On the Lake

And fresh nourishment, new blood
I suck from a world so free;
Nature, how gracious and how good,
Her breast she gives to me.
The ripples buoying up our boat
Keep rhythm to the oars,
And mountains up to heaven float
In cloud to meet our course.

Eyes, my eyes why abject now?
Golden dreams, are you returning?
Dream, though gold, away with you:
Life is here and loving too.

Over the ripples the twinkling
Star on hovering star,
Soft mists drink the circled
Towering world afar;
Dawn wind fans the shaded
Inlet with its wing,
And in the water mirrored
The fruit is ripening.

"On the Lake" - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, from "Selected Poems", edited by Christopher Middleton

¡The Heart Sutra...en Español!

Adventures in the Divyavadana - Part II

First, let me apologize for the long delay...

Part I

The first thing which confronted me when opening this book was Andy Rotman's thorough introduction. As with all translation jobs, there's often a fine line to be walked between a more literal (and scholarly) presentation and more free flowing and"looser" one. Rotman manages to deal with this in the form of VERY extensive notes and annotations. For the hardcore Sanskrit students and scholars, many of the notes include the original passages from the Sanskrit. Many of the explanatory notes, however, are invaluable for navigating some of the trickier parts of the text.

And now for the stories themselves. The first volume contains the first 17 stories in the collection. While the content of the stories varies, there are a few unifying themes, the most prominent of which is the law of karma:

Meritorious deeds are to be performed.
Not performing meritorious deeds brings suffering.
Those who perform meritorious deeds
can rejoice in this world and the next.

The Divyavadana is filled with many such simple injunctions to do good and avoid unskillful actions. But in the realm of the Divyavadana even something simple can morph into something far beyond imagination. One example, is story no. 8, "The Story of Supriya" (Supriya-avadāna - सुप्रिय अवदान). This tale begins with a group of robbers and bandits that confront the Buddha and his disciples. In the midst of this, the Buddha (himself a master story teller!) tells the story of a fellow named Supriya. Supriya also found himself confronted with bandits who wished to rob him but makes a deal to secure his release. He promises to find the world's ultimate treasures, thereby satisfying everyone's desires. Thus begins an epic quest involving journeys to far off lands, trysts with divine beings, escapes from fearsome monsters, and travels through time and space.

At this point I should note that I've always loved a good adventure story. While all the other kids were reading Dr. Seuss, I was delving into kiddie versions of The Odyssey and Jason and the Argonauts. Even now, one of my favorite TV shows is the new Doctor Who series.

But the story of Supriya is not simply an adventure story, it's a Buddhist adventure story, with Dharmic themes running throughout. When celestial Kinnara women try to seduce Supriya, he maintains his cool, deeply impressing them:

"The kinnara girls were pleased and said, "It's amazing! You're so young and yet your passion is the dharma. You aren't attached or bound up with desires!" They presented him with many jewels. Drawn in, as they were, by his discourse on the dharma, they gave him a very special jewel as a reward for his noble words".

It wasn't until I finished the Supriya story that I began to realize just why these stories were/are so popular all over the Buddhist world: they work on many, many levels. Profound spiritual teachings are eloquently wrapped in great stories. Some are epic and some are subtle but they all leave a lasting impression on the mind-stream.

One of the shortest but certainly one of the most memorable is story no. 14, "The Story of a Wretched Pig" (Sūkarika-avadāna, सूकरिक अवदान). Here, an inhabitant of a heavenly realm at the end of his life has a vision...of his future rebirth as a pig! As he is about to die, the terrified god struggles to find something that will prevent this unfortunate birth. I won't give away the story but I will say that he resorts to something very simple as a way to try and "escape" his impending destination.

Another tale that left a lasting impression on me is story no. 17, the Story of Māndhātā (Māndhātā-avadāna, मन्धाता अवदान). In this story, the great and powerful king Māndhātā conquers the earth and many heavenly realms with his invincible army. Māndhātā however, doesn't establish control through force or violence, by rather by sheer powerful of his merit. All those who initially oppose him quickly join his ranks, again by the power of Māndhātā 's merit:

Then King Māndhātā arrived at that place and said "Who blocked the army?"
"My lord," they said, "it's the Sadāmatta gods."
"Then the Sadāmatta gods shall become my attendants as well!" the king said. And so the Sadāmatta gods along with the other gods and nāgas began to march in front of him.

