Copyright 1990 by Bristol Chan Group, UK, uploaded with 
permission.

May not be quoted for commercial purposes.

Anyone wishing to quote for non-commercial purposes may seek 
permission from the editor: jmcg@biols.susx.ac.uk
or Peter Howard, 22 Butts Rd., Chiseldon, Wilts., SN4 0NW, 
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Printed versions of past and future issues [which
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NEW


CH'AN


FORUM

 
     
No. 2 Winter 1990


Dharma-Advisor

The Venerable
Chan Master
Dr. Sheng-Yen


Teacher

Dr. John Crook



Editors

Hilary Richards
Jake Lyne de Ver


Drawings

Caroline Paine




GETTING GOING.....


Surprise, surprise! Not only is the Bristol Chan Group still in existence, 
it seems to be flourishing. We have met and sat together for one "term" 
and have just started another. We have had a series of talks from John 
Crook and organised two short Chan retreats at weekends, one at the 
Maenllwyd and one at the flat of Nigel Chilton in Bristol. We seem to be 
spreading our wings, for Eddy Street is establishing a Chan group in 
Cardiff, affiliated to Bristol for teachings and retreat guidance. In May, 
John directed our first full Chan retreat; a week long experience based 
upon John's authorization from Master Sheng-yen to run orthodox Chan 
retreats in this country as his representative. Everyone worked hard and 
benefited from the time together.

In this journal we publish some extracts from retreat reports which are 
written within a few days of the ending of a retreat. They are of value to 
every practitioner for they remind us of the focused endeavour that is 
retreat practice, the struggle with self, the endless mistakes and hassle 
and the glimpses of eternity that bring us momentarily home. Each report 
reveals the ego of the writer which all of us in some way or another can 
understand. Reading a report is to reflect on common experiences and to 
know that sharing really helps.

We present part of a report written by a New Yorker, a teacher of 
biology, who frequently attends retreats run by Shifu(1) at the Chan 
Centre in Queens. In addition we include edited extracts from two 
reports emanating from the Chan retreat with John at the Maenllwyd, 
May 1990. The reports are presented anonymously but we thank each 
writer for his or her willingness to share themselves so frankly.

Our major initiative is to publish a book based on the discourses given by 
Shifu at the Maenllwyd in Spring 1989. These have now been prepared 
and, together with an introductory essay, retreat reports and an 
autobiographical interview, assembled in a book entitled "Catching a 
Feather on a Fan: A Zen Retreat with Chan Master Sheng-Yen." The 
book will be published by Element Press in February 1991.


Readers may also like to know of the publication, also by Element Press, 
of a new book edited by John Crook and David Fontana entitled "Space 
in Mind: East-West Psychology and Contemporary Buddhism" This is a 
collection of essays from a conference sponsored by the British 
Psychological Society in Cardiff a few years ago, and has been carefully 
prepared to provide a practical guide to links between Western and 
Buddhist thought, especially focusing on therapy, meditation and 
retreats. It includes chapters by Sue Blackmore, Steven Batchelor, James 
Low and Ngagpa Chogyam, well known to members of the Chan 
Group, and two chapters by John on different aspects of the Western 
Zen Retreat.

Our future plans will focus on the consolidation of the Bristol Group 
around questions of practice. We will run a series of talks and short 
retreats and support John's programme of retreats for a wider clientele at 
the Maenllwyd. We shall also invite other speakers to join us from time 
to time. Members are warmly invited to consider attending a retreat in 
New York with Master Sheng- Yen. These are offered in November, at 
Christmas, in May and in July and cost $200 for six days. Details of 
programmes are given at the end of this newsletter.

The theme of our next newsletter will be Western attitudes and 
adaptations of Zen. Please write to us with contributions, criticisms and 
ideas for publication. Also spread the word, so that others get to know 
of our existence and our endeavour.

                                             The Editors.

(1) The word Shifu means Master and refers to Dr. Sheng-Yen. It is 
the Chinese equivalent to the Japanese term Roshi. 



                    CH'AN AND DAILY LIFE

A lecture given by Master Sheng-Yen at the Washington University, St. 
Louis Missouri on April 17th, 1990. (Presented in edited form with the 
permission of the Institute of Chung Hwa Buddhist Culture, Elmhurst, 
New York Originally printed in Chan Newsletter, May 1990).


You may have the impression that, having written numerous books on 
the subject, I know a great deal about Buddhism. But throughout my 
study and practice of Buddhism, one important lesson has been drilled 
into me: once you have learned something, be sure to forget it. If you've 
written a book, forget the contents. It's done. It's gone. Just forget about 
it. A Chan practitioner does not dwell on accomplishment.

Another important lesson I learned is this: you should have money in the 
bank and money in your pocket, but you should have no money in your 
head. Some people believe the opposite. Their minds are filled with 
money, yet their pockets are empty end their bank account is zero. A 
Chan practitioner maintains an empty mind.

