Recollections of Shifu
I invited those who had met Shifu to send in any particular memories of him they might have. Here are some of their reminiscences. In their diversity, they tell us much about the ways people of very different orientations responded to the Master's presence. Edited by John Crook.
I guess the strange thing about my first meeting with Shifu was that he wasn't there! I had been attending a sesshin at a Zen retreat centre in southern India and had been reading one of Shifu's books. I forget which one but it was a series of talks given during a retreat. It was one of his more confronting books, one of those that seems to nail you to the wall and says, "Now what are you going to do?" Ironically, it was clear that if this had actually been one of his retreats, there would have been no question of me reading at night! I was deeply affected by it and when I returned home near Bangalore I found myself sitting and sitting, until, three days after my return, I sat all night. I was exhausted, and at one point, probably around 2.00 am, I was about to go to bed, tired out, when I had an overwhelming sense of Shifu, whom I'd never met, sitting right there in front of me, an implacable and steely presence who would entertain no excuses. I felt I was fixed by his gaze and effectively ordered to keep sitting. Throughout the night, each time I tried to give up and go to bed, this 'presence' would return and push me on. The outcome was that I sat all night and had an astonishing experience...though it can hardly be called an experience for it was the experience of there being no experiencer. It was a turning point in my practice, one for which I am eternally grateful. Oh, and when I did meet Shifu in person, I can say that I was in no way disappointed! My only regret is that I'd not found him much earlier and not so near to the end of his life. What a guy! Dave Fox
At the Gaia House 2000 retreat, Shifu said that the Buddha had vowed to enlighten all sentient beings. I asked him if the Buddha had failed in his vow seeing as I wasn't enlightened! He roared with laughter and then said that the Buddha had started the process off by getting the Dharma wheel rolling and that I, he and everyone were spokes in that wheel all rolling along together. At the end of the retreat, he was given a beautiful big photo of the sun coming up over China. It was a symbol of the Dharma returning to China. He cried and said that he wondered if we had all failed old Sakyamuni. I was very moved by his tears. When he said goodbye to everyone he left the hall very slowly, making eye contact with everyone. It moved me deeply. Hugh Carroll
On one of the retreats that Shifu led at the Maenllwyd, he gave a talk that sketched the path of the Bodhisattva. At the end of the talk, I asked him whether what he had said meant that Bodhisattvas, having gone beyond the delusions of self, experienced no feelings. "Not at all," he replied, "Bodhisattvas feel very deeply. It is just that they are not attached to their feelings". I understood at that moment that the way of Chan was not that of an austere, selfcentred withdrawal, but rather a deeply compassionate, courageous and all-embracing engagement with the entire Universe. Ned Reiter
During a winter retreat at Pine Bush in the Catskill hills north of New York, it was very cold and snowy, and Shifu had fallen ill. None-the-less, when it was time for his early afternoon pep-talk, up the hill he walked, dignified as ever, bundled up and wearing his sick-mask. While he gave that talk one would have never known a thing was wrong, as he shared his wisdom and humour. The next morning, he had clearly gotten worse because during his early morning pep-talk before breakfast, he had difficulty keeping his ideas straight at times. It was the only time I have ever seen Shifu falter in a talk, and his face looked extremely pale, hollow, and weak. Yet, he hiked the hill in the cold and snow and gave us that pep-talk anyway. I doubt if I remembered the words even then, because his example of selflessly giving the body and mind, whatever energy he had, for the benefit of others was so powerful. As I falter along burdened by self-attachment on my own sorry version of the Bodhisattva path, I often think back to that retreat and those images and feelings for inspiration and strength. David Slaymaker
Having sat one retreat with Shifu in England, I decided to try one in New York. This was a huatou retreat and I was struggling with it in many ways. The place was strange; the mix of Chinese, Europeans and Americans was strange, even the birdsong was strange. I was holding too tensely to the form of the practice and not letting the mind 'do its thing'. In a talk, Shifu compared the use of the huatou to swimming across a river. It was hard to swim across a river because of the currents, he said, but we had to keep swimming. And our thoughts were the flotsam and jetsam bobbing about on the surface of the water. We were to focus on the other shoreline and not bother about the rubbish floating on the surface. And then he asked me "Fiona, are you swimming?" I was flabbergasted to be asked anything, and answered that I was trying. But then I realised that actually I was just treading water and watching the floating bits of rubbish pass by in front of me. The aim of striking out for the 'other shore' had passed me by. There was a nod of the kindly old head and I was told to "Swim" with a demonstration of hand movements.
