted to reconstruct the originals from
their transliterated forms. See, for example, D. T. Suzuki, Manual of
Zen Buddhism (New York: Grove Press, i960), 21-23.
3. For a discussion of the origin of the sutra, see Philip B. Yampolsky,
trans.. The Zen Master Hakuin: Selected Writings {kieviYotV-. Colum¬
bia University Press, 1971), 185.
4. Yampolsky, The Zen Master Hakuin, 18-24,185-86. See also Barbara
E. Reed, “The Gender Symbolism of Kuan-yin Bodhisattva,” in Bud¬
dhism, Sexuality, and Gender, ed. by Jose Ignacio Cabezon (Albany:
State University of New York Press, 1992), 159-80.
5. Haku un Yasutani, “Theory and Practice of Zazen,” The Three Pillars
of Zen, ed. by Philip Kapleau (Boston: Beacon Press, 1965), 27-28;
also, Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History of the
Koan and Koan Study in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Fiarcourt
Brace & World, 1966), 292.

208
 r
Notes

6. Bunno Kato, Yoshiro Tamura, and Kojiro Miyasaka, with revisions by

William Schifter and Pier P. Del Campana, The Threefold Lotus Sutra:
Innumerable Meanings, The Lotus Flower of the Wonderful Law, and
Meditation on the Bodhisattva Universal Virtue (New York: Weath-
erhill, 1975), 319-27.
7. Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, 203—4.
8. Cf. Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindis-
farne Press, 1990), 350.
9. Cf. Thomas Cleary andj. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record (Bos¬
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 554.
10. Robert Aitken, The Mind of Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics (San
Francisco: North Point Press, 1984), 103.
11. Hakuin Zenji, "‘Song of Zazen,” in Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words:
Zen Buddhist Teachingsfor Western Students (San Francisco: Pantheon
Press, 1993), 180.
12. William Edward Soothill and Lewis Hodous, A Dictionary of Chinese
Buddhist Terms (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1937), 328.
13. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record,
14. Norman Waddell, trans., “A Selection from the Ts’ai Ken T’an,” The
Eastern Buddhist, New Series 2, no. 2 (1969): 88—89.
13. Cf. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with
commentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press,
1990), 126.
16. Cf Thomas Cleary, trans.. Transmission of Light (San Francisco:
North Point Press, 1990), 132-34.
17. Cf Cleary, Transmission of Light, 129—31.
18. Cf. S uzuki, Man ual of Zen Buddhism ,13.
19. “There are only three references to ‘mind’ in classical Buddhism: (1)
chitta, thought; (2) mano, mind (measuring and comparing); (3)
vinna, to know.” (Conversation with Bhante H. Gunaratana, Tucson,
Ariz., October 3,1994).
20. John Blofeld, trans.. The Zen Teaching of Huang Po on the Transmission
of Mind (New York: Grove Press, 1958), 36.
21. Yoshito S. Haketa, trans.. The Awakening of Faith: Attributed to As-
vaghosha (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967), 40.
22. See also John Blofeld, The Zen Teaching ofHuang Po.
23. Philip Kapleau, The Three Pillars of Zen, 160.
24. William James, The Principles of Psychology, vol. i (New York: Henry
Holt, 1918), 224-48.
23. George Meredith, “Lucifer in Starlight,” in The OxfordBook of English

209
 Notes

Verse, i2^o-ipi8, ed. by Arthur Quiller-Couch (Oxford: Clarendon

Press, 1939), 960.
26. Cf. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue CliffRecord, 274.
27. Soiku Shigematsu, trans., A Zen Forest: Sayings of the Masters (New
York: Weatherhill, 1981), 130; cf. 45.
28. Robert Louis Stevenson, A Child’s Garden of Verses (New York: Charles
Scribner’s Sons, 1905), 13.
29. Philip B. Yampolsky, trans.. The Plaform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch
(New York: Columbia, 1967), 143.
30. Cf Aitken, The Gateless Barrier,
31. This metaphor appears several times in the writings of Dogen Kigen.
See, for example, Kazuaki Tanahashi, trans.. Moon in a Dewdrop: Writ¬
ings of Zen Master Dogen (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1985), 88.
For other references, including those for other metaphors, such as
walls, tiles, and stones, see Hee-Jin Kim, Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist
(Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1987), iii, 273 n. 44.

THE VIRTUE OF ABUSE

1. Dharmas, with a lowercase d, can be read “phenomena.”

2. Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachingsfifr Western
Students (San Francisco: Pantheon Books, 1993), 176—77.
3. “Enji” was part of Torei’s Dharma name, while “Zenji” is his posthu¬
mous title.
4. JbreiZenji Bosatsu Gangyo Mon, Zenshu ZaikeNikka Kyo (Sutras Au¬
thorized for Daily Use in the Zen Sect), Morie FFideji, ed. (Tokyo: Morie
Shoten, 1929), n.p.
5. I also acknowledge the help of Anne Aitken and other Diamond San-
gha members with the preparation of this essay.
6. ThesepassagesareechoesorquotationsfromThomasClearyandJ.C.
Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record (Boston: Shambhala, 1992), i;
WongMou-lam, trans.. The Sutra of Hui-neng,'m The Diamond Sutra
and the Sutra of Hui-neng (Berkeley: Shambhala, 1969), 38; Thomas
Cleary, ed. and trans.. The Original Face: An Anthology of Rinzai Zen
(New York: Grove Press, 1978), 102; John Blofeld, trans.. The Zen
Teachings of Huang Po on the Transmission of Mind (New York: Grove
Press, 1958), 41; and A. F. Price, trans.. The Diamond Sutra, in TheDia-
mond Sutra and the Sutra of Hui-neng, 45,29.
7. “To Hear a Sound and Awaken to the Way,” in Sonja Arntzen, trans.,
Ikkyu and the Crazy Cloud Anthology (Tokyo: University of Tokyo
Press, 1986), 50. References are to Hsiang-yen hearing a stone strike a

210
 r

Notes

bamboo (Robert Aitken, The Gateless Barrier [San Francisco: North

Point Press, 1990], 39); to Fu of Tai-ylian hearing a bell (Cleary and
Cleary, The Blue CliffRecord, 328); and to the T’ang period poet T’ao
Yiian-ming, who didn’t get it (Arntzen, Ikkyu and the Crazy Cloud An¬
thology, 48-51,181).
8. Butsugen Shoon, in Thomas Cleary, trans. and ed., Zen Essence: The
Science of Freedom (Boston: Shambhala, 1989), 44.
9. Cf. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue CliffRecord, 514.
10. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 515.
11. Christopher Cleary, trans.. Swampland Flowers: The Letters and Lec¬
tures of Zen Master Ta Hui (New York: Grove Press, 1977), 46-47.
12. Bergan Evans, Dictionary of Quotations (New York: Delacorte Press,
1968), 244.
13. Cf. Price, trans.. The Diamond Sutra, 50. This passage is a koan. Case
Ninety-seven in Cleary and Cleary, The Blue CliffRecord, 614.
14. William Edward Soothill and Lewis Hodous, A Dictionary of Chinese
Buddhist Terms (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1937), 277.
15. “The Parinirvana Brief Admonitions Sutra,” trans. by Kazuaki Tana-
hashi and Jonathan Condit (unpublished ms., Zen Center of San
Francisco, 1980), 5.
16. Yung-chia Hsiian-chiieh, Cheng-tao ke {Shodoka, “Song of the Con¬
firmed Tao”), cf. Nyogen Senzaki and Ruth Strout McCandless, Bud¬
dhism andZen (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1987), 37—38.
17. W. S. Merwin and Soiku Shigematsu, trans.. Sun at Midnight: Poems
and Sermons by Muso Soseki (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1989),
37-
18. Aitken, The Gateless Barrier,100.
19. Norman Waddell, trans.. The Unborn: The Life and Teaching of Zen
Master Bankei, 1622-pj (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1984), 97—
98.
20. Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindisfarne
Press, 1990), 163.
21. Penny Lernoux, Hearts on Fire: The Story of the Maryknoll Sisters (New
York: Orbis Books, 1993), 242—50.

THE WAY OF DOGEN ZENJI

1. Hee-Jin Kim, Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist (Tucson: University of Ar¬

izona Press, 1987), 100.
2. Simon Petrement, Simone Weil: A Life, trans. by Raymond Rosenthal
(New York: Pantheon, 1976), 39-40.

211
 Notes

3. Kim, Dogen Kigen, loo.

4. Kim, Dogen Kigen, 52.
5. This and subsequent passages quoted from the “Genjo Koan” do not
appear in Kim’s text and are my own translations, using Shobogenzo,
Honzanban Shukusatsu, ed. (Tokyo: Komeisha, 1968).
6. Yamada Koun Roshi told this story during a talk at the Koko An
Zendo.
7. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
54-
8. Dogen Kigen, Kyojukaimon, cf. Robert Aitken, The Mind of Clover:
Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics (San Francisco: North Point Press,
1984), 50.

