The Zennist

What's your practice?

What the term ‘practice’ in Buddhism really means is often anyone’s guess.  It is also certainly one’s prerogative to say that they are practicing Buddhism.  But not all practices are the same.  Some are better than others because they work towards illumination.  Most, however, are external practices.  

Before Siddhartha became a Buddha or awakened he engaged in brutal ascetic practices.  Such practices Siddhartha eventually abandoned.  For those not at the level of a Siddhartha, such things as  giving alms, and making offerings make up the practice of seeking merit.  Other practices include contemplating things as impermanent and unsatisfactory.  Invoking the Buddha’s name (nien-fo) is still another kind of practice.  In Tibetan Dzogchen there are twenty one mental focusing practices  not to mention the practice of separating samsara from nirvana.

Not everything we physically do falls under the heading of proper practice.  Just standing up, for instance, is not a Buddhist practice; nor is sitting on a sofa watching the television.  Martial art practices are not Buddhist practices.  Doing zazen or seated meditation is a practice, but not if you’re like a bump on a log.  Arresting thoughts while sitting in meditation is also a practice, but it might not be the best practice.   

We should keep in mind that not all practices are going to help us reach the other shore.  Many practices are only concerned with this shore—not the other shore.  We might strongly believe that our practices are good, but relative to what are they good?

The more our ordinary mind is engaged in seeking the higher Mind the better our practice is.  Ultimately we hope to see our Buddha-nature instead of seeking quietude which ends up being an ineffective practice.  Here is an excellent example of real Zen (dhyana) practice, one that is not external.

While still alive, be therefore assiduous in practicing Dhyana (contemplation).  The practice consists in abandonments.  ‘The abandonment of what?’ you may ask. Abandon your four elements (bhuta), abandon your five aggregates (skandha), abandon all the workings of your relative consciousness (karma-vijnana), which you have been cherishing since eternity; retire within your inner being and see into the reason of it.  As your self-reflections grows deeper and deeper, the moment will surely come upon you when the spiritual flower will suddenly burst into bloom, illuminating the entire universe.  The experience is incommunicable, though you yourselves know perfectly well what it is (Szu-hsin Wu-shin of Huang-lung [1044–1115]).  

Not too many Buddhist practitioners are ready for this.  It is probably for the reason that they are not yet committed to crossing to the other shore which begins from within. 

 

 

 

 

From ignorance to enlightenment

What is the connection between the One Mind (ekacitta) and ignorance (avidya), or the same, non-knowledge?  I thought about this question for a number of years.  Helping to shed more light on the question, I found this passage from the Avatamsaka Sutra that said “everything in the Triple Realm is due to Mind...the twelve links of conditioned origination (pratityasamutpada) are all dependent on the One Mind.” Given that the first link is ignorance we can say that ignorance is dependent on the One Mind.  But how is this so? I wanted to know.  I eventually found the answer to my question.  It was from a passage by the German Christian mystic Jakob Böhme (1575–1624) in this work, The Clavis (1624).  It went:  “For in the one only substance wherein there is no division there can be no knowledge.”

For me this was a Eureka moment!  The One Mind has no knowledge of itself because, as a pure substance, it is peerless and incomparable.  It is only when the One Mind disturbs itself does a contrast arise, something which seems alien to Mind but actually is not.  A good example of this is a water vortex.  Later, I found this important passage which comes from Jakob Böhme’s Theoscopia. 

“Without contradiction nothing can become manifest to itself; for if it has nothing to resist it, it goes continually outward and does not return again into itself.  But if it does not return into itself as into that from which it originally came, it knows nothing of the primal being.”

The One Mind agitates itself and thus becomes something:  a something which, however, is in contrast with the One Mind, a resistance.  This contrast is the phenomenal world we live in called, samsara.  Now enters the Buddha.  The Buddha discovered how to penetrate through the veil of phenomena thus as Mind to return to the original One Mind.  This is what Zen calls the Mind to Mind transmission.  For the Buddha the world changed from a world of ignorance and samsara to one in which Mind is absolutely revealed to itself in its endless, but illusory (mâyâ) differences.  Samsara is now nirvana.  

