Faith in Mind: Part I, Retreat One (Nov. 23, 1984 - Nov. 30, 1984)
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Contents |
Embarking on the Practice
The Supreme Way is not difficult If only you do not pick and choose. Neither love nor hate, And you will clearly understand. Be off by a hair, And you are as far from it as heaven from earth.
The sole purpose of a Ch'an retreat is to meditate. You should keep
your attention entirely on practice, without trying to attain any
results. Since many of you have traveled far, or have worked hard to
set aside the time, you have a great deal invested in this retreat. It
is natural that you want to gain something. But once you enter the
retreat, you must put aside any specific hopes.
Practicing with a goal in mind is like trying to catch a feather with a fan. The more you go after it, the more it eludes you. But if you sneak up on it slowly, you can grab it. The aim of practice is to develop patience and forbearance, to train your mind to become calm and stable. Any attachment or seeking will prevent your mind from settling down.
Today someone told me that the more he worked on the hua-t'ou [1] the more tense he felt. It was as though his mind had become knotted up. His problem is that he wants to see quick results. Pursuing the hua-t'ou intensely with a desire to get enlightened is like tying yourself up and then poking yourself with a knife. The more you drive yourself the more tense you will feel. The same principle applies to the body. If you react to pain by tensing the body, the pain will only get worse. If any part of your body feels painful, you should try to relax it. Any involuntary movement of the body while sitting in meditation is also due to tension. Thus it is important to constantly maintain a state of relaxation.
Related to this are the problems that may develop from fixing your attention on a particular part of the body. For instance, some people try to make their breath flow smoothly. But in trying to control the breath, it becomes abnormal.
Don't pay attention to any phenomenon that occurs to the body; if you are concerned with it, problems will arise. It is the same with the mind. You will be unable to practice unless you disregard everything that happens to you mentally. If you feel distressed or pained in any way, just ignore it. Let it go and return wholeheartedly to the method. Place your mind directly on the method itself; concern yourself with nothing else.
The Supreme Way in the first line of the poem refers to the stage of Buddhahood. The wisdom of the Buddha is not difficult to perceive; it can be attained in the instant between two thoughts. The reason for this is that it has never been separate from us. It is always present. In fact, we all desire to realize this Supreme Way. If so, why are we unable to attain it?
The second line explains what prevents us. It is because we are always trying to escape our vexations. Precisely because we want to acquire the Buddha's insight and merits, we are unable to perceive Buddha nature. Another reason why we cannot see our Buddha nature is that we are burdened with ideas. We make distinctions between samsara [2] and nirvana [3], sentient beings and the Buddha, vexations and enlightenment. These ideas obstruct our perception of Buddha nature.
To paraphrase lines three and four: As soon as you discard your likes and dislikes, the Way will immediately appear before you. Here, Seng-Ts'an has something in common with Tao-Hsin, the Fourth Patriarch, and Hui-Neng, the Sixth Patriarch. The latter two frequently said that when you stop discriminating between good and evil, you will immediately perceive your "original face." (In Ch'an "original face" refers to one's innate Buddha nature.) In other words, you will understand the Supreme Way.
When sitting, some of you are distracted with pain, or are trying to fight off drowsiness. At night, maybe you are angry at someone who is keeping you awake with his snoring. But instead of letting it annoy you, just observe the snoring. Soon the snores may become hypnotic and repetitive, actually pleasant sounding. If you start counting the snores, before you know it you will be asleep.
On the other hand, becoming attached to a certain pleasurable experience in meditation can also be an obstruction. One student I had would rock her body during sitting meditation. She felt that she had no control over the shaking; it just happened spontaneously. Actually, this was not caused by any physical tension but by a subconscious motive. The rocking was comfortable to her. You cannot practice effectively if you give in to such things. By examining them, you will be able to control the mind.
Holding on to various likes and dislikes keeps you apart from the Way. Discarding them will bring you in accord with the Way. But if there is the slightest misconception about this, the distance between you and the Way will be as great as that between heaven and earth. Don't misinterpret this and think that since you are not supposed to attach to likes and dislikes, you should therefore not cultivate the Way. With this attitude it is useless to come on a Ch'an retreat.