ULTIMATE REALITY AND THE EXPERIENCE OF NIRVANA

1. Walpola Rahula, What the Buddha Taught (New York: Grove Press,
1959), 16-28.
2. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with
commentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press,
1990), 7-
3. See, for example, Koun Yamada, Gateless Gate: Newly Translated with
Commentary (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1990), 12-16; Zen-
kei Shibayama, Z?« Comments on the Mumonkan (New York: Harper
and Row, 1974), 19-31.
4. Nxken, The Gateless Barrier,-;—
5. Cf Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindis-
farne Press, 1990), 335.
6. Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History of the Koan
and Koan Study in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Harcourt Brace &
World, 1966), 275.
7. Cf Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record {Bos¬
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 449.
8. See Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, Me and Mine: Selected Essays, ed. with an in¬
troduction by Donald Swearer (Albany: State University of New York,
1989); Aung San Suu Kyi, Ereedom from Eear: And Other Writings, ed.
by Michael Aris (New York: Viking Penguin, 1991); Maha Ghosha-
nanda. Step by Step: Meditations on Wisdom and Compassion (Berkeley:
Parallax Press, 1992); A. T. Ariyaratne, Collected Works, vol. i (Dehi-
wala, Sri Lanka: Sarvodaya Research Institute, n.d.); Sulak Sivaraksa,
Seeds of Peace: A Buddhist Vision for Renewing Society (Berkeley: Paral-

212
 9

Notes

lax Press, 1992); Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnam: Lotus in a Sea of Fire
(New York: Hill and Wang, 1967); Dalai Lama, Worlds in Harmony
(Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1992).
9. Tavivat Puntarigvivat, Bhikkhu Buddhadasa’s Dhammic Socialism in
Dialogue with Latin American Liberation Theology (Ann Arbor: Uni¬
versity Microfilms, 1995), 202-3. Originally Ph.D. diss.. Temple Uni¬
versity, 1994.

RITUAL AND MAKYO

1. Robert Aitken, The Mind of Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics

Francisco: North Point Press, 1984).
2. Philip Kapleau, ed.. The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice, and
Enlightenment (Boston: Beacon Press, 1967), 38—41.
3. Keizan Jokin, Zazen Yojinki, in Thomas Cleary, ed.. Timeless Spring: A
Soto Zen Anthology (Tokyo: Weatherhill, 1980), 112-25.
4. Charles Luk, ed.. The Surangama Sutra [Leng-yen-ching] (London:
Rider, 1966), 199-236.
5. Robert Aitken, Taking the Path of Zen (San Francisco: North Point
Press, 1982), 95-96.
6. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
160; Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliffy Record
(Boston: Shambhala, 1992), 218.

KOANS AND THEIR STUDY

1. Susanne K. Langer, Philosophy in a New Key: A Study in the Symbolism

ofP^eason, Rite, and Art (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1942), 79-102.
2. R. H. Blyth, Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics (Tokyo:
Hokuseido Press, 1942), viii.
3. My secretary suggests that Joyce Kilmer is not famous (or infamous)
enough to warrant mention. His poem “Trees,” however, remains the
best-known bad poem in the English language.
4. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
28.
5. Blyth, Zen in English Literature, 75. In his translation, Blyth renders
uma as “cob,” an unfamiliar English word that best describes the short,
stocky Japanese horse.

213
 Notes

6. Asataro Miyamori, Haiku: Ancient and Modern (Tokyo: Maruzen,

1932), facing p. 155.
7. Robert Pinsky, “The Muse in the Machine; Or, The Poetics of Zork,”
New York Times Book Review, 19 March 1995, p. 26.
8. Thomas Cleary, Entry into the Inconceivable: An Introduction to Hua-
yen Buddhism (Honolulu: University of Hawaif Press, 1983), 9.
9. Cf. Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue CliffRecord (Bos¬
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 341.
10. I have heard that a certain Western teacher claims that when he un¬
derstood one koan, he understood five hundred of them. That’s not
the way the process works. Understanding—“standing under”—one
koan, you can see the way to resolve five hundred, but explicitly they
are not clear and must be personalized one by one.
11. Philip Kapleau, ed.. The Three Pillars of Zen: Practice, Teaching, and
Enlightenment (Boston: Beacon Press, 1965), 204-8. The quotation is
originally from Dogen Kigen, “Bussho,” Shobogenzo. See Hee-Jin
Kim, Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist (Tucson: University of Arizona
Press, 1987), 122.
12. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 342. See Aitken, The Gateless
Barrier, 46.
13. Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachings for Western
Students (San Francisco: Pantheon Press, 1993), 173.
14. The Ten (sometimes Six) Ox-herding Pictures depict steps on the Zen
Buddhist path to full realization. See D. T. Snzuki, Manual of Zen Bud¬
dhism (New York: Grove Press, i960), 120-44.
15. Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History of the Koan
and Koan Study in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Harcourt Brace &
World, 1966), 46-76.
16. Cf. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 412.
17. Cleary, Entry into the Inconceivable, 33.
18. Aitken, The Gateless Barrier,
19. Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindisfarne
Press, 1990), 173.
20. Aitken, The Gateless Barrier,!?,^.
21. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Gliff Record, xvi—xvii.
22. Heinrich Zimmer, TheKingandthe Corpse: Tales of the Soul’s Conquest
of Evil, ed. by Joseph Campbell (Princeton University Press, 1973).
23. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 37.
24. Nxx\stn, The Gateless Barrier,'^.
25. Aitken, Encouraging Words, 173.

214
 *

Notes

26. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, no.

Tj. A line from Wu-men Hui-k’ai, cited in Aitken, The Gateless Barrier,
248.

MARRIAGE AS SANGHA

1. e.e. Cummings, “this little bride & groom,” Complete Poems (New
York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972), 470.
2. Wendell Berry, “Poetry and Marriage,” Standing by Words (San Fran¬
cisco: North Point Press, 1983), 200.
3. I gave this talk at the Koko An Zendo in 1986 and would now expand
it to include gay and lesbian couples.

death: a ZEN BUDDHIST PERSPECTIVE

1. Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History oftheKoan
andKoan Study in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Harcourt Brace &
World, 1966), 206.
2. Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, 326.
3. Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, 170—71.
4. Miura and Sasaki, 305.
5. Miura and Sasaki, Zen Dust, 171.
6. Philip Kapleau, ed.. The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching Practice, and
Enlightenment (Boston: Beacon Press, 1967), 173.
7. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
219.
8. Aitken, The Gateless Barrier, 279.
9. Thomas Cleary, trans., Shobogenzo: Zen Essays by Dogen (Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press, 1986), 118.
10. Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y: Lindisfarne
Press, 1990), 56.
11. Kapleau, TheThree Pillars of Zen,
II. Philip Larkin, Collected Poems, ed. by Anthony Thwaite (New York:
Farrar Straus Giroux and Marvell Press, 1988), 208-9.
13. Simone Weil, Gateway to God, ed. by David Raper, with the collabora¬
tion of Malcolm Muggeridge and Vernon Sproxton (New York: Cross¬
road, 1974). 48-
14. Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachings for Western
Students (San Francisco: Pantheon Press, 1993), 174.
13. Hakuin Ekaku, “Song of Zazen,” in Aitken, Encouraging Words, 179.

215
 Notes

16. Hee-Jin Kim, DogenKigen: Mystical Realist (Tucson: University of Ar¬

izona Press, 1987), 17.
17. Cf. Yoel Hoffman, ed., Japanese Death Poems: Written by Zen Monks
and Haiku Poets on the Verge of Death (Rutland, Vt.: Tuttle, 1986), 145.
18. Cf. Lewis McKenzie, trans.. The Autumn Wind: A Selection from the
Writings of Issa (Tokyo: Kodansha, 1984), 5.
19. Yun-men Wen-yen, cf Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The
Blue CliffRecord (Boston: Shambhala, 1992), 37.
20. R. H. Blyth, A History of Haiku (Tokyo: Hokuseido Press, 1963—64),
retranslated from the Japanese text, 363.

THE PATH BEYOND NO-SELF

1. A. E Price, trans.. The Diamond Sutra, in The Diamond Sutra and the
Sutra of HuiNengi^ttkdey: Shambhala, 1969), 29,35,41-42,73.
2. For a discussion of Mauthner’s thought, see Charles B. Maurer, Call
to Revolution: The Mystical Anarchism of Gustav Landauer (Detroit:
Wayne State University Press, 1972), 58—66.
3. Thomas Cleary andj. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record {Boston-.
Shambhala, 1992), 536.
4. Maurer, Call to Revolution, 98.
5. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 554.
6. Chapter Thirty-nine of the Mahaparinirvdna Sutra, not, so far as I
know, translated into English. See Dogen, Bendowa, “On the En¬
deavor of the Way,” in Kazuaki Tanahashi, Moon in a Dewdrop: Writ¬
ings of Zen Master Dogen (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1985), 153-
54 and Glossary under “Senika,” 328.
7• Maurer, Call to Revolution, 71.
8. Gustav Landauer, For Socialism, trans. by David J. Parent (St. Louis:
Telos Press, 1978), 40.
9. Plato: Gorgias, trans. Donald J. Zeyl (Indianapolis: Racket Publ. Co.
1987).
10. Martin Buber, Paths in Utopia (New York: Macmillan, 1988), 48.
11. Maurer, Call to Revolution, 89.
12. Landauer, For 39.
13. Landauer, For Socialism, 39—40.
14. For Socialism, x'y.

ENVISIONING THE FUTURE

I. E. F. Schumacher, Small Is Beautiful: Economics As If People Mattered

(New York: Harper & Row, 1975), 55.