Using again the analogy of the vortex in water, there is nothing in the vortex or countless vortices which is not water if we know what water is.  The Buddha was the ultimate physicist who realized the substance of the universe; who saw the universe as the phenomenalization of the One Mind.

 

 

 

 

Knowing what you're looking for

What always struck me about Zen when I was first introduced to it in philosophy was how incomprehensible it is yet, at the same time, there was something about it that seemed to make sense, although, at the time, I couldn’t tell you what it exactly was (nor could my teacher, Dr. Lauren).  The part that seemed to make sense although I couldn’t explain it to you what it was, spurred me on.  The weird thing about this was that it gave rise to many reasonable solutions, especially when I read a koan.  But not a single solution I came up with was completely adequate.  I just knew I didn’t know.

Knowing that I didn’t know was intriguing to me.  It is not quite like being completely lost but instead becoming disoriented.  I began to see that a certain dullness was behind my inability to comprehend even a small part of Zen.  It was almost like my dendrites were gummed up; or my brain was used to working one way whereas Zen worked in a much different way.

Eventually, I discovered that the more I immersed myself in studying the literature of Zen, and practicing general, ordinary awareness, learning to keep my mind focused on everything I did, the dullness began to diminish.  As far as meditation was concerned, and given that I was physically fit at the time, it didn’t offer much except to calm me down.  

During this early period what I was lacking was some significant awakening so the Zen sermons and koans would make sense.  I still knew in my heart of hearts that I was working pretty much in the dark.  I had no major breakthroughs; and no matter how many times I read John Blofeld’s book, The Zen Teaching of Huang-Po, I didn’t get it (even to this day I consider this to be one of the best works on the heart of Zen).  It is like I needed a Zen master like Bodhidharma to clue me in or you could say, really emphasize what I should be looking for.  That time came later with the help of Bishop Nippo Shaku which I recount here for the reader.

 “As luck would have it, some years later I happened to attend a lecture at San Jose State College conducted by Bishop Nippo Shaku (1910–1991), of the Nichiren tradition.  When I first saw him, he looked liked a bespectacled Sumo wrestler in his black robes.  However, when he began his lecture, one immediately got the impression that he knew what he was talking about.  He certainly knew more than my teacher who smoked too many cigarettes and drank too many bottles of beer.

One lecture I remember in particular was a lecture about the ordinary mind.  He began the lecture by showing us this crazy, poster size ink brush painting he had made with black ink.  It looked liked something Jackson Pollock might have done if he had been born and raised in Japan.

Bishop Nippo went on for a long time talking about the ordinary mind represented by the heavy, wild black lines.  Then with a grin, looking at the class he said, “And here is your pure Mind” pointing to the white paper.  Right then and there, it suddenly dawned on me that there is a real insight I must have.  I have to look into my own mind (yes, my ordinary Jackson Pollock mind) and try to see this pure Mind” (The Zennist, January 13, 2010).

It really helps to have someone of great experience point the way, the way being seeing pure Mind.  But it only means something if you’ve been searching for a long time, getting nowhere.  Most people who say they are Zennists are not, simply because they are not looking for the pure Mind in all that they do whether it is working in a hot boiler room or helping to build a statue of Vajrasattva.  This is the really critical part.  If as a beginner you’re not looking for the pure Mind in your own everyday mind, you’re deluding yourself about Zen and Buddhism.  Oh, and when you catch a glimpse of this pure Mind, you'll know it.  It verifies itself. 

 

 

 

 

A wild and crazy odyssey

The discovery and expansion of the absolute within ourselves is an odyssey, that is, a spiritual wandering.  As strange as it sounds that which we are seeking is hidden by itself, that is, is hidden by its own ever changing disturbances.  Perhaps even more strange, the one seeking, or the wanderer, is pure Mind or, the same the absolute.  Its problem (and our problem) is that when faced with its disturbances, which continually crystalize into the phenomenal world, it is unable to recognize itself under the aspect of manifoldness.

