The Zennist

The Old Tea Seller

An eccentric Zennist was Baisaô (1675–1763), “the Old Tea Seller”. Here is a ink-brush painting of Baisaô. Imagine walking down a street in old Japan. There to your right is a grinning old man with sparkling eyes sitting beside his tea brazier with his teapot simmering waiting for you. Are you ready for this cup of tea?

But besides selling tea, Baisaô wrote some amazing poetry which I have included for the reader. Baisaô's nom de plume was Sanpi Donin, or Three Not’s Donin, meaning literally, “not a Buddhist, not a Taoist, not a Confucianist, man of the way”.

By renouncing formal religion, Baisaô became an informal tea selling sage whose whole life was like a marvelous Zen koan. Probably no one to whom he served tea understood his grin nor could they feel his empowerment, but it was there, nevertheless, in every cup full.

Going all the way to China
To seek the sacred shoots,
Old Eisai brought them back
And sowed then in our land.
The taste of Uji tea is infused
With Nature’s own essence;
A pity people speak only
Of its color and its scent.

What old Eisai Zenji really brought back to Japan was knowledge of the light which animates us, which is the highest transmission. Only a few are lucky enough to receive it, however. Baisaô received some of it. For just a few pennies, he transmitted it everyday to anyone who drank his mysterious infusion.

I set out to transmit
The teachings of Zen,
Revive the spirit
Of the old masters;
I settled instead
For a tea seller’s life.
Worldly fame and success—
What does it really mean?
The coins that collect
Inside this bamboo tube
Keep ultimate need away.

I’ve opened shop this time
On the banks of the Kamo.
Customers, sitting idly,
Forget host and guest.
They drink a cup of tea,
Their long sleep is over;
Awake, they then realize
They’re the same as before.

I emulate old Joshu:
“Have a cup of tea!”
I’ve stock for a thousand years,
But no one’s buying.
If only you would come
And take one good drink
The ancient mental craving
Would instantly cease.

Those who are familiar with this animative light understand why Baisaô left the lucrative priestly business to become a poor street vendor of Uji tea. He hoped to disseminate the light to those who were more appreciative of it. Maybe a few got the real taste of his tea. Hopefully, they did. In the words of old Baisaô, “Lift high the crystal cup and drink it with your mouth closed. This is the only way to savor the wonderful taste—and don’t say there is no Dharma here. Nothing is lacking whatsoever.”

A new transmission

Hui-neng, the Sixth Patriarch, did not actually appoint a successor before he died but installed, instead, The Platform Sutra as the authority of Zen, replacing the former method of transmission. Henceforth, the transmission of Zen, as representing the essence of the Law would be invested in The Platform Sutra. Citing from Yampolsky’s translation, namely, The Platform Scripture, Hui-neng before his death says the following to his ten disciples:

“You ten disciples, when later you transmit the Dharma, hand down the teaching of the one roll of the Platform Sutra; then you will not lose the basic teaching. Those who do not receive the Platform Sutra do not have the essentials of my teaching. As of now you have received them; hand them down and spread them among later generations. If others are able to encounter the Platform Sutra, it will be as if they received the teaching personally from me."

Hui-neng, it would appear, has made the focus of his teaching as a transmission, the very text itself. This fact is not ambiguous. He goes on to say:

“These ten monks received the teaching, made copies of the Platform Sutra, handed them down, and spread them among later generations. Those who received them have without fail seen into their own true natures."

Further still, from the above, we learn that copies of The Platform Sutra were actually transmitted and disseminated. The Sutra, thus, served as a kind of certificate of transmission. In section 38 of the Sutra, Hui-neng says that, “Unless a person has received the Platform Sutra, he has not received the sanction.” He then goes on to stipulate that the “place, date, and the name of the recipient must be made known, and these are attached to it [i.e., the Platform Sutra] when it is transmitted.”

Currently, there is little doubt that the so-called Zen transmission is not the same as the transmission of Hui-neng since it is not directly based on the transmission of The Platform Sutra. If anyone believes that the Zen transmission is a continuous one from the Buddha to selected disciples, the fact that Hui-neng insisted on a textual transmission closes the door on that belief.