After the retreat I was passing Shifu and Guo-yuan Fashi and I said "Thanks for a good retreat". Shifu fixed me with a look and said "Not so good. You must keep working." He was, as always, quite right. Fiona Nuttall
My abiding memory of Shifu followed the WCF's presentation to him of a painting at the Gaia House retreat in 2000. As I recall, the painting depicted a rising sun, which was intended to symbolise the re-emergence of Buddhism in China. I will never forget Shifu's tears, nor my own. Stuart McLeod
I was fortunate to attend all three of Shifu's Maenllwyd retreats. On the first occasion, in April 1989, I was extraordinarily lucky to be placed next to him when we meditated in the upstairs room (before the new Chan hall was built). It was very special to me to be beside him while sitting; and I so appreciated his friendly tolerance of my repeated changes of posture! Although it took me ages for his teaching really to take hold, I owe him, and his Dharma Heirs, a great debt of gratitude. Tim Paine
At his first retreat in the Maenllwyd, the meeting with Master Sheng Yen was a memorable occasion. Who was he? What would he be like? The initial group meeting felt as if it had a prickly hedge around it, a vaguely abrasive edge and it was clear that there was to be no nonsense here! What came through however, and kept on coming through, was the depth of his encompassing compassion for all. And he had some crafty, skilful means up his sleeve. One of these artless and seemingly effortless ways was to somehow stage manage little scenarios to say things to us all perhaps not easily conveyed face-to-face, but maybe meant for somebody. Was there someone in the room for whom that little play had such significance... who knows?
Once, a few retreats later, he was not quite well and was taking a gluten free or similar diet. As he was being served, he said how sorry he was to be such a nuisance. Of course, we all say things like that, but there was something about the way he said it which blows my mind to this day. David Shaw
I had never been a stable sitter, usually getting pains in legs or back and then unfolding my legs. Leading up to my first retreat with Shifu I had been trying to adjust my posture with only limited success. I was terrified that I was going to have a lot of backache again during the more intensive retreat schedule, and I did, right from the first day. During interview, I asked Shifu about posture and backache. He just replied that it wasn't a problem. I felt stunned. Here was I suffering all this backache and pain, and this supposedly compassionate man just said that it didn't matter! And yet I knew that he was right - we all have to have pain sometimes, why not me as well, and he meant that it wasn't a problem for my practice, which is all that matters on retreat. In fact it was helpful for my practice, as the pain was focusing my concentration and I was having virtually no wandering thoughts. It also gave rise to some compassion for the pain of others. It is not only I who suffers. Simon Child
This story is from the very first time I joined a retreat with Shifu at the Chan Center in Queens, N.Y. At the conclusion of the retreat, there was a time and opportunity to share their experiences with everyone. There was a wonderful, gentle, quiet, soft-spoken old man who was there. When it was his time to speak he said, "Shifu, I hope I die before you do." Shifu said, "Why do you say that?" He answered, "If you die before me, I will be very, very sad and I don't know if I could take that." Shifu looked at the man, smiled and said, "If you die before me, I shall not miss you." Some of the participants in there smiled and laughed and the man looked quizzical about the response from Shifu but the answer was extremely profound and perfect in the manner in which he said it. If he had said anything else, Shifu would never have been the great master that he was. This is the practice of Chan. Gilbert Gutierrez, Chuan-hui Jing-jian, Dharma Heir of Chan Master Sheng Yen
Long, long ago I went on a Chan retreat at the Maenllwyd with Master Sheng Yen. I did not enjoy it. I rebelled against his rules and fought horribly with my own mind. Yet, much of what he taught has stayed with me and, over the years, guided me in my practice. The thing I hated most was his saying that we had to become 'blind and deaf'. That was the exact opposite of what I had come there for - to gain some clarity instead of my usual mental muddle and confusion. Why did he want us to become blind and deaf? It was nearly twenty years later that I found what I think he would have called the 'Great Doubt', and experienced the blindness for myself. Then his words helped me not to get too scared and to recognise what was happening.