It is no easy matter going on such an odyssey having to contend with being a victim of one’s primordial ignorance; being it seems, always tricked by every attempt to recognize pure Mind as the very essence of phenomena.  But insofar as this pure Mind is not actually connected with its disturbances since it is not actually dependent on them, it can, with a great deal of effort, recognize itself putting thus an end to its odyssey, reaching the other shore.

To begin such an odyssey is not a matter of going to Taiwan to become a Buddhist monk or nun or trying to find the right teacher in the ancient Chung Nan Mountains (Zhongnan) of China.  However, if we decide to go by this route we will still need to learn what we are going to have to find.  Even the best monks or nuns, if they don’t know what they are looking for, which is pure Mind, they are wasting this precious life.  Another important aspect, reading Sutras or doing seated meditation will be of little or no help until we discover the central purpose of our quest which will then take us on our odyssey. 

It is not haphazard that a great deal of Zen literature takes up the question of Mind.  But this is so in Tibetan Buddhism, not just Zen.  It is even so in Theravada Buddhism.  However in Western Buddhism, Mind is all but ignored which can cause our odyssey to fail at the start.  It is possible to spend—or I should say—waste twenty years with a Western teacher who will say little or nothing about pure Mind.  Part of this, I think, is because Western Buddhist teachers believe there is nothing fundamental to realize in Buddhism.  Buddhism, they strongly believe without any basis, falls under the heading of psychology. 

For me, my odyssey didn’t begin until the night I won one-pointedness of mind.  Suddenly, my whole body became energized after one-pointedness.  It lasted throughout the night and into the next day.  It bumped me up to a higher plateau you could say.  In time I got used to it.  But this was only the beginning.  Over thirty years later, I can see why all the great Zen masters spoke of Mind so much, including great Lamas like the Third Karmapa Ranging Dorje who did a commentary on Nagarjuna’s work, In Praise of Dharmadhâtu (trans., Karl Brunnhölzl).  

Making even a brief connection with Mind, which I did in the beginning, is somewhat like a gold-miner getting excited when he finds a few flakes of gold in is pan for the first time.  After this he becomes consumed with finding more gold, a huge strike.  Many suffer from gold fever.  This is what happens to any practitioner with their first glimpse into pure Mind.  It begins their odyssey.  They even have Mind fever you could say! At this point the commitment to Buddhism becomes absolute.

 

 

 

 

Seeing the gold

In the Essay on the Gold Lion by Fa-tsang (643–712) the gold (the metal of the lion) symbolizes the pure nature or substance of Mind which has no inherent shape because of its absolute purity.  According to Fa-tsang the substance is "clear, pure, all-perfect, and brilliant.  It is the substance of the dharma-nature which lies within the womb of the Tathagata (tathagatagarbha).”   

Of the figure of the lion or the gold which has been shaped by causation Fa-tsang says that it is empty as compared with the gold which alone is real.  In other words, the lion is an artifact or mâyâ of gold.  Only the gold is real—never the lion.  Said again, the lion figure doesn't really exist because it depends on the gold which means the figure is empty (according to Nagarjuna all dependent originations are empty).

For a person who has made a strong connection with the substance of gold, i.e., Mind, the world of phenomena, which are merely Mind configurations, doesn’t exist.  Our everyday world only seems to exist and to be real because we know nothing of Mind's pure nature.  We are so caught up in phenomena because of our inability to see Mind that we see only phenomena.  And because we see only phenomena we want more of it—like a thirst.  

Taking Fa-tsang’s gold lion one step further, we are gold beings who live in a world of gold objects.  There is nothing that is not a shape of gold in other words, from atoms to galaxies.  But given that we have no knowledge of the gold substance, which is due to ignorance or avidya on our part, we restlessly pursue each shape as if it were the gold substance.  Then a Buddha comes along who sees the pure gold Dharma.  He then tells us that these shapes we hanker after are impermanent.  They will cause us suffering if we cling to them.  Lastly, they are not gold.

Right now look around you.  All is the shape or form of Mind.  But can you see Mind, the substance of all?