When you first set out to practice you will definitely have a goal in mind. You may be frustrated with your present condition and aim either to change yourself or to improve your circumstances. Certainly there is something you hope to achieve by practicing. You cannot just practice aimlessly. So practice itself implies some intention or desire. To fulfill your original intentions, you must constantly keep your mind on the method of practice. But as you focus on the method you should not be thinking of what you want to accomplish, what level you want to reach, or what problems you want to get rid of. Instead, your mind should be exclusively applied to the method itself, free from all other motives.
There is a saying that is useful for practitioners: "Put down the myriad thoughts. Take up the practice." The myriad thoughts are scattered, random, extraneous concerns. The practice is your method of cultivation. When your mind wanders to extraneous concerns, put them down as soon as they appear. But should you treat the method in the same way as a wandering thought -- putting it down as soon as it appears? No. From moment to moment, put down extraneous thoughts and return your mind to the method of practice.
One time I asked a student, "Are you having many extraneous thoughts?" He replied, "Not too many." I said, "I'll bet I know one of them. You're thinking of your girl friend all the time, aren't you?" He retorted, "How can you say that?" After the retreat he said, "Originally, I wasn't thinking of my girl friend at all. But after Shih-fu [4] mentioned her I couldn't stop thinking of her." I told him that he hadn't seen through his problem yet. He may have thought that his mind was not on his girl friend, but his concern was still there.
Perhaps you try to put down extraneous concerns but find that you just can't. Every time you put one down, it comes back again. This upsets you. You keep telling yourself, "Put it down. Put it down." Actually it doesn't matter if you can't put it down. If you eventually get to the point where you say to yourself, "It doesn't matter if I can't put it down," then you will be putting it down. You should not fear failure. Neither should you embrace it. You may conclude that the retreat is just not going well for you -- your body is uncomfortable, your mind is in tumult. You are unable to control yourself. You haven't made the proper preparations. So you think, why not forget this one and leave tomorrow? Maybe I'll try again the next time. But don't succumb to this defeatist attitude. A Chinese proverb says: "A hundred birds in a tree are not worth one bird in the palm." If you let go of that one bird to go after the hundred you will end up with nothing. Even though you feel unprepared and doomed to failure, being here still presents a wonderful opportunity to practice.
Notes
[1] hua-t'ou: (Japanese: wato). Literally, "the source of the words," a
method used in the Ch'an school to arouse the great doubt sensation
to induce the mind to break through to the enlightened state. The
practitioner meditates on such baffling questions as: "What is wu?"
"Where am I?" or "Who is reciting Buddha's name?" Often, the phrase
is taken from a kung-an (Japanese: koan).
[2] samsara: (Sanskrit, "journeying"). The cycle of birth and death experienced by all sentient beings; the phenomenal world in which the cycle takes place. Liberation from the samsaric cycle results in entering the state of nirvana.
[3] Nirvana: (Sanskrit, "extinction"). In buddhism, the goal of spiritual practice is to liberate oneself from samsara, the cycle of birth and death, and to enter the state of unconditioned existence, nirvana.
[4] Shih-fu: ("teacher-father"). A term of respect used by a disciple when referring to or addressing his master.
Overcoming Like and Dislike
If you want the Way to appear, Be neither for nor against. For and against opposing each other -- This is the mind's disease.
If you want the Buddha Way to manifest before your eyes, it is a mistake to harbor any preferences or aversions. This includes anything you hope to acquire, keep, discard, or avoid. When sitting seems to be going particularly well, the idea may pop into your mind that you are about to be enlightened. You begin to wait for this enlightenment experience. With this expectation, the mind has already abandoned its single-mindedness and has become confused and scattered. You will not be able to maintain your previous state of concentration. On a prior retreat, one student was progressing so well that there were notable changes in his mental state. At that point he became frightened. He thought, "I'm happy with the way I am now. I don't really want any drastic changes. What if my friends don't recognize me?" He did not sit as well for the rest of the retreat.
This contradictory mentality often afflicts the practitioner. He wants to enter the door of enlightenment but at the same time is really afraid of entering. You come to a retreat with the desire to transform yourself. Indeed, practice can make you more mature, calm, and stable. It will certainly not change you into something less human, or ghostlike. Since ancient times all of the numerous practitioners who have gotten deeply enlightened remained human, the only difference being that afterward they were more stable and filled with wisdom. There is no reason to fear changing that way.