Far from being a belligerent tyrant, King Māndhātā actually embodies the idea of the Wheel-Turning King. He also uses his vast, merit-fueled powers to (literally) shower his subjects with the finest of foods, fragrances, jewels, and clothes. Māndhātā's march to the heavens ultimately culminates with his meeting Śhakra, the king of the gods. Śhakra and the gods of the Trāyastriṃśa Heaven give King Māndhātā and his retinue a warm welcome and Śhakra even offers to share half of his seat with Māndhātā. In an single moment however, something happens which instantly leads to Māndhātā's downfall. Most interestingly, his defeat, like his conquests, involves no force. Again, I won't spoil it, but let's say it's the kind of story that powerfully illustrates the opening line of the Dhammapada:

All experience is preceded by mind,
Led by mind,
Made by mind.
Speak or act with a corrupted mind,
And suffering follows
As the wagon wheel follows the hoof of the ox.
-Dhp Ch. 1. v. 1, trans. by Gil Fronsdal

Reading the Divyavadana was a very wonderful and very different experience from so many of the other Buddhist books I've read. It's quickly earned a high spot on my favorite books list and I'm eagerly awaiting Rotman's translation of the second half. I can easily understand why these stories have been around for so long and why they've been so influential. It is my hope that they will continue to enrich, entertain, teach, and inspire practitioners of the Buddha's Dharma for generations to come.

Heart it is, not a brick or stone

Heart it is, not a brick or stone
Why shouldn't it feel the pain?
Let none tyrannize this heart
Or I shall cry again and again
Neither the temple, nor the mosque
Nor on someone's door or porch
I await on the path where He will tread
Why others should compel me to go?
The illumined grace that lights up the heart
And glows like the midday sun
That Self that annihilates all sights
When then it hides in the mysterious net?
The amorous glance is the deadly dagger
And the arrows of emotions are fatal
Your image may be equally powerful
Why should it appear before you?
The rules of life and bonds of sorrow
In reality are the one manifestation
Before realizing the ultimate truth
How can then one attain liberation?
Love is laden with noble thoughts
Yet what remains is the carnal shame
Trust conscience the still little voice
Why do you want test the rival?
There the pride of modesty resides
Here dwells the social morality
How shall we meet, on which road
Why should he invite me to the abode?
True he is an atheist
Unfaithful and unchaste
Dear to who is faith and heart
Why should he then venture there?
Without the wretched "Ghalib"
Has any activity come to a halt?
What then is the need to cry?
What then is the need to brood?

-Mirza Ghalib (مرزا غالب)

Descending the Mountain

On Friday, Oct. 9th, 2009, John Daido Loori, Roshi, passed away after a long struggle with cancer. Aside from being an accomplished photographer, Daido Roshi will be most remembered for establishing the Mountains and Rivers Order of Zen Buddhism.

Though I've personally not practiced much with the MRO Sangha, Daido Roshi's influence is recent but very profound. It wasn't so long ago that I picked up a copy of his now classic work, "The Eight Gates of Zen: A Program of Zen Training". What struck me most about Daido Roshi's approach was his commitment to a no-nonsense, traditional Zen practice in the midst of working to craft a uniquely Western/American form of the practice. Whereas many 'American Zen' teachers espoused a very flippant, if negligent attitude toward The Precepts, Daido Roshi placed them at the forefront of his teachings and practice (where they belong!). Many American Zen instructors teach meditation as "calm down, feel good" method of practice but Daido Roshi was also keen to emphasize that tranquility and insight cannot and should not be limited to the meditation cushion. His commitment to engagement is evident from the creation of the Zen Environmental Studies Institute as well as the MRO's involvement with the National Buddhist Prison Sangha. His "radical conservative" stance remains an inspiration to me for me own practice and serves as an illuminating example for all those engaged in bring and adapting the Buddhadharma to the West.

This lotus is for you Daido Roshi, a buddha to be.

That's the Sound of the Men...