 

The limits of the spiritual mentor

The absolute lies hidden within each of us.  Try as we might to find it our search usually fails.  This is partly because absolute reality is a substance of such purity there is almost nothing to detect or find.  The other reason we usually fail to find it is because this purity is plastered over by a riot of obscuring mental states to which we tenaciously cling.  Thinking about this, yesterday I found this, it is from the Adibuddhatantra.  I want to share it with you.

The perishable mind, which is stained by attachment and other mental afflictions, is the cause of transmigratory existence. It is pure due to its separation from these [impurities]. It is pure and stainless by nature.

None [of the impurities] can be taken out nor thrown into [the mind] by the authority of a spiritual mentor. The sublime, imperishable, pure reality (tattva) cannot be given or taken away.

 A spiritual mentor is neither a giver nor a remover of the pure reality. In the case of those who are devoid of the accumulation of merit, the omniscient lord himself [cannot give or remove the pure reality]. 

What I found interesting about these passages is that our so-called path of purification depends solely on our own efforts.  A mentor cannot clean up our mess nor hand us pure reality (tattva).  Yet how many of us believe a mentor can do just this?  All I can say is there must be a lot of people who believe a spiritual mentor or a godman can enlighten them if you look at the numbers of those who follow such teachers.

 

 

 

Where philosophy doesn't set foot

What for me is conspicuously absent from philosophy in general is gnosis (C. chih; T., rigpa).  If we understand gnosis, the noun, to mean direct or immediate knowledge of ultimate reality or spirit, then gnosis is absent from philosophy—at least modern philosophy.  

To have gnosis of Being in the Western sense, or of one's Buddha-nature in the Eastern sense, is much different than taking up the general, accepted meaning of gnosis then playing with it as if it were like a chess piece that is governed by specific rules.  For example, we would hardly use gnosis to discuss the steps in how to make blueberry pie.  However, by knowing the rules which govern the meaning gnosis we should not jump to the conclusion that we have gnosis, that is, gnosis as immediate knowledge of our Buddha-nature.  We are only players in a language game.

To reiterate, no amount of playing with language or the word gnosis can disclose actual gnosis.  Gnosis is accomplished by yoking with what is beyond language, ultimate reality.  When I am alone in my retreat cabin pouring over Buddhist Sutras and sermons by Zen masters, I am working towards Buddhist gnosis.  For some unexplained reason, I know I lack gnosis.  I also know that if am successful in acquiring gnosis, the reality I am in communion should confirm this is gnosis.  

Perhaps this is what makes Zen so unique.  It cuts to the chase by trying to have the same gnosis the Buddha had which is further confirmed by his discourses.  This raises the issue of a gnosis which is not that of the Buddha; which Zen master Tsung-mi seems to be addressing in these words.

“If one just depends on the words of the Buddha and does not infer for himself, his realization will be no more than a matter of baseless faith.  If one just holds on to direct perception, taking what he perceives for himself to be authoritative without comparing it to the words of the Buddha, then how can he know whether it is true or false.”

The true and vitsl content of gnosis from the Buddha’s perspective makes possible the golden thread that runs through the Buddha's words or discourses.  We have the potential to realize this content which is symbolized by the primordial Adibuddha (= eka-citta).  Matching these two, the golden thread, and the primordial Buddha allows for the highest gnosis in which Mind has emptiness as its form (shunyatâ-bimba-citta)—not an emptiness of mere absence but an emptiness of absolute primordial substance that transcends both attachment and detachment.

 

 

 

Jack Kerouac the ersatz Buddhist

Being an ersatz or faux Buddhist is not hard to do.  Just take something the Buddha may have said then twist it around so that it fits with your idea of what you think Buddhism should be, including enlightenment.  In this regard—and I include myself—becoming a Buddhist means starting out as an ersatz Buddhist—hopefully one day to get beyond it (if you're lucky!).  In many respects being an ersatz Buddhist is also being a beginner.