Such a contradictory state of mind is common among ordinary people. When I left home as a young boy I was very excited about becoming a monk. But on the other hand, I had never been to a monastery and had some apprehension. I just did not know what would happen there. Many people who believe in heaven have similar fears about what it will be like after death. These contradictions point to inherent weaknesses in our personality, of which we are usually unaware. It is only in the context of practice that these weaknesses are exposed. Once we discover and understand our weaknesses, we can prevent them from further obstructing our practice.
Though "for" and "against" are opposites, they are also very much related. If there is something that you like, there must be something else that you dislike. And if you cannot get what you like, you will change your mind and dislike it. To be caught in this conflict between like and dislike is a serious disease of the mind. It is a barrier to practice. Practice is a process by which we recognize and treat the disease of our minds. When the disease completely disappears, the ultimate Way is revealed.
Without recognizing the mysterious principle It is useless to practice quietude.
If you do not grasp the deep truth in the previous lines, no matter how hard you practice, your efforts will be futile. This is because there is a struggle within your mind. The previous thought is continually at war with the following thought. Under these circumstances, it is almost impossible to attain a peaceful state of mind.
Even if you do manage to overcome your scattered thoughts and reach a peaceful state, it would still be useless. You will be so happy to have entered this state that you will grasp it and not let it go. In the end, you will not have achieved a concentrated mind but an attached mind. Nonetheless, a peaceful state of mind is at least better than one involved in a constant internal struggle. As long as you live alone you may be able to maintain it. But if you have to interact with people, things may start bothering you. You may be disturbed by the noise of children, visits of friends or stress at work. Eventually, you will seek to avoid these things and meditate alone in a room.
Someone here has a habit of sometimes falling backwards while sitting. Today I cautioned her that if she does it hard enough, the shock may cause her to lose consciousness or even her ability to think rationally. She remarked, "That's not such a bad idea, after all. Now I have to struggle with all of the problems in my mind. If I get such a shock, my problems will simply disappear." I said, "That may be the case, but who will feed you and take care of you? Who will take care of your children?" A shock to your nervous system is not the same as enlightenment. Rather, it is a disease. Just because a person does not have any scattered thoughts does not mean that all his problems are resolved. If all you are interested in is a thoughtless state, just ask someone to hit you hard on the back of your head. There are too many people who cannot distinguish between true wisdom and a mere state of peacefulness. If you do not understand this distinction, even if you practice hard, at best you are being foolish.
You should not remain passively in peacefulness. Don't be afraid of difficulties. If your mind cannot settle down you should not feel any resentment. Cultivate non-aversion to the unpleasant and non-attachment to the pleasant. Taking a pleasurable state for enlightenment will get you into trouble. Enlightenment is not something we have to guard fiercely, not letting it go. If a pleasant state arises, don't get stuck on it, just continue to practice. On a past retreat one person sat through four thirty-minute periods without stirring. Seeing that his condition was "too good," I struck him with the incense board. [1] Thereupon he grabbed the board and hit me, saying, "I was in such a blissful state and now I have lost samadhi." [2] Aside from the fact that practitioners should not have any attachments, it is not the purpose of Ch'an to remain in samadhi. It is not necessarily good for the mind to settle down too quickly. Ch'an is a lively practice. It is not difficult to maintain a calm mind in a stationary situation. But in Ch'an one should be able to retain mental calmness even in a mobile state.
The Way is perfect like great space, Without lack, without excess. Because of grasping and rejecting, You cannot attain it.
Great space does not refer to a nothingness, but rather to a totality. Though it includes everything, there is no individual existence. There is only the total, universal existence. Even before attaining the Way, practitioners should train themselves in the proper attitudes of one who is already enlightened. That is, they should discard the mentality of liking and disliking. So long as you practice diligently, practice is the totality. After all, what you dislike and what you like are not separate from one another.
There was a landowner who hired many helping hands to work his fields. They were very good workers, but they had large appetites. On the one hand, he was pleased with their work and, on the other, he was annoyed that they ate so much. In the owner's mind this was a grave defect. To him it would be ideal if they would just do their job and not have to eat. Thus there is no need to rejoice when you think you have gotten what you like -it will bring with it things you dislike, and vice versa.