Zen mandala

Tibet Week went by in my neck of the woods. I attended the closing ceremony standing up in the back of a packed house watching the beautiful form of a sand mandala, which took six days to construct, become a heap of colored sand. Despite a few cries and tears from the children, I especially enjoyed the Tibetan chanting. When you listen to it, it draws you in. It doesn’t push you away.

Having previously watched the monks begin the construction of the White Tara mandala, which is the feminine representation of the Buddha (Buddha who is Mind), I came to some notable conclusions about the mandala.

The term mandala refers to an all encompassing arrangement. It shares an essential relationship with the Greek word ‘cosmos’ which can be defined as the mode or fashion of a thing. In the case of a mandala, the mandala is the mode of the colored sand which follows a mind generated pattern or idea. More specifically, the mandala represents the fact that all phenomena rely eternally on a monistic substance.

The production of the mandala, itself, is related to dependent origination (Skt., pratitya-samutpada) which means an origination dependent on something else. In other words, what arises or manifests is not independent, or self-existent (i.e., mandalas don’t create themselves). A good example of this is the origination of a fragile clay pot which depends upon clay. With respect to the mandala it depends upon colored sand which represents the indestructible pure nature of Mind from which all things have their genesis and return.

At the closing ceremony the destruction of the mandala is supposed to symbolize the impermanence of originated things. But what was really destroyed? The sand wasn’t destroyed. From this it follows that we should realize that the foundation for originated things is never, itself, actually destroyed. It only seems this way. This foundation is the pure Mind substance.

After the destruction of the mandala, the sand was carried to our lake to find a home with all the other sand grains. With horns blowing and red robed monk’s chanting the sand was returned to the Great Mind Ocean (well, actually a small lake in the University). In the same way, every being and every thought which arises returns to the Great Mind Ocean. What is so sad is that we don’t directly experience the bliss of returning. We can hardly even remember originating. We are clueless as to the Great Mind Ocean.

The inner practice

Montesquieu (1689–1755), a French philosopher who had an enormous impact on the “separation of powers” doctrine behind the United States Constitution, was a great student of cultural relativism.

One of Montesquieu's close friends in Paris who was a Chinese scholar and was in charge of the king’s Chinese library was a recent convert to Christianity. When he lived in China, he became so enamored with Christianity and its ideals that he hastily booked passage for Europe to see this Christian utopia. Upon his arrival, he expected to find every priest virtually a Jesus Christ. He believed that every European would turn the other cheek if struck and when asked to carry something a mile, they would gladly and piously carry it two miles as described in the Bible. In short, he expected to see a vast society of believing Christians.

Much to his disappointment, his idealized view of a Christian Europe became, over time, severely deflated. An instructive and amusing story, I think it serves as a good reminder of the naivete some Western Buddhists have about Buddhist teachers and especially Asian teachers, in general, whom they believe are in every way a living Buddha.

Of course, this is not to suggest that Asian Buddhists are not also naive. Some are, but many are not as naive as Westerners. What is important to glean from this story is that religious truths are meant for the inner person and should be applied that way. One should not expect them manifested externally. This can easily lead to the pernicious religious practice of puritanism. It believes that what you see manifested on the outside is what is going on inside. Such a practice eventually undermines religion by forcing its practitioners to become hypocrites.

Zen Pali Buddhism primer

Here is a Zen primer of Pali Buddhism. It goes something like this: The noble truth of suffering pertains to the five aggregates called khandhas. They are the prisim through which we veiw the world, which we believe to be our true self. But in truth, the five aggregates are suffering.

“And what, Monks, is the noble truth of suffering? It should be said: the five aggregates subject to clinging; that is, the form aggregates subject to clinging...the consciousness aggregate subject to clinging. This is called the noble truth of suffering” (S.v.425).

Noting the above, there is never any mention in any discourse by the Buddha that the self suffers or is the cause of suffering. The problem is the five aggregates which we mistake for our true self. In other words, we view them as our self. The crux of the matter is our craving for the five aggregates, in the belief that they are our self. This craving has to be eliminated.

The Buddha, in many of his discourses, has certainly made it unambiguously clear that the five aggregates are not the self. It is also true that the self is not the aggregates. And given that these aggregates are suffering, they cannot be our refuge. Only that which is not the aggregates can be our refuge. Thus, only "the self is the refuge of the self" according to the Dhammapada (160). Such marks the end of our craving. This is also Nirvana.