American poet and novelist Jack Kerouac, who died in 1969, seems like a good candidate for an ersatz Buddhist.  It is hard to find one better.  Alan Watts is certainly right up there with Kerouac—and I like Watts.  But of the two, I think Kerouac offers a better look into the life of an ersatz or faux Buddhist.  His notebook, Some of Dharma (1997), published quite sometime after his death, is proof of that.  It is in Some of the Dharma that we learn Kerouac’s self-study of Buddhism began December 1953.

After having discovering Buddhism, Kerouac later writes to fellow poet Ginsberg in 1954:  "I have crossed the ocean of suffering and found the path at last" (Selected Letters, 1940–1956).  As the reader can see, Kerouac's enthusiasm is somewhat blinding.  Correctly, the path of Buddhism leads to the eventual crossing over to the other shore which is a symbol for liberation, nirvana.  One doesn't first cross the ocean of suffering there to take up the path.  This is just an example of how the ersatz Buddhist misses nuances which are key to understanding what the Buddha really taught.  Missing too many,  however, the ersatz wayfarer will eventually lose the scent of Buddhism and pick up a scent that is not Buddhism.  

Don't get me wrong, being an ersatz Buddhist is a great joy and one remembered for a long time (I sure remember it).  But it is just the beginning.  It is like an intense love affair.  But after you get married the passion and romance soon wears off, reality sets in.  One needs real attainments—not more inspiration.

In Kerouac's example, the ersatz Buddhist is very much inspired by Buddhism—some more than others.  Kerouac was sufficiently inspired by Buddhism to have written seven books between 1955 and 1957 five of which Buddhism plays a key role.  They were, Wake Up which is a biography of the Buddha; Mexico City Blues; The Scripture of the Golden Eternity, book one of Desolation Angels; and The Dharma Bums.  Not bad.

One thing the ersatz Buddhist is most excited about is that Buddhism offers alleviation from suffering and loss, that is, consolation for the hard to escape gut feeling that life ain't gonna get no better.  But what the ersatz Buddhist doesn't get is that Rome wasn't built in a day.  

While Buddhism claims to offer alleviation from suffering; a way to get off the big wheel of samsara, by the same token it requires a lot of sweat, tears, sacrifice and taking a risk.  Not too many wish to go this far.  Nor can you accomplish the Buddha’s path by taking drugs or drinking a lot of booze or following the ways of the world which is easy to do.  Such a path, if we can call it that, leads to a counter-ecstasy which believes it sees the sacred in each step backwards and downwards.  This is the point when the ersatz Buddhist can go no deeper within.  He has comeback to square one where there is no transcendence.  There is only the abyss of despair and oblivion.  Faced with this return and the unbearable heaviness of being that it presents, the ersatz Buddhist unconsciously gives up the quest for transcendence.  In its place, a reverse transcendence sets in, a catastrophe (in Greek a down-turn).  

Unbeknownst to the ersatz Buddhist (even the ersatz Christian) is that by facing this downturn—to be thoroughly in its midst—is the time when the vow to save all sentient beings must be totally accepted.  If totally accepted, spirit one night enters us through the depth of our compassion (I am reminded of Hakuin’s satori when he was 42).  Our body mysteriously engulfed in an invisible and powerful light, our bewilderment leaves us.  We suddenly we know in which direction to turn.  The noble path opens up for us.

Don’t get me wrong being an ersatz Buddhist like Kerouac or Alan Watts is not altogether wrong.  It is just that when things get really dark—the darkest night of our lives—we can’t hit the bottle.  It's a time to vow to save all sentient beings.

Manifesting spiritual power while among the masses, he radiates light to make them wake up, revealing the realm of the enlightened.— Avatamsaka Sutra

 

 

Getting beyond the emotions

Testing our culture as if we were some kind of cultural physician often results in an unfavorable diagnosis.  The cultural patient is more or less mentally ill, has an anger disorder, lacks reason, etc.  And these are just a few of the negative symptoms the cultural patient has.  The remedy that follows the diagnosis is either one of using drugs (legal or illegal) and/or alcohol.  The other remedy involves learning to control one's emotions, the word emotion being an umbrella term which can refer to desire, fear, hate, terror, etc.  Such a remedy as control often proves unreliable; yet it is judged to be important enough to be the bedrock of what we understand to be morality or the same, a system of conduct.  But there is a problem with control.  Here Spinoza lays it out for us.