The Chan sect avoids the use of words, but words are sometimes 
unavoidable. Those speaking about Chan should not need to consider 
what it is they're going to say beforehand. Perhaps Chan is best suited 
for lazy people, those who don't like to work at all.

What do we mean when we say that Chan avoids words? Most 
importantly, it means not relying on what has been spoken or written in 
the past. There is no need for us to believe even the words of 
Shakyamuni Buddha. Thus we approach Chan unencumbered by the 
past - what we have read, heard and experienced. Chan advocates 
throwing everything away.

I am not really advocating that we return to some vegetative state, where 
your head is as empty as a dried pumpkin. We must learn, but we don't 
want to cling to what we have learned. We don't want it in our head. Is 
this possible? It certainly is not easy. There is nowhere in the world that 
is free from noise and disturbance. No matter where we are or what we 
do, our minds are always buzzing with self-created problems. It is true: 
we are most disturbed not by what goes on around us, but what goes on 
in our heads.

What is going on in our heads? It's our thoughts entangled with the past, 
present, future. And it's not being able to get what we want when we 
want it, and not being able to get rid of what displeases us when we are 
displeased.

It might seem that some people can always get what they want. Imagine 
a campus heart-throb. Perhaps he has got three girlfriends he can call on 
any given night. It looks like he can have whoever he wants, but he still 
has to choose one of the three. Can he have all three at the same time? 
Eventually you reach a limit.

In making decisions we usually connect the past, present, and future, and 
the process is fraught with contradictions. I don't bother to go through 
all of this. I'm involved in a long list of activities and I have many 
disciples in Taiwan and here in the United States. I am always busy.  
Nevertheless, I am not disturbed by the number of obligations I have and 
the amount of work I must do. People ask me how I manage to deal with 
all of this. It is simply that I don't put myself in the way of what I do. 
There is nothing that I wish to do or not do for personal gain or 
preservation. I do what I have to do with all my heart. I do not do what 
is not permitted me, what is unnecessary, and what I am unable to do.

Does this mean that I constantly change direction, try one thing, abandon 
it, and then try something else? No, because there is a central purpose 
that underlies everything that I do. I try to maintain the attitude of a 
Bodhisattva, and accordingly I try to benefit others as much as possible. 
It's fine if what I do for others is also of benefit or at least of no harm to 
me. Even sacrifice of oneself is sometimes necessary. Viewing the world 
this way and maintaining this attitude, I have no vexation.

Be sure to understand that the willingness to sacrifice oneself is really the 
mark of a saint. It is not something that most of us can do. Do not be 
overwhelmed by unrealistic demands on yourself. Do what you can with 
the abilities you have now. Don't think you have to be a saint and 
perform miraculous deeds. It is true that Buddhism advocates the 
Bodhisattva ideal. But this is for those who are ready, otherwise 
everything in its time. To be taken for a Bodhisattva when you have not 
truly attained this state is to have problems indeed.

I sometimes come across people who treat me as a great master. To such 
people I say, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but please don't take me for a 
saint. Otherwise you will end up by causing me harm." Why would 
anyone want to add to his or her suffering by posing as someone else's 
ideal, as someone else's illusion? Most often our suffering derives from 
unrealistic demands that we make, or others make upon us. 

A Chan story goes as follows: There was a monk who asked his master, 
"What did Bodhidharma bring when he came from the East?" The master 
replied, "He didn't bring anything." The monk insisted, "Didn't 
Bodhidharma bring Buddhadharma, the teaching of Buddha, from the 
West?" The master replied, "No, not really. Buddhadharma has always 
been in China." The monk was puzzled, "Well, that's strange then. If 
Buddhadharma was already here, why did Bodhidharma bother coming 
to China?" The master's reply is interesting: "Because Buddhadharma 
was already here, it is for that reason that Bodhidharma had to leave 
India and come here."

Does everybody get that?

What did Bodhidharma tell us? He said that everyone can become a 
Buddha. Everyone has Buddha Nature, but no one realizes it. How can 
we attain this realization? He gave us two methods. The first is the 
method of principle. The second is the method of practice.

In the first method there is nothing to talk about and nothing to do. You 
use no logic and there is no need to practice; you simply make your mind 
the same as a wall. You can see through this wall; it is transparent. It 
does not move. Nonetheless, you can hang things on it and you can write 
on it. But the wall itself does not change. Just so, your mind may contain 
knowledge and experience, but it is unaffected by them. In reality, it is 
empty of everything just as the substance of the wall is neither increased 
nor reduced by what is hung upon it. Can you make your mind like a 
wall? Can you take all your past knowledge and experience and lock 
them in a storehouse. Can you prevent their escape? Are you able to tell 
your mind to silence your wandering thoughts? Probably not.

It is for this reason that Bodhidharma also gave us the second method, 
that of practice. He divided the method of practice into four stages.