In a more down to earth and practical way, I have always followed his tough advice that on retreat we should not look at anybody else. Don't make eye contact, he said, or smile or even look up. If you pass someone just bow to acknowledge that they too are on retreat. I know some people feel it's helpful to share feelings and encouragement by smiling at others on retreat but I have found his advice enormously freeing. I can work much harder without getting tangled up in reactions to anyone else if I simply let them pass by as ghosts in shoes.
But my most enduring memory of Shifu was his child-like delight and surprise at the technology on offer at the Maenllwyd. "Oil lamps!" he exclaimed, "In Taiwan you can only find these in antique shops!" Sue Blackmore
When offered the opportunity of asking Shifu a question during an audience in Taiwan in June 2008, I asked him what advice he would give regarding how to bring Chan into our local groups of Westerners in the UK. Shifu explained that Chan is often described using the image of a finger pointing at the Moon. In a departure from the more traditional looking in the direction of the pointing, we should concentrate on the finger, meaning the Dharma and clear instruction in methods of practice, not to where the finger points. If we emphasize the importance of the finger, then practitioners will find their own way to the Moon. Pete Lowry
I send you this smile from my meeting with Shifu in New York before Christmas 2000.
In spite of my fear of flying, I had flown the 8000 km to attend the 10 days retreat, and everything was working out just extremely beautifully, except for one thing that really annoyed me. We were being interviewed in threes and the answers came from two people - no sign of Shifu. I immediately went to the head monk and said I wanted to talk with Shifu alone. But he politely answered that since 126 persons were at the retreat, they had to do it this way. Seeing Shifu alone was just not possible. I got rather angry and told him to tell Shifu that I had not come 8000 km through the air to talk to his adjutants! I would talk to nobody except him. To my great disapproval, at the next interview I again had to enter the room with two others. I decided not to speak one single word! Sitting there sulkily and looking gloomily down at the floor, I lost all attention of what was happening around me, and of time spent in the room. I don't know how many times my name had been called, but when I finally looked up, I found myself gazing straight into Shifu's eyes and smiling face. He had done the other interviews, and let the others leave the room. "Now," he said, "we are alone as you wished - so what do you want from me!"
Such a smile! Thøger Nordbo
In 1995, I attended my first retreat with Shifu at Maenllwyd. It was a year after our family had been confronted with the reality that my sister Lucy, who had been 'missing' for 20 years, had been abducted, raped, tortured and murdered by a couple known as 'the Wests'. At the end of the retreat, I made a vow to try and forgive them. That this aspiration even arose within me was remarkable. I could not explain it. But its context is directly connected with the ongoing effect of the vast lineage of Buddhist practice, teachings and vows, embodied in the equanimity of Shifu's presence. A day later, however, I experienced the involuntary, terrifying, physical power of murderous rage. This was my first opportunity to experience empathy for those who have killed.
Five years later, I sat before Shifu in a retreat interview and confessed the deep karmic obstruction that was literally suffocating me. I did not want to go on breathing, feel any more pain. Shifu said, "Just know that your suffering is helping to relieve the suffering of others." Back on my cushion, the grief flooded back, and my desire to breathe returned. I tried to apply the teaching to Rosemary West thinking, half-heartedly, "I am feeling a terrible pain that won't go away, but I hope that it might help you in some way." And then the most profound realisation of the depth and extent of her isolated suffering was revealed as a complex cage of fear, rage, shame, guilt and unresolved grief, locked away and demonised. In this moment, I found myself facing and accepting my own deepest shame, the unborn children that I had chosen to abort during the early years of 'not knowing what had happened to Lucy' when my life was also confused, isolated and unresolved. The word 'forgiving' became alive. My pain can be transformed by the practice of well wishing (to myself and others). From 'because' (therefore 'the other' is to blame and should be made to feel as much pain in return, the cycle of violence and revenge) to 'for' (so that they may be free of that which caused them to harm in the first place). The bars of thick sorrow dissolved.