216
 t

Notes

2. A. T. Ariyaratne, Collected Works, vol. i (Dehiwala, Sri Lanka: Sarvodia

Research Institute, n.d.); Sulak Sivaraksa, A Buddhist Vision for Re¬
newing Society: Collected Articles by a Concerned Thai Intellectual
(Bangkok: Thai Watana Panich, 1981).
3. I originally used “Dhamma,” the Pali orthography, rather than
“Dharma,” out of deference to my Theravada listeners.
4. Wes Jackson, Altars of Unhewn Stone: Science and the Earth (San Fran¬
cisco: North Point Press, 1987), 126.
5. Schumacher, Small Is Beautiful, 55. A woman’s work blesses us and
equally our products as well! Schumacher wrote his words before male
writers finally learned that the term “man” is not inclusive.
6. Donald K. Swearer, “Three Legacies of Bhikkhu Buddhadasa,” in The
Quest for a New Society, ed. by Sulak Sivaraksa (Thai Interreligious
Commission for Development; Santi Pracha Dhamma Institute,
1994), 17. Cited from Buddhadasa Bhikkhu, Buddhasasanik Kap Kan
Anurak Thamachdt [Buddhists and the Conservation of Nature]
(Bangkok: Komol Keemthong Foundation, 1990), 34.
7. James Hillman, “And Huge Is Ugly.” Tenth Annual E. F. Schumacher
Memorial Lecture, Bristol, England, November 1988.
8. Charles B. Maurer, Call to Revolution: The Mystical Anarchism of Gus¬
tav Landauer (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1972), 58—66.
For Spanish origins and developments of the Grupo de Afinidad, see
The Anarchist Collectives: Workers’Self-Management in the Spanish Rev¬
olution 1936—19^9, ed. by Sam Dolgof (New York: Free Life Editions,
1974)-
9. Mev Puleo, The Struggle Is One: Voices and Visions of Liberation (Al¬
bany: State University of New York, 1994), 14, 22,25,29.
10. Thomas Cleary, Entry into the Inconceivable: An Introduction to Hua-
yen Buddhism (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1983), 7.
11. William Foote Whyte and Kathleen King Whyte, Making Mondra¬
gon: The Growth and Dynamics of the Worker Cooperative Complex
(Ithaca, N.Y.: ILR Press, Cornell University, 1988), 3,30. Other coop¬
eratives worthy of study include the Transnational Information Ex¬
change, which brings together trade unionists in the same industry
across the world; the Innovation Centers, designed in Germany to help
workers who must deal with new technologies; and Emilia Romagna
in northern Italy, networks of independent industries that research
and market products jointly. Jeremy Brecher, “AflFairs of State,” The
Nation 260, no. 9,6 March 1995, p. 321.
12. After presenting this paper, I learned about Tavivat Puntarigvivat’s

217
 Notes

Ph.D. dissertation at Temple University, 1994: Bhikkhu Buddhadasas

Dhammic Socialism in Dialogue with Latin American Liberation Theol¬
ogy (Ann Arbor, University Microfilms, 1995).
13. Carl J. Bellas, Industrial Democracy and the Worker-Owned Firm: A
Study of Twenty-one Plywood Companies in the Pacific Northwest (New
York: Praeger Publishers, 1972).
14. Peter Stiehler, “The Greed of Usury Oppresses,” The Catholic Agitator
24, no. 7 (November 1994): 5.
15. Jill Torrie, ed., Bankingon Poverty: The Global Impact of the IMF and
World Bank (Toronto: Between the Lines, 1983), n.p.
16. Torrie, Banking on Poverty, 14. See also Doug Bandow and Ian Vas-
quez, eds.. Perpetuating Poverty: The World Bank, the IMF, and the De¬
veloping World (Washington, D.C.: Cato Institute, 1994), and Kevin
Danaher, Fifty Years Is Enough: The Case Against the World Bank and the
/MA (Boston: South End Press, 1994).
I?- The Bretton Woods system of international currency regulation was
established at the United Nations Monetary and Financial Confer¬
ence, representing forty-five countries, held at Bretton Woods, New
Hampshire, in July 1944- The United States dollar was fixed to the
price of gold and became the standard of value for all currencies.
18. Noam Chomsky, The Prosperous Few and the Restless Many (Berkeley:
Odonian Press, 1993), 6.
19. Gore Vidal, “The Union of the State,” The Nation 259, no. 22, 26 De¬
cember 1994, p. 789.
20. I use Siam rather than Thailand” to honor the position taken by
progressive Buddhists in that country, who point out that the Thais are
only one of their many ethnic peoples and that the new name was im¬
posed by a Thai autocrat.
21. Abu N. M. Wahid, The Grameen Bank: Poverty Relief in Bangladesh
(Boulder, Colo.: Westview Press, 1993).
22. See, for example, Ivan Light and Edna Bonacich, Immigrant Entrepre¬
neurs: Koreans in Los Angeles, 1965-1982 (Berkeley, Los Angeles, Lon¬
don: University of California Press, 1988), 244.
23. Paul Glover, “Creating Economic Democracy with Locally Owned
Currency,” Terrain, December 1994, pp. lo-ii. See also “An Alterna¬
tive to Cash: Beyond Banks or Barter,” New York Times, 31 May 1993,
p. 8, and “The Potential of Local Currency,” by Susan Meeker Lowrey!
Z Magazine,]\AY-A.\x^nsi 1993, pp. 16-23.
24. Nejatullah Siddiqui, Banking Without Interest (Delhi: Markazi Mak-
taba Islami, 1979), x-xii.

218
 »
Notes

25. Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachings for Western
Students (San Francisco; Pantheon Press, 1993), 179.
26. Michael Phillips and Sallie Rashberry, Honest Business: A Superior
Strategy for Starting and Conducting Your Own Business (New York;
Random House, 1981).
27. Real Goods, for example, retailers of merchandise that helps to sustain
the habitat. Address; 966 Mazzoni Street, Ukiah, CA 95482-0214. Cat¬
alog for March 1995, p. 37.
28. One does feel this urgency in the literature of Real Goods. Let us hope
this remarkable company is a forerunner of others.
29. Sulak, A Buddhist Vision for Renewing Society, 108.

THE EXPERIENCE OF EMPTINESS

1. A. F. Price, trans.. The Diamond Sutra, in The Diamond Sutra and The
Sutra of Hui-nengifserVELey. Shambhala, 1969), 29,32,41-42, 65. For
a further discussion of the Diamond Sutra, see the essay “The Path Be¬
yond No-Self” in this volume.
2. John Blofeld, trans., TheZen Teachings of Huang-po (New York; Grove
Press, 1958), 41.
3. Cf Thomas Cleary, Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y; Lindisfarne Press,
1990), 241.
4. D. T. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture (Princeton, N.J.; Princeton
University Press, 1970), 73. The Kamakura era (1192-1333) was a time
of cultural reformation in Japan.
5. Cf. Kazuaki Tanahashi, trans.. Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen
Master Dogen (San Francisco; North Point Press, 1985), 70.
6. Suzuki, Zen and Japanese Culture, 115. See Robert Aitken, The Mind of
Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics (San Francisco; North Point Press,
1984), 5-6.
7. Kenneth Morgan, ed.. The Path of the Buddha: Buddhism Interpreted by
Buddhists (New York; Ronald Press, 1956), 309-10.
8. Bhagavad Gita, vol. 2, 17-19, cited in Aitken, The Mind of Clover,
179.
9. Mike Sayama, Samurai: Self Development in Zen, Swordsmanship, and
Psychotherapy (New York; State University of New York, 1986), 65—74.
On page 67, Sayama quotes his teacher Tenshin Tanouye; “In Zen, af¬
ter you go through your koan training, you ask yourself what is your
... frame of mind going through life. Miyamoto Musashi said, ‘It is like
a huge boulder rolling downhill.’ I say, if you like to ride your Honda
bike through life, that’s OK, but I’m riding my tank.”

219
 Notes

10. Robert Aitken,^Zif« Wave: Basho’s Haiku and Zen (New York: Weath-
erhill, 1978), 74-79.
11. Cf. Haku’un Yasutani, “Introductory Lectures on Zen Training,” in
Philip Kapleau, ed., The Three Pillars of Zen: Teaching, Practice, and
Enlightenment (Boston: Beacon Press, 1969), 28.
12. See “The Brahma Viharas” in this volume. Also, Robert Aitken, The
Practice of Perfection: The Pdramitds from a Zen Buddhist Perspective
(San Francisco: Pantheon Books, 1994), 93, and Har Dayal, TheBodhi-
sama Doctrine in Sanskrit Literature (Delhi: Motilal Banarsidas: 1934),
225-29.
13. See “The Virtue of Abuse” in this volume.
14. Cf. R. H. Blyth, Zen in English Literature and Oriental Classics (New
York: Dutton, i960), 158.

BRAHMADANDA

1. I shared earlier drafts of this paper with many people and consulted on
the subject with several others. Despite all this help, I take full responsi¬
bility for the points made.
2. Bergen Evans, Dictionary of Quotations (New York: Delacorte Press,
1968), 286-87. Bradford himself was later led to the stake, a consum¬
mation that added poignancy to his piety.
3. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
133.
4. The Survivor Activist, Frank and Sara Fitzpatrick, 52 Lyndon Road,
Cranston, R.1.02905-1121; telephone: (401) 491-2548.
5. Bhante H. Gunaratana, “The Nature of Reality,” a talk given at a sym¬
posium of the same title, Arizona Teachings, Tucson, Arizona, Octo¬
ber 2,1994.

6. Maurice Walshe, trans.. Thus Have I Heard: The Long Discourses of the
Buddha (London: Wisdom Publications, 1987), 270. For the use
of brahmadanda as heavenly retribution, see Amhattha Sutta 1.23;
Walshe, Thus Have I Heard, 117,156 n, 549.
7. Robert Aitken, The Mind of Clover: Essays in Zen Buddhist Ethics (San
Francisco: North Point Press, 1984), 43.
8. Vernon E. Johnson, Intervention: How to Help Someone Who Doesn’t
Want Help —A Step-by-Step Guide for Eamilies and Friends of Chemi¬
cally Dependent Persons (Minneapolis: Johnson Institute, 1986).
9- William Stafford, “Thinking for Berky,” in The Darkness Around Us Is

220
 9

Notes

Deep: Selected Poems by William Stafford, ed. by Robert Ely (New York:
HarperCollins, 1993), 37.
10. The second case, the story of an old woman who burned down the hut
of a monk who responded inappropriately to sexual advances, may be
found in Aitken, The Mind of Clover, 38—39.
11. Ryomin Akizuki, New Mahdydna: Buddhism for a Postmodern World
(Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1990), 45.