 "Human infirmity in moderating and checking the emotions I name bondage: for when a man is a prey to his emotions, he is not his own master, but lies at the mercy of fortune: so much so, that he is often compelled, while seeing that which is better for him, to follow that which is worse."

It is certainly true that we live in a kind of bondage when we always have to control our emotions.  And still we can't allow ourselves to become their prey.  By doing so, we would lose the possibility of attaining some degree of true freedom which is to be free from both control and uncontrol whereby all emotions are transcended.

Let's face it.  We have been snakebit by our emotions once too often; control or moderation is in short supply in this day and age. We have an entire segment of our society who gets paid a lot of money to make us a victim of various desires; who are dedicated to making it impossible for us to control our emotions.  As an example, the entire movie industry is built upon getting the audience emotionally involved; so is the music industry.  The list goes on.

In Buddhism we learn to control our emotions by means of seated meditation.  When our emotions begin to expand and draw us towards them we just patiently observe them hence not feeding them.  Eventually they subside.  We notice this same pattern with all emotions.  Eventually we find that we have gained some degree of control over our emotions but we are still far away from transcending them in which they become illusory.  

On the subject of Buddhist morality, in a nutshell, it is mainly about controlling our emotions; learning to be quite stoical about life.  It bears repeating again that we are still in bondage—the world is still too much with us.  This is where religion usually ends in learning to live stoically.  No real advance is made to transcend the dyad of control and uncontrol except in mysticism in which the true medium or substance of reality is met with which is prior to control and uncontrol.  Here alone is the freedom from emotions to be acquired.  Here also begins the higher Buddhism of the noble disciple and the Bodhisattva. 

 

 

 

 

Getting hornswaggled

How do you know if your Buddhist teacher has hornswaggled you?  I must say, this is a difficult question to answer.  First let me say that not everyone was happy with the Buddha.  Some left him like Sunakkhatta who probably felt hornswaggled.  Of course, very few people who have a particular teacher ever sense they're being hornswaggled.  They will even put up with charlatans who have been caught in the act of hornswaggling like the godman, Sai Baba.  They will even put up with very abusive teachers.  

 People are easily deceived.  Judging from history, they seem to prefer deception as long as it gives them a sense of security or hope.  Corporations like BP will spend huge sums of money on advertising trying to hornswaggle the public about the recent oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.  They know they will succeed.  Another example, this year, just before the November elections, huge sums of money will be spent to hornswagle the voter.  Many will take the bait only to find out the rich will still be getting richer and the poor poorer.

 Just because our religion is Buddhism, and we are Buddhists, doesn’t mean that some guy in robes is not a hornswaggler. They may sit on a zafu and lecture us about proper seated meditation and etiquette.  After following this person’s teachings for two or more years, one day we become shocked to learn that our teacher is an alcoholic and has been one for quite some time—we were hornswaggled!  Now we feel betrayed.  All the faith we put into this particular teacher has come to naught.  What a waste!

 But do we ever ask ourselves how we got into such a position in the first place?  Maybe we believe that we are lacking something that this teacher can help us with.  But what does this really mean?  Doesn’t it mean we have very little faith in ourselves and our own innate capacity to solve problems?  Paradoxically, it seems that the less faith we have in ourselves the more likely we are to get hornswaggled by a teacher.  But shouldn’t we have more faith in ourselves?

 For those who have sufficient faith in themselves the path to truth lies within which requires a high degree of autonomy to unfold.  Such people seem to realize that they have to rely on themselves, that is, rely on their own capacity to decipher the Buddha’s words to eventually see what he awakened to.  This could very well mean living alone in the woods for a certain length of time or going into some kind of Tibetan retreat for a certain period of time.  In my own case, I certainly found no value in following some teacher (who in my case was an abbot of a Zen temple) or being a member of a Dharma center.  There is more than likely a trade-off for being a hardcore follower.  You can get hornswaggled!