The first stage has to do with suffering. You recognize that your 
problems and the difficulties that befall you, stem from your previous 
karma. Everything that now exists has its origin in some other place and 
some other time. We may not be able to know this origin. What has 
brought us and all around us to this present moment has its root in 
innumerable past lives. But most of us cannot look deep into the past, 
and there is no way for us to prove the existence of past lives. Even in 
this life there are many things we are unable to remember. When we are 
confronted by unpleasantness and unhappiness in the present, we should 
know that they are rooted in what we have done in the past. We may be 
unable to perceive exactly what the cause was, nevertheless we should 
understand that the origin is in ourselves and accept the consequences 
that we now confront.

Is this unconditional acceptance a sign that the Chan approach is passive 
or negative? Not at all. By understanding that we have laid the 
groundwork for our suffering in the past, we can see that the here and 
now is the groundwork for the future. We can lay down a new cause 
right now to counteract our present suffering and immediately put 
ourselves on a course that will be more positive. By doing this we can 
pay back debts that we have accrued in previous incarnations.

It is important to understand that this paying back consists of acting 
properly in the moment with what we have in hand. It does not mean 
surrendering. If this building burst into flames, there would be a cause 
for it, but there is no need to concern ourselves with the reason. What 
we must do is to put out the fire now. Only when we have done 
everything that is humanly possible, do we unequivocally accept the 
consequences without complaint.

In the second stage, we develop the awareness that what we find good 
or pleasant is also the result of causes in the past, and we don't get 
caught up in the feelings of gladness. We don't take good fortune as a 
sign of our own specialness or greatness, We don't let such things add to 
a sense of self. After all, when something good happens to us, we are 
simply experiencing the consequences of the hard work we have done in 
the past. It is as if we are withdrawing money from the bank. And what 
is so wonderful about withdrawing money from our account?

We must realize that happy events are not all that they seem. Some 
people still find ways to be unhappy in pleasant circumstances. Many of 
those with wealth, power and position are not necessarily happy. Even a 
simple, common event such as boy meeting girl may not create happiness 
for all the parties involved. This is not to say that they will necessarily be 
unhappy. But good fortune and happy occurrences should not lead us to 
pride or self-satisfaction. A lot of people forget themselves when they 
meet with success.

There is a story in China about a beggar who won a lottery. He had the 
winning ticket secreted in a bamboo walking stick. When he found out 
that he had won the prize, he was so overjoyed that he resolved then and 
there to never again have anything to do with begging. In a burst of 
exultation he threw his old  clothes and all of his meagre possessions into 
a nearby river. Unfortunately the walking stick was one of the discarded 
items. Too late, he watched it and his new life floating downstream.

A Chan practitioner should maintain an attitude of equanimity. If the 
money comes, it comes. If it goes, it goes. Neither circumstance should 
create wild fluctuations in the mind. 

By the third stage, the practitioner has come to maintain an attitude of 
not seeking. Of course, whether you are in the East or in the West, it 
would seem that nothing could be accomplished if you didn't set out to 
accomplish it. Normally, we have desires and goals which we are striving 
towards. This is what motivates us, and this is very natural. But it often 
happens that we are unable to attain what we seek.

Not seeking anything, there is no single goal to attain. Nonetheless, we 
must work hard. Without hard work, life is meaningless. We need to 
work. We need motivation to accomplish everyday tasks. But in terms of 
spiritual cultivation, keeping a specific goal in mind is itself an obstacle 
to the accomplishment of the goal. Ordinary aims can be achieved by 
desire and direct effort, but the highest goal cannot be approached in this 
way.

If, for example. you practice to achieve enlightenment, you will find your 
goal moving farther and farther away from you. What does 
enlightenment mean? It means liberation, both from the constraints 
imposed by the self and those imposed by the external world. Seeking, 
even if it is for enlightenment, is just another constraint.

Now we arrive at the fourth and last stage of practice. Each method 
reaches a progressively higher level. The first one is fairly easy to carry 
out. So too, is the second one, but the third poses more of a problem. 
Few can put it in to practice.

At the fourth level of practice one simply does whatever should be done. 
Whatever you need of me, I do. One who has only reached the third level 
may do a task well, but there may be some negativity in his attitude. But 
by the fourth level of practice, the practitioner manifests positive, 
forthright action.

I once met a young man who had wanted to become a lawyer from the 
time he graduated high school. As it turned out, he was unable to pass 
the entrance exam, so he eventually studied library science instead. At 
first he was quite disappointed. After he graduated, he went to France to 
do research on the French library system. Eventually he received his 
Ph.D. in library science. Then he was invited back to Taiwan because 
there are very few Ph.D.'s in library science there, and they needed 
someone for the central library. He came to me for advice and I quoted a 
Chinese saying to him: "Once you board the pirates' boat, be a pirate." I 
told him to go all the way with library science. He came back from 
France and thanked me. Things turned out quite well for him, and he was 
probably better off than if he had become a lawyer.