“Thus in this very life he is free from craving, he is released, he has become cool: by the self, he abides in experience of bliss, by becoming Brahma” (A.i.193, III, 7,. § 66).

From the above passage we can see that the Buddha did not mince his words. Nirvana is really about the self being free from craving the five aggregates which are viewed to be the self called in Pali, attaditthi. Once free of them we will understood who we really are; and that we have reached the undying. There is no more to be done or worry about.

The wrong understanding of Buddhism

This aspiration for the 'void' and for becoming void, no less than the aspiration of our western mystics for 'nothing' and for becoming nothing, must seem a kind of lunacy to anyone who has no inner sympathy for the esoteric language and ideograms of mysticism, and lacks the matrix from which these come necessarily to birth. To such an one Buddhism itself will be simply a morbid sort of pessimism. But in fact the 'void' of the eastern, like the 'nothing' of the western, mystic is a numinous ideogram of the 'wholly other'.

— Rudolf Otto

Somehow, when Buddhism arrived upon our modern shores, the common Western understanding of Buddhism was that the essence of the Buddha’s teaching was about the dissolution of the soul. In particular, the Buddha taught the systematic destruction of the belief in an indissoluble self. Man was described as being composed of Five Aggregates which were impermanent. And when he firmly denied himself, he might then win Nirvana which is assimilation into nothingness or the ‘void’.

But there is nothing in this interpretation of Buddhism which is correct. And those who champion any part of it still slumber in the arms of materialism; afraid to open their eyes to the aether of pure Mind which is at the very heart of life. Alarmingly, their psychological disposition is also one of nihilism. Nihilism is perhaps best described by Helmut Thielicke in his book, Nihilism. He writes:

"Nihilism literally has only one truth to declare, namely, that ultimately Nothingness prevails and the world is meaningless."

According to the modern interpretation of Buddhism, if we take under our view, the bulk of Theravada writings, there is a clear and decisive campaign to rid Buddhism of any realization except that of impermanence, suffering, and soullessness. In light of this, on cannot imagine where compassion comes into picture. The curtains seem drawn. One cannot even imagine why anyone would wish to have followed the Buddha in ancient India if all is so pessimistic.

But in fact, the Buddha taught a much brighter teaching. He taught a cure for the problem of suffering. He taught that our true self, which is free from suffering, could not be understood or realized through transitory limiting conditions. One, in order to see their true self, which is naturally present at all times, must peel away the conditioned shroud which dominates them. This involves a strategy of detaching from all conditioned things so as not to be affected by them. But it also involves contemplating the unconstructed nature of pure Mind which is radiant. This radiant side is life, itself, which is undying. By it our bodies move; our voice and thoughts are known. We fail to realize it because we are nailed to our conditioned bodies. We are, so to speak, turned towards the conditioned world, seeing only it; no other. How we release from this deadly grip and turn around that we might see our escape is the subject of the Buddha’s true teaching.

An ancient story

Wishing to know about the Buddha-nature potential in each person, and how they might comprehend it, the monks asked the master to explain it in such a way that they might understand it better. Their master nodded his head in assent and then proceeded to tell them this story.