ABOUT MONEY

1. Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record (Boston:
Shambhala, 1992), 187.
2. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
273; Thomas Cleary, Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindisfarne
Press, 1990), 335.

HERALD BIRDS

1. Yaichiro Isobe, trans., Musings of a Chinese Vegetarian (Tokyo: Yu-

hodo, 1926), 199. Translated from the Chinese and Japanese, which are
included in the book. See also William Scott Wilson, trans.. Roots of
Wisdom: Saikontan, by Hung Ying-ming (New York: Kodansha Inter¬
national, 1985), lOI.
2. Cited in Jonathan Cott, Wandering Ghost: The Odyssey of Lafcadio
Hearn (New York: Kodansha International, 1992), 268-69, from Laf¬
cadio Hearn, Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (Boston & New York:
Houghton Mifflin Co., 1894).
3. Cf. Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record (Bos¬
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 309.
4. Cf. Katsuki Sekida, trans., Two Zen Classics: Mumonkan andHekigan-
roku (New York: Weatherhill, 1977), 147. Unfortunately Mr. Sekida
treats Pai-chang’s weeping and laughing simply as emotional relief.

WALLACE STEVENS AND ZEN

I. References to Stevens’s poetry are accompanied by the page number in

The Collected Poems of Wallace Stevens (New York: Knopf, 1954). The
abbreviation “L.” followed by a page number refers to Letters of Wal¬
lace Stevens, ed. by Holly Stevens (New York: Knopf, 1972). Unattrib¬
uted translations are the author’s.

221
 Notes

2. Cf. Thomas Cleary andj. C. Cleary, trans., The Blue Cliff Record (Bos¬
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 306.
3. Cf. Kazuaki Tanahashi, trans., Moon in a Dewdrop: Writings of Zen
Master Dogen (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1985), 69.
4. Cf Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 554.
5. Cf Tanahashi, Moon in a Dewdrop, 69.
6. Cf Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 176.
7. Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachings for Western
Students (San Francisco: Pantheon Press, 1993), 171.
8. Cf Thomas Cleary, trans.. Transmission of Light (San Francisco:
North Point Press, 1990), 219.
9. Cf Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 1.
10. Cf The Gateless Barrier: The Wu -men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with
commentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press,
1990), 284.
11. D. T. Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism, second series (London: Rider,
1950), 248.
12. Cf Zenkei Shibayama, Zen Comments on the Mumonkan (New York:
Harper & Row, 1974), 10.
13. Robert Aitken, Wave: Bathos Haiku and Zen (NewYork and To¬
kyo: Weatherhill, 1978), 84.

PLAY

1. Cf Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindis-

farne Press, 1990), 367.
2. Cf. Ruth Fuller Sasaki, trans., The Recorded Sayings of Ch’an Master
Lin-chi Hui-chao of Chen Prefecture (Kyoto: Institute for Zen Studies,
1975). 50-52.

3. The Gateless Barrier: TheWu-menkuan(Mumonkan),tC3iis.wv^com-

mentaries by Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990),
7-18. “Mu” is the Japanese pronunciation of the pertinent ideograph,
and “Wu” is the contemporary Mandarin pronunciation. However, I
am told that Mu was probably the pronunciation of Chao-chou’s
time.
4. Cf Cleary, Book of Serenity, j6.
5. Soiku Shigematsu, trans., A Zen Forest (New York: Weatherhill,
1981), 100.
6. Cf D. T. Suzuki, Essays in Zen Buddhism: Third Series (New York:
Samuel Weiser, 1976), 86.
7. Isshu Miura and Ruth Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History of the Koan

222
 r
Notes

and Koan Study in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Harcourt Brace
and World, 1966), 112.
8. Francis Beaumont, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, ed-hy AnAitw
Gunn (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968).
9. Robert Aitken, ed., “Miscellaneous Koans” (Diamond Sangha, Ho¬
nolulu, mimeographed), n.p.

UPHILL DOWNHILL

1. Hee-Jin Kim, Dogen Kigen: Mystical Realist (Tucson: University of Ari¬

zona Press, 1987), 61-62.
2. D. T. Suzuki, ManualofZen Buddhism (New York: Grove Press, i960),
134 and platen.
3. Suzuki, Manual of Zen Buddhism, 129.
4. The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with com¬
mentaries by Robert Aitken, (San Francisco: North Point Press,
1990), 248.
5. Cf. Thomas ClearyandJ. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record (f>os-
ton: Shambhala, 1992), 386. It was said at that time that until one had
interviewed the National Teacher, one’s practice was not complete.
6. The circle is the perennial base of temple architecture. Anthony
Lawlor, The Temple in the House: Finding the Sacred in Everyday Archi¬
tecture (New York: G. T. Putnam’s Sons, 1994), 116—20.
7. Sauvastika is distinguished from svastika (swastika) in Sanskrit. See
William Edward Soothill and Lewis Hodous, A Dictionary of Chinese
Buddhist Terms (London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner, 1937), 203.
However, sauvastika has not found its way into English usage. The Ox¬
ford English Dictionary includes the meaning of “sauvastika” under
“swastika.”
8. Cf. Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindis-
farne Press, 1990), 324. Wan-sung, editor of the Book of Serenity, ex¬
plains that Rucika, incarnated as the guardians at the gate of
monasteries, was a disciple of the Buddha who “vowed to attain the or¬
naments of skill of 999 Buddhas.” He is thus the archetype of pro¬
tecting the Dharma. Cleary, Book of Serenity, 327.
9. See Glossary. Also: William F. Powell, trans.. The Record of Tung-shan
(Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1986), 61-63; “TheGoi Koans
[with a commentary by Hakuin Ekaku],” in Isshu Miura and Ruth
Fuller Sasaki, Zen Dust: The History of the Koan and Koan Study
in Rinzai (Lin-chi) Zen (New York: Harcourt Brace & World, 1966),
67-71.

223
 Notes

10. Cleary and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 603. Other examples of cir¬
cles and ideographs in Zen literature: the nun Shih-chi (Jissai) circling
the seat of Chii-chih (Gutei), Aitken, The Gateless Barrier, 29; Ma-ku
circling the seats of Chang-ching (Shokei) and Nan-ch’uan, Cleary
and Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 194; and twice Tzu-fu (Shifuku)
drawing circles in the air, once with an ideograph within it, Cleary and
Cleary, The Blue Cliff Record, 206,581.

224
 9

A Glossary of Buddhist Names,

Terms, and Usages

Most Japanese and Chinese names are given in the traditional order, with
surnames first. The terms that are italicized in definitions are also entries.
For Mahayana, read Mahayana Buddhist or Buddhism. For Zen, read Zen
Buddhist or Buddhism. For Rinzai or Soto, read Rinzai or Soto Zen Bud¬
dhist or Buddhism. Note that Sanskrit terms that conventionally begin with
S will be found under Sh. Abbreviations: c=century; C=Chinese; J=Japa-
nese; P=Pali; S=Sanskrit.

affinity. The tendency of beings to come together as organisms, families, spe¬

cies, and other groupings, providing individuality and diversity within
the plenum.
ahimsd. (S). “Nonharming,” the first precept.
Amida (J). SttAmitdbha.
Amitdbha {S)-, Amida (J). The Buddha of Infinite Light and lAit. Archetype
of transformation and salvation in Pure Land schools.
Ananda, 4th c., b.c.e. One of the principal disciples of the Buddha Shdkya-
muni\ the second ancestral teacher.
ancestral teachers. Teachers in the traditional Zen lineage. Founding teach¬
ers, patriarchs.
anger. An emotional response to something that is inappropriate or unjust.
An emotion involved in self-protection. See hatred.
anguish. In Buddhism, painful resistance to the reality of mortality and de¬
pendence. See duhkha.

225
 antinomianism. In Buddhism: the notion that one can ignore the precepts.
Reckless freedom.
anuttara-samyak-sambodhi (S); daigo tettei (J). Greatly enlightened to the
very bottom. Full and complete realization. Thorough accomplish¬
ment of the third of the Four Noble Truths,
archetype. In Buddhism: a metaphor empowered by innate understanding
and long-term usage. A legendary or historical figure who models an
empowered metaphor and who can be made one’s own.
arhat (S); arahant (P). One who has destroyed the obstacles to nirvana-, the
Classical Buddhist ideal.
Avalokiteshvara (S). Sovereign observer. Archetypal Bodhisattva of mercy.
See Kanzeon.
Awakening of Faith; Ta-ch’eng ch’i-hsin lun (C). Seminal Mahay ana ex¬
position of Buddha Nature.'
Bankei Yotaku (J), 1622-93. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
barrier. In Zen, a checkpoint, as at a frontier.
Basho, Matsuo (J), 1644-94. First great haiku poet; associated with Zen.
Bassui Tokusho (J), 1327-78. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
beings. All entities that exist. Sentient beings. See many beings,
bhikkhu (P). Mendicant monkin Classical Buddhism.
Blue Cliff Record; Pi-yen lu (C); Hekiganroku (J). A i3th-c. collection
of one hundred Zen cases with comments; associated with the Rinzai
school.^
bodhi (S). Enlightenment.
Bodhi tree. Ficus Religiosa. The tree that sheltered the Buddha Shakyamuni
before, during, and just after his realization,
bodhichitta (S). The aspiration for enlightenment and Buddhahood.
Bodhidharma (S), 6th c. Semilegendary Indian or West Asian founder of
Ch’an Buddhism-, archetype for steadfast practice,
bodhimanda (S). The spot or place under the Bodhi tree where the Buddha
Shakyamuni had his realization. Dojo.
Bodhisattva (S). One on the path to enlightenment-, one who is enlightened;
one who enlightens others; a figure in the Buddhist pantheon.
Bodhisattva precepts. See precepts.
Bodhisattva vows. Basic vows of the Mahayana Buddhist: (i) to save all be-
ings, (2) to abandon obstacles, (3) to waken to or understand the many
dharmas, (4) to attain the Buddha Way.