In whatever situation you find yourself, strive to do your best in that 
situation, not in some illusion you fear or crave. When things change, 
change with them. With this attitude, your life should run smoothly, and 
your vexations and troubles will be few.



       THE GRAVEL DIGGER; A STORY.


Once upon a time and no-one knows when, there was a monastery set in 
a land of deep woods and stony mountains. Among the brotherhood was 
a monk whose job was to dig gravel in a pit high above the monastery 
and bring it down in a barrow for use among the buildings. Each day he 
would walk up and down the mountain digging out then transporting the 
gravel, pushing his barrow now upwards and empty and now downwards 
and full. The path to the gravel pit was worn with his daily toil. The 
monastery was always well supplied with gravel for its paths and 
courtyards.

One day the Master was making rounds, inspecting the work that each 
monk was doing. He climbed up to the gravel pit and there in the 
bottom, shovelling gravel was the monk.

     "How goes it, brother?"

     "Oh Master, I should never have become a gravel digger. I should be 
a Samurai. I should have a fine silver sword at my side instead of this 
shovel in my hand. I should have a plumed helmet instead of this sweaty 
old hat. I should have a suit of armour instead of these dirty overalls. I 
should have a magnificent stallion to ride instead of this old barrow to 
push."

The master had heard this more than a thousand times. He shouted at the 
gravel digger.

     "You are a gravel digger -- Dig!"

But as he turned to go back to his room the Master paused and looked at 
the monk.

     "By the way" he said, "I see the Mountain is Moving. Have you 
noticed it too?"

                          Eddy Street


MEDITATION TALK:
EVERYTHING IS AS IT IS - THIS IN ITSELF IS REMARKABLE

If one is attempting to go into Zen deeply, to understand the relationship 
between one's mind and the universe, then it becomes important to turn 
over and over again, going backwards and forwards, backwards and 
forwards, many times over, the same refrain, the same theme. Not with 
the analytical intellect, nor with the mind of one who seeks explanation, 
but within the context of zazen, wherein intuitive insight can arise.

We begin with the thought that everything is just as it is, and that this in 
itself is totally remarkable, completely astounding, a condition of 
extraordinary improbability. Spring is coming, summer follows. Just 
now, this morning for the first time, everyone is arriving; the black-caps, 
the chiff-chaffs, the willow-warblers, the cuckoo. Summer follows and 
the  days grow shorter. Autumn comes and then the season of ice and 
snow. Once more with the warming of the days, everyone returns. 

Think how extraordinary this is. How it depends entirely on the way the 
planet revolves. This spinning globe, this planet in space turning at a 
certain rate determines the timing of the day and night. Darkness and 
light, facing the sun, facing away from the sun. And each respective 
season, tilting sunwards and then away from the sun, so that the heat of 
the sun on the surface of the globe swings now north, now south, 
bringing the seasons. Bringing everyone north and taking everyone 
south, winging their way across the deserts. An extraordinary precision 
of spin and oscillation.

Consider how it might be different. A little faster in revolution and days 
would change their duration. Spring and Summer would flash past with a 
faster oscillation. We could have five years in one or five hundred days in 
one year. Who set the pattern spinning? Inappropriate question! How did 
it get fixed at this rate? Quite arbitrary, may be, or according to the laws 
which govern the speed of spinning globes spun off from a distant far off 
sun in ages long past. Everything is just as it is and everything is 
connected. The unfolding of the universe, and the setting of speeds, the 
law of interdependent origination and the laws of the universe. 
Emptiness taking form, form congealing out of space. Timed, shaped, 
processing itself through time. Emerging from being. Returning once 
more to being. Form to emptiness, emptiness to form. The oscillation, 
the manifestation of the Law, Tao, the ultimate logos, whatever.  
      
Everything is as it is - and how extraordinary! Looking at the hillside as 
the flowers bloom, know this. There is nothing else. The hillside is It. 
Standing in the silent church looking at the altar, the altar and the 
atmosphere of the building, the silence, is It. On top of the cliff watching 
the swirling sea, is It. Futile to look elsewhere, God is not different from 
That. Buddha- nature is immediately before your eyes, there is no need 
to go anywhere. There is no need to go anywhere else. Everything is as it 
is and that is It. Do not seek elsewhere for that which is right now, 
before your eyes. Go very deeply into this. Penetrate the obscurities of 
wanting something else. So much of our dilemma lies in seeking 
elsewhere that which lies within the palms of our hands. So much 
dissatisfaction. So much wanting. So much seeking. God is always in 
somebody else's garden. The Buddha-mind is always in some other state 
of meditation. Paradise is in the heavens which are not here. Always this 
quest.