Once upon a time there was a small boy who was the son of a wealthy Raja (king). So wealthy was the boy’s father that the father gave him tens of thousands of gold coins with which to play. In a remote part of the forest, erecting a grand castle from the gold coins, the boy pretended that he was a great Raja, too, just like his father. Often the boy would play for hours at a time with his castle of gold coins and his toy soldiers which were made of silver and precious jewels. Then one day, while he was playing, the enemy came unexpectedly to his father’s kingdom hearing of the Raja’s great wealth. Overrunning his father’s kingdom, the enemy took his family into captivity. Luckily, at that time, the little boy was playing with his gold castle. He was not aware of what had just happened. Then later, upon seeing this horrific sight with his own eyes, as the soldiers led his family away, the little boy lost his memory and fled into the forest. For many years after that he lived as a common beggar subsisting on scrapes of food much like a feral dog. Then one day, after the little boy had grown up and became a young man, he came to grow tired of his poverty. He heard from other men that there was a substance called ‘gold’ that if you possessed enough of it you might became wealthy. Anxious to see this precious substance, the young man sought out the help of a knowledgeable man who knew about gold. Then the young man begged the man to show him exactly what gold looked like. Being kind hearted, the man reached into his sack of coins and produced a gold coin for the young man to see. Immediately, upon seeing the gold coin the young man had a vivid recollection of seeing many more coins like this. However, the recollection was so brief that he had no way of knowing exactly where these gold coins might be found. Excited at the prospects of finding much gold, he then decided it would be best to seek out a wise man who might help him regain his memory, hopefully to see clearly the place where these gold coins were. Searching though the city, finally the young man chanced to find a wise old man who it was said could recollect anything in his present life and in his past lives. Wishing to study with the wise man, the young man became the old man’s apprentice and waited upon him day and night for many years. Finally, after much practice, the young man was able to recall where the gold coins were located. Promising to return, the young man left the wise old man and headed eastward towards the mountains. After many months of arduous walking, he was able to cross the mountains and find the kingdom of his father. By that time the enemy had already left having plundered the land and killing off his family. Only the former citizens remained who were by this time extremely poor. Making his way to the site where the gold coins were, the young man was delighted to find that all the gold coins had not been taken. Luckily, vines had covered everything concealing the treasure. For too much to carry back by himself, he thought it would be wise to keep the coins in a safe place for the time being. He then decided that it would wise to buy some land in his father’s old kingdom and become a farmer rather than appear as rich man. By thinking of the interests of the people and what they had suffered through, he realized that only a frugal nation is very seldom attacked by those who are greedy. The next day with some of the gold he bought a plot of land and hired many of the poor citizens to cultivate it. It was to be his strategy to buy still more land and hire many more people. Recalling the memory of his teacher who had taught him recollection, he dispatched a caravan of trusted riders who were instructed to bring the wise man back with them and they would be paid in gold. Gradually, over time, the kingdom prospered. The young man eventually told the people that he was the son of the former king. By this time they accepted him and his good ways.

After the story the monks were delighted. They came to realize that each person has the potential to remember their Buddha-nature; that all beings actually partake of this most sublime radiant nature but that because of the horrors of samsara, their memory of it has failed them. Thus, it is up to each individual to seek the wealth of the Buddha-nature. By the teachings of the Buddha, all of us hope to regain our memory of this precious nature. Hopefully, one day will find this luminous treasury.

Buddhist salvation

“It is like a flame struck by a sudden gust of wind, said the Buddha. “In a flash it has gone out and nothing more can be know about it. It is the same with a wise man freed from mental existence; in a flash he as gone out and nothing more or less can be known about him.”

— Sutta-Nipata 1074 (tr., H. Saddhatissa)

One of the problems with mainline Buddhism is the problem of soteriology or the same, salvation. While mainline Buddhism acknowledges the fact that human beings suffer, the Buddhist rescue is unclear. Various attempts to explain it tend to divagate.

It is hardly comforting to imagine that if we reach Nirvana we will be extinguished like a flame, which is the general belief of mainline Buddhists. However, if this is the case, then how is Nirvana different from normal biological death? This serves to underscore the problem mainline Buddhism has with soteriology.

From the standpoint of Zen, the idea that Nirvana is extinction is regarded as a inaccurate reading of Buddhism. The frequently used analogy of the flame going out simply means that one no longer feeds off the fuel of materialism which in this case, in the human body. A person who goes to Nirvana leaves behind their attachment to the body (i.e., the fuel) for a higher reality. This higher reality is the pure Mind. Whereas before, the mind-flame fed off of the corporeal, it now comes to realize its higher nature which is free from rebirth and suffering. Thus, like a flame, it goes out of the world to the highest one.

Perhaps, a more modern analogy is to consider the following. When our mind attaches to something which is other than its own pure nature, which is free and independent, it becomes disturbed. Hence, the Buddhist idea of suffering. It is like experiencing an imperfect harmony. Mind, goaded by this disharmony, tries to find the right harmony. This prompts a kind of nisus or thirst to get out of this disturbance. At last, when mind attains insight into pure Mind in comes into perfect harmony which is the bliss of Nirvana.