For example, a couple may spend a lot of time and energy courting each other. Eventually they are married and are very happy together. But along with the happiness there are also some restrictions. They feel stuck in the daily routine and lack the freedom to do whatever they want. They reflect that there is a certain merit to remaining single. But at this point, it is already too late.
When we think we have gotten something, we have not really gotten it and when we think we have lost something, we have not really lost it. This is because in the reality of totality, there is no gain and no loss. There is nothing outside of your mind. It is because you choose and reject that you are not free. It is for this reason that you have an excess or a lack. You have an excess of what you want to be rid of, and a lack of what you want to acquire. It is only when there is no grasping or rejecting that there will be neither excess nor lack.
Notes
[1] incense board: (Chinese: hsiang-pan; Japanese: kyosaku) A long, flat board used in the meditation hall to hit dozing practitioners or to help provide the final impetus to realization for those who are "ripe."
[2] samadhi: Refers to states of meditative absorption characterized by an expanded sense of self, or "one mind." The meditator loses normal awareness of body and surroundings.
Letting Go of Attachments
Do not pursue conditioned existence; Do not abide in acceptance of emptiness.
People can be attached either to existence, the outer world, or emptiness, the inner void. Most of us are probably attached to existence, clinging to our thoughts, our body, the environment around us. On the other hand, someone attached to emptiness may think: "Since there is nothing after death, it is the simplest solution for everything. After I die, I won't have to worry about anything anymore." Another emptiness attitude may be: "Since the world is illusory, then nothing matters and I can stay detached from everything." Those who are attached to emptiness may have a devil-may-care attitude. They may refuse to take anything in life seriously. Or they may even be susceptible to committing suicide.
Attachment to either existence or to emptiness are improper attitudes. I have spoken of the dangers of attaching to existence -- grasping what you like and rejecting what you dislike. But to say that there is nothing to grasp and nothing to reject is also incorrect -- this would be attaching to emptiness. A person may be meditating with a blank mind, apparently free of all thoughts and concerns. While this may seem to be approaching enlightenment, it is actually quite different. In the enlightened state, a previous thought did not arise, a future thought will not arise, and a present thought does not arise. But someone in the blank state is just sitting there not thinking about or doing anything. In fact, he is not practicing. Indeed he does have a thought, which is: the previous thought arose, but it does not matter. A future thought may arise but, again, it does not matter. As to the present thought, let it be. This person may think that he has no attachment to his thoughts. But actually this is far from a true state of enlightenment. This kind of state is called "stubborn emptiness," as opposed to true emptiness, which is a lively state of mind, full of awareness.
If you practice to a point where you feel very tranquil, stable, and comfortable, that would be a peaceful state of mind. The best you can attain in this peaceful condition is a high samadhi state in the formless realm called the "emptiness samadhi." But if you become attached to such a state you would never see your self- nature. This would be considered an "outer path" practice.
In oneness and equality, Confusion vanishes of itself.
Perceiving that all is one means making no distinction between sage and sentient being, or between subject and object. This is another way of describing the totality of space. When you experience everything as equal, all distinctions will naturally disappear. While remembering not to abide either in existence or emptiness, you should also know that existence and emptiness are not separate.
Yet is everything really the same? Once I said that the Buddha sees all sentient beings as the same, and is aware of every single thought in the universe. Someone raised the point that if the Buddha's mind was constantly being bombarded with such a tremendous influx of thoughts, it would not be a very comfortable state. This would mean that the Buddha's mind is like a garbage can and the thoughts of all sentient beings are being dumped into it. It would be a heavy burden on the Buddha.
If you take a snapshot with a high quality camera, everything in front of the lens will be imprinted on the film in minute detail. You can see the tip of each blade of grass and the outline of every leaf. Yet the camera does not think: "How annoying! All this junk is trying to get my attention." No. In one shot, it takes in everything without making distinctions among the objects -- whether they are good or bad, long or short, green or yellow. But just because the camera does not make distinctions does not mean that the images on the film will appear confused or in the wrong order. On the contrary, everything is there clearly, and in place.
The Buddha's mind is like this. Having an equal mind means that there is no conception of relativity between things. Everything is absolute in the sense that there is no separation between you and others, between past and future. Because you see everything as equal, you would not choose one thing over another. Yet as soon as there are no longer any differences, it is as if existence simply disappears. For example, if everybody were male, the label "men" would no longer be meaningful, since its only purpose is to distinguish men from women. Everyone being the same, there would be no need for names. If you take an equal attitude towards everything, all differences will disappear, along with existence itself.