At various points in our lives, we’ve all been nagged at to do some work. When we’re children, our parents nag us about doings tasks like cleaning our rooms, setting the table, laundry, etc. As adults, we get nagged by our co-workers, friends, spouses, and children. All of this complaining implies that there’s a lot of work to be done. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, especially since leading a “busy and hectic life” is the standard for our modern society. If we want anything to be done, we have to do some work; ‘Sine Labore Nihil’ (There’s nothing without work), as the old Latin saying goes (1). We do, however, make a distinction between work we like (e.g. planning for a vacation) and work that don’t like but have to do anyway, like shoveling snow. The term for the latter is “chore”, defined as “A small piece of domestic work, a little job, and a piece of (time-consuming) drudgery” (2). The word ‘chore’ is almost a dirty word but the tasks we usually consider chores are absolutely vital. Try seeing what happens when trash isn’t disposed of (3).

When we hear words like, ‘meditation’, ‘nirvana’, and ‘bliss’ we usually associate them with images of meditating hermits in flowing robes or mystical beings floating in the air with enraptured facial expressions and golden halos. What we don’t normally associate the image of a yogi with are words like ‘mopping’, ‘sweeping’, or ‘polishing’. There is often a disconnection between what we do in our “spiritual lives” (like sitting meditation on a cushion) and the everyday, mundane world that involves activities like washing dishes. In a sutta from the Pali Canon, the Buddha tells us that enlightenment is not to be found out there in the farthest reaches of the cosmos but “it is just within this fathom-long body, with its perception and intellect” (4). If this is true then, ultimately, there is no division between our “worldly” and “spiritual” lives. Think about it: what use is twenty minutes of bliss on the meditation cushion if we go through the rest of the day upset and bothered by what we think are useless chores? It is very easy to set up an artificial separation between the sacred and the mundane but one method to prevent this involves using our “chores” as the object of meditation. Our work becomes our practice.

The idea of work practice is especially emphasized in the Ch’an/Zen tradition of China and Japan. One of the most famous sayings on this subject comes from the famous Tang Dynasty master, Layman Pang (龐居士). When he was asked by his teacher, Shitou (石頭希遷), what he had been doing since they last saw each other Layman Pang said (5):

How miraculous and wondrous,
Hauling water and carrying firewood.

A widely quoted restatement of the above phrase is:

Before enlightenment: chop wood and carry water.
After enlightenment: chop wood and carry water.

In India, the standard monastic model involved wandering for alms but in China, the tradition of manual labor in the monastery gradually became the norm. Work practice became particularly prominent under the influence of the Tang Dynasty Master Baizhang Huaihai (百丈懷海). Master Baizhang (Hyakujo in Japanese) is widely known for his role in the koan, “Baizhang’s Fox” (6). Furry critters aside, Master Baizhang was also renowned for his emphasis on physical/manual labor as part of Ch’an practice. One famous story tells of how Master Baizhang continued to work in the fields into his 80’s. His students however, felt that an 80-something year old Ch’an master shouldn’t be working as strenuously as the young monks so one day they decided to hide his gardening tools. When Baizhang went searching for tools and couldn’t find them, he was unable to work and therefore didn’t. When it came time for the meal, all of the students were waiting for the elderly master to take his food first but instead of doing so, Baizhang said to the assembly, “A day without work is a day without food!” and went back to his room to meditate. The next day Baizhang, without having worked, refused to eat again. After a few days, his students finally got to message and left his working tools in their usual place. When asked of this, he said, “I’m unworthy, how can I allow others to work in my behalf?”(7)

Despite the insight that masters like Layman Pang and Baizhang have, many people still have a hard time (not) separating meditation from plain ‘ol work. Why focus on picking up trash when we could be meditating and entering the deepest meditative absorptions (Pali: jhana), known? A classic story between the very Ch’an-like Ajahn Chah and his student (and later Dharma Heir) Ajahn Sumedho touches on this point. This story, which shall this post, is taken from “Small Boat, Great Mountain: Theravadan Reflections on the Great Natural Perfection”, by Ajahn Amaro (8):

***

“Ajahn Sumedho was a recently arrived monk. He had been there a year or two by this time and was a very serious meditator. He hadn’t been keen to leave the settled life at the main monastery, Wat Nong Pah Pong, but he joined in and there he was—breaking rocks in the sun, pushing barrows of rubble around, and working hard with the rest of the community. After two or three days, he was getting hot, sweaty, and cranky. At the end of the day, after a 12-hour shift, everyone would sit down to meditate and would be reeling. Ajahn Sumedho thought, “This is useless. I’m wasting my time. My meditation has fallen apart completely. This is not helping the holy life at all.”

