The following is a practitioner's report of a silent illumination retreat led by Simon Child from November 20-27, 2010. As is the custom, the retreatant's name is not being published. The report was edited for the Chan Magazine by Simon Child.
The first day and a half of the retreat was strangely tumultuous. I have been to retreat many times but this was only the second time this decade that I could attend a retreat without any non-retreatant responsibilities. Also, I had wanted to attend a silent illumination retreat with Simon (Child) and/ or John (Crook) for a long time and I had had to make a number of special arrangements at work to make it to this one. I guess deep down I wanted desperately to protect this retreat. Yet a number of relatively minor things bothered me greatly during the first day of retreat. It was probably not so much that I was more upset than usual, but that I had allowed myself to see my emotional and mental responses loudly and clearly. But I was so upset that I actually considered leaving the retreat that night. This came as a shock; I had never thought of leaving a retreat. The fact that I was entertaining such drastic action over such minor irritations was baffling. The inconsistency between the magnitude of the situation and my emotional and mental responses did not escape my attention. Simon started the retreat by instructing us to open our awareness and investigate. “What is going on?” I asked. As I penetrated the mind, I noticed a silence in between these very loud thoughts. I shifted my attention away from the silly obsessive thoughts to the silence.
In this silence, everything arises and perishes, nothing lasts. This silence is just there, within which phenomena come and go. In my first interview, Simon told me that this was the silence of my mind. I told him that rather than “Silent Illumination,” now I understood why John used the phrase “Illuminating Silence” for his book. It is the silence of the mind that is being illuminated. Simon agreed. Simon told me to poke around in this silence a little bit, to check if there was any limit or any obstructions and to check to see if I believed it. He told me to use the opportunity of seeing this silence to explore and investigate the mind instead of seeing it as a destination or achievement.
I left the interview and spent the day following Simon’s instruction, as I have in past retreats. I trusted him and so I looked around in my mind for things that might have been hidden deep down in my consciousness. I watched out for thoughts or emotions that were met with resistance when they arose. I watched out for habitual tendencies of the mind that drove my actions. I spotted one.
I continued to hear the silence and maintain an open awareness of body, mind and environment. I found them to be arbitrary categories, none carrying more weight than the others. They arose like bubbles or ripples in a body of water and disappeared without a trace, leaving the mind back to silence. Yet I noticed a thought that arose rather consistently: “I can report this to Simon.” After a while, I realized that I had this tendency of doing things to please others. Underlying these thoughts was the belief and feeling that I would be happy if I could bring the news and make the teacher happy. This childish reliance on others’ affirmation was laid bare in my mind. “Why couldn’t I stand on my own and take responsibility for my practice and my life?” I asked myself. It was clear that it was the main source of suffering in my life. This subtle samskara had caused me to doubt myself at a deeper level even when I was convinced that I was doing the right thing by my rationality and intellect. I needed to resolve this riddle, “Why can’t I grow up to be a truly independent person?” I continued to watch the mind with everything arising and perishing, with this question gnawing at me in the background.
On the next day, after the morning meditation, the mind was very calm, clear and spacious. When the bell rang, the stillness continued and I could have continued sitting. Then the mind stirred as others prepared for morning service. I watched the mind giving rise to thoughts of giving up and allowing leg discomfort as excuse. I sensed resistance of some sort in the mind and I investigated further. I found the answer to my question. I discovered a knot in the heart hidden deep down; I realized I did not believe that I too could go all the way in the practice. That’s why I allowed myself to give up rather than pushing on in the practice. As I shared this revelation with Simon, it was extremely emotional. It was a huge lump of sorrow wanting to be pulled out, displayed in the open and let go. After the tearful recounting of the story, the sorrow was nowhere to be found. The belief about my inability to amount to anything in the practice that seemed to have defined my being at the deepest level showed itself as nothing more than another thought. It has been heard, and now liberated, no longer having anything to do with me. I shared this revelation in the interview with Simon. He said, “The mind is empty,” and I responded, “Indeed.”
I told Simon that this silence had a sound. He said that it did. I said, “It is really loud and very different from other sound.” Simon said that he believed Shifu called it “infinite sound.” I shared with Simon that I didn’t hear this silence sometimes, but it always came back. I found that I didn’t need to worry about losing it. I discovered that this silence was always there, even though I could not hear it sometimes.
I told Simon that I noticed thoughts of being excited about this discovery arising and perishing in the mind from time to time. I said, “Instead of being excited as if this is something special, I asked myself why I didn’t see it sooner. It is right here all the time, right in front of my face. I just had to pay attention. Stupid.”