Buddhism accomplishes salvation by teaching us to relinquish our grip on materialism by turning our mind to its own pure nature which is free of suffering. But so long as we choose to dip down into the oily fuel of materialism, which causes our passions to burn hot, bringing about even more suffering, we can never expect to be free from suffering. After the exhaustion of this fuel, our mind-flame, still thirsty, will go on to another kind of fuel; always being dependent.

Breathing exercise

In-breathing and out-breathing, friend Visakha—these are bodily things dependent on the body, therefor in-breathing and out-breathing is activity of body.

— Middle-length Discoure (1.301)

The Buddha never instructed his students to follow the breath. Following the breath is not as important as being directly acquainted with the higher power which animates the body and causes our breathing. If we carefully think about what the Buddha said about his breath exercise in which he tells us to sit cross-legged, uprighting our body, then bringing forth the remembrance of the ultimate source, it soons dawns on us that this is no ordinary exercise. The Buddha, in his genius, wants us to engage with the source of our breathing which is fundamentally free of the body.

When the Buddha died, entering into the highest Nirvana, it is said that his breathing ceased but that his mind remained unaffected, free of the pains, and by the light's release, his mind was freed. The Buddha didn't follow his breath while he was dying; nor did he follow it while he was teaching.

For most of his life, the Buddha practiced remembering the source of his breathing rather than following the breath. By this exercise, his mind became progressively disengaged from the body since the body depends upon the breath.

It is important to keep in mind that the cause of our breathing must necessarily antecede both the in and the out breath. That we can hold our breath to a some degree means that whatever is holding the breath has a limited antecedent power over breathing, itself. And while we can sense our breath being held, we also can become aware of a place which is indifferent to breathing which is of a higher power. If we can enter it, so to speak, we shall sense the unaffected Mind and, in addition, the animative light breathing us.

Zenic thinking

The word “Zen” refers to dhyana, which in Indo-Aryan can mean cogitation, contemplation, or meditation. Zen, as far as dhyana is concerned, is comprehension of pure Mind or the same, Buddha Mind. By dhyana one, so to speak, cuts through the tissue of mind fluctuations which produce an illusory picture of reality. Having cut throught this rind, one is immediately baptized in the animative light of pure Mind.

Our human body, from a higher perspective, is an illusory desire-construction which tries to interpret the immediate presence of illusion free reality whilst existing in illusion. Immediately, one can almost see the problem with this. Our interpretations often become just another form of illusion. And believing such, we become even more deluded which makes spiritual progress almost impossible. Human reason, too, has the capacity to delude us because reason is comparative thinking. It compares one set of deluded beliefs against another set.

If Zen or dhyana is to help us escape this illusory existence so that we might partake in illusion free reality then, to some degree, we have to put aside the habit of engaging with reason and convert to intuitive thinking, or the same, noetic thinking. By giving up reasoning, seeing that it is incapable of stepping out of illusion, we discover the process of intuitive or Zenic thinking. Here, in a nutshell, Zenic thinking is described by Zen master Bankei (1622–1639) who was awakened at the young age of twenty-six.

Wiping out arising thoughts is like washing blood with blood; though the first blood may be removed, the washing blood still stains; no matter how much you wash, the stain is not removed.

This mind is originally unborn and undying and without illusion; not realizing this, thinking that thoughts are existent things, you roam around in the routines of birth and death.

Realizing that thoughts are only temporary appearances, you should let them be as they start and stop, without grasping or rejecting them. It is like images reflected in a mirror; since the mirror is clear and bright, it reflects whatever comes before it but doesn’t keep the images. The enlightened mind is infinitely brighter and clearer than a mirror and is also radiantly aware, so all thoughts dissolve in that light without leaving a trace. If you can believe and trust in this truth, no matter how much they come up it won’t be a hindrance. (tr., Cleary)

Zen master Bankei lets us know without longwinded explanations, that trying to rub away thoughts is impossible. More pointedly, thought suppression is not Zen. The problem is not whether thoughts start of stop; arise or fall. The problem is our inability to see the pristine ground or matrix from which thoughts arise and fall. If we did see this matrix, we would realize the insignificance of thought and become absorbed in this bright matrix which is pure, luminous Mind.