'Yoshito S. Haketa, trans., The Awakening of Faith Attributed to Asvaghosha (New

York: Columbia University Press, 1967).
^Thomas Cleary and J. C. Cleary, trans.. The Blue Cliff Record {^ostor,-. Shambhala
1992).

226
 Bodhisattvas Vow ; Bosatsu GangyoMon ”(J). AhomilybyToreiEnji. Dis¬
tinguish from “ Bodhisattva vows."
body and mind dropped away. The self forgotten in zazen or other activity.
Book of Serenity; Ts’ung-jung lu (C); Shoyoroku (J). A i3th-c. Chinese
collection of one hundred Zen cases with comments; associated with
the Soto school.^
Brahma Vihdra (S). Sublime Abode. The four progressive Brahma Viharas
are maitri, boundless loving-kindness; karund, boundless compas¬
sion; mudita, boundless joy in the liberation of others; and upekshd,
boundless equanimity.
Buddha (S). Enlightened One. Shdkyamuni. An enlightened person. A fig¬
ure in the Buddhist pantheon. Any being.
Buddha Dharma (S). The teaching of the Buddha Shdkyamuni and his suc¬
cessors; Dharma-, Buddhism; the Eightfold Path-, Buddha Tao or Way.
Buddhaddsa Bhikkhu, 1906—93. Thai Buddhist master, founder of a progres¬
sive movement of Thai Buddhism.
Buddha Nature. Essential nature, self nature, or true nature.
Buddha Tao or Way. Buddha Dharma. T\\e Eightfold Path.
Buddhahood. Enlightenment and compassion. The condition of a Buddha.
cause and effect. One explanation of karma.
Ch’an (C). Set Zen.
Ch’ang-sha Ch’ing ts’en (C); Chosa Keijin (J), d. 868. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yiieh line.
Chao-chou Ts’ung-sheng (C); Joshu Jushin (J), 778-897. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yiieh line.
Cheng-tao ke (C); Shodoka (J). “Song of Realizing the Way.” A long
Dharma poem by Yung-chia."*
Chih-i or T’ien-t’ai Chih-i, 538—97. Founder of the T’ien-t’ai (C) Tendai (J)
school of Mahayana Buddhism.
Ch’ing-yiian Hsing-ssu (C); Seigen Gydshi (J), d. 740. Ch’an master, suc¬
cessor of Hui-neng, founder of the line that became the Ts’ao-tung
(Soto), Ea-yen, and Yun-men schools of Ch’an and (in the case of
Sbro)Zen.
Ch’ing-yiian line. See Ch’ingyuan Hsing-ssu.
Chiyo-nior Chiyo-jo (J). 1701-75. Poet and nun.
Chti-ti (C); Gutei (J), late-9th-c. Ch’an master in the Nan-yiieh line.
Classical Buddhism. The Buddhism that preceded the rise of r\it Mahayana.
Modern Theravada.
^Thomas Cleary, trans.. Book of Serenity (Hudson, N.Y.: Lindisfarne Press, 1990).
■^Sheng-yen, The Sword of Wisdom: Lectures on “The Song of Enlightenment” (Elm¬
hurst, N.Y.: Dharma Drum Publications, 1990).

227
 clinging. A preoccupation with the self and with the notion of permanence.
The source of duhkha. The second of the Four Noble Truths.
confirmation. In Zen: affirmation of realization by one’s teacher. Experien-
tially, realizsation is itself confirmation.
crossover. Pdramitd-, save-, transform.
Daid Kokushi; Nampo Jomyo (J), 1235-1309. Zen m^ter, a founder of the
Rinzai school in Japan.
daiosho (J). Great priest. A posthumous honorific.
daishi (J). Great master. A posthumous title.
ddna (S). Charity, giving, relinquishment (and their perfections). The First
Pdramitd.
darani (J). See Dhdrani.
dedication; ekd (J). Turning. Transferring one’s merit to another. Transfer¬
ring the merit of a sutra recitation to Buddhas, Bodhisattvas, ancestral
teachers, and so on.
denominator (coinage by Yamada Koun). Essential nature underlying and
infusing all things. See numerator.
dhdram{S)-, darani (J). An invocation of praise.
Dharma (S); Dhamma (P). Religious, secular, or natural law; the law of
karma-, Buddha Dharma or Tao-, teaching; the Dharmakdya. With a
lower-case d: a phenomenon or thing.
Dharma gates. Incidents ot particulars that can enable one’s realization. The
various teachings.
Dharmakdya (S). The Dharmaor law body of pure and clear, essentialnature.
See Three Bodies of the Buddha.
Dharma transmission. Formal empowerment by the old master of a new
teacher in the traditionally unbroken line of masters from the Bud¬
dha Shdkyamuni.
dhydna (S). Focused meditation and its form. Zazen, Zen. See samddhi.
Diamond Sangha. A network of Zen centers founded in Honolulu in the
Sanbo Kyddan tradition.
Diamond Sutra; Vajrachedika Sutra (S). A text of the Mahdprajndpdra-
mitd literature that stresses freedom from concepts.
discursive (English-language usage). Explanatory, prosaic, not presenta¬
tional.
Dd (J). See Tao.

Ddgen Kigen (J), 1200-53. Zen master, founder of the Soro school in Japan,
author of the Shdbdgenzd.
ddjd{])-, bodhimanda (SJ.Thetraininghallorzew^/o. One’s own place of re^/-
ization.

228
 * Glossary

dokusan; sanzen (J). To work alone; personal interviewwith the roshi during
formal practice.
dukkha (P); duhkha {S). Anguish-, a response to mortality and dependence.
The consequences of denying that reality. The first of the Four Noble
Truths.
ego. In Buddhism: self-image. Self. Distinguish from selfish and egocentric.
Eightfold Path. The ideals and practice of Right Views, Right Thoughts,
Right Speech, Right Conduct, Right Livelihood, Right Effort or Life¬
style, Right Recollection, and Right Absorption or Concentration—
in keeping with the insubstantial nature of the self mutual interdepen¬
dence, and the sacred nature of each being. The way of freeing oneself
from duhkha. The fourth of the Four Noble Truths.
emptiness, empty. The insubstantial nature of the remand all selves. Realized
as the same as substance.
engaged Buddhism (coinage by Thich Nhat Hanh). Taking the path, espe¬
cially as a community. Practice within or alongside poisonous systems.
enlightenment. Bodhi. The ideal condition of realization.
essential nature. The pure and clear void that is charged with potential. The
denominator of phenomena or beings. Self-nature, true nature, Bud¬
dha Nature.
evil Harmful, destructive. Distinguish from immoral as dogma.
Fa-yen (C) school; Hogen (J) school. Distinguished by the tendency of
teachers to throw students’ questions back to them. Founded by Fa-
yen Wen-i (C)—Hogen Bun’eki (J)—885-958, Ch’an master in the
Ch’ing-yiian line.
Five Moeles of the Particular and the t/wiVerW. A poetical work by Tung-
shan Liang-chieh that recaps the insights of Zen practice.'^
Five Precepts. Sec Pancha Shtla.
Five Skandhas. See skandha.
forgetting the self. Body and mind dropped (or fallen) away. The experience of
everything disappearing with an act or with something sensed. Might
be confirmed as realization.
founding teachers. See ancestral teachers.
Four Abodes. See Brahma Vihdras.
Four Noble Truths. The basic Buddhist teaching: anguish is everywhere;
clinging is the cause of anguish; there is liberation from anguish; the
Eightfold Path is the way of this liberation.

^William E Powell, The Record of Tung-shan (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press,

1986), 61-63.

. 229
 Glossary

gassho (J); anjali (S). The mudra of hands held palm to palm before the lower
part of the face, in devotion, gratitude, or as a greeting.
gateless. Completely open.
Gateless Barrier, The, Wu-menkuan (C); Mumonkan (J). Ai3th-c. col¬
lection of forty-eight Zen cases, compiled with commentaries by
Wu-men.^
gdthd (S). A four-line verse that sums up an aspect of the Dharma. In the A/iz-
hayana it is often a vow.
Gautama (S); Gotama (P). Personal name of the Buddha Shdkyamuni.
“GenjoKoan. ” “The Fundamental Koan Actualized.” A chapter of the Sho-
bogenzo.
genkan (J). Entry to a Japanese home or temple.
Goddess of Mercy. Stt Kanzeon.
greed. Affinity exploited to serve the self. First of the Three Poisons.
Gydgi Bosatsu (J), 670—749. A Buddhist master and civil engineer, possibly
of Korean origin.
Hakuin Ekaku (J), 1685—1768. Zen master of the./?/«2iz/ school and an artist.
harmony. Interdependent co-arising realized.
hatred. Indulging or dwelling in anger. Second of the Three Poisons.
Heart Sutras Prajha Pdramitd Hrdaya Sutra (S); Hatinya Shingyd (J).
A brief summary of the Mahdprajndpdramitd literature, stressing the
complementarity of substance and emptiness.^
Hotel (J); Putai (C). The “Laughing Buddha,” associated with Maitreya.
Archetype of fulfilled realization.
Hsiang-lin Teng-yilan (C); Korin Choen (J), d. 987- Ch’an master in the Yun-
school.
Hsueh-t’ou Ch’ung-hsien (C); Setchojuken (J), 982-1052. Ch’an master of the
YUn-men school, compiler of the Blue Cliff Record.
Huang-po Hsi-yiin (C); Obaku Kiun (J), d. 850. Ch’an master in the Nan-
yiieh line.
Hua-yen (C); Kegon (J). Teachings found in the Hua-yen ching2j\d. its com¬
mentaries.
Hua-yen ching or Hua-yen Sutra. Chinese version of the Avatamsaka Su¬
tra, which stresses the particularity of all beings and their innate
harmony.^

® The Gateless Barrier: The Wu-men kuan (Mumonkan), trans. with commentaries by
Robert Aitken (San Francisco: North Point Press, 1990).
"Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachings for Western Students (San
Francisco: Pantheon Books, 1993), 173-75.
“Thomas Cleary, trans.. The Flower Ornament Scripture: A Translation of the Avatam¬
saka Sutra, 3 vols. (Boulder: Shambhala, 1984-87).