It becomes necessary to STOP. To go into it to recognise everything is 
as it is.  Extraordinary! Everything before one's eyes is It. You are in It. 
Sometimes when the mind is so busy, so preoccupied, when samsara is 
spinning with the struggle of life, relationships, fear of death, the 
multitude dissatisfactions of industrial society, it is difficult simply to 
know that everything is as it is. Very difficult to know, because 
everything seems to be undesirable. What is wanted is the very opposite 
condition from that which is right in front of one's eyes. You haven't 
penetrated to the quality which brings out insight. Instead there is just 
noise and confusion. What to do?

Begin with gratitude. Notice simple things for which you can be 
thankful, anything. Each person is different. Notice the small things, the 
smile on a friend's face, a beautiful person walking in the street, birds 
overhead, flowers blooming, even the energy of roaring traffic in great 
cities, the pulsation, the force the drive. Feel wherever it may be, the 
gratitude for being there. After all there might be  nothing at all. 
Absolutely nothing. You might never have been here to witness it. The 
uniqueness of this moment is extraordinary. If you are not grateful, the 
opposites have arisen and you are lost. In the quietness of the mind's eye 
make gasho. Bow down in gratitude for the universe.


     Homage to the Buddhas in all worlds. Homage to the    
     Bodhisattvas in all worlds. Homage to the scripture
     of Great Wisdom."  



                                 John Crook 



          TWO POEMS BY THE GREAT MASTER HSU YUN


Master Hsu Yun was perhaps the greatest Chan master of this century. 
He may have lived for one hundred and twenty years, dying in 1959. His 
great work was the restoration of many Chinese temples and monasteries 
and the rekindling of the Dharma in China after a period of severe 
decline. He is the immediate Dharma ancestor of several contemporary 
Chan masters. Master Sheng-yen is a second generation descendant in 
his tradition.

In 1986 I stayed in Hong Kong with my old friend Yiu Yan-nang. We 
spent an evening translating some of Hsu Yun's poems. Yan- nang 
provided the basic English and I did my best to put it in poem form. The 
verses presented here were written near the end of Hsu Yun's life when 
he was much persecuted by Communists.

In the spring of 1951 Master Hsu Yun was staying at Yun-Men 
Monastery. He was holding a ceremony of giving precepts when the 
monastery was attacked by Communist thugs who believed there were 
arms stored in the buildings. The master was severely beaten up, a 
serious matter at his advanced age. Although he continued to sit in 
meditation he was dragged out and trampled upon with heavy boots. For 
several days he was believed dead. After a slow recovery, he went to Wu 
Chang and stayed at the temple of the three Buddhas. It was here that he 
wrote the first poem. The Government investigated the claims, nothing 
was found and the provincial officials were told to protect the monastery 
and the master.

The poem is to be found in Charles Luk's translation of Hsu Yun's 
autobiography (1). The part of it referring to the decapitated general 
only provides his name and the place of his enlightenment. We chose to 
modify this part of the text to make it comprehensible. The poem itself 
was inscribed below a photograph taken at this time; both photo and 
poem are illustrated on p 130 of Luk's book.
I am not sure where the second poem can be found. It must be from 
about the same period.


1 Luk, Charles. 1988. Empty Cloud; The autobiography of the Chinese 
Zen master Xu Yun. Shaftesbury. Element Books, (as revised by Richard 
Hunn)



                      1

An evil wind blows me to Wu Chang,
my presence here has caused disaster.
For three months, at Sung Fat Monastery,
this sick and ageing body has attracted trouble,
shame and fear for everyone.
Once there was a decapitated general
calling aloud for his head;
"How many heads have you cut off?"
they asked him, at once he was enlightened.
Today, I too lament, 
defeated, tortured, I recall unnumbered heads
in other lifetimes I cut off.
Vast is time and I am reconciled.
No more desire for eminence,
simply the wish to find the Buddha,
along with other people.


                      2

Why should this crazy guy
seek to make a name in Buddhism
when the whole show's on the wane-
indeed at crisis point?
I try to climb the highest peak,
I plumb the depths to catch the fish,
talk a lot-
find no listeners.
Sorry for myself I waste my time.
Unconcerned by dire predicaments
concern for others should be my task.
Moaning without pause;
whatever for - this grumbling?
Why not let everything go-
Life's suffering never ends.
Suddenly, remembering Emptiness, this mind has cleared.
What a laugh it is! 

                            John Crook 
 


                EULOGY FOR HSU YUN (YUN KUNG)

I thought you might like this rough paraphrase of "The Eulogy for Hsu 
Yun (lit. Yun Kung or Reverend Yun)" by Kuan Pen as a kind of 
celebration concerning the great master who was the modern founder of 
our tradition. Kuan Pen was one of Hsu Yun's senior disciples in the 
sangha and was close to him through many difficult times, though he 
actually died before Hsu Yun.