Once I handed the incense board to a student and asked him, "What is this?" He grabbed the board and shook it a few times. He did that because there was no name for it. We may call it an incense board but this is only our mind making distinctions. Why must we call it "incense board"?
During a retreat, I stood in front of a certain person. I asked him, "Who is standing in front of you?" He replied, "An egg." I was very pleased to be an egg.
When the retreat was over, I asked him, "Why is Shih-fu an egg?" He answered, "When Shih-fu asked me the question I did not have any thought whatsoever in my mind. Since I had to give an answer, I just said something -- and the word "egg" spontaneously came out of my mouth. Later I thought: `That isn't quite right. How can Shih-fu be an egg? But I said it and it's said.'"
When he said "an egg," it was the correct answer. In fact, whatever he said at that moment would have been correct because he did not have any thought in his mind. He was in an absolute state, not making any distinctions. But once he began to entertain doubts, he lost the answer.
Perhaps in this retreat I will also stand in front of you and ask, "Who is standing in front of you?" Then, recalling the story I have just told, you may try to give a similar answer and call Shih-fu a horse. However, this would not be correct if you have the idea of giving a good answer. This is the mind of distinction. It is not the mind that treats everything as equal.
Stop activity and return to stillness, And that stillness will be even more active.
Originally your mind may be in a relatively stable state. But when you realize that your mind is not completely unmoving, you may try to make it even calmer. However, the effort to still your mind will cause it to become more active. The mind that makes no distinctions is unmoving; there are no ups and downs. If you try to eliminate the ups and downs it would be like observing a pan of water. There are gentle ripples on its surface. But you want the surface to be completely still, so you blow on the water to flatten it out. This creates more ripples. Then you press the water with your hands to stop it from moving. The outcome is even more agitation. If you were to leave the water alone, the ripples would eventually subside and the surface would be still. Common sense tells us that we cannot force the water to become calm. When it comes to practice, however, it is difficult for us to apply the same principle.
When practicing, it is sufficient to just keep your mind on the method. It is unnecessary to reflect upon how well you are doing, or to compare whether you are in a better state now than you were half an hour ago. During the evening talk, I may ask you, "How are you doing today?" At this time you are allowed to express your feelings. But when you are practicing you should definitely not investigate your mental state and judge your practice.
Someone said to me, "Shih-fu, I feel very ashamed. I come to retreat time and again and yet I never make any progress." I said, "The very fact that you are still coming to retreat and practicing is proof that you are making progress."
Practice with an equal mind and don't distinguish between good and bad. Do not compare your condition before and after the retreat, or judge whether the method you are using is right or wrong. If you find you cannot use the method, you may change it, but first understand why you cannot use the method. You should not let curiosity dictate your practice, playing with one method today and another tomorrow, or switching methods from one sitting to the next. You should see that there are no real differences between the various methods. Hold on to one method and go into it as deeply as possible.
This is like your love relationships. When you love someone, you should persist in that relationship and not continually change partners. Likewise, keep to one method and do not keep changing your conception of practice. To change frequently will give you only trouble.
Unifying the Mind
Merely stagnating in duality, How can you recognize oneness? If you fail to penetrate oneness, Both places lose their function.
Whenever you make distinctions, your mind is in opposition. Opposition implies duality. How is this relevant to practice? A practitioner usually wants to attain enlightenment or ultimately, Buddhahood. But this creates a duality of subject and object. The person who is seeking to attain is separate from the attainment, the object of his search. In seeking to become one with the Buddha, he separates himself from it. This is a state of opposition.
Or, perhaps the practitioner knows very well that he has never been separate from the Buddha. But since he has not yet experienced this unity, he seeks the Buddha within himself. Yet even seeking the Buddha within himself creates opposition between his searching mind and the Buddha within. This way, oneness can never be attained.
If that is true, is it correct to practice without seeking anything at all? Every day we chant the Four Great Vows. The fourth is: I vow to attain Supreme Buddhahood. What is the purpose of chanting this vow if aspiring to attain Buddhahood sets up an opposition? On the other hand, if we do not define our goal, is practice possible?