230
 9

Hui. Ch’an monk, unknown except as a colleague of Ch’ang-sha.

Hui-k’o (C); Eka (J), 487-593. Early Ch’an master, traditionally the succes¬
sor of Bodhidharma.
Hui-neng (C); End (J), 638-713. Sixth ancestral teacher. Traditionally the
key figure in Ch’an Buddhist acculturation. Founder of Southern
Ch’an.
Hung-chih Cheng-chileh (C); WanshiSogaku (J), 1091-1157. Compiler of the
Book of Serenity.
ignorance. Neglecting or ignoring essential nature, the primal harmony of be¬
ings, and their sacredness. Third of the Three Poisons. Distinguish from
not knowing.
Ikkyu Sdjun (J), 1394-1481. Zen master of the Rinzai school and a poet.
Inka Shomei (J). Legitimate seal of clearly furnished proof. The affirmation
and document(s) of Dharma transmission.
interheing (coinage by Thich Nhat Hanh). The Sambhogakaya. The many
as the self or as the particular, the dynamics of that reality, and its expe¬
rience.
interdependent co-arising. The function and dynamics of interbeing. Mu¬
tual interdependence.
intimacy. In Zen: the nature ofpractice and its experience.
I-hsin chieh-wen (C); Isshin Kaimon (J), Precepts of one mind. Attributed to
Bodhidharma, but probably by Chih-i.
Issa Kobayashi (J), 1763-1827. Haiku poet, associated with Pure Land views
and practices.
kalpa (S). A particular aeon. An immeasurably long period of time.
Kan-feng{C)-, Kempo (J), 9th c. Ch’an master in t\ie Nan-yiieh line.
Kannon (J). See Kanzeon.
Kanzan Kokushi; Kanzan Egen (J), 1277—1360. Zen master of the Rinzai
school.
Kanzeon, Kannon (J); Kuan-yin (C). One Who Perceives the Sounds of the
World; the archetypal Bodhisattva of mercy. Derived from Avalo-
kiteshvara.
karma (S). Action. Cause and effect-, affinity, the function of interdependent
co-arising. Interdependence. Distinguish from fixed fate.
karund (S). Boundless compassion. See Brahma Vihdra.
Kegon (J). See Hua-yen.
kensho (J). Seeing (true) nature. Realization. Seesatori.
kinhin (J). Walking verification. S«rr<2 walk. The formal walk between peri¬
ods of zazew.
knowledge. Formulated wisdom.
koan (J). Universal/particular. A presentation of the harmony of the univer-

231
 Glossary

sal and the particular; a theme of zazen to be made clear. A traditional

Zen story.
Kuan-yin (C). See Kanzeon.
Kuei-shan Ling-yu (C); Issan Reiyu (J), 771-853. Ch’an master in the Nan-
yiieh line, cofounder with Yang-shan of the Kuei-yang (Igyo) school of
Ch’an, noted for harmony between teacher and disciple.
Kuei-yang school Sto Kuei-shan.
Kuei-tsung Chih-chang (C); Kisu Chijo (J), 8th—9th c. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yiieh line.
Kumarajiva, 344-413. Central Asian Buddhist master instrumental in trans¬
lating important Buddhist texts into Chinese.
Lankavatara Sutra. Mahayana text that expounds the Middle Way?
law of karma. The way things act. Karma. Cause and effect, affinity, interde¬
pendent co-arising.
Layman Fang; Fang-yun (C); Ho Koji (J), 740-808. Lay Ch’an master in
the Ch’ing-yuan and Nan-yiieh lines.
liberation. Freedom from clinging. The third of the Four Noble Truths. Real¬
ization. Prajha.
life and death ox birth and death. Samsara\ the realm of transience, relativity,
and karma.
Lin-chi I-hsiian (C); Rinzai Gigen (J), d. 866. Ch’an master, founder of the
Lin-chi {Rinzai) school.
Ling-yiin Chih-ch in (C); Reiun Shigon (J), 9th c. Ch’an master in the Nan-
yiieh line.
Lotus Land. Nirvana. Pure Land.
Lotus Sutras Saddharma Pundarika Sutra (S). A devotional and meta¬
physical text presented in allegorical form.'®
Mahdkdshyapa; Mahdkdsyapa, 4th c., b.c.e. Principal heir of the Buddha
Shdkyamuni. The first ancestral teacher.
Mahdparinirvdna Sutra (S); Mahaparinibbdna Sutta (P). Differing ac¬
counts of the Buddha Shdkyamuni’s last days, his last teachings, and
his death.' *

’Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki, trans.. The Lankavatara Sutra (London: George Roudedge
and Sons, 1932). °
Bunne Kato, YoshirO Tamura, and Kojiro Miyasaka, with revisions by William
Schiffer and Pier Del Campana, trans.. The Threefold Lotus Sutra (New York: Weath-
erhill, 1975).

"Kosho Yamamoto, itins.,Mahaparimrvana-sutra: A Complete Translation from the

Classical Chinese, in } Volumes (Ube-shi, Yamaguchi-ken: Karinbunko, 1973-75)
Distinguish from the shorter Theravada text: Mahaparinibbdna Sutta, in Maurice
Walshe, trans.. Thus I Have Heard: The LongDiscourses of the Buddha (London: Wis¬
dom Publications, 1987), 231-90.

232
Mahdprajndpdramitd (S) literature. Six-hundred-fascicle exposition of
Hat Middle Way. See Heart Sutra, Diamond Sutra.
mahdsattva (S). Great noble being.
Mahayana, Mahay ana (S). Great Vehicle; the Buddhism that arose five hun¬
dred years after Shdkyamuni. The Buddhist tradition of China, Japan,
’ and Korea; also found, together with Theravada, in Vietnam. Tibetan
Buddhism is often considered to be Mahayana. The practice of saving
the many beings.
Maitreya (S). The Compassionate One; the future, potential, or inherent
Buddha.
maitn{S)\ mettd (P). See Brahma Vihdra.
Ma-ku. See Pao-che of Ma-ku.
makyo (J). Uncanny realm. A deep dream of participation in the Buddha
Dharma. Distinguish from sensory, visual, or auditory distortion.
Manjushri; Mahjusri (S). Beautiful Virtue; archetypal Bodhisattva of
wisdom.
mantra (S). An empowered phrase or text.
many beings; shujd (J). All beings. Distinguish from sentient beings.
Mara (S). The destroyer; the evil one.
Ma-tsu Tao-i (C); Baso Doitsu (J), 709—88. Ch’an master, successor of
Nan-yueh.
Maudgalyayana, 4th c., b.c.e. Prominent disciple of the Buddha Shdkya¬
muni.
merit. The good results of good action. A function of karma and interdepen¬
dent co-arising.
metaphor. A presentation of something in terms of another, expressing their
unity. In Buddhism; any presentation.
metta (P); maitri (S). Boundless loving-kindness. See Brahma Vihdra.
Middle Way. The Way of the Buddha. Harmonizing the particular and the
universal, cause and effect, essential nature and phenomena, the Three
Bodies of the Buddha, and so on. The Eigh fold Path. Moderation.
Mind. The unknown and unknowable that comes forth as the plenum with
its particular beings and their interdependence and affinities. Essential
nature. The human mind.
mindfulness, mindful. Attention. Attention to the breath or task. Right Recol¬
lection of the self and others as insubstantial, interdependent, and sa¬
cred. See Eigh fold Path.
MiyamotoMusashi (J), 1584-1645. Samurai, artist, and professional hero.
mondo (J). Question and answer, the Zen dialogue. See dokusan, koan.
morality, moral Refers to the process of character formation and the state of
personal nobility. Pursued on the Eigh fold Path and fulfilled in the pd-
ramitds.