I shared some more experiences with Simon. During a meal, applying the practice, I was clearly aware of the texture of the food being chewed, and the sound of the chewing. This was followed by the awareness of the subtle taste of the food. The sensation perishes. The perception of pleasant sensation arises, and perishes. The thought of wanting more arises and perishes. The thought, accompanied with a subtle fear, that “I should not give rise to desire” arises and perishes. The self arises and perishes moment to moment. The “me” of the last moment is dead, gone forever. A new “me” arises every moment, before it perishes, leaving no trace whatsoever. I told Simon that this was liberating.
Simon told me to keep investigating the silence, although I might not want to do too much so as to avoid striving. In Wednesday’s interview there was a long gaze into each others’ eyes again. Simon told me that my mind was still very still. He asked, “Have you discovered the emptiness of yourself?” I opened my mouth to answer. For a long time, thoughts formed in the mind and they perished. Thought after thought, arising and perishing, none stayed long enough to materialize into speech. My mouth was open, about to utter something, but nothing could come out. When Simon finally asked if I could talk, I told him I forgot why I had asked for an interview.
I told Simon that I couldn’t believe all the books that have been written about this. It is just right here, in front of our face. We both burst into laughter. Simon said that’s why the Buddha would not teach at first. I said, “What would he talk about?” Simon then said that people practiced for years, going through lots of difficulties, to find this, the ordinary mind. I said, “I still can’t get over all those books written about this.” We burst into laughter again and we laughed so hard that Simon had to wipe off some tears. He asked, “Who is enjoying the joke?” The laughter is now gone. There is silence. I responded, “No more joke.” Simon then asked me why I could not speak when he asked me the question. I told him what had happened and that anything that would make it into speech would be about the past already and thus not the correct answer. Simon said that it was Vimalakirti’s problem. He then said, “You still have not answered my question. Have you discovered the emptiness of yourself?” I told him yes, with a smile. I told Simon, “This silence is really loud. How can we not hear it? Our mind must have been really noisy!” We both had a good laugh. I told Simon that thoughts and sensations arise and perish moment to moment.
Nothing matters. Yet, this “nothing matters” is not nihilistic. Even though everything is impermanent, it does not mean that it is meaningless. When they arise, they serve their functions. Then they perish. Everything is fine, perfect as it is.
I continued with the practice sitting, walking, eating, resting, working, using the washroom, showering. The silence of the mind stayed with me. The wood-creaking sound of the Chan Hall comes and goes. The sound of someone coughing comes and goes. Cool air touching my body when I walk by a window. Sensation of the knees from the bending and buttock from the pressure on the cushion, while crystal clear as I sit, disappears as the legs are released. Not a trace of the idea of the pain remains. Thoughts arise and go away. None of these stick to the silence, like birds leaving no trace whatsoever after flying across the sky. This reminds me of what Shifu wrote in one of his books, that the Buddha mind is like an empty wall on which we hang all sorts of objects that are our sensory experiences and thoughts. Whatever objects we hang on the wall, these objects do not change the nature of the wall, and these objects are there temporarily anyway. As long as we identify ourselves with the objects on the wall, our illusory mind, instead of the wall, the Buddha mind, we get confused and cannot see our true nature. Yet the true nature is always there. We just need to let go of the belief that the Buddha mind can be found in the objects hanging on the wall which keeps us from seeing the wall itself.
During the Thursday interview I told Simon that I discovered that my father loves me. In fact, what happened was I allowed myself to believe that my father truly loves me. In the previous evening, a strong emotion arose as the thoughts of my father reminding me of my Chinese birthday came through my mind. The feeling hidden beneath this memory that had been obscured by other notions about my father revealed itself. I was not paying attention. Sitting on my cushion, with a clear mind, his deep affection for me was clear. Related to this, I also discovered how truly deeply I love my husband. The fear of emotional attachment was not there. It is okay to love and to accept love and to want to be with my loved ones. Everything is fine. Words cannot describe the fundamental importance of this discovery, that love is perfectly fine. It makes me human.
When standing in the breakfast line on the Friday, something happened that made it appear as if someone was going to skip in front of me in line. The thought that consists of my belief about how the line was supposed to work arose and perished. It was followed immediately by a more “Dharma” thought, telling myself that it is okay and it is all causes and conditions. This thought too arose and perished. I discovered that they were both thoughts. The so-called “Dharma” thought was not more real or inherently true than the so-called “self-centered” thought. They are both empty. Then I realized that the Dharma-self has been bullying the non- Dharma-self because of the erroneous belief that the former is more true, thus sometimes depriving the chance of the latter to be given a fair hearing. It became clear where the resistance that manifested in the form of resentment, guilt and rebellion that arose from time to time came from. This is another thing that had apparently been bothering me in the deeper corner of my consciousness. The discovery freed me.