Kuan Pen was an academician in lay life, a noted calligrapher and poet. I 
liked his 'firm' style when I first saw it. The poem (gatha) is written in a 
kind of 'Buddhist Wen Yen' or highly terse literary Chinese which is hard 
to read - and even harder to translate. It alludes in places to various 
scenes in the Lotus Sutra - barest hints which cannot be intelligibly 
translated at all. What comes out as two lines of English in one place is 
but four Chinese characters in the original! Hence my diffidence about 
including it in Hsu Yun's autobiography, though I had planned to insert it 
as a tribute to the master. This poem appears in most Chinese copies of 
Hsu Yun's biography and also appeared in the Torch of Wisdom Journal 
(Taiwan) some years back. I am still doubtful about a couple of lines and 
besides it would need an absurd number of footnotes to be fully 
intelligible. At least it shows how beautifully Chinese is able to compress 
all sorts of profound hints and illusions in a few characters, unlike 
English.


This venerable old (monk Hsu Yun) was resolute!
Heavenly demons fell prostrate before him.
Bearing the edge of his Vajra-blade,
(He) cut them down like rank grass.
Pavilioned in the void of space,
(Like a) headless and stupid (man).
At 'many sons' pagoda, there was
One who led the sweeping away of defilement.
In the Dharma Flower assembly of yore
The Tathagata 'Many Jewels' arrayed
His multi-formed transformation bodies in space.
With (apparent) form - yet formless
How excellent, how praiseworthy!
At first I received a sound cudgelling (from the master)
Then an open embrace.
(Only when) the tongue-tip is silent
(Are you) allowed to speak (of the way).

                    Kuan Pen
    Translated by Richard Hunn (Upsaka Wen Shu)



                    RETREAT REPORTS



 (1) Contemplating Earth: A Retreat with Shifu.

All through the retreat Shifu spoke about compassion. It hit home, as 
it always has in previous retreats, but at those times, save for a shiver 
here or a sniffle there, nothing out of the ordinary came of it. Not so on 
Thursday afternoon. Shifu had us stand for a session of prostrations, 
but he introduced a method I had never encountered before. Usually he 
has us contemplate the movement of the body or the pettiness of our 
past thoughts, words and actions.

At the start of these prostrations, Shifu said; "Contemplate the Earth. 
The Earth is truly humble, truly compassionate. Anything we want, it 
gives to us unconditionally. Anything we throw back, it takes without 
complaint. This is true compassion. It is compassion without ego. 
Contemplate as your head touches the ground that it is touching the 
Earth. The Earth is where your body comes from, where it will return to. 
The Earth will convert it into something that others can use again." 

My eyes welled as he said this. As I prostrated I began to cry. It came in 
shudders, my throat tightening, my belly spasming. All these years Shih-
fu has talked about the infinite selfless compassion of Buddha, but 
infinity and selflessness are hard concepts to comprehend. The Earth is 
solid. I have a strong affinity for nature. I understood the analogy and it 
blew me away.

"The Earth compassionate? But the Earth doesn't know what it's doing?" 
It hit like a broad axe across the forehead: "That's what Shifu has been 
saying about Buddha's compassion. That's what all the sutras say. 
Buddha just gives without any thought or idea of giving! Buddha has no 
sense of self, no ego. Is that what it means to be egoless?" In 
comparison, my compassion is trivial. No, it's less than that, it's not even 
compassion in the Buddhist sense. It's more attachment. There are 
always ulterior motives when an ego is concerned, even if they are the 
most altruistic motives."

I prostrated the entire session with tears running down my face, the 
revelation driving into my mind and heart again and again. When the 
session ended, I lost it. I knelt down and put my face in the towel, crying 
like a baby. Shifu tapped me and told me to go downstairs to wash my 
face. In the bathroom I tried to settle down, but when I turned on the 
cold water tap and watched the water instantly pour into the sink, I cried 
again. Here was the Earth giving again, immediately and without 
questions. When I cleared my throat and spat into the sink I thought "Is 
that all I can give you in return?"  I peed into the urinal as well, crying, 
thinking that I was thanking the Earth with spit and piss.

Entering the meditation hall, Shifu directed me to the interview room. I 
sat before him, ashamed that I was crying, yet unable to stop myself. He 
asked, "Is your crying an emotional response because of your 
contemplation?"

"Yes, but it's out of control."

"Have you ever cried before on retreat?" 

"Never like this."

"Good. Are you through?"

"No. There is enough built up for me to cry a river." Then I asked, 
through sobs, "Is the world a Buddha?"

"Yes. The world, air, earth, fire, water, everything is Buddha."

"And the Buddha's compassion is like the Earth's?"

"Yes, and more."

"So giving" I sobbed, "and I am such a small, selfish person. My heart 
feels like a clenched fist and it hurts. I don't think I can ever cry enough 
tears to make up for my selfishness."

"It is a good experience," Shifu said. "You are leaving in a little while 
so rest. The retreat is over for you. Go to the second floor and look at 
the world outside the window, then come back for evening service if you 
feel better."