If you really believe there is no separation, then it is possible to practice without opposition. You must have faith in the fundamental unity to truly begin practicing. However, most people remain in duality. They acknowledge only one God, but they also see themselves as separate from God. There is still a duality. But in Ch'an, at the very beginning of your practice, you must have faith in non-duality. It is the same unity in the kung-an [1]: "The myriad dharmas return to one. To what does the One return?" In other words, if all existence comes from one God, where does God come from?
The emphasis of Faith in Mind is on practice. Many of you are practicing counting the breath. The goal of this method is to reach a unified, or single-minded state. After you get to the point where there are no thoughts other than counting, eventually the counting just naturally stops. The numbers disappear, the breath disappears, and the idea of counting the breath is gone. The only thing left is a sense of existence. Using a Ch'an method such as the hua-t'ou may have a similar result in the beginning stages. At a certain point, the hua-t'ou may disappear, or you simply cannot use it anymore. But this does not always mean that you have reached a single-minded state. You may still have the thought of trying to use the hua-t'ou. Only when the thought of practicing is gone will your mind be in a peaceful state of oneness.
A person who has experienced oneness is different from an ordinary person. His faith is stronger than one who can at best intellectually understand what it means to have no distinctions in one's mind. To personally experience it is quite another thing.
In Taoism there is the saying that the one gives rise to the two, and the two give rise to the multiplicity of things. We should not think that the Third Patriarch is confusing Taoism with Buddhism. It is just that he employs Taoist terminology to express the teachings of Buddhism. The highest goal of Taoism is the attainment of the Way, but this is not the same goal as that described in Faith in Mind, for Ch'an transcends oneness. But we must get to the state of oneness before we can go beyond it.
The practice of Ch'an should progress in this sequence: scattered mind, simple mind, one mind, no mind. First we gather our scattered thoughts into a more concentrated, or simple, state of mind. From this concentrated state we can enter the mind of unity. Finally, we leap from the unified mind to the state of no mind. This final process can be accomplished more quickly using the Ch'an methods of hua-t'ou or kung-an.
To go from one mind to no mind does not mean that anything is lost; rather, it means that you are free of the unified state. Someone who dwells in one mind would either be attached to samadhi, or else would feel identified with a certain deity. It is only after you are freed from this unity and enter no mind that you return to your own nature, also called "wu," or Ch'an. Even though this progression in the practice takes place, while you are actually practicing you should not think to yourself: "I am striving to concentrate my mind. I want to get to the state of one mind, to the state of no mind." If you have such ideas of seeking, you will be in trouble. Just concern yourself with your method; persist with your method to the very end. This in itself is close to a state of unity. If you hold to it, eventually you will reach a point where the method disappears and you will experience one mind.
Once a meditator in his sixties said to me, "Shih-fu, I am very old. I may not have many years left. I really would like to get enlightened as soon as possible. If I don't get enlightened before I die, I will have wasted my life." I said, "Precisely because you are so old you shouldn't have any hopes of getting enlightened. Just practice." The man asked, "How can you tell me to practice and not show me how to get enlightened?" I replied, "If you have the idea of enlightenment, that is already your downfall; you cannot make much progress. If you do nothing but practice, at least you will approach the state of enlightenment. Even if you never get enlightened, the effort is never wasted."
Banish existence and you fall into existence; Follow emptiness and you turn your back on it.
In the Sung dynasty there was a famous prime minister by the name of Chang Shang-Yin who was opposed to Buddhism. He wrote many essays purporting to refute Buddhism, and he would spend every evening pondering over how he could improve the essay he was then working on. His wife, observing his obsessive involvement and struggle with his writing, asked him, "What are you doing?" He said, "Buddhism is really hateful. I'm trying to prove there is no Buddha." His wife remarked, "How strange! If you say there is no Buddha, why bother to refute the Buddha? It is as if you are throwing punches into empty space." This comment turned his mind around. He reflected: There may be something to Buddhism after all. So he started studying Buddhism and became a well-known, accomplished lay practitioner of Ch'an. In fact, Chang Shang-Yin and Ch'an master Ta-Hui Tsung-Kao [2] had the same master, Yuan-Wu K'o-Ch'in.
Thus if you try to destroy something, you are still bound up by it. For instance, suppose you try to clear a blocked pipe by pushing another object into it. Whatever was originally in the pipe is pushed out, but the new object is now blocking the pipe. When you try to use existence to get rid of existence, you will always end up with existence.