During the morning service, thoughts about the past arose while the chanting was going on. I realized that thoughts about the past are as much a part of the present as everything else, the chanting, the sound of the Dharma instruments, the sound of the room, etc., happening in the present. A thought is no different from a sound, both arise and perish and thus empty; the latter no more real nor pure than the former. These so-called “wandering thoughts” or “illusory thoughts” are not a problem and there is no need to fear them. Some of my “Dharma-related” views are slowly being illuminated.
After a sitting, I folded the towel the way I usually folded it at home, out of habit, instead of how Chang Wen Fashi had instructed. When I was almost done, I noticed that the towel was not folded as instructed. The towel was refolded as instructed, without the usual fuss of being embarrassed, resentful and trying to find excuses in the mind whatsoever. I realized that the mind can spot error and make correction by itself. The mind can function perfectly fine without my being involved.
I continued to practice no-method. When sitting, I did not meditate, but just sat. When I got up for the standing exercises, I let go of the method. Everything was crystal clear, perfectly fine. The mind does not need any method. The mind is pure, immaculate, perfect in itself. I realized that I had been reluctant to let go of the method. When I reported this to Simon, I provided this metaphor. It was like I had been told to find my way to a place where I could see the mountain in order to climb to the mountaintop by using a compass. I had been diligently following the instruction, taking care not to let my eyes stray from the compass so as not to go the wrong way. Now that I could see the mountain, I was told I no longer needed the compass. Yet, I was reluctant to let go of the compass and kept referring back to it even though the mountain was right in front of me! Simon said, “It’s like not letting go of the raft.” It then became clear to me that, over the past day, I had slowly learned to let go of the Dharma, as instructed by the Diamond Sutra. It was not easy and I could see why the Buddha found it necessary to give this instruction. The Dharma, with its method and views, had served its purpose. The mind is naturally bright and clear. It does not need these words.
One last thing to report—when I was sitting on the toilet, the body was doing its thing. Sound of the fan came on. Footsteps on the floor. Water running from the faucets. Faucets turned off. Sound of lever of paper towel dispenser being pushed. No need for me to be here. Simon asked if I came back. I said, “Yes, I needed to leave the toilet.” He asked if this happened before. I told him, “a number of times, while eating, walking, sitting, when the self was not needed. Self comes and goes. It’s okay.”
Simon then told me, “It is clear that you have seen the nature. Congratulations.” I thanked Simon. Although one may think that this ought to be a moment of great excitement or joy, it was really quite an ordinary moment. It reminded me of the teaching in the Tathagathagarbha Sutra where a man who had a precious pearl sewn inside his coat lived in abject poverty because he never realized that he had this tremendous wealth with him all that time. This mind is right here with us all the time. If we pay attention, we can see it in an instant. This is why the Buddha warned us not to search for the Buddha outside of ourselves in the Diamond Sutra. Simon reminded me of Faith in Mind. Indeed. It is clear that everyone has this Buddha mind and one does not need to wait for it to reveal itself. We just need to see it.
I used the opportunity to ask Simon some questions about seeing the nature and living an ethical life. I remember Shifu saying that one still will have vexations after seeing the nature, but one will know how to handle them. I interpreted it as meaning that even though one is not perfect, the practice will help one rectify mistakes as one moves along. That’s what the lifetime cultivation is about. I asked Simon about why some people who have supposedly seen the nature would do gravely unethical things and cause harm to others. Simon told me that seeing the nature is not protection against making mistakes. We still need to practice. If one thinks that seeing the nature makes one special and thus invincible to mistakes, and especially if others around them treat them as if they could not be wrong, one can go down the path of thinking that s/he can do whatever s/ he wants. The practice will help one see one’s mistakes and rectify them, but one may slack off in the practice and thus allow things to slide. That is why Shifu said that one needs to practice more diligently after seeing the nature. Now I can understand what he meant. That evening after everyone retired, I paid my gratitude to Shifu by doing some prostrations. No word would be sufficient in describing my gratitude. My deep gratitude also goes to John Crook and Simon Child who gave me personal guidance over the years in Western Zen Retreats and Koan Retreats. The discoveries made in those retreats were invaluable for preparing me for this retreat. I cannot help but feel that I have to be one of the most blessed people in the world, having encountered not one but three great masters to help me with my practice.
I remember Shifu’s teachings that this is the beginning of practice. Now I can see the mountain, I need to start climbing it. It is only just the beginning.