I did so and watched the frenetic rhythm of humanity. Ch'i tingled in my 
entire body and my belly and chest convulsed like a bellows, as waves of 
emotion and energy washed through me. The world was busy. Students 
coming out of school, people getting on and off buses, and making 
phone calls and deals. Warm air baked by concrete and asphalt pushed 
through the window. First the world looked normal, then it swung 
toward extreme ugliness and filth, man's creation. My feelings were 
sinking when a truck crossed my view with "Moving Mudanzas" painted 
across it's side. From my Italian upbringing, a slang word sounding like 
mudanza came to my mind and I pictured a bunch of fat, mustached 
women dancing and I laughed through my tears. Buddha has a sense of 
humour, I thought.

My mood swung toward the other extreme and I saw things as being 
kind, good and loving. Latinos jiving, greeting each other with hugs and 
kisses, though they probably saw each other only a few hours earlier. 
Across the street a young boy talking with a woman waiting for a bus. A 
car stopped for the light and through the window a mother with her 
small boy on her lap caressing his face with loving hands. Then my eyes 
came to rest on the word 'Atlas', the god that holds up the Earth Shifu 
had me prostrate to, only the name had been reduced to the name of a 
sanitation company, stencilled across a grimy dumpster. Buddha irony I 
thought?

It's all Buddha. The feather floating down on the breeze from a pigeon 
flying by, is Buddha falling down from Buddha, through Buddha and on 
to Buddha. So are the trash people, ignoring and sidestepping. It's all 
Buddha. But what about the violence, the pain, the suffering I saw on 
many faces? Is that Buddha too? I didn't know, I still don't know. 

I shook it away, my shivers subsiding and I went back to watching, 
leaving a trailing thought drawn from Hui Neng's Platform Sutra: "Is the 
suffering I see Buddha? Is it ignorance? No, it's only my mind moving as 
usual. While it moves I am missing the world. The world keeps going. 
It's not going to wait for me." Back in the present the world came into 
view again. Each thought the present thought. Each moment a new 
beginning. I turned and saw Shifu standing in the doorway, beckoning 
me to join Evening Service.


(2) A MOMENT IN DOKUSAN; Maenllwyd, May 1990.

Dokusan:	              "I'm frightened!"
			"How big do you feel?"
			"Oh- small"
			"How old are you?"
 			"Seven".
			"Be kind to the little boy inside you. Go and 
look into his fear." 

Back on my cushion, the little boy in me and I talked together.

			"Why are you hiding?"
			"I'm scared."
			"Why?"
			"Dad's going to beat me." 

And as we talked it through, and I cried with fear, my heart went out to 
the little boy in my memory. I comforted myself. The little boy wanted to 
know that I would give him enough time - not do a bit and slip back to 
Mu. He had all the time he needed. Next time we sat, he was asleep on 
my knee with my arm around him.

I am a 38 year old man who has spent a lifetime running away from this 
little boy's fear and pain, ambitiously chasing mountain tops in the 
Himalayas, as a therapist, as a lover, as a Zen practitioner. Is the planet 
being driven to destruction by men like this?
    

(3) Retreat report, Maenllwyd May 1990.

I arrived at the farmhouse a complete innocent. I had not the faintest 
idea what I was in for and this was just as well or I would never have 
come at all! My only expectation was that the scenery would be 
beautiful. 'Experiencing a Buddhist Retreat' was one of the many 
adventures I'd decided to undertake. I thought 'It may as well be now'. 
There were intimations that it would be difficult but I wanted to do a 
'proper retreat and have the 'real' experience.

I never intended to do anything as odd as this: sitting in front of a blank 
wall with a straight back without moving hour after hour after hour. And 
the breaks weren't real breaks at all! Just a change of mode of the same 
thing. It was all one long extended happening with absolutely no relief. 
Oh yes, meals. Thank God for meals. But I'd have exchanged them any 
day for the deeper nourishment of looking at the scenery. I was shocked, 
appalled, that it was forbidden. I felt stripped of everything. I felt angry, 
and then frightened. To have such beauty only the lifting of an eye away, 
especially when deprived of everything else, felt like utter cruelty. And 
yet, given that I had landed myself in this catastrophe, I knew that I must 
give over to the madness and endeavour to do what I was told. I knew 
that if I cheated I'd have the worst of all worlds, because I also knew that 
I was not going to quit. I was too proud. The ego has its uses!

Everyone looked so at home, and practised. 'Proper Buddhists' I 
imagined - and I felt very alone. All I had to fall back on was trust. I 
decided to trust John, and the ancient methods - even while screaming 
against them. I decided to get through the ordeal, breath by breath. 
Except that I couldn't concentrate on my breathing for more than an 
instant! I couldn't even do the ABC of meditation. I felt utterly inept and 
stupid.

