A monk said to the Master "The Buddhas of past present and future don't understand. Cats and oxen do. Why don't the Buddhas understand?" Master Nanquan replied, "Before they entered the Deer Park they knew it. "The monk said, "How is it that cats and oxen do know it?" "How could you doubt that they do?" responded Nanquan.
When I read the list of koans in this Koan retreat, I was intrigued by this koan. What the monk said makes no sense. I thought to myself, "how is it possible that cats and oxen understand something the Buddhas don't?" Yet I knew this thought reflected a certain prejudice in my way of thinking and I was eager to explore it.
Before I started with this koan, however, I had to deal with an internal conflict. I was trying to decide whether I should investigate this koan or the huatou concerning how to practice on the open path. I had a pretty clear idea of why I thought I should use that huatou as I felt I ought to be thinking more about how I would like to live my life from now on. I requested an interview with John, who advised me to work on Cats and Dogs koan. He told me that I would find out how to practice on the open path after investigating this koan. I was glad to receive the encouragement from John because something inside me told me that I was hiding from something by not choosing this koan. I was relieved as soon as the decision was made. The process also taught me something about myself: I often rationalize an alternative choice when I want to avoid doing something I know I should do. This is an avoidance tactic I use to myself and it is useful to learn to detect it.
I followed John's instructions in using the koan. The first day was spent memorizing the koan. I did feel intrigued by the koan, especially the first two lines. They did not make any sense and my mind would "lock up" in the face of the paradox. These experiences cleared wandering thoughts out of my mind and very soon I felt very calm. I would bring up some lines in the koan and the mind would enter a seemingly very serene state that did not have much doubt sensation. It was very pleasant, sort of like silent illumination, but it was also suspicious. John instructed us to play with the koan, ask questions, let the mind give rise to answers while knowing that the koan cannot be answered. I requested a brief interview with Simon to check with him on whether I was on the right track. He asked me if there was investigation. I realized that I was not so much doing silent illumination as resting, or as Master Sheng Yen said, "soaking a stone in cold water." While I knew this conceptually, it was easy to become complacent and satisfied with sitting on the cushion with a decently calm mind. Simon's comment, together with John's lectures, reminded me that the purpose of attending retreats is to look deeply into the mind to gain a clear understanding of its habits, its tendencies, its conditionings. Only by so doing will I be able to understand the deep-seated internal conflicts that exist. I left the interview room with a clearer sense of how I should approach the practice-it is not about keeping the mind free of wandering thoughts per se; it is about knowing clearly what arises in the mind at all time.
Taking John's instructions to heart, I investigated the koan. First, I tried to find out why this koan intrigued me. "Why am I so shocked that the cats and oxen understand something that the Buddhas don't? How is it possible? The buddhas are clearly superior to the cats and oxens, aren't they?" I thought to myself. It did not take long to see how my conditioning had a profound influence on my worldview. Through Dharma study, I know the teaching that all sentient beings are equal. From my own professional training, I understand the notion that status differences are socially constructed and not based on true differences in the individuals' innate nature. Yet, I was raised in a society where some are considered more worthy than others. Not only that, I was socialized to want to be the superior one. Thus I fear to be the inferior one. Throughout my schooling years, I strived to be among the top students and feared to be seen associated with students who were considered hopeless or losers. The same mentality stayed with me in my professional life. It became clear to me that these ideas of whom I should avoid or associate with in order to maintain my social status are all created in my mind. There is little objective reality to it. The insecurity I feel in my social life based on these fabricated ideas is indeed a house of cards. It's all air! Furthermore, my emotional responses to such insecurity seem also laughable-avoiding some perfectly fine people, looking down upon some people for no rational reason whatsoever, discriminating against activities merely because they are associated with my prejudiced mind's socially undesirable groups.
I am still feeling the effect of this revelation. One thing that used to really bother me was when I moved between areas of very different social classes while in my hometown. In the past, because of this deep-seated emotional aversion to the conditions associated with being poor, uneducated, and non-western, I would subconsciously feel sorry for myself for having to be in that environment part of the time because that was where my parents lived. After all, I had worked hard since my childhood to get out of that kind of life-to get away from a world of manual labour, non-English-speaking, uneducated, noisy, dirty, unsophisticated, on and on. That was why I worked so hard in school! I learned that I did not want to end up in the same place where I grew up. I still remember the deep sadness I felt for a girl who was a bit older than me, also the daughter of a hardware store owner, who stayed and worked in the store when she grew up. The same time as I felt sad for her, an intense fear also arose in me, thus motivating me to move forward in school to make sure I don't end up like her. This deep fear of ending up where I originated helped motivate me in school and professionally. But it also instilled a deep prejudice against the impoverished and those who are less fortunate than I. I realized that fear is inseparable from the aversion from that which represents what I feared. As a result, even though I knew it was wrong, deep down I despised everything associated with the impoverished and uneducated.