When you throw something away, it is gone. But does it cease to exist? In local terms, yes. In the broader picture, however, that is not the case. On this earth, no matter how hard you try to throw anything away, it will still stay somewhere on the earth.
There is a Chinese novel called Monkey. The hero is a "supermonkey" who is so powerful that he can travel a distance of 180,000 miles in one somersault. In the story, he was journeying to the Western Paradise of Amitabha Buddha. On the way, he came upon five tall mountain peaks. He figured that it would take one leap to get to the other side. First he took a rest, urinating at that spot. Then he somersaulted over the mountains. After he landed, he noticed a funny smell. He thought, "Some shameless monkey must have taken a leak here." Actually, he had never gotten to the other side of the mountains. He had just somersaulted back to the original spot. The five mountains in the story symbolize the five skandhas[3] within which sentient beings are trapped. All of your actions will boomerang back to you and you will have to take the consequences. If you throw anything away, it will be you who has to clean it up. You may think that you can avoid responsibility by passing it on to another person. In the short term, it may work. But ultimately, you have to deal with it yourself, and in addition, you have caused trouble to others.
Therefore you should not try to get rid of your vexations. Rather, you should be willing to accept them. Once someone said, "Shih-fu, my karmic obstructions are too great. Please recite mantras to remove them from me." I replied, "And what will happen to these karmic obstructions when I remove them from you? Should they become Shih-fu's?" If you have difficulties you should not consider them problems. If you are obsessed with these difficulties and try to eliminate them, you are only getting yourself into greater trouble. Those who have just begun to practice experience many problems with their bodies and minds. They are constantly saying, "I have to overcome all these problems." But in trying to eliminate their problems, they struggle. This is what is meant by "Banish existence and you fall into existence."
The second line, "Follow emptiness and you turn your back on it," refers to practitioners who have experienced certain breakthroughs, and are approaching the state of emptiness. They may think, "I have eliminated all vexations. I no longer have any ignorance or attachment." But staying at this level would be considered "outer path" practice. The best these practitioners can do is reach the emptiness samadhi, the highest level of the formless realm.
I have known many people who were extremely diligent and took their practice very seriously in the beginning, but gave up too soon. It is just as if when one side senses it is losing the battle, suddenly all resistance is gone and they are defeated very quickly. As long as everything is going well, they continue normally; but as soon as something goes wrong, everything simply collapses. So it is with certain practitioners who have been working hard and then suddenly stop completely. They feel that practice is basically useless. They think it is a great deception, because they have put a lot of energy into overcoming their problems, and have not eliminated them at all. In fact, their efforts have only increased their mental vexations, and have created physical ones as well.
Because of this, many people consider serious or energetic practice demonic. They think it is not normal to devote oneself so completely to practice. Such criticism is usually unjustified. However, it is true that a practitioner who does not know what he is doing may get into deep trouble, especially without proper guidance. He may not be in a demonic state, but very likely his practice cannot last long. It is good to have a diligent and objective attitude towards practice. But to be attached to the idea of overcoming your problems will only lead to further trouble.
Notes
[1] kung-an: (Japanese: koan). Literally, a "public case," a Ch'an method of meditation in which the practitioner energetically and single-mindedly pursues the answer to an enigmatic question posed by the master, or ponders the meaning of a famous recorded encounter between a master and disciple of the past.
[2] Ta-Hui Tsung-Kao (1089-1163), known as the greatest advocate of kung-an practice, is often contrasted with his contemporary, Hung-Chih Cheng-Chueh, the greatest teacher of the silent illumination method. More disciples were enlightened under Ta-Hui than any other Ch'an master, and he is also noted for spreading the teachings of Ch'an among the laity. A compilation of his writings and talks is available in English under the title Swampland Flowers.
[3] the five skandhas: the five categories, or "heaps," of existence -- form, sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness.
Stilling Words and Thoughts
Excessive talking and thinking Turn you from harmony with the Way. Cut off talking and thinking, And there is nowhere you cannot penetrate.