He carefully explained his concerns to Ajahn Chah: “I’m finding that all the work we are doing is harmful to my meditation. I really think it would be much better for me if I didn’t take part in it. I need to do more sitting and walking meditation, more formal practice. That would be very helpful for me and it’s what I think would be for the best.” Ajahn Chah said, “Okay, Sumedho. Yes, you can do that. But I’d better inform the Sangha so that everyone knows what’s happening.” He could be really wicked in this way.

At the Sangha meeting he said, “I want to make an announcement to everybody. Now, I know that we have all come up here to make this road. And I know that we are all working hard at breaking rocks and carrying gravel. I know this is important work for us to do, but the work of meditation is also very important. Tan (9) Sumedho has asked me if he can practice meditation while we build the road, and I have told him that this is absolutely all right. I do not want any of you to think any critical thoughts of him. It is absolutely all right with me. He can stay alone and meditate, and we will continue building the road.”

Ajahn Chah was out there from dawn until dusk. When he wasn’t working on the road, he was receiving guests and teaching Dharma. So he was really cranking it out. In the meantime,
Ajahn Sumedho stayed alone and meditated. He felt pretty bad on the first day and even worse on the second. By the third day, he couldn’t stand it any longer. He felt tortured and finally left
his solitude. He rejoined the monks, broke rocks, carried gravel, and really gave himself to the work. Ajahn Chah looked at the enthusiastic young monk with a foot-wide grin and asked, “You enjoying the work, Sumedho?”
“Yes, Luang Por.”(9)
“Isn’t it strange that your mind is happier now in the heat and the dust than it was when you were meditating alone?”
“Yes, Luang Por.”

The lesson? Ajahn Sumedho had created a false division about what meditation is and isn’t,
when in fact, there is no division at all. When we give our hearts to whatever we do, to whatever we experience, or to what is happening around us, without personal agendas or preferences taking over, the space of rigpa (10), the space of awareness, is exactly the same”.

***

(1) This phrase also happens to be the motto of my Alma mater, DeWitt Clinton High School :)
(2) Oxford English Dictionary Online, http://www.oed.com
(3) BBC News, “Life Amid the Trash Piles of Naples”:
(4) Rohitassa Sutta, Anguttara Nikaya Section 4, Sutta 45, from ‘Access to Insight’,
(5) Andrew Ferguson, “Zen’s Chinese Heritage”, pp. 94-95, Wisdom Publications, 2000
(6) Hyakujo’s Fox, from “Sacred Texts”:
(7) Andrew Ferguson, “Zen’s Chinese Heritage”, pp. 81-82, Wisdom Publications, 2000
(8) Amaro Bhikkhu, “Small Boat, Great Mountain: Theravadan Reflections on the Great Natural Perfection”, pp. 39-40 Abhayagiri Buddhist Monastery, 2003.
The entire book in .pdf form, along with a number of other Abhayagiri Publications, can be found here
(9) ‘Tan’ and ‘Luong Por’ are Thai terms for ‘venerable’ and ‘venerable father’ respective. The latter is used for addressing elder monastics and is roughly equivalent to the Chinese term ‘Shi Fu’ (師父)
(10) ‘Rigpa’ is a Tibetan term for awareness beyond dualism. It’s a translation of the Sanskrit word ‘vidya’ (विद्य). The concept of rigpa is prominent the in Dzogchen and Mahamudra methods of the Vajrayana tradition.

Seeing the Ultimate

Better than one hundred years lived
Without seeing the ultimate Dharma
Is one day lived
Seeing the ultimate Dharma.

-Dhammapada Ch. 8, v. 115, translated by Gil Fronsdal