This has caused me a great deal of pain. My place of origin, my parents and the people around my hometown are a part of me, even though it is a part of what I try to escape. Inevitably, an internal conflict has been brewing. Obviously, I cannot erase my past, nor can I disown my parents and everyone else, not that I ever consciously tried or wanted to do so. But whenever I despise something or somebody for some very minor thing for such an entirely irrational reason, it gnawed at me and I did not know what to do. This revelation is a very important one.
This time in my hometown, I can see that my attitude to the people and things I used to despise is all due to this fear. Seeing the fear is like taking away a veil that distorted everything I see in the world. Now I see people of humble background and can look at them as other fellow human beings, neither pitying nor fearing them. My parents' humble abode also bothers me less. I can truly see it as a place to live. It is noisy, not fancy, but it is a safe and decent place to live. The uncontrollable feeling of wanting to escape from this place no longer arises. I can stay put, do my work and only go out when it's time to do so. It used to hurt me immensely to feeling this urge to escape from my parents' house, a place where I grew up, of which I have great fondness. This time, I am much more at peace with everything.
It has been incredible to discover how profoundly this deep-seated fear has influenced my feeling about so many things and thus affected my relationships with many people. These are things that bothered me over the years. I am very grateful for the opportunity to see the root cause so clearly. So far, the retreat has been extremely productive. Yet I knew I was not pushing the koan far enough. I kept asking. I took Simon's advice to investigate why I had trouble in getting past the first two sentences. "Before they entered the Deer Park, they knew it." What did they know? Why did entering the Deer Park stop them from knowing it?
My intellectual answer is that teaching caused the Buddhas to use words and concepts. But this conceptually correct answer is not what I am looking for. What is it? I got increasingly frustrated. In the evening of the fourth day, I've had enough. "What am I doing here asking this absurd question?" And then the questions would not stop arising. "What is the purpose of all this?" "What is the point?" "What is the point of life?" "Why am I born if I have to die?" "What is the point?" For the first time I truly understood what Shifu meant by "doubt sensation." It is not just being curious about something interesting. Rather, it is a question that is so important that before it can be answered, life makes no sense. The questions that arose are precisely such questions. Without knowing the purpose of this life, how do I know how to approach the next moment?
During my next interview with Simon, I told him about what happened. It was extremely emotional. I could not stop weeping. I had clearly touched on something deep in the core of my being. I also discovered why I have been having the "problem" I articulated earlier on - motivation at work. I complained about not being able to get motivated to do what I need to do at work. It has been bothering me a great deal. According to Shifu's teaching, a Chan practitioner ought to be diligent in fulfilling one's responsibilities. But I have found it increasingly difficult to do so. I cared less and less. Apparently, deep down, I could not see the point of it all. My thought patterns went like this: why bother publishing another paper if all it means is to get me promoted, then what? Why bother keeping the house clean, it gets dirty in just a few days. What's the point? Why bother keeping friendship going when we eventually all die anyway? This pessimistic, hopeless viewpoint is clearly not in accordance with what Shifu taught. Something is off in my practice. But I hadn't been able to identify what, and this has been immensely frustrating. Now I know why I have this thought pattern and the resulting motivation problem. I do not know the purpose of my existence. Having read existentialist philosophy, of course I knew I could come up with meanings for things I do in my life. In fact, that has been my "survival strategy." Yet, deep down, I knew too well that the meaning of my life has been carefully fabricated by my clever mind, and I was no longer willing to be fooled by it. Yet this is causing a problem: if I no longer believe in the meaning of life I created, how else do I find meaning? How do I keep up my motivation in life when a meaning cannot be attached to life? The whole issue is like a puzzle that I need to solve, and finding the solution is of utmost importance, on which the rest of my life depends.
What is it that the cats and oxen understand that keeps them going? I couldn't help but recall images of animals of all species enduring extremely cold weather through long winters or long drought and having the will to keep on going until favourable conditions return. Those stories of nature never failed to move me, but I did not know why. Now I do. I admired these animals' strong will to survive, to hold on to life, regardless of the severity of adversity. They simply would not give up! "Why can't I be like them?" I thought to myself. The whole picture has been turned upside down. The cats and oxen do know something that we don't. What is it?