233
 Glossary

Mu (J); Wu (C). No; does not have. A koan from Case One of The Gateless
Barrier.
mudita (S). Boundless joy in the liberation of others. See Brahma Vihara.
mudra (S). A seal or sign; hand or finger position, gesture, or posture that
presents an aspect of the Dharma.
MusdSoseki (J). 1275-1351. Zen master of the Rinzai school and a poet.
mutual interdependence. Interdependent co-arising.
Nakagawa Soen (J), 1907—84. Zen master of the Rinzai school and a poet.
Nan-chuan Fu-yuan (C); Nansen Fugan (J), 749-835. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yueh line.
Nantd{]). Difficult case. A category of koans.
Nan-yueh Huai-jang (C); Nangaku Ejd (J), 677-744. Ch’an master, suc¬
cessor oIHui-neng, founder of the line that became the Kuei-yang^d
Lin-chi {Rinzai) schools of Ch’an and (in the case of Rinzai) Zen.
Nan-yueh line. See Nan-yiieh Huai-jang.
National Teacher Chung; Nan-yang Hui-chung (C); Chu Kokushi; Nanyo
Echu (J), d. 776. Ch’an master, successor of Hui-neng.
Netoflndra. A model of dcvz plenum found in Hua-yen teaching. Each point
in the net contains all the other points.
Ntchtren sect (J). A Mahay ana tradition based on the Lotus Sutra, founded
by Nichiren, 1222-82.
Nirmanakaya (S). The transformation body of uniqueness and variety. See
Three Bodies of the Buddha.
nirvana; nirvana (S). Extinction of craving; liberation found in practice and
realization. See Pure Land.
noble, nobility. In Buddhism: keeping the Buddha Dharma. Faultless de¬
meanor.
Northern school A Ch’an tradition descending from Shen-hsiu. The so-
called gradual school, as distinguished from the Southern or “sudden
school.”

no-self K peak experience of shunyatd disclosing the vanity, futility, and ig¬
norance of self-centeredness.
not knowing. Accepting the fact of mystery at the essence.
numerator (coinage by Yamada Koun). The phenomenal aspect of reality.
See denominator.
oshd{S). Priest, a senior monk (title).
Ox-herding Pictures. A traditional rendering of the progressive steps on the
Zen Buddhist path.

Pai-chang Huai-hai (C); Hyakujo Ekai (J), 720-814. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yueh line, traditionally the founder of the Ch’an/Zen monastic
tradition.

234
Pancha Shila. The ?iTst Five Precepts, universally accepted by both lay and or¬
dained Buddhists.
Pao-cheof Ma-ku;Maku {otMayti) Pao-che {C)-, MayokuHotetsu (J), 8th c.
Ch’an master in the Nan-yiieh line.
pdramitd (S). Perfection as condition or practice. Cross over (to the shore of
nirvdnd). Save-, transform. The SixPdramitds are the ideals of charity,
morality, patience, vitality, absorption or concentration, and wisdom.
In another enumeration, the Ten Paramitas include, in addition, skill¬
ful means, aspiration, strength of purpose, and knowledge.
Parinirvana Brief Admonitions Sutra. One of the Mahdpdrinirvana Su¬
tras, devoted to the doings and teachings of the B uddha toward the end
of his life.'^
particularity or particular. In Zen: the nature of a phenomenon or a being.
Path. F\\.t Eigh fold Path. Too, Way, Buddha Dharma.
patriarchs. Ancestral teachers.
pattica-samuppdda (P). Interdependent co-arising. Mutual interdependence.
The function of interbeing,
pefection. See pdramitd.
phenomena, phenomenon. Beings, a being. The numerator of essential nature.
Plaform Sutra of the Sixth Ancestor; Liu-tsu t'an-ching (C); Rokuso
Dankyo (J). Memorializes Hui-neng.^^
plenum. The universe and its many beings. Realized as the void,
practice; shugyo (J). Austerities, training. Endeavors in the dojo-, zazen. To
take the Eighfold Path-, to follow the precepts-, to turn the Dharma
wheel.
prajnd (Prajhd Pdramitd) (S). Wisdom, enlightenment, or bodhi (and their
perfection).
precepts. In the Mahayana, the Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts are the Three
Vows of refuge in the Three Treasures-, The Three Pure Precepts of
avoiding evil, practicing good, and saving the many beings-, and the
Ten Grave Precepts of not killing, not stealing, not misusing sex, not
lying, not giving or taking drink or drugs, not speaking of faults of
others, not praising oneself while abusing others, not sparing the
Dharma assets, not indulging in anger, and not defaming the Three
Treasures.
presentation, presentational (English-language usage). A particular expres¬
sion or appearance without discursive explanation.

'^“The Parinirvana Brief Admonitions Sutra,” trans. by KazuakiTanahashi and Jona¬

than Condit (unpublished ms., Zen Center ofSan Francisco, 1980).
'^Philip B. Yampolsky, The Plaform Sutra of the Sixth Patriarch: The Text of the Tun-
huangManuscript (New York: Columbia University, 1967).

235
Pure Land. Nirvana-, the afterlife envisioned in the Pure Land schools of
Buddhism. Lotus Land. Realized as this very place.
Pure Land Buddhism. Faith in the saving power of the Buddha Amitdbha.
Practice of personal transformation.
Pu-tai (C). See Hotei.
realization; genjo (J). Actualization, personalization. A glimpse of empty or
unitive possibilities of wholeness. Prajhd experienced through one of
the senses, acknowledged by a confirmed teacher. Made true for one¬
self Kenshd. Understanding. Confirmation. The third of the Four No¬
ble Truths.
rebirth. The coherent but changing karma of an individual ora cluster of in¬
dividuals reappearing after death. The continuous arising of coherent,
changing karma during life. Distinguish from reincarnation, or rebirth
of the body.
reincarnation. The notion that an enduring self reappears after death in a
new birth. Distinguish from rebirth.
Right Recollection. Mindfulness of ephemerality, interbeing, and the sacred
nature of all things. See mindfulness. Eightfold Path.
rinpoche. Tibetan master (a title).
Rinzai Zen Buddhism. Today the Zen school in which koan study is used in
conjunction with zazen.
roshi (J). Old teacher. Now the title of the confirmed Zen teacher.
sage. In Buddhism: an enlightened, compassionate person. A Buddha.
samadhi (S). Absorption. The quality oizazen. One with the universe. See
dhyana.
Samantabhadra (S). Pervading Goodness. Archetypal bodhisattva of great
action (in turning the Dharma wheel).
Samatha (P); Shamatha (S). Concentration. The Chinese translate it by its
mental function: “stopping.” The meditative practice of stillness that
reveals the insubstantial nature of the self
Sambhogakdya (S). The bliss body of mutual interdependence. See Three Bod¬
ies of the Buddha.
samsdra (S). The rising and falling of life and death. The relative world, real¬
ized as the same as nirvana.
samu (J). Work ceremony. Temple maintenance as part of formal prac¬
tice.
Sanbd Kyodan. Order of the Three Treasures. A lay Japanese Soto school that
includes elements of Rinzai practice, founded by Yasutani Haku’un in
Kamakura, Japan.
sangha (S). Aggregate. A community or all communities of ordained Bud-

236
 Glossary

dhists. Lay Buddhist community or communities. Any community,

including that of all beings.
satori (J). Prajnd, enlightenment-, the condition or experience of enlighten¬
ment. See realization, kenshd.
save. In Buddhism: enable or help (someone) to cross over to full realization.
Transform (someone or something) for the better.
self. In Buddhism: the insubstantial individual that is nonetheless unique
and sacred.
self nature. The essential quality of the self. True nature, essential nature,
Buddha Nature.
Seng-ts’an (C); Sosan (J), d. 606? Ch’an master, traditionally the successor of
Hui-k’o. Said to be the author of the Hsin-hsin ming (C; Shinjinmei
{]]),2L\ongDharmapotm.
sensei (J). Teacher.
sentient beings; ujo (J). Beings tvith senses. Human beings.
Senzaki Nyogen, 1876—1958. Rinzai monk and teacher.
sesshin (J). To touch, receive, and convey the Mind. The intensive Zen re¬
treat of three to seven days.
Shaku Soen (J), 1859—1919. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
Shdkyamuni (S). Sage of the Shakya clan; the historical Buddha, 5th-4th c.
B.C.E. Founder of Buddhism.ofprajnd, karund, and the nir-
mdnakdya.
Shdriputra (S), 4th c., b.c.e. A prominent disciple of the Buddha Shdkya¬
muni, interlocutor in the Heart Sutra.
Shen-hsiu {C)-,Jinshu (J), 6of.-'jo6. Snccessot oi Hui-neng, brother of Hui-
neng in the Dharma and founder of Northern Ch’an.
shikan (J). Shamantha/Vipashyand. The meditation of the T’ien-t’ai school.
See T’ien-t’ai, shikantaza, zazen.
shikantaza (J). Body and mind dropped away in zazen.
shtla, stla (S). Restraint. Morality; keeping the precepts.
Shinto (J). Way of the Gods. The indigenous religion of Japan, distin¬
guished by a veneration of nature.
shinzanshiki (J). “The ceremony of ushering into the mountain”; ceremony
of becoming an abbot.
Shobogenzo (J). True Dharma Eye Treasure. The collection of Dogens
many essays on Zen and its practice.
Shotoku Taishi (J), 573-621. Prince regent of Japan, instrumental in intro¬
ducing Buddhism to Japan.
shunyatd, sunyata (S). The void that is charged with potential.
Shurangama Sutra. Best known of sutras with this title is Chinese in ori-

237
 Glossary

gin. It sets forth the many delusions and the means for seeing through
them.''^
sit, sitting. Zazen.
Six Pdramitas. Stepdramitd.
Sixteen Bodhisattva Precepts. See precepts.
Sixth Ancestor or Patriarch. Hui-neng.
skandha (S). Aggregate. The five skandhas that make up the rebate forms of
the world, sensation, perception, mental reaction, and consciousness.
Realized as empty.
“Song of Zazen”; “Zazen Wasan”{]). Dharmapotmhy\\3k.\im.^^
Soto Zen Buddhism. Today the Zen sect that uses shikantaza as a principal
practice in zazen.
Southern school. The enduring school of Ch’an, descending from Hui-neng.
The so-called sudden school.
Sudhana (S). Protagonist in Book Three of the Hua-yen ching.
suffering. Enduring, allowing; enduring pain. Distinguish from anguish.
See duhkha.
Sung-yuan Ch’ung-yiieh (C); Shogen Sugaku (J), 1139-1209. Ch’an master of
the Lin-chi school.
Surangama Sutra, See Shurangama Sutra.
sutra; sutra (S); sutta (P). Sermons by the Buddha Shdkyamuni and those at¬
tributed to him; Buddhist scripture. See Tripitaka.
Suzuki, D. T., 1870—1966. The Rinzai lay scholar most responsible for the
early dissemination of knowledge about Zen in the Americas and
Europe.
Suzuki Shunryii, 1904-71. Soto master, founder of the Zen Center of San
Francisco.
stvaraj (Hindi). Self-government, political and personal.
taking refuge. The ceremony of acknowledging the Buddha, Dharma, and
Sangha as one’s home, common to all Buddhist traditions. See precepts.
Takuan Soho (J), 1573—1645. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
Takuhatsu (J); Pindapdta (S). Ceremonial acceptance of alms in the neigh¬
borhood of the temple.
Ta-lungChih-hung{C}-, Dairyii Chiko (J), 9th c. Ch’an master in the Ch’ing
yuan line.
tan (J). Row; line of people doing zazew. Dojo.