People like to talk, especially if they feel lonely. Those who tend to talk non-stop generally have difficulty with practice, and also make it difficult for others to practice. In our Ch'an retreat, talking is forbidden, but there are still some people who cannot resist covertly saying a few words. Others honor the rule and refrain from speaking, but that does not mean that they are not talking to themselves. All day long, while they are sitting, they come up with a theme, and then carry on a conversation with themselves. They ponder over all sorts of issues.
Once a certain writer attended a retreat. During the first day, he came up with the idea for a novel. While sitting, he sketched out the plot and the various characters. In the private interview the next day I asked him how he had been doing, and he said, "I've been making plans for my new novel." I said to him, "Perhaps you should go home and start writing your novel now. Otherwise, by the end of the retreat you will have forgotten all the great ideas you have come up with." If you talk too much, either with your mouth or in your head, it will be difficult to make progress. When you find it hard to concentrate, it is very easy to start talking to yourself. You may not even be able to control it.
There is a deeper interpretation of these four lines. You should not try to use logic or theory to answer certain questions in your practice. Some examples are: "Why have I come here for a retreat?" "What is the purpose of practice?" "What is enlightenment?" If you get involved in this kind of questioning to justify your practice, then you simply cannot practice.
After a few days of practice, many people completely stop thinking about themselves and their outside affairs. However, they keep dwelling on my words. Whatever I say is meant to guide your practice, but when you are actually practicing, you should just use the method and not think about what I may have said. The less you talk to yourself, the closer you will be to the highest Way.
I once told a student, "You really have to practice very hard to overcome ignorance." For two sitting periods she was constantly thinking, "How am I ignorant?" Unable to contain it any longer, she got up and said to me, "I can eat. I can sleep. So I am really not ignorant." I said, "Look at a dog, a cat, a mosquito. They can eat and rest. Are you saying that they don't have any ignorance?" Then she said, "Tell me what to do so that I won't be ignorant." I said, "Try to meditate and recite the Buddha's name." She went back to her cushion and meditated on the Buddha's name. But again, she thought to herself: "Since I am here meditating and reciting the Buddha's name, I am not ignorant." After another two periods, she came to me again and said, "In fact, I don't have any problems. I have been sitting here feeling very comfortable. It is you who have vexations." Her problem was that although she took my words seriously, she would turn them over and over in her mind instead of actually applying the method during practice.
It is only when you no longer have any words or thoughts that the perfect Way will manifest before you, and "there is nowhere you cannot penetrate." The meaning is not that you can go anywhere, but that there is no need to go anywhere, because in the state of no words and no thoughts you are in the midst of anywhere and every place. How do you get to the state of no words and no thoughts? By picking up the method and putting down your attachment to other things.
Return to the root and attain the principle; Pursue illumination and you lose it. One moment of reversing the light Is greater than the previous emptiness.
In practice, you may try to penetrate to the emptiness of phenomena. But as long as illumination is directed towards outward appearances, you miss the primal source. It is only by turning the illumination inward that you return to the source, and get to the meaning of all things. If you can do this even for a split second, you will transcend the state of emptiness.
The source, or root, is Buddha nature. How do you return to the root? By letting go of all words and thoughts and eliminating all grasping and rejection. You must begin with a method, but at some point you must let it go. Likewise, you should not hold on to any experiences that may come up. When the method and experiences are no longer necessary to you, you will have returned to the source. This source, or Buddha nature, is the lively manifestation of great liberation and great wisdom. In great liberation, there is nothing left. But this is not the same as "stubborn emptiness." Liberation goes beyond both emptiness and form.
The previous emptiness is transformed; It was all a product of deluded views.
Practitioners often go from attachment to existence, to attachment to emptiness. If one thinks that emptiness is true wisdom or liberation, under this delusion, one cannot attain the ultimate. It is natural for people to become attached to their experiences. One student who sat very well last night tried to repeat the experience today by recalling exactly what he did that resulted in that great sitting. But today the sitting went very poorly. This was due to his greed for the experience.
No need to seek the real; Just extinguish your views.
We should not seek Buddha nature or enlightenment; rather, we should let it come about naturally. Such questions as "When will I get enlightened?" or "Is there a Buddha nature?" will take you even farther away from Buddha nature, which is a totality and not something you can grasp. Buddha nature is in the totality of your own self. Why should it be necessary to try to attain it? And how can you get hold of it? Don't practice with the thought of reaching Buddhahood, just put forth your best efforts.