The first relief came when John gave some instruction about focusing on 
the body. I'd been avoiding being with my body because of the pain, but 
in that instant I simply sank into it. And, wonder of wonders, I didn't 
have to try and make my mind concentrate on my breath or keep up with 
my breath - my mind and my breath felt one. I was my breath. My breath 
breathed me. I couldn't not follow my breath because there was nothing 
else to do. I couldn't forget to follow it because I was it. I couldn't 
believe that I'd just fallen into it like this - it seemed too easy - I was 
suspicious of myself. Or rather I tried to be, or felt I ought to be, but it 
isn't very easy to be suspicious when you feel at one with yourself! So I 
began to enjoy it, me, the process, the happening - I don't know how to 
describe it. It was so simple, so pristine and exact in its ordinariness, and 
yet all the mystery of the universe was there. Those elusive 'gaps' that 
John had talked about on the first evening were simply there. The 
stupefying exhaustion - exhaustion such as I have never known, of body, 
mind and spirit - lifted and I was alive and awake.

There was often a deep emotional pain about a happening in my life that 
I thought I'd let go of. This was a real shock and a disappointment. 
However I accepted it and wrote the first day off as a clearing process. 
No, that isn't quite how it was. I allowed it to be a clearing and respected 
the need for that. I am used to handling psychological material and so 
was less inept in that than I was at 'meditating'.

The third day: I expected great things of myself. It was therefore fitting 
that I had a few very ordinary meditations. I was amused at myself and 
accepting - after a little disappointment. I felt the rightness of it. I had no 
difficulties. I was still 'being breathed'. I felt peaceful. But then I began 
noticing that following the breath had become so natural that I could 
think thoughts at the same time. They were sort of on the periphery of 
my mind but were gently and subtly drawing off my energy. How crafty I 
am! Later colours appeared on my wall, wonderful moving shapes and 
patterns. It was like a trumpet announcement in colour and shape, 
settling down into a melodious overture. I just gazed. I followed the 
movement and enjoyed the impermanence. And each meditation seemed 
about five minutes long - or rather, timeless - I could hardly believe it 
when the gong went.

Somewhere in the middle of the retreat John said "Let the universe do it" 
and another change occurred. Instead of extending out into the universe, 
the universe entered me. And again the sense of tremendous ease. I had a 
sense of being the shape of the universe: we were all dynamic, ever 
moving statues giving definition to the immense infinite Indefinable. And 
the shaping happened through emptying; through emptiness. The emptier 
I was, the more I allowed the universe to fill me and the more defined 
and unique and novel a shape I could give the universe. The emptier I 
was, the more energy I had, and the more intricately and freshly I could 
express the universe - or rather it could express itself. I experienced that 
emptiness was indeed form and form emptiness. One is born of the other 
in a continual dance. I and the universe are just two different ways of 
expressing the same happening.
And then the amazing treat came. We went into the field, created a 
bubble around ourselves which gradually extended into the universe, and 
were told to open our eyes to take in whatever they chose to light upon. 
This was the only time I cried - tears, and sobs, of pure joy. Emptiness 
has such a different quality from blankness. I expected this to be our only 
chance to look around -  a special exercise - but then John said we could 
keep looking so long as we weren't distracted in any way from our 
stillness. The whole retreat now became a series of treats and joys. I was 
completely adjusted to the routine and so every time we did something 
different, which usually involved the countryside, I felt like a child who 
has been given an unexpected present. What completion, pure joy, worth 
all the early stark obedience.

Sometimes my body seemed to reshape itself into other bodies. It first 
became an old man's body, brown with a humped back. And I breathed 
as him. Many bodies came and went. An eskimo woman was another. I 
could feel my face change shape utterly - all alive and prickly with 
sensation - and I trusted my body knew what it was up to. The changes 
happened in a very imperceptible way - very minuscule in movement and 
slow. Also each person was utterly distinct in quality. And they all 
breathed very differently. One had a fish hook caught in his left nostril - 
very painful - but I had learnt not to fear pain by this time. That was a 
wonderful learning.

Again I began to be suspicious that I was simply entertaining myself, 
playing tricks with myself. But I decided; 'what the hell, I may as well 
trust it'. Later a meaning came to me. All these people, although they 
breathed differently, had the same space between their breaths - knew 
the same emptiness and allowed the same filling process, while at the 
same time manifesting utter diversity. I felt a new sense of presence in 
the space - a new power - it was Power Itself. And I knew the space, the 
Indefinable, was absolutely indestructible - that nothing, not even a 
nuclear war, could even slightly disturb it.            


               SIMPLY AN ABSENCE.
     

		Simply an absence
		And suddenly it's all there
		Rain on windows -
 		The wind of time without beginning.

		Suddenly an absence
		And simply it's all there
		The winter cherry
		Blooms without leaves.

		Simply an absence
		And suddenly it's all there
		The last rose of Autumn
		Looks in through the glass.

		Simply an absence
		And suddenly it's all there
		The winter landscape
		Comes in through the walls of my room.

						JHC



[END]