Charles Luk, trans.. The Surangama Siltra (LengYen Ching) (London: Rider, 1966).
Robert Aitken, Encouraging Words: Zen Buddhist Teachingsfor Western Students (San
Francisco: Pantheon Books, 1993), 179-80.

238
Tan-yuan Ying-chen (C); Tangen Oshin (J), 8th-9thc. Ch’anmaster, succes¬
sor oiNational Teacher Chung.
Tao (C). Way. In Buddhism: the Buddha Dharma-, the Eightfold Path.
Tao-hsin (C); Doshin (J), 580—651. Ch’an master, traditionally the successor
of Seng-ts’an.
Tao-te ching; Tao-teh-king. Central text of Taoism, attributed to Lao-tzu.
T’ao YUan-ming{C)-, Toenmei (J), 365—427. Poet.
Ta-suiFa-chen (C); DaizuiHoshin (J), 8th-9th c. Ch’an master in the Nan-
yiieh line.
Tathdgata (S). One who comes forth (presenting essential nature with partic¬
ular qualities). A Buddha. Shdkyamuni.
Ta-yii; Kao-an Ta-yii (C); Koan Daigu (J), 8th-9th c. Ch’an master in the
Nan-yiieh line.
teisho (J). Presentation of the shout; the Dharma presented by the roshi in a
public talk.
Ten Grave Precepts. See precepts.
Tendai (J). See T’ien-t’ai.
Theravada; Theravada (P). Way of the elders. Today the Buddhism of South
and Southeast Asia. See Classical Buddhism.
Three Bodies (of the Buddha). The complementary natures of Buddhahood
and the world: Dharmakdya, the Dharma or law body of essential na¬
ture-, Sambhogakdya, the bliss body of mutual interdependence-, and
Nirmdnakdya, the transformation body of uniqueness and variety.
Three Poisons. Greed, hatred, and ignorance: the main kinds of self-
centeredness that hinder the practice. See klesha.
Three Pure Precepts. See precepts.
Three Treasures orJewels. The Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha-, enlightenment,
the Way, and community—the basic elements of Buddhism.
Three Vows of Refuge. See taking refuge, precepts.
Three Worlds. Realms of consciousness: desire, form, and no-form—that is,
attachment, acceptance, and transcendence. Also past, present, and
future.
T’ien-t’ai (C); Tendai (J). Aschool of Buddhism that includes scholastic, de¬
votional, esoteric, and meditative teachings. An antecedent of Ch’an/
Zen and other schools.
Ting-chou Shih-tsang (C); Jdshu Sekizo (J), 714-800. Northern school Ch’an
master.
ToreiEnji (J), 1721-92. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
T’ou-tzu I-ching (C); Tosu Gisei (J), 1021-83. Ch’an master of the Ts’ao-
tung {Soto) school.

239
 Glossary

Tripitaka (S). Three baskets. The three main teachings of Buddhism: sutras,
the vinaya, and the abhidharma (commentaries).
true nature. Self, essential, or Buddha Nature.
Tsai-ken tan (C); Saikontan (J). A Ming-period book of Confucian, Bud¬
dhist, and Taoist homilies by Hung Ying-ming (C; Kojisei [J]).
Ts’ao-ch’i (C). Hui-nengs temple. Hui-neng.
Ts'ung-junglu (C). Book of Serenity.
Tung-shan Liang-chieh (C); Tozan Ryokai (J), 807-69. Ch’an master,
founder of Ts’ao-tung {Soto) school of Ch’an/Zen.
Tung-shan Shou-chu (C); Tozan Shushu (J), 910—90. Ch’an master in the
YUn-men sc\ioo\.
turning the Dharma wheel Lending wisdom and energy to the transforma¬
tional process of the Buddha Dharma in the world. See practice, en¬
gaged Buddhism.
Tusita Heaven (S). The fourth of the six heavens in the realm of desire where
Maitreya Buddha lives.
understanding. Stepping under, and taking on oneself Knowing.
universe. The plenum. The void.
upaya (S). Skillful, appropriate means of turning the Dharma wheel or
prompting realization.
upekshd (S). Boundless equanimity. See Brahma Vihdra.
Vairochana, Vairocana (S). The Sun Buddha. Archetype of bodhi, total pu¬
rity, and the Dharmakdya.
Vajrayana; Vajraydna (S). The Way of the Adamantine Truth; Tibetan
Buddhism.
Vasubandhu, 4th or 5th c. Indian Buddhist master and philosopher.
vinaya (S). The moral teachings. See Tripitaka.
Vipassand (P); Vipashyana, Vipasyana (S). Insight. The meditative practice
of seeing into the insubstantial nature of the self and its sensations,
thoughts, and emotions.
void. Shunyatd. Vast emptiness that is full of potential. See mind, Dhar¬
makdya. Realized as the plenum.
Vow. Usually the expression of resolve to attain Buddhahood and that all
beings attain it. See bodhichitta.
Wan-sungHsing-hsin otLao-jen {Q)-,BanshdGyoshu otRojin (J), 1166-1246.
Ch’an master of the Ts’ao-tung school, editor of the Book of Serenity.
Way. Tao, Dharma.
wheel of the Dharma. The evolution of the Buddha Dharma in universal
consciousness. See turning the Dharma wheel.
Wisdom. Prajnd. Realization and its insights.

240
Wu-chiu (C); Uchu (J), 8th—9th c. Ch’an master, a successor of in the
Nan-yiieh line.
Wu-cho (C); Mugaku (J), 821—900. Ch’an master of the Kuei-yang (Igyo)
school of Ch’an.
Wu-men Hui-K’ai (C); Mumon Ekai (J), 1183-1260. Chinese master in the
Lin-chi {Rinzai) school, compiler of The Gateless Barrier.
Yamada Koun, 1907—89. Japanese master of the Sanbo Kyodan.
Yamamoto Gempo (J), 1866—1961. Zen master of the Rinzai school.
Yamaoka Tesshu (J), 1836-88. Swordsman and statesman.
Yang-shanHui-chi{Cy,KydzanEkaku (J), 807-83. Ch’an master in the
ytieh line, cofounder with Kuei-shan of the Kuei-yang (Igyo) school of
Ch’an.
Yasutani Haku’un, 1895-1973. Zen master, founder of the Sanbo Kyodan.
Yuan-wu K’o-ch’in (C); Engo Kokugon (J), 1063-1135. Ch’an master of the
Lin-chi school, editor of the Blue CliffRecord.
Yueh-shan Wei-yen (C); Yakusan Igen (J), 8th and 9th c. Ch’an master in the
Ch’ing-yuan line.
Yung-chiaHsuan-chueh (C); Yoka Genkaku (J), 665-713. Ch’an master, suc¬
cessor of Hui-neng, author of Cheng-tao ke.
Yun-men Wen-yen (C); Unmon Bunen (J), 864-949. Ch’an master in the
Ch’ing-ytian line, founder of the Yiin-men school of Ch’an, one of the
precursors of modern Rinzai.
zazen (J). The practice of seated, focused meditation.
zazenkai (J). Zen group. A brief sesshin.
Zen (J); Ch’an (C). Focused, exacting meditation; the Zen tradition.
zendo (J). Zen hall; Zen center. Dojo.
zenji (J). Zen master, usually a posthumous honorific. Also, monk.

241
9
 Robert Aitken was introduced to Zen
Buddhism during World War II as an
internee in a camp for enemy civilians in
the city of Kobe. He there took up the
study of haiku and met R. H. Blyth,
author of Zen in English Literature. Since
1959, Robert Aitken has practiced and
taught in Hawai'i at the Diamond Sangha,
established with his wife, Anne Aitken.
Original Dwelling Place is his ninth book.

Counterpoint books have sewn bindings

and are printed on acid-free paper.

Distributed to the trade

by Publishers Group West

Jacket illustration; Helen Frankenthaler, Day i. Trial

Proof 4,1980. Five-color aquatint and etching, 25 1/2”
X 24 1/2” (64.8 X 62.2). Copyright © Helen
Frankenthaler 1996
Author photograph © Tom Haar
Jacket design: David Bullen
Printed in the U.S.A. Copyright © 1996 Counterpoint
 Praise for Taking the Path of Zen

“This is the most precise instruction I have ever read on the prin¬
ciples and practice of Zen. What is remarkable about it is that
very little in it is not applicable to other disciplines. This beau-
tiful Book should be read by* all pilgrims whethei'^r^ot they
are taking the path of Zen.” Parabola

“Robert Aitken’s introduction to Zen Buddhist pracdce is the

most inviting and clarifying of primers.” CoEvolution

“This brief, beautifully executed introduction to Zen Buddhism

is simply the best I have ever read.” Bestsellers

9 781887 178167
ISBN l-afl717fl-lb-3

COUNTERPOINT