An image of Shifu comes to mind. He is standing in the field below the Scot's pine trees at Maenllwyd as we circle around him in walking meditation. Shaking imaginary reins, he laughs, exhorting us to 'ride on, ride on'. Internally my vows are galloping in gratitude, devotion and inspiration For-giving. Marian Partington
What stays in my mind most vividly about Shifu was his arrival at Maenllwyd late one cold, wet night on his first visit to Wales. His journey had been long and exhausting, his surroundings disorienting in their rough farmhouse feel, yet he was able to adapt immediately and give us the very best of himself for a whole week; truly the sign of a Master. During one of the Retreats I attended with him in Wales, I went to see him with my answer to the Koan "What is Mu?" "Mu is Love," I answered with both emotion and conviction. He replied, "You have brought me frozen fruit." I have come to know that reply as an absolute jewel. It makes me laugh, and shed tears of love --- tears that are no longer frozen when I think of him. Carol Evans
At a Silent Illumination retreat at Pinebush, I was walking across the field after an interview with one of the monks. It was a crisp, cold day with bright blue sky and a scattering of snow on the grass. Shifu was walking towards the interview house and our paths met. He greeted me and asked what the monk had said in my interview. "Make my mind like a mirror" I replied. Shifu smiled, pointed his finger towards the sky and gave me three unforgettable instructions. Hilary Richards
Experiences of close training with Shifu were often startling. Once on retreat in New York I had an exceptionally warm and supportive interview with Shifu. He was truly charming, relaxed and smiling a lot, talking about The Maenllwyd and about the book 'Catching a Feather on a Fan', which we were preparing together. I left floating on cloud nine. The next period happened to be one for Work and my task was cleaning the bathroom. I busied myself energetically, metaphorically humming away, when in came Shifu. He marched around wiping his fingers on surfaces like some army officer inspecting a barrack room. "Filthy!" he pronounced thunderously, "Pay attention. Do it again!" and, pushing past me, he left in all appearances in a rage. I was thunderstruck and then extremely angry. What on earth was he on about? The place was spotless. I checked it out - yes - spotless. I felt let down, upset; very cross indeed and even considered leaving. But then, I remembered Master Dong-chu and the way he had treated Shifu in his training - like Marpa with Milarepa. Suddenly I got it. This was a brilliant training trick. Shifu knew very well how I would respond. How would I deal with my ego then? Very well, I decided - whatever Shifu did in future, whatever he said - it would make no difference. I would simply go on with my practice regardless. Strangely, the more I did this over the years, the closer we became - but not without further jolts from the blue along the way. What a teacher! John Crook
Gaia House, 2000. I had been to Wales twice the previous year, my first visits. Arrived in Devon nervous, excited. Rapidly had a dreadful time, and nearly left midweek - managed to hold on somehow. Passed Shifu in the corridor one morning towards the end of the week, and he stopped me, took my hand, looked at me and said quietly "You OK now?" Nigel Jeffcoat
It seemed that Shifu's dying was as he had lived his life, with the deepest, most gentle simplicity. He stipulated no obituaries, no relics, no flowers, no stupas and no gravestones. Rather he wanted his funeral to be a meaningful Buddhist ritual, and his only request that people present help him fulfil his vows. His ashes were returned to the earth in an unmarked grave, on a small grassy bank in a bamboo grove that would make it possible for people of all religious persuasions, or none, to feel at peace there. In Chinese culture, such a burial form is a radical departure, but Shifu wanted his dying also to be a teaching that emphasised care for the environment, no waste and not holding onto him or his body. Jannie Mead