Simon told me that it was clear that I had found my life koan-what is the purpose of this life? I could not drop the question and felt that my life depended on it. This is indeed how Shifu described doubt sensation. Simon encouraged me to continue to investigate this question. I did. I spent the next two days asking what the point of life is. I started with the present moment. I looked deeply into each moment, trying to find the purpose of each moment. Concentrating on each moment, my mind calmed down further. I found that there is no inherent meaning or purpose in each moment, and I was able to accept that. Then I moved on to my relationships, my strongest attachments in life. As I went over memories of my interactions with my brothers and sister and my parents, people very dear to my heart, I could feel the attachment manifesting in the form of a reluctance to accept the fact that they, too, are empty of inherent meaning. It is a lot easier to accept that the sounds of wind and birds are empty of inherent meaning, but when it comes to relationship, it is tough to do so. Then, I looked at my relationship with my husband. I could sense my mind refusing to contemplate the notion that our relationship is empty of any ultimate and inherent purpose, that my husband and I are together because of our emotional attachment to each other, which can vanish when causes and conditions change. It was painful to force myself to face this fact. Then, rather than despairing at the fact that there is not even any point in the part of my life I hold most dear to my heart, I realized why it is so important. As I was reminded of all the things he did that made me happy, it dawned on me that his being in my life makes life less unbearable. I said to myself, "he made this life less unbearable, isn't it sufficient? What more do I need?" I started sobbing, out of deep gratitude for him and for the fact that he is in my life. This experience struck a very deep chord in my being. It is difficult to explain, but my heart was filled with gratitude from that moment on. Yes, there may not be any point in life per se, I am still grateful for what is in it right now.
When I went for my final interview with John, I reported what happened to him. I told him I have been investigating what the point of life is. He asked if I found it and I told him that I could not find any. I told him of my fear of losing my loved ones to death, and this feeling has become more intense since Shifu's passing. John told me that I was obviously having some bereavement issues. He reminded me of impermanence, which I clearly have yet to truly accept at the deep emotional level. Indeed, that is the root cause of my question: why bother if all ends in death anyway? What's the point? Of course, I was deeply bothered by the nihilistic tendency of this thought pattern. I knew it is not in accordance with Chan practice, but after years of suppressing these views and feelings, I have decided to let them out in the open in this retreat. John told me that when the Buddhas entered the Deer Park teaching about emptiness, what they lost was the faith in existence that cats and oxen have. Instead of asking the nihilistic question of "what's the point of all this," I need to open my heart to existence. Existence itself will carry us along. Then I asked, "how about my problem of getting motivated?" John said, "Do you need to be motivated?" It was an interesting question. I am so used to thinking about this issue in the conventional way, in terms of intrinsic and extrinsic motivations that are all manufactured products of the mind based on social constructions. But I asked myself, do I need to be motivated to brush my teeth, or eat my meals? These are merely things that need to be done, and l was reminded of Shifu's teachings that the purpose of life is to diligently do things that need to be done to benefit others which will in turn benefit ourselves. It does not mean that I will become a failure or "loser" at work, but my perspective on work can be adjusted. Before, I knew that my "motivations" were based on the need for recognition and social status rather than the need to contribute to my profession. My attitude was too cynical concerning the notion of "contributing to my profession" and the deep-seated reason was that I did not believe life is worth all the trouble. Indeed, my attitude has been unconsciously dominated by the phrase "why bother?" Yet, if I can adjust my views, I can see that while constantly changing, the academic field is built on everyone's effort, one small chunk at a time. If everyone is nihilistic like me, we will still be living in the Dark Ages. Hence, I should do my best to contribute to my field's understanding but do so without competing or comparing with others' achievements. It's merely something that needs to be done, regardless of what others are doing. I feel a sense of hope in my situation. It is not that all the problems are gone, rather I feel I have acquired a more healthy perspective to handle them.
It has been four weeks since the retreat ended. I feel I am applying what I have learned in the retreat in my daily life. I think back to how I felt in a similar situation in the past, and see less anxiety, less grasping, less craving, more contentment, more gratitude and more love. These retreats never fail to amaze me and my faith in the practice only gets stronger after every intensive Koan retreat. My deep gratitude to John and Simon, the teachers, and other participants who inspire